anyarose011

[anyarose011]

warning : spoilers for materialists, mentions of SA

The Materialists made me feel sick. Not because it was brutal, but because it was so pleased with itself. Because it inserted sexual assault into a story and called it honesty. Because it took one of the most common, devastating violences women endure and treated it like a stylistic device. Something to add gravity. Something to sharpen Lucy’s arc. Something to balance the tonal ledger.

But the camera doesn’t stay with Sophie. The film doesn’t sit with her. It doesn’t honor her. It doesn’t even keep her in the room.

Instead, it sweeps her under the rug. Lets her scream offscreen. Refocuses its gaze on Lucy’s existential unraveling, as if Sophie’s assault were just a detour. A single, dark tile in the mosaic of someone else’s story.

And this, this is the part where I become “difficult.” The one who ruins the vibe. The one who stands in the lobby after the credits roll—not charmed, not impressed, but angry. Not because I misunderstood the message, but because I understood exactly what it did.

Sophie is not a character in this film. She is a device. A hinge. A pivot point in another woman’s narrative. She is allowed to scream once, cry once, accuse once, and then she is folded into the margins of Lucy’s development like a crumpled receipt at the bottom of a designer bag.

And I am tired—so tired—of watching women make films about women, only to find that they, too, have learned to replicate harm in the language of symbolism. Still finding a way to include sexual assault and call it nuance. Still using violence against women to prove the film has something to say.

The film says it wants to interrogate love. Modern dating. Transaction. Commodification. And yet, the moment it gestures toward sexual assault, perhaps the most violent transaction of all, it refuses to slow down. Refuses to linger. Refuses to look at the wound it’s created. It moves forward like it’s made a point. Like it’s said something brave.

But that’s the lie. That’s the wound that doesn’t close.

Because it didn’t have to be there.

It wasn’t built toward. It wasn’t unpacked or allowed to shift the narrative. It didn’t complicate Lucy’s values. It didn’t challenge the structure. It didn’t change anything.

It happened. It hurt. And then it vanished, like a whispered statistic. One in three. And if it’s so common, why frame it like a twist? If it’s so honest, why not sit with it?

I am exhausted by this kind of cinema, the kind that pats itself on the back for including trauma, but never dares to show what it costs. That uses assault not as a rupture, but as a rhythm. As a beat. As evidence that the film is serious.

But it isn’t serious. The brave thing, the truly difficult thing, would have been to stay with Sophie. To give her more space, not just to suffer, but to exist. Not just as an idea or a burden for Lucy to feel guilty about, but as a woman. As a person who was hurt in a way that does not resolve on cue.

But that would have complicated the arc. That would have meant disrupting the aesthetic. That would have meant stepping outside the dress and the lighting and the curated sadness. And cinema hates when women’s pain disrupts the aesthetic.

I know what the defenders will say: it’s not glorifying it, it’s reflecting it! But reflection without care is not art. It’s replication. And replication, without critique, is complicity.

You cannot say sexual assault is part of dating culture and then treat it like background noise. You cannot claim to care about the “brutal honesty” of modern romance while reducing a woman’s assault to a plot beat designed to deepen someone else’s arc.

It’s not brave to include it. It’s not radical. It’s not thoughtful to throw it in and then move on. It’s cowardly. It’s insulting. It’s violent.

And the fact that so many critics call this bold, that they nod solemnly and say “finally, someone’s telling the truth”, only makes me angrier. Because we’ve always told the truth. Women have been telling it for decades. In essays. In whispers. In voicemails. In buried tweets. In hospital reports that no one reads.

But it never counts unless it’s curated. Unless it’s stylish. Unless it’s packaged as prestige. Unless it’s part of a clever genre subversion from a director with Oscar buzz.

Sophie’s assault didn’t challenge anything. It upheld everything.

It was a narrative performance of harm, a stylish nod to the suffering we’re expected to endure quietly. And I will not be grateful for that. I will not call it honest. I will not applaud the inclusion of trauma that serves no one but the film’s own self-satisfaction. In Materialists, assault isn’t the rupture. It’s the justification. The sacrifice required to give the film emotional weight. It’s the shadow cast on a carefully arranged frame so the director can murmur, “See? I’m paying attention.”

But I want to say this:

Paying attention means not using us.

Paying attention means not discarding us.

Paying attention means knowing the difference between representation and reproduction.

And this film reproduces harm. Elegantly. Quietly. Beautifully. But harm, nonetheless.

It tells me Sophie matters because she got hurt, but only until Lucy learns something from it. It tells me assault is part of the system, but not worth lingering in. It tells me one in three is enough to include, but not enough to center.

And that is what I cannot forgive: the idea that trauma must be seen, but never felt. Referenced, but never grieved. Aestheticized, but never honored.

I’m not asking for purity. I’m not asking for silence. I’m asking for accountability. For films that don’t use our wounds as wallpaper. For stories that don’t treat a woman’s pain like it’s just another step in someone else’s plot. I’m asking that if you include our pain, you let us stay in the room.

But Sophie is not allowed to stay. She is written out.

And Lucy gets a ring.

If telling the truth about dating means re-traumatizing women in increasingly aesthetic ways, then perhaps the truth isn’t the goal at all. Perhaps it’s still the same thing it’s always been:

Critical praise.

Aesthetics dressed up as daring.

A film that wears trauma like silk.

A director who says, “I had no choice,” when in fact, she did.

She chose this.

And I choose to say: it didn’t make the film better.

It made it cruel.

And if I sound angry, it’s because I am. If I sound repetitive, it’s because the movies are. If I sound like I’ve ruined the vibe, it’s because the vibe was built on silence.

I don’t care how clever the final shot was. I don’t care how well Dakota Johnson wears the dress. I don’t care that it was based on a statistic.

I care that you turned that statistic into a subplot and called it cinema. I care that you built the scaffolding of your film on another woman’s pain, and never looked back. I care that you didn’t have to include it, but you did. And you called that choice necessary.

It wasn’t.

It was violence.

And I will not thank you for it.

[anyarose011]

Born Too Late II: "None of This will Matter in an Hour"

Pairing: DBF!Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch X Reader

Summary: You only have two more hours in your shift, and two of the worst people show up; your roommate and her ex-boyfriend. As you navigate their problems like you were a couple's therapist, you deal with your own. This includes: A little girl with a bee sting, an unexpected baby, making "friends" with people your age, a physical altercation with a patient, and trying not to feel anything for your supervisor (did you know that you slept with him just the weekend prior and neither of you knew about both of your connections to Jack Abbott? I.e. your stepfather and his close friend?)

Part 2 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Mention of Past Smut, Physical Assault, Emotional Abuse, Mention of Physical Abuse, Possible Controversial Takes on Giving Birth to Kids, Jokes about being Conservative (come on guys…did we even watch the same show if I have to say this??),

Hey besties! Here we are, close to the end! So I just wanted to be open and say that I myself am not a licensed social worker. I specialize in criminology and sociology, so I did my best to adapt with what I know. If anyone here knows a thing or two about actual social work, let me know if I did something wrong. I also did my best to write everyone as in character as I could, but that's also the beauty of the show: Everyone seems so real with their own positives and negatives. Let me be clear too with minor, out of context spoilers: Kiara is in the right. Reader's reactions are justified, but also unprofessional. This is me trying to give more narrative to a story instead of it just be pure romance. Also, this one focuses on more of the Santos/Melissa x Reader, but Whitaker will get justice I swear. Happy Pride everyone, bisexual people exist, and they don't "need to pick a side".

Word Count: 8.7k (Holy difference from the word count in the first chapter, Batman!!)

“It’s the worst letter of the alphabet.” You thought aloud as you watched Kimi and Trent ushered into a room.

Santos furrowed her brow. “What?”

“The ex.” You rushed towards the room, peeking in to watch as the paramedics moved Kimi onto the bed, her still asking about ‘That bitch who hit us’. Trent, with the two braincells he had, responded in sound:

“I don’t know, baby; she just came out of nowhere.”

You pushed into the room, staying out of the way until all seemed normal; as normal it could be for your roommate and her shitty ex-boyfriend to be in the hospital. You rushed to Kimi’s side and she immediately embraced you.

“Hey girly,” she cooed. “I missed you.”

You rubbed her back, mindful of whatever injuries she had. “Me too, Kim. What happened?”

“Has everyone been nice to you?”

“Yes-.”

“-Because you all know I’d kick all of your asses if any of you talked shit about her!” She shouted out into the hall and to the poor nurses (one being Princess).

You shushed her, pulling away. “Let’s not yell, we got people doing worse than you.”

She laughed. “Okay, bestie.”

“What do we have here?” A deep voice came from behind you.

God, you decided to speak to a higher power than you for the first time in a while. I know You didn’t just send my roommate and her ex-boyfriend to this specific hospital only to then be treated by this specific doctor whom You know I have a complicated history with. And after also telling my roommate about how he fucked me so hard I almost broke his back instead of him breaking mine?

Like a guest actor appearing in a sitcom, Michael Robinavitch came into the room and immediately took charge. Kimi took the opportunity to clearly state what happened to her.

“We were driving down on Forbes, right? We were gonna go see that new movie, the one where Hailee Steinfeld gets absolutely fucked by a vampire or something, and then this cunt T-bones us-!”

“-Okay,” you intervened, smiling and presenting Robby. “this is Dr. Robby, Senior Attending and also one of my supervisors. So, let’s try and keep swearing to a minimum if we can. He’s probably seen and heard worse, but let’s not add to it. I gotta run and check on some other people, but I’ll be back soon, love you.”

Kimi responded with ‘Love you too, bitch’, and just as you were about to leave, you heard a voice belonging to Trent who just figured out how to speak to you.

“Hey, what about me?”

Turning over your shoulder with a tight smile, you said. “It’s always a blessing in disguise to see you, Trent.”

Then you finally left. Out of all the things you did on your shifts at the ER, that was by far the most unprofessional (the first one at least). You leaned against the wall, taking a moment just to breathe. Frankly, it was hard to ground yourself over the sound of machines hooked into patients, wheels screeching along the floor, and the endless talking and conversing between patients and doctors, doctors to residents, residents to nurses-.

“-Are you okay?”

Your eyes snapped open and was greeted to a woman with blonde hair in a ponytail, and glasses that fit her face perfectly. You flinched as your eyes shot open but quickly relaxed. You nodded.

“Yeah, sorry; it’s just been a long day.”

“No, I get it.” She related. “It’s still been technically a ‘good day’ for me, but it’s stressful.”

You furrowed your brow; her voice sounded familiar. Then, like lightning, it hit you and your face beamed. “Wait, did you give me a pad in the bathroom this morning?”

She giggled. “Yeah, I think I did.” She asked you your name.

“Yeah, and you’re Melissa?”

“Call me Mel.”

“Okay Mel,” you grinned from ear to ear. “I can’t tonight, but I owe you food. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Mel looked down at her feet smiling before reaching your eyes. “You’re too nice.”

“And again, you literally saved my life.”

“Hey,” Whitaker walked by, inserting himself into the conversation. “I just heard your roommate’s here, are you okay?”

Your jaw dropped. “And who’d you hear it from?”

“Perlah.”

Tossing your head back, you sighed. “She and Princess need to quit and become journalists.”

“Why?” Mel asked.

“Because they know everything three seconds after it happened!” You spoke with a perfect mix of humor and genuine astonishment.

Whitaker pursed his lips. “Do you need anything?”

“A nice, cold cigarette.” Both his and Mel’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “It was a bad joke.”

Where your joke fell flat on its face, their synchronized ‘Oh’s was pique comedy, bringing a smile to your face. The three of you had to duck back into your tasks; yours being finding Kiara. It was easier than you thought, and she luckily left the room of the family with the teenage gunshot victim.

“Hey, you doing alright?” She asked.

You tensed. “My roommate and her ex-boyfriend got into a car accident.”

Kiara’s face dropped. “Oh my, are they okay?”

“Yeah.” You sighed. “I mean, I don’t know the extent of their injuries, but the guy’s walking, Kimi’s swearing the house down, so that means she’s normal.”

She nodded. “If it’s too personal, I can go check on them until they’re discharged.”

“No.” You immediately said. “It’s alright, I know them both pretty well; all their habits and stuff.”

You knew Kimi’s. Trent’s? You knew you hated him, but you’d do your best to put that aside.

“Okay.” Kiara didn’t sound thoroughly convinced but knew she couldn’t change your mind. “You take the easier cases for now; I’ll come get you if there’s anything else.”

“You are my favorite person.” You said, meaning it.

She smiled. “Let me know if you ever want me to step in.”

“Sure.”  You did as she instructed, going to check on a simpler case. Said case being a seven-year-old girl who had recently been stung by a bee, discovering she was allergic and nearly died.

Oh, and as you were talking to her, you discovered that her mom and dad left her home alone that morning to drive all the way to Philadelphia to see an old friend. She didn’t know either of their phone numbers, but the cherry on top was that this was her first time ever being to a hospital…

So yeah, you got the easy one.

This all happened in only thirty minutes, and when you informed Kiara of the severity of it, she bumped you to go check back on Kimi. Sighing as you walked to Kimi’s room, Robby called your name.

Turning over your shoulder, he asked. “How’s everything going?”

“Good.” You said, like a liar. “I have an hour and a half left. How’s Kimi?”

“Well,” he crossed his arms. “her boyfriend only got a few scrapes and bruises scattered across his body, mainly on his torso, but is fine. Kimi bruised her side and has moderate whiplash, but she’s responding pretty well. The fetus wasn’t damaged miraculously, but we may want to get her-.”

“-Fetus?” Your heart stopped bumping blood. “Like-like a baby?”

Robby made a face. “Yeah, a baby. Six weeks, she found out this morning.”

No words left your mouth as the ones he spoke sunk into you. Your roommate was pregnant…she broke up with Trent a month ago, and it was a record for her to have stayed away from him for that long…and he came in with her…

“Are you alright?” He lowered his voice.

“No,” you said without thinking. “but thanks for asking.”

“I know it’s a lot,” he soothed. “I can get Kiara or Collins maybe to-.”

“-What was she like?” You interrupted. “When she talked about the baby? Was she happy? Upset?”

“She looked pretty happy.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “She probably wants to surprise me. I-I can go talk to her, but thanks.”

“Yeah.” He answered, but it was obvious he was hesitant. “Do you need anything?”

Your first inclination was ‘no’, but you couldn’t afford to be totally prideful. “How’re you with kids?”

“I like to think I’d give Mr. Rogers a run for his money.”

A genuine laugh escaped your throat; both from exhaustion, the situation, and the joke. “Okay Fred, I got a seven-year-old girl who found out she was allergic to bees, and her parents basically abandoned her this morning to go to Philly.”

His face dropped. “Christ.”

“Bonus points: they’ve never taken her to a hospital before.”

“Great.” His smiled leaked with sarcasm. “My favorite.”

“Kiara’s sitting with her now, but I know she’s got dozens of others.”

“I got it.” He nodded.

You sighed gratefully, squeezing the upper arm of his sweatshirt without thinking. “Thank you.”

Turning on your heel back to Kimi’s room it was only then you realized what you had just done; in the middle of the ER. What more, Robby being the one to treat Kimi caused a terrible thought to creep into your mind.

What if she figured out he was the guy you slept with? You mentioned that he was a doctor, but that was about it. Kimi wasn’t exactly smart though. You loved her, but you were also honest and knew that she couldn’t really pick up on certain social cues. You just had to do your best not to act awkwardly around him

Still, you knew that things were only awkward if you made it that way (or Princess, Perlah, Santos, or anyone else in the whole place saw it). Noticing that you had worse things going on helped pull you out of those thoughts once you entered Kimi’s room.

“There she is!” She opened her arms wide as she laid on the bed. Trent was in his usual habitat you assumed whenever he came to the hospital with a woman: in the corner, playing on his phone.

You embraced Kimi, and she said into your chest. “I have something to tell you.”

“Like, who was driving the car?” You joked.

She scoffed, pulling away. “Please, we already had to tell the cops that like ten times.”

“The police were here?”

“Uh huh.” She groaned, laying back. “Had to talk to them while your boss and some old ladies poked and prodded me. It was Trent’s car too.”

“Yeah.” he spoke up once his name was called, like how a dog would. “Bitch was day drinking and came out of nowhere and totaled my car.”

“Shit.” You gasped. “I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry?” He scowled. “You didn’t cause it.”

You blinked. “It’s call empathy, Trent. I’m putting myself in your position and-.”

“-I know what empathy is, shrink.” He rolled his eyes.

“Okay girlies,” Kimi intercepted before you could tackle him. “let’s not fight.”

Sighing, you decided not to resist, lowering your mouth to her ear. “Sorry. I just started my period, and it’s been a long day.”

“Well,” she grinned from ear to ear. “at least we know you’re not pregnant.”

You pulled away, trying to feign confusion. “Why’d you say it like that?”

Kimi took your hands, squeezing them. “I’m gonna have a baby!”

“Wow!” You forced yourself to be excited. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car even before I did.” She still smiled.

Looking over at Trent, a tight smile upon your lips. “How’s it feel to be a dad, Trent?”

“Like usual.” He surprised you by returning your grin; almost as if he had the braincells to understand that you were making fun of him but knew how to react accordingly. “I hope it’s a boy this time. Pass on my legacy.”

Kimi giggled. “I’m sure it will be.”

Humming, you asked her. “So…what’s the plan?”

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head.

“Well,” with just one word, you realized how difficult this conversation would be. “Trent, could you give us some space?”

He glared. “I’m the one injured; you move.”

“The mother of your child is the one on a bed.” You stated, not even meaning to sound snarky.

“Okay, hey,” Kimi, once again, stepped in. “I don’t mind if he’s here. If you have anything to say, you can say it to both of us.”

You say that as if he’s actually committed to you. Your mind snipped at her.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to let it all out (as diplomatically as you could). “Since this is what you want, I’m genuinely happy for you. I’m just wondering how the living situation is going to be.”

Kimi giggled. “What’re you talking about? The baby’s gonna live with me.”

“And I figured, but do you have a plan for childcare when you go off maternity leave?”

“That’s not for a long time-.”

“-I know,” you nodded. “but I want to at least get this out of the way because if the baby’s going to be living with you, then they’ll be living with me too. There’s only two of us on the lease, so Trent can’t move in.”

Kimi nodded. “Well, then maybe he and I can find a place-.”

“-I’m kind of in between jobs now.” He said it as if it was in his back pocket. “My place is small as it is.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “I get it; you got plenty of time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it sounds like.” You ripped the band aid off. “You have plenty of time to provide for your child and girlfriend.”

“It’s not that easy finding work.”

Motherfucker, are you even looking?!  But you couldn’t say that, so instead, you went with. “Believe me, I get it. Still, you have to have a legacy first before you pass it onto your kid.”

“Hey,” he scoffed. “not all of us have a daddy in our back pocket who can give us a job.”

You snapped your gaze at Kimi, who shrunk under your stare. It’s not as if you told her to never tell anyone about your circumstance, but you felt that, as a grown woman, she didn’t need to be told that. You felt your skin prickling from everything, so you changed the subject.

“You guys are back together?”

They answered at the same time.

“Yes.”

“I mean…”

Kimi, who seemed so confident, snapped her gaze towards Trent. “What?”

He backpaddled. “I mean that we didn’t really talk about it.”

“Yeah, we didn’t talk, but I thought you sticking your tongue down my throat and saying, ‘I love you’ spoke for itself.”

You whistled. “Alright, let me give you guys some space-.”

“-No,” Kimi stopped you. “from the sound of it, you’re gonna be in my kid’s life since the dad wants to be a deadbeat.”

His three kids and two baby mamas before you weren’t red flags? Shaking your head, you opened your mouth, but Trent spoke for you.

“No, screw her and all the shit she’s trying to say! It’s not even her kid.”

You pointed at him. “Exactly. When the baby comes, and if I’m free, I’ll watch them. But I won’t drop everything to babysit; whether it’s a shift, or even just going out with friends. It’s not my kid.”

Kimi softened her gaze. “…Let me talk to him.”

You squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “I’ll check back in ten. You guys need anything?”

“Yeah,” Trent spoke up. “my car’s obviously gone to shit, could we ride back to your place after your shift?”

A year ago, you would’ve called yourself overdramatic for how you felt; but, you were setting boundaries. “I’ve kinda had a really rough shift. If…if you guys are gonna talk or do anything, could it be your place?”

A nice way of saying, ‘I don’t want you anywhere near me, Trent’.

“I can’t talk to Kimi in her own home?” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s my home too.” You tried to keep calm. “You or Kimi can call someone to take you anywhere else. I still have an hour and a half left.”

Kimi sighed. “I could call my mom.”

“No,” Trent shook his head. “we can stay. The Robby guy said to stay for another hour anyway for observation.

You pursed your lips. “How about you both talk it out and come to an agreement? I have to get back to work.”

Turning on your heel and out of the room, you left before either of them could stop you. Taking a deep breath, you checked back on the little girl with a bee sting, letting Robby off duty.

“How’d it go?” He asked, stepping outside.

Knowing Kimi, I may have to be a single mother before thirty, and I’ll be getting fucked over by a baby that wasn’t even fucked into me. Was what you wanted to say, but not only were you at work and many people were rushing past you, but it probably wouldn’t be an appropriate thing to say to your supervisor.

“Okay.” You settled on.

Michael Robinavitch had been a healthcare worker for almost thirty years (you estimated); of course he smelled bullshit.

“Trent seems like a Prince Charming.” He teased.

You knew he was being sarcastic, so you tried to respond in kind. “Right? Like, I know for certain that if Kimi was on life support right now, he’d pull the plug just to charge his phone.”

Robby cringed. “That bad?”

A part of you knew you should’ve just laughed it off and said ‘Of course not’; but both you as Kimi’s friend and you as a social worker battled each other. So, what came out was.

“Thanks for checking on my bee sting girl.” You smiled, moving back to the door.

“Hey,” he said your name. “is there anything I should know?”

You shrugged. “They’re just annoying. I mean, he’s low key controlling and just a bad person in general, but it’s not my decision what Kimi does about that.”

Shutting the door, that was the end of the conversation for you and Robby. The little girl was in higher spirits, and Kiara finally got through to her parents, who were then just making their way back from Philly. Meaning they’d be at the hospital around ten at night.

Kiara traded with you another ten minutes later, leaving you to do a quick sweep of new patients, and the very few who were still there from that morning. You didn’t touch Kimi and Trent’s room.

Peeked into it to see how it was going? You did once and saw that they were nowhere near done with talking. So, you finished your rounds, and had a single hour left before your shift was over. Selfishly, you wondered if you could just avoid their room and say you accidentally forgot to check on them, leaving them on their own to get a ride.

Then, you realized they’d probably come back to your place and kill you. So, instead, you’d give them another few minutes.

On your second night shift, you asked three doctors where their favorite places were to go to have a mental breakdown.

Your stepdad’s was ‘The Crashout Alleyway’ (a space that led to nowhere by the ambulance center. You were astonished but also worried how he knew that word; he chalked it up to treating a lot of teenagers), Shen’s was ‘Secret but Sketchy Downstairs Bathroom’ (take the stairs in the lobby and go down to the basement, also accessible via elevator), and Ellis showed you ‘The Locker Hallway’ (literally how it sounds).

You hoped you only had to use one that day.

Deciding that the Locker Hallway was for only needing a moment to breathe, you headed there. Yet, just as soon as you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes, someone said your name. You opened them and saw Melissa in front of you, carrying two water bottles and holding one out to you.

“Oh,” you smiled, taking the bottle. “thanks.”

She nodded. “I saw you running around and you looked a little flustered.”

“Ah,” you hummed. “you were watching me?”

“Not in a weird way!” She quickly defended. “And I didn’t mean that you were stressed and couldn’t handle anything. I-.”

“-Mel,” you reassured. “thank you.”

She grinned, opening her water. “You’re welcome.”

Both of you stood there, just silently grounding yourselves and drinking water. It must’ve been hella slow if she managed to have time to check on you. You knew how busy it could get, so you were happy that the cases weren’t as stressful for them as they were for you.

Two patients named Kimi and Trent lingered in your mind.

“So, what’s your story?” You turned to Mel.

“Mine?” She asked. “I mean, my sister and I grew up in Chicago, our mom died last year, and we moved out here seven months ago.”

You nodded. “How do you like Pittsburgh?”

“It’s nice; not as crazy as home.”

“How old’s your sister?”

“Two minutes older than me.” She smiled. “Her name’s Becca.”

“Aw,” you took a drink. “you guys close?”

“Very. Do you have any siblings?”

“Not any that I know of.”  You chuckled. “I was the result of spring break in New York. All I know of my dad is his first name and what he majored in.”

She chuckled. “All I remember about my dad is that he laughed really loud. He and my mom got divorced when Becca and I were three.”

“Ah,” you smiled. “we’re a part of the ‘Dead Mom and Unknown Dads’ club.”

“Your mom passed away?”

You nodded. “When I was twenty-two.”

She hummed, holding up her water bottle. “To Dead Moms and Unknown Dads.”

You clinked your bottle with hers, and you both drank. Then, you admitted. “I mean, my mom married a guy a few years before she died. He’s nice and all but I’m…not really super close to him. So not completely unknown but still.”

“What’s he like?”

“He actually works the night shift. You wanna take a guess?”

 You didn’t know why you were doing this. Maybe you related to her even though you just knew her for a collective ten minutes, or maybe there was something about Melissa King that just made you feel safe enough to tell her anything.

Good lord, she was like you when you were in your social worker element.

“I don’t know a lot of the night shift staff.” She admitted.

“Guess. Maybe you know him.”

She stared ahead for a moment, thinking. Before you could wonder if she was going to answer or not, Kiara entered the hallway and approached you, a rattled look in her eyes.

“You need to come with me.”

Without another word, you followed her. You thought it would be something bad; an elderly man who fell and couldn’t get up, a kid who cut off his finger from playing with a knife because his parents were neglectful, or even something as horrible as comforting a family from a housefire.

“Whenever your roommate and her boyfriend fight, how would you rate the aggression on a scale from one to ten?” Kiara asked.

Shit. You huffed. “Maybe a six?”

“They’re at an eight in my opinion.” She sighed. “Let’s try and deescalate the situation.”

“Heard.”

You both made it to the room and saw two other patients outside, watching Trent and Kimi standing and fighting as if it was the newest episode of Love is Blind. Both you and Kiara went in and were welcomed to yelling.

“-all of this is just a mistake!” Trent shouted.

“A mistake?!” Kimi scoffed. “A mistake is stepping in dogshit, a mistake is running into someone on the street, a mistake is your father deciding to cum in your mother!”

If you weren’t at work, you would’ve laughed. Hell, besides that, the other reason was because you were just beyond horrified Kiara had to witness this.

Trent soured his face. “Real fucking mature, cunt.”

“Hey,” Kiara jumped in before you could. “let’s not use language, please. Let’s just take a step back from all this for a second.”

“I’ll take a step back when she,” Trent sneered at Kimi. “stops being overdramatic.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m overdramatic?!”

“Hey, okay.” you finally stepped in. “Guys, we can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on, and we can’t really know what’s going on if you keep yelling and accusing each other.”

Kimi took a deep breath, but her voice still shook. “I’ve tried to tell him I’m not doing any of this without him. I want him to be in the baby’s life, but he doesn’t.”

“I never said that!” He rebutted. “I said that I don’t know if I’d be good enough.”

Come on, Trent. You mocked him. Fourth time’s a charm. But instead, you said aloud. “Why do you think that?”

He didn’t have an answer, and you knew he wouldn’t. Because he’s a fucking liar.

“I just don’t know if I want it.” He finally said.

Kimi’s face dropped. “Well, I do!”

“Good for you, Kimberly.”

“Okay, okay,” Kiara jumped back in. “this is a very challenging topic to talk about, but it needs to be done. It doesn’t have to be now, especially if you can’t do it without getting angry at each other.”

“I wanna talk now.” Kimi stated.

Trent rolled his eyes, sitting on a chair. “I can talk.”

“You have to want to.” Kiara said.

“I want to talk to her.” He responded like a twelve-year-old boy who got caught being horrible to a girl and acting as if it wasn’t his fault; you know the one.

“Okay.” Kiara took it in stride, then glanced over at you, saying your name softly. “You know Trent and Kimi personally, would you feel comfortable leading a discussion?”

What choice did you have? You nodded. “Of course. So…we already know an underlining concern is commitment; both towards each other and to the baby.”

“I’ll pay child support.” Trent immediately said.

“Okay.” You sighed. “Kimi, how does that make you feel?”

She glared at you. “Can you please talk to us like you’re you? You’d never say this stuff if you weren’t at work.”

“But I am.” You stated. “Besides, this is genuinely a better way to talk. So, how do you feel about what Trent said?”

Kimi sighed, sitting on the bed. “I feel ignored, and that he doesn’t even really want to try for me, and-.”

He scoffed. “Come on-.”

“-Trent,” you stopped him, patience running thin. “please let Kimi continue.”

“When am I gonna talk?”

“When she’s finished.” You hardened your tone. “Kimi?”

She sighed. “I know I can’t force him to stay the whole time, and that’s fine. This morning I…I just thought the baby was making him happy; making us happy. I don’t know where this all came from. I don’t know how I’ll raise a baby on my own. Now, if I had help from my roommate then that’d be different-.”

“-Woah!” Was all you could say upon her accusation.

Kiara stepped in. “Kimi, this isn’t about her, it’s about you and Trent.”

“If the baby’s gonna stay with me, then it will be about her.” She huffed. “I have a job, I pay my bills, I’ve done shit for her, she could help me out.”

“I won’t be a second mother.” You stated, crossing your arms and sinking your nails into your skin.

Kiara said your name. “It’s okay. Alright, we cannot keep having this conversation if we lose focus. We can take a break-.”

“-No, we’re doing this now.” Kimi interrupted, staring at Trent. “What’re you so afraid of?”

He didn’t look at her. “That my son will be just like me.”

“Bullshit. If you weren’t gonna man up and at least be in my life after this, then you shouldn’t have begged me to do it raw!”

“What do you want me to do?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Get you a promise ring? Move in with you? Marry you and have a white picket fence house? Fuck’s sake, marriage is just a piece of paper.”

“So are your three kids’ birth certificates.” You mumbled, unable to hold your tongue.

Trent drew his gaze at you. “What was that?”

You backtracked. “Nothing.”

“No,” he glared. “say it with your fucking chest.”

Kiara said your name gently. “Don’t. Trent, this isn’t a productive way of-.”

“-Come on, say it, pussy!”

You did. “Your three kids’ birth certificates are also pieces of paper.”

He laughed. He fucking laughed. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“Trent,” Kiara gritted her teeth. “please do not use that kind of language.” She said your name. “Stand down.”

He huffed. “You know what? Fuck this.” He smirked at Kimi.  “Have fun giving birth and looking ugly as fuck with a lot of stretch marks-.”

You had it. “-Let’s call your mom right now and tell her that every single one she got from birthing you was a mistake.”

Kiara and Kimi said your name in a way you never heard either of them say it before; with such a mix of shock and disgust you couldn’t even fathom. Again, to your utter surprise, all Trent did was laugh. Albeit, without insult.

“And I bet your mom never thought that about you.”

Before his words could even register within you, Kiara gently wrapped her arm around your shoulders. “Okay, we’re gonna take a break. If you can’t be around each other, then one of you can stay and the other can step into one of the free rooms. We have one located right by the gender-neutral bathroom.”

“Whatever.” Was Trent’s response. Kimi said nothing, not even looking at you.

Kiara led you out of the room, and into a (mostly) empty hallway. It was as if your ribcage was clutching your heart as you could feel just the word ‘anger’ pulse throughout your body.

“That was not okay.” Even something that sounded like she was attacking you sounded so soft coming from her.

“Which part?” You asked.

“A lot of it, but especially what came from you.”

Your jaw dropped. “Did you not just hear-?”

“-I did, and I’m sorry I let you get involved in the first place.” She said. “I had no idea the situation would be so delicate, but it was going to be personal no matter what. I accept that I shouldn’t have let you intervene, but I will not accept how you responded to Trent and Kimi. I want you to go to the break room, take a few minutes, then come back and apologize.”

You bit your tongue; not to stop yourself from saying something, but to not laugh. Maybe Trent was cooking with only being able to laugh at what he personally thought was bullshit. “Kiara, I can’t just-.”

“I cannot guarantee you that you will feel worse than you do now, but that is because of your prior relationships with the patients.” She stated. “What I can guarantee is that you will hear worse things said to you; they’ll be from impatient women who feel entitled, and they’ll be from fathers who are holding their dead child. I know it’s hard to keep a level head with people you have history with, but that’s what we’re here for. In here, Kimi is not your roommate, and Trent is not her boyfriend you have gripes with; they are patients.”

You could have told her everything about Trent. How he threw a cup at you just for making a small comment, how he’d belittle Kimi when it didn’t seem like he was, hell, how (at least you heard from Kimi) there were times he’d punch the nearest thing to her.

But, you couldn’t; it would just send you both down an endless rabbit hole of ‘what ifs’. And you were too exhausted for that.

So, you said. “Okay.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “I’m proud of you for all that you’ve done today. It might’ve been easier on the rest of the staff, but I won’t lie, it was kinda hell for both of us.”

You hummed, and you were sad you didn’t have the strength to even smile. You made your way into the break room, glancing through the window on the door to see if anyone was there. When you saw no one, you entered and leaned against the shut door, inhaling deeply and shutting your eyes.

You’re not gonna cry. You told yourself. You’re not gonna cry because you have half an hour of your shift left, and yeah you gotta do one tomorrow-.

“Hey.” You never knew one word could sound so tender.

Opening your eyes, you saw Heather Collins sitting on a couch that was out of complete eyesight from the window. You swallowed thickly. Out of all the people to be in the breakroom, why her?

“Rough day?” She asked, moving over for you to sit down.

Yeah, I’ve had to talk to so many people I have to identify them by tragedy, my roommate is delusional about her boyfriend, said boyfriend is toxic at best, abusive at worst, and I fucked your boyfriend…or I don’t know who he is to you.

But again, you couldn’t say all of that, so you went with half of it.

“My roommate and her boyfriend got in a car accident, I just found out she’s pregnant with his kid, and I was completely unprofessional.”

“Damn,” she seethed. “that’s a great first day.”

 “Yeah…” You sat beside her.

“Do you want me to lie and say it gets better?”

You chuckled. “No, I know it gets worse.”

“Yeah, but you get better at handling all the stuff that goes on here.”

“I guess.” You found yourself smiling. “Was your day crap?”

“Eh,” she sighed. “it’s not the worst. I had to remove a pencil from a guy’s calf.”

“How’d that get in there?” You laughed.

“Says he fell on it. Robby thinks his coworker stabbed him, but what does he know?”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

She eyed you. “Did you know him before you got here?”

“The guy who fell on a pencil, or Robby?”

“Robby.” She elaborated. “I mean, him and Jack are close, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You shrugged. “Probably. Like, maybe at my mom’s wedding or…I don’t know, maybe her funeral?”

How horrible was it that you didn’t even know how long Jack worked at the ER? How horrible would it have been if you actually met or even saw Robby at a wedding or a funeral and you couldn’t even remember?

“How’d they meet?” She smiled. “Your mom and Jack?”

It was a good story, one where it was probably the only thing that made you believe in love. “She was in a CVS at like ten at night, and this one girl attacked her when she was going to her car. The girl landed a punch on her, but my mom did everything; kick, claw, even nearly bit a chunk of her hand off. Jack stepped in to pull my mom off, but only after the other woman was completely down and not getting up. He checked my mom’s injuries, called the police, then showed her some ways to take down someone he learned in the military. Got her number before he left.”

Collins laughed. “That sounds like him. You got a good dad.”

All you could do was awkwardly smile like that one photo of Anthony Mackie you saw going around on the internet. As Collins was about to say something, the door opened, and in came Trinity Santos.

“What’s up, party people?” She snorted, going over to the fridge.

Collins tilted her head towards you. “She came in two minutes ago, I came in four. We’re almost done.”

“Yeah, same.” She pulled out a lunch bag. “I ate three M&M’s today. Starshine, how’s your batshit insane roommate and her boyfriend?”

Something within you snapped. Not enough for you to go full on crazy, but enough for Collins and Santos to immediately know something was wrong.

“Okay,” Santos whistled, taking a bite of a sandwich she pulled out. “I won’t mention it.”

“You got half an hour left.” Collins comforted. “It’ll be over.”

You shook your head. “No, it won’t. Because she lives with me, and she thinks that he’ll stay with her.”

Santos furrowed her brow. “Like stay with her as her boyfriend, or stay with her at your place?”

“Probably both at this rate.”

“You feel comfortable around him?”

“He threw a cup at me once and joked about throwing a fork at me twice.”

“Say the word and I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

Collins shook her head. “Trinity.”

She looked at her as if it was strange she didn’t make a threat. “God forbid I’m preventing violence against women!”

“No,” you stood up, gathering yourself. “I get it but…but…”

But why is she still with him? Why, after all the shit he did to her and has done to me, does she still go back? Fuck all, I should know this! I’ve tried talking to her about all the signs, about how I’d completely support and help her when she’d leave him for good. And why is she not the first fucking woman I’ve ever met to be okay with bringing a kid into this world without any safety net of commitment from the dad?!

“Oh god…” you said with horror. “maybe I am a Conservative?”

“Woah!” Came from Collins.

“Take that back right now!” Santos joined.

Collins said your name, standing. “Let’s not talk like that.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s smart to get pregnant by a guy who already has two baby mamas!” You squealed. “No, Kimberly, I don’t care if you’re giving him his first son. What legacy is he going to carry on, being a prick?”

Santos put her hand on your shoulder. “Okay, maybe you should just sit down.”

“And I get it,” you kept going. “shit happens. But holy hell, at least to me, if I’m getting pregnant and I want it and the guy, he better nut up and buy me a ring or I’ll kill him. I’ll actually kill him, Trinity.”

“Yes,” she sat you down on the couch. “I’ll help you.”

“I just…” you took a deep breath. “she actually talked like I’d be responsible for taking care of her kid if Trent leaves. I would no matter what because I can’t let it die, but it isn’t mine. She’s having the baby like it’s a fucking hobby and not a human and…and…”

And you let it get to you. Many would say it was reasonable, and a part of you gave yourself the grace to feel anger. Still, the moment you declared yourself a social worker through your major in undergrad, you vowed to yourself you would remain as professional and understanding as you could.

And this was the first time you reacted so horribly.

“I just dumped all of this on you,” you rubbed your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Santos squeezed your shoulder. “Don’t be.”

Collins nodded. “We’ve all been there. You’re doing good.”

You wanted to shake your head and say that you weren’t, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Instead, you gave a trembling smile.

“Thanks.” Sighing heavily, you stood up. “I gotta go apologize.”

“You wanna take another minute or two?” Collins asked.

“No, I got it.” You turned back before leaving. “You guys here tomorrow?”

“I am.” Santos said. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, that sucks.” She snickered. “Give me your number before you leave. We’ll go get coffee.”

That made you feel a little better. “Okay. See you guys.”

They wished you goodbye as you left. Taking perhaps your hundredth deep breath of the day, you glanced into the spare room by the gender-neutral bathroom; praying that if Kimi and Trent did have to separate, you hoped you’d find Kimi first.

Of course you didn’t. It was Trent, still on his phone, sitting in there.

You quickly rehearsed a basic, yet hopefully touching, apology in your head, before knocking on the door and entering.

“Hey.” You greeted.

He took one look at you and rolled his eyes before returning to his phone. You sighed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted.” You began. “I wasn’t professional at all. You and Kimi deserve my entire attention and care.”

Trent didn’t even look up.

Breathing through your nose, you continued, deciding to add a bit of your own, personal taste to it. “I know I’m not your favorite person, and that’s okay. I assume that we equally care about Kimi and want what is best for her. Neither of us can stop you from doing what you want, and that’s fine. Still, a baby is a big deal. Whatever Kimi decides to do is her choice. I…I honestly don’t know what else to say to you.”

You saw him press his lips together, and his eyes grew as he stared down at the screen. It was almost as if your mere presence just disgusted him. You decided to take your leave. Giving him a nod, you turned and reached for the door.

“Will I get in trouble if I call you a fucking bitch?”

‘Straw that broke the camel’s back’: Idiom. Meaning: “A minor or routine action that causes an unpredictably large and sudden reaction due to cumulative effect of previous small actions.”

And boy, did it surely break when Trent said that.

You exited the room without saying another word, the tightness in your chest becoming suffocating.

Of course, when you looked up as soon as you left, that had to have been the moment you made eye contact with Dr. Robby; Michael to you.

The only breath coming into your lungs was by borderline hyperventilating as you immediately booked it down the hallway. Yet, you didn’t look like you were having a panic attack (in your eyes anyway). It was a talent you practically perfected; looking as if you were walking with a purpose instead of on the brink of a breakdown.

Yet, Robby had seen that look of shame in your eyes before you could mask it, and he was already on your tail.

“Where are you going?” He asked, catching up to your side.

“Basement.” Was all you said.

“Why?” He demanded. You shook your head, pushing the doors to the lobby open. He said your name. “Why?”

You swallowed thickly, still booking it through the crowded room, pushing past all kinds of people. “Tired.”

“You gotta give me more than one word.” He grunted, following close behind.

Making it through the crowd, you opened the stairwell and began your descent. Robby, of course, still calling for you. It wasn’t until you were two flights down from the bottom, did he say your name loudly. You finally turned.

“What happened?” He asked, using a strict tone that would’ve fit if you had met him as your supervisor first.

You glanced to the side, lip trembling. “Nothing.”

Robby scoffed, and it almost sounded like a laugh. “You come out of a room almost crying, run through Chairs and down the stairs, and it’s nothing. I’m not buying it.”

“It’s been a long day, and I couldn’t keep it together and have a panic attack in my car like a normal person.” You spat. “Big fucking deal.”

He sighed heavily, placing his head inside his hands. Then, pulling them away, he said. “You’re right. It’s been a long day, and it’s been weird. I probably didn’t treat you how I should’ve at all today, and I’m sorry. Look…I’m just gonna assume that something bad in that room happened to cause you to leave like this. Whatever that is, I just want you to know I’m on your side.”

Your heart stammered, the words sounding almost foreign in your ears. You blinked. “What?”

Robby took a step forward, putting his hands on your upper arms. “I’m on your side.”

He didn’t force anything out of you. He saw you in distress, didn’t ask any other questions, but he was with you.

Your body trembled slightly beneath his hands, a quivering breath escaping your lungs as your eyes trailed down to his mouth. There were a few grey hairs within his beard that you hadn’t noticed before, but his lips were what occupied your mind. You didn’t want to look at him; you didn’t want to know if he was going to push you away or pull you in.

Shutting your eyes, you pressed your lips against his. It came back to you, that one night you shared with him. It must have been the same for Robby, as his hands, once frozen, moved down to wrap around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. You enveloped your arms around his shoulders, still feeling only the thick air and him all around you.

Chest to chest, you completely lost yourself in him. Never in all your life have you been kissed like this. Never with such a primal desperation that somehow had nothing to do with sex, but just with pure unadulterated passion.

Just as you had to come up for breath, he pulled away first, stilling you.

Opening your eyes, you saw what you always knew was going to be there. The look in his own gaze, saying: ‘We shouldn’t have done that.’

When you didn’t see it the first time you kissed him that night, or when he took off your clothes and kneeled between your legs, bowing his head like you were something holy to him, you thought you were out of the woods.

But, in that cramped, stairwell with only one, blaring light source above you, you saw it clear as day.

You both pulled away at the same time, and all you could think of doing was fix your shirt.

He said your name so softly, you couldn’t take it anymore. Turning back on your heel, you rushed down the stairs, making it to the basement door and throwing it open.

Robby didn’t follow you.

There wasn’t a lot down there; some scattered old medical supplies probably from the 90s, the elevator, and doors that led into abandoned conference rooms. It was safe to assume that it was only medical staff who knew about this, and even then, you weren’t sure how many did.

You went into the bathroom Shen showed you last week and slammed the door. The light was fading, but still working, the entire wall and floor were tiled an ugly brown, and there was only one sink and one stall. You wondered why bothering putting up a stall if it was the only toilet, but you guess that just gave the room personality.

Entering the stall, you released a sob, yet no tears fell. Sobbing turned to a rough intake of breaths, holding your head in your hands as you sat on the floor. You thought you’d got better over the years of how to handle moments like these.

But, just as how it was in high school and college, once you were in a state of distress, you felt everything.

Your roommate probably hated you, and she would forever choose her boyfriend over you.

You had really no other friends outside of her, most of them moving away or getting married and having kids.

You basically failed your first day shift; both having a mental breakdown at the end of it and snapping at two of the patients.

You were a stranger in your childhood house; your mother was gone, but Jack still lived there. He lived in a place where you had created the most memories with your mom, how could he possibly know what that felt like?

And you were a screw up. You slept with someone so much older than you, and of course, it didn’t matter to him, and he was your superior.

Then…just as it crescendo into a cacophony of noise…all fell silent.

You were left alone with yourself, and your heaving breaths; your thoughts turning to static. At the end of it all, you only shed two single tears. Perhaps you were healing if that was the worst of it? Pinching the bridge of your nose, you looked down at your watch.

6:45.

You didn’t know if you were down there for five minutes or fifteen. Still, only then remembering the other patients you needed to check on and feeling the shame of leaving Kiara high and dry, you picked yourself up.

At the same time, the bathroom door opened.

“Sorry,” you wiped your eyes. “I’ll be out soon.” Straightening yourself up, you opened the stall door, almost dreading to see who it was.

You couldn’t even make a sound before two hands pulled you by the shirt, throwing you into the tiled wall. Your head collided with it first, sending you toppling over your feet and onto the floor.

Groaning, you cradled your head and looked up, seeing Trent stand above you. Fear hit you like a bullet, trying to scramble to your feet.

He kicked you in the ribs, making you fall again. A cry broke through your lips, the pain sinking in like a rusty nail. Trent said nothing as he kneeled beside you, using one hand to angle your face, and the other to raise his fist in the air before punching you.

You had never been hit before. It didn’t feel like you thought it would. Your nose was burning and heavy all at the same time, and there were two Trent’s for a second before you blinked and you saw his face clearer.

He didn’t look angry; not how you knew him to be. His face wasn’t in an exaggerated frown that he always used when Kimi said something with harmless fun. His eyes weren’t heated with the same, burning rage you saw when you’d call him out on his behavior.

His face was like a mask with nothing behind it.

“Stop!” You begged, heaving.

Trent said nothing, raising his fist again.

You dug your heel into the space just above his left knee, sending him down onto the ground.

“Fuck!” He grunted, cradling where you hit.

Getting onto your feet, you didn’t make it far as Trent grabbed your pants, yanking you back down.

He grabbed your shirt, pulling you underneath him once again, and wrapping his hands around your neck.

Barely any air left your lungs as you tried to fight him off. Your hand went into his hair, pulling on it with all your might until you thought you’d pull it out of his scalp. He cried, letting go of you, and you did as well.

You don’t know what possessed you then. When you were free, you dug your other hand into your underwear, pulling out your sanitary pad, and smacking it in his face.

Trent groaned, falling completely onto the floor, deep red blood now coating his nose and chin. You jumped up, running out the door. Quickly finding the stairway, you ran up the steps, trying your best not to trip. You thought you were at the floor of the parking lot, yet when you pushed through it, you were back in the lobby.

It was only then you remembered how you put your purse, and your keys, in a locker with Kiara…shit.

Trying to make yourself presentable on the fly, you walked through the lobby. Your nose and ribs ached, and your throat was sore. Luckily, the only person you recognized was Perlah, but she was too busy taking a patient’s vitals.

Still having your employee ID on you, you scanned it to get into the ER. Everything seemed to have died down when you came in, but that didn’t mean people weren’t still running around from room to room.

You were being irresponsible. You probably had ten more minutes before your shift was officially over, and you didn’t know who your replacement would be, yet you were going to leave anyway.

Swallowing thickly, your eyes burned as you looked around. You wanted to move, but it seemed easier to just stick to the wall, watching everything pass you by.

"Are you okay?"

[anyarose011]

[anyarose011]

Born Too Late: "Death by a Thousand Cuts"

Pairing: DBF!Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Your stepfather (not your actual father, let's make that clear), helped you out and scored you a job as one of the Medical Trauma's social workers. Moving off of the night shift from your first week, you figured that you'd seen all the worst things you could. It doesn't help that, at the start of your first day shift, the man you had an...interesting few encounters with at a local cafe, is your supervisor...What's twelve hours in an ER with him?

Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Descriptions of Past Smut, Heavy Age Gap [Reader is in her mid-20s] Swearing, Past Parental Death, and Inevitable Medical Inaccuracies.

My Brain Randomly on a Sunday: "You know what? Fuck you guys! *Realistic DBF!Robby x Reader, with a sprinkle of Whitacre, King, and/or Santos x Reader (depending on what your poison is) and a 'Lost in your 20s' feel*". Lmao, yeah this idea just came to me out of the blue and I had to get it down. Now usually, I'm not a fan of the Dad's Best Friend Trope, but I think I've found a way to make it tasteful while also keeping some of the ✨drama✨. I've taken a huge inspiration from Shiva Baby, which also taps into a more realistic age gap relationship and feeling like the world is ending post-graduation (am I feeling this too? Idk). I'm also more personally experienced with the social/psychological aspect of the show, and wanted Kiara to have a partner because she was put through the wringer in the first season, so I decided to make reader a social worker. I hope I do this justice!

Word Count: 4.9k

“Fuck me!” Your roommate, Kimi, groaned into the toilet bowl seat beside you once she finished vomiting.

You rubbed her back as you continued to put on mascara. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s been twenty-four hours!” She groaned, staring up at you. “Do you think you could squeeze me in today at your job?”

“Go to Urgent Care if you keep puking.” You answered.

Kimi rested her head against the seam of your pants. It was six in the morning, and you had no idea how she had so much energy. “I thought you only worked nights.”

You weren’t a doctor, nor were you a nurse, but a secret third thing: A social worker. You graduated from your master’s program a year prior, taking a job at a senior center. To you, it was boring as shit, so you left several months later. Turns out, in this economy, job security was more important than job stimulation; and it wasn’t necessarily easy to find work with your degree.

So…someone had done a favor for you. That someone being your stepfather; the Night Shift Attending.

Everyone had known Jack Abbott was your stepfather by midnight on your first shift. There was some teasing by Ellis and Shen, but other than that, nothing. You wouldn’t call it ‘nepotism’. Jack was in the picture since you were fifteen, and you’d only called him ‘dad’ once.

It was when he found you tucked away in the corner at your mother’s funeral, unable to stand. He just held you there, not saying anything. One would’ve thought you’d grow closer to him after that; but you were twenty-two when your mother died, and he’d only been married to her for five years. You didn’t necessarily want to know him more.

Of course, then you let it slip one day that you were trying to find a job in social work, and he had to swoop in and save the day. Still, how could you complain?

You finished your makeup and helped Kimi stand. “I did last week. I’m doing the day now to see which one I like.”

She washed her hands. “Do mornings so we can talk more. Like,” she smirked as she dried her hands. “Why didn’t you come home last Saturday night?”

Laughing, you left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen, packing your lunch. She followed after you, leaning over the breakfast bar.

“Come on!” She begged. “I gave you a few days to play coy, now spill!”

You grinned from ear to ear. “I went home with a guy.”

“Fork found in kitchen. Who was it?!”

“The one from Big Dog.”

Her face dropped into disgust. “The old Jewish guy?”

You sneered. “A, his name’s Michael, and B, it’s weird that’s how you remember him.”

“Girl, how old is he?!” She laughed.

“Forty-five? I don’t know.” You did know: fifty-one, but you couldn’t say that.

Kimi tossed herself onto the sofa. “You’ve been talking to this guy for like a month, and you don’t know. Is he even that cute?”

Of course he was. His eyes were quite possibly the kindest ones you’d ever seen on a man, and he smiled at almost everything. Beauty standards be damned; you don’t give a shit if smiling “causes early wrinkles”.

After packing your lunch, you walked into the sitting room and sat on the floor, resting your back against the couch. “I think so.”

“You like rat-looking men.”

You shoved her. “Now stop it!”

“No, you do!” She relented. “You’ve always liked the ugly ones.”

“Kimi.”

“Sorry, the unconventionally attractive ones.”

If you had a death wish, you would say that she had no right to judge. You at least knew that Michael didn’t have a single baby mama, and you weren’t in an off again on-again relationship with him every few weeks. Besides, at least it was obvious that you could tell he showered; unlike her “true love”.

But, that was always Kimi. You weren’t best friends in undergrad, but got along enough to where, after going a few years of not talking after graduation, you reconnected, and she asked you to be her roommate. So, you had been living with her for seven months, and it wasn’t….so bad.

Well, unless her ex-boyfriend (that’s who Trent was at the time of this) would come over. Besides the fact he was open about getting two separate women pregnant (he had three daughters), he had a short fuse. You made one joke about his favorite movie being basic, and he threw a plastic cup in your direction.

That was the first time Kimi broke up with him; then took him back two weeks later.

“He’s sweet.” You settled upon defending Michael. “He’s ridiculously smart too and can hold a conversation.”

It was something out of a 2000s romcom how you met him. There you were at Big Dog Coffee one early morning a month ago when he quite literally bumped into you, spilling your coffee onto the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t get on you, and he attempted to joke about how you wouldn’t have to take off your shirt to check for burns.

It was awkward, that beat of silence where the realization of what he said settled in. Then, you laughed, and it wasn’t so strange anymore. You fell into effortless conversation that only lasted ten minutes before you both had to leave. You thought that’s where the story ended.

Then, he was there the next time you went, and you talked for hours. He was a doctor but didn’t say where; if anything, the two of you barely discussed work and that was fine with you. He wasn’t always there when you went to get coffee. You managed to get it out of him that there were times he’d see you in the window but wouldn’t go in, not wanting to make you think he was stalking you.

A man who went out of his way to not make you feel uncomfortable? Of course you were attracted to him.

“So,” Kimi teased. “tell me how sweet he was when he took you home.”

You giggled. “He kissed me.”

“And?”

“And kissed me,” you smiled at the memories. “and kissed me, and kissed me, and-.”

Kimi talked over you as you repeated yourself. “I mean, he’s probably ready for the grave so I get he can’t do a lot but-.”

“-And kissed me between my legs,” you snuck in. “and kissed me and-.”

“-Woah!” Kimi laughed. “Back up, how was it?”

You looked back at her, feeling yourself blushing. “His beard was soaking.”

She screamed, causing you to as well into fits of laughter. She shook you, hugging you from behind. “Okay, grandpa!”

“Stop!” You shoved her. “God, I feel weird now.”

“How long did he go?”

“Like…almost three times I think?”

“Three?! At his age?!”

“I mean, his back started hurting-.”

“-Oh my god!” She hollered. “Have you seen him since?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, you got his number, right?”

“No.”

“You’re the fucking worst!”

“It’s not like we’re gonna date!” You rationalized. “I like talking to him, but I don’t wanna be forty or fifty when my husband dies.”

“Who said he’d be your husband?”

“You know what I mean.”

She sighed. “Okay, what else did he do?”

You stood up after looking at the time. “I gotta go to my shift.”

“Come on!”

“I promise,” you slipped on your shoes. “I’ll recreate every position we did when I get home.”

But there were some things she didn’t get to know. Like how you and Michael were both nervous to the point of laughter, how he apologized profusely for not lasting long the first time, but you didn’t care; it was raw, and it was all real. You still wondered how that didn’t scare you.

“You better.” Kimi laid back down. “Have a good day.”

“Call if you need anything.” You took your keys and purse before leaving. It was a bit of a longer drive to the hospital from your apartment, but you didn’t mind driving. You’d grown up in Pittsburgh, so you could essentially drive downtown with your eyes closed.

It was strange arriving at the hospital in the morning when you were so used to leaving. You wondered if the time change would be the worst thing you’d deal with that day, but upon seeing your stepfather still there when you arrived, that was only the beginning.

“Hey kiddo.” He greeted, his bag over his shoulder as he walked outside.

You thinned your lips. “Dr. Abbott.”

“You ready?”

“You said day shifters are more type A.”

He snickered. “Yeah, you gonna be able to adjust?”

“I think so…” you bounced on the balls of your feet. “Uh, how was your shift?”

“Not bad.” he shrugged. “We had three patients come in from sex injuries.”

“Shit, that’s more than last week!”

He laughed. “Yeah, you wanna know the worst one?”

“Please no, it’s seven in the morning.”

“Alright.” He backed down. “So, you’re gonna stick close mainly with Kiara and sometimes Lupe if shit goes bad-.”

“-I know.” It’s as if he hadn’t already told you this. “‘The Attending’s Robby who means well but has a stick up his ass sometimes, so don’t take it personally.’ I got this.”

He smiled. “Yeah, you do.” His eyes then traveled to the direction of the parking lot, and he huffed. “Hey, we were just talking about you!”

You turned your gaze and felt your heart leap into your throat. There, approaching the two of you, with the same hair, same eyes, and same nose…was Michael.

Shit…

“All good things, I hope!” He yelled back, not making out your figure yet.

“I got your newest social worker here.” Jack introduced you, and once Robby got close enough, you saw recognition settling in his eyes.  It was only for a moment, forcing himself to remain smiling.

Robby looked at Abbott. “This is uh, this your daughter?”

“Stepdaughter.” Left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Jack snorted. “I was gonna say I found you on the side of the road, but that’ll do.”

All Robby did was hum, nodding. “Well, I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble, even though that’s more Kiara’s job.”

“She’s a tough cookie.” He pat your shoulder. “I think she’ll make the day shift her bitch.”

“Jack.” You nudged him, clutching your purse.

“I’m sure she will.” Robby forced a laughed. “See you in twelve hours, brother.”

Oh, shut up. You thought, dreading the day ahead and turning your eyes to the ground.

Jack nodded, brushing by him to leave. “See you in twelve hours. And be nice to her!”

“I will!” Robby yelled back.

When it was just the two of you, that was when everything started settling into you like a parasite under your skin. The older guy you talked to for hours upon hours at a simple café, the same older guy you slept with just that last weekend…was technically your supervisor.

“Good morning.” He greeted as if he hadn’t acknowledged you until Abbott was gone.

You finally looked up at him. “Good morning.”

Then you walked through the hospital doors. Of course, he was on your tail.

“Alright, all on the table, did you know?” He asked.

You scoffed. “How the hell do you get ‘Robby’ from ‘Michael’?”

“Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Shit.” You shut your eyes. “And no, I didn’t know.”

He sighed as you both entered the stairwell. “Okay. Are you able to keep this…professional?”

“I’m so professional, I don’t even want to say another word about this even when we’re done with a shift.” You rolled your eyes.

“We have to talk about this sometime.”

“No, we don’t.” You stopped on the stairs, knowing no one else was around. “I’ve already agreed I never want to see you again outside of work because…well, obviously.”

“Yeah?” He rose his brows, then shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You walked back down. “Cool, cool, cool.”

It wasn’t, but you had to say that because you were going to have to spend twelve hours with a bunch of new people and him. When you arrived in the lobby, you were astounded just to see how many people there were. All ranging from kids with bloody noses, to a middle-aged woman clutching her stomach, and an old man holding a rag to his face.

“Welcome to the morning shift.” Robby said from beside you.

Pushing past disgruntled people in line to harass Lupe, you and Robby entered the ED, or, as your stepfather had called it: ‘The Pitt’.

Upon entering, a woman with cornrows approached you, smiling and saying your first name; thank God she had a hint not to say your last one. “I heard you were coming in today.”

“Are you Kiara?” You shook her hand, feeling warmth flow through you at the sight of a friendly face.

“Yes, you’ll be shadowing me today just to still get the hang of the day shift.” She explained. “Hope that’s okay?”

“No, it’s great!”

You hadn’t realized Robby left until Kiara was leading you into a room to speak with a woman who had failed an overdose suicide attempt. What a way to start the day.

Much like anyone, there were different versions of you. There was you when you were with family (yes, including Jack), there was you when you were with Kimi, and there was you when you were at work.

That was the one you could barely recognize yourself.

Still, you were pretty damn good at it. Almost like a chameleon, you could morph into whatever you or someone else needed you to be. Usually, it was the gentle and sweet girl anyone could talk to and share their deepest secrets with. While that part of you still existed on its own, it thrived while being a social worker.

Two hours later, after having only your second heart-to-heart with a patient that day, you ran into some familiar faces.

“Oh shit, Starshine!” Santos greeted as she looked away from the overhead monitor behind the front desk. You’d forgotten his name, but the boy beside her looked at you. He had bags under his eyes that you knew would never be covered even if he had all the concealer in the world. Yet, his own gaze was…kind.

You laughed as you approached them. “You gave me a nickname?”

“Well yeah,” she winked. “you made such an impression on me.”

That impression being the end of your third night shift, where you had drunk too much caffeine and, I shit you not, greeted most of the day shifters with: “Good morning, starshine!”

Trinity Santos and the Charles Dicken’s looking boy were your first victims.

You snorted. “I want to forget any of that happened.”

“I don’t.” She looked over at the boy. “Come on, Huckleberry, where’s your manners?”

He smiled shyly. “Sorry, how are you doing?”

“Don’t apologize.” You chuckled. “But I’m doing pretty good.”

“I thought you only worked night shifts?”

You shrugged. “I did last week. I’m trying out day ones; seeing what I like.”

“And?” Santos asked.

“I kinda like the vibe more here.”

“Just you wait.” She tisked, then turned on her heel and went to one of the rooms. That left you there with…Huckleberry.

“I’m sorry,” you smiled. “I actually don’t remember your name.”

He shook his head, mirroring your grin. “No, it’s good. Dennis Whitaker.”

You introduced yourself, but instead of using Jack’s surname you used your mother’s. “How long have you been here?”

“It’ll be three months on Friday.” He nodded.

“Wow, congrats. How’s it been?”

“I mean, the worst day was my first day.” He laughed humorlessly. “Everyday after that has been basically a cakewalk.”

“What happened your first day?”

He paused. “Pittfest.”

“Shit…” was all you could say.

“Yeah…” He pursed his lips.

“Hey,” a woman wearing a red sweatshirt said your name from behind you. “Kiara said you’re the new social worker. Could you come with me, please?”

“No problem.” You started following her, looking back at Whitaker. “See you later!”

You heard him utter a ‘see you later!’ behind you as you walked alongside the new woman.

“You’re usually on the night shift, I hear?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She hummed, smiling. “None of that. Heather Collins. You’re probably getting overloaded with names.”

“I can keep up.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She turned down the hall, lowering her voice. “Okay, so we got this young girl who came in a few months back. We think she’s being trafficked, but she didn’t say anything the last time; now she is. We need you to talk with the woman who came in with her.”

“About?” You were on top of it.

“Literally anything.” She explained. “Her new baby, movies, herself, just somethingto keep her preoccupied for a few minutes’ tops.”

Just as you were about to say ‘Okay’, a man poked his head from behind the corner, calling your name.

“Are you busy?”

Motherfucker, you cursed in your head. Why?!

“Back off, Robinavitch.” Collins rolled her eyes, yet you heard humor in her voice. “I got her first.”

He smiled the same smile you saw him wear every time he talked to you at the café. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, ladies.”

“Ladies?” She stretched the word, glancing at you. “Is he serious?”

You swallowed thickly. “I think he is.”

Collins sighed, holding her hand out almost to comedically present him. “This is Dr. Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch, I assume you’ve already met him.”

“Yeah.” you said without missing a beat. “He was talking with Dr. Abbott outside before my shift started.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at you closely before smiling. “You’re Jack’s kid.”

 Luckily, you managed to bite your tongue before you could correct her with ‘step’. Unfortunately, Robby had his own words to say.

“Did you just steal her away to figure out if she was related to anyone,” he teased. “or do you actually need her?”

You and Collins mirrored each other’s somewhat disgusted faces as you looked at him. She responded first.

“Yeah, I actually need her. Do you need anything, Robby?”

“No, Heather, I’m good.” He shook his head, backing away. He looked at you. “If she’s ever hazing you, just tell me.”

You were quicker this time. “Everyone’s been telling me you do the hazing.”

Not exactly true; you just felt the need to say something sassy. Ultimately, that’ll probably kill you.

Still, while Robby rose his brows in shock, Collins snickered, grabbing your arm and leading your farther away. “Come one.”

When you both were outside the door and away from Robby, she composed herself. “Okay, that was funny, but maybe just in the future…tone it back a little?”

You nodded. “For sure. It won’t happen again.”

“No and he’s good about it.” She explained. “I know he can be a bit much sometimes, but…he’s good at what he does.”

Oh…oh they definitely fucked. You figured it out. …Shit…

And all you did was nod, then went in to distract the human trafficker. She was a bitch for sure, but your thousands of dollars in student debt paid off. You kept her busy for ten minutes, and two police officers showed up: one taking her into custody, and the other to process the victim.

Not even a minute after it was over, Robby found you to talk with two worried moms whose daughter had an asthma attack. Then after that, the most eventful thing was feeling a wetness between your legs.

No…not the good kind.

Rushing into the bathroom and into a stall, you yanked your pants and underwear down. There wasn’t enough blood to cause a scene, but regardless, you still started your period.

“Shit!” You hissed, as well as said every curse in the book.

“Are you okay?” A woman asked from the stall beside you, her voice somewhat deeper.

“Do you have a pad, or a tampon?” You asked, sitting on the toilet.

“Hold on, I got a pad in my locker.” She flushed the toilet then went to wash her hands.

You sighed. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” You heard the front door open and close. Soon after, she came back in and handed it to you under the stall.

You sighed happily. “You have saved at least one life today. I’m buying you lunch.”

“You really don’t-.”

“-Shut up, I do.” You opened the pad. “I can’t today, but some other time. Who are you?”

“Melissa King.”

You gave her your name, and then she left.

It somehow got busier the further you were into your shift. You had to skip lunch when a grandmother brought her grandson in after he fell climbing a tree and started going blind as she drove him to the ER. It was pure luck she herself didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

It was about three when you finally managed to slow down. You took your lunch out of the fridge in the breakroom and ate what you could. The moment you sat down was the moment Whitaker came into the room, breathing heavily as if he’d run a marathon.

“You good?” You asked.

He nodded. “Uh huh, yeah uh…I just…”

You stood up. “Can I take your hand?”

“Huh?” You repeated yourself, and all he did was nod. You helped him sit down in one of the chairs before getting a Styrofoam cup off the counter and filling it with tap water. Once you set that on the table, you sat beside him and opened the chocolate bar you brought.

“Go on.”

“No,” he shook his head, taking a drink of water. “I can’t, it’s your lunch-.”

“-And I doubt you had anything today.” You held the chocolate out to him.

He smiled shyly before taking a piece off the bar. “Thanks.”

You took a piece and popped it into your mouth. “So, you’re from Missouri?”

“Nebraska.” He corrected, eating more of the chocolate.

“Why’d Santos call you Huckleberry? That doesn’t make sense.”

He snickered. “Just assuming that all of the Midwest is the same I guess.”

“I mean,” you hummed. “all I really know about Nebraska is Ethel Cain and Children of the Corn.”

“No, but the movie wasn’t even filmed there.” He pointed out.

“What?”

“They didn’t film Children of the Corn in Nebraska; they did in Iowa.”

You furrowed your brow. “But…it takes place…in Nebraska.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” He laughed.

“So, what I’m hearing is that it doesn’t actually exist?”

 “Yeah, you’re right.” He played along. “In fact…I was never actually here.”

He slowly sank out of his seat and onto the floor, out of sight from you. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your chest, trying to smother it. It shouldn’t have been that funny, but aside from the delivery being impeccable, the case with the grandma really struck you so that’s why everything was now hilarious.

What wasn’t though, was the door opening, and seeing Robby being the reason it did.

“Hey Whitaker,” he stared right at him. “Mr. Lee’s asking for you.”

Whitaker stood up off the ground like a soldier as soon as Robby had looked at him. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks.”

Even when Whitaker left after thanking you, Robby stayed put, crossing his arms. “You doing alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah; it’s actually not that crazy.”

“We’re having a good day. You get along with everyone?”

Standard questions yet sprinkled with a tenseness you could see he held within himself. You pursed your lips, still meaning to remain professional.

“Yeah, really nice.”

“Should I ask a night shift resident if you distract them too?”

Okay, out of left field, but still, you were going to keep a cool head-.

“If I distract them?” You tilted your head.

“Just a question.”

“Yeah, and my answer is that he was freaking out so I just gave him some water and something to eat so he wouldn’t crash in the middle of the ER!” You scoffed.

He held his hands together, pointing them at you. “And thank you, but we never know when we need all hands-on deck. So, in the future, if you could keep it short-.”

“-He was in here for like two minutes.”

“The exact same amount of time it could take for someone to die.”

You surprised yourself and took a deep breath before responding; even though you could feel your blood boil beneath your skin.

“He’s a grown man; at least my age, but maybe a few years older. I think he can take care of himself, take accountability, and not blame some girl for it.”

Was the statement slightly targeted? Who’s to say?

Still, his eyes changed. Where they were once hardened with a mix of annoyance and passive-aggressive glee, they softened at the realization. He dropped your gaze and sighed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

Shrugging, you stuck your hands in your pockets. “Bad day?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

He looked at you, and for the first time that day, you saw Michael; the idiot who ran into you but didn’t spill his coffee on your body and then made a stupid joke he probably made at work. For a moment, it was as if neither of you had known what you found out at 7am that day. That you were both in the worst positions imaginable, job and personal wise.

Then, he was gone and was back to Dr. Robby. “Kiara said she was looking for you. I heard about a gunshot victim coming in; teenager, so his parents are gonna love that.”

You nodded. “I bet.”

With that, you went to find Kiara. Sure enough, there was a teenager who’d been shot, and two worried parents. Still, despite the mom talking down to you, you and Kiara managed to calm their nerves. Luckily, an hour later, the teenager woke up and could talk to his parents.

“Good job,” Kiara squeezed your shoulder. “I know that was rough.”

You nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

“Do you need to talk?”

You shook your head. “No, but thanks. Do you?”

One can only talk to so many people about injured or even dying loved ones. This was actually your first shift where no one had died. It should’ve been a great day just with that alone. Still, you had no idea what the rest of it had in store, and it was already five.

What was two more hours?

Kiara smiled. “I’m doing alright. I’m gonna go make my rounds, you should too.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” You teased, and she left with a small skip in her step.

Sighing, you leaned against the front desk, looking up at the monitor. Someone lightly kicked your heel, and you turned to see who it was.

“Good evening, Starshine.” Santos bumped your shoulder with hers.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I gotta start calling you something.”

“How about ‘Goddess’?”

“‘Satan’ suits you more.”

The two of you giggled, and just as you were about to ask her how the rest of her day was, she said.

“Rumor has it, you and my roommate were really hitting it off in the break room.”

Your immediate reaction was to laugh, yet your heart still stammered. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

“Uh huh,” she bit her lip. “how nice?”

Side-eyeing her, you answered politely. “Not like you.”

She snickered. “I can be nice.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“Who?”

“Brady Bunch?”

Santos shook her head. “Never took you to have an old soul, Starshine.”

You heard two women whisper to each other as they sat behind the desk. Santos made a face before responding in Tagalog. The two women only shook their heads, giggling to each other. Santos slipped her arm through yours, leading you away.

“Don’t pay attention to them.” She said lightly. “Princess and Perlah just like to think they know and see everything around here.”

“I guarantee you, they don’t.” It left your lips before it left your mind. You’d gotten too comfortable, and now it was going to bite you in the ass.

Santos’ face dropped into a shocked smile as you stopped outside one of the rooms. “What?!”

Your chest felt like it was being constricted by a snake as your skin turned cold. Swallowing, you attempted to cover it all up. “It’s nothing, I’m just saying-.”

“-What do you know?” She lowered her voice, pulling you off more to the side hopefully away from others. “Oh my god, what did you do?”

“Santos-.”

“-No,” She grinned like the devil. “who’d you do?”

It should’ve been easy to brush it off; to act like she was crazy to assume that you had a big secret just from a stupid statement. Yet, the longer you were silent, the deeper the pit you dug yourself into.

“I promise, I’ll keep quiet.” Santos held her pinky up. “Pinky swear.”

You finally found your words. “That doesn’t mean shit.”

“We’re not doing the pussy version.” She clarified. “If I say anything, you break my finger.”

“Girl-.”

The doors to the ER opened wide and in came two paramedics wheeling a woman on a gurney. She was sitting up and alert thankfully, and you could get a clearer view of her face, and the sound of her voice.

“Where the fuck is that bitch?!” Kimi yelled. “The one who hit us, where is she?!”

As the paramedics tried to quiet her, you saw another familiar face rush to Kimi’s side. He had the same greasy hair and overall feel about him that you knew would never leave. It was almost embarrassing how surprised you were that she got back with him.

Still, it wasn’t simply seeing Trent that was the worst part of your day.

…What was two more hours?

[anyarose011]

She Looks Like the Real Thing (She Tastes Like the Real Thing)

->Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: The day after the Void Incident is quieter than one would expect. While you spent the past night stitching up your boyfriend's wounds, and finally (finally) opening up to him about what happened, the next morning is filled with repairing hearts that were once broken. The night...well, it shows what comes after kissing and making up.

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): P in V Sex, Oral Sex (m and f receiving), Face-Sitting, Breeding Kink, Past Trauma, Implications to Past SA [including CSA], Abusive Parent, Canon Typical Violence, Past Coercion, Mention of Abortion, Past Torture, (Come on guys, it’s the chapter where everyone trauma dumps).

Yes, I am using the Phoebe Bridgers cover because I love her (and I am also biased and heard it before the original). This is a bit heavier of a chapter, and I did my best to be both gentle with the subject matters, without sanitizing anything. Dialogue is also something I try to capture to its realism, adding in the strange filler words and pauses. Again, I hope this gives a more realistic POV to civilian life in the MCU (Feat. Some inspiration from "The Pitt"; as in, showing stressful situations happening to regular people :))

Word Count: 7.8k

You didn’t remember what your nightmare was when you woke up. All you knew was that Clementine was no longer beside you.

For a moment, you forgot where you were. Then, as your eyes adjusted thanks to the princess night light in the corner of the small bedroom, your heart stopped beating so fast when you saw that you were in your daughter’s bedroom.  Alpine was still asleep at your feet. Damn cat. Rubbing your eyes, you looked down at the pink alarm clock on the nightstand.

10:58pm

You were only asleep for four hours. It wasn’t that late, but it was still the same, horrible day.

It was then you saw a glass of liquid beside the clock along with a note.

“For Mommy”

You brought the cup to your lips and closed your eyes at the taste.

Juice. She poured your favorite juice.

The sentiment made your heart full, and you finished the glass. Bringing yourself out of your daughter’s bedroom, you glanced into yours. Sure enough, Clementine was comfortably laid in your bed. It was only then you noticed you hadn’t changed out of your dance clothes, so as quietly as you could, you changed into a set of your favorite pajamas.

You wandered back out to the kitchen, remembering the dreadful mess you made earlier. That had been taken care of too. Clem cleaned the floor and moved the soup into a Tupperware and placed the dirty pot into the sink.

A light ‘thump’ came from outside.

Your heart stammered for a moment before jumping into action. As quietly as you could, you took a frying pan out of the cabinet, and tiptoed to the front door. Nothing else came from outside of it, but taking a quick breath, you pulled the door open, raising the pan above you.

Bucky fell on his back into the room.

Once he hit the floor, his eyes snapped open and he was on his feet.

“Jesus!” You both whispered.

Then you spoke first. “What the hell?!”

He placed a hand over his heart, calming his own breathing. “Good evening.”

“Were you outside there the whole time?” You prodded, relaxing.

 “I would’ve stayed until you came out.”

“Why?”

He looked at you as if you’d grown another head. “I don’t know. I mean, well, you didn’t answer any of my calls after a collective trauma, you lied about experiencing that trauma, you lied about Clementine experiencing it, you-.”

“-Okay, I get it.” You sighed. “Look, we’re tired can we just-?”

Bucky made another face, and you weren’t having it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I just want to sleep.” You borderline begged.

He nodded, and clenched his jaw. This was strange. You’d never seen him make that face before; it wasn’t the one he’d make if he was annoyed. It was then your eyes traveled to his chest, and you saw a wet spot on his black shirt.

“Shit.” Left your lips, immediately knowing.

Bucky said your name when you set the pan down and took his hand, dragging him into the bathroom. Flipping on the lights and shutting the door, you looked back at him.

“Take off your shirt.”

He didn’t resist. Sighing, he slipped it off, his dog tags catching onto the collar before falling back against what hair he had on his chest. Sure enough, a new wound was added to his body; a few of them, actually. While most were deep bruises and minor abrasions, the worst was a laceration the length of the top of your thumb to your wrist, blood still seeping out.

“I’ve had worse.” Was the first thing he said.

“Oh,” you mocked him. “I guess you’re good to sleep outside then. Sit down.”

He chuckled. “What, you gonna stitch it up?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t take you for a secret nurse.”

You took a cloth off the towel rod by the shower, bunching it up and placing it over his wound. “Hold it.”

He listened. You kneeled in front of the cabinet sink, opening it and immediately finding a needle and surgical thread. Bucky made a face.

“Why do you have that?”

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

“Doll-.”

“-Has it stopped?”

He removed the cloth. “Yeah.”

You took another clean cloth and ran it under warm water and soap. “This will sting.”

You placed it over the wound, cleaning it. He sucked in a breath from the temperature but remained still. He said your name.

“Why do you have the professional stuff?”

You stopped cleaning, avoiding his gaze. “I…I didn’t know when you were going to go back to fighting but…I don’t know, I wanted to be prepared.”

He frowned. “I didn’t even know I was going to have to do all of this.”

“Call it hyper vigilance.” You sighed, taking out the needle and putting the surgical thread through the eye. “This is really going to sting.”

“Not my first time.” He offered a teasing smile. “You practiced stitching too?”

“No, I’ve only watched movies and sewed on hundreds of ribbons for pointe shoes.” You were serious.

He hummed, and you began to stitch him up. You wondered if his pain tolerance was enhanced by the serum; he barely flinched. He brought his right hand to your cheek, whispering.

“What happened today?”

Your stitching stopped momentarily as the reminder plagued your mind. Still, before you could disappear into the memories, the feel of Bucky’s thumb caressing your chin kept you anchored.

Perhaps…now you should tell him.

“It felt like Narnia.” Were the first words you said, continuing your stitches. “I don’t know how long I was in…whatever hell it was, but when I was out of it, I was still in the dance studio, holding Clem. She-she couldn’t talk. She had this look in her eyes I…”

You swallowed thickly. “There were forty children there. As young as kindergarten, as old as high school…and just three adults. Bucky it…I had to rush from one room to comfort a girl who threw up after crying, only to then be pulled to a little boy whose nose started bleeding because he was sobbing so hard.”

It all came out as you treated him.

If they wanted to, the kids could talk to a teacher about what they saw within their ‘nightmare’ (that was what they were calling it. For once, there wasn’t any news or information on exactly what had happened).

And you heard everything.

“The best thing would be if their dog died.” You couldn’t look at him. “Hell, even if it was a family member. I just…I never knew that-I mean, I did know…” You swallowed the oncoming tears. “Is it bad that I wish I never knew so many of them were…were…”

“No.” He kissed your cheek. “It’s not bad at all.”

“I wish…”

One of the teachers, Leslie, called your name. You shut your eyes tightly as you held a sobbing, ten-year-old Hannah. You looked over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Can…can I talk to you? Alone?”

You pulled away from the little girl, wiping her tears. “I’m gonna talk to Miss Leslie, okay?”

She only nodded, lying down on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. You walked to the corner of the green room out of range (hopefully) from the kids.

Leslie’s voice shook. “I…what I saw-.”

“-You told me you needed a hand with the kids in here, and I’m already helping you.” You didn’t snap but spoke blatantly. “I left Sammy in charge of the blue room. She’s not a teacher, she’s a student. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk about what either of us saw.”

Tears began to fall from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know if, I can’t…”

You bit your tongue, taking a deep breath. “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll go check on my room, then the pink room and-.”

The sound of a mirror shattering in the blue room caused a few screams to erupt from the younger children in the room you were in.

You shushed them and left quickly. Racing into the blue room, you saw nearly all of the kids huddled on the other side of the room. Over on the mirror side, you saw a high school girl hunched over the broken glass on the floor.

“Sammy.” You called, worry written upon your face.

She looked at you, rage seeping from her eyes as well as tears. “I still feel his hands on me.”

“Jesus.” Bucky sighed.

You shook your head, nearing the end of suturing. “All of that was thirty minutes after the fact. A lot of parents came a little later. So, we went from forty kids to nineteen.”

Clementine hadn’t said a word to you ever since everything came crashing down. It wasn’t her fault; you barely had time to check up on her, and that was all on you. Sammy’s mom came to pick her up, so that lessened some of the anxiety; only some of it.

“Hi baby.” You cooed, sitting beside Clem, who had her math notebook open. She hummed, looking up to glance at her opened textbook but not at you. You forced a smile. “You’re doing homework?”

“It’s due tomorrow.” Was her response.

“You’re not going to school tomorrow.” You rested your head against the wall.

“I wanna go.”

You furrowed your brow. “Don’t-don’t you want to skip?”

“No, I wanna see my friends.”

“Sweetie,” you sighed. “no one’s going tomorrow.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Clem?”

It was like you weren’t there.

Biting your lip, you placed your hand on her shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about what you saw?”

She shook her head.

“It might help.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Alright.” You agreed, feeling your eyes water. Standing, you fixed your skirt. “I’m gonna go take care of something, but I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

You walked over to the teachers in the front of the room, both in a circle with a few of the elementary kids.

“Hey, I need to take a break; just three minutes tops.”

Leslie nodded. “Yeah go, we got this.”

“Can I take mine after?” Suzie, the other teacher, asked.

“Of course.” You answered. “Thanks guys.”

You finished with the stitches. Still, you didn’t move. Bucky took the materials from your hands.

“What happened?” He asked.

Instinctively, you held your side. His hands wandered to the bottom of your shirt. “Okay?”

You nodded. Gently, he pulled the shirt over your head, leaving the top half of your body completely bare to him. You looked down and saw a nasty bruise forming along your side. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it’d be, but it was still there, and it ached.

“Okay?” Bucky hovered his lips over it, and you nodded. “I need to hear you, honey.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered. He kissed the darkness along your side with a softness you don’t think you’d ever felt before. You sighed into his touch you had missed for months, your hands disappearing into his hair.

“What happened?” He asked again, but even just from his tone, you knew the hidden question: ‘Who did this to you?’

You were in the stairwell on the second floor when you saw her. A woman who reeked of cigarettes and wore a rattled look in her eyes. You stopped on the stairs, standing above her.

“Are you one of the parents?” You questioned.

She stopped where she was, nodding. “Yeah. Sorry I’m so late I just…everything today-.”

“-No, I understand.” You nodded. “What’s your child’s name?”

“Hannah. Hannah Wylie.”

You had been at the studio in Manhattan for less than a day, and yet you already knew that was not Hannah’s last name. The previous conversation you had with the small girl hit you.

Her birth mother was…unstable. She would hold and praise Hannah for doing her schoolwork one day, then break a dish the next day just because Hannah forgot to put it in the sink. There’d be no outside reason anyone, even her father, could see her change in behavior.

It had gotten physical one night, Hannah’s mother punching her after she said she was being mean. That was enough for her father to divorce her mother and miraculously gain full custody.

“We don’t have a Hannah Wylie.” Was all you said. It was possible this woman was the mother, or that she was at the wrong place. “I know there’s another studio a few blocks away-.”

“-No.” She took a step up. “You have her.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“You have my daughter, and I’m taking her home.” She harshened her tone. “I’ve been through hell today.”

“We all have.”

With no warning she dashed up the stairs past you. You turned on your heel, calling after her as you ran. She was on the fourth flight, one more away from the dance studio, when you caught onto her hoodie. She immediately started thrashing, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She yelled over and over.

“Ma’am-!”

She turned in your hold and kicked you in the stomach, sending you backwards onto the stairs, landing on your side. With the wind knocked out of you, you moaned, watching as she ran.

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself onto your feet and grabbed the railing, pulling yourself up each step. Regaining your strength, you sprinted up the last set of stairs the moment you saw her just about to touch the steel door leading to the studio.

You grabbed the back of her hair, yanking her behind you before throwing the door open and closed once you were inside. The steel door rattled as you locked it, and the most guttural scream you had ever heard followed behind it.

All the teachers and students flooded out of the rooms, some coddling you as you bent over yourself to catch your breath. Hannah hid herself in the back of the group as the unmistakable voice penetrated through the walls, and the door kept shaking.

“She can’t get in, right?” Leslie questioned.

“There’s no way.” Suzie shook her head.

Your chest constricted with each breath you took, and the world was turning darker and lighter at the same time as you hunched over yourself, your breathing becoming erratic.

You didn’t remember when the screaming or the rattling of the door stopped. All you could feel was several little arms wrapped around your body.

For once…it was strangely comforting.

“When did she leave?” Bucky asked as you both laid in the bathtub. It was a peculiar sight; the water wasn’t on, and you both were topless as you leaned against his chest. You were hesitant of course, not wanting to cause more pain than he was already in. He said his pain tolerance was high enough, and it would be nothing more than some tenderness.

Tenderness he wouldn’t mind dealing with for your own comfort.

“I think a few minutes after?” You replied. “We got the kids back into one room so we could keep an eye on them, and it all just stopped. Everything that happened took place in an hour, and after thirty minutes, all the kids were finally sent home.”

He pressed his lips to the back of your head. “Longest hour of your life?”

“One of them.”

You remained in a comfortable silence. That was one of the things you missed; how you could be quiet together.

His name left your lips. “I’m sorry about what I said before I went to DC-.”

“-Not tonight.” You looked up at him. “Please I…I’m tired.”

He gave a watery smile, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow.” You kissed his jaw. “I promise.”

“I’ll make breakfast.”

“Clem would love that.”

Neither of you got out of the bathtub right away, still just content in being in each other’s arms again. When Bucky’s right arm started to fall asleep, that was when you finally put your clothes back on and left. He took the couch without any complaints, even though you jokingly offered Clementine’s unoccupied child bed.

Surprisingly, Alpine snuggled onto his chest the moment he laid down, and you wished each other goodnight. You fell asleep before your head hit the pillow.

Clementine awoke before you, but stayed in bed until you woke up. Despite how big she was getting, you still took her into your arms and carried her on your hip out of your bedroom and into the living room. She quickly forced herself out of them once she saw Bucky sleeping on the couch. She crawled onto his chest, promptly waking him up.

You’d never say it aloud, but you were terrified for a moment. Aware that you yourself would panic if suddenly awoken by someone on your chest, you didn’t even want to imagine how Bucky would react with everything he’d been through.

Yet, he grinned first before opening his eyes and then taking her into his arms. She squealed as he tickled her sides, and that was the first time you felt warmth in your chest in the last twenty-four hours.

It was the first time she smiled too.

“Alright,” he grunted, standing. “what have we got for breakfast?”

“Mama said we’d make chocolate chip waffles on Friday.” Clem followed him into the kitchen.

“It’s close enough.” He smiled.

You wrapped your arm around Clem. “Do you want me to-?”

“-No, no.” He opened the pantry door. “I got it. You two just sit pretty.”

“I prefer to stand.” Clementine sassed.

“Suit yourself.” You flopped on the couch, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. “Bucky, you want me to help with anything?”

“You just made yourself comfortable.” He smirked, taking out the flour and baking powder.

Sure enough, Clementine shoved her way onto the couch beside you. She’d glue her eyes to the television as you and Bucky chatted. It was almost frightening how easy it was to fall back into conversation as if all of yesterday hadn’t happened. There’d be times you’d look back at your daughter and see how her eyes would glaze over, and all you would have to do is brush her hair with your fingers and she’d come back to you.

Breakfast was served, and the lightheartedness returned. Thankfully, Clementine hadn’t said anything about school, and you texted your boss in Brooklyn that you weren’t coming in that day; to which she immediately replied with “No one is. Take care of yourself.”

Bucky would sometimes glance at his phone when a text or call came through but wouldn’t answer. After breakfast, Bucky took a shower as you and Clem had decided the three of you would take a trip to Sunset Park.

“You can take that if you need to.” You reminded Bucky as you were getting ready to leave and he got a call for the second time that morning.

“It’s not serious.” He reassured, tying your shoes after you tried to yourself but hissed from the pain in your side. “It’s just Alexie freaking out that Ava and Walker are fighting.”

“Are they gonna kill each other?” Clementine asked, holding her foot out for Bucky to tie her shoe.

He snorted. “You’re a big girl and can tie your own. And no, they’re just bickering.”

“Like how we all do?”

“Exactly, pumpkin.”

The streets seemed to be much deader that day. Not like how it was after the Blip, but like how it was after the 2012 attacks. Not as crowded as usual, but not to the point where you were the only ones outside. Even if the Void event (that’s what you read they were calling it on the news) only happened in Manhattan, it still took a toll on New York as a whole.

Damn…maybe you should move to DC. No, if it weren’t for the Hydra attack a decade ago, then it would be for the former president turning into a Red Hulk merely months ago…

…Was anywhere in the world safe?

The three of you made it to the park safely, and Clementine made a beeline for the playground. You and Bucky sat on a bench nearby and felt a sigh of relief that Clem managed to make friends with the few kids also there.

Bucky spoke first. “Do you wanna talk now?”

“There’s a lot.” You answered.

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, let’s start there.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Bringing a bunch of strangers home unannounced, not going to your work to-.”

“-I didn’t tell you to come over,” you shook your head. “and I didn’t answer any of your calls. That’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He looked at you. “I should’ve found a way to find you.”

You slipped your hand into his. “I’m an adult, so please stop trying to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He took a deep breath, relaxing from your touch. “And I’m sorry for all the shit I said before leaving.”

You swallowed thickly, breaking your gaze. Biting your tongue, you did everything within you to keep tears at bay, and you succeeded; even when Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“Clementine’s father was my teacher at the Ballet.” Was the first thing you confessed, and you didn’t know why.

You felt Bucky tense. You had barely said anything about Clementine’s birth father, and Bucky had never asked; always wanted you to speak first.

“I…I saw him in the Void,” you said next. “I saw myself in his office and…God, I was twenty-two again. We’d been together for a month or two at that point, it was going to be my first principal role, and…I was good, I was really good. We were celebrating, and he just asked me out of the blue to…you know.”

Bucky hid his face in your hair, nodding. You could practically feel the blood boil under his skin.

“I didn’t want to, but he just kept begging and begging and I wanted him to stop…” You sighed. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

You felt Bucky’s lips caress your scalp.

“The next room I walked into was when I found out I was pregnant with Clem.” You swallowed, leaning into him more. “I told him, and we talked about getting an abortion. I thought about it; I really did…but when I’d ever bring up maybe, just maybe, not getting it, he’d say I shouldn’t sacrifice everything I worked for. When I told him it was my choice at the end of the day, he said that it wasn’t serious, and I was overreacting when I called him out.”

You tried to whisper it, so Bucky wouldn’t hear a familiar word. But he heard it.

‘Overreact’.

“I saw us a few months ago when I went to the last place.” You still didn’t look at him. “It was just another loop. ‘You’re leaving, and you’d sacrifice us all for a shitty run at being a politician’, I kept saying, ‘You’re overreacting’. You said…”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that-.”

“-You didn’t know.”

“You were right, you were angry-.”

“-But I didn’t say it right.” You admitted. “I could’ve told you how I felt without insulting you.”

“I should’ve never left.”

You pulled away, cupping his cheeks. “I never should’ve brought the argument home, where Clem heard it all.”

His face fell upon the realization. You nodded. “Yes, I was incredibly hurt by what you said, but I’m more ashamed of what I said to you, and what Clem heard. I’m sorry.”

He rested his forehead against yours, and you felt complete peace for the first time in a while. The birds were singing, and the chatter of people helped ground you as well as the love of your life’s skin against yours.

“I…” he cleared his throat, trying to mask emotion. “I can’t tell you what I saw-.”

You shushed him, kissing the corner of his lips.

He still kept going. “Not now. I’ll tell you tonight.”

“You don’t have to give me a deadline.”

“I need to tell you…I want to tell you.”

Opening your eyes, you saw everything in his. The fear he had for what he would say, the shame for things he said in the past, but above all, there was the love that he had for you and for your little girl.

You smiled. “So, is Alpine ours now, or do you want her back?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll see who she likes more by the end of the day.”

You spent another hour and a half at the park, just simply walking and taking breaks to sit and people watch. When all was quiet as you sat upon a hill before lunchtime, Clementine spoke up.

“A lot of kids were laughing at me in my nightmare.”

She confessed all that she’d seen the day prior; including memories you hadn’t even known existed. How a nasty group of kids in her grade, and even a grade above, would constantly belittle her. Whether it was talking about plans in front of her or teasing her for every little movement and action she made. Those were what most of her memories were.

The final one was the argument between you and Bucky. She said that he yelled until his face turned red, and you did until your voice was hoarse. It wasn’t how you remembered it happening…but it’s how she did.

“Are you gonna leave?” She asked, voice breaking as she looked at Bucky.

Immediately, several ‘No’s left both of your lips as you both wrapped your arms around her, uttering reassurances.

“We’re both sorry.” you told her. “We said things we shouldn’t have said, and we’re going to be better about talking.”

“Promise?” She prodded.

Bucky kissed her cheek. “Promise. I love you and Mama so so much.”

Even though you knew that, just to hear him openly and effortlessly say that to your daughter…it triggered something within you; a feeling that made you so whole, you felt like you would burst.

The three of you went to a nearby diner for lunch, and all was well. There was more laughing there than there had been in the last few hours. After being stuffed completely, you walked back to your apartment and laid on the floor. For the next hour the three of you simply talked about the most important topics known to mankind.

“Mama, why do you bake cookies but cook bacon?”

You and Bucky lifted your heads up when your daughter asked. Bucky snickered.

“Clem, I think you’re going to get a doctorate when you grow up.”

“I don’t wanna be a doctor.” She whined.

“Too bad, you shouldn’t have been so smart.”

She sighed dramatically. “I’m gonna flunk every class, quit school, and join the army.”

“No!” You both sat up at that.

“That’s what you did!” She pointed out to Bucky.

“You want a metal arm when you grow up?”

“Yes!”

And you laughed until you couldn’t breathe.

Dinner was just box macaroni and cheese and sitting on the floor while watching a movie.

“I still think this takes five years off your life.” Bucky said but still ate.

“Then you can starve.” Clem didn’t take her eyes off the television.

“Woah,” you playfully shoved her. “none of that. But she’s right, we’re here for a good time not a long time.”

You even let Clementine stay up thirty minutes past her bedtime. If not just as a mini reward for surviving yesterday, it was to tire her out more; and it did. As she could barely keep her eyes open, Bucky put her to bed, giving you time to do your night routine.

After washing your face, it was while you were brushing your teeth that you overheard them while the bathroom door was cracked open.

“Someone hurt mama yesterday,” Clementine said from her room. “really bad.”

“I know.” Bucky’s voice was laced with guilt. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you or her ever again.”

“You can’t promise that.”

He was quiet for a moment. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

A smile spread upon your lips, as well as a flutter in your heart. Once you were finished, you kissed your daughter goodnight, turned on the nightlight, and shut her door. You were slipping on an oversized shirt in your bedroom when you heard Bucky’s voice behind you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday.”

You turned over your shoulder. He leaned against the doorframe, wearing his boxers and a white tank top, his dog tags still around his neck, and his arms crossed. You couldn’t quite tell what the look he was wearing.

“I can’t even imagine what was going on.” You approached him, taking his metal hand into yours. “Come on, when was the last time you slept in an actual bed?”

He snorted. “Not that long.”

After shutting and locking the door (it was always a habit, welcome to being a woman in New York), you pulled him under the covers with you, snuggling into his side and resting your head on his chest. “But…we’re safe, right? From Valentina?”

“That was the first thing I talked to her about after she knighted us as the New Avengers.” He scoffed at the name. “She’s in no position to make threats if she wanted to, but she can make promises. No one’s touching you or Clem.”

You nodded, feeling more at ease even though the thought hadn’t occurred until after he spoke of it. Unprompted, you tossed your leg over his thighs, bringing yourself up to straddle him. He smiled, his hands holding your hips.

“Have I ever told you you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen?” You ran your fingers over his face.

He hummed. “Maybe once.”

You giggled, leaning into him, your hands going into his hair and your lips onto his forehead. “It’s not just because of how you look.”

“Yeah? What is it then?”

“Well, since you’re fishing for compliments, you’re a good man.” Your lips hovered over his ear. “I don’t see many of those anymore.”

He tensed under you, and you brought your face away to look at him. He wasn’t uncomfortable, at least where it was obvious. Still, you saw a look in his eyes and were about to get off him, but his hands held you firmly.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

Bucky sat up, still looking at you. He wrapped his arms around the small of your back to avoid hurting your side, and pressed his face into the crook of your neck. You held him, running one hand up and down his spine, and the other cupping the back of his head.

He leaned against the headboard. “I’ve hurt so many people.”

You brushed your lips where the skin and the metal met on his left shoulder yet let him continue.

“I’ve tried to forgive myself.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m better where I am now then a year ago, hell, ten years…God, has it been that long since I’ve woken up? I don’t…”

You tried to lift your head to look at him, but he brought his hand up to keep your face pressed into him. “No please, just listen.”

And you did.

“I still get nightmares.” He admitted. “Not many anymore and not as bad but…what I saw yesterday…I never…it was happening again. I was back in the forties, and it was the first time Hydra captured me and my unit. I kept saying my name, my number, where I lived, hell, even my baby sister’s name just so I wouldn’t forget anything. The next thing I know, it’s when…after I fell from the train and…”

You gently combed your fingers through the knots in his hair.

“It hurt…I forgot how much it hurt. The machines they hooked me up to, how it took so many tries for them to wipe my memory I was running out of things to say to try and keep myself afloat until…I forgot everything. I went into another room, and I wasn’t just watching the missions I did; I was the mission. It was…I was being chased by myself but I…I don’t know.”

 You didn’t speak, knowing he had more to say. All you could do was keep running your fingers on his skin to let him know you weren’t asleep and remind him that he was there with you.

“It-it doesn’t seem that bad after but I…” You felt warm tears on your skin, and you held him tighter. “Steve left. He left over and over again and I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell him that I loved him, that I didn’t want him to go, that I hated him, that he…” He pulled you closer as if trying to make you sink into him.

“I don’t know why that one got me.” He pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Then I saw you. I thought I was out of the woods until I couldn’t see myself, but I heard all the things I said before I left for DC. You looked so scared-.”

“-I wasn’t.” You finally interrupted. “I was of losing you, but never justyou.”

“That’s what it looked like to me.” He professed as if there was something rotten inside of him. “She looked just like you. I thought you were really there, and I tried to open my mouth to say I didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t.”

He fell silent, pressing his face into your shoulder. Slowly, you pulled away just enough to look at him. You moved hair out of his eyes to reveal even more tears. You swallowed thickly, feeling your own emotions bubble.

“If you think I’m going to take back what I said about you being a good man, I’ll throw you off the roof.”

Bucky shook his head, saying your name.

“No, you listen to me now, James Barnes.” You held his face and attempted to speak firmly. “I didn’t know you in the forties, or even ten years ago when you stopped being the Winter Soldier. There are questions I can’t ask, and some things I might never know about you. But I know enough to feel safe; I know enough to let Clementine be safe around you. If any part of me thought you’d relapse, or you would do anything to hurt us, I wouldn’t be here with you right now. I love you; do you hear me? I love you.”

He released a shuttering breath, pressing his face against yours. You don’t know how long you stayed there until-.

“I wasn’t really religious, even back then.” He confessed against your lips. “But God, you’re making me think He’s real.”

You smiled, softly kissing him. “Why?”

“I don’t know how else you’d be here with me.”

“Oh God.” You scoffed, playfully of course. “I gave you a whole monologue about why I tolerate you, and you think God’s the reason?”

He laughed. “‘Tolerate?’”

“Well, it’s going to be that if you-!”

Usually, you hated in romantic comedies how the guy would kiss the girl to shut her up. Now though, you realize it only works when you’re both being playful. You weren’t telling him something serious, so him putting his lips on yours was the best thing to do.

There was a passion that you only had gotten a taste of from him before. Now, it was all consuming as he wrapped you in the safeness of his arms. You moved your hips experimentally, slowly. This was a similar song and dance you both had performed before, yet there was something strikingly different.

He bit your lip lightly before pulling away just enough to speak softly.

“I wanna try something.”

You arched your brow. “How long has it been?”

His eyes shifted for a moment, and you already knew. There were questions you could not ask, but from past nightmares, and what little he had alluded to from them…you already knew.

“A while.” Was what he said.

You nodded. “Me too. Not exactly, but…”

He kissed the bridge of your nose. “We don’t have to do anything. I can just hold you.”

Smiling, you brushed some of his hair behind his ear. “What do you want to try?”

Bucky pressed his lips back to yours. Gentler this time, he bunched the bottom of your shirt up until his fingers rested on your panties. Cautiously, he pulled them down your legs and you separated to toss them off the bed. With that, you also slipped your shirt off.

It was only as you watched his pupils grow while they traveled down your body, did you realize that this was the first time he had ever seen you naked; and that you had never seen him like that either.

He must have shared a mind with you, because he soon took off his shirt. You’d seen his bare chest countless of times over the years, even when you hadn’t been dating, but the wetness between your legs only intensified. Bucky laid flat on the bed.

“Come here.”

You leaned forward to kiss him.

“No,” his grinned widened. “come here.”

“What?” You giggled.

“Come here.”

“What do you-?” Your words drifted as they settled in. “Oh…oh!”

He caressed your cheek, laughing. “You okay with that?”

“I mean…” You suddenly felt self-conscious yet tried to mask it. “I haven’t tried it either, and I haven’t even shaved in-.”

“-You think it bothers me if there’s hair in my food?” He nuzzles his face into your neck, his hands kneading your ass.

Your breath hitched before sighing in pleasure. Kissing his chin, you grunted. “If you insist.”

Still, even as you crawled over him, your knees on both sides of his head, you felt a shiver chill your body; both from the intimacy, but also the unknown. Bucky lightly gripped your thighs, leading you closer to his mouth.

“It’s okay,” he said into your cunt. “it’s just me.”

His tongue entered your lips, and you released a choked sound. Eyes fluttering shut, you put your entire weight on the headboard, resting your head on top of it. Bucky urged you down farther until he was pressing kisses to every inch of your core. He moved his right hand to part your folds before diving his tongue deeper.

You rocked against his mouth by accident, apologies spilling from your lips as you bit your tongue to keep quiet. Your stomach clenched both from the growing pleasure and the repression of sound. Once his lips found your bud, a strangled moan finally escaped, and he didn’t let up.

Your hand traveled into his hair, gripping the top of his head. Unconsciously, each strand you tugged only caused Bucky to move against you; his groans resonating throughout your entire body.

His nose bumped against your clitoris and that was what sent you over the edge. High pitched babbling of his name left your lips as you rode his face and the rest of your pleasure out.

It was after the burning in your stomach settled that you realized your thighs were shaking. Pulling yourself away, you landed beside Bucky, breath still quivering. Both your chests rose and fell, and in the pale lamplight of your bedroom, you saw your own slick upon his chin. You placed your lips on his gently only to pull away, needing even more air.

“How was that?” He asked in between breaths.

You didn’t answer him vocally. Kissing his jaw, your hand traveled down his chest and over his boxers.

Damp.

Eyes flying open, you looked down and saw that there was indeed a wet spot over his flaccid cock. He sighed, hand over his eyes

“Nuts.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to…to…”

“Finish from making me cum?” You smiled. “Bucky, it’s sweet.”

“It means if I was normal, I couldn’t do anything for the rest of the night.”

It had been a conversation in passing, a funny one when you were both tipsy at a friend’s wedding in your early days of dating, where he openly stated that the serum ‘heightened’ his stamina in more ways than one.

“It means,” you trailed your hands down to his waistband. “you like me.”

Tenderly, you slipped off his boxers, his now sweltering cock falling between his thighs. Bucky sighed, resting his head against the pillows. Kissing down his stomach, you licked a long strip from the base to the head of his dick.

He sucked in a breath, humming. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You didn’t bother saying something witty back; he was expecting it. You kissed his tip before slipping it into your mouth. Bucky gasped, his left hand gripping the sheets, and his right tangling into your hair. It wasn’t to push you down or even guide you; just to feel you.

Every sound you pulled out of him only grew the deeper you took him. Whatever you couldn’t take, you used your hands, caressing and fondling his balls. You’d glance up every so often, and he only looked at you once. The first and only time he did, he tossed his head back, releasing a strangled moan.

“Honey,” he sighed. “I-I don’t think I’ll-.”

You shushed him before taking him again, bobbing your head up and down. He called your name like a little prayer, pulling you off of him the second you felt little spurts of precum. You wish you could’ve seen what you looked like, because as soon as he pulled you away, you saw him visibly shiver as his eyes grew.

“I-I need you.” Was all he could manage.

“Okay.” You wiped your mouth.

He sat up, grunting from how red and sensitive his cock had grown. He took your face in his hands, chastely kissing you.

“If your side starts hurting-.”

“-I took Tylenol,” you soothed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll tell you though, just in case. How do you want me?”

He laid you down onto the bed as if you were something precious. “I need to see you.”

You lightly grazed your nails over his skin, being more mindful of the scars, past and present. Bucky placed a kiss onto your right nipple, suckling on it as he lightly massaged the other.

“Please.” It didn’t sound like a whisper from you, more like an escape of air.

“Please what?” He asked against your breast.

“James…” You gritted your teeth. He said your name, glancing up and you bit your tongue to not groan. “Please fuck me.”

He grinned against your skin, kissing up to your lips. He shifted to be above you, clutching a pillow then holding the back of your hips with his metal arm. The coolness pleasantly surprised you, a sharp mewl following. He lifted you up, sliding the pillow under your hips before gently placing you back down. He kissed your forehead.

“I remember this.”

Your breath shuttered as you felt the weight of his cock against your fold. Slowly, he entered you, not taking his eyes off yours for a second. The stretch was almost too much to bear from the dry spell, your face tightening.

“I’m okay.” You said when he gave you the look of ‘Should I stop?’.

He kissed the apples of your cheeks. “Just tell me when.”

You adjusted, running your hand up and down his neck. When you felt him fully within you, you began to move your hips. He moved with you, taking your left hand in his right and pressing it above you. With his metal hand, he guided your legs around his waist, angling you deeper.

His name left your lips as he rolled himself into you further, kissing your moans. Your heels pressed into his backside, urging him closer.

And closer.

And closer.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He said against your mouth.

“Love you.” Left yours.

“I love you.”

His cock kissed your cervix, and it was history from there. Strangled, staccato whimpers escaped your throat as he rutted into you, your name falling from his lips so many times it didn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“Come on, baby.” He breathed, hot breath on your sweltering skin. “Come on, give it to me, I know you can.”

You tried to form words but only syllables came out as you clutched his hair, trying to meet his thrusts. His dog tags dangled between you, hitting the space between your breasts with a light ‘cling!’ each time.

“In me.” You whimpered.

“What?” He didn’t stop, but moved some stray hair out of your face.

You didn’t know you said it aloud until he asked. Still, the desire to feel every bit of him flooded your senses enough to beg for it again.

“In me, please, please!”

Bucky shook his head, groaning against your lips. “No, no, we’ll make babies another time.”

That was it. Your euphoria burst like wildfire within you, leaving you a shuttering, whining mess. Bucky’s arms encircled your thighs to hold them apart and let him dig in impossibly deeper. You muffled your moans into the pillow beside you, only for him to capture your lips so that every little noise you made could reverberate through him.

Bucky soon followed behind, pulling away just as spurts of white cum painted your thighs.

There you both lay beside one another, panting messes. He laid his head against yours, breathing with you until the air in our lungs intertwined with each heavy inhale and exhale. He took the box of tissues by your bedside, cleaning himself before slipping on his boxers, kissing your stomach and taking you into his arms.

He took you into the bathroom and placed you on the toilet, cleaning you as you relieved yourself. Quickly, you both sneaked back into your room, and you collapsed on the bed. Still, Bucky slipped your oversized shirt back on, and you both crawled back under the covers, shutting off the light.

“You’re one of the reasons I get up every morning.” He whispered into your shoulder as he held you from behind. “I hope you know that.”

Your hand held his, shifting your head to kiss whatever part of his face you could reach. “They don’t make men like you anymore.”

He chuckled into your skin, and you fell into silence. There was something so intimate about whispering confessions to each other in the dark.

“Did you mean it?” You asked. “That you wanted to have babies with me?”

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. It worried you for only a second before he turned you over onto your back. You could faintly make out his figure from the light of the streetlamps outside your window.

“I’m getting you a ring first.” He vowed. “If you want that.”

You didn’t know if he could see the tears in the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t care. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down to you, kissing him.

And kissing him.

And kissing him.

And everything was well in that apartment in Brooklyn.

[anyarose011]

Shame Was on the Other Side

->Bucky Barnes X Single Mom!reader

Summary: You were only meant to teach a children's ballet class in Manhattan for one day. Out of all the days, it had to be the one where a dark entity loomed over the city, and you had no idea where your boyfriend was.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning: References to past trauma, but nothing too explicit (yet), ANGST, and Spoilers for Thunderbolts*

Saw Thunderbolts* a few days ago, and I can confidently say I should've seen it yesterday (shit hit the fan for me lmao). Anywho, I got an idea from it, and wanted to give more of a realistic depiction of what would happen if a lot of people relived their worst traumas (more of that will come later, but just wanted to start with some foreplay as one might say).

Word Count: 3.9k

“I know you girls can hold it longer.” You encouraged from the front of the room, leaning against the large mirror on the wall.

Nine little girls from ages ten to twelve, including your now ten-year-old Clementine, balanced on one foot as they held their arms in first position. It was almost funny watching nine little ballet shoes on the ground trying to stand as tall as they could under the weight of children wearing an array of colored leotards and skirts.

The facial expressions didn’t help either; most of them either scowling or sucking their lips in and staring at a single spot on the pale blue wall to focus. Clem, of course, was glaring out the three windows as if they were her worst enemies.

“Okay,” you said after the piano music on your phone stopped. “and relax.”

A chorus of groans bounced off the plastered walls, the girls either hanging off the barres or hunching over themselves.

“Now none of that!” You laugh. “Prima ballerinas don’t whine.”

“You’re the only one in here!” Little Hannah sassed.

You shook your head. “I almost was. Alright, it’s 4:30 now. Whoever has pointe, get your shoes on and we’ll wait for the older girls to get in. Thank you, ladies.”

You curtsy and they copied. Four of them left excitedly, either onto their next dance lesson or out to their parents. The rest of the girls went to the cubbies in the corner, drinking water and putting on their shoes. As a larger group of teenage girls walked in, you took a seat by your daughter, who was taking off her ballet shoes and putting on her Jazz ones.

“How was school?” You asked, taking your pointe shoes out of your bag.

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“A girl said I laugh too loud.” She whispered.

You swore kids were becoming meaner these days. Even in your classes in Brooklyn you saw the dramatic change since the Blip. You’d taught before then, and they all seemed kinder; more willing to talk. Yet, after a collective, traumatic moment, they were never the same.

“Would you ever want to be her?” You questioned, trying to eliminate your cynicism.

She sighed. “No.”

You kissed her head. “I know words hurt, but her opinion shouldn’t matter if you would never want to crawl into her skin and walk around in it.”

She scrunched her nose. “Huh?”

“I’ll tell you more at home. Now go to Jazz.”

Clementine smiled, stood up, taking her bag and leaving; that was, before turning over her heel. “Did Bucky call?”

Your lips formed a tight smile, shaking your head. “Not yet, but I’ll come find you when he does.”

Her own grin fell. “He usually does by now.”

“You know him,” you forced a laugh. “always busy.”

She hummed but then left the room. Letting out a long sigh, you pursed your lips. Bucky moved to DC almost two months ago, and you didn’t leave…on the best of terms. You managed to apologize(ish) to each other right before he left, but you weren’t kidding yourself, that was mainly for Clem’s sake.

And you hated how smart she was; she knew something was going on. If anything, the only reason she probably didn’t think you both were breaking up was because Bucky left Alpine with both of you when he left.

Still, you both wanted to make this work. You had been dating him for a year now, and every day you had to remind yourself why you loved him.

You did say that word; both of you did. So, it was real.

And you were willing to try; you’d spoken to him a week ago, and yes, you and Clem were going to come out to DC and-.

Your phone vibrated beside you.

Looking down, you saw Bucky’s name and an embarrassing photo Clem took of him while he was sleeping, show up on your screen.

You grinned, picking it up and turning to the girls in the room. “Start stretching.”

“Is your boyfriend calling?” Hannah teased, and all the girls, yes even the eighteen-year-old seniors, started ‘ooo’ing.

“Another word, and we’re doing nothing but bourrées across the floor for half an hour.”

When you left, you shut the door on a bunch of giggling girls. The company you worked for grew substantially within the year, letting them buy a location in Manhattan. You usually taught at the one in Brooklyn, but the ballet teacher called in sick, and you had to fill in.

It was a hassle, and the studio was much smaller than the one in Brooklyn; as in, there were only three rooms, and thus, three teachers to accommodate for the forty students. Yet, there was something sweet about being in crowded rooms filled with a combined passion but also a playful attitude towards dance.

True, you were essentially the dinosaur and eldest there; the other two teachers either starting college or just getting out of it. Still, it wasn’t as hard to lead on the short day that you were there.

Squeezing past little girls and boys on their way to class, you sat on one of the benches in the waiting room, answering the call.

“How are you, Aragorn?”

You told him to grow out his hair last summer, and he did. Thus, resulting in him looking like a Dollar Tree Viggo Mortenson from Lord of the Rings. Although, the beauty on his face stayed the same.

“Where are you?” His voice sounded seemingly neutral, but you knew him so well; he was rattled.

“Working?” You answered, although it sounded more like a question. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

You rose your brows. “Are you still with that random Russian guy you were driving with yesterday?”

“Where are you?”

Now it was getting weird. “I’m working, I told you-.”

“-What’s the address?”

“What’s going on?”

He said your name, agitated. “What’s the address?”

Now it was getting scary. You hissed, trying to keep your voice down. “No, you tell me what the hell is going on right now.”

A pause followed, but it didn’t last for long. His breath shuttered. “You and Clem need to leave wherever you are.”

You felt your soul drop into your stomach and form pit. “What?”

“Honey,” he begged. “tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“Bucky-.”

“-It’s Valentina.” He said, and you felt the air leave your lungs. “We…she’s worse than we thought, and I-I don’t know if she will but I’m not taking any chances. I need you and Clem safe and-.”

He stopped talking. At first, you thought it was because he couldn’t even speak aloud what he assumes would happen to you, but then the silence grew longer.

“Bucky?” You asked again, your voice once firm now meek.

Nothing.

“James.” You tried to speak sternly.

“Stay where you are.” Broke through the tension. “I love you.”

He hung up.

You didn’t pull the phone away from your ear right away. A part of you hoped he’d call back, even if there was nothing but his own breathing on the other end.

A tightness began to constrict your chest; one so horrible you wanted to scream, but one also so horrible you couldn’t. Standing on shaky legs, you looked around. Of course, no one else reacted the way you were at that moment. They hadn’t heard the cryptid call.

You looked into the blue room, where all the older girls were stretching and warming up, laughing at something someone said. Then, you watched as one of them took their leg off the barre and moved to stand closer to the window. She turned over her shoulder, bidding the other girls to come over, and they followed.

Pushing the door open, you entered the room. Some of the girls looked over at you but ultimately turned back to the window when you said nothing. Pushing yourself forward, your jaw dropped at what they saw.

Several blocks down, where the old Avenger’s Tower stood, a black figure suspended in the air.

“What’s that?” One of the high schoolers asked, fear trembling in her voice.

“Is it…a new Avenger?” A younger girl replied.

You couldn’t say anything. That tightness made its way into your stomach, and it began to ache. Your mind was telling you to go, and so you listened. Leaving on shaking legs, you pushed your way into the green room next door, where the Jazz group of smaller children also stared out the window.

You found Clementine among the crowd and took her hand.

“What’s happening?” She tried not to trip over her own feet as you pulled her out of the room.

“I don’t know.” And you didn’t; all you knew was that neither of you were safe.

You rushed through the waiting room, and just as you were at the door leading to the stairwell, a sharp cry rang out.

“Get away from the windows!” One of the teachers yelled, and a few screams were heard before silence soon followed.

It hadn’t even registered with you. Shadows encased every wall around you, and all you could do was fall to the floor, shielding your little girl with your entire body before the darkness forced you into its embrace.

It didn’t feel like it had been two hours since…since….

Since….

The water from the kitchen sink scorched your skin as you stared at the blank wall in front of you. It was around six when you’d finally got back to your Brooklyn apartment. Clementine, exhausted from the whole day, took Alpine and went to her room as soon as you got home. You assumed she was sleeping.

You hadn’t changed out of your leotard or skirt and tights. You practically collapsed on the couch and stared at the blank tv in front of you for twenty minutes before then deciding to do the dishes you left in the sink that morning.

You’d only got one done and then stared at the wall in front of you, letting the hot water run down your hands.

Everything seemed too much as soon as you…as soon as you’d awoken from…

The sound of everyone’s voices as you walked down the streets were too loud, the lights when you entered your apartment were too bright...Your body was sore from…from…

A knock on the door snapped you back to reality and you jumped. Shutting off the sink, you froze as you stood in the kitchen. Another knock soon followed, as well as the sound of your name.

“Honey, it’s me.”

You sped to the door and didn’t bother looking through the peephole. Unlatching and unlocking it, you threw the door open. There, looking like absolute shit, covered in sweat with a few scrapes along with face, your Bucky.

He tossed his arms around you before you could, pressing his face into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, nails sinking into his shirt to make sure he was real. You wanted to cry, God knows you wanted to cry until your eyes hurt and all you could feel was him.

Bucky pulled away just enough to look at you, but his breath still lingered on your skin.

“Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“I…” you couldn’t find the words. “Are you?”

“I asked you.”

You nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Why didn’t you pick up?” He kissed your head. “I called you so many times.”

“My…my phone died.”

He shook his head, saying your name before a cacophony of voices was heard at the end of the hall. You clung to him.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I know them.”

“You made new friends?” You attempted humor.

Apparently, it worked because he cracked a grin. “Coworkers mostly but maybe. Did you hear the news?”

“No?”

“New Avengers.” He pursed his lips. “Valentina assigned us. It’s a long story.”

“Oh, Valentina as in the one you thought was going to come kill me and Clem?” You couldn’t help it.

“I didn’t want to take any chances, I’m sorry.” He looked around your apartment. “Where is she anyway?”

“Sleeping with Alpine in her room.” You sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

He kissed your cheek. “I get it. I’ll tell them to go and-.”

“-No.” You didn’t know why you were saying it, but you did. “You invited them. I’ll make something for dinner.”

Bucky gave you a look. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “You guys must be exhausted. As long as they don’t mind SpaghettiOs, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and Pizza Rolls.”

“They’ll be happy with anything.” He kissed your lips, finally. “Thank you, so much, you’re an angel.”

You hummed, still smiling. “You wouldn’t have called me that a few months ago.”

Call it a trauma response, call it you being a bitch, you were flying off the mouth that day.

He swallowed, hands falling to yours and squeezing them. “I’ll only keep them here for dinner, and then they’re gone. We’ll talk after, okay?”

You nodded. “Just tell them to keep it down when they’re coming in.”

 He gave you another kiss on the cheek before leaving. He kissed you in the few minutes you saw each other again than the last week before he left for DC.

The sudden thought brought tears to your eyes, and you berated yourself for that almost making you cry that day. Still, once you took a deep breath, threw on a spare sweatshirt, and began to get out packaged dinner floor, the sound of hushed voices soon entered your apartment.

There were six people in your living room, all covered in an array of soot, dust, blood, sweat, and tears. You only recognized two; Bucky and John Walker. Even then, the latter you knew of.

The tallest of them, wearing a red suit with a white star on his chest, approached you with a smile on his face. He took your hand, shaking it and stage whispering.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Ms. Bucky Barnes’ girlfriend! We appreciate it and will be respectful guests. I too am a father and understand-.”

The woman with blonde hair shoved him. “Alright, that’s enough. Thank you very much.” She said your name.

You chuckled. “Of course, it’s the least I could do.”

Assessing everyone else, you saw another woman with brown hair and what looked like to be a spacesuit immediately take her place on the couch. The only other one who you hadn’t recognized was a man whose hair began to curl at his neck and wore an oversized blue sweatshirt. He seemed different from the others; quiet in a sense of not knowing what to say instead of for intimidation.

“Okay, names.” You smiled. “I don’t know any of you.”

And so, thus began the circle of names and getting to know who your boyfriend’s new coworkers/friends were. Alexei (the Red Guardian) Ava (Ghost), Yelena (an ex-Widow), John Walker (ex-Captain America), and Bob (just Bob, apparently…).

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’ll make something.” You threw on another smile and immediately turned back to the attached kitchen, not really knowing what else to do or say.

Luckily, as you heard everyone else plop themselves down to sit (whether it was on the couch, at the small dining room table, or even on the floor), you also heard Yelena ask.

“Bucky said you were a ballerina?”

“Was.” You looked over your shoulder as you got a pot out from a cabinet. “I teach kids now.”

“Oh my god,” Bob stood up from the floor, reaching for a can of SpaghettiOs. “I haven’t had these in years!”

You grinned. “I’ll make that one first then.”

John spoke up. “Where do you teach?”

“A friend’s dance studio in Brooklyn, mostly.”

“Barnes said you were in Manhattan when…”

A silence hung in the air; one you didn’t waste time to fill.

“Yeah, I heard about that.” You opened a drawer and took out the can opener. “I was on the subway back to here when it happened.”

Even without looking, you could feel Bucky’s steely gaze on you. Of course, even if it weren’t for you already on edge attitude, the timeline didn’t make sense; how could you have gone to the subway station in the same time you hung up and then the darkness came for you? You felt as if the rest of them could practically smell your lie. Yet, they said nothing about it.

“What about the rest of you?” You deflected, then nodded at Bucky. “If this one’s sticking around, then maybe it’s best I know you.”

They surprisingly laughed. Conversation from then on was easy; someone would talk, and the others would interrupt. At least the extroverts would; those being John, Yelena, and Alexei. Sometimes Ava would jump in, but only ever to tease John with Yelena. The ones who barely said anything unless spoken to were Bob and Bucky.

Bucky you were used to; if anything, you missed his quietness. He’d let you talk on and on about anything, and you never once thought he tuned you out. Even then, in your crowded living room, as someone told a long, drawn-out story (usually Alexei), he’d make eye contact with you across the room as you cooked. All he’d do was give you that same smile you fell in love with.

Bob was different. He looked around your apartment both with a level of genuine interest, but also as if he were waiting for something bad to happen. Unless someone (usually Yelena) talked to him, the only time he spoke up was to remind everyone that there was someone sleeping in another room.

He was sweet.

It was the first time when he made a joke you were carrying two bowls of newly made soup, that as you were laughing, you bumped your side into the corner of the counter.

Now on a normal day, you would’ve stumbled over your feet and cursed like you were being paid by the word; but this was one of the worst days of your life, and you were having conflicting emotions about your boyfriend.

So, naturally, the bowls fell from your hands, and you collapsed onto the floor.

It was Yelena and Bucky who immediately rushed to you.

“Oh god, are you okay?” Yelena asked, brushing your hair out of your face.

The only thing that escaped your lips were a few sobs, the pain beginning to fester from the old bruises you gained earlier that day. Bucky kneeled in front of you, rubbing your shoulders.

“Can you stand?”

You shook your head but tried anyway, putting all of your weight onto him. Bucky helped you stand, and you leaned on the counter, holding your side with one hand, and the other wiping the oncoming tears.

“I’m sorry.” you sniffled.

Immediately, everyone reassured you that there was nothing wrong. Still, even with the tightness in your throat threatening to spill over, you said.

“I…I was in the city when it happened. I-I don’t know what I saw, I don’t know what Clem saw, she-she hasn’t even talked to me about it-.”

“-How’d you hurt your side?” Bucky gently asked.

You dropped your gaze; the anger from everything that day and in past simmering within you.

“It was just a bad day.”

“How?” He said your name.

Your nostrils flared, and you whispered. “You wanna do this right now? In front of everyone?”

“Okay.” It was John who stood up from the couch. “I think we should be going.”

You shook your head. “No-.”

“-It’s alright.” Alexei intervened. “It’s been a long day, there’s many many family matters to settle, we’ll leave you two alone, eh? I’d love to have a proper dinner whenever. It doesn’t have to be your place, mine is-.”

“-Thank you,” Yelena said your name, smiling and leading Alexei away. The rest of them followed, uttering similar goodbyes. All accept one.

“I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your brow at Bob’s words. It should have been nothing; to anyone else, it was nothing. But not to you. Not at that moment.

“What?” You brushed Bucky away and limped after them into the hallway. “Why are you sorry?”

They all stopped in the hall, Bob at the back. The rest turned to you upon your words, but he didn’t. It was only after a beat of silence that he did.

“I…” he paused. “I’m sorry you got hurt just now-.”

“-No.” You interrupted, approaching him. “No not even that, what do you have to be sorry for? You’re the only one who remembered I had a kid in another room and have been telling everyone to quiet down, what do you have to be sorry for?”

“Honey.” Bucky took your hand, speaking into your hair.

You didn’t even look at him when you dropped his hand; only kept your eyes on Bob. “Well?”

He swallowed thickly, almost as if he was about to cry just from your gaze alone. He opened his mouth. “I was the one-.”

“-Bob.” Yelena shook her head, along with everyone else.

“No, no,” he said before looking back at you. “I was the one to cause all of this. I-I sent everyone in Manhattan down a void of-of darkness, despair. I don’t remember doing it, but I did…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you and your daughter had to see it.”

You stopped listening after ‘I was the one to cause all of this’. Well, you still did, but just barely; it felt like you were underwater. All you could do in that hallway was stare.

Then, just as the darkness had sunk into your mind, the realization did into your soul. Your heart fell along with your eyes, and your mouth moved but no sound (not even a cry) came out.

When terror settled into your heart, rage quickly followed, and it marked your face. Still, you did not move towards him despite how your shoulders rose and fell with your breathing.

“Mama?”

The familiar, sweet call of your daughter broke through to you.

Snapping your gaze back into your apartment, you saw your daughter stand before you, holding Alpine. Her own eyes were red, and you never saw her so tired.

“Why are you crying?” Her voice quivered.

You brought your hand to your face and felt the tears upon your cheeks. You hadn’t even noticed. If the shame of the entire day hadn’t pulled you under, it was that moment as you cried in front of strangers and your own daughter.

It didn’t feel like you were in your own body as you walked back into your apartment, pushing your daughter behind you and shutting the door just enough for you to keep your head out in the hall.

“It’s not what I saw that made today so horrible,” you stated. “it’s everything that happened after.”

With that, the door shut and was locked. Incessant knocking and the muffled sound of you and your daughter’s name by Bucky (you thought you heard other voices, but the pounding in your head did not help) followed. It wasn’t the first time that day where you no longer had the ability to care.

You dragged yourself into your daughter’s room and collapsed onto her bed. Clementine soon followed, placing Alpine on the pillow next to you. As the cat rubbed his face against yours, Clem cuddled into your side. She kissed your cheek.

“I love you, Mama.”

The damn fully broke and you enveloped her in your arms once more, weeping.

[anyarose011]

How to Get to Coney Island

-> Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!reader

Summary: As summer begins and the school year ends, Bucky decides to do something nice for you and your daughter.

Warning(s): Minor angst, low-key disorganized attachment (but she's healing), a sassy child, FLUFF, one innuendo, and making out.

In response to that one little boy questioning if Bucky would be a good dad [he would, it’s canon], me watching ‘Brooklyn’, it’s aftercare after Thunderbolts* [I haven't seen it yet], and how it’s summertime and I wanna go do summer things😊. So, idk if this is gonna be a series or not (I have one or two other stories in mind, but let's see if it'll be in practice). I also imagine this to be like six months before Brave New World and Thunderbolts* [the timeline is fucked]. Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy it, and happy summer!

Word Count: 5.5k

MASTERLIST

“Jamie!”

Your little girl seldomly ever called him ‘Bucky’. She was at that strange age (nine) where she wanted to seem vastly different than anyone else in the world. Even though you and her had known him for a year, you could only use one hand to count how many times she’s called him ‘Bucky’.

It was late afternoon on a Saturday in early May. The dance company you taught at just had its recital at Brooklyn Arts, and all the kids you taught were running around the reception hall in their fairytale costumes, excitedly showing them off to their parents. That was when, from the crowd, Clementine saw him.

She ran from your arms and into Bucky’s. He laughed as he hugged her, and it shouldn’t have surprised you to see two small bouquets of flowers in his hand.

Even before you started dating him, he’d bring flowers to your doorstep. It never unnerved you, which was a real shock. If anything, they’d brighten the room and in turn, your smile.

Approaching them, you wore that same smile. “You came.”

“Yeah.” He stood. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Clementine made dead eye-contact with the bouquets. “Are those for me?”

“One of them is, don’t be greedy.” Bucky chuckled, handing her a pastel bouquet. Then, he held one out to you. “For the Madame.”

You swatted him playfully, taking the flowers. “Now stop it.”

“Only if you come to get ice cream.”

“Ice cream?!” Clementine interjected.

You wrapped your arm around her shoulders, bringing her to your side. “We’d love to. Just let her get changed.”

“You haven’t said anything about my dress.” Clementine pouted, showing off the lavender fabric. “You think it’s ugly.”

“No, sweetie.” Bucky got down to her height. “I was just so impressed by your dancing, I thought I’d tell you that first because the last time I said your dress was pretty, you told me I was shallow for complimenting a girl’s clothing and not her talents.”

You snorted, and Clementine merely smiled before dashing away back into the changing rooms. Shaking your head, you sighed.

“I don’t think she’s ever gonna fix that attitude.”

“No problem.” Bucky stood. “You both keep me on my toes.”

“You say that like I’m ever mean to you.”

He didn’t have to say anything. He only gave that look, grinned a little, and shrugged. Scoffing, you turned over your shoulder and started walking to the changing rooms to hide your amusement.

Your voice betrayed you. “I’m stealing your cat if you talk to me like that again!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

After Clementine changed out of her costume, and your boss essentially “allowed” you to leave, the three of you left the school. Now here was the funniest thing about James Buchannan Barnes: Despite being a congressman for half a year at the time, if he wasn’t going anywhere for work, he took the train. He lived in a humble, one-bedroom apartment across from your two-bedroom. It was practically a suite for you and Clementine, but for him, all you could ask was why?

So, you did a month after he was elected a House Representative.

“I like what I like.” He said as he was fixing the heating in the small dance studio you worked in. “I’ve lived in that building for a few years now, I have all my stuff there, I don’t want to waste time moving again.”

“Clem and I would help.” You pointed out.

“You mean you.” He snickered, twisting the screwdriver.

“I mean me.”

He certainly fit the role of a politician only in movies who cared about their community and would go out and actually solve problems. He even fixed the lamplights down the whole block of your apartment and a few by the nearest library.

He was modest, and that was something you weren’t used to. Perhaps that’s why, even with a huge amount of hesitance, you agreed to go to lunch with him two months ago.

And there you were, having ice cream on an early summer day with him and your daughter.

“Did you see my do a double pirouette?” Clem asked excitedly, chocolate custard all around her lips.

“That one’s the turn, right?” Bucky asked while the three of you sat at a small table outside the bustling ice cream parlor. The last day of school had been the day before.

“Uh huh.”

“Of course I saw it, you were amazing.”

“Yeah, I was.”

You playfully shoved her. “‘Thank you’ is what we say.”

“Thank you.” She pitched her voice up higher but smiled wide at Bucky. “Do you wanna see my designs?”

“Always.”

She unzipped her backpack, bringing out a pink, glittery sketchbook. She pushed the ice cream dishes out of the way as if she were presenting important data and flipped through the pages.

“I made this one last month.” she pointed to a blank model wearing a red dress with white frills on the sleeves titled ‘Christmas in Germany’. “That ones for me, and then this one’s for mama.”

The one labeled ‘Met Gala’ simply had a lace dress in your favorite color with a long veil.

“And why would I go to the Met Gala?” You teased.

“Dance.”

“Yes,” you nodded. “that is what they do for sure.”

“You’re lucky I’m your designer for it.”

“Not really.” You pointed at the veil. “If I’m dancing, won’t that just make me trip?”

“Jamie,” she looked up. “do you want to go to the gala?”

“No.” He answered.

“Fine.” She sighed, starting another sketch. “I guess I’ll have to.”

You and Bucky laughed, and then he pointed to the next page. “What’s that one?”

Clem answered, glancing up. There were two models, a taller one and a shorter one, wearing dresses in the style from the 1950s. On the smaller one, a robin’s egg blue dress with a darker shade of blue buttons down the sternum, and a headband the same shade in the hair. On the larger model, a white shirt and skirt with red and yellow flowers scattered alongside green foliage. A robin’s egg blue satin sash across the waist.

She glanced back down at her original sketching. “When Mama and I go to Coney Island.”

“Like this summer?”

“No, ever.”

You thought you had seen (almost) every facial expression this man could make, but you were wrong. Never had you seen such a look of bewilderment.

“How long have you lived in Brooklyn?” He asked.

“Almost two years.” You shrugged, smiling. Originally, the dance studio you worked at was in lower Manhattan, but at the same time your studio was moving, you and Clementine were evicted.

But he didn’t need to know that.

“And you’ve never been to Coney Island?”

You leaned forward, putting your arms on the table. “I’m sorry, but when was the last time you went to Coney Island?”

Bucky said nothing at first, glancing down at his melting ice cream. “Nineteen forty-two.”

You hummed. “And I’m guessing tourism wasn’t really at all a time high during a war going on, so therefore, not many people went to an amusement park?”

“Not like how there are today, no.”

You didn’t have to say anything. You only gave him that look and smiled a wicked smile, sitting back in your chair.

He mirrored a yielding one. “So, if the recital’s done, what’re your plans for the summer?”

“I’ll start teaching summer classes in June, and some of the students’ parents also asked me to help tutor their kids; elementary stuff thankfully.”

“Not taking any vacations?”

You shook your head. “Busy.”

And couldn’t afford it; but he didn’t need to know that either.

He shrugged sheepishly. “I mean…I know I have a conference at the end of the month in D.C. You could come out with me.”

Clementine’s face lit up like the hot sun that day. “Yeah!”

Yours grew dark like the night that would come, though you tried to hide it. “No. Thank you for the offer but-.”

“-Why can’t we go?” Clem whined.

“He’ll be doing a lot of important work, and we don’t want to distract him.”

Not taking the hint, Bucky only continued. “That’s only for one day, we could go out on Friday and then-.”

“-Thank you.” You finished for him, a smile so tight it would rip your cheeks.

It was settled; you weren’t going, and it wasn’t spoken of again. The rest of the ice cream social went on without any more tension; spoken aloud, that is. It still lingered from your abrasive decline of Bucky’s offer. Call it your own anxiety, but you felt his disappointment radiate off of him and onto you.

Clementine was a child, and your child nonetheless, so you and the other customers outside the bustling ice crem store knew she was silently judgmental and upset about your decision.

Even on the subway ride home, the three of you said not a word to each other. Usually, the silence would have been out of comfort, but then, you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was because of you.

That’s why you stayed out in the hall when you got back to your apartment. Clementine went in without question, and you were left with Bucky.

“Really,” you began. “thank you for the offer to D.C. but-.”

“-No, it’s okay.” He interrupted casually. “I shouldn’t have pushed and now you gotta deal with Clem-.”

“-May I speak?” You cut him off calmly. When he nodded, you took in a shuttering breath. “I really am sorry. I-we’d love to go, but I haven’t been serious about anyone since her father. I’ve gone on dates, you know that, but either it’s not a match, they ran at the first sign of a kid, or the complete opposite…and I’m prideful, and I don’t want a huge trip solely just to rely on you.”

He nodded, completely understanding. “You’d be uncomfortable. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

 “I’m just…” You swallowed. “I’m sorry I’m moving so slow-.”

“I don’t think you are.”

You hadn’t even kissed him. Well…you had, but only on the cheek, his head, jaw, essentially anywhere on his face but his lips. You were wondering how he hadn’t become bored with you yet.

 “I want this to work.” You vowed. “Because, hell, I knew that even if I told you no about going on a date, you never would have treated me differently afterwards.”

Bucky took your face into his hands, saying softly. “I wouldn’t have. You’re not going slow, I…I like this too. I haven’t been serious about anyone either and I don’t wanna mess it up. Even if we’re going slow, that means we get to enjoy it more.”

You melted from his words and his touch. Drawing your arms around his neck, you sank into his embrace as his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. It was nice, just standing there in the hallway, even if the fluorescent lights above were too bright.

“But please,” he whispered into your ear. “please, let me take you two to Coney Island.”

Laughing into his neck, you gave him one last squeeze before kissing his jaw and pulling away fully. “Only if that means you’ll stop talking about it like it’s Disneyworld.”

“I will never step foot on that rat’s land.”

“Thank God you weren’t around for Chuck E. Cheese.” You joked.

“That’s not the pizza place, is it?”

“Yeah. If I was ever misbehaving, my parents would take me there to catch a cold.”

The two of you laughed maybe a little too loudly in the hallway. After you both (somewhat) composed yourselves, you wished each other a goodnight, and the rest was history. The first few days were uneventful between the three of you. Most were spent between you and Clem, sometimes making the journey all the way to Central Park, and others were spent indoors, simply having a movie day.

Some were spent with Bucky when he wasn’t busy, but those times were reserved for casual dinners or playing with Alpine (the damn cat that was the reason you and Clementine met him officially).

Two weeks passed, and it was after one of your tutoring jobs you got a call from Bucky.

“I want to do something nice for Clem.”

You chuckled, walking down the sidewalk. “She’s had you wrapped around her finger for months, that’s nice enough.”

“I’m not wrapped around her finger.”

“Uh huh. What’d you have in mind?”

“So, I was overhearing my secretary talk this morning-.”

“-Oh, your young, straight out of college, pencil skirted-.”

“-Her wife,” he strained the word with similar humor you spoke with. “just started a fashion design business and is looking for clients. It’s Sylvie and Emily, remember?”

“Oh, that’s them!” You laughed. “Yeah, their wedding was fun. What’s this about?”

He clicked his tongue. “I think it’d be neat if Clem got to wear something special for her first trip to Coney Island.”

You stopped in your tracks, in complete awe and wonder at his thoughtfulness. “If heaven is real, I know whoever raised you is there.”

He laughed, and you could picture every detail of his face; how his cheeks turned the palest of pinks, and he’d rest his hand in his hair for just a moment as if to decide if what you said was in his imagination or not.

“Do you think there’ll be enough room for me?”

You puckered your lips. “I don’t know.”

“And here I thought you were sweet.”

“Please, you know I’m sweet.” You teased. “Now, what do you need from me?”

Obviously, the sketch of the dress she designed for herself, but also her specific measurements for the perfectly tailored gown. Those were easy. When Clem was having a playdate, you snuck into her room and snapped a picture of the sketch. You had also gotten her measurements from dance when needing to buy costumes for the recital, and you sent that to him too.

So, the next few weeks ran like the last ones. When you’d work, depending on if it were for dance classes or tutoring, you’d take Clem with you. If you couldn’t, she’d be babysat by either the college girl a floor below, or the ex-nun at the end of the hall. They were really the only people in the building who would take your home-cooked meals as payment instead of money.

It was the second week of June, and you and Clementine were having a “girl’s day in” for your Friday afternoon, when a knock came on the door. You paused the Barbie princess movie that was on, and you looked through the peephole; no one.

Opening it, your eyes fell to the two white boxes wrapped in pink bows on your welcome mat. On top, a sticky note read: “Only the best for you both. Be ready at ten tomorrow morning, we’re going on an adventure. Your Loving, Jamie :)”

“What is it?” Clementine asked behind you.

Taking the boxes into your apartment, you set them down at the kitchen table, grinning from ear to ear. “Open them.”

She read the note on top before mirroring your smile and unwrapping the first box. Taking the top off, inside was revealed a perfect replica of the dress she had sketched. Her jaw dropped to the floor as she held it up, the light from the window in the living room catching it perfectly.

Clementine squealed as she hugged it close to her chest, then reaching in to grab the headband.

“How’d he do this?!” She cheered, beaming.

You giggled. “He told me he wanted to do something nice for you.”

She latched her arms around you, kissing your cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Laughing, you hugged her just as tightly. Still in your arms, she turned around, glancing at the other box. “Is this one for you then?”

You frowned. “I’m not sure.”

Still, you opened it, and your face was the same as Clementine’s; pure, unadulterated shock. There was your dress in the box; the one your daughter had so caringly designed for you. Your face dropped into a smile, realizing this was perhaps the greatest gift you had ever received, and it wasn’t even your birthday.

“It’s so pretty.” Clem fawned.

“I wonder who designed it?” You ticked her sides. She laughed, trying to push you away from her.

You were tempted to text Bucky thank you, but decided it was best to wait until the morning to do it in person. Call it “Old-Fashioned”.

It was Clementine who ironically got you up early to get ready. After having a quick breakfast, the two of you settled to get “prettied up”.

“But I thought you said we shouldn’t dress up for men?” You teased, fixing her hair.

She sighed dramatically. “We are dressing for ourselves.”

You kissed her head. “That’s my girl.”

After “prettying up”, you heard a knock on the door. Clementine ran just as you stood from the couch and swung it open. Upon seeing Bucky, she clung to him with an iron grip.

“Good morning.” He greeted, trying to hold in his laughter.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squeezed with every word.

He crouched down to her height and pulled her away just enough to look at her. “How do you think it came out?”

“Absolutely marvelously.”

He repeated her sentiment, smiling. “Took the words out of my mouth.”

His eyes drifted towards you, and there you stood, wearing the outfit you didn’t expect to come to life. Even though he had seen it before you, it was more than apparent that it was as if you were a witch, and he was under your spell as he stared at you, eyes running over every detail of the skirt.

“Tell her she’s pretty.” Clem whispered into his ear.

That somehow snapped him out of it. “You’re really pretty.”

Giggling, you approached him, and he stood. Perhaps it made it “worse” the closer you stood to him; he could get every detail of your face.

“Now how’d you make this?” You asked, pulling at the skirt. “I thought you only wanted to be nice to Clem?”

He smiled sheepishly, yet you detected a hint of hesitation. “Your dress was side by side with Clem’s when you sent the first picture, and your measurements were above hers when you sent them.”

None of that had occurred to you; you were simply so focused on surprising your daughter, all of that had left your mind. Bucky wasn’t finished.

“I was second guessing myself, because I didn’t know if I was violating your privacy or-.”

You kissed his cheek to shut him up. “I never would’ve given you Clem’s measurements in the first place if I didn’t trust you a little.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God, I really wanted to surprise you.”

“Come on!” Little Clementine pulled on his metal arm as if she could move him. “Stop kissing, I wanna go!”

“You don’t even have your shoes on!” Bucky taunted.

Once she did in fact slip on her sandals, and you got your own shoes, the three of you left the apartment and hailed a cab. As you were waiting on the sidewalk, it was only then you got to get a better look at Bucky as he entertained Clem.

His hair was combed, and he’d shaved recently, yet there was still somewhat of a stubble. A few of the buttons on his navy-blue polo were unbuttoned, and he wore loose-fitting cream-colored pants.

You never denied that he was attractive, even when he was a mere stranger. Yet it was that morning as he listened to Clementine talk about everything and anything, that you realized he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

The ride to Coney Island didn’t take long. A part of that certainly had to do with both Clem’s excitement, but also yours that you tried to mask. The sun was starting to come out from behind the clouds as noon approached whilst you waited in line for Luna’s Park.

“Does it look different from back then?” You asked once the three of you finally made it in. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy flooded your nostrils as you walked with your arm looped through his.

He nodded. “Everything does, so kinda. There are still some of the rides, but there’s a lot more now. Kinda overwhelming but guess that just comes with the territory.”

“Did you ever ride the Cyclone?” Clem asked, taking his hand.

“Oh yeah.” he snorted. “My friend Steve threw up. He was about as tall as you.”

“Well, I’m not going to throw up.” She bragged.

An hour later, she was right; she didn’t throw up. Yet, while you and Bucky were beaming from the thrill of it, the poor thing’s entire body was trembling as she walked.

“Okay,” you soothed her, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “let’s go get lunch.”

Thankfully, nothing like fried food horrible for everyone’s cholesterol plus ice cream to fix a nine-year-old. She nearly had a tantrum when a drop of mint-chocolate chip got on her dress, but after you dabbed some of her apple juice onto the stain, all was well.

In your decision, it was best to just play the carnival games and minor rides considering Clem’s reaction to the Cyclone. All games were played from whac a mole to ring tossing, including a few where Bucky insisted on winning crappy, cheap (but albeit adorable) carnival stuffed animals.

“She has a bunch already.” You joked when he’d gotten a stuffed bear for Clem from knocking down a pyramid of cans.

“So?” He handed the prize to Clementine, who took it happily.

“So, it’s a bunch of gobbledygook.”

Clementine laughed. “Gobbledygook!”

Bucky audibly seethed. “That’s not even how you use it!”

“Sorry,” you scoffed. “didn’t mean to be such a cornball.”

“I beg of you,” he spoke softly, holding your shoulders. “please stop, or I’ll start saying the slang I’ve heard around my office.”

“No!” Clem screamed as if she were being murdered.

Giggling, you shushed her putting a finger to her lips, and she merely giggled. You looked up at him. “Just one more, please?”

How could he say no to you as you looked at him with your own eyes? He sighed, shutting his own and nodding.

“‘Sugar, are you rationed?’ was adorable, and I probably would’ve folded if you said that to me.” You admitted.

He scoffed. “You would’ve backhanded me.”

“No.” You denied. “Rejected you and gave you a look, yes; but never hit you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The teacups ride was by far one of your favorites. Even with only seeing it in Uptown Girls, you still enjoyed it, despite feeling slightly dizzy from all the spinning. It was much more relaxing to ride the carousel; something you couldn’t remember doing for the longest time.

It was then that the three of you decided to walk alongside the boardwalk. Clem would frequently walk ahead of you, but never too far. She settled upon sitting in the sand to relax when you and Bucky finally had somewhat of a moment alone together.

“I think you’ve made her entire summer.” You said, watching as Clementine built a sandcastle with some kids she just befriended; you wished it was that easy to make friends as an adult.

Bucky looked over at you. “You helped.”

“All of this was your idea.”

“You look beautiful.”

That’s what brought your gaze to him. You didn’t know him in another life when he lived in the 1940s, but you liked to believe that the way he looked at you then was what he looked like when he was himself. Boyish, yet mature.

Snickering, you shook your head.

“I’m serious.” He said.

“‘I’m serious’.” You mimicked in his voice before leaning in so he could only hear you. “You know, I’m not gonna put out just because you got me a pretty dress.”

He huffed, and you couldn’t tell if it was from being amused or slightly aroused. He still wore the same grin you always liked.

“I don’t expect that from you.”

“Uh huh.” You teased.

“I don’t!”

“Mama!”

The tension was broken by the call of your child. You both looked to see her standing in the sand. “Can we go swimming?”

You shook your head. “Baby I already told you we aren’t; and in what swimsuits?”

“We could buy them!”

Your jaw dropped. Usually, the childish greed would’ve appalled you into scolding her. Yet, it was a sunny day, and it was summer, so you merely laughed.

“Absolutely not!”

She groaned yet did nothing more than sit in the sand and sulk. Thank God she didn’t throw a tantrum.

“You know,” Bucky started. “I could-.”

“No.” You interrupted. “You’ve done too much, and she needs to be told ‘no’ or it’ll just make my life hell when she grows up.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He dropped it.

Silence fell between the two of you, and you rested your head on his shoulder. “Besides, why would I want to take off a perfectly beautiful dress you so caringly told your secretary to tell her wife to craft?”

“It’s not the dress that makes you beautiful.” He pulled you closer.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I should say you’d look beautiful wearing anything; even a potato sack.”

“Huh,” you looked up at him. “so you should say it, but you aren’t. What are you saying them?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. He only smiled, and you watched as his eyes traveled down your body.

A sharp laugh filled your lungs and escaped your mouth as you tried to muffle it with your hand. Bucky took it away as he laughed, hugging you close to him.

“Now I know you weren’t just imagining me in swimsuit just now.” You teased.

He shook his head. “No-!”

“Too scandalous for you, James Barnes.” You threw on an accent one would only hear in black and white movies. “Oh my stars, it was already too much to see a woman’s ankle, but to imagine her in a bathing costume?”

“We didn’t see just women’s ankles back in the forties, doll.”

“What did you see?”

He scoffed, hiding how his cheeks turned red. “Come on.”

“No, I’m serious.” You smirked. “I thought you were all prudes back then. Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

“Yes.” He kissed the top of your head. “Very.”

It was funny; you told him you wanted to take it slow, and you still did to an extent…but it felt so effortless to tease and flirt with him like this.

“We can always go swimming some other time.” You changed the subject as you watched Clementine get over herself and make her way back to you two.

“Preferably not at Coney Island.” Bucky added.

It could’ve been for an array of reasons you guessed; he thought the beach was too crowded, he didn’t like the new version of the amusement park, or he was insecure of his arm being more so on display for everyone. Still, you intercepted with.

“Probably for the best.” You looked directly at your daughter when she took your hand. “I can just imagine you and Clem playing, and then an out of context picture is taken and labeled ‘Brooklyn Representative spotted trying to drown child’; when really, it would be the other way around.”

“Now why would I do that?” Clementine asked innocently while Bucky laughed.

“You’d have your reasons.”

Bucky took Clem’s other hand. “We’d be playing sharks and minnows.”

“What’s that?”

He looked up at you. “What have you been teaching this kid?”

“Well, I tried manners but gave up.”

Clem hummed. “You didn’t teach me anything.”

You raised your arm up, hoisting her halfway into the air and Bucky soon followed. Both of you swung her as you walked, resulting in her into a fit of giggles. As the sun beat down on your neck, it wasn’t just you getting tired. Clem’s eyes grew heavier, and by the time you made it back to the entrance of Deno’s Wonder Wheel, she was falling asleep on her feet.

“Okay,” Bucky hoisted her into his arms. “maybe it’s time to go home.”

“Nooooo.” She whined but nuzzled her face into his neck.

You ran your hand over her hair, then whispered to Bucky. “She’s getting too big to be carried. I can-.”

“-I got her.” He said just as quietly back.

“I wanna ride the wheel.” She continued to sulk.

You rubbed her cheek. “You’d throw up and ruin your dress.”

“No, I won’t.”

“We can go on the wheel another day, pumpkin.” Bucky cooed.

“I wanna go swimming.”

“We can go swimming another day.” He promised.

The cab ride back was peaceful. It was the better kind of silence; one where no one had to say a thing to feel comfortable. Part of that was because Clementine drifted off to sleep. Bucky wouldn’t say it aloud, but just from how he looked down at her resting face, you knew he never imagined someone so small and helpless would feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

It was only four in the afternoon, but it had been a long, exciting day. When you made it back to the apartment, you watched from the doorway of Clementine’s room as Bucky carefully laid her down on her bed, tucking her in.

Something in you shifted as you watched such a domestic scene.

As he tiptoed out of the room and carefully shut the door, you found that you were wrong earlier that day.

It was him staring at you then in there outside your daughter’s bedroom did you notice how beautiful he was. How his chest heaved in air gently while previously holding his own breath as if it would awake Clementine, how his eyes gazed over you to try and figure out exactly what was going on inside your head.

“You alright, honey?”

Your eyes ran over his lips, and after inhaling a shaky breath, you took his hand. After leading him into the sitting room, and onto the couch, you straddled his lap and placed your hands on his face.

Lightly tracing every inch of it, you brought your lips to his cheek, and then the other. Bucky shut his eyes, sinking into the couch and your touch as his hands drifted to your hips. You hovered your mouth over his.

“Too much?” You asked.

“No.” He breathed. “Not at all.”

You pressed your lips to his gently at first. It didn’t take long for the heat of your breaths to heighten as Bucky pulled you closer into him as you kissed. Your hands traveled into his hair, loosely pulling on the short strands causing him to grunt with each tug.

The farther you sank into his lap, the higher your skirt hiked up your hips. The coolness of his metal hand traveling up your thigh tore a yelp through your throat.

“I’m sorry.” He asked, immediately stopping.

You shook your head. “Just surprised me. I don’t wanna do more than this.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” You kissed him again.

“Yeah.” He sighed into your mouth, bringing his right hand under your shirt to rub circles into the small of your back.

You lightly bit his lip as you smiled into the kiss, and he groaned, wrapping his arm around your waist and his other around your thigh to hoist you up. You tried to stifle your giggle against his lips as he gently laid you down on the couch before climbing over you. You parted your legs to give him enough space, resuming kissing.

You could only feel him all around you. One hand would clutch the fabric of your skirt while the other cradled the back of your neck to not rest uncomfortably on the arm of the couch.

It was when you swore he had kissed all the air from your lungs when he finally pulled away and draped his legs over the couch, panting as if he’d ran a mile. You smiled wider than you had all day, you swore. You fully lay yourself down, tossing your feet over his lap and watching him.

He rested his head in his hand, still breathing quite deeply.

When he hadn’t looked at you yet, you frowned, sitting up and tugging your skirt down over your bare legs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” he huffed, finally meeting your gaze, a shy grin upon his lips. “Just a lot.”

“Oh…” you dropped your eyes before looking back at him. “Good though?”

“Yes.” He said without a hint of reluctance.

You chuckled, bringing your hand up to his hair. “I think you should grow it out.”

“Why?” He wrinkled his nose.

“More for me to run my hands through.”

Bucky smiled, dare you say, almost shyly. “I’ll think about.”

And the two of you just sat there in each other’s company, debating if it was better to wish each other farewell for the day, or be absolutely still and where you were with each other.

“You know,” You began. “I think Clem would love it if you stayed for dinner.”

“I think so too.” He agreed. “And maybe a movie?”

“Oh, she’d adore it.”

[anyarose011]

I'd like to remember Pope Francis as the Pope who called a ton of priests faggots, apologized for it, then called them all faggots again

[anyarose011]

I don't EVER wanna hear you say they don't know how to act again.

[anyarose011]

Such an Old Fashioned Word {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: The rest of your winter break is spent at Barton, though not completely uneventful. Last minute secrets are shared to ring out the new year, and all seems well for the next semester. Yet, even on the first day, that's not all true.

Part 10 of 10 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, unserious injury, mention of past child abuse, and the return of Teddy Kountze.

Welp, we've reached the end (of the movie) you guys. Don't worry, I'm making a small epilogue, but just wanted to give this first. Before it's officially over though, I just wanted to thank all of you SO much for all of your support. I am truly forever grateful for all of you guys' enthusiasm. Also, everybody say "Thank you, Anya" for putting the original Queen audio of "Under Pressure" when I was this 🤏close to making it the Aftersun version 🥰🥰

Word Count: 7.5k

The car ride back to Barton was mostly silent. Not a nasty, bitter, awkward silence; no, this was a mix of exhaustion, but also content. Even though it was just an hour and a half drive from Boston, your father and Mary still thought it was best to leave a little bit after dawn; that, and the hotel was kicking you out around that time.

You had no shame either as you laid sideways in the backseat, feet draped over Angus’ lap. He kept his hands glued to his side, but he didn’t look uncomfortable either. You know that there was a hint of it though; it’d be bad if there wasn’t as your father and his teacher drove the car.

It was December 28th when you had returned from your little ‘field trip’. Two more weeks until the spring semester started back at the school…there wasn’t much else to do. So, the five of you, now with Danny deciding to join more days than less, decided to make the most of it.

There were a few, eventful days; you and Angus decided to cook for everyone instead of having Mary do it one night.

(“Alright, a tablespoon of salt.” You poured it into the pot.

He was silent for an odd amount of time, before saying your name. “That was a cup.”)

Perhaps it wasn’t a smart idea to stay up until four in the morning, reading. You didn’t risk sneaking into Angus’ room at night after Boston, considering the conversation you both had to have with your father.

(It wasn’t the first day back in Barton, but the next. It was after lunch that you and Angus were simply sitting on opposite sides of the couch in the large study, reading separately. The door opened, and you both looked up to see your father, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen on a normal day.

“Are you alright, papa?” You sat up, asking him with a hint more affection.

He nodded. “Yes, I just wanted to speak to you both about something.”

You already knew what it was, yet you still hoped it wasn’t it. You and Angus leaned forward in anticipation

Your father took a deep breath. “I noticed that you both have become close over the winter break, especially after Boston…I feel as if I have t know if the two of you are-.”

“-Yes.” Angus nodded. “We’re…together.”

“Ah,” he nodded, exhaling.

“Is that alright?”

“Yes, it’s just,” your father huffed a laugh. “frankly, I didn’t think I’d have this conversation for quite some time.”

“Why,” you jested. “you thought I wasn’t desirable to boys my age?”

“No, you just knew your worth, and we both assumed no boy was capable of amounting to it.” He turned to Angus. “I don’t believe in miracles very often, but perhaps I will just this once. We would not be having this conversation a week ago. Yet, in this short amount of time, you have shown me that you are a respectful and selfless young man. If any one of my students had the privilege of courting my daughter, I’m glad it’s you.”

Angus smiled at the sentiment, no matter how strangely it was worded. “Thank you, Mr. Hunham.”

He nodded. “Now, I will say that there’s a matter of how physically affectionate you two are together-.”

“-Papa,” you stopped him. “out of the three of us in the room, you’re the last one to be scared of me getting pregnant.”

Angus and your father didn’t make a sound; they didn’t need to, their eyes said it all. Still, you said it without a hint of discomfort. Even if you felt it, you didn’t show it; it was a true statement. It was almost as if you would be dealing with the brunt of pregnancy, and Angus would face the other part of it.

“Well…” Your father cleared his throat. “I wasn’t going to say it outright, only allude. Still…just be respectful; in public and not.”

“Okay.” You audibly responded, while Angus kept his head down to hide the pinkness of his skin, nodding.

“Alright.” Your father sighed, then moved swiftly to exit the room. “It was lovely having this talk; one I will go and pretend we never had unless one of us brings it up.”

“Love you, dad.” You said once he left. When the door was shut, you glanced back at Angus. “You good?”

He pursed his lips. “Ask me in an hour.”)

The most notable thing to happen after that talk was New Years. You, Mary, and Angus, had prepared a feast for supper; Angus finally joined to cook simply because he didn’t trust you the last time you held a cooking utensil. Danny joined that night as well as all of you were in the teacher’s lounge, watching Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians, waiting for the ball to drop.

(“Man, I sure do wish we had some noisemakers.” Mary commented, sitting in between you and Angus.

“I’ve got one.” Angus pulled one out from his back pocket without missing a beat.

Danny huffed from beside you. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “found it.”

You and he went on another “adventure” through the tunnels, broke into the dormitories, and snooped around.

Your father shook his head, taking it. “Well, you’re not deploying that in here.”

“You know, you weren’t so uptight in Boston.” You teased, then turned to Danny. “As the head janitor-.”

“-I’m the only janitor.” He elbowed you.

“Where do you stand on indoor fireworks?”

“About as far away as I can.”

Mary nodded. “Very wise.”

The countdown on the TV began, and all of you stood up. To everyone’s concern though, you and Angus dashed behind the couch.

“What’re you doing?” Your father laughed.

You took the bowl of grapes off the table. “Tradition.”

It was something you yourself started when you were seven after befriending a girl from Puerto Rico in the second grade. You told your parents about it, and your mother took part happily; although, she had you eat half the grapes, and she’d eat the other half so you wouldn’t choke.

You brought it up to Angus one night, and he wanted to do it too. You didn’t even have to suggest it.

As both you and Angus crouched under the table, the three adults counted down in excitement, and you joined them.

“Happy New Year!” You all screamed, and after giving Angus a peck on the cheek, you started devouring the grapes. He soon followed.

It was clumsy, and as you both fought over a grape or two, you had to force yourself not to laugh as you simultaneously ate. Angus would sit up and hit his head on the table, and all you could do was smother your laughter and run your fingers over the spot in an effort to soothe him. You swallowed your last grape just as the clock hit 12:01.

“Shit!” Angus snickered, seeing that there were two more in the bowl.

“Damn.” You shook your head. “You’re gonna have two months of bad luck.”

“Is it January and February, or November and December?”

“I don’t think you get to choose.”

“Children.”

You and Angus perked your heads up at your father’s calling. He held the noisemaker high in his hand. “Would you like to light this sucker off in the kitchen, or outside?”

Angus grinned from ear to ear. “Considering it’s like minus ten outside…”

“The kitchen it is.” Mr. Hunham huffed.

“What?” Both Danny and Mary gasped.

You giggled, crawling out from under the table and helping Angus stand as well. Your father and boyfriend rushed to the kitchen like excited children, Angus holding the firecracker, and your father striking a match. You, Danny, and Mary simply stood outside of the kitchen in a mix of terror and amusement.

Once the noisemaker was bursting with light, Angus threw it down the end of the kitchen where there was nothing else in sight. You didn’t see the explosion but heard it for a second before then a slight ringing entering your ears.

There were three things you heard once your hearing returned: Uncontrollable laughter from everyone around you, Mary playfully scolding everyone, and the echoes of Auld Lang Syne from the TV.

You always thought nostalgia was only something you’d feel as an adult, remembering what it was like to be a child. You never thought you’d feel it all at once as it was happening to you.

It was a joyful day for the most part, but that moment had struck a strange feeling within you.

You told Angus about it that night before you went to bed, and he was honest with you; he hadn’t shared the same feeling, but could understand it.

He kissed you goodnight, and that was that.

You felt a little better.)

The only other interesting thing you did was invite Elise over to Barton on her last day before she’d go home for school.

(You, Elise, and Angus finished building a family of snowmen when you decided to scale up the hill of the chapel with your sleds. After going down a few times, Elise turned to you once you were all back up at the top.

“I dare you to stand while sledding down.” She smirked.

“Done.” Was all you said, setting your sled down.

Angus could only say your name before you took the dare. In short, you ended up falling halfway down, and rolled the rest of the way, twisting your ankle and gaining a fresh set of bruises.

It was actually quite funny the differing reactions in the two as they stood on either side of you, your arms draped around their shoulders.

“I give that an eight out of ten.” Elise teased.

“Why?” you grunted as you hobbled on your feet.

“You didn’t eat enough shit.”

“She’s eaten too much!” Angus stressed.

You cackled. “I did fall in some yellow snow. It was lemony.”

In all honesty, the earful your father gave you for being hurt was less than what Angus gave you for the joke you made).

Everyone except Mary hovered over you after that. Even though all you needed was to wear a brace and wrap your foot for a week, they acted as if you had that foot in the grave. Especially Angus, which actually surprised you.

Still, three days before the end of winter break, and one day before students could show up back on campus, you hobbled out of your bed.

It was half an hour before sunrise, and you had made it a last-minute goal to watch it with him. When winter break was over, you’d return back to the faculty housing; back to your own room which you appreciated, but you’d see Angus far less.

So, just like old times, you tiptoed into his room to wake him up.

Yet…he was awake; for the very first time, he was awake. You saw as how the light of the moon bled into the room, and you watched as he sat up, his knees to his chest, and rubbing his nose.

“Angus?” You whispered. He snapped his gaze over to you but didn’t flinch upon hearing your voice. As you got closer, you saw the unmistakable sight of tears upon his face. “Why are you crying?”

 He swallowed thickly. “I-I had a dream about my dad.”

Your face fell, and you sat beside him on the bed. “Bad?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It was good.”

Where Angus was confused at your feeling of bitter nostalgia on New Years, you were completely bewildered at that moment. Still, you did your best not to show it.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

He inhaled, trembling. “I just…it was weird, but it wasn’t? I was at home, I don’t know if I was ten, or seventeen, but I woke up and felt normal. I was in my childhood house, I went downstairs and saw he was reading the paper and-and my mom was making bread. I thought I woke up and the rest of my life had been a dream. I didn’t know what was real.”

Your heart crumbled at his recounting; not just from how he’d weep over something he described as good, but from it hitting too close to home.

“I had dreams like that.” You confessed in a whisper.

He dropped his gaze from yours, only to then lay fully down on the bed. You followed, draping an arm over him.

“He said sorry.” Angus said, not looking at you.

“For what?”

He didn’t respond right away. “He pushed me off the porch after when I was thirteen…I kind of deserved it, I was being a little shit. I’d gotten into a fight at school with this asshole kid who stole my backpack, and my dad was trying to talk to me about it. I yelled at him when trying to leave the house, and…yeah, he pushed me. He felt bad right away and patched me up; I just got a bruise and a scratch, it wasn’t bad. Mom found out and…we’d already known about his condition, but she called Pinehills as soon as she got home, and he was taken away that night.”

You wanted to say a lot. Say how it wasn’t his fault, how there was no excuse to push him when he was so much younger…but you couldn’t, you know it wouldn’t help. Instead, you brought your hand up to his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek and forcing him to look at you.

“Do you want kids?”

He furrowed his brow. “I-I…what?”

So, you said it again. “Do you want kids when you grow up?”

“I…” he wiped his face. “I don’t even know what I want in the next year.”

“Would you ever push them?” He sighed your name, but you didn’t stop. “Even if they were being an asshole?”

He shook his head. “I know what you’re doing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m serious-.”

“-So am I.”

Angus took a deep breath, leaning into your touch. “No. No I wouldn’t.”

You pulled him into you, and immediately his arms wrapped around your waist. He didn’t make a sound, but his body shook with repressed sobs. All you could do was run your fingers through his hair.

When all was said and done, he was the first to pull away from you, only to kiss you with a gentleness you hadn’t felt before from a man.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Smiling, you shook your head. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Now, get up.”

He hummed, sitting up once you stood. “Why?”

You took his hand. “I wanna see the sunrise.”

“It’s too cold out-.”

“-I don’t care.”

“Your leg’s bad.”

“So, carry me.”

He snickered, getting out of bed and slipping his shoes and jacket on. He turned away from you, crouching down.

“Come on.”

You shook your head. “It’s actually not that bad, I was just kidding-.”

“-I’m not.”

So, you let him. Well, you both waited until you were outside to get on his back, then saying it was so you wouldn’t get your feet cold. He carried you through the snow for a few minutes until he stumbled, realizing he wasn’t as strong as his ego.

But you both sat at the top of the hill of the chapel, seldomly speaking and just waiting for the sun to rise up from the east. You’d never experienced a twilight so beautiful than in early January of 1971 at Barton. The shade of purple in the sky reflecting off the snow seemed to be more memorable than the sunrise itself.

Still, as the sun peeked up through the trees, and a new day was born, your cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much.

That was the last day of your own personal winter break.

Even though the semester didn’t technically start until two days after that, you and your father had still gone back to the faculty housing, as some teachers had also returned early to prepare for the remainder of the year.

You didn’t notice how lonely you’d been until you step foot back into your room, which you had deemed your sanctuary. While it still served as such, you found yourself missing Angus.

Despite the fact he was just a short walk away, you wanted to take some time apart. You…adored him (it was too early to call it love), but you still needed some space. It was fitting that your father invited you to come in on the first day back.

“Brush up on the Peloponnesian War.” He said at dinner the night of January 10th. “I wanna give the pubescent boys a warmup before their exam retake.”

Not even the Cheshire Cat could form a grin wider than yours.

He didn’t teach Angus’ class until eleven, so you thankfully had time to sleep in and review. It felt strange to enter the school as boys your age and younger rushed past you, either getting to class or fooling around with one another.

The stares were strange too. Although, where you once would shrink into yourself as you walked, every step now had a surge of confidence while they gawked at a girl their age walking the same halls they did.

When turning a corner, you quite literally almost ran into a boy.

“Oh shit, sorry-.” He looked up, and you recognized his voice, but his face and most notably his hair took you by surprise. He smiled upon seeing you. “Miss Hunham.”

You blinked before chuckling. “Jason. You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Figured it was time; it was getting in my face.”

“Not your dad?”

He didn’t say anything, only smiled before chuckling and giving himself away. “So uh, how was getting stuck over here for Christmas?”

You shrugged. “Not bad, actually. How was skiing?”

“Oh, you know, fun and stuff. I do it every year, so it was nice, but I don’t think I actually would’ve complained a lot if I stayed here.”

Thinning your lips, you still smiled politely. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, would’ve been different.”

It quickly was awkward, but not in the worst way. So, you decided to end it. “Happy New Years, Jason.”

He wished you the same sentiment, and you both were on your way. The second you entered your father’s classroom, all fell silent. Ten boys in that room all stared at you as if you’d grown a second head, and only one of them smiled before glancing back down at his notebook.

“Ah shit.” One of the boys awestricken said perhaps without meaning to.

Still, you walked to your father’s desk, sitting down. “Sorry.”

“We seriously have to deal with you? On the first day?”

You looked over at the aggravating voice you didn’t miss, and promptly nearly fell out of your seat. “Jesus Christ, why do you look like that?!”

A few chuckles were heard as you stared at Teddy Kountze, whose entire face, save for his eyes, was redder than the 1968 presidential election.

He glared at you before smirking. “I was gonna ask you the same thing, Hunham. How was being stuck here with Tully and your shitty dad?”

“It was lovely, thank you.” You decided to do a more “lady like” approach to throw him off.

“Really?” He asked. “You take any pictures?”

You glanced at Angus, whose once lighthearted eyes soon turned dark at the comment. Still, you smiled at him and pondered the question. You actually didn’t take any pictures with him, or anything of that winter break.

“No, actually.” You said. “I should have though.”

Teddy huffed. “Didn’t know you were that much of a slut-.”

“-That’s rich coming from the same species of human that fucked animals and blessed us with STDs.”

The room howled in laughter, even though it was technically a jab at the entirety of the male gender. Still, no one cackled louder than Angus Tully diagonally from you. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself; you’d written that comeback down a few years back, happy that you could finally use it.

All Teddy could do was glare daggers into your skin because soon your father entered the room with. “Welcome back, you snarling Visigoths. I trust you all enjoyed a refreshing holiday.” He walked to the front of the room, eyes falling on you. “Ah, you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“Quite so.” You smirked.

He then looked at Teddy, flinching. “Oh, hello, Mr. Kountze. Or should I say Icarus? Fly a little too close to the sun, did we?”

The boy furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Yeah, all right. Along with your skiing and swimming, I hope you found time to enlighten yourselves about the Peloponnesian War and its implications for today. Just to check, I brought my lovely daughter you all know to test your knowledge before we retake the final from last semester. Omnia ex scrineis vestris praeter stilum.”

All of the boys in the room except for Angus groaned heavily. You stood up and walked to the front of the room with a pep in your step and so begun the third round of your trivia competition.

You were kinder this time; you didn’t immediately ring in your answer as soon as your father finished the question. Except for Teddy; in fact, it was in the middle of a question you decided to answer it.

Of course, the final question was between you and Angus.

“What did Sparta do after the Sicilian Expedition which ultimately helped it win the war?”

Neither of you spoke. Of course, Angus was wondering if you were going easy on him, and you were wondering the exact same thing.

The silence in the room only caused your mind to run into overdrive, going over every page you read in preparation just for this silly little game. Then, it hit you.

You smacked the desk and opened your mouth, but only a strangled syllable escaped before a woman’s voice entered your ears.

“Angus Tully?”

Lydia Crane poked her head into the classroom, and all eyes fell onto her. Angus, in somewhat of a shock, asked. “Yes?”

“Dr. Woodrup would like to see you.”

A chill entered the room, not from the cracked window in the corner of it, but from seven words alone. Angus, after taking them in, glanced at your father.

Keeping his cool, but also tension growing, he nodded. “You can retake it on an off period.”

The last thing Angus did was look at you. He didn’t even need to speak to tell you he was worried beyond compare. Yet…you didn’t know why.

He followed Miss Crane out, and the second he left, Teddy snickered. “One day back, and the basket case is already in trouble.”

“You shut your mouth, Theodore!” You spat.

“Hey!” Your father put his hand on your shoulder. “None of that here, this is a classroom, not the Colosseum. And as for you, Mr. Kountze, we’ll not talk like that any further.”

He shrugged, sheepishly. “Of course, Mr. Hunham.”

Your father said your name gently. “You’re excused. Thank you for attending today.”

Nodding, you marched out of the room and immediately rushed down the hall. You entered the bustling kitchen, half of the cooks cleaning up from breakfast, the other half preparing for lunch that was next period. It wasn’t hard to find Mary, who was the ringleader of the entire operation.

She sighed upon seeing you. “Miss Jane Bennett, I don’t have time for-.”

“-It’s Angus.”

There was a franticness building within your eyes, and it was only then she knew you were serious. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, he just got called to Woodrup’s office and that’s it.” You huffed. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but it feels wrong.”

“Okay.” She soothed, taking your hand, then turned to a woman beside her. “Clara, hold down the fort.”

Clara nodded, and both you and Mary left the kitchen. Despite being stuck in the school for weeks, it felt like a labyrinth to you once everyone came back. It was Mary who had to lead you through the halls until you were finally at the office. Just as you an Mary were approaching it, you watched as both Miss Crane and Angus left.

Their gaze met yours and Mary’s, and time seemed to stand still. It was Miss Crane who broke it. She squeezed Angus’ shoulder comfortingly.

“Go sit down.”

He carried himself over to the bench by the window as if he was a dead man walking, and he sat down as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. Before you could say anything, Miss Crane walked past you.

You sat beside Angus, looking at him but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. “What happened?”

“My mother and Stanley are here.”

No build up, no fear before the reveal, he said it like it was.

Yet, while there was no emotion behind his words, his face was the spitting image of one you saw in a history textbook. One that showed a soldier suffering from shell shock.

“I think I’m gonna get kicked out.” He said. “That means military school.”

You wanted to hug him, you wanted to take his hand and run away and move to Boston, New York, Chicago, hell, a little house in Nebraska of all places…but you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t even open your mouth to say something.

So, you just took his hand and placed your head on his shoulder. Mary stood in front of you both, leaning against the wall, and combing her fingers through Angus’ curls.

It felt strange seeing your father walk up to the principal’s door and not saying anything. He glanced at the three of you in confusion before entering the room.

You wanted to ask why, oh why, they were here? What made them of all days return for something so horrible and not to be warm to their son? Still, it didn’t feel right to barge him with questions, so, again, the three of you were there in silence together.

A few minutes passed, and the door opened. Out came your father with a look so solemn you felt like you could cry. He looked between the three of you awaiting his answer for whatever went on in that room.

“It’s this one.” He pointed to his right eye. “This is the one you should look at.”

You all looked at one another in puzzlement, yet even in that, there was a hint of humor in your slight grins.

The door opened, and Dr. Woodrup looked at Angus. “Angus, step inside, please.”

He followed, waiting until the last possible second to let go of your hand. When the door shut, your father looked at you, saying your name softly.

“Would you come with me, please?”

You know he wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t serious. The pain in your had left for just a moment, but then it found its way back when you heard those words. Still, you stood up and followed him.

Your father led you into a hallway that led to nowhere, crossing his arms.

“This…I will not lie and say that this is an easy thing to hear.” He began. “Angus had stolen a snow globe from Miss Crane’s house and gave it to his father at the sanitorium when we visited. It caused his father to have an episode, and he told the orderlies, who then told Angus’ mother. They came here with the conviction that Angus had manipulated us, and that sending him to military school would ‘straighten him’ out so to say…I told them it was solely my idea. I told them I encouraged him to visit his father…and for that, I am being asked to resign.”

“What?” Was all you could choke out.

He took a deep breath, placing his hands on your shoulders. “We’re leaving tomorrow. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, they can’t do that. He-he, you fucking taught the asshole who’s headmaster!”

“I did, but you know that’s not how this works.”

“On-on the first day, are you serious?!” You laughed.

He said your name gently. “I know this upsets you, believe me, I am too-.”

“No, just,” you sighed, pulling away before walking down the hall. “I’m gonna go home.”

Your father shook his head. “You should start packing. We can figure out where we can-.”

“-I’ll see you after school.” Was all you said.

It didn’t feel real. Your father had just told you in less than a minute that you were leaving. Leaving a place you had essentially grown up in but not at the same time. Leaving a friend, a boyfriend, your very first one, leaving Mary…

Oh god…Mary.

You pushed yourself out of the school and rushed back to the faculty housing, doing your best to avoid anyone before you finally entered your room.

You didn’t cry…you felt the pain and sorrow fester within you, yet you didn’t cry. You wanted to break things, wanted to toss your entire desk out the window, but you didn’t.

There was nothing you could do, and that made it worse.

Your father ordered pizza for both of you that night, explaining more about the situation you were in. He had already packed most of his room up, but you hadn’t even started. He said that you’d drop all of your heavy belongings off at an old coworker’s house in Syracuse and then leave.

“I was thinking Carthage sounds nice.” He chimed in. “Then after that, perhaps Egypt? Or Rome even, I remember you said you always wanted to…”

You only nodded along, and you felt like you were out of your body as he helped you pack up a majority of your bedroom in just a few hours. It felt strange; you knew you were going to leave that year, with your unofficial graduation…yet there you were, leaving in the first month unexpectedly.

With a kiss upon your head, your father wished you goodnight, but you only tossed and turned in your bed.

You were nowhere close to drifting off when you heard something at our window. Sitting up, you pulled the curtains back, revealing Angus Tully standing outside below. You opened the window.

“What are you doing?!” You whisper-yelled.

“Come down here!” He responded.

 “It’s freezing, you come up here!”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“You climb a rope in gym, climb the gutter.”

His eyes drew over to it, and with a heavy sigh, he latched his arms around it. He clumsily climbed his way up, using the house as a crutch. Thankfully, it wasn’t that far of a climb, and you pulled him into your room.

He landed on your bed harshly, nearly letting out a yelp if you didn’t cover his mouth in time.

“I beat you.” Was the first thing you said.

Angus took your hand, furrowing his eyes. “What?”

“The stupid trivia.” You swallowed thickly. “The Spartans started their own fleet and allied with Persia after the Sicilian Expedition. I was going to say that, and I was right. If you let me win, I’ll throw you out the window, I swear to God.”

He sat up, his gaze softening the longer he looked at you. Then, with a tenderness that pained you, he pulled you into an embrace.

That was when you finally cried. You clutched the fabric of his shirt until your knuckles turned white, attempting to muffle your sobs. Angus only held you tighter, kissing this base of your neck and running his hand up and down your back.

“Why’d you take it?” You asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Why’d you give it to him?”

“I…I wanted him to have something.” He pulled away only to see your face. “I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I really am. I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking.”

You shook your head. “I think we’re gonna leave the country.”

“What?” His voice was strangled.

“Why not? He’s old and hasn’t gone in forever, and I’ve never been outside of America.”

Angus dropped his head, as if it was only then did the gravity of the situation weigh heavy on him. When he finally looked at you again, he took your face into his hands.

“I’m gonna come clean.” He said. “I’ll tell Dr. Woodrup the truth, and that-.”

“-You’re a fucking idiot.”

You never spoke to him like that. Whenever you were angry at him, you were snarky, you were a know it all, but only then, did you say something horrible like you meant it.

Of course, he was absolutely taken aback, but he already knew you had more to say once you pulled back.

“If you get sent to Fork Union, I’m never speaking to you again.” You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter if you write me a letter or a thousand, I will make myself forget everything that happened this Christmas. You’re too smart, no, too fucking brilliant to do some stupid shit and get yourself thrown into Vietnam. Don’t waste it.’

He nodded as soon as you were finished. “I won’t. I…I’m gonna miss you.”

Exhaustion pulled on you as soon as he said that, and you sighed. “I don’t wanna go.”

Angus kissed your cheek, his eyes then traveling around your almost barren room. On your desk sat a familiar book. He picked it up, flipping through the pages. “I’ve never actually read this before.”

“Really? It’s so short.”

“Did you ever find the one your dad gave you?”

“Yeah, I packed that one up.”

He smiled. “How about I read it to you? It’s one of your favorites, right?”

You snorted. “You have school in the morning.”

“I don’t care.”

That’s how you both came to lie down on your bed, and he read The Little Prince aloud to you. It was a memory you wouldn’t forget, even if he landed himself in military school.

You fell asleep nearing the end of the book, and Angus Tully did not wake you to say goodbye.

You thought you’d woken up from a horrible dream, only to then see that your room was still packed, and The Little Prince was neatly set on your desk with a note from Angus.

I put the number and address of the school at the bottom in case you forgot. Thank you for being the best part of my year.

-Angus

You held the note to your chest, falling back down onto your bed. Whether that was God, Allah, Zues, Aphrodite, or perhaps even the spirit of Jane Austen, you were going to beat the shit out of the author to your story once you were dead.

After a moment to yourself, you got dressed and packed up the last of your things, deciding to put the book in your backpack. You didn’t know what time it was, but you were starving, so you’d gone down into the faculty kitchen, flat out ignoring whatever stares or feigned condolences that were given to you from others.

What surprised you was Mary Lamb sitting at the main table.

“And I thought I helped raise you better to come and say goodbye to me.” She scolded you, but with a hint of playfulness.

You sat down beside her. “I didn’t want to cry again.”

“Cry until your eyes fall out.” She said. “It hurts less than holding it all in.”

“I don’t…” You sighed. “I can’t say goodbye. I think I’ll die the second I step out of this house.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m not!” You whined dramatically.

She snickered, taking your hand. “You listen to me now; you’re not going to die. You’re going to grow older and do whatever you want. You’re gonna travel the world, and you’re…what do you want to be when you grow up?”

You didn’t have an answer. “I don’t actually know…I’ve always like writing-.”

“-Okay, then you’re gonna be a famous writer, and you’re gonna be taught in classrooms a hundred years from now where the snot nosed brats will be bored. Or you’re just gonna figure it out because you don’t need to know right now. How does that sound?”

Smiling shyly, you squeezed her hand. “It sounds good.”

“Good. Now come on, you have to make me jealous you’re gonna travel the world.”

You shook your head, giggling. “And what are you gonna do?”

“Me?” She scoffed. “I’m staying here until God calls me home. That, and making money to send my nephew to college.”

“Peggy knows it’s a boy?”

“I think it’s gonna be.”

You hummed. “I’m gonna make a lot of money so we can live on the beach for however long you want.”

“And I’m holding you to that.”

She went up to speak with your father, and you began loading your things into the U-Haul trailer connected to your father’s car. As you were picking up your last box, two familiar boys approached you.

“Ah,” you smiled upon seeing Alex and Ye-Joon. “I was wondering if you two survived.”

Ye-Joon gave you a look. “Survived what?”

“Skiing. Sounds quite dangerous.” You set your box into the trailer.

Alex shook his head. “No, it was great! I’m sorry you and Angus couldn’t come.”

“Don’t be. We actually…” you paused, feeling sudden emotion creep up on you. “we became really good friends. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“So,” Ye-Joon asked. “why are you and your dad leaving?”

“Did he get fired?” Alex followed.

You shook your head. “They caught him eating cat shit and saw me dancing naked on the football field while performing a pagan ritual.”

They stared at you with a horror you had never seen in boys.

“No, I’m just messing with you.” You laughed. “They had to make cuts for money reasons and my dad was the first to go. You tell people that if they say something, you hear?”

They nodded, muttering ‘yes’ and ‘of course’. With a final wave and wishing of ‘goodbye!’ they ran back to school. Your father soon came out, hauling out a few more boxes.

“Don’t tell me you scared them before we leave?”

You took one from him. “I made them think I was a witch for a few seconds.”

The two of you laughed, and when you looked up, you then saw one Angus Tully walking towards you. He smiled.

“Hi…”

Your father returned the gesture. “Hello.”

“Look…I don’t know what you said to my mom and Stanley, Woodrup. All I know is that I’m not getting kicked out, and you got fired.”

“I just told the truth; mostly.”

He smiled. “Barton man.”

“Barton man.” The bell rang as soon as the sentiment was spoken, and your father opened the door to the trailer, mumbling. “Fifth period.”

Angus didn’t take his eyes off of you even as you tried to avoid them. You caught a glimpse of red beginning to outline them, as if he was holding back tears. Then, rubbing his face, he said.

“You know, it’s only PE. Maybe I could skip it, and we could head over to the Winning Ticket, grab a burger and a beer?”

“Are you shitting me?” You chuckled.

Your father playfully shoved you. “Language. A Miller High Life, no doubt? You never give up, do you?”

“They already fired you, so I figured it was worth a shot.” He shrugged sheepishly then looked at you. “We never got to play pinball.”

“I would’ve beat you, and you know it.”

“Just because you won trivia doesn’t mean you’ll win everything.”

Your father touched your shoulder to get your attention. “I left something in the house, I’ll be back in a second.”

You had an inkling right away he lied to give you privacy, but he wouldn’t confirm it for another month. Still, you nodded, and he went back into the house, leaving you and Angus alone. He tucked his hands into his pockets, looking down at his shoes.

“I think if I hug you, I’ll start crying.”

“And you can’t look like a sissy in front of the other boys.” You attempted to tease. “No, I get it.”

He still latched his arms around you anyway, and you held him to you like the universe was trying to rip him away. It was unspoken when you would ever see each other again, but it was also unspoken that you would see each other again period.

You were the first to pull away, and you forced a smile. “No tears.”

Angus nodded. “No tears.”

An idea came to mind, and you walked over to the car, opening the passenger door and unzipping the top pocket of your backpack. Searching, you finally pulled out A Little Prince and a pen.

“No,” he shook his head. “I gave it to you-.”

You opened the book to the first page. “I have decided as of this morning that I’m going to be a writer; and when I’m famous, you’ll have my signature before I was, so that if you ever need money, you have something.”

After signing the inside of the book, you handed it back to him. You hadn’t expected him to genuinely smile the whole time, yet there you were. He took it from you. “I’d never sell it, you know.”

“Yeah right.” You pulled him into a kiss. You made sure to not have it last too long, or you don’t think you would’ve stopped. You said when you pulled away. “I’ll write to you first, and I’ll try and call if I can.”

He nodded. “Send me pictures.”

“You too.”

“I’m gonna be stuck here even after I graduate.” He snickered.

“I don’t care.” You shook your head. “I should’ve taken pictures during Christmas, but I didn’t. I don’t wanna forget anything while I’m gone.”

He nodded, the realization hitting him harder now. “Okay.”

You turned when your father came out of the faculty house, carrying nothing. Angus gave a sheepish smile.

“Is that still a no for lunch?”

Your father grinned. “Your logic is flawless, but I’m afraid we’ll have to decline.”

The three of you didn’t say a word, as if by saying nothing at all, you would never have to say goodbye. It was a silence you would have wanted to stay in forever even if it meant staying out in the bitter cold air.

“You keep your head up, alright?” Your father said. “You can do this.”

Angus nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, I was gonna tell you the same thing.”

They shook hands despite how much you knew they wanted to hug. When all was said and done, Angus nodded towards you and abruptly started running back to the school.

“See ya!”

You should’ve yelled something back, but you couldn’t find the words. Yet, you smiled. It broke your heart to say goodbye, but it was filled at the same time as the memories of the winter break came back to you.

Taking your father’s hand, he rubbed his teared-up eyes with the other and you both walked to the car. It was all official; you were leaving the last place that held the remnants of your childhood behind.

You were leaving your mother and Curtis’ grave, you were leaving the summer and winter days with Elise, you were leaving the school you could have attended and thrived in if you were born a son, you were leaving a woman who had come to be your new mother…you were leaving Angus Tully.

And yet…you were also leaving behind Daniel and his new family. You were leaving behind the pain and sorrow you had carried within you ever since you were a child. It would still linger, and it had always been known to you that you were still you no matter where you were; abroad or not. Hell, the only thing that mattered was if you cried in a more beautiful part of the world or not.

So, perhaps it was all welcomed.

“What city do you want to graduate in?”

You chuckled at your father’s question. “That’s not until May.”

“No harm at all in deciding now.”

Humming, it didn’t take long for your answer. “Athens. Mom always wanted to go there.”

“So, Athens it shall be. Could you hand me the rucksack at your feet?”

You did so without question. Your father soon stopped before the main road, and unzipped one of the pockets. He reached in and took out the fanciest bottle of brandy you had ever seen.

“Holy shit!” You laughed. “Is that-?”

“-Dr. Woodrup’s? Yes.” He unscrewed it, taking a sip, then rolling down his window and spitting it out.

You giggled as he handed it to you, and you set it back in the bag. He turned left, starting the five-hour journey to Syracuse.

“How does Copenhagen sound for our first destination?” He asked.

Smiling at him first, you looked back to the road. “Copenhagen sounds great.”

[anyarose011]

Dimensions {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: What else is there to do after an emotional night than spill your darkest insecurities to someone you hated a week ago? Advice: Go bowling and to a movie afterwards so he'll tell you his.

Part 9 of 10 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Long ass monologues you could use to audition for a school play, a good father figure, swearing, past miscarriages, past abandonment, descriptions of cancer, and descriptions of grief.

I’m just now realizing that all of my series has a dead mom. Guys, I’m not like Walt Disney I swear; my mom is alive and we have a great relationship 85% of the time. But anyway, hey pookiesss, here's my late Christmas/New Years gift! I really loved this chapter, and made it a little longer just to make up for the long time it took to get it out. Honestly...this may be the second to last chapter. We'll just have to see if I would want to write a long last chapter or not. Also, I would like to apologize for changing the title to the series (specifically to @riverdrowning for recommending it), but it's not my fault Jack Antonoff probably walked out of the movie and said "This would be a great song".

Word Count: 7.4k

The spaghetti wasn’t cooked all the way, the sauce covered half of the pasta, and the only good thing about the room service your stepfather ordered were the meatballs.

Maybe you should’ve just sucked it up and stayed at the diner.

You hadn’t seen Angus or your stepfather-fuck it, he was still your dad, the rest of the evening. You had shut yourself in your small hotel room, trying to console yourself with a warm bath and reading The Little Prince.

It helped a little bit, and you had barely had a break from crying that you thought you would sleep well that night.

Yet, as you laid on the bed and saw the digital clock read ‘1:00 AM’, that was when you sat up. Wrapping the spare blanket around yourself, you peeked behind the curtains of the window and just stared out it. There were a few people down on the streets of snowy Boston. Some were across the street sitting on a bench drinking and laughing, and some walking briskly with their hands in their pockets to escape the cold.

Your gaze then lingered on the door to your left by the desk; the door leading to Angus and your father’s room.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the door and carefully turned the handle. Luckily, the door didn’t creak as you opened it, and then stepped into the room. Just like yours, the only light was in the room was the streetlamps outside peering in through the window.

Your father slept with a pillow over his head, probably in an attempt to smother his snores for Angus sake. Your gaze then turned to the boy in question. He slept soundly on his side facing away from the window.

Tiptoeing, once you made it to his side, you gently shook him.

Angus hummed lightly before turning over and seeing you. He flinched for a moment, and you shushed him before whispering.

“Can I talk to you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, what’s up?”

You didn’t say anything; only took his hand in yours and helped him stand from his bed. The two of you quietly scurried back to your room, and shut the door. You sat on your bed, leaning against the headboard. You assumed Angus would’ve sat at the foot of it, but no, he sat beside you.

Silence filled the air between you, until, for the first time, it was Angus who broke the silence.

“You uh…you said you wanted to talk. Do you still wanna do that?”

“No,” you immediately answered. “but I know I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I mean I need to.” You sighed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t expect that I needed to tell you about…Daniel, but I should have.”

Angus shook his head. “It was none of my business. It’s a lot of bagage-.”

“-Can I just say everything first, please?” When you saw him nod, you continued with hesitance. “My mom did meet my father at Harvard, but she also met Paul. She…she was closer with him the whole time. They went on like one date their sophomore year, but she said it didn’t work out; apparently, he was too full of himself for her back then.” You both laughed.

Swallowing, you continued. “They were still friends, but my mom started dating Daniel her junior year. He had to repeat a year, and even then, barely passed that. It’s not that he was an idiot, he just didn’t want to do the work. Still, they got along, and after they graduated, they got married and moved to Boston. They wanted kids right away but…my mom had two miscarriages before having me a lot later. I-I wondered if he hated her because of that. Still, I remember growing up and Daniel was nice but…It’s stupid, there’d school stuff and he wouldn’t come. He’d say it was work, and I know that was probably the case, but I remember one night where I heard my mom yelling at him because he went to the bar with friends instead of a dance recital or something, I can’t remember.”

Your voice lowered as the memory resurfaced. “Mom got cancer when I was nine, and I think it was a few weeks after I heard something downstairs late at night. I got up and saw Daniel trying to go out the front door, suitcase in hand. I asked where he was going, all he said was that he loved me, and left. I woke Mom up…and she just cried. She cried so much I stopped crying with her and called Paul; Mr. Hunham.”

You wiped your face; tears were beginning to form but not fall. “Her parents lived in Pennsylvania, so there was no one else I could call. They were still friends even after he left Harvard. She invited him to family stuff and was basically my uncle. It was like one in the morning, I don’t know. Barton’s an hour away, but he got there in twenty minutes. I don’t know how he wasn’t pulled over. He took a week off from Barton and just stayed with us. After that, he’d make the one hour commute everyday for a few months. Every few weeks in the mail there’d be the same letter with a toy train stamp. I didn’t know this, but my mom and dad were only talking through letters, and they were getting a divorce. I didn’t even know it happened until she sat me down and told me that they did. It-it was late at night, and I just kept crying. It was over that, yeah, but-but I remember saying that I was scared Mr. Hunham was going to leave.”

Angus slipped his hand into yours, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t expect you to let out a pitiful laugh before continuing. “I was almost ten when he asked how we’d feel about moving into a house in Barton with him. I said no because I genuinely thought the only way we could live together was if my mom and him got married. So I told him that, and later, he pulled me aside saying that he promised he’d at least ask her, but wanted to give her time. I…I don’t know why I trusted him, but I did. We moved to Barton, had a small house that we only lived in for two years…and I think it was my favorite place. I drive by that house sometimes…and I really miss it.”

He squeezed your hand as if to let you know that he was still listening.

“Mary became a family friend, Curtis became my best friend…you know the rest. Mom would get better, then worse, then better again, and it just repeated. And my dad…Paul, he was good; he was really good, especially for her. It wasn’t even a year later when he asked me if he could marry her. Of course, I said yes. There wasn’t a huge wedding; it was just the three of us, Mary and Curtis, and my mom’s parents.” You chuckled, wiping your eyes. “Curtis was the ring bearer, and I was the flower girl. The men were all getting lunch together while we were getting my mom ready at church, and my grandpa wanted to see my mom’s ring so he took it from Curtis, but he dropped it down the gutter!”

“No!” Agnus laughed.

“He did! So we got two old guys freaking out, they told poor Curtis to go to the chapel and tell Mary, but he instead tells me, and my immediate response was to go to the drugstore and beg for change to buy a plastic dinosaur ring.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not!” You had to stifle your giggles. “We told Mom about the ring, but then gave her the plastic one and thought it’d be fine. She marched to the diner of course, rollers still in her hair and all. She showed them the ring, raising her voice; but, in the end, all we could do was laugh. We got someone to go down and get the actual ring, and the wedding went on…I remember she…I remember she told me that she loved every second of it more than she ever did her first wedding…She wore that plastic ring to the grave.”

There was no sound at all in your room, all but your breathing steadying out from your crying. It felt as if the world knew you needed silence.

Angus spoke up. “I would’ve like to meet her.”

“She would’ve liked you.”

“You don’t have to say that-.”

“-No,” You cut him off. “she would’ve; I wouldn’t bullshit that.”

He looked away as if it was too much. Still, he held onto you as he slunk down to lie on the bed. You followed his lead.

“She probably would’ve helped your dad not have a stick up his ass this Christmas.” He said.

You bit your tongue to not burst out in laughter but grinned from ear to ear up at the ceiling. “He still would’ve had one, but not so much.”

Angus nodded then drew his eyes up to the ceiling away from you. “You don’t-you don’t have to talk about it, but…could I ask about Daniel?”

You sighed. “He showed up to Mom’s funeral with his new pregnant wife, and we only really said hello and that was it. I can’t really remember, but I think his wife tried to talk more, but I didn’t want to. He still lived in Boston, and I never heard from him again until this past August. He sent a letter about wanting to reconnect, and I…I was stupid.” You confessed. “I didn’t want to say anything to him, but I don’t know why, I wrote him a letter and we’d just go from there. It was nothing serious, just talking about our lives. Then he started sending money; I guess he was trying to buy my forgiveness. He wanted to meet up, that was the letter you gave my dad; and no, he didn’t want us to meet at the diner.”

“I never thought that.”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

Angus reached over, placing his hand on your cheek to have you look at him. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with his shit all this time.”

“I know.” You responded exhaustedly. “I just…fuck.”

“Yeah…fuck.” The two of you fell into silence; awkward yet somehow also soothing. He soon broke it, asking. “How’re you doing now?”

“My eyes hurt from crying, but thanks for listening.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I care about you.”

It felt strange to hear that. You knew enough from your father and Mary that they would go to the ends of the earth for you; they never had to say it aloud. Still, while the foreign feeling settled in your chest like a weight, it soon eased within you as you tossed your arms around him.

“You’re the best thing that could’ve happened to me this Christmas.” You whispered.

You felt him stiffen at your words, and for a moment, you thought you said too much. Then, he sighed into your hold, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you closer.

“I’m glad I got stuck with you and not Kountze.”

“You piece of shit.” You snickered, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

“I’ll wake you up when I gotta go back.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, still holding onto him. “I’m gonna sleep really well from bawling my eyes out.”

He kissed your cheek. “I hope so.”

“Night, Angus.”

He wished you a goodnight, whispering your name so tenderly.

You were right; you did sleep well. So well, it wasn’t the light outside that woke you up, but a knock on the connecting door. Looking over at your side, you saw that Angus was not there; which relieved you more than disheartened you.

Tossing yourself out of bed, you opened the door, revealing your father.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“My eyes still hurt a little,” you answered honestly. “but better.”

He hummed. “I ordered breakfast, would you want to get dressed and join us?”

“Sure.” You closed the door and went to change into your favorite outfit. You brought it into the bathroom, and when you stripped your nightgown off, you saw the faintest red patch in your underwear.

“Fuck.” You mumbled. Out of all the days your period could have started…at least you had packed a few things for it.

After you were ready, and after tying in one of the ribbons Angus had gotten you, you knocked on the door to let them know you were coming in, and entered the room. Angus sat on his bed, eating a plate of toast and sausages.

“How are you?” He asked immediately upon your presence.

You shrugged, loading up a plate and sitting on the bed with him. “Okay.”

The three of you sat there, eating. Again, there was a hint of discomfort in it; as if none of you slept as well as you could have, and you were too tired to make conversation. Still, in the silence, you found yourself waking up.

When breakfast was finished, you all decided to go bowling at an alley you and your mother frequented when you used to live in Boston. The weather, although still bitter cold, wasn’t as bad as it had been for the past few days, leading to you taking the subway and walking instead of splurging on another taxi.

It’d been a while since you bowled, but you were better than you remembered; albeit, not great, but your ball wasn’t going in the gutter every round. Unlike your father.

Leave it to Angus to teach his own teacher how to properly bowl. It was funny for you to sit back and watch. In many movies you watched as a teenager, it was always the boy to teach the pretty girl how to bowl; never the girl’s stepfather who is also the boy’s teacher.

“Not bad,” your father laughed once he hit a few pins. “you’re a pretty good teacher, kid. Too bad everybody dislikes you; pretty much hates you. But you must know that, right?”

You turned to Angus, smirking as if to say: ‘Now how does it feel?’. He nodded, trying not to smile. “Touché sir, touché. By the way, what eye do you aim with anyway? You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, when were talking, which one should I look at? Sometimes, I look at one,” he pointed. “but then I think I’m wrong, so I look at the other.”

Your father nodded, obviously uncomfortable but not inexperienced with the question. “Yes, everybody does that. My wife did it for a whole month after I met her.”

“So, which is it?” He laughed.

Mr. Hunham shrugged, turning to you. “Don’t you tell him.”

You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key. He nodded, going to take his turn.

Angus snapped his gaze to you, saying your name and drawing out the last syllable.

“Yes, Angus?” You asked.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Your father came over soon after, saying. “I’m going to go get a drink, behave yourselves, and you can play for my turns.”

“Can I have some vodka?” You asked.

He answered, walking away. “When you’re in Europe or you’re twenty-one.”

You sighed, looking at Angus. “We’re in agreement we’re gonna screw up his bowls on purpose, right?”

“Only if you tell me which eye to look at.”

“The right one.”

“His right or my right?”

“Yes.”

He snickered. “You’re impossible.”

Getting up, you made your way to grab your ball. “Yeah, but that’s why you like me, I think.”

You bowled your set, getting a spare to your surprise and turning in victory. Angus got up, getting his own ball, waiting for the pins to come back.

“It’s one of them,” he said. “but I can handle you.”

They were simple words, and you know he probably didn’t mean for them to mean anything to you, but they did. Still, you wanted to have fun; you spent all of the night and early morning weeping, you wanted to laugh in the day.

You stayed standing as he took his turn, and he immediately got a strike. When he looked at you with the same shit-eating grin he always gave, you took one of the balls off the dispenser.

“So, what else do you like about me?” You asked, playing.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“You said that me being impossible was one of the things,” you crouched down and simply placed the bowling ball in the gutter. “so, there must be at least something else.”

Angus hummed. “You play fairly.”

Laughing as you stood, you and Angus watched as the ball was slowly beginning to approach the pins. When it quickly became boring, you both sat down back at the chairs, writing down all of your scores. As Angus was penciling in the boxes, you looked back to your father at the bar, chatting with two men. Hopefully he was making friends.

Then, when you heard light giggling, you compulsively turned to your left and saw two girls your age staring at your table. The second your eyes met theirs, they looked away in the blink of your eye.

They’d been doing that the whole damn time since you came to the alley. Your selfish yet hormonal teenage brain thought it was because of you eating utter shit at bowling, then when the fog cleared, you saw that their eyes would be on Angus.

Of course they probably assumed you were his sister or cousin or something. Because in what circumstances would a girl bring her dad and her boyfriend along? Wait shit…you weren’t technically his girlfriend; you talked about that the night before, but you had much direr things to attend to, so no shit you couldn’t talk about-.

“You okay?”

You pulled on a smile at Angus’ question, turning your head to him. “Yeah, just thought I saw something.”

His eyes went to the girls behind you for just a second before landing on yours. He took your face into his hands and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

You chuckled, pulling away. “What was that for?

“Just wanted to see if you had a temperature.”

“Why?” You began to retie your bowling shoes. “Because I’m hot?”

“Well…” He drew off, and you looked up at him with a questioning look until he sputtered out. “Jealousy’s a sickness, that’s why-.”

“-Angus!” You laughed louder than you thought possible, shaking your head.

“You’re hot too!” He tried to defend, finding your laughing contagious. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Yeah, I do.” He sat farther back in his chair, and you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. He glanced back, then at you. “Your dad might see.”

“Do you care?”

“I mean…maybe.” He admitted. “If he’ll drop kick me into next Tuesday, then yeah.”

You sat up yet tossed your legs over his lap. “This better?”

He smiled, draping his arm over your chair. “Yeah.”

And you both sat like that for another minute until you realized that it was technically your father’s turn, and there was no way in hell you were going to let him come back and knock a few pins down.

Once he returned, and you finished the rest of your game, there was debate on going to a movie or just going to lunch. Considering this was a vacation, you opted for the more exciting of the two and decided to risk getting sick from eating a lot of popcorn; but hey, it was still food.

The only movie that seemed interesting was Little Big Man. The theater was packed as the three of you sat down, and even without knowing anything about it, the movie was pretty good. It certainly impressed your father.

“This is not only amusing,” he whispered to you sitting in between him and Angus. “but for a movie, it’s a fairly accurate depiction of life among the Cheyenne.”

Somebody shushed him before you could, only for him to whisper. “Fuck off.”

You bit your tongue to smother your laughter. Another minute passed, and you felt Angus’ mouth hover over your ear.

“Meet me out in the lobby in a few minutes.”

Before you could even turn to him, he got out of his seat and whispered to your dad. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He nodded, not thinking anything of it. You, on the other hand, felt your body grow simultaneously cold and warm at the same time. What could he possibly have had in mind? You had an idea of course, but the thought of…doing that in public or just in general caused your stomach to tie in a million knots. Still, you had to tell him that yourself.

After what you thought was long enough, you also stood. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

That was when your father sat up. He sighed your name. “Now, I know there’s been something going on between the two of you, but-.”

“-I’m on my cycle...” Was all you could think to say. “I’m bleeding.”

Didn’t know why you said the second half and neither did your father, but that was enough for him to stop. “Oh…do you need anything?”

“You to stop talking.”

He did, leaving you to rush out of the theater. You found Angus in the lobby, and he took your hand without saying anything. Oh, but you certainly did.

“I’m not doing anything.” You stated.

He glanced over at you, heading towards the exit. “Huh?”

That’s when you stopped you and him in your tracks yet still held his hand. “I’m on my period, and even if I wasn’t, I would still beat your ass if you-.”

“-Oh my god, no!” He cut you off. “I don’t…look,” he rested his hands on your shoulders. “I haven’t been honest. I’m a prick for not telling you sooner, and I wanted to say something last night, but it wasn’t about me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just trust me.” He led you outside, and you were welcomed to a line of waiting taxis. Angus immediately began making a beeline to the farthest one.

You pulled yourself out of his grasp, saying all the way. “What the fuck? No! What are you doing?!”

“I’ll explain on the way.” He turned to you, huffing. “Just please-.”

“-No! You’re telling me right here and now.”

“Hey!”

Your heads snapped over to the theater, where you father was then sprinting across the street and over to both of you. Angus got into the taxi before you could even say anything, only for you then to yank the door open when your father finally came by.

“Get out.” He commanded.

“I just need to do something.” Angus resisted. “We were gonna come back-.”

“-Where the hell were we even going?!” You fired back.

He didn’t even acknowledge you. “I can go on my own. It won’t take long, it’s nothing bad.”

“So why’d you even ask me in the first place?”

“Stop it!” Your father had enough, then looked at Angus. “Just get out, you conniving little shit! Were you planning this the whole time? Just counting the minutes until I turned my back?”

“I wasn’t running away.” Angus softened, the pain in his voice only growing with each word. “There’s just something I need to do before we go back to school. Please. You could come with me, just come with me, okay?”

“Come with you where?”

“…To see my dad.”

Your heart began to crack like ice on a river in the early days of spring. If only he had told you earlier, you would have gone without a second guess.

“Your dad?” Your own father sighed. “That’s what this is about? What didn’t you just ask me? Because, of course, we can visit a cemetery.”

Slowly, Angus dropped his gaze from both of you. You thought his disbelief was from your father saying ‘yes’, but then tears began to fall, and it didn’t even look like he knew they were. You crouched to his height, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, not looking at you. “He’s not dead.”

The crack in your heart spontaneously shattered it just with three little words. Still, you had to ask with one.

“What?”

“He’s at Pinehills…”

You dropped your hand from him. The sanatorium…you’d never been, only heard of it once or twice. Your father read your shock and spoke for you.

“Okay, we’ll go. Scoot over.”  Angus did so, and your father sat in the middle, looking up at you. “Come on.”

As if you weren’t in your own body, you shook your head. “I-I think I’ll walk back-.”

“-We’re not splitting up,” he said your name gently. “that’s final. Get in.”

You didn’t put up much of a fight, and sat down, shutting the door.

Leaning against the glass, you watched as Boston, once again, passed by you. The car was deathly silent. In situations like this, you would at least look around you, but no; you couldn’t even muster the strength to lift your head, and you felt yourself beginning to cramp.

Skyscrapers soon turned into trees farther out of the city you drove. The sanatorium was just a large stone building, more like a prison than a hospital. After your father paid the driver, the three of you entered.

As your dad spoke to the receptionist, Angus slipped his hand into yours.

You swiftly pulled it away, not even meeting his eyes.

An orderly came out and led the three of you up a set of stairs. You stopped in front of a door, and the orderly gave just a single look to you and your father. You kept your head low, but your father nodded at Angus, and the boy entered with the orderly.

You and your father sat in the waiting room on a bench together, saying nothing. The whiplash of the entire day began to weigh on your shoulders, and so did the entirety of the night prior. The tightening in your lower abdomen only added to everything, and it was your father’s hand on your back that made you break.

“Are you okay?” He questioned.

 “I have to go to the bathroom.”

You stood up and ignored his pleas as he followed after you. Just as you were outside of the woman’s restroom, a stabbing pain struck you like a flash of lighting. Doubling over yourself, you clutched where your uterus lay, tears springing free as you sunk to the floor.

“Hey, hey,” your dad rubbed your shoulders, kneeling in front of you. “what is it?”

“It hurts.” You sobbed.

“Period?” He asked. You could only nod. He turned to a nurse who approached the commotion. “Does the hospital have anything help with the pain? Tylenol?”

“I have some in my purse.” She raced down the hall.

Your father shushed you, holding you tightly. “I know, I know. She’ll be back soon.”

“It-it’s not just that.” You hiccupped.

He ran his hand up and down your back. “What else is it?”

“I-I-I-I.” you stammered.

“Breathe,” he said. “just breathe.”

You copied him when he inhaled deeply, then exhaled softly. When you felt air returning to your lungs, you finally found your words.

“I hate him.” You hiccupped. “I hate that he left mom, and-and that he didn’t want to talk to me until now, and-and-and that he brought his stupid wife and his stupid kids that won’t do anything with their life because they’re just as dumb as he is! I-I hate that Mary’s alone, and-and that Curtis is dead, and that he even had to go in the first place! I hate that he lied, and that he said we would be friends, but he didn’t-he didn’t even tell me this, but I told him everything.”

Your father rocked you back and forth ever so subtly as you cried. He rubbed circles into your shoulder. “You’ve had a lot going on, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

He pulled away only slightly, just so you could look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve protected you as much as I should have, and even then, some of these things, I couldn’t; no matter how much I’d give to. You are…god,” he said your name. “you are your mother’s daughter. I hate that so much of you and her strength have had to come from people who hurt you; and I wish I could tell you this is the last time you’ll have to feel like this, but I don’t want to lie to you. But, I just want you to know, and I mean this with my whole heart: I wouldn’t be able to overcome the things you are handling right now when I was your age. Girls are forced and socialized to grow up faster than boys; it’s not solely a biological factor, it’s also a societal one, and it’s not fair. I don’t know if it matters, but I’m so proud of who you have become; raging spirit and all.”

You still were crying, but not just in sorrow; now, overwhelming adoration was added. Wiping your nose on your sleeve, you sat against the wall.

“Why didn’t he tell us?” You asked.

“I don’t entirely know,” he sat beside you. “but I believe shame is the main part.”

“He lied.” You shook your head. “I wouldn’t have judged him if he told the truth.”

“Would you have told him about Daniel if he didn’t show up?”

You went silent, already knowing your answer. Sighing, you rested your head on his shoulder. “I’m going to mourn Mom and Curtis longer than I’ll have known them…and if I think about that too much, I can’t sleep.”

Your father leaned his head on top of yours. “Then I’ll be mourning with you, and so will Mary.”

“Until you won’t be.”

“Then you’ll mourn with your husband, your children, your friends, hell, mourn with ten cats and dogs if you don’t have any of those other things later on in life.”

That managed to crack a smile. “Shut up.”

“It’s not human nature for us to be alone.” He said. “Even to those so called ‘antisocials’ or ‘loners’. You will always have someone to share a life with; even if it is those copious amounts of animals you’ll have.”

The nurse came by finally, holding a few pills in her hand, and a glass of water in another. “Sorry I took so long.”

You shook your head, taking them from her. “Just in time, thanks.”

Swallowing the Tylenol, you gave her the glass and she walked away. Your father stood up and reached his hand out to you. You took it and stood up, wiping the tears off your face.

“Do I look like shit?” You asked.

He shook his head. “You look like your mother.”

The two of you walked back down the hallway, and when you turned the corner, you saw Angus come out of the room he had gone into previously. He turned over to his left and he locked eyes with you first.

His eyes were red, yet no tears had fallen.

You left your father’s side and walked down the hallway, enveloping your arms around Angus. He latched onto you as soon as he felt your touch, and only then, hiding his face in your shoulder, did you hear him cry for the first time.

The three of you left the same when you entered; although, worse for wear. Angus mirrored what you had done prior to coming; staring out the window and not looking at anything else the whole time.

You had gone to a fancier restaurant as a final ‘hurrah’ of your Boston field trip, and to finally see Mary again after two long days without her. The three of you were quiet at the table, only truly talking when the waitress came. Your father attempted to make conversation, but it was apparent, after the days you both had, neither you nor Angus were in the mood.

Yet, after it seemed like you would all be silent until Mary arrived…

“He used to be fine; better than fine.” Angus began, staring down at the table before looking up. “He was my dad. Then about four years ago, he started acting strange; like, erratic, forgetful, saying all this weird shit. My mom took him to a bunch of doctors, and they put him on medication. But that just made it worse. He got more confused. And then he got angry, and then he got...physical. And that was the last straw. They put him away. Then she divorced him. Without him even realizing it. That’s why she wants a whole new life. And it’s easy to just stash me away in a boarding school, like half of us there are just stashed away. And I get it; she never has to look at me, because maybe when she looks at me, she…she sees him.”

You held his hand under the table the whole time, not knowing what else to do.

Your father shook his head at the statement Angus made. “No, no, no, no. That can’t be true, she…you’re her son.”

“Maybe she’s right.” Angus shook his head too. “I can’t keep it together. I lie, I steal, I piss people off. I only have one friend, a real friend, and even then I was a piece of shit, I’ll probably get kicked out of Barton too; and when I do, it’ll be my own fault. Get sent to Fork Union and maybe to you-know-where; and nobody will care.”

Except you would. You would lose someone else a second, horrible time. The thought alone brought tears to your eyes, but you forced them away; this wasn’t about you.

“And the funny thing is…” Angus trailed off. “I wanted to see him so bad this whole time….But I also didn’t, you know? Because I’m afraid that’s what’s gonna happen to me one day.”

“Angus,” your dad soothed. “listen. You’re not your father.”

“How do you know?”

“Because no one is their own father.” He shook his head. “I’m not my dad, no matter how hard he tried to beat that idea into me. The girl you’re sitting next to is neither me nor her biological father, and I’m thankful for both every day.” His eyes began to drift. “I find the world a bitter and complicated place, and it seems to feel the same way about me. I think we all have this in common. Don’t get me wrong, you have your challenges. You’re erratic and belligerent and a gigantic pain in the balls, but you’re not me, and you’re not your father. You’re your own man.” He scoffed, rewording. “Man. No. You’re just a kid. You’re just beginning. And you’re smart. You’ve got time to turn things around.”

You and Angus stared at him as if he was a priest giving the best sermon of his life. He went on.

“Sure, the Greeks had the idea that the steps you take to avoid your fate are the very steps that lead to it, but that’s just a literary conceit. In real life, your history does not have to dictate your destiny.” He looked over at you specifically. “And I hope you know this too, Josephine March; this isn’t just a boy’s club philosophy.”

You grinned from ear to ear. “Noted.”

He returned your smile, and then his eyes fell behind you. “Oh, there’s Mary.”

You and Angus looked over and saw her entering. Angus said. “Can you not tell Mary or anybody about-.”

“-Entre nous.” Your father interrupted. “This whole damn trip is entre nous. Stand up.”

“What?” You both uttered.

“Stand for the lady, you boors. You cretins.”

You did as you were asked, and Mary sat down once she was at the table.

“Thank you, sorry I’m late.” She squeezed your shoulder as she sat by you. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine.” You smiled. “Just happy you’re here.”

The host handed Mary the menu and the waitress came back. “Hello ma’am, would you like a cocktail to start?”

“Oh no, I’ll just take a cup of tea.” Mary said.

“Oh, come on, have a cocktail.” Your father insisted.

“No, no, a cup of tea is fine, I’ve eaten already.”

“And you three?” She asked the rest of you. “Did you save room for dessert?”

Your gaze drifted over to a nearby table where the waiter was holding a saucepan completely on fire. You asked. “What’s that?”

“That’s out signature dessert, cherries jubilee.”

Angus smiled, just as entranced as you were. “That sounds great.”

Your father laughed. “Bring the young vandals here cherries jubilee.”

She made a face. “I’m afraid I can’t; the dish contains brandy.”

If you had half a mind like some people you knew (Teddy, Daniel, the majority of the male population, etc.), you would have said aloud: “I’ve had stronger shit than that.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t the alcohol just burn off?” Mary asked as if she wasn’t an excellent cook.

“It’s still against the rules, ma’am.”

“Fine,” your father sighed. “I’ll order the cherries jubilee, we can share it.”

“I can’t allow that either.”

Mary pointed between you and Angus. “Can we say it’s their birthday?”

“Yeah, we’re twins!” You leaned over so your face and Angus’s were side by side. “It’s our birthday.”

She chuckled. “Happy birthday. Let’s get you two slices of cake or some other age-appropriate desserts.”

“Christ on a crutch!” Your dad cursed. “What kind of fascist hash foundry are you running here?”

Mary put her hand on his arm to stop him from further pissing off the waitress. “Excuse me ma’am, do you by any chance have cherries?”

“…Yes.” She answered.

“Great, and do you have ice cream?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic, can we please get cherries and ice cream to go?”

“And the check?” Your father added.

“Right away.”

Once she was out of sight, Mary muttered. “Bitch.”

You snickered. “Hey don’t swear; Jesus was born two days ago.”

“If Jesus had to deal with her, he’d say the same thing.” She sighed.

“Now who’s committing blasphemy?!”

When the check was brought alongside the cherries and ice cream, the four of you put on your coats and left; not without you and Angus grabbing enough spoons. In the parking lot, your father opened the box and poured the remaining bourbon out of his flask.

“Is this a good idea?” You asked, only then realizing you would have to light a box on fire.

“No Josephine,” your father said. “it’s a great idea. Go on.”

Mary, with a cigarette in her mouth, stroke a match and dropped it onto the dessert. It burst into flames.

“Presto! Cherries Jubilee!”

“Cool!” You cheered. “How do we eat it?”

“It should go out…”

It did not go out; instead, the box actually caught on fire.

Mary gasped. “How much alcohol did you put in there?!”

A series of curses all left your lips, and your father tried to grab a flap of one of the boxes but let go of the heat. It fell onto the concrete, but when there was no sighn of danger, you all looked at each other in a beat of silence, then laughed.

Once the failed cherries jubilee went out, all of you just decided to get ice cream at the hotel. Mary would be sleeping there that night since you would leave in the morning. Once you reached the hotel, and the four of you were walking two by two (you with your dad and Mary with Angus), you lowered your voice.

“I need to talk with Angus.” You told your dad. “Just for a second outside. We’re not gonna run away or anything-.”

“-I know.” He said. “Just maybe keep it down to a few minutes? It’s freezing and I want to go to bed.”

You nodded and stopped once you were right outside the hotel. You grabbed Angus’ arm to stop him and he looked at you with a quizzical look. When she noticed her companion wasn’t behind her, Mary also looked at you.

You smiled. “I just need to steal him for a minute.”

She hummed. “Don’t be too long, I want my ice cream.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Both adults went into the hotel, leaving you and Angus outside. It wasn’t as cold as everyone was making it out to be; but hey, Mary and your dad were old so that’s probably why.

“What do you wanna talk about?” Angus asked.

“You got a cigarette?”

He seemed a bit confused at first, but nodded, taking out a pack and handing you one. He got out a lighter from his other pocket, lighting it for you. You took a few puffs before handing it to him, and he took it, thanking you.

“I’m sorry.” You began.

Angus furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“At the hospital,” you explained, taking the cigarette when he handed it back. “I pulled my hand away from you. You were hurting and I was a bitch about it.”

He shook his head. “I lied to you.”

“You did, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve reacted that way.” You sighed. “I was just…I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, even before I was homeschooled. The friends I did have would make plans to meet up without me in front of me, or would make snide comments about my hair, the books I liked, stupid stuff like that. I was kind of a know it all in class, so I don’t blame them that much, but still. And I…I never knew anyone else who’d lost a parent; at least, I wasn’t close with anyone who did. And I’m…I’m glad your dad is alive; I was just really blindsided.”

Angus nodded, taking the cigarette from you. After taking a drag, he paused before saying. “I told him about you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah…about what I liked about you.” He smiled gently. “That you’re smarter than me, you’re funny, nice-.”

“-I’m not really.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Then so are you,” You countered, leaning against the wall and taking the cigarette. “and I don’t know why you keep insisting you aren’t.”

He mirrored you. ���…I don’t know either.”

You dropped the cigarette once it was finished, stomping it out. “For the record, I think you’re really sweet.”

He snorted. “Now that’s funny.”

“Will you shut up for a second?” You sighed. “You don’t have to be Audrey Hepburn. I mean, shit, you got me a book just because I couldn’t find mine. You…you put up with the bullshit I gave you early on, and didn’t judge me about Daniel. So don’t you dare tell me you’re not sweet.”

He nodded, staring up at the sky, and for a moment, you thought you saw tears prick his eyes the more you went on. When you were finished, he wrapped his arms around you without warning. Still, it was not unwelcome.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I should have told you.”

“I get why you didn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t fair to you.”

It wasn’t, he was right about that. Still, how could you hold it against him? With a sigh, all you said was.

“Mothers and fathers…”

He nodded. “Mothers and fathers.”

His mom shipped him off to boarding school to forget about him, his dad was essentially dead to the world around him.

Your mother was dead period, and your father wanted to forget about you when you didn’t want to forget about him…

A strange parallel you two were. Perhaps you were always meant to find one another out of the billions of people on earth.

“Could I ask you something?” Angus spoke up. You hummed in response. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

He asked as if he genuinely didn’t know the answer.

You pulled away, kissing his cheek. “As long as you don’t pretend I’m not when everyone comes back to school.”

“Never thought of it.”

The two of you stayed there in each other’s arms for just a little longer. When you both decided it was time to go in, you separated and walked hand in hand back into the hotel.

[anyarose011]

"I Would Not Change it Each Time" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: After the assault you faced, all you wanted to do was crawl into your childhood bed and never come out. Yet, as days pass in with your absence, a certain prince regent takes notice.

Part 4 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past attempted SA, past grooming, emotional manipulation, coercion, and spoilers for future seasons

Heyyyyyy, it's meeeee. I'm SOO sorry it took almost 3 months for this entire chapter, but besides wrongfully starting/continuing other series, school has also been killing me. Also, despite this being a long ass chapter, I do not mean for it to sound rushed. I feel like how I ended this may be controversial, but I also wanted to keep it both happy and realistic; so please keep that in mind. I also imagine the character Evrin to be played by Assad Zaman, but you can imagine just any actor you personally find beautiful.

Word Count: 10.1k

You were still covered in his blood when you awoke, your wrist had turned brown, and you had finger shaped bruises on the inside of your thigh.

It was strange…despite ripping a man’s throat out with your teeth, you didn’t have any nightmares. What woke you up was having to use the chamber pot. Something so small and natural.

Dragging yourself out of your room, you stumbled through the hall and went into the closet with the chamber pot and shut the door. After relieving yourself in darkness, you left and was greeted by-.

“Seven Hells!” Your grandmother gasped. You jumped a little, only to then hiss in pain, clutching your stomach.

She held you up as best as she could. “Vivi, sweetie, what happened to you?”

You shook your head, only groaning and trying to escape her hold. Despite being in your state, you managed to slip away from her. She tried to follow after you, but you slammed the door in her face when you were back in your room.

Something caught your eye, and when you looked down, you were met with a sapphire; Aemond’s eye. You bent over slowly, picking up the gem with your unbroken wrist.

Without thinking clearly, you hobbled over to your dresser, opened the top drawer, and buried it under what little clothing you owned.

The dress on you had become too heavy, so you slipped it off your body and collapsed onto your bed; falling into the darkness of sleep once more.

You must have been dreaming, because you thought you heard your grandmother call you by your name for the first time in a while.

Opening your eyes, you were too weak to even sit up in alarm at her standing over you. Your heart quickened and soon slowed once you realized it was just her eyes staring back at you (and not a man’s).

“What happened?” She touched your face.

You groaned, turning away. “Really bad job.”

“Let’s clean you up.”

“Tired.” You inched yourself under your covers, hitching your breath with each movement.

Gigi frowned. “You’ve slept the day away; the sun will set soon.”

“It hurts to move.”

“Then I’ll bring in the pail and rag.”

“Just let me rest.”

She placed her hands on her hips, glaring. “You’re covered in blood that I hope is not yours.”

“Most of it isn’t.”

Sighing, Gigi begged. “At least eat something.”

You laughed painfully. What was there to eat? You only had but a few slices of bread, two carrots, and a little less than a pound of cheese. You were considered wealthy even by those standards. Aemond had closed off all the ports…

No one could get in, and no one could get out; including food.

“It’s not funny.” She frowned. “I’m going to make you something, and you will eat it.”

Gigi didn’t give you enough time to say ‘no’. She wandered out of the room, leaving you alone. The only time you moved to get out of bed that hour was to force yourself onto your feet and lock the door.

No matter how much she banged on wood or cried and begged for you to let her help, you did not open it.

It hurt to cry, but how else would you mourn your old body before it had been bruised and beaten?

You heard countless horrific memories the girls in Sylvi’s brothel would share of being violated; many worse than yours. Still, just as how nothing could’ve prepared you for how pleasureful sex could be, the same was for the pain it brought.

Gigi lessened her attempts in trying to get you to come out of your room. She’d manage to slide food under your door, and you only would eat when you were sure she was away.

Most of the days (how long had it been since you last saw a familiar face?) you spent under the covers in your bed. If you were not sleeping, your mind would wander. Seldomly, it would be to happier memories of your childhood, your mother, Aemond…

And then they would turn cold and dark; especially at the thought of him.

And then you would cry again, and then your eyes would hurt.

It wasn’t an hour later when you were still under the covers that you heard a man’s voice coming from outside your door. No, he did not knock, he kicked it open. You only had time to flinch at the abrupt entrance before Gigi’s voice broke through.

“How dare you! You’ll frighten her even more than she already is, you mindless oaf!”

“I worry for her.”

Aemond…what was he doing here?!

“Do you think I have been neglecting her all this time?” She dared.

“No.”

“Then…please be gentle with her.” Gigi gritted her teeth, and you heard her leave the room, shutting the door but it creaking slightly open.

Sighing, you pictured Aemond turning to look at the lump on the bed that was you. “Do you have any idea the troubles your grandmother would have faced if I were not outside the Red Keep today?”

Silence was your reply.

“It’s almost sunset, if you were wondering.”

You said nothing again, and that was enough for him.

“There I was, heading to spar and clear my mind from the past few days, and I see her rattling the gates, begging the guards to speak to Jahearys.” He hissed. “Had I not rushed over in time, they would have seen it as insult and…”

Though you had no more tears left to cry, the pain in your chest was heavier than ever at the thought of your grandmother being killed like a dog simply for her dwindling mind. Aemond sighed, and you felt a dip at the foot of your bed.

“It was already a risk to travel into the city now. Many of the smallfolk are…troublesome. I’ve neglected you for a day, and I apologize for leaving without telling you two nights ago, but you should not hold that against me. I went to see you last night and you were not there. I asked every girl in that brothel, and they either did not know, or refused to tell me anything more than that you were hurt. I offered coin, and they did not take it.” He scoffed. “I’ve never seen a whore turn away gold. You must mean the world to them.”

Never in your life had you thought that.

“Will you look at me?”

You didn’t want him to. He had caressed and gazed upon every inch of your body, but you wanted to sink into the mattress underneath you, and then into the earth so he could never find you.

But you didn’t get to do that.

The blanket was ripped off you, the cold air of your bedroom penetrating your bare body. On your back, cradling your wrist to your chest, you watched as Aemond sat above you. The eyepatch he wore only proved that he had rushed over from the Red Keep. For the first time since you had known him, you saw that look on his face: Fear.

His mouth parted as his wide eye ran over your body; every bruise and scratch, and all the blood that had tried to meld itself into your skin. His eye lingered on the inside of your thighs, and you whimpered when he placed his hand on the bruises of it.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice hadn’t changed. He asked it as if he was wondering how your day had gone.

Your breathing stuttered when you attempted to glare at him. “The man you sent to have pleasure with me.”

Aemond’s eye softened. “What?”

You forced yourself to sit up despite your painful cries. “Leave me.”

He said your name, sitting at your side and placing his hands on your shoulders. “I haven’t sent anyone-.”

“-Stop!”

“Wait-!”

“-Go away!” You shoved him, trying to stand, but his hands gripped your waist too tightly as he forced you back down onto the bed.

“Listen to me when I speak to you.” He commanded, but you still struggled beneath him. When you were nearly out of his grip, he gripped your face in his hands. “I said listen to me!”

You were both out of breath, huffing together as you calmed your racing heart. His voice was heavy with emotion, and tears were beginning to form.

He took a shuttering breath. “When all of this is over, it’s you who will bear my children. Even if I have to marry a Lannister or a Martell, I will not lay a finger on them. I will be king when Aegon is dead, and it will not matter what my mother, fucking Larys, or any of them think! Centuries will pass and history will remember you as my wife. How could you believe I would ever send a man to taint you after everything you have done? You-you have been the first and the only to ever show me kindness. Do you hear me?! I love you.”

“You’re hurting me.” You sobbed as he squeezed you tighter and tighter.

Aemond immediately loosened his hold but held you close. You placed your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself through your sniffling breaths. He dried your tears with his hand. “Avy jorrāelan. Say it.”

“Aemond.” You shut your eyes.

“Avy jorrāelan.” He kissed them both and trailed his lips over every inch of your face.

Relaxing into his embrace, if you cradled yourself any closer to him you would sink into his skin. He held you for what you wished was the rest of your lifetime.

He set you down too quickly but shushed you when you protested. “I need to fetch hot water to clean you and wrap your wrist. It’s broken.”

Aemond disappeared from your room. When you finally managed to sit up with the pillow supporting behind you, he came back in with a bucket of steaming water, some cloth, and two sticks from the fireplace.

He first began on your wrist, wrapping the cloth around your elbow to your wrist. He then placed the sticks alongside your arm, securing them with more of the cloth tied tightly around on the ends.

After that, he took another spare piece of cloth and dipped it into the water, wringing it out and placing it upon your face. You inched away, hissing.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“A little.” You whispered. “It’s warm and…and…”

“What is it?”

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

Swallowing thickly, you professed “I feel-I feel like I’d be more relaxed if I wasn’t the only one…bare.”

He looked at you, nodding. “You’re right, that is silly.”

You thought you were being overdramatic how you felt in that moment; you had just gone through something frightening, of course you would be red in the face at his comment.

Still, you weren’t for long. The Prince Regent, the kinslayer who could wipe out all of Kings Landing with just the snap of his fingers, slipped off his eyepatch and his shirt.

“Is that better?” He grinned.

You nodded. Aemond tried his best to be gentle as he cleaned the blood off you. There were times though he’d have to scrub until your skin turned red. When he was finished, he tossed the cloth onto the floor.

“Your nose is bruised, along with your ribs. Besides your wrist, nothing is broken; just abrasions.” He explained.

Again, you merely nodded. Aemond titled his head before unlacing and kicking his shoes off, then bringing his hands to the ties of his trousers. Once untied, he pulled them down along with his undergarments, his cock springing free.

You sat up, your body tense. “No. I-I don’t want-.”

“-Neither do I.” He sat on the empty side of your bed, lifting up the blanket. “Let us hide and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

You didn’t have to be asked again. Slowly as to not damage yourself, you finally slipped yourself under the covers, and Aemond followed.

As soon as you were completely covered, you enveloped yourself around him; your legs intertwining each other and pressing your chest against his. He wrapped his arms around you, fingertips traveling up and down your back. You hid your face within the crook of his neck, and it was then, when you felt safe, did tears fall.

“I didn’t send him.” Aemond repeated into your hair. “You must know that.”

“Where were you?” You cried.

A shameful sigh escaped him. “The Red Keep. A messenger came for me; my brother had taken a turn for the worst.”

“You said you would stay.”

He only pulled you closer. “Tell me what happened.”

“He-.” You took a quaking breath. “He tried to rape me.”

“But you didn’t let him.”

Your lips moved, but barely a sound let them.

He hummed. “What was that?”

“I’m a monster.”

Aemond shook his head. “There is nothing you could have done that would be more horrific than anything I would do if he were still alive.”

“I ripped his throat out with my own mouth.” His gaze traveled down to you, and you shrunk under it. “I-I had to pretend I enjoyed kissing him; I had nothing to defend myself but my teeth.”

“Fine then; you’re a monster.” Your eyes grew round with fright, but before you could refute, he continued. “You are a monster who fought for your survival and won. I know a number of men who would have crumbled if they wore your skin that night. You bared your teeth and refused to lie down and let him steal you. I’ve been told until my ears bleed that every woman is the image of the Mother, but I have not believed it until I saw you tonight. Painted in the blood of the man that had tried to taint you, you have never looked more beautiful.”

Tears had returned to your eyes before you could stop them, and he kissed each one that fell. You pulled away from him to lie flat on your back but clutched his hand.

“It was the man at the brothel when I was first wounded. The one who said he’d give me a little death.” You whispered. “Sylvi came in after I killed him. She-she said you left with a man and…”

His hand went to your cheek, making you look at him. “I did not send him.”

“I know.” Your words were immediate. “I…I think she did.”

“Why?”

You covered your mouth to swallow a sob forming. Breathing deeply, you took your hand away. “She was envious of me, she was envious of you, maybe she thought I was distracted-.”

“-Why would she be envious of me?”

“She had feelings for my mother.” You admitted tiredly. “She was drunk one night and told me. I jested in my mind that perhaps those feelings carried over to me because she’d constantly tell me I looked exactly like my mother. I don’t know for certain but…”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “Every ounce of struggle you have faced has only made you even more fierce.”

“You are not the first nor the last man who will tell me that.”

Aemond hummed, interested in your words. “How old were you when you first heard it?

“Ten, when I went to the pleasure house to find my mother. Thank the Seven I didn’t wander into any men wanting to bed me, but I found a few who were fine speaking to me about their life; their wives, children, and how they hated them. Maybe they wanted to fuck me, maybe they didn’t; I don’t know. All I knew was that I was excellent at talking to them; and I shouldn’t have been.”

He said nothing, nor made a sound. No words of comfort, no verbal indication of anything.

No, he did something far greater.

Aemond moved down the bed until he came to your legs, parting them gently. As you were raising your neck up to see what he was doing, you felt his lips on your stomach. He kissed your skin then up to the scar on your side.

Your breath hitched as he covered it with affection, all the while, tenderly stroking your hip. There was something else that weighed on your mind. Something that wouldn’t matter to him, but it mattered to you. Your hand trailed down into his hair, stopping him.

“You need to tell me the truth with what I ask you next.”

He glanced up at you as his head was still between your legs. “Go on.”

“Would-.” You sniffled. “If that man had violated me…would you have been disgusted with me?”

 He lowered his mouth to your center. He didn’t kiss your cunt, but instead, the bruises close to it. “I will skin the part of any man that touches you, even if it is his shoulder that brushes yours in a crowded street.”

You hated how often you cried that night, more so from his tenderness than of sorrow. Still, it was perhaps the first time in all your life you felt cherished. You felt safe.

“Av-avy,” You babbled, both from the overwhelming emotions and the already difficult pronunciation. “Avy jor-joral.”

Aemond trailed his kisses up your body until they hovered over your mouth, his hands by your head to hold himself above you. He said the words again, slowly.

“Avy jorrāelan.”

You repeated after him. “Avy jorrailaan.”

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb caressing your lips and whispering into them. “Avy.”

“Avy.” You matched his volume.

“Jorr.”

“Jorr.”

“-āelan.”

“-āelan.”

“Say it to me.” His mouth was so close to yours.

Sighing at the feeling, you finally said. “Avy jorrāelan.”

He kissed you like you’d never been kissed before. He kissed you before with shyness, vigor, passion, but never like this. It was a kiss that held a safety to it; where you felt as if he could protect you from the darkest corners of the world, and the darkest parts of your own mind.

When he pulled away, he rested beside you, running his fingers through your hair. You wrapped your arms around him, trapping him in your embrace.

“I wish we knew each other when we were children.” He gently confessed in the silence of the night.

You nodded against him, then asked. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

He kissed the hollow of your throat. “I’ll be here when you awake.”

“Thank you.”

“You do not need to.”

“No,” you corrected. “thank you for being the first to kiss me. If not…then it would’ve been with the man a few nights ago.”

“Sleep.” He uttered your name into your ear.

And you did.

You don’t remember what you dreamed of, but you know that it wasn’t either bad nor good; it was just strange.

What you certainly remember was Aemond stirring beside you.

You were on your back, but you hadn’t opened your eyes when you awoke. His arm that was once draped over you left, and he slid out of the blankets. You listened as he tried to quietly shuffle around the room, putting his clothes back on. When you heard him sitting to put his shoes on, you finally looked at him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was hoarse.

He glanced up at you, his eyepatch already on. Sighing, he finished lacing up his first boot. “The sun will be rising soon.”

“How do you know that? You said you’d stay until I woke up.”

“And you’re awake.” He moved onto his other shoe.

“Because of you.”

Aemond groaned your name. “I cannot spend the morning here and cook you and your grandmother breakfast. My brother is on the brink of death, the realm is in shambles, and I don’t even want to ponder what Rhaenyra’s next course of action is.”

“You gave me your word.”

“Did you even listen to any of the words I said just now?”

“I was almost raped and murdered!” You cried, sitting up. “You cannot do this one thing I-?”

“-And how many women will be if I am unable to prevent the Pretender from stealing the throne?” He challenged.

Your face dropped along with your heart. If your body wasn’t weak, you would have left the bed, your room, and perhaps even the house. You wouldn’t know where to go, but you just had to be away from him.

It scared you how that was your first thought.

Upon seeing the fear in your eyes, Aemond sighed, shaking his head. After finishing with his other boot, he sat on the side of your bed.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He ran his finger over your arm. “I do not want what happened to you to happen to any other woman or child. I only want you to be safe.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap.

He put his hand under your chin to look at him, saying your name. “I do love you. You must understand that.”

You took his hand, lightly kissing his palm and whispering into it. “Avy jorrāelan.”

A hint of a smile spread across his cheeks, and he stood swiftly. “I will not be able to see you on the morrow, but the day after that, I will meet you at Sylvi’s.”

“I-I won’t be able to perform-.”

“-Does it surprise you I only wish for your mere presence?” He questioned. “You’re not a whore; you are perhaps my greatest treasure.”

With one last kiss upon your head, he left. You heard the front door shut, and you were left stark naked in your bed.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t even feel like wanting too. You had never felt the way you had with him. You never laughed like that in your life until you met him, you had never been so in love with someone. He was a perfect match for your intelligence and your humor.

He never hurt you as you made love. He’d leave his own marks, but the moment you told him ‘no’, or said that you were in pain, he’d stop. He’d pull every orgasm out of you with such ease, like your bodies had been made for each other.

Gods above and devils below, you wanted to wear his skin and become one with him.

And yet…you still felt strange.

You were just sitting there in your darkened room, wrapped in your blankets and staring at the blank wall in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed Gigi came into your room until she was right beside you, holding a tray with two slices of bread and a steaming bowl.

“They say a Targaryen sent ships to feed us.” She smiled, sitting at the foot of your bed and placing the tray down. “Marija managed to fight some men for vegetables and chicken of all things!”

The soup was thick and filled with all the contents she mentioned that Marija fought for. It took everything within you to savor it and not burn your mouth while devouring it. You ate silently while Gigi took a slice of bread and dipped it into the soup.

“I thought Jaehaerys would never leave. He’s a nice young man, but-.”

“-How did you know you were in love with that Dornish man?”

She glanced up at you, and after getting over her initial shock, she smiled. “You mean my Qoren?”

“No, that’s not his name.”

“But it is.” She beamed. “He gave me a false one at first but then told me after he had enough drink.”

You giggled with her, despite already being told the story several times. Still, what she was saying was new.

Gigi continued. “Oh, he was so lovely. You know they say Dornish men are passionate, and Seven Hells he was. There was one night after he walked me home-.”

“-What else?” You asked, not particularly wanting to speak of her intimate life and categories of men from Dorne.

“He was gentle with me.” She recounted, grinning shyly. “Not just with my body but with my mind. He loved me proudly too, and loudly. If there were any other men in a tavern who tried to grab onto me, he’d tell the lot of them I was his and that he was mine.”

You smiled. “He sounded very kind.”

“He was.” She nodded. “His eyes were green; very unusual for anyone from Dorne…or were they blue? Or-or were they just brown?”

Sighing you set your meal aside, embracing her. “Were his eyes nice?”

“They were my favorite part of him.” Gig admitted softly.

You hummed, pulling away. “I wish to be alone. Is that alright?”

She rubbed your cheek. “Of course. Please come get me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

She left the half-eaten supper with you, and walked out of your bedroom, trying to shut the door completely.

As you lay in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind began to ponder. You had been a secret to everyone in Aemond’s life. You were certain no one within the Red Keep knew of your affair, let alone your existence.

But the people in your life, Sylvi, the girls, even your own grandmother? Of course they were aware of you two.

You understood to an extent; what would the royal council in their fancy castle think if the prince regent had fallen in love with a member of the Smallfolk? Would it be better if you were a prostitute?

Immediately, you thought ‘no’ because of Lady Mysaria. There would be past gossip you’d hear throughout the silk street of the whore who had been married to one Prince Daemon and had nearly birthed his child.

It was then that you remembered the war that had been simmering within the walls of Kings Landing for weeks at that point. No doubt, with so much death from both sides, would it finally take place. Thus, you were forced to determine what would happen with only your personal knowledge of the situation.

The best outcome is that the Greens win the war, Aegon dies one way or another, and Aemond is named king. You are his royal concubine while he marries a noble girl, but he never beds her. You are the mother to all his children, and you live comfortably in the Red Keep for the rest of your days.

You would have done the impossible amongst the Smallfolk; be chosen by the prince out of genuine love and not of lust or a weapon in an issue of the family.

Yet, you had many concerns. The first being you didn’t understand how he could be married to a woman from a different house yet not have her produce an heir without being ridiculed by her family. Was that unimportant?

And how was Aemond so certain of his own brother’s passing? Would he be responsible for it if he were to make a recovery?

As these questions rattled on, you then had to face the worst outcome.

On the off chance they would lose, and Rhaenyra was to take the throne as you were officially Aemond’s lover…you had read it in one of the books Aemond had brought you to teach you his mother tongue.

‘When the winners slaughter and maim the man in battle, they shall rape and torture his woman in her own home.’

That was what made your head ache, and you try to sleep. The phrase plagued your mind for hours as you tossed and turned.

The next day, you finally left the house. Draped in the same hood you stole on your night out with Aemond, you entered Sylvi’s pleasure house with your heart churning in your stomach. You felt sick as soon as you stepped into the doorway. A young girl whose name you couldn’t remember was sweeping the entrance.

“We’re not opened yet,” she said. “the men and women need to rest before you can dive your cock into them.”

You pulled your hood down, revealing your bruised and battered face. She stood still at the sight of you and said your name softly. “What happened?”

“I need to speak with Valda and Chansey.” You uttered.

She swallowed, nodding and dashing up the stairs. You leaned against the wall to steady yourself, your wounds still extremely tender. Sooner than you thought, the two women came rushing down the stairs.

Valda’s face fell upon seeing the state of you, and she was by your side in a moment. “Gods above.”

“Is Sylvi here?” You questioned.

Chansey took a quivering breath, coming to your other side and resting her hand on your cheek. She whispered your name. “She…she’s gone.”

Your stomach only tied itself into more knots. “What?”

“No one’s seen her since last night.” She explained. “We looked in her room, but she wasn’t there.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor as they led you to one of the curtained off rooms in the great hall. Normally, you would’ve refused to even step foot into one of them, but your need to sit was far greater.

“You limped out of here after being brutally raped, and you haven’t been here for days.” Valda scolded, but you could hear the pain behind it. “Aemond comes in demanding where you are, and we are none the wiser. What exactly happened?”

Your eyes furrowed as you glanced up at her. “I-I wasn’t raped. I mean, I was almost, but I killed him.”

“You what?!”

“I ripped his throat out.” You explained. “Sylvi came in soon after and said it was Aemond who sent the man. I went home, and a few days later, Aemond came to tell me he didn’t. I-I think it was Sylvi.”

The girls glanced at one another as they processed your account. Valda spoke first. “It…it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. There was one night when Aegon arrived with other men, seeking Sylvi. Unbeknownst to him, Aemond was here with her. After being taunted, Aemond let them do whatever they wanted to her.”

You didn’t know that, and if you had been told it prior to being attacked, perhaps you would’ve looked upon Aemond with more disgust. What you felt was more so perplexion; did Sylvi send a man to assault you to get back at Aemond for letting men do the same, or did Aemond only see you as a warm place for men to stick their cocks?

No…he loved you. He told you in Common and in High Valyrian.

“You believe she did it to spite him?” You asked.

Valda shook her head. “I only tell you what I know. We all know how dangerous a woman is when she is scorned.”

“I wouldn’t preach the importance of consent and then send a man to molest a girl I’ve known since she was a child!”

“Is it easier for you to believe that Aemond sent him then?!”

You never heard Chansey speak so desperately. What she meant to yell in anger, she instead cried in shame. Her breath quivered in an attempt to repress tears, and both you and Valda coddled her.

“What is it?” You questioned.

She swallowed before speaking. “There was one night but a week ago you hadn’t met with Aemond here, wasn’t there?”

“Chansey-.”

“-You weren’t here one night because he told you the one prior he had to attend to a council meeting.”

Your mouth parted. “How-how did you know?”

 “He asked for eight girls to be sent to the Red Keep.” She whispered. “I was one of them. There was no meeting; we were there to entertain and to please.”

“What do you mean?”

Chansey said your name softly, taking your face into her hands. “I had no say in what he wanted to do to me, or what I to do to him.”

It would have been gentler for her to stick a dagger into your heart and twist it. You thought you had used up all of your tears days prior, but as you sat in that curtained room, you were proven wrong.

You sank into her embrace, feeling Valda wrap her arms around you from behind. Tiny sobs left your throat, but that was it.

“Did he hurt you?” You managed to ask.

She shook her head. “I was worried about hurting you.”

“No.” You pulled away, wiping your face. “You didn’t want to. He…he…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop!” You cried. “Stop it. It’s his…he…what?”

Valda brushed your hair. “May I ask you something?”

“Okay…”

She took a deep breath, dropping her volume. “The three of us and all of King’s Landing knows that the war has already started, it is just a matter of time before it comes here. One of the captain’s my brother works for has offered us passage out of the city; I am allowed to bring one other person.”

“How? You asked first. “They’re not letting any ship in or out of King’s Landing.”

Valda smirked. “Who says they won’t?”

“What?”

“No matter.” She shook her head. “We will make for Pentos first, and then after, everyone may go to where they desire.”

 “That-that will take weeks-.”

“-Weeks to be free over years of possible suffering.” She said your name. “You do not need to say yes…but please think of it.”

Your eyes drifted to Chansey. “Are you not jealous?”

She smiled. “When she thought you were in paradise with the prince, she asked me. My answer is no; my life is in King’s Landing, whether the Targaryens want to make it a living hell or not.”

The offer was tempting…start a new life, leave everything behind and be anyone you wished to be. Still…

“My grandmother.” You stated. “What of her?”

She sighed. “You stay with her or leave without her.”

“But-but is there any way you can speak with your brother? You mustn’t be letting on too many people-.”

“-They are sailors making a profit off of people’s fears.” She interrupted. “Where they are merciful in the offer, they are still greedy.”

It was then that it hit you; the genuine possibility of leaving her behind. What were you to do? She couldn’t take care of herself, but what would happen if the Greens lost? What if they won?

How much of Aemond’s vow was true?

Would it be kinder to tell her you were leaving, or just running away?

Would she even notice?

“When can I give my answer?” You asked.

She swallowed thickly. “We’re leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”

So…no time to ponder what to do. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands and nodded. “My presence or lack thereof will be my answer.”

“I understand.” She held your face in her hands, saying your name. “The third tower on the left of the Iron Gate. That is where we shall meet. Do what you must.”

You embraced her and then Chansey as if your final answer was that you were staying; it wasn’t, but you decided to act as if it was. The whole day had exhausted you, and you didn’t even want to try to find Sylvi; what would you have even said to her? So, you merely made your way back to your house.

You sat there on your bed, holding yourself and pretending your arms were someone else’s; but whose? Gigi? Valda? Your Mother? …Aemond?

Sighing, you had gone over in your head for the hundredth time the endless possibilities of either staying or going.

If you stayed, no matter what, there would be war.

If you left, no matter what, there would be war.

If you stayed, Aemond would possibly keep his promise and treat you like a queen once he was king (though, he never promised you would be the queen).

If you left, you could travel outside of King’s Landing and perhaps be the first in your family to ever do so; see the beauty of all of Westeros.

If you stayed, you could die (but you’d be with Gigi).

If you left, you could die (but you’d be with Valda).

And those were the thoughts that flooded your mind for hours, even when the day bled into night, and with the absence of the sun, came the coldness of the moon.

You got up once you began to shiver, and the blankets weren’t enough to shield you from the freezing air. You pulled out the top drawer of your dresser, pulling out the few clothes you had to layer up.

Something blue fell to the ground with a ‘clang!’

Looking down, it shined in your eyes, blinding you momentarily. You bent down and picked it up.

The sapphire…the forgotten sapphire.

Just as soon as the air had left your lungs, it returned with vigor. You left your room, and knocked on the door of Gigi’s. You didn’t wait for her answer before barging in.

She lay on the bed, knitting and looking up at you.

“Vivi?” she questioned. “What is it?”

You showed her the gem in the palm of your hand, and asked quietly as if you were a child again. “Would you like to visit Dorne with me?”

You didn’t sleep that night; and perhaps that is horrible, but you are still alive. After packing lightly, you and Gigi left an hour before dawn; having enough time to quietly navigate the streets of King’s Landing, all the while avoiding the City Watch, and helping Gigi.

Once you arrived at the third tower on the left of the Iron Gate, you saw perhaps four people there in total. All bearing similar, darkened cloaks that you and Gigi wore.

Immediately, you recognized Valda’s eyes. They were filled with joy for only a moment until they saw Gigi.

She said your name with a warning. “She can’t-.”

“-Let me speak to the captain.” You bargained.

The tallest man among you approached, a straight look on his face. “I assume you are the one Valda requested?”

You nodded.

“So then…why have you brought an old woman with you?”

“Wherever I go, so does she.”

“We cannot-.”

From your pocket, you took the sapphire and held it in front of his eyes that had grown to the size of plates.

“The Eye of the Prince Regent.” You affirmed. “If you wish to not call it that when you sell it for hundreds if not thousands of dragons, that is fine by me. Just know that if you do not take the both of us, I shall return it to Prince Aemond myself and perhaps I shall tell him of who refused to take it.”

It was a horrible thing to say, especially with Valda staring at you as if you were carrying a disease. The captain eclosed his hand in yours that held the jewel, shaking it,

“There’s no need to threaten, now.” His smile tightened. “It’ll just be a tight fit.”

You didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but you didn’t have any other choice than to trust him. Soon after your bargain, the now six of you approached the gates. The captain had paid off one of the guards, because that was the only explanation you could draw from how the gate was opened.

All of you moved swiftly to the beach, and there waiting on the shore, was one of the ships Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen had sent to feed the Smallfolk. It had been pillaged clean, and the captain was right; it was certainly a tight fit.

Yet…everything somehow fell into place. You would make way to Sharp Point first, where the captain had a contact and could only hope would give him a bigger ship. Still, just the mere thought of escaping King’s Landing was enough.

You spent nearly a week on that small boat, and it was a miracle you did not run out of food to feed all six of you. You had grown seasick for the first few days, but it soon surpassed.

Your stay in Sharp Point was short. Gratefully, the captain had managed to convince his friend to give him the ship he hoped for.

Not from the kindness of his heart; only from the sapphire he had recently obtained.

Much debate had gone into how long the five of you should stay in Sharp Point to recover from the week long journey. The ship had also gained a few other travelers who wished to board, considering its size.

Once the ship was acquired, it was settled that you would all leave the next morning.

You would make for Pentos first, then Tyrosh, and finally, Sunspear. It would take a month at least, two at most. You assumed that nothing noteworthy would happen on the journey until perhaps a week or two while at sea.

Never did you expect, as you sat above deck with your grandmother on the first day, to watch as Vhagar soared through the sky above you. You didn’t even see Aemond as he rode her.

To the majority of the people on board, it was an hour-long conversation of excitement and fear. To the few who knew of what had happened between you and the Prince Regent…it kept the lot of you up the whole night.

It wasn’t until you passed by another ship a week later, that it was revealed Aemond Targaryen had set fire to Sharp Point. If you had stayed in the city just a day longer…

The thought alone kept you up for two nights.

Nothing else happened until you awoke one morning having to throw up. It perplexed you; you hadn’t gotten sick from the motion of the boat since journeying to Sharp Point. You grew weary after it stayed with you for a few days, assuming it was a sickness.

When no one else showed any signs of illness, it only wore on you even more. Valda had brought the one doctor on board to you, and he confirmed something you always knew but never wanted to speak aloud:

You were with child.

You were a foolish girl; of course you thought he had genuinely loved you, he was the person you gave your maidenhood too. Still, you had Valda and your grandmother to support you through the long days of sickness and hormonal shift, as well as the nights of depression.

Rumors spread across the ship when it had been evident you were pregnant. Luckily, orders from Valda and the captain (because you were the sole reason he had gotten the ship in the first place), commanded that if there were to be any more gossip around the father of your child, they would be thrown overboard.

The captain was bluffing of course, but you knew Valda wasn’t. Still, the rumors began to stop.

 It was a long month and a half on that boat, only with a few days on Pentos and Tyrosh. Yet finally, you landed in Sunspear; the capital of Dorne.

To your dismay, Valda wouldn’t be staying with you. Deciding that she enjoyed traversing the sea with her brother, she said it was better for her to stay with him.

“We will see each other again.” She held your hands tightly. “Even if it is when you are holding a swaddling child. There are always rich lords and ladies who wish to spend their holidays in a beautiful place as this.”

You wiped your tears away. “I love you. Please don’t do anything rash to get yourself killed.”

“When have I ever?” She kissed your cheek, walking backwards to still look at you. “Bringing you and Gigi was completely sound.”

With what little money you and your grandmother brought, you secured a room in an all-women’s boarding house. Even with it being only for women…that did not stop them from inviting partners over; men or women.

You had known how free people were with affection and sex in Dorne, yet it was different seeing, hearing, and gods above, even smelling it. Despite working in a brothel since you were essentially a child, it more so off put you how…how happy people were.

It should come as a surprise to no one; not every girl working in a pleasure house wants to be there. Almost every sexual act you witnessed was one where the girl wasn’t so willing or desiring to do. You thought that part of you had been healed with Aemond, and perhaps it was…but of course you felt tainted at the end of all things.

Perhaps you were jealous, perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, or perhaps it was just culture shock.

You never found out what had happened to Sylvi; although, you had a suspicion Aemond had something to do with her disappearance…you do not know how you would handle it if it were ever confirmed.

The one large difference that eased you within Dorne, was their treatment of bastards. Seven Hells, most of the women at the boarding house had bastards, yet were never treated any differently when they would go outside.

Yet…if your child were to be cursed with their father’s white hair…than you weren’t sure how well they would be treated.

You spent more time trying to find Qoren, the man who was Gigi's first love. It did not take long before it was revealed he shared the same name with the current prince of Dorne; making him the grandfather to him.

So there was a reason he had given Gigi a fake name…and there was little chance you would get a meeting with him of all people.

Still, you did not drag your ailing grandmother across the sea only to escape possible prosecution in the Dance of the Dragons (that was what the Smallfolk were calling it as you overheard conversations of whether or not the war would come to Dorne).

With a large amount of luck, you secured a job as a tailor for the prince’s daughters. With a miraculous miracle…you were to be welcomed with a feast.

You brought Gigi without question, wearing both the finest outfits you could find. Another thing about the Dornish was how extravagant in joy their festivities were. Even though it wasn’t anything like a fancy ball you assumed many of the lords and ladies in Kings Landing would host, it did not make you feel less alive.

You had almost forgotten your entire purpose for being at the feast as you socialized with several people, until the music suddenly stopped along with the excitement. At the head of the room where the members of the Martell family sat, you watched as the old Prince Qoren slowly made his way through the crowds of people who were once dancing.

He stopped in front of your grandmother, who was sitting by herself, and kneeled down to be at height with her. In the quietness, everyone heard him utter with his throat growing tight.

“Yelena?”

You’d nearly forgotten that was her true name.

Gigi's mouth parted at the sight of him, and with no shame or hesitance, she gently placed her hand upon his cheek. She smiled.

“I knew your eyes were green.”

20 Years Later

“Mama, may I speak with you?”

Despite your eldest daughter Siobhan, named after your mother, being nine and ten, she still spoke to you with the same gentleness she had as a child.

Oh…and how beautiful she was even then.

She was born with her father’s curly hair that was white as Northern snow, and his mouth; yet, she had your eyes and nose. When she grew up, there was no possibility in hiding who she was; considering no other children or adults for that matter shared her hair.

Stil…with the help of the Martell family, and the overall understanding of the Dornish people, neither you nor Siobhan were ever ridiculed.

When Gigi and Qoren were reunited at the feast, you and she were essentially treated like royalty. You lived in the palace with them, spending most days exploring and learning of your grandmother and her lover’s history as they begun to rekindle their relationship.

They never married though; a mere four moons after they found one another…Gigi died.

To try and soothe yourself and Qoren, you had accepted she passed after fulfilling her lifelong goal to find her true love again and felt safe to finally leave this earth once finished.

You were surprised yourself that your birth had not been premature from the stress…but you had someone else to guide you through your grief.

Evrin Sand was the leader of the Dornish Guard, and close companions with the younger Prince Qoren. When you first met him, he presented himself as stoic and silent. Yet, there was something that attracted you to him.

Call it an interest in mystery, call it your past self being drawn to the quiet ones, but it felt different.

It certainly was different; the more you got to know him, the gentler you found him to be. He smiled more often around you, and he never needed to pull you into private areas so much as to speak with you.

He was the first person you confided to about Aemond while you were pregnant, and he never once judged you. When Siobhan was born, he raised her as if she were his own; after you consented of course.

You knew he had a deeper fondness for you, and you with him. Yet, he understood the torment you went through with Aemond and was patient with you.

Three years later, and after much time for healing, you found yourself marrying him. Not so long after, you were blessed with your first boy, Leandro.

Another three years after that, your son Yeray came. Four years later, Yanette was your first and last daughter with Evrin; deciding that four children was perfect.

She was six when Siobhan entered the dress store you owned, and she immediately ran to her older sister.

“Shivi!” Yanette cheered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Siobhan laughed, the tension leaving her shoulders as she picked her up. “Hello, my little darling! How are you?”

“Mama’s being mean.”

“I’m simply teaching you how to sew a button!” You laughed, standing. “What is it, Siobhan?”

Her smile dropped, and she set her little sister on the ground. “Could you go upstairs and help the ladies with the dresses for the other little girls? I need to speak with mother.”

You knew that if you were to have made the same request, Yanette would throw a tantrum. Yet, because it was her older sister who she aspired to be, she gave no complaint, running up the stairs and leaving the two of you alone.

“What ails you, child?” You questioned yet began to clean up your workspace.

“I don’t know what I want to do with me life.” She sighed, sitting at your desk.

“You are not alone in that.” you tried to comfort, placing rolls of fabric back onto their respected shelves. “I have spoken to numbers of mothers and daughters who both worry about that. Do you remember Lumila? You used to walk to the beach together during holidays and-.”

“-I was thinking of leaving.”

You finally looked at her, and though she stood tall, the moment her eyes met yours, she shrunk.

“Leaving?” You repeated. “Leaving Sunspear?”

“Dorne…” She corrected.

Setting the rest of the fabric down, you placed your hands on your hips, thinking. You had often heard of the fear and grief parents would go through in letting their children go, but never knew you would feel it so immediately.

Wasn’t she just a babe in your arms a day ago? Not even able to open her eyes and gaze upon just how much you loved her?

“Where would you go?” You questioned.

She picked at her nails, and you took her hands into yours, halting her bad habit. “Aunt Valda said I could travel to Essos with her and the cousins…and we would be in King’s Landing too.”

Valda was nearing five and forty, yet she still traveled the same path you both took in your escape from King’s Landing. She had become the captain of the ship after her brother, and had somehow found a husband, birthing a few children of her own.

Of course you were still the closest of friends with her, after all those years.

“When did she tell you that?” You questioned.

“Two moons ago when she last visited.” She explained. “She’ll be here in another one, and who knows if her offer still stands-.”

“-Is it what your heart desires?”

Siobhan titled her head. “What?”

You repeated. “If it is how you want to live your life, who am I to stop you?”

“But I don’t know!” She exploded into tears, and you immediately embraced her. She sobbed. “I don’t want to leave you, and-and father and everyone, but-but-but-!”

Shushing her, you pulled away only to reach for a handkerchief on your desk. You handed it to her and she blew into it until all the snot left her sinuses. She pocketed it, and wiped her eyes.

“Why else are you in such turmoil?” You questioned, knowing it wasn’t simply the question of if she should stay or go.

Siobhan took a shuttering breath, saying softly. “I’ve heard rumors of a boy at Harrenhal…one who shares my hair.”

It wasn’t news to you, although hearing it always brought another thorn into your heart. It was common knowledge that, not long after your departure from King’s Landing, Prince Aemond Targaryen retook the castle Harrenhal from Daemon, as well as the castle’s nurse, Alys Rivers.

As years had passed, it was apparent that there was a possibility in her birthing Aemond’s child after his death. It was only luck that you had heard that rumored uttered years after Siobhan’s birth. If the word had spread quickly…the heartbreak and shock surely would have overtaken you.

He had taken Harrenhal only a few weeks after you left Aemond.

“And you wish to find him…” You finished for her.

She sat down on the steps, and you sat beside her. “It may be pointless, and I may not find him…but I wish to know. I love my home with all my heart, but it also longs to live and breathe in places I have only seen in books and heard from travelers.”

You sighed. “I cannot promise you that people will be as accepting as those in Dorne.”

“And I know that.” She ran a hand through her curls. “Papa has trained me well enough to defend myself, you know this. I will travel with Aunt Valda and her children, so I will never be alone.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head. “I do genuinely love working with you. I love creating the most beautiful gowns, I love going to the beach every day, I love my friends, I love Leandro, and Yeray, and Yannette, and you and papa.”

You giggled, taking her face into your hands. “And we will all still be here when you come back! Shivi, you’re so full of life. You can decide one day you’re tired of me yelling at you in the store and decide to pick up your things and go on an adventure of your own. You can decide too as you’re traveling all of Westeros, whether it’s a moon, or a year, when you want to come home.”

She looked at you as if you were somehow the only person in the world who understood her completely. Then, with a nod, she said.

“Okay.”                                                                                                                

Smiling, you kissed her forehead and embraced her once more. It was when she pulled away did Siobhan ask.

“Mama…can I ask about Aemond?”

She never referred to him as her father. It was always easier to speak of him as if he were just the historical figure everyone viewed him as. Yet, it was also strange to do that, knowing that he was a part of her creation.

It was strange for you too.

“Well,” you folded your hands in your lap. “what would you like to know that you already don’t?”

In her defense, you did not tell her that much prior. It wasn’t as if you had much to say in the first place; in hindsight, you only knew him for a month at the most, yet that doesn’t mean your time with him didn’t matter.

Siobhan began. “I know you said he was mean at times, and you thought he would hurt you…but did he love you?”

“…Yes. I like to remember that he did, and it being real.” You answered with a far off look in your eyes. “If I second guess that it was for himself and not for me, then it would tear me apart.”

“And you loved him?”

“I…I think I did. He was the first person to make me feel good, and we had moments where we would just talk, and I’d selfishly wish everyone else in the world turned to dust just so I could have him to myself.”

“Do you think he felt the same?”

You shook your head. “Not in the way I did.”

She drew her eyes away from you, taking it all in. You reached out, holding the back of her head so she would look at you.

“I do not regret any of the time I have spent with him.” You solidified. “It led me to a safer place, and to having you.”

“He wasn’t a good person.” She whispered.

“No.” You shook your head. “He was mistreated as a child, and even when he was older, but you’re right, he wasn’t a good man.”

“Still, I…I wish I could’ve met him. Is that bad?”

“No.” Was your immediate response.

She smiled. “I mean, besides the obvious, it’s for one reason.”

“And what is that?” You chuckled.

“I’m really a princess.” She said with false pride. “And if Aemond was meant to be king, do you think he would’ve let me ascend to the throne?”

You sighed, both out of playful and genuine surprise. “Shivi, if you keep looking into ‘In another world’s-.”

“-Then what world would it be for it to have been true?”

“…In another world where his mother and father were different.”

She looked at you in question. “As in…not the king and queen?”

“No just,” You shook your head. “different choices. Even so, perhaps many things would’ve been changed for your father to be content in being the youngest.”

You don’t know if it was ever possible for Aemond to have not been blinded by a lust for power. You liked to think so, but the more you dwelled on it…the more you began to believe there was no universe it which it was possible.

“I understand.” She said softly. “I just wished to know.”

You combed her hair through your fingers. “And there is no harm in curiosity. So…do you know if you want to leave or not?”

Siobhan sighed, laying her head in your lap. “I don’t. At least I have another moon before Aunt Valda comes to visit.”

“You will.” You comforted. “I have faith you’ll know what to do.”

She hummed, and the two of you stayed in silence together for perhaps another minute before your eldest daughter rose to her feet.

“I promised my friends I’d visit them in the market this afternoon. I’ll see you at supper?”

You nodded. “I’ll make your favorite tonight.”

“I love you!” she kissed your cheek before waving goodbye and rushing out the door. There you were, alone again with your own mind.

It drifted back to when you had heard the news of Aemond’s death. It had been nearly a year since you lived in Sunspear, holding Siobhan was she was just a moon old. When the Dance of the Dragons ended, there wasn’t much of a celebration or mourning, for Dorne had decided not to participate at the start of it all.

So, to hear the news that the Prince Regent Aemond had died spoken so suddenly…you felt your body grow cold. There was a shame in admitting that some of you still loved him.

How couldn’t you though? You held the proof of it in your arms as you cried. You dreamt of him that night, and it was strange. He didn’t do anything but stare at you.

Night after night, you would see him. Sometimes he would talk to you, other times, touch you; again, most of all, he would just look at you.

Apart of you felt like you only slept just to see him.

Yet now, as you sit in your dress shop, and hear your youngest daughter (the proof of Evrin’s unconditional and unselfish devotion to you) rush down the stairs in excitement…

If you were given the choice to go back to the night you first met Aemond Targaryen at the well, you would not change a single thing.

[anyarose011]

Agape

Pairing: Lucius x Reader

Summary: After the Roman Empire had fallen, birthing the Republic, you and Lucius had finally found a moment to breathe in each other's presence. Over a few years' journey of healing, you find that is both exhausting, yet all the more fulfilling at the same time.

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past SA, Depictions of Grief, Violence, Angst, Miscommunication, Historical Inaccuracies [I tried my best to make it kind of accurate], Nudity (sexual and non-sexual), Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex (f receiving), P in V Sex

Paul Mescal's facial hair in All of Us Strangers, if you can hear us, please save us. Nobody ask me how I went from "’Oh, I’m just gonna write some scenes about healing from trauma, and the rest is smut! Easy!" to then making it just a little longer than the first part. I'm a yapper, but holy shit XD. Anyway, this is just shameless pRopAgAnDa at what I personally view a husband to act like (even in modern times). So, without further ado, thousands of words of hurt/comfort and smut.

Word Count: 16.4k

You were a lucky child. When you were twelve and your friend was married off to a man who was forty-two, you asked your father when you would be married.

He tucked you in that night, saying that he wasn’t certain, and that you had nothing to fear; for he wouldn’t promise you to a man who was in a war the same year you were born. He would have to know him personally as well, saying.

“It’s easier to like a man than have to plan his assassination if he dared lay a hand on you.”

You like to think he would have approved of Lucius; he was the once heir to the Roman Empire.

You don’t think he would have approved of your…informal marriage.

“A year.” Lucius stated as the two of you sat together in one of the piazzas. “As long as we are not separated from each other for more than three days, Rome will view us as married if we live in the same household for a year.”

You hummed. “And why should we care what Rome views?”

“Men won’t stop their advances on you if they saw you as my sister.” he explained. “Even as a wife, that doesn’t stir them.”

“It’s a very Christian belief of you to have.”

“But it makes them think thoroughly on if they want to risk tainting you.” Lucius finally looked at you. “Knowing that I would break every finger they touched you with.”

Even with his proclamation, you merely shrugged. “Being the emperor’s favorite whore, I doubt they would care.”

He sighed. “Do you want to know what my mother wrote? Her final words that will forever be with me because they are in ink? ‘Take her as your wife.’”

It had only been one day since Lucilla’s death, since Rome had become a Republic, and no one knew exactly what to do.

Yet…even at the mention of her presence, you felt tears spring to your eyes.

How you hated crying; and crying and crying.

“It is wise.” You finally settled on. “The people here too must see me as a traitor.”

“You would be dead if they did.”

“It’s still early.” You smiled sadly. “I desired to be free of the emperors, but all they must have saw was lust for power.”

Lucius sighed. “If it is a concern, then I believe it is best to leave Rome.”

Suddenly, you were no longer afraid for your life. You scowled. “Leave the city you risked your life to liberate?”

“It is not just my own life I need to think of now, is it?”

“Then think of mine.” you began. “I don’t wish to leave. Where would we even go? I know nothing outside of Rome.”

This would have been solved if you somehow still had the house you grew up in. The moment Geta claimed you, it was gone. Even with the fall of the Empire, and the birth of the Republic, you could not take it back.

Among many other things, you could not take it back.

“We’ll live just outside the walls.” Lucius suggested. “A farm perhaps a few miles from here-.”

“-A farm?” You questioned. “You know how to farm? Because I sure don’t.”

“I’ve lived longer on a farm than I have in a palace.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You also weren’t in the position to bargain. Even though it wasn’t going to be what most would deem an ‘official’ marriage, he still owned you. That was how it always was, whether living outside of the Roman walls or not. Still, you had to try.

“I will learn as much as I need to,” You shook your head. “but I will find a job in the city. You cannot believe I will be shut out-.”

“-Do you want to share a room, or would you like your own?”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

Lucius restated. “We don’t have any money to buy a farm, so I’ll build us one. Do you want your own room?”

You had only known him for a grand total of a day and a half (if you were to add up all the previous times you had spoken to him before Macrinus’ death), so needless to say, his offer shocked you; more so, it impressed you.

“Isn’t it odd for a man and wife to not share a bed?” You asked.

“So, you want to share a room?”

“No.” was your immediate response. “I just…”

Am not used to compromising with men without them threatening my life.

“Won’t it cost money to build a house?” You asked instead. “None the less, more for another room?”

“I only want you to be happy, if we’re to be married.”

There you were, asking every question and not being satisfied with his answers, yet he was remaining patient.

“Thank you.” You bowed your head in thanks for just a second before questioning. “I am still allowed to have a job in the city? It will help with the cost, of course.”

 “Where exactly do you intend to work?”

He said your name; not ‘Julia’, the name you had whispered to him in his cell. Lucius was the only one who had said it to you, for you did not even tell Lucilla or Marcus. It still felt strange hearing it on your lips, nonetheless, his.

Still, shaking your discomfort away, you hummed humorlessly. “I know two women who run their own businesses; hairdressing and tailoring. I’m better at hair than clothes, but not so much. And you?”

He sighed. “I’ll see if there’s any other farmers needing a hand.”

“You’re going to work for a farmer to build a farm?”

“It sounded more bizarre in your head than when you said it aloud, did it not?”

That was the first thing you found out about Lucius after all the bloodshed and heartbreak of the last week:

He spoke with such a straight tone, you did not know he was joking until he would smile just a hint; you couldn’t really call it a true smile.

You managed to grin. “I suppose it makes sense. You should find one that will let us sleep there.”

And he did. A farm just a few miles outside of Rome took both you and Lucius in. It was substantial, housing five chickens, two cows, three pigs, four horses, and seven human children. Albeit the children helped with the chores, but the eldest was only ten and could not manage any of the heavy lifting whatsoever, which was where Lucius came in.

From sun up to sun down, he’d work on the farm. The farmers, Atticus and Diana, let you sleep in the barn of all places. The hayloft was nice for the both of you; enough space to spread out but not be right next to each other. There was also somewhat of a wall between the two of you, giving the illusion of separate rooms.

It was certainly an adjustment for you; had been sleeping on the softest of beds for months, but even so, you just missed the bed from your old house.

Lucius fell asleep the second he laid on the hay.

Dreams and nightmares were always a peculiar thing. Some days, you would dream of your mother and father, some days, they would be of Lucilla and Marcus.

You had nightmares of what befell you before coming to the farm; Macrinus and his manipulation, Caracalla’s temper, Geta…

Yet, the worst that would happen would be you waking up more tired than the night prior. You knew Lucius was having nightmares too, but every time you approached him, he would lie and say he was fine, or simply not want to speak of it.

You stopped asking.

For the first few days on the farm, you were put to work by watching over the younger children when their mother was busy. Somehow, it was the older ones you didn’t mind, it was the youngest baby who was a handful.

It’s morbid to say, but you always wondered how any of them survived infancy.

Luckily, you managed to get back to Rome after perhaps a week of being stranded on the farm. It was almost an hour walk, and you had gotten up even before Lucius had, but it was worth it.

It wasn’t that you felt dead as you were on the farm per say, but walking through the streets brought a certain kind of life back into your steps.

You spent a good portion of the day trying to find the hairdressers you talk to Lucius about. Just as you were about to give up and try again tomorrow, something caught your ear.

Hebrew.

You turned over your shoulder and saw a man speaking in Latin to another man and a pregnant woman. The father had spoken in broken Latin before turning to his wife, speaking quickly in Hebrew as if to ask her what to say.

The Roman man began to yell, and you rushed over, speaking to the patriarch of the family.

“What’s going on?” You asked quickly.

His eyes grew as if you were the first person in Rome to understand him (you probably were). “I paid for a bag of peaches fairly; two bronze, yet they’re saying it wasn’t enough.”

You turned to the man behind you. “He says he gave you two bronze for the peaches.”

“It was three.” The Roman man gritted his teeth.

Tilting your head, you tried. “Show me your stand so we may see.”

It was perhaps stupid of you to challenge him; yet, he controlled his tempter and led you to his fruit stand. The sign by the peaches indeed said ‘2’, but there was also a good amount of peaches blocking the bottom half of the sign.

When you moved a few, it read ‘3’.

You smiled, looking at the man who spoke Hebrew. “It is three, but it’s not your fault this brute didn’t notice either.”

He nodded, returning your grin before handing the men another bronze. With an few mumbled exchanges, the man and his wife were on their way.

“You have Judeans in your family?” The man crudely asked.

Still, you decided to reciprocate his crassness with kindness. “I actually speak five languages.”

He rose his brows. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

He hummed, holding his hand out. “Isidorus.”

“Julia.” Was your immediate response as he took your hand and kissed your knuckles. It wasn’t even your own choice to say that name; it was what you lived by. Retracting your hand, you shake your head and said your own name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

“-All of Rome knows who you are.” He interrupted. “Do not be afraid of your own people. Most of them were there simply a week ago when you tried to slay Macrinus but was there to comfort lady Lucilla in her final moments.”

You only nodded, not wanting to be praised. “I thank you for your kindness.”

“With certain.” He nodded. “You are with child; only a monster would harm a woman carrying.”

The events of the past weeks had made you forgotten about the false babe. Luckily, the fear upon your face could be used to your advantage.

“Are you not well?” Isidorus questioned.

You dropped your gaze, stammering your tone. “The…I lost the child.”

He looked down as well. “Oh…I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you shook your head. “it’s…it feels odd. His father was terrible but…”

“Why are you perusing Rome unchaperoned?” He changed the subject.

 “My betrothed is being put to work,” you immediately answered. “and I am scouring the streets to find my own.”

“What has your luck been?”

“Nothing.”

Isidorus hummed. “I could change that.”

Even at the thought of what he was alluding to, you smiled. “Good sir, I am not in the position to sell my body-.”

“-None of that.” he waved his hand. “My brother works down at the entrance of the city gates. They’re always in need of translators.”

You nodded, considering. “When may I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow?” He asked. “Midday at the gates with many people watching so you do not feel threatened?”

The two of you laughed, and you agreed. “I shall be there. Thank you.”

“Anything to help a woman of the people.”

You walked all the way back to the farm with a skip in your step. Even at dinner, you were more talkative with the rest of the family. Lucius certainly took notice as the two of you were settling down for the night.

“You seemed better today.” He complimented, laying onto his bed of hay.

“So, I’ve been absolutely horrible the rest?” You teased, peeking around the wall of the hayloft.

 “No, just what I think you were like before everything; more yourself.” He explained. “Did the hairdressers go well?”

Leaning against the wall, you crossed your arms. “I’m actually working as a translator down by the city entrance.”

He gave you a look. “How’d this come about?”

“Well,” you began. “I overheard two men arguing, one was speaking Hebrew, and I asked him what was wrong. There was a misunderstanding over peaches of all things, I helped them talk it out, and it was solved with no bloodshed. The vendor said his brother works at the gates and is always in need of translators and offered to meet with him tomorrow. It will be midday and so many people around; do not worry.”

Lucius nodded. “I’ll accompany you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I shall be fine.”

“I have no doubt you would.” You knew that was a lie. “One of the scythes broke today, I’ll need to buy another one in the city.”

You didn’t know if that was a lie or not, but it wouldn’t surprise you if Lucius would sneak out in the night and break equipment simply to go with you.

Sighing, you went behind the wall to your side of the hayloft. “Fine.”

To no one but Lucius’ surprise, Isidorus had not lied about his brother, nor the job offer. Of course, the brother had been off put at a woman being the translator (because everyone knows that they are the lesser sex). Still, after some convincing (you talked to a Greek family, a man from Anatolia, and two brothers from Persia), he said you could be put to work.

Lucius stood there the whole hour you had proved yourself.

“You couldn’t have gotten the scythe while I worked?” You questioned him while walking home.

He kept his gaze on the road before him, carrying the farm equipment. “It was engaging to watch.”

You hummed. “I could see how engaged you were while you stood like this.” You crossed your arms and scowled.

“I did not look like that.” He scoffed.

“You did so!” You refuted, lowering your voice. “My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, the Last Gladiator, son of Lucilla and Maximus, grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

He looked down, mouth upturning a little. “I do not sound like that.”

“Is that a smile?!” you gasped. “Gods above, I never thought you could unless you were attempting humor!

“Away with you, woman.”

You only laughed as the sun was starting to set.

There was something called a “Fullmoon” period in a marriage. Most now would say it’s “Honeymoon”, but the period in time where a man and woman were in a complete state of euphoria together was called “Fullmoon” because it only lasted for a month.

You and Lucius (even with your strange circumstance) were not immune to this.

A month later, when you had fully settled into a mundane life of working in different areas for hours upon hours, the only times you saw Lucius was when you ate dinner with the farmer’s family, and before going to bed.

It didn’t’ effect you that much for the first three months, as you both were still on good terms and were fine simply cohabitating without affection. This marriage was purely for protection and to honor Lucilla’s wishes.

Then…Lucius came to you one day, saying that together, you both had enough money to build a farm. He already had a patch of land picked out from the help of the famer who employed him. It was five miles away from the farm you stayed at. Five miles more of a journey to the city.

You would move in once the walls were built, which he said would only take a week or two.

It was too fast for you.

Still, you had to go along with it, because you were to be his wife; nothing more. Even so, nothing out of the ordinary besides your hidden, simmering annoyance happened between you two.

The first day construction was to be done was when light was shed upon it.

“Lucius!” You called his name as you approached him and a few other men hauling the wood and stone that would be used. It was mid-twilight when you ran to them.

He furrowed his brow, walking towards you. “Aren’t you meant to be in the city?”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shook your head. “I asked for the day off because of the house. He said I-.”

“-You need to go back and tell him you’ll work.”

Your smile fell from his usual, monotone demeanor. “He doesn’t expect me to come in today-.”

“-Then he’ll be happy to see you.”

“May I just talk for a moment?!” You yelled.

His said nothing.

Sighing, you began. “I will be useful in any capacity. If you need me to help dig for water, measure supports, lift anything-.”

“-Your shoulder cannot carry-.”

You retorted. “-It might be the shoulder you shot, but it’s the shoulder I have to live with, and I will tell you if something is too heavy to carry.”

It hadn’t been the first time you brought up your shoulder after Rome was free. Yet, in the past, it was always out of good fun; something to say to him when you didn’t want to carry as little as an egg from the chicken coop. You told the children the story too why you had to set one of them down after carrying her for so long.

You expected them to cower away from Lucius when he returned for supper, but instead, they all tackled him to the ground to defend your honor.

They didn’t hurt him of course, and you laughed until you couldn’t breathe.

Yet, at that moment, you said it with nothing but disdain; and he heard it in every word. You thought it would have been enough to guilt him into letting you help, you made sure of it.

Lucius titled his head back toward the main road. “Go on, now. The sun will be up soon, it’ll be better to walk without daylight beating down on you.”

The audacity he had. Usually, on the times you’d have disagreements of sorts, you’d try to leave with dignity; perhaps a word of sarcasm or two.

No, you simply turned on your heel and marched away in a huff.

You were harsher that day when translating, and you were still angry by the time the day ended. You ate dinner outside by yourself (until three of the seven children came outside to eat with you), and did not utter a ‘goodnight’ to Lucius before laying down to sleep.

Neither of you spoke to the other for days after that.

It was one morning, not even when the sun was out, as you tried to tiptoe around him, did he ask from his makeshift bed.

“Do you remember where the house is?”

You nearly fell off the ledge of the hayloft. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes!” you whispered, afraid to wake the whole farm. “Why?”

“We made the water pump, and the walls and floors are finished. We’ll be able to sleep there now.”

“I don’t see the appeal in sleeping in a house with no roof.”

“I’ll put half of it on today. Tell your foreman too that you won’t be able to work for the next week.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“I’m teaching you how to tend to a farm.” He wrapped his blankets tighter around him and turned his back to you.

And you continued on your way; making the long trek to the city, which would only be longer when you moved to the house.

When your work was over, you walked and walked. You took a short break at the farmer’s house, making your final goodbyes to the children, and gathering what little belongings you owned.

As you tried to leave, Diana stopped you. She was leading one of the horses, a berber, behind her.

“Take her,” she handed you the reins. “you shouldn’t have to walk so far.”

You shook your head. “I simply cannot-.”

“-I insist.” She smiled. “She’s yours now. Think of it as payment for helping me with the little beasts that are my children.”

Smiling politely, it soon faded. She took notice. “What is it?”

“…I’ve only ever ridden once, and I was a child.”

She sighed yet was still kind. “Come on, my husband’s horse is at your farm. I’ll ride back with him.”

Despite your inexperience, it was actually nice riding a horse. It was perhaps the closest you could ever come to flying in your lifetime; maybe that’s why you enjoyed it. As you were nearing your soon-to-be home, you saw a familiar silhouette along with some others.

Atop the house, against the setting sun, you watched as Lucius continued to add tiles to the unfinished roof. His shirt was off, and even with night beginning to set in with the cold air, he was still breaking a sweat from the rigorous work. You would be a liar if you say that you didn’t catch yourself staring, and it was Diana who had to take the reins.

“What a fine home!” She broke you out of your trance, and when Lucius looked in your direction, you snapped your gaze away.

Lucius nodded. “All that needs to be done is the roof.” He jumped onto the ground just as you were sliding off the horse. He gave you his hand as you were, and you took it.

“Thank you.”

Atticus and the other workers went to a lone tree where their horses were tied. Atticus then approached both you and Lucius.

“Well,” he smiled. “it was lovely hosting the both of you. Please come back as often as you can; I’m sure the children will miss you.”

You all exchanged your final goodbyes, and it when everyone rode off away from you, did you realize something. This was the first time in a while you were alone with Lucius that wasn’t when going to sleep or waking up.

“Do you have a name for the horse?” Lucius asked.

Turning over your shoulder, you led the steed to the tree, petting her as you began to tie her up. “Not at the moment. She’s yours too, do you have any?”

“You’ll be with her more; you should name her.”

Humming you looked at him when you finished securing the horse. “You asked them to give her to me, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “They asked how they could repay you for taking care of their children, I mentioned how it would be a longer journey to the city once we moved here. That’s all I did.”

…He was better at asking for forgiveness than for permission; that was another thing you learned about him. Still, you nodded your appreciation, inspecting the area around you. It was quite beautiful even with its plainness. The fields stretched on for miles, and there were no tall buildings to cover the night sky. Even the unfinished house brought a sense of happiness to you.

Something that was, at least partially, your own.

“Where will the barn and chicken coop go?” You questioned.

A hint of a smile played on his mouth, but in Lucius fashion, did his best to hide it. “You were complaining about not having a roof, and now you wonder about things for the animals?”

“Perhaps I’m more interested in farming than you are.”

“I’ll teach you.” he led you into the house. “Come on.”

 The front living space was large, and in the corner of it had an oven, so that was where the kitchen would be. Lucius showed you the two rooms as well; each having a single pillow and a blanket.

“We’ll begin planting tomorrow.” he announced. “I don’t think I’ll have to wake you up.”

“You won’t.” You nodded. “Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Goodnight.” He said your name.

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the sound of your own name from his lips.

You named the horse after your mother. Well…not the exact same name, but a similar one. It was quite a scene too when confessing to Lucius you couldn't exactly remember how to ride a horse by yourself.

He didn’t laugh at you, that was what greatly surprised you. He spent an hour teaching you, and you were able to ride her on your own.

Farming was more difficult than you thought it would be, but not so horrible either. Yes, where Lucius was patient with you for the first few days, he made a few snide comments as time passed. Nothing outright mean, but still enough to get under your skin.

Still, you managed to pick it up within the few weeks after that.

He had even let you help him finish the roof of the house; something you didn’t expect him to do. After living in the house for a month, both of you managed to buy actual beds for your rooms, among other luxuries like a few tables and chairs for the main living area, and utensils both for cooking and for eating.

The bathroom was completely bare. Having spent all the money on everything else, it would take time for the both of you to buy a bathtub. Bathing wasn’t a problem back on Atticus and Diana’s farm, but now being away from them, you would be forced to rely on the public baths in the city…

Even with some bathhouses having baths only for women, that did not stop men from forcing their way into them.

You didn’t mind being dirty for weeks on end.

The two of you fell into another pattern of life; you going into the city and spending hours translating foreign dialogue, and Lucius working on the farm for most days, sometimes accompanying you.

There was…something else strange as well.

It was always a coin toss on what weeks Lucius would speak to you or not.

Yes, he was always a man of few words, but this was different. There were some days when you asked him about his day, he would tell you what boring tasks he did. Than, on others, it was just one word: “Good.”

Never “Bad”, never “Just okay”; only “Good”. Even when you knew it wasn’t, that’s all he would say.

And you could endure it.

It had already been a little over half a year since the two of you started living together. In the eyes of Rome (as mere Plebians), you would be married once a year passed.

This was perhaps the best marriage you could ask for as a Roman woman. Still…every day that Lucius would not speak to you only brought more dread upon your shoulders.

When he stopped even looking at you, that was when you went to Diana one day.

“It’s so lovely to see you.” She smiled, setting down two cups of wine and sitting. “It’s felt like ages!”

With her youngest baby on your lap, you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “You honestly didn’t need to get the wine out.”

“Nonsense!” She waved her hand. “It’s a celebration just to be in your presence. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well.”

“How’s the farm? Lucius?”

“Well,” you took another sip, setting your cup down. “the farm has been alright. I know at least how to properly water crops and know when they’re ready to harvest or not. I help Lucius sometimes, but…he likes things his own way. He was a farmer too, I understand.”

She hummed. “And as a betrothed? I hope having your own home would help; to me, you two treated each other more like acquaintances than anything else.”

All you could do was avoid eye contact and bounce the giggling baby on your knee.

“Ah.” She sighed. “So not much has changed?”

“We both talk more than we had at your farm, but somehow, less at the same time.” You explained.

Diana reached over and held your hand, asking softly. “When was the last time you were intimate?”

As if she were a man, you tore your hand from hers. “What?”

“I do not wish anything to be forced upon you,” she stated first. “especially with what has happened to you. But…it is still important, especially to your future marriage.”

“We…we haven’t done anything in…months.” You were not going to tell her you hadn’t even seen him naked. You were not going to tell her you hadn’t done you “duty” as a woman.

She nodded. “There must be something plaguing his mind terribly.”

“I know that!” You cried. “He just won’t tell me.”

“Men do not like talking,” Diana sighed. “I have been married to Atticus for fifteen years, and even after seven children, there are parts of his past I still do not know of. What Lucius frets over is important though. You must dig your heels into the ground and let him know you are not doing anything until he tells you what he has issue with.”

The baby on your lap cooed as you held her, reaching for parts of your clothing. Diana took her from you once the baby started fussing, and you offered her a grateful smile.

“I’ll try my best with him.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “He will come to his senses. If not, then he truly hit his head too hard in the Colosseum.”

Except, you couldn’t confront him when you got home. Even though the sun was only beginning to set, when you arrived, the house was silent. You peeked into his bedroom and saw that he was already fast asleep.

With a sigh, you finished your nightly activities, and when the sun went down, you were in your own bed.

The nightmare was unlike any you had before.

Hands from all around you reached out to you. Some grabbed clumps of your hair, stuck their fingers into your mouth, caressed the most intimate parts of your body, or even tear your skin off.

You blinked and then you were in the palace, surrounded by cloaked figures. Someone forced you onto your back, and you looked up and saw Geta, raising a knife high above his head before diving it into your stomach. He carved it out before digging his hands into the opening he made and pulled out your womb.

After sitting up in bed, you had thought you awoken. When you opened your bedroom door, you were welcomed to a field of reeds, seeing nothing for miles. All but a silhouette in the distance. You could not make out it to be a man or a woman; all you knew was that you needed to run to them.

Yet, even as you dashed through the fields, calling out a name you do not even remember, your feet sank into the ground with each step.

The earth swallowed you whole before you could even reach them.

You didn’t awake with a scream; you didn’t even awake with a cry. You did awake in a sweat. Sitting up, you slowly pulled the blanket away from your body. Your stomach was unwounded, and nothing had happened.

Without knowing why, you rose from your bed and slipped on your sandals. Not even putting on a robe, you walked out of the house into the cold, night air. Numbly, you treaded through the tall grass away from the house and stopped.

The stars above you watched as you fell to your knees, and the past finally had the last laugh.

You wept for your mother (whose touch you never felt).

You wept for your father (who you had to take care of the same way he took care of you).

You wept for Marcus (the first man outside of your father to ever see you as a person).

You wept for Lucilla (the woman who saved you in more ways than one).

You wept for the innocence you lost to the twin emperors (and how you mercilessly killed them).

You wept and wept, until you felt bile claw its way up your throat and out of your mouth.

The tears did not stop even after you were finished.

Two hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you tried to tear yourself away with a sharp cry. You were turned around, and even though your tears blinded you, you could see that it was Lucius.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes grown.

You couldn’t speak clearly, only shaking your head and saying ‘No’ over and over. Lucius led you to the water pump and sat you down by it. Cranking the handle until the water flowed freely, he cupped his hand to catch some of it before gently washing your face.

The cool water grounded you, and your sobs began to slow. Once you were only left with shallow breathing and a stuffed nose, Lucius finally sat beside you.

“What happened?” He asked again, although, returning to his normal, straight-toned self.

“Bad dream.” Was all you said.

He said nothing at first. Then, looking down at the grass beneath him, he said. “Would talking about it help you?”

It was meant to be a helpful question, but it only angered you. “You ask that now? After I run out into the night screaming?”

Lucius squinted his eyes. “Why does that bother you?”

“I know you have nightmares too.” You scoffed. “I have asked you dozens of times if you wish to talk to me about them, and you have always said no. You’ve never once asked me about mine, so how dare you expect me to tell you about it now when you cannot even share yours with me!”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head.

You stood up, walking back to the house. “You’re right, it isn’t fair.”

He jumped to his feet. “You can’t walk away without telling me why this is troubling you.”

“You first.”

“What?”

You turned to face him. “We are to be married in less than a year, at least ‘In the eyes of Rome’ as you say, yet you do not even look at me anymore!”

His shoulders fell, and he shook his head. “I am looking at you-.”

“-I ask you how you are these days, and you lie to me every time.” You interrupted. “The few instances you allow me to work beside you, you criticize every little thing I do. I understand that I am the farthest thing you wanted for as a wife-.”

 It was that word that struck a chord. Despite saying it every so often those past few months…it was only then it occurred to you that where Lucius was your first husband…you were not his first wife.

He tore his gaze away from yours, as if he knew you had figured it out. You sighed. “Gods above…I’m sorry for what has happened to her, and I will never know the loss of a love like that…but I cannot be viewed as her replacement-.”

“-Who told you that you were?” He sharpened his tone.

You swallowed, knowing that this would all end in tears no matter what you said. “You do not tell me anything. I will never ask you to care for me the way you cared for her, but she is gone-.”

“-I couldn’t do anything after she died but weep and watch her body float into the ocean.” He hissed. “I vowed to kill the man that slaughtered her, and I didn’t. It had been perhaps just a month since her death, did I promise myself to another woman. I have dishonored her memory three times.”

“I do not know how long you need me to apologize for something I could not control, but I will if that means you will stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate that I will be your wife!” Your voice was growing hoarse. “I don’t understand it at all. I will be whatever it is you wish me to be in few months’ time, because you will own me. Even if you wish me to be dead, it shall be done because what I want will not matter-.”

“-Must you make everything about yourself?!” He finally yelled. “Would it soothe you if I said I despised every part of you? That if Jupiter himself came down and offered me my old life in exchange for you, I would give you up to him?! Would it give you any peace of mind if I told you I would have rather died in the arena than live a thousand years with you?”

You had expected him to at least pause after he made his confession. To at least have the courage to look you in the eye and watch as the words sunk into your being. Yet, as soon as he finished, he stomped back to the house; and you were alone outside again.

The tears upon your face glimmered from the light in the sky above you, for all you could do was stare at the little farmhouse Lucius had built for you.

How strange that something you once saw as a sign of devotion, was now revealed to be one of complicity.

He had admitted his disdain for your future marriage. You knew that it would be loveless (you would never escape that), but you wished at least for respect. Seeing as how you were not even going to have that, you dragged your feet over to the tree where your horse was tied up.  Mounting her with nothing but the clothes on your back, you raced down the pathway.

For the first day, you had stayed at Diana and Atticus’ farm. You said nothing about Lucius, and tried to spend the most time with the children to avoid any questions.

On the second day, you finally went back to the city. Even though the man in charge of you yelled louder than Lucius had at you, it did not phase you. You merely nodded and returned to work. With what money they paid you for the day, you spent it on a room at the safest inn you could find. You had another nightmare that night. Not as horrible as the one two days prior, but awful enough for you to lay awake until the sun rose.

The third day seemed to be ordinary, until you finished your job, and you were promenading along the market. As you eyed the fruit at Isidorus’ stand, a man came to stand beside you.

“Good sir,” you heard Lucius’ voice. “do you have a wife?”

Isidorus nodded. “I do.”

“What from your stand would you give her if she was angry at you?”

He eyed you before smiling at Lucius. “My ears to listen.”

You turned, promptly walking away. Of course, Lucius followed.

“I didn’t know you confided into strangers about our qualms.”

“He’s not a stranger.” you kept trying to lose him. “And gifts will not suffice for an apology this time.”

He got in front of you, uttering your name. You stopped, sighing. “What else have you come to say to me?”

“That I am a fool.”

Although you weren’t necessarily expecting him to admit it, you only nodded. “You very much are.”

He began. “For my entire life, I was not allowed to be entirely truthful with others. Whether it was how I felt in the moment, or even my own name. I’m not used to the freedom of being candid with one another. And I have been mistreating you; I have provided a home, but I haven’t provided your wellbeing. Ari-.” Lucius paused, breathing through his nose. “Arishat and I lived on a farm, that was all I knew while being a husband. I will love her until the end of my days, but that does not give me the right to neglect you. I will…I will try with all my being to share my thoughts with you.”

You stared at him, feeling as if you would blink, and you would awaken from another dream. Yet once you did and saw that he was still in front of you, you said.

“I didn’t mean to insult your memory of her.”

He shook his head. “I believe she would hit me if she were here and saw how I treated you.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Truly, for everything. I…it’s not only you, I don’t know if I will ever feel like myself after…everything.”

Lucius already knew. Still, looking around himself, he then said. “Where is your horse?”

“The inn I’ve been staying at has a stable. You walked the whole way here?”

“It’s what I deserved.”

“You smell horrible.” You mustered a shy grin.

He mirrored you, looking away. “I have for a while.”

“I do as well. I was…I was going to brave the baths; would you like to join me?”

Your offer took him by surprise. Usually, a question like that would be an invitation to more salacious activities to take place. Still, what took him aback more was how you were initially so afraid of the public baths, yet there you were.

“I shall.” He agreed.

Thus, the two of you walked beside one another. There were many baths in Rome, yet it would be challenging to find one that had a separate bath for women and one for men. By the time you reached the third bathhouse, you sighed.

“This will do.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ll ask the workers at this one if they know-.”

“-No.” You stopped him. “It’s fine. I wish to speak more with you.”

He was still hesitant, but gave in. The two of you entered and drifted off to the separate changing rooms. It was strange that the bathhouse had rooms for the different sex to disrobe, but not baths itself.

After locking your clothes away, you ventured out into the main pool. You were welcomed to an array of naked bodies. You weren’t entirely innocent of course, even before everything. You were never to see any of these people again; it was Lucius you would live with.

Quickly, you disappeared half of your body under the surface of the water and clung to the wall of the large bath. Other people around you laughed and socialized, only putting you more in the eyes of men who only came to the baths for one thing.

Yet, before you could take a moment to worry, your eyes fell to Lucius who entered. You soon averted them and felt the water shift beside you as he entered. You turned to look at him, leveling yourself with the side of the pool, essentially shoulder to shoulder with him. The hear radiating off of his body onto yours reminded you too much of that night months ago; the one where you whispered your name into his ear.

“What were you like as a boy?” You questioned in an attempt to hide how flustered you were.

He hummed. “Why do you ask?”

“If you wish to be more honest with me, than I think it should be best to stary with something minor.”

“I understand. I was spoiled growing up in the palace. Still, I wished nothing more than for adventure. All my life, the mere thought of war and battles were taught as a way to bring glory to the empire; pride for one’s family. I had gotten my foolish wish when Maximus died, and my mother sent me away from Rome.” He paused momentarily, before continuing. “I ran all across the land until I was thirteen, where I finally settled in Numidia. I had changed my named too many times to count and settled upon Hanno.”

Your attention did not waver for a moment. When he was finished you asked. “How old were you when you left?”

“Eight…” There was a sad silence between the two of you. A silence held in almost reverence for all the troubles he had been through. “What about you?”

Even with your uneasiness to answer your starkly different childhood, you did so; also have been promising to be honest with him. You spoke of your father, your past friends, the house you grew up in. He never once looked upon you with envy or hatred.

“Your father sounded like a good man.” He said.

“He was.” You nodded, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I think he would have liked you.”

“I can only hope.”

The conversation halted after that, unknown if you should wait for him to ask a question, or for you to ask another. Both of your eyes drifted around the bath house as people filtered in and out. When your gaze fell back onto Lucius’ you watched his eyes flicker to something behind you. Before you could utter a word, he placed his hand upon your bare back, bringing his lips to the space between your ear and your jaw.

It all happened so fast you had no time to react, and your body shivered upon the feel of him being so close to you.

“There’s a man eyeing you from behind.” He whispered into your skin. “Don’t look at him, just keep looking at me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled away slightly, doing as he told. He traced circles on your back with his thumb, staring intently at you. Even as you shrunk under his eyes, they did not frighten you.

Deciding to play along, you trailed your hand up his bare arm until resting on his shoulder. You felt his skin erupt into goosebumps and he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just…it’s been a while.”

Anyone with any sense knew that meant more than one thing. It had been a while since he felt anyone’s touch; nonetheless, a naked woman’s.

From behind him, you saw a small group of girls all looking at you. They all looked a little younger than you, and acted like so, giggling loudly and talking without a care in the world. It was only then that you noticed they were looking at Lucius.

“Is there someone eyeing me now?” He attempted to tease you when he noticed your gaze.

You nodded, no hint of humor behind your voice. “A good few of them.”

“Is that so?”

You removed your hand. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind what?” He pinched his eyebrows together.

“…Getting your release from a woman that isn’t me.” You were puzzled by his seeming ignorance. “You’re a man, I understand-.”

He said your name with somewhat of gasp. You didn’t listen one bit.

“No, I mean it. I will not be more selfish than I already have been, expecting you to remain celibate because I don’t think I will-.”

Lucius said your name again and you stopped. Even when you did, he said it a third time as if to know he had your attention. He continued to run his fingers up and down your back.

“I will not dishonor you-.”

“-I have been dishonored several times before, it does not matter-.”

“-Listen to me.” He said softly yet firmly. “Even if I desired someone carnally, it is not selfish of you to want my loyalty. I’m not a boy who wishes to bed anything that breathes. I don’t think I can do so with someone I do not have any deep feelings for. You are my wife, and I will not treat you less.”

He didn’t call you his ‘betrothed’. As if, the moment you accepted his apology, you were already his other half. To hear him speak with so much certainty after neither of you knowing what any day would bring…it brought an astonishing comfort you never knew you needed.

“Thank you.” You felt like your heart could beat again.

“You don’t-.”

“-No but I do. I don’t…I don’t think I could give you anything of myself if you wanted it. It’s still…I remember a lot of what Geta did to me, and I forgot it at the same time. It doesn’t happen a lot in my nightmares, but it still does. That one night you found me he…he cut out my womb and held it in his hands. I thought I woke up, but I didn’t, and I think I was in Elysian Fields, but I only saw a shadow. I don’t know what any of that means.”

Lucius let you finish all of the anxiety you had thrown onto him. Still, releasing a shallow breath, he said.

“You die in most of my dreams.” He clarified. “The bad ones, I mean. A lot of people do, but you’ve been in them the most. There are times I see both you and Arishat, or my mother, or all three of you and…those are the worst. The night I found you outside, I couldn’t…I had a horrible dream that I couldn’t even see your face, but I knew it was you when I found you hanging in the Colosseum.”

If the both of you weren’t naked and, in the bathhouse, you would have embraced him. Yet, with the most understanding look in your eyes, you brought your hand to the base of his neck, his loose curls between your fingers. You swore you felt him relax into your touch for just a moment.

“I’ve known everyone to have their own beliefs of dreams.” You whispered. “They’re meant to predict the future, they reflect the past, they are punishments, they are blessings, and they mean nothing. I wonder if it’s possible they are all of them.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“I do.” Lucius unknowingly leaned into you just ever so slightly. You grinned from ear to ear, pulling your hand away from him. “I believe you need to cut your hair.”

He chortled. “I’m not spending anything on cutting it. It’s fine.”

“I’ll cut it then.”

“I would rather be stabbed.”

“Oh, quit being dramatic.” you playfully swatted him. “There’s a reason I would’ve been a better hairdresser than tailor.”

The two of you teased one another for a minute longer after that. Than, even though the conversation died, it was not in vain. There was a quiet gentleness and protectiveness as you both shared a short distance between each other while bathing. Lucius kept his eye on you more than you did him, knowing that it was always possible a man could try to take advantage of you.

When all was said and done, you got your horse from the stable at the inn, and the two of you rode back to the farm with a newfound understanding of each other.

More than a year and a half have passed since the fall of the Roman Empire and its subsequent birth of the Republic. Your strange marriage with Lucius grew into a friendship of respect and understanding. You both talked more than you had when you were first betrothed, even if your busy schedules remained the same.

The farm had improved after its first harvest, even raising enough money to build a chicken coop and house a few chickens. The house itself was more furnished, and the two of you managed to purchase a bathtub, no longer needing to use the public ones in the city.

Both of you had changed as well. Even with what minimal farm work you did, it built both your strength and stamina. Lucius had begun to grow out his facial hair; not much for it to be an actual beard, but more so just under his nose. You’d joke about it looking like a caterpillar, to which he would lightly shove you away.

After the intimate discussion the two of you shared, it was only then you both realized you still didn’t know much about each other. Most importantly, the little things that made each of you a person.

So, you’d take time to get to know one another.

You were helping Lucius pull weeds around the crops when you found out he had ripped a monkey’s throat out with his teeth during his very first gladiator fight.

You were reading a collection of poetry one night when Lucius told you that you mouth the words of whatever you’re reading if you find it most interesting.

During supper one night, Lucius ate the entirety of the plate only to then eat whatever else you hadn’t. That was when your theory was proven right; he does forget to eat sometimes.

Both of you had tried to keep the housework to an equal amount; if he cooked one night, you’d clean the kitchen and vice versa. Yet, some remained stagnant; you always cut his hair, yet he always changed the horses’ shoes.

Cutting his hair was perhaps your favorite way to speak with him.

“Remember to clean your sandals before coming in next time.” He reminded you as he sat on a tree trunk outside. “You tracked in mud.”

Standing behind him while trimming small hairs, you shook your head. “My apologies, master of the house; it was downpouring and I was freezing.”

“Serves you right, I’d say.”

You placed the tip of the shears against his neck. “What else do you have to say?”

He snickered. “That you’re an astonishing woman who I am blessed to be with."

“Wrong answer, all lies.” You pretended to stab him, only to bring the shears back to his hair.

“I’m not lying!” Lucius laughed.

You only gave him a ‘tsk’ before continuing. “Are you sleeping any better?”

He said nothing at first. Your eyes drifted down to his hands and saw him pull on his tunic; another telltale sign of his nervousness.

“I keep seeing my mother’s face.” He admitted. “Only her face, nothing else.”

“It was the third night last night, right?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Would you want to hear a dream I had a few days ago to make you feel better?”

“Better because it was happy, or because you think I’ll feel happy I wasn’t you?”

“The latter.”

“Tell me.”

You turned his head to the side gently, continuing your work. “I stood in front of the entire senate of Rome, and they were all laughing at me. I don’t even know what I said, they only laughed and laughed.”

“Is that not what happened to you in the waking day?”

“No, they listened…I think.” You shook our head. “It more so angers me that, in the waking life, I presented logic to them, and they still chose Macrinus who showed nothing of the sort.”

“Some men like to speak of only desiring logic yet run away with their emotions once it is presented.” Lucius stated. “What had you told them?”

“That all of Rome would continue to riot if they killed Lucilla.” You said grimly. “I still don’t understand; they had their proof of the rage Rome’s children could feel when their general was killed, the only reason the city did not fall was because Macrinus was slain. I’m done.”

You set your shears down and Lucius stood, shaking the fallen hair off his clothes. He turned to you.

“If it matters at all, I think the only reason this house hasn’t fallen is because of you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shoved him playfully. “Away with you, you’re just as much of the reason as I am.”

“I do all that I can.”

There were moments like this where you would not speak of childhood memories or events of your day. These moments were reserved for the days where it felt like time slowed down just to give you two the grace to speak about them in more detail.

With only a single candle between the two of you one quiet night, you told him how you have to walk a different path in the city sometimes simply to avoid brothels; hating the sounds you would hear from inside, the stench of cheap perfume and sweating bodies burning your nose, the men who would brag to their friends about the women they had.

At breakfast one day, before the sun had even rose, Lucius told you about a time when he was ten, still on the run. He had gone into a man’s house with the promise of food, only to then be hit the head with something so heavy, he was knocked out. He had awoken in a dark room, but managed to find a curtained window, and escaped. He never knew what would have happened to him if he had woken up just a minute later.

There was tenderness you shared with him that you had never shared with anyone in your life.

That was only more apparent on one fateful day.

The first bad omen for the day that morning was when you had run out of sugar for breakfast. The second was when your horse was extra stubborn as you rode her into the city; it was so out of the ordinary, you wondered if you did something to make her hate you.

Still, everything was fine once you went to work. At least it was for the first half of the day.

There were aggressive people from across the land coming into the city you certainly had to deal with, but the worst was when a man twice your size bluffed you with a slap. Even so, the other men you worked with had yelled and sent him away.

That day though…there was a woman with a look in her eyes.

You thought you had seen pure rage when you had been with Geta. Yet, that day was a lesson to you; wrath had many faces.

She mumbled in Greek, but you did not know what she said at first. Then, she attempted to speak Latin. You politely told her you could speak Greek, and so with exhaustion, she told you that she was going to visit her mother.

When asked for her mother’s name, she didn’t say it. After asking again, she became enraged, yelling at you that she should just be able to be let in. When you resisted, she grabbed your bad arm, yanking it to pull you closer to her.

The pain shot through your shoulder like a bolt of lightning, and you cried out. She tugged on your hair as the men beside you tried to pry her away from you. Luckily, she didn’t manage to yank any of it out once the men forced her away from you. Tears fell freely over your face as you cradled yourself, unable to stop the sobs from leaving your lips.

They let you leave early yet paid you as if you were there the whole day.

The ride back to the farm wasn’t any better, but at least your steed took notice of your heartache and was more merciful to you. When you made it home, you slowed her down when you saw Lucius limping towards the house.

You both stopped where you were, staring at one another as if you weren’t supposed to be seeing the other.

“Why are you back so early?” He asked first.

“Why are you dragging your foot?” You asked second.

Lucius took a deep breath, and you saw tears in his eyes. “I fell.”

The only time you had seen him cry was when burying Lucilla; it wouldn’t be from simply falling. You slowly pulled yourself off your horse but did so quick enough before he could rush to help you. You wished nothing more than to pull him into the warmth of the house, to sit him down and tend to his wound to distract you from your own.

Yet, the moment you took his hand, he began to weep.

“Oh Lucius.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to cradle his face. He wrapped both of his arms around you, bringing you onto the ground with him. You yelped a little when he squeezed your bad shoulder too tight, and he pulled away.

“What happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You need-.”

“-What happened?!”

Knowing he wouldn’t stop asking, you told him. “Someone at the gate attacked me. Pulled on my bad arm, my hair…it wasn’t as bad as you’d think-.”

“-Where is he?” He lowered his tone and his demeanor.

Your jaw dropped into a surprised huff. “She is long gone by now, and even if she wasn’t then as my husband, you should stay with me instead of wandering the streets of Rome hoping to find someone to be your anger’s victim!”

Though he still wore that rage upon his face, it soon fell once he saw your own tears fall from your eyes like dewdrops on flowers. Lucius laid himself flat on the dirt, and you sat above him.

“I have been married to you longer than I had been to Arishat.” He confessed. “I knew her for longer, but-but not as deeply; no, I-I knew her more than…I don’t…It’s been long since her death, yet there are moments I think of her, and I cannot stop crying.”

You never knew this was in his heart. You knew to never speak of Arishat, only listen whenever he would bring her up (even so, it was once in a blue moon).

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled, trying to pull himself together. “I know she is gone, and I shouldn’t be-.”

“-You shouldn’t what?” You interrupted. “Remember her? You think I wish for you to forget the woman you so loved?”

He shook his head. “No, but it’s selfish of me to-.”

You were the one to make him lose his words this time. With both hesitation certainty, you placed his head into your lap. It was too late for you to stop once you did, and you felt your own body tense. Then, upon taking a look at his body battered from rigorous work, and another at his face, which relaxed with his eyes fully shut, you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Lucius,” you sighed. “never will I think you are a horrible man for mourning her. You missing her shows just how much you adored her, and how she was a treasure to you. In another life, above all, I wish I could have met her. You are not in the wrong for wanting to see her again. I know you do not love me-.”

“-I do love you.” He opened his eyes upon saying it.

Your heart felt as if it was going to beat itself out of your chest and run away when he said those four words. To preserve your sanity, you took it a different way and smiled sadly.

“Not in the way you loved her.” You said softly. “But what else more can I ask for in a husband than one who treats me with a gentleness I did not know was possible? One who has been there to protect me even before we were married?”

Lucius took a deep breath, rubbing his face to clear away his tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Gods above,” you groaned tiredly. “we can go back and forth on who deserves each other. Let us just go back into the house, have supper, and sleep.”

“I would like that.” He hissed as he went to stand.

Helping him, once he was on his best foot, you said. “You never told me what you did to your leg.”

He looked behind him at the field. “There was a snake and a rock.”

You gave him a look. “And what happened with them?”

“I don’t wish to speak of it.” He said grimly.

In any other instance, you would have laughed. Yet, as his eyes were still heavy from crying, you just nodded. The both of you helped each other into the house, and you sat him down on one of the several cushions in the living area.

“Your arm,” he asked. “how bad is it?”

You shook your head. “Just really sore. I think she might have left a nasty bruise or two somewhere, but I won’t know yet.”

“Put one of the cloths in the pot with water and put it over the fire.” He told. “Take it out after a few minutes, let it rest for another, then put it on your shoulder. It should help.”

“Thank you.” You stood, doing so, saying. “I swore we had bandages somewhere. I’ll make something for you to drink too; I bought some herbs just last week.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of you as you worked. If it were any other man, you would have felt unsafe; yet, it was only Lucius.

Little by little that night, both of you helped heal one another.

Half a year passed since that night, and you and Lucius had only grown closer. Perhaps as close as you could be with a man who was not your husband by choice.

Not much on the farm had changed; you two were living comfortably, and happily, almost making all the turmoil from the first year worth it. The both of you decided to make more visits to Atticus and Diana’s home, realizing just how much you both missed having someone to talk to outside of each other; but that did not mean you had to keep things hidden of course.

If anything, you shared everything with each other.

So much so, that when Lucius asked you why you held onto him longer when he embraced you on your birthday, you told him the truth.

“I don’t want every time we touch to be when it is in turmoil.” You explained, growing meeker. “And I…I’ve missed the feeling of it when it has not been forced upon me.”

Lucius stared at you with a look you had never seen from him. He had been gentle with you many a times, but they way his eyes fell into yours…

He took a step closer to you, and when you showed no sign of discomfort, he took your face into his hands. Your eyes shut at the feeling of him, and he pressed his head against yours. Never in your life had someone’s breath upon your skin feel so immaculate.

From there on out, it always seemed like you had to have a hand on each other one way or another.

It started with holding hands whenever walking through the city together. He used to ‘lead’ you through the crowds in the past, but more so with a hand hovering over your back. No, him holding your hand meant he would have to go where you would go if anything were to happen.

Alongside this, he’d reach over and hold it at Atticus and Diana’s house; whether it was during dinner, or simply just talking. The eldest child had said what the rest of the household had been thinking.

“They’re finally acting like they’re married!”

Because even when there were no other eyes besides yours, he would still hold your hand. You wonder if it ever became a way for Lucius to ground himself; because it certainly did for you.

You hugged him more often as well. Those used to be for ‘substantial’ occasions; those being celebrations or heartbreaks. Now, they were incorporated into greetings and goodbyes. Of course, it only took a few weeks before they were than made into simple desires.

He would be cooking dinner, and you would come beside him to embrace him. You would be gathering eggs from the chickens, and he would wait for you to set the basket down before tossing his arms around you.

At night, it was normal for you both to trade spots as one of you would read a story, and the other would have their head in the other’s lap.

This happened on so many occasions, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise for what Lucius proposed next, but it did.

“If you don’t favor the question I’m about to ask you, then you are allowed to never speak to me again.” He said, his feet hanging off the arm of the lecti couch you both bought that year.

“Well,” you scoffed, sitting on the end of it. “I will have to speak to you again because we live together.”

“Would you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Never in your life had you thought that would have been his question. When you didn’t speak right away, he backtracked. “I don’t expect you to. I understand if-.”

“-The nights are growing colder.” You stated, no visible uneasiness. “I’ve noticed it, and I don’t think any number of blankets could warm me.”

He swallowed thickly, and this was perhaps one of the first times you’d ever seen him like this. “Yes…it’s cold.”

You nodded, and another beat of silence fell between you two. Standing up, you tugged at the seams of your dress. “I-I’ll go change.”

“Yes,” he sat up. “I shall as well.”

Disappearing into your room, you tossed your day clothes off then slipped on a nightdress. After pacing around the floor for a few moments, you gathered the courage to go out into the hall and knock on Lucius’ door.

It was opened as if he was standing right behind it.

He wore just a plain, tattered tunic, and said nothing; yet, you caught his eyes run down you before immediately bringing them back to your face. You were not even in his room yet, and already your body grew warmer.

“May I come in?” You asked.

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Somehow, you were no longer man and wife; you were two people who had just discovered a strange, yet burning, feeling that you both held for one another. A feeling that you were both afraid to say aloud…because then it would be real.

The only light in his room was from the moon just peeking through the curtain of his one window. Looking around, you saw that it was still just the bare minimum; a bed, a small table beside it with a lamp, and a dresser. The only others things of note were his sword leaning against the wall, and just a few dirty clothes on the floor.

“I-I tried to clean before you came.” He mentioned.

“Is the rest under the bed?” You asked.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Before you could change your mind, you pulled the covers off one side of the bed and slid under them. Glancing behind at Lucius, you saw him wear a look where you knew he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” You asked.

“That’s usually the side I sleep on but-.”

You rolled over to the other side. “Are you content now?”

He wheezed, moving to his designated side, slipping under the covers. “Very.”

“Good.” You smiled up at him.

His own mouth lowered as you could see him thinking. He then said. “I don’t expect us to do anything.”

You watched as his eyes dropped from you, as if it was too invasive just to merely look. Thinking from only your heart, you scooted closer, resting your hand on his arm. You ran your fingers up and down his muscles, but then guided his arm to wrap around your waist.

“Okay?”

He hummed, pulling you just a little closer. “Yes.”

“And we’ll just lay together?” You whispered. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

And that’s what you did. The compete truth was that you would caress him only to remind yourself that it was Lucius and not Geta. His arms, his back, his face…he was nothing like him.

After a few more nights, you told him that as you both lay awake, unable to sleep. He had pulled you on top of him that night, saying that you could see his face better in the moonlight. You only giggled, hiding your face in his chest; even that was too much for you.

It was easier to tell each other things in the darkness. You always knew that, but with being in the same bed (you had not gone back to your room for a week), the words flowed out of both your mouths.

“After my father died,” you said one night as you laid on your side facing him. “I would stroke my own hair or even my arms and pretend they were someone else’s. Even when I was with Geta.”

Lucius stared at you, then immediately began to caress your cheek. You shut your eyes, sighing at the feeling.

“I never thought I’d be able to sleep next to another woman again.” He whispered.

“And now?” You looked into his eyes.

He stopped his movements, but did not remove his hand. You watched every part of him. How his chest heaved shallowly, his arms tensing ever so slightly, but his eyes…gods his eyes. They were heavy as they looked at you; a look that made your heart flutter and not shutter.

Swallowing your fear, you sat up and inched closer to him. Your face hovered above his, and your breath heated his skin. His hand continued to trace shapes about your cheek, and shutting your eyes, you placed your lips upon his.

It was the gentlest kiss you ever shared with a man.

You had pulled away, dreading to see how he felt. When your eyes befell his gentle smile, and his other hand came up to cup your face, you kissed him again.

And again, and again, and again.

You climbed upon his lap without pulling your lips away from him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He sat up, his own arm encircling your waist and drawing you impossibly closer.

Lucius parted from you, and as you whined at the loss of his lips, they soon settled upon your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your chin. Your heavy pants turned to soft grunts as he kissed down your neck, his mustache scratching your skin in just the right way.

Your hands settled into his hair the lower he traveled, moving your night gown off your shoulder to kiss your collarbone. You felt yourself becoming intoxicated from him, and only then noticed you had been for a while.

Oh, how you wished you could bottle up his laugh, his strength, his stubbornness, and get drunk every night. His kisses only added fuel to the fire that was your desire for him.

He sunk his teeth into your skin, and your body, once enflamed, ran cold.

“No!” You tore yourself from his lap, nearly falling off the bed.

Lucius said your name, leaning forward on instinct but soon stopped once he saw you crawl away. “I’m sorry.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. All you knew was that you needed to go, so you did. Cradling yourself in your arms, you got up from his bed, rushing out of his room and into yours.

You half expected him to knock on the door, then, when you wouldn’t answer, him yell and curse you before breaking it down. Yet nothing of the sort happened. You heard his own door open, and you saw his shadow on the other side, but he did not touch your door. He left after a moment of waiting.

When his own door shut, did you finally cry.

You told yourself that night, you would wake up far earlier than Lucius would so you simply wouldn’t have to see him.

When you awoke, you did the exact opposite. You laid in your bed, trying to return to sleep, only to be forced to lie in the dark. The sun rose into your room, and you heard Lucius’ door open. Still, you did not get up.

It was quite comedic, actually. With your door still shut, he knew you were still home. How he tried his best to keep quiet for you, yet his footsteps had always been heavy, the front door had always creaked, and you could always hear him cursing under his breath every time.

When you knew he had left the house, that was when you stood from your bed, slipping on your sandals. You didn’t bother changing out of your nightdress, leaving your room, and then the house.

Lucius was amongst the chickens when he saw you. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise upon his face at the sight of you. You walked to him until there was little space between you.

“Last night-.”

You took his hand from his side, placing it upon your face. He rubbed your cheek with his thumb as if it was natural. Kissing the palm of his hand, you trailed it down to your clothed breast. He breathed your name with hesitance, but you shushed him. You held his hand there, not taking your eyes off him.

“I will show you, one day.” You told him. “I will show you the mark Geta had made. The one where I myself can scarcely see it, yet I know that it haunts me. But now…” You brought your other hand up to his face, tracing your thumb over his lip. “I just want you to understand.”

He kissed the pad of your thumb, nodding. You embraced him, and he held you with both gentleness and ferocity. The rest of the day carried on as normal, yet you aided him with the chores on the farm.

You went to bed with him that night, but it was the first time he did not entrap you in his arms. You knew he was still afraid of hurting you, but you would be a liar if you said you weren’t thankful for the space.

Still, he would feel your touch every day; whether it was something as small as brushing his hand, or as substantial as kissing his cheek.

As the both of you lay awake one night, you played with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Could I lie on top of you?” You asked.

Lucius looked over at you, nodding. “You never need to ask.”

“I want to.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. “I never want to force you to do anything.”

His eyes fell to your hips before returning them to your face. “I’ll tell you if I wish to not do something. I hope you know you can as well.”

“I do. Would you like to touch me?”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

You moved his hands to your hips, which he held firmly, yet not enough to hurt you. You leaned down so your lips touched his.

“No teeth.” You said.

“No teeth.” He repeated.

Lucius sighed into your mouth as you kissed. Despite how you were on top of him, the kiss was sweet, shy even. When you pulled away, you trailed your lips from his cheek to his ear.

“Do you dream about me?” You rasped.

He said nothing, and you continued to kiss every part of his face besides his lips.

“It’s okay.” You kissed his Adam’s Apple. “I want you too.”

“Yes.” His breath hitched.

“What was I doing in your favorite one?” You kissed his pulse point.

“You,” he breathed sharply through his nose. “you’re touching yourself.”

“Would that please you?” You sat up in somewhat surprise, resting your hands on his chest. “To watch me do so?”

He shook his head. “I want to do what pleases you.”

It felt foreign to hear someone say they want you to feel good. Instead of cowering from it, you faced it head on. You kneeled for a moment, hiking your gown up to your hips before sitting back on your ankles,  exposing yourself to him. Lucius’ jaw clenched at the sight of your naked center, and he drew his hands away from your hips, falling them into fists upon the mattress.

“I wish to watch you as you watch me.”

Without looking away from you, he drew his hand down to his cock, pulling it out from under his tunic. Your eyes grew just a hint. There was no doubt upon him being more well-endowed than others, but it was still different from how you imagined.

Shutting your eyes, you trailed your fingers over your cunt, your thumb playing with your clit. The sounds of Lucius’ smothered grunts, and the skin of his cock on his fingers only added to your pleasure. Digging deeper and moving faster, you felt a coil within your stomach tighten when you opened your eyes and saw as Lucius’ gaze bore into yours.

Light moans escaped your lips as your hips moved with a mind of their own, watching the man beneath you take pleasure from his own hand. It was him chanting your name like a prayer that sent you over the edge. With your eyes shut, the coil within you snapped, and pleasure filled your veins.

Not long after, you felt a warmth coat your nightdress. Opening your eyes, you looked down and saw the white-hot residue of Lucius’ release. Your gaze drew to his cock, still clutched in his hand, yet red with droplets of white running over his knuckles.

You don’t know what possessed you to, but you lowered your mouth down to clean him with your tongue.

“Gods be good!” He huffed, laughing your name.

“What?” You wiped your mouth.

 “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Grinning like the devil, you slid off the bed, walking towards the door. “I hope it’s a pleasant one then.”

He sat up. “Where are you going?”

“To change. You dirtied me as well.” You teased.

“Take one of my tunics from the dresser.”

It almost made you laugh that he didn’t want you to leave for even a second. You opened the top drawer, grabbing the longest tunic you could find before facing him. “Close your eyes.”

He laid on his side, putting a pillow over his head. Many would find it strange how the both of you would see the most intimate parts of yourself while doing one of the most intimate acts together, yet you didn’t want him to see you naked.

But Lucius never thought of it as strange. He knew what you had been through, and never once judged you.

When you were clothed, you slid into bed, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re a good man, Lucius Verus Aurelius.” You whispered. “I will tell you that until the day you die, or when you finally believe me.”

He squeezed your hand, relaxing into your touch. You never slept so peacefully until that night.

You always had to see him whenever he would touch you so intimately. There would be nights where there was only a single candle in the room either while he caressed the swell of your breasts, or the inside of your thigh as you sat on his lap.

His fingers were too much for you at first, but he never ridiculed you. When you whimpered at the feeling, he retracted them, kissing your eyes. You asked him again to try, and he whispered praises into your hair as the pain from a dry spell soon turned into pleasure.

It was usually at night did these moments of exploration occurred. In the day, the most you would ever do was kiss. That is, until the first time you cut his hair since the discovery of feelings.

“I don’t want to get hair on your floor.” Lucius said as he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the foot of your bed. It was hotter than sin that day. He wore nothing but a loincloth, but that barely did anything to help him from the heat. You wore essentially a thin shift that would usually be under your dress; yet again, because of the heat, that was all you wore.

You sat on the bed, legs draped over his shoulders as you cut his hair. “It’s your floor too. You built the house.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I haven’t slept here for a while now. Besides, I will clean up.”

“I had no idea you favored doing domestic work now.” He turned and pressed a kiss to your knee.

You slapped the back of his head. “Don’t move! I’ll give you a bald spot if you do so again.”

“Yes, my mistress of the house.” He joked.

“You’re horrible.”

“You just told me I was a good man not so long ago.”

“And I can just as easily revoke that title.”

He stayed silent the rest of the time, but not from any underlining anger. Simply from his at ease posture, you knew he was smiling.

He smiled more those days.

When you were finished, you tossed your scissors aside, but Lucius’ hands settled upon your thighs, not allowing you to get up. You scoffed.

“What is it?”

He turned to face you, kneeling up to meet you. “I wish to try something, but only if you wish it as well.”

You rose your brow, but smiled, kissing his nose. “It will be difficult if I do not know what it is.”

Without drawing his eyes away from yours, he slid his hands up your thighs, bringing the bottom of your shift with it. It seemed normal at first, but once he lowered his mouth, your chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I want to kiss you there.” His breath caressed your cunt and you mewled at the feeling. “I think you’ll enjoy it, but we don’t have to.”

Your heart changed from beating in fear, to then in anticipation. You loved how he kissed your lips, and every inch of your skin that was not covered, what would it feel like to have his lips there?

Kissing the top of his head, you laid on your elbows, nodding.

“Let me hear you say it.” He nosed the inside of your thigh.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Please.”

He lowered his mouth back down, pressing the lightest of kissed onto your center. You groaned through shut lips, only for them to part open as the hairs of his mustache tickled you whilst he began to lap at your wetness.

Tossing your head back, you sat up, running your hands through his hair, unconsciously rolling your hips to meet his mouth. His groan reverberated through your body, only adding to the pleasure you were feeling.

“Lucius, Lucius,” you babbled his name until it didn’t sound like a word.

His nose bumped against your aching clit the same time his tongue penetrated your cunt. You yelped as that familiar, tightening feeling swept over you. His half-lidded eyes would stare up at you every once in a while, as he would continue to drink from you as if he had been stranded in the desert. Just as you were on the brink of release, you drew him away from you.

“What-what is it?” He huffed. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, pressing your lips to his before scooting further up the bed. With one last breath, you pulled your shift over your head, revealing your bare body to him. His gaze ran over your figure unashamedly.

“Come here.” You beckoned.

He crawled onto the bed and over your body, yet still looked at your face. You took his hand and laid it over your breast. His body ran cold at what was on the side of it. A bite mark.

“He branded me all those years ago.” You confessed. “And it has not left since.”

Geta…

You ran your hand up his chest. “I love you, and I trust you with every part of my body. I need you to know that.”

“I love you.” He echoed, pressing the tenderest of kisses to the mark and you gasped lightly. “I have for so long now; I…I need you.”

“Then have me.”

He sat back on his knees, unwrapping his loin cloth and tossing it to the floor. Precum leaked from his sweltering cock as it stood upright like a pillar. You crawled over, kissing every inch of his face and climbing into his lap. He drew his arms around your waist, his finger tracing circles into the small of your back.

“I don’t know how long I will last.” He puffed heavily. “It’s been so long.”

“I just want you inside of me.” You kissed his jaw, taking his cock into your hand and sinking down onto it. It had been a while for you too, and while you were soaked, it was not enough to completely subside the tightness. “Just…wait.”

“I could die happy if all you wanted was for me to remain still as you’re above me.” He said into your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin because that was the only way to remind you that he was still there. The further you sunk down on him, the easier and more pleasureful you felt.

“I’m going to move now.” You said into his shoulder, and you did.

Slowly, at first you relished in the quiet slapping of skin and the breath moans leaving both you and Lucius’ lips. He trailed a syrupy line of kisses down your throat until he bowed his head to place them upon your chest.

“Your name,” Lucius said into your skin. “tell me your name.”

You gave him a look as you rolled your hips into his, yet sighed your name.

“Again.” He breathed, latching his lips around the tip of your breast.

You did.

“Again.” He kissed the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into his touch, saying your name a third time.

He repeated your given name, than following it with ‘Aurelias’. Your movements stilled, yet he did not care.

“You are the most cunning woman I have met, and you are my wife.” He stated, never looking away from you. Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw the same for him, and you gave him a messy kiss before resuming faster this time.

After months of being called a name that did not belong to you, especially whenever in the bedroom, Lucius was doing everything to remind you that you were yourself again as you felt pleasure.

It felt as if, after two years, ‘Julia’ was finally gone.

You chanted his name as if it was your favorite prayer, burying your hands in his hair and kissing his lips.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…”

Because, just like you, how long had it been since his true name was uttered whilst in the throes of pleasure?

He moaned into your mouth, holding onto you tighter. You squealed when he rose up onto his knees, latching your legs around his waist and only crying out sharply when your throbbing clit ran across his pubic hair.

“Come on, come on,” he urged into your ear. “I know you can give it to me.”

“Lu-Lu-!” You moaned, running your nails over the thick field of muscles that was his back.

He said your name over and over again, until it was one word that was the end of you.

“Please.”

You came with your vision blinded from the state of euphoria you had reached. Lucius still held you above him even as his legs began to quake, bouncing you on his cock. You felt as though you were suspended in air when his groans stammered, and you felt strings of his cum paint the walls of your cunt.

Slowly, he lowered the two of you onto the mattress, laying you on your back like you were the most precious treasure in the world. You kept your legs around his waist, breathing with him with your chests glued together from your sweat.

“Lucius-.” You began, trying to shift under him.

“-Just,” he grunted. “just another moment. Please.”

How could you deny him? Every kiss he gave was loving as he laid upon you. His cock had grown soft, and even you were aware that you could’ve fallen asleep if you weren’t careful.

When he pulled away from you, you let out an involuntary whine.

“I thought you wanted me to get off you?” He kissed your stomach when he stood up.

You shoved him playfully. “Just clean me up and come back.”

“So controlling.”

Still, he did what you asked, bringing a soaked washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning you. You groaned out of both the cold water hitting your hot skin, and the heat from the air itself.

“We should’ve waited until night.” You whined.

“Why?”

“I’m suffocating from the air outside!”

Lucius hummed, tossing the washcloth aside and looming over you. “Then that forces us to wear nothing today, so that we might cool down.”

You nodded. “Perhaps you aren’t as feeble minded as I thought.”

He settled behind you, tossing an arm over your waist and pulling your back to his chest. Even though his cock pressed against you, the two of you were completely exhausted from the heat of the day’s work, and the heat of what took place only moments before.

The only sound was that of the cicadas singing in the summertime. Sometimes, a breeze or two of wind would bounce the curtain off the window, but for the most part, just the even breathing you shared with Lucius was all you could hear.

Lucius’ mustache rubbed your skin when he placed a kiss to your neck. “What’s going on inside of your mind right now?”

You grinned. “A proper wife would say that I was thinking of you.”

“But that’s not what it is.”

“It’s something that has nothing to do with anything of note.”

He squeezed you. “Spit it out, woman.”

Sighing, you felt a sense of dread in your heart; both for your thoughts, and also how your husband would react. So, you tried your best to explain it.

“Do you even wonder how you will be remembered?” You began. “Spoken from mouths? Written in books? Painted on walls? They’ll remember Lucius, the Lost Son, the Last Gladiator…What will they remember of me, if anything? Rome’s Cleopatra? Her Delight? A whore to the twin emperors? I like to fantasize that they will name me the first woman who sat upon the emperor’s throne, even if it was as the last of its consul. Yet, even if they name me…I will be Julia. The name of a slave, the name I only accepted when he would press me into the bed so roughly. I only survived because I would need to tell myself that he was doing all of it to Julia, not to me.”

It felt quieter in that room, even though the sounds outside did not cease. Lucius gently turned your body towards him, and he stroked your face with the back of his hand.

“You’re crying,” he uttered your name, frowning.

You wiped your eyes, wanting to hide from him. Yet, he did not allow it, pulling your hands away from you and wrapping them around his shoulders.

“Would you wish I remain silent, or share with you what is in my head?” He asked.

“Talk to me.” You answered.

“I never cared of what history would see of me.” He stated. “Even as a boy. I know that we are different in most aspects of life, but I believe it serves no one to wonder away how we will be viewed long after we are dead. I do not care if or what a stranger thinks of me in a lifetime later. I care how Atticus and Diana see me. I care what their children think. Above all, I care of what you see me to be.”

You pressed your head against his. “You’re pigheaded and quite foolish sometimes.”

“And it matters you say that.” He pulled you closer. “Because that is what you will tell others when I pass on.”

“You know I don’t think that is all you are.” You remined him.

“I do.” He nodded. “I will know you for your wit, and your protective nature, and your kindness.”

“I never truly thought of myself as kind.” You gave a pained smile.

“That is how I see you.” He kissed your brow. “And what I will say with my last dying breath.”

You wondered how such a man as himself could exist at the same time you did. A man who hated you prior to everything yet laid with you in bed. A man who treated you with a tenderness you never thought possible.

A man who could be the last person on earth with you, and you would only feel at peace.

You did not need to say anything to him. Simply by the innocent smile that spread across your lips, did he know. You fell into the most comfortable of silences together as you laid naked in the summer heat.

The both of you were lost to time as we all shall be one day.

Perhaps you lived on that farm for the rest of your days, or perhaps you moved to a different land.

Perhaps you had ten children, perhaps you had only one, or perhaps you had none and were content with each other’s company.

Perhaps you died before him, perhaps he died before you, or perhaps you both passed onto the Elysian fields together.

All that truly matters, at the end of all things, is the life the two of you led together, and what you and loved ones remembered the most of it.

[anyarose011]

Et tu, Brute?

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius

Summary: You went by many different names: "Rome's Delight", "The Woman with the Golden Mouth", "Geta's Favorite Whore", and "Julia". None of these were your true name; all used just to dehumanize you as nothing more than a slave. When the General Acacius returns from conquering Numidia, and you meet one of the slaves that was brought from the bloodshed, you hope to reclaim not just your freedom...but power along with it.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Depictions of rape and SA [not shown], slavery, cannon typical violence, minor Stockholm Syndrome, major character deaths, historical inacuracy [but I tried my best to make it somewhat accurate] and Spoilers for Gladiator II

I saw this movie once, watched Game of Thrones at the same time, and cranked out a story where you, the reader, know how to play "The Game" (but also not because let's keep it kinda realistic) I'm gonna be honest, this might be a hot mess, and I used a script I found online (but Idk how accurate it is). Also, this first part is just mainly story based with the events of the film the SECOND part will focus on reader and Lucius' relationship (including smut, you sluts {I am also slut, don't worry}.

I do want to say though that the depictions of SA are in no attempt to romanticize them. I also decided not to write out the specific scenes because I myself am a survivor, and wanted to focus more on the protagonist's growth. The trauma still affects her story, but I do not want to write rape scenes merely for shock purposes.

Also, if you name is actually "Julia"...no it's not :)

Word Count: 16.1k

It was your own fault, that was what they tried to make you believe.

How dare you not wish to participate in the public baths, how dare you desire to bathe in the place you felt most safe.

Foolish, foolish girl. You were not even safe on your own porch in the house you grew up in.

Your father hadn’t been the wealthiest of merchants, but before he passed into the Elysian Fields after his death that year, he had made a fortune; so much as to buy a bathtub for your house.

If anything, you had bathed at night when you believed no one could see you not for your own modesty, but to prevent anyone from stealing it.

Yet, one particular night, a man had spotted you.

The Emperor Geta of Rome had watched your naked form glisten in the moonlight as you washed the most intimate areas of your body; sighing at the feeling of being clean after the day, only for your soul to feel tainted once morning broken.

Guards had nearly broken the hinges off the front door to your house, and dragged you to the palace. You had lived in that house for your entire life, the same neighbors beside you, yet as you kicked and screamed…none helped.

You had grown tired once in the palace, and the eldest of the twin emperors stood before you. He cupped your chin.

“What is your name, girl?”

You answered him, attempting to speak with venom, but the quaking of your voice betrayed anxiety.

He hummed, repeating your name. “Why are you all alone?”

You huffed. “My mother died in the battle that is childbirth, and my father was lost to an ailment in his loins.”

“You have no brothers?” Geta questioned, his eyes running down your form. “No husband?”

“They called my father strange for leaving me his possessions.”

“He mustn’t have passed on so long ago.”

“Why does the death of my father concern you if you only seek my body?” You questioned.

A smile twisted upon his lips. “Perhaps I like to know my fruit before I devour it.”

And he kissed you.

You had been kissed before, but this was the first time you hadn’t wanted to be. You hadn't expected him to be serious about devouring you. His teeth sank into your chin, then your cheeks, until they were finally upon your lips.

It was the first time, in all your life, you felt your body grow cold and freeze despite his hands wandering over you, pulling at the thin fabric of clothing that covered you.

You fell to the floor, clinging to it desperately as he tried to lead you to his chambers. You had expected him to order one of his men to kill you, or have them carry you…

Instead, he took you right there. He simply lifted his own robes then yours and stole what wasn’t his to take.

All you remembered of that was counting how many pillars were in the room.

You were one of his several concubines. Yet, despite being the newest, you were his favorite.

“Julia,” he whispered to you in the night a month after he had made you his. A month after he had decided to call you by his mother’s name instead of your own. “are you awake?”

You mewled, sitting up. “I am now, my love. What is it?”

Geta smiled, holding out a stack of parchment. “Look at what some of the men found in Carthago.”

You rubbed your eyes as the lamps in his room brightened before looking down at the crudely written words. Geta looked at you in earnest.

“Can you read them?”

A few days prior at him and his brother Caracalla’s birthday festivities, it was revealed that you spoke five languages: Latin, Phoenician, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Greek. Your father had taught you every single one of them to fend for yourself amongst all kind of people.

Now, it was nothing more than a shameless trick Geta used to his amusement.

“Rome’s Cleopatra,” he deemed you in front of the crowd. “the Woman with a Golden Mouth”.

Everyone in that room and all of Rome knew that your ability to speak so many dialects was not the only reason he gave you that title.

Still, as you lay in his bed with crumbling parchment in hands, you forced a tender smile. “Yes, I know what it says. Would you like to know?”

He laid his head in your lap without another word.

Months passed, and he had grown kinder…only when it was night, and even so, that was only when the moon was full.

There wasn’t a day where your body hadn’t ached from the turmoil he put you through. It was hard to discern when he would want you to be small and subservient to him, or confident and commanding in matters of the bed.

The handmaids that were blessed to not be in bed with him would bathe and coddle you as best as they could, for even through your suffering, you tried your best to treat them with kindness.

You didn’t even know who you were after the fourth month of being Geta’s slave.

Gone was the girl who had a peaceful life; there was now the Emperor’s Pet.

General Marcus Acacius returned to Rome after overtaking the kingdom Numidia in the emperors’ names, and it was the first time you were in his presence. It was certainly a surprise that Geta would string you alongside him on personal matters that had nothing to do with sex.

The general would glance at you every so often, and his look of pity felt more violating that any of the times Geta, or his brother, or anyone else in all of Rome had looked at you.

Upon the general’s return, a series of games at the Colosseum were to be hosted, among parties that would last for the remaining week.

The first was at Senator Thraex's home.

“My little Julia,” Geta caressed your cheek as you sat upon his lap in the makeshift throne. “might you fetch me another cup of wine?”

You nodded, taking his cup and kissing his hair. “I shall, my love.”

He ran his fingers down your neck as you got off of him and made your way to the barrels. Yet, as you passed an open door, something caught your eye. Peeking around the somewhat crack in the door, you saw a few men sat in the room, chains around their ankles and their wrists.

One of them, more muscular than the others with brown curls, held his head low. His skin wasn’t as dark as other men from Africa Propria, but not as pale as the Germanic lands.

When his eyes met yours, you saw a pale blueness only seen in the sky on a summer’s day.

Gasping, you hid behind the door for only a moment before looking again. His gaze was still on you. Deciding to end the strangeness of the situation, you spoke.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

He said nothing; you tried again.

“I’m sorry.” You said in Greek.

The look in his eyes changed to confusion, but he said nothing.

“Hebrew?” You questioned. “Aramaic? Phoenician?”

“You speak Phoenician?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard it in forever.

You nodded. “I speak five languages.”

“Ah,” he answered in your native tongue to your surprise. “Rome’s Cleopatra.”

Your nose scrunched as if you smelt something rotten. “You understood me the first time?”

“I did.”

“So why not say anything?”

“What am I to say to your pity?”

You hummed. “I do not pity you, I was showing respect.”

He scoffed. “Respect? Am I a man that looks as if I deserve respect?”

“I believe every man deserves respect so as long he is kind.” You glared at him.

The man shook his head, sighing. “You are a foolish child if you believe that men can be kind.”

“I haven’t for quite a while.” you stated. “I pray that it is the hope that kills me.”

He questioned. “And not one of the emperors?”

“What is your name, slave?” You crossed your arms.

He huffed, drawing his eyes away from you and clenching his fists before relaxing them. “Hanno.”

You nodded. “They call me ‘Julia’.”

“But that is not your name.”

It was blistering hot that particular day, but you felt your body run cold; the same cold you felt when Geta…when he first…

“Who says it is not my name?” You challenged.

“You are merely a concubine,” he said. “you are not a part of his lineage, and therefore, your name is not ‘Julia’.”

You do not know why you seethed with so much rage from his words. You did not even spit on him; you merely stomped away from that door, filled up the emperor’s cup, and went back to Geta.

“It took you nearly a millennium to come back, my sweet.” He scoffed yet kissed your bare shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

You shook your head, leaning against him as you sat on the arm of the throne. “You mustn’t over me, my love.”

“You seem distressed.” Caracalla teased beside you. “This is a festivity; you should be merry!”

All you did was smile and nod. It was a pleasant change from the parties you were forced to attend in the past; you weren’t the center of attention, and this was the first time Geta dressed you in the bright colors everyone else wore instead of white.

You could pretend you were royalty for a day.

Not so long after you came back, both Thraex and Macrinus, a stable master who traveled far and wide for new gladiators, approached with their own champions to fight.

You were not even at the Colosseum, and yet, violence still had to be played for everyone’s amusement.

Hanno entered from the door you had previously been at, and another man entered from the opposite side of the room. Both were given swords.

“Brother,” Hanno began. “let us not kill each other for their amusement-.”

The other man struck him without hesitation. You had seen fights before, but none like this. It was ruthless, quick yet drawn out. Hanno lost his sword in the middle of it all, leading to him smashing a flowerpot over his opponent’s head.

The fight was still not done, he rose up on his feet and took his sword from the ground, raising it high above him. Hanno, against all odds, knocked him back onto the ground and took the sword just as they both sood, stabbing his opponent in the chest.

A chorus of cheers and groans echoed in the room. Geta arose from his seat, laughing and applauding as you sat there, eyes as wide as they could be at the bloodied sight before you.

“Remarkable! Gladiator, which part of the Empire do you hail from?” He questioned Hanno. Hanno stood stoically, glaring at the emperors before him. Geta tutted, turning to you. “Julia, open your golden mouth and-.”

“-The gates of hell are open night and day.” Hanno interrupted in the common language. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

Geta smiled. “Ah…a poet!”

The rest of the world fell away as you could not tear your gaze away from the man laying on the floor. If he hadn’t died from his wounds, he would’ve from choking on his own blood.

“-You understand, don’t you?” Geta asked.

You sat in your own personal chambers that night for the first time in a while. You were never overjoyed to be in his bed, but being sent to your own perplexed you.

Then, he simply told you that you were to be General Acacius’ for the night.

“He’s sacrificed so much, my little Julia.” Geta combed his fingers through your hair to soothe you. “I refused him once already; I cannot do so again. Do you understand?”

The emperor had never shared you with anyone. He wasn’t delicate with you, but at least you knew what to expect.

He clenched your jaw. “I do not care to ask you a third time, girl.”

“Yes,” you squeaked. “I understand, Geta.”

Nodding, he softened his hold, leaning his head against yours. “You are still mine alone; I promise, it will only be us after tonight.”

You swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“There she is.” He kissed your lips before pulling away and standing. “He will be in right away. Do not fret, I told him to be gentle with you.”

Geta left through your chamber doors without another word. There you were, sitting on your bed, draped in silks you should have known were given to you out of lust and not out of kindness. Your eyes trailed to the empty vase on a table beside your bed.

You didn’t know what possessed you that night, but you yanked it off the table, and smashed it on your bed. The handle of the door began to rattle. Quickly pushing the shattered pieces under your bed, you hid a shard behind your back and sat at the head of the bed.

In came General Marcus Acacius, wearing only a thin overshirt that went down to his knees. You’d done this game of seduction many times with Geta, how different could it be for him? Grabbing the bottom of your night dress, you raised it until it bunched up your thighs, revealing your bare center to him.

He took a hitched breath. “My lady-.”

“-What troubles you, general?” You asked then smiled with gritted teeth. You felt your hand begin to ache as you squeezed the vase shard.

Marcus furrowed his brow, and as if he already knew, he said. “Cover yourself and show me what is behind your back.”

Your eyes dropped along with your heart. Still, as his face turned into a scowl, you cooperated. Handing him the shard and quickly pulling your dress back down, you spoke with intensity.

“If you will not stab me before you rape my corpse, then I shall throw myself from the nearest window and allow the people of Rome to defile me. I will not lie on my back and take it anymore.”

He took a deep breath, holding the sorry excuse for a weapon in his hand. “It is unwise to tell the enemy your plans.”

…What?

“It would serve you greatly to control the faces you make before harming a man as well. Yet, above all,” He held the shard out to you. “your enemy is not afraid to kill you; you should feel the same.”

“Why do you tell me this?” You asked, still not believing it.

Marcus sat up. “I believe we can help each other, my little dove.”

“How?”

He lowered his voice. “You have heard of the gladiator Maximus, his dream of a free Rome, yes?”

“Yes.”

“A dream that cannot be obtained from the rule of two emperors.” He lamented. “My wife and I, along with several others, plan…to fulfill our shared dream.”

They were going to overthrow Geta and Caracalla.

“What gives you reason to believe I won’t say a word of this to them?” You asked.

He smiled for the first time since you’d seen him. “That freedom belongs to you.”

“I…I’m still lost. How will I be of any use?”

“Emperor Geta favors you considerably. He is a man, and not a cunning one at that. There are ways to wear foolish men down.”

You nodded, beginning to understand. “There’s always a woman.”

“There’s always a woman.” He solidified. “Gain the trust of the public; make them love you, and they will not see the emperor’s whore but a woman of the people.”

“And how will that dethrone them?

He smiled. “My wife and I will meet with the counsel tomorrow night. I will send for you.”

You scoffed. “Geta said that after tonight I am just his alone.”

“Then I’ll refuse to give him Persia and India.”

“He’ll have your head.” You berated. “Besides, I don’t think he’d believe my cunt would be worth two countries.”

Marcus shrugged. “Considering he only wants you to himself, I have no doubt that it is worth that much. But I am unable to confirm it.”

You sighed. “Even if he’ll allow it, he’ll send a guard with me.”

“I am not one to invite a third into the bedroom.”

“Then where shall-?”

“-Little dove,” he interrupted. “the city was not built in a day, therefore it cannot be emancipated in one.”

Gods help and forgive you for being impatient on wanting to be free. Still, you composed yourself. “Alright.”

He nodded, standing up. “I will be seeing you on the morrow, one way or another.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“For what, child?”

You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze. “Not forcing yourself upon me.”

Marcus’ face softened, and he lowered himself to your height as you sat on the bed. He took your face into his hands, and you immediately tensed when his face drew closer to yours.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “it’s not that kind of a kiss.”

With a tenderness that reminded you of your father, he placed his lips on your forehead and pulled away. Giving you one last knowing nod, he promptly left your chambers.

You wanted to do nothing more than shed tears of happiness, yet for no reason at all, you could not cry.

Your father had only taken you to the Colosseum to watch mock animal hunting. Even when your friends invited you to watch gladiator fights or other public executions, he had found ways of making you stay far away from them.

There was a strange humor in sitting in the best chair for your very first gladiator duel. That being in the front as Emperor Geta ran his hand up and down your back.

In utter honestly, you tried to stray your attention away from the fights, speaking more with Caracalla of all people. He was more erratic than Geta by far, and it was more difficult to tell when he would be kind one moment, then out for blood the next.

Yet at least he was open about being cruel, unlike his brother.

When you would watch the fights…a familiar face seemed to catch both you and the general’s wife’s, Lucilla, eye.

The man with light skin yet hailed from Numidia…Hanno.

You hadn’t recognized him at first, for it wasn’t his mere presence that drew you to finally look at the event before you. No, it was the way he fought.

Most men previously had attacked with brute force; just stabbing the beast and hoping it would die. Hanno fought with wit. Simply using the sand beneath his feet as an advantage, blinding and tricking the rhinoceros to run directly into the wall.

He was cunning…he commanded the men beside him as if it weren’t the first time he’d done so in his life.

Then, when it came to deciding his fate when all seemed lost…Geta turned to you.

“My love,” he played with a strand of your hair. “shall I show the poet mercy, or bloodshed for your entertainment?”

Even if it weren’t Hanno, your answer would have been the same. “Mercy.”

As a hush fell over the crow, Geta rose his thumb up, sparing him. As cheers erupted, Hanno shook his head.

“No, no mercy.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses-.”

“-I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!”

Thus, the fight continued. An act of defiance…Peculiar…Quite peculiar.

Both you and Marcus were correct about the night; Geta did indeed allow you to go to the general’s house, but only if you were escorted by a trusted guard. When you arrived, Marcus immediately draped you in a cloak, practically covering your face and had excused as not wanting the staff to tell his wife of who he was bringing into their house.

Marcus led you into his chambers, and there you saw two people. Apparently, they weren’t even apart of the counsel; simply paid to pretend to be both you and the general as the guard would listen outside, assume it was the two of you fucking.

He had certainly thought through every little detail.

Marcus pushed on a stone in his chambers, revealing a hidden door. You had only heard of these within stories, and as he led you down the darkened passage with only a torch in one hand, and the other holding yours, you had never felt more alive since your past life had been stolen.

You were welcomed to a room filled with dozens of the senate you had passed by in the palace. How strange it was to see them all huddled into a dimly lit room, plotting the demise of the men they initially swore to serve.

An arm looped through yours, and it was Lucilla. She whispered into your ear.

“Whatever you have to say, speak it to me, and I shall speak to them.”

You turned. “Why must I not speak for myself?”

“I only allowed you to be here if Marcus agreed to not let your voice be heard.”

“What?”

“I will explain more to you soon after, I vow it.”

Thus the meeting began. In all truthfulness, you were only able to understand the bare minimum: In a few days’ time, Marcus would lead five-thousand men into Rome to overtake the thrones of the empire, and thus destroy them, restoring the Roman Republic.

When the conversation turned to you, you were merely referred to as an informant who had the closest relationship to the emperor.

It still perplexed you as to why you needed to remain anonymous; there was an excellent chance they would know you as ‘Geta’s Favorite Whore’.

Yet, you did your best to inform the counsel of a plan you had simply created on the spot (they did not need to know the latter part of it).

You would gain more favor from the public, while at the same time, putting Geta’s worries to rest about any uprising or dislike from the majority of the empire.

How you would do that…it was fortunate that they didn’t ask you to give specifics.

Once the meeting ended, you were taken back up from the secret passage, yet instead of going back to the chambers, you felt Lucilla take your hand and lead you down another path.

You couldn’t even get a sound out before she said. “It is alright; he knows I want to speak with you in private. We will not take long.”

She led you up into the bath area of the house. It was quite beautiful; the tub wasn’t made of porphyry, but that did not make it any less exquisite. There was something about it being lesser of the baths you’ve had in the palace. It wasn’t entirely reminiscent of the one you had at home…

But you felt safer.

Lucilla had been gentle in pulling off your robes, and never once did it feel wrong. You were a woman and so was she. She never pulled or scratched your skin, and you knew that she only felt sorrow when she gazed upon the bruises and wounds you had received from Geta.

“How long have you been at the palace?” She questioned as she carded herbs through your hair.

You glanced at her, sighing. “I’ve stopped counting…months, I know.”

“Were you forced to leave any family? Brothers, sisters, children?”

“No. My mother died birthing me, and my father was taken half a year ago to an ailment emperor Caracalla also suffers from.”

She hummed. “Have you ever been in love?”

You laughed the most genuine laugh ever since you became a slave. “Why on earth would you ask that?!”

“I am merely curious!” She teased. “You are truly beautiful, and there is no doubt that men would throw themselves off cliffs for you; but it matters most of who you would choose.”

Her question scraped your mind. There had been times you were fond of, even lusted over, men both your age and older…but love? The only one you experienced would be storge; perhaps philia…but eros? Agape?

“I don’t think I have been.” You answered. “Have you?”

She nodded, a forlorn look in her eyes, but smile upon her mouth. “Twice.”

“Twice?” You couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left your throat. “It can happen twice?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“And who have you willingly fell captive to?”

“Marcus is the most recent, though there are days I do not understand what he sees in me. Then…the father of my child.”

Lucilla poured water upon your head to wash out the soap in your hair, and a silence fell over both of you. One that was broken when you spoke a name.

“Lucius…”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“He-he had gone missing all those years ago, hadn’t he?”

“He had.” She ran the bar of soap over the top half of your body. “I believe he must’ve been around your age when he ran away.”

“And there hasn’t been any sign of him since?”

“No.” She answered right away.

You curled into yourself. “I apologize if I upset you my lady-.”

“-No. I…I love talking about him.”

You managed a gentle smile to soothe her. “What was he like?”

“Headstrong.” She chuckled. “Wanted to become a gladiator more than anything in the world. Yet, he was gentle, and kind as well. He…I believe he would’ve adored you.”

You shook your head. “Maybe when we were children, but I don’t think so now.”

“It’s hard to judge.”

Whilst the air between you turned into more intimate topics, the question that had weighed on your mind was brought to light. “Why did you not allow me to speak or show my face tonight?”

Lucilla stopped her ministrations. You looked up at her, and the look she wore bore an exhaustion that you had felt recently.

“I know too well the cruelties of men.” She began softly. “My brother had done everything to keep me from ever resisting him…he had done everything. I had only wished for someone to be there with me at every moment when I faced his abuse.”

Words; simple words that meant everything to you was what made you weep.

There was no warning at all. Once she was finished, tears sprang to your eyes, and you felt your sinus clog up. Even as you tried to tear yourself away from her comfort, she merely wrapped her arms around you in an embrace from a mother you had never felt.

“I don’t want to go back.” You begged. “Please don’t let me.”

She kissed your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” You sobbed. “I-I don’t want to! Please, please, you can’t make me. I-I-I-!”

Lucilla shushed you, rocking you back and forth. “Do not weep. You will be free beside all of Rome, and the past months of your life will be nothing more than a distant, horrible dream.”

You pulled away just enough to look at her. “You-you must promise me something.”

“My child-.”

“-Promise me and I shall help you overthrow them until my last dying breath!”

She stared for a moment before nodding. “Yes. What is it?”

Your lip quivered. “When I die, you must bind my legs with chains or ropes when you bury me. I have,” you whimpered. “I have been told of men who dig up the bodies of girls and…”

Lucilla kissed your forehead before holding you once more. “I vow I will honor your wishes.”

All you could do was believe her.

There were more times than not the Emperor Geta would talk about filling you with his seed as he bedded you. You never were able to discern if he was serious about wanting to give you a child (they would be his, not yours).

It all became too real when you didn’t bleed that month.

Yet, you also did not feel sick in the morning, and your breasts hadn’t swelled. You still had urinated on wheat seeds for several weeks, but they had not sprouted.

You weren’t with child…yet there was nothing stopping you from convincing Rome you were. It would certainly be a risk; for there was no telling how Geta would react. But that was a risk you were willing to take.

Once a week, you were allowed to go outside the palace during the day, and you had chosen then to venture out into the numerous markets. It was nice to speak with the merchants you knew from your childhood. Some were elders who would watch over you when your father was busy, others were friends who had grown up with you.

“Now what would a little empress want with commoner’s food?” A man’s low timbre voice asked behind you.

Turning your head, you saw Macrinus standing before you with a curious grin. You mirrored it. “That’s not an appropriate title for me.”

“Ah, you are correct.” He nodded. “My apologies, ‘Lady with The Golden Mouth’. Or do you prefer ‘Rome’s Delight?’.”

“You may call me whatever you wish if you’d like.” You forced a laugh and turned back to the merchant you had known since you were a babe. “I’ll take a sack of wheat and small bag of garlic, Gaius.”

“Of course, lady Julia.”

Not even a childhood friend could say your real name. A tight smile formed upon your lips when he turned to sack the wheat before you. Macrinus spoke again.

“You still didn’t answer me about why you’re exactly here.”

“I am not an empress.” You turned to him. “I am not a queen from another realm, I am not even a lady. I am a lowly whore that was fortunate enough to be chosen by the emperor. I like to keep my own schedule from before, so I am aloud to bake my own bread.”

He hummed. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Gaius handed you the sack of wheat and garlic, and you held out three silver coins. He shook his head. “No, just a copper-.”

“-Please.” Was all you said.

He hesitated, then took them from you, smiling. “May Fortuna rain a thousand blessings upon your head.”

“And unto you as well.” You curtsied and turned on your heel to leave.

Macrinus walked beside you. “How generous you are.”

“I try to be.” You decided to change the topic. “You are in charge of Hanno, are you not?”

“I certainly am, why do you ask?”

“Just out of interest.” You shrugged. “There is talk of him being similar to the one Maximus from years ago. Many admire him already and it has only been a day.”

Macrinus laughed. “It is my duty to entertain the people. I noticed though that you are more prudish of the games.”

“I must admit, I am not used to the violence.”

“A sheltered girl?”

“Ashamedly so.”

“There is no shame at all. So, it is the Numidian that has captured your affection?” He teased. “How scandalous for the young empress to fall for a slave.”

You chuckled. “Nothing of the sort, I just find him amusing.”

“Oh, I am more than happy to let you see him alone if you ever so desire. You don’t need to wander upon him at another party.”

Your carefree air fell once he asked that. “I don’t know what you-.”

“-It’s alright.” He interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious, I am only concerned for your own safety.”

You stood taller, a shy smile upon your lips. “I am capable of taking care of myself, sir.”

“Of course my lady, why else would you be out here in the streets of commoners without a chaperone?”

Purposefully, you turned onto one of the crowded piazzas where the music and laughter was the loudest. You grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you volunteered yourself to keep me safe.”

He laughed. “No, just wanted to say hello.”

You didn’t have time to respond, as one of the performers had recognized you. Ah, a girl that lived in the house across from yours when you were children! You still remembered her name, and after you passed your belongings to Macrinus, she pulled you into the circle of performers, dancing with you.

You laughed the most you had that year; in fact, you swore your bruised your ribs just from the sheer joy you felt. You don’t know how long you danced and sang with those who were your neighbors and friends, but just as you felt your feet begin to give out, Macrinus put his hand on your shoulder.

“I believe you should go back to the palace and rest.”

Nodding, you said farewell to your companions and took the bag of wheat and garlic back from him. “You are right, thank you so much.”

He grinned. “Let me escort you back.”

“No,” you walked ahead of him. “I wish not to bother you anymore. Good day, Macrinus!”

You lost yourself in the crowd, purposefully making it harder for him to follow. Once you were in the palace, you rushed into the kitchen, holding the sack of wheat behind your back, you greeted the cooks and snuck into the small pantry. You set the sack down on a shelf and pocketed two single reeds, along with an onion.

That night, Geta had called you into his chambers. Before going, you had cut the onion and brought it to hover around your eyes. You were crying by the time you were at his door. Immediately, he took notice of your reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, only crying more. It was less because of the onion now, and just everything coming down crashing onto your shoulders once more. Geta pulled you into his chambers by your shoulders, sitting you on the bed.

“Tell me now what is bothering you.” He commanded.

You shook your head. “I-I can’t-.”

“-Now, Julia!”

Taking a deep breath, you reached into the pocket of your breast, taking out the two reeds and setting it in his hand. He furrowed his brows.

“I do not understand.”

You took a deep breath. “The handmaids have given me wheat and barley seeds ever since I have arrived. If they grow, then that means…that means I am with child.”

The look on his face spoke it all. You were certain you were dead.

“I-I didn’t know how you would feel, and-and so I-.”

He crushed you in an embrace, attaching his lips to your jaw. “Jupiter has blessed me.”

It was the first time you felt happiness in his presence. Of course, not because of him, but still joy. You returned his embrace, sighing in relief. “You are happy?”

“Happy?” He pulled away, holding your face in his hands. “There is nothing in this world that could sadden me right now. I will have an heir.”

As long as it was a boy (if it were real at all).

You feigned your smile and leaned into his touch. “I am fortunate to give you one.”

“And I am most fortunate to have you.” He laid down and brought you with him.

Perhaps, in another life, he was kind to you and didn’t only value you until you gave him a child. Perhaps you would be in love with him, and he would make you empress

But you weren’t fortunate to be born into that fantasy.

You wished nothing more than to sit with Marcus and Lucilla as you made your way into the emperor’s booth of the Colosseum. The three of you had managed to speak to one another, but only about meaningless things. Still, you just enjoyed their company.

 It would be more exciting that day. A naval battle, the Naumachia. The arena was filled with water and sea creatures you could never even possibly imagine. It was a wonder in and of itself how all the ships managed to fit themselves in the arena.

“Caracalla,” you said to the brother beside you as you were about to take your seat. He looked up upon hearing his name. You handed him the bag filled with garlic. “I finally found some for you.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “And you say that if I mix this with myrrh, I shall be cured?”

“It should treat the lesions on your skin.” You corrected. “This is what I did for my father.”

He died of the same ailment, but Caracalla didn’t ask; simply smiled. “Thank you, dear sister.”

You nodded, sitting down on the arm of Geta’s throne that would have put you in the middle of him and his brother. He wrapped his arm around you.

“You’ve been far kinder these days.” Geta pointed out.

“Perhaps that means I’ll be the most agreeable mother.” You jested, kissing his cheek.

He smirked, and as the man on the far end of the Colosseum began to announce the games, Geta stood up and rose his grail.

“I would like to propose a toast!” He yelled. The crowd fell silent, and you felt your skin crawl away from you. Geta continued. “To the health of wives and to mothers. Especially to my lover, Julia, who carries my son the moment as we speak!"

An eruption of applause and cheers filled the stadium. You blushed upon the praise, and genuinely wanted to hide yourself from the gaze of everyone; especially the ones closest to you. You could feel both Marcus and Lucilla’s eyes on you, attempting to hide their shock and perhaps horror. The worst was that of Macrinus.

He knew. Just from the look of him (or perhaps it was your own paranoia), but he had to have known from the moment you bought the wheat.

Still, they all applauded, and ones the excitement of your supposed pregnancy died down, the enthusiasm for the battle was born.

It was perhaps the one event you could stomach. While you could still clearly see men dying, it wasn’t as horribly bloody as the prior. Were you becoming numb to the cruelty of these games because you were pretending…or were you letting the game invade your head?

As several ships collided within the growing chaos, men would either die from their fellow man or would simply fall into the water and be devoured by beasts you had never seen until then. Your eyes had been following Hanno the whole time, whether purposefully or not.

Words could not describe the terror that had been brought upon you as you saw him aim his crossbow at the booth you sat in.

You did not think the arrow would pierce you, but it did. It longed into your right shoulder, and a cry you had no idea you were capable of making tore through your throat.

Tears blinded your vision, but the screams from the whole arena deafened your ears you could not even hear what Geta was saying to you.

You could barely make out Marcus’ in front of you as he snapped the body of the arrow and then hoisted you into his arms. You’d never been carried like this as a woman; only as a child by your father.

The heat of Rome felt hotter that day as the pain in your shoulder only grew tighter and tighter as if your skin was going to stretch away from you. The next thing you knew, you were laid upon a cold, solid surface, and sound returned to your ears.

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” Geta shushed, brushing your hair. “You’ll be okay.”

Someone stuck their fingers into your wounded shoulder, and you could only scream. A tender hand laid itself on your cheek, and just from touch alone, you knew it was Lucilla.

“Do not touch her!” Geta hissed, swatting her away.

“No, no!” You whined, reaching out and holding onto her.

Lucilla dropped to her knees, kissing every part of skin that was available, mumbling. “I know, I know. This too shall pass, you are stronger than you believe, my dear.”

Then, just like that, you felt the arrowhead leave your body. The pain was still excruciating beyond belief, but all that was left was for your arm to be wrapped in cloth, and to rest.

One of the guards in charge of the gladiators approached you when you were finally able to sit up.

“My lady,” he began. “did you happen to get a look at the man who shot you?”

“She’s only starting to recover!” Geta snapped. “How dare you. She carries my child, and-!”

“-It’s alright, Geta.” You soothed.

You could’ve done it. Told him with full confidence that it was Hanno. There would have been your chance of power; to kill the man who had nearly killed you.

Yet…you were vindictive and wanted to do it yourself.

“I have no memory.” You told him. “It happened so fast.”

How horrible it is that Geta would stop forcing you to pleasure him only when you were supposedly with his child and injured. You assumed that if you were suffering from only one of those ailments, than he still would’ve held you down and used you.

You thought nothing else would happen that night. You would simply speak to one another, pretending to be completely enamored by his existence, and then lie down to sleep.

Of course, that would be too peaceful.

You were awoken gently, to your surprise, by Geta shaking you. Humming, you rubbed your eyes. “What is it?”

“The general and his whore wife.” He gritted his teeth. “They planned to kill us.”

You shot right up, forgetting about your injured shoulder, and let out a cry. Geta helped you stand, and that was when you saw Caracalla standing before you, his monkey companion Dundus perching upon his shoulder.

“How-how do we know?” You stammered, not having to feign your terror.

Neither of them answered, and the three of you were led out into the throne room. There before you in their night clothes just as you were, Lucilla and Marcus.

Geta approached them first, seething. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you. All this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex your insurrection has been revealed-.”

 “-Torture me if you want,” Marcus shook his head. “but please, don’t lecture me.”

Geta’s face turned almost as red as his hair. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history! You are damned to oblivion!”

“You damn me?” He laughed. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall… and so do Emperors.”

Caracalla rose from his seat, reaching for his brother’s sword. “Why wait? I'll gut him right now!”

Geta grabbed onto him. “Brother! Brother! His death must be public.”

“Public, yes. Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He pointed at Lucilla. “Crucify her!”

“No!”

All eyes fell on you after your outburst. Even you froze in place, feeling bile begin to rise up within you. Geta let go of Caracalla. “‘No?’ You say? What would you have me do then?”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard to speak as tears began to fall. You held your stomach. “Crucifixion is…it’s…”

His face dropped into a scowl. “You aren’t saying I should let them live, are you?”

“No-!”

“-Then which is it?!”

Your voice fell silent as your chest constricted, and you could barely breathe. Your mouth would move, but nothing came out; not even strangled noises of desperation.

“If I may, your grace,” Macrinus stepped forward. “I believe she means to bring equal punishments to the crimes committed.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“Please, let the rest of them out of the room so I might explain more clearly.’

He considered his words, then turned to his guards. “The criminals to the dungeons, my brother to his chambers, and my love-.”

“-I wish to be alone tonight.” You stated.

The emperor scoffed. “What?”

“The babe.” You began. “I-I have helped many women deliver their children, and what has always caused an early birth is stress. I-I cannot take any-anymore of it, or I fear…”

Finally, he took in the sight of your fearful face. Sighing heavily, he said. “Put my lady in her chambers for tonight.”

“Thank you.” You kissed his hand.

You were led into your own chambers, and once the door was shut, you threw yourself onto your bed and wept. You wept until you were wailing into the night, you wept until your eyes were as red as the sun in the morning, you wept until it hurt to continue to do so…

It was unknown how long you had cried, but the opening of your bedroom door is what alarmed you. Snapping your head over in the direction, you were shocked to see Macrinus.

“The general and his wife’s fate has been decided.” He stated.

You held a pillow to your chest, rubbing your reddened nose. “And what is it?”

“The emperor has chosen to let the gods decide, and Acacius will fight against Hanno tomorrow in the arena.”

“You mean you convinced him to.” You glared.

Macrinus approached you. “May I try some of the bread you have baked, my lady?”

You held no confusion when he asked you that. Surprise, yes; but you knew what he asked. You took a deep breath. “I believe I don’t understand.”

“The wheat you bought only days ago.” He reminded. “You said you would bake your own bread. Surely, you didn’t use it as false proof of you carrying the emperor’s heir?”

You didn’t dare look at him. Even when he laid his hand on our back, rubbing circles over your nightdress. “I wish to help you, my child. You must be willing to help me first.”

That was why he also didn’t alert Geta of your betrayal…unless, he had no idea of your alliance with Marcus and Lucilla.

“What is it that you want?” You asked.

“All in time.” He soothed. “I wish to give you the privilege to speak to someone.”

You finally looked at him, your eyes wide. “General Acacius?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I am unable to escort you to the dungeons below the palace. Yet, I can take you to the pit of gladiators.”

“It is easier for you to take me out of the palace than below it?”

“Take you to the man who nearly overthrew the emperors?” He chuckled bitterly. “Not possible. I cannot grant you the gift to say goodbye, but I can allow you to bargain for his life.”

You blinked. “Hanno?”

“Correct.”

“How can I leave the palace at this hour, after what has just happened?”

“You underestimate the silence men will take when it is weighed in gold.” He tutted. “I can only give you ten minutes with him. Will you go or not?”

You were forced to decide quickly…This could be your chance. He had nearly took your life the other day, and the pain in your shoulder was just a growing reminder of that. If he were dead…there was no way you could overtake him.

Yet, you learned that, in a world of men, you didn’t have to be stronger than them: Only smarter, and faster.

“I will go.”

You had hidden a kitchen knife under your bed the moment you had your own chambers. Geta had gifted you several colorful ribbons he loved to see you wear in your hair. He perhaps did not expect you to tie one around your waist under your gown, securing the knife.

Macrinus led you swiftly from the palace to the gladiator pit, which was thankfully not a long walk. You ignored the stares and intrigued calls from the other men as you treaded the halls. You were stopped by a door. Macrinus didn’t even warn Hanno who stood shirtless in his cell, only opened the door and let you enter.

“I’ll rattle the door when it’s time.” That was all he said and left.

Hanno didn’t even seem alarmed. “And what is Rome’s Delight doing here?”

Your blood boiled upon seeing him, yet you remained calm. “I have come to make a bargain; a plea.”

That was when the puzzlement appeared on his face. “And what is that?”

“The man you will fight tomorrow, you must spare him.”

“Why should I?”

Your grief and despair had made itself known to everyone around you for the past few days; yet, in that cell, only with Hanno as your witness, did he see your rage.

“He is the one who saved my life when you meant to steal it!”

The only change you saw in him was his jaw clenching. Other than that, nothing. “The general?”

You only nodded.

He sighed, brushing past you and shaking the door. “Macrinus!”

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“I will not have you waste your breath on that man.”

“I will give you anything you desire.”

Hanno faced you. “Then you can deliver his head on a platter for me.”

You gawked as he walked away.  “What have I ever done to you?”

“What?”

“Do you truly hate me that much?!” You turned back to him, getting closer. “Kill the man that is the reason I am still here?”

The last thing you thought you would hear left his lips: A laugh. No, not a genuine one. One that you yourself have released on multiple occasions when you have been in disbelief.

“You truly believe everything that happens is because of you?” He taunted. “Has the emperor been filling your mind with so many delusions of grandeur, you can no longer conceive a world where you are not the center of it?”

“Is it so difficult for you to answer my question because you are a fool, or because you wish to not admit it?” You hardened your tone.

“What is your question, my empress?”

“Why did you shoot me?!”

“The arrow was not meant for you!”

You felt your shoulders drop upon the confession. Your aggression ceased only because of your bewilderment.

“Then who?” You asked.

He backed away. “The general you so wish to defend.”

“Whatever it is that he has done, it can be solved with-.”

“-He murdered my wife.”

Hanno said it so easily. No pain, no rage, nothing. It was a fact, and that was what he wanted you to know.

And how stupid you had been. No one in all of Rome was pure of heart; including Marcus. He was a war general; how could you think he wouldn’t have committed sins against the innocent?

“Why so silent, my lady?” He asked. “Are you in disbelief that he has enemies?”

“I didn’t know that.” You admitted.

“That the general is too a monster, or that he killed the only thing in my life worth living for?”

“And that is your desire?” You prodded. “Take his life so that he may die knowing his wife will be ravaged by wolves?”

When he charged at you, you barely had enough time to reach in your dress and unsheathe your knife. Hanno stopped himself just in time for the tip to kiss his chest. Nothing to cause any more harm than a scratch.

Even though you were not the one hurt, you breathed as if you were. He stared down at you as you shrunk under his gaze, and the two of you remained frozen. That is, until he grabbed both your wrists, and rose them above your head.

“I am only merciful because the general still breathes.” He spoke so only you could hear. “If your bastard of a lover had put him to the sword this night you chose to visit me, you would be dead before you could scream.”

Your nose was an inch from his, that was how close he stood to you. His breath caressed your skin, and you turned away in disgust. He let go of your empty wrist, yet still held the one with the dagger.

“Did you believe you could kill me tonight?” He asked, yet you said nothing. Hanno then brought the dagger to his breastbone, angling it upward. “Do not stab head on; stab up.”

Silence and an iron gaze was your reply.

He then hovered it to the pulse point of his neck. “If you want a quick death, right here; with a thinner blade, preferably.”

Then, he placed the tip just above his brow. “If you need information out of a rat, and you have the stomach to do so, drag it across. It will make the mightiest of men cry like a child in the night.”

“You are clever and a skilled warrior,” you finally said. “what is it you want me to tell you?”

“That you will leave it up to the gods and to me if your general lives or not.”

“But I cannot.” You dared to dig the blade just a little into his skin, and his breath hitched. “My desire for him to live is stronger than for you to die.”

Hanno finally let go of your wrist, and you immediately retracted the knife from his brow. “So do you wish to try again to kill me?”

“I wish for you to show mercy.”

“Mercy?” He questioned. “Mercy upon the man who pillaged my home and killed my wife? Mercy for the one who has made me a slave?”

“I too am a slave and-.”

“-And?!” He cried. “And there is nothing! You are draped in silks whilst I in chains and are bathed in clear waters while I in blood, yet you say we are the same?!”

You swallowed your anger, knowing it would bring you nowhere. “You entertain the horrid creatures of Rome; I am forced to pleasure the emperor. We perform differently, but we are still slaves.”

“You are with child.” He stated. “Will that child also be a slave though the emperor is quick to claim it is his heir?”

The crackling of the torches in the room only added to the fire th in your soul. If not contained correctly, you would surely burn and take him with you.

 “A child…yes.” You relaxed, folding your hands. “A child that I could command to be Geta’s. Perhaps, if I wanted to have the brothers slaughter one another, I could say it belongs to Caracalla. Or, if I despised you anymore than I do at this moment…I could say that it is yours.”

Hanno’s eyes dropped in recognition, saying softly. “You carry an empty womb.”

You nodded. “It is the same as your honor.”

Moments later, the door behind you rattled, and Macrinus spoke even when you didn’t. “The time is up, my little empress.”

You bowed your head to Hanno, curtsying. “Sleep well.”

He said nothing in reply, and you turned on our heel, leaving the cell. You pulled your hood back over your head as Macrinus led you through the darkened streets of the city.

“Did you get what you came for?” He asked.

“No.” Was your immediate reply. “And I do not know truly what I wanted.”

The day was as blistering hot as the others, yet the stare Lucilla gave you as she was being led into the emperor’s viewing box made your blood turn to ice. There was not a hint of wrath upon her face; there was nothing at all.

She already looked as if her soul had been stolen.

“How does your shoulder fair, dear sister?” Caracalla brushed his fingers over your arm.

A watery smile was upon your lips like second nature. “It still aches, but it heals, thank the gods. And your overall health?”

He sighed. “I do not know how much longer I have upon this earth.”

“Do not say such things.” You squeeze his hands. “If the gods will it, you shall live for another hundred years.”

He kissed your hands that held his. “I hope so, my love.”

Your grin fell upon the title, and Geta immediately sat you down on the chair behind him that was beside Lucilla’s. He gave an apologetic look.

“He only grows more confused by the day.” He caressed your cheek. “You are well?”

You were far from it, but you could not say that. “Your son feels better now.”

Geta smiled, lowering his head down to kiss your womb. “He will need all his strength.”

The announcer on the other side of the arena yelled to gain everyone’s attention. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of three contests in the Colosseum, the barbarian Hanno!”

You watched as he ran up from the pit, sword in hand. On the other side, you watched at they brought in Marcus. You could barely look at his already beaten figure. The announcer continued. “Will challenge General Marcus Acacius for his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the enemy of the State!”

The two approached one another on the sandy field. Even from where you sat, so close to them, you could barely make out the look in their eyes. You assumed their was hatred, but your own eyes must have deceived you, because you swore you saw a hint of regret within Marcus’ own gaze.

You blinked and the battle between the two had begun. It was a different level of insanity at how they fought. Marcus was decades older than Hanno, and yet, there were moments where the Numidian had to keep up with him.

Than, the roles would be reversed.

Blood stained the floor of the Colosseum as they fought. Then, when all feel silent between them, and Marcus could barely stand, his lips moved as he spoke to Hanno, then raised his hand.

He yielded.

The patrons of the arena began to mumble amongst themselves, growing louder and louder. Geta rose to his feet. “Romans! What say you?”

In an instant, choruses begging him to be spared overpowered the few that wanted him to be killed. Geta shut his eyes, raising his hand, and they were silenced.

“The gods have rendered their judgement.”

His thumb pointed downward, and the crowd erupted in dissent. Your heart was forcing itself to beat out of your chest as you could only stare at the sight of Hanno glaring down at the general before him.

He tossed his sword to the side.

You hadn’t even noticed Caracalla stood until you heard him yell. “Kill him, kill him!” Like an angered child.

“Is this how Rome treats its heroes?!” Hanno shouted, staring at the audience all around him and pointing his sword. “If his life has no value, what are yours worth?”

Geta stepped up onto the barrier, balancing between the viewing box and a fifteen-foot drop into the arena. He held his arms out to his side, his sleeves dropping to the ground, and his pale face was red. “The gods have spoken! Kill him!”

From all sides of the stadium, hundreds of archers aimed their bows at the center of the battleground. Yet, none fired. Caracalla jeered.

“In the name of Jupiter, kill him!”

The arrows were released, and they screamed like none other as they fired into the center. As they pierced Marcus’ body, you did not know you had been wailing in fright until Geta had slapped you.

“You mewling cunt!” He cursed. “You wish to weep over the man who nearly had you killed?”

Blood fell upon your tongue from your bruised lip, and you did not dare to look at him nor Lucilla.

“Death will be too good for you!” She cried with all of her heart.

The noise from the crowd died as if the people themselves had done so. Then, just like the confused murmurs when Marcus yielded, the same began to grow and grow into a call of rebellion.

It was all in your ears. Lucilla’s weeping, the curses from the crowd, the panic of the emperors…but you stood absolutely still.

With hooded eyes, they drifted up to see that Geta stood just on the edge of the barrier, his back turned to you. Your gaze fell to the ground below you, and it was only then you realized how high up you truly were.

You do not know who or what willed you to, but you then looked at Hanno still the center, covered in blood. As if he knew what you would do, he shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Macrinus grabbed your arm roughly when you took one step towards Geta.

The emperors turned to him upon his appearance, and Macrinus loosened his grip on you before saying. “For our safety’s sake, we should leave.”

“Yes.” Geta stepped down, wrapping his arms around you. “We should.”

You never knew there was a safe house in Rome until you were forced into it. Perhaps that was the reason for it being a safe house, so that no one knew of it. Yet, apparently, almost all of the roman citizens found it that night. Or, they were simply rioting wherever a free patch of land was.

The cries played in your ears despite them being behind heavy walls of the safe house, and you dared not to peek out the windows as the several fires would temporarily blind you. In the house was you, Macrinus, Dondus (Caracalla’s pet monkey, although he’d call him his other half), and the twin emperors.

“How is the babe?” Geta asked as you sat with your head hanging low.

Of course he would ask that. You didn’t look at him. “He is in fear for his life.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “but there-.”

“-But what?” You finally looked at him, hissing. “Chaos has fallen upon the city because of your actions.”

“There was nothing else to do.” Geta glared at you. “He and his bitch were plotting to kill us! If I’d let him live-.”

“-Don’t you hear them?” Caracalla cried out from his seat, holding Dondus. “They’re calling for our heads! She is right, you brought this upon us!”

Geta placed his hands on him. “Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have others-.” The money upon Caracalla’s shoulder chirped out in anxiousness from the people outside. “Keep the ape still!”

“Beware of how you speak to Dondus!” His brother berated.

“Perhaps,” Macrinus finally intervened. “you should take Dondus and Julia elsewhere. The noise outside is too much for them; you should comfort one another someplace quieter.”

Caracalla nodded, gathering up Dondus and moving to help you stand, but Macrinus reached his hand out first. You took it, and as you stood, he said into your ear.

“I will find you on the right side of the hall.”

This was not the time nor place for riddles, but you could not react in any sort of way. You looped our arm through Caracalla’s and walked out of the room, hoping to find somewhere quieter.

“I’m afraid,” you confided in him, truthfully.

“I am as well.” Was all he could say.

You stopped in the middle of the hall once he found an open door. “I…I need time with my own thoughts. Please.”

He nodded, cradling Dondus closer to his chest before entering the room, shutting the door tightly. Within the minute, you watched as Macrinus approached you from the other side of the hall.

You spat. “What do you want?”

“I know I stole your moment of vengeance, and for that, I apologize.” He stood before you. “But let me make it up to you.”

“How could you possibly?”

From his cloak, he brandished a knife, holding the handle out to you. You took it without hesitation, yet question was still upon your face. “I do it myself?”

“You could,” he shrugged. “or, you could have his own brother do so.”

“Caracalla? He is senile.”

“Then I have a proposition for you.” Macrinus pointed to the door Caracalla was behind. “Convince him that Geta will destroy all of you if he is not disposed of. Convince him that, as the new emperor of Rome, he will need more trusting subjects. I shall be his second in command, and you shall be free.”

You furrowed your brow. “Who shall be first?”

“The monkey.” He smirked. “Do you believe he would put me above him?”

It sounded so simple; too simple. Yet, as the crowd began to die down, and you could no longer hear their protests from outside, the quietness brought to you what you had always known: You would never be your own person again so long as Geta breathed.

You held the dagger to your heart, saluting him. “I shall do my duty.”

He nodded. “May the gods be with you when you do, Brutus.”

An insult to most, and while it shocked you, you took it in stride as you stood outside the door. You made yourself look smaller, more afraid, and hid the dagger within your cloak as you entered the room.

There, sitting upon the floor, was Caracalla and Dondus. Like a scared child, he held the monkey close to him, grooming one another as if it was the only thing to bring comfort.

“Caracalla?” You whispered.

He stared up at you, and you noticed he had been crying. Immediately, you sat before him, bringing him into your arms.

“Nothing was ever mine.” He cried, embracing you. “Everything was ‘ours��, always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to deprive me of air.”

“He did?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.”

You pulled away only to hold his face tenderly in your hands. “You must listen to me, for what I tell you is dire. Your brother wishes to blame you before the Senate; for what happened, for the chaos in the streets-.”

“-That is a lie!” He tore himself from you. “I didn’t do it!”

“I know that, but they don’t. No testimony is more damning than that of a brother against another.”

“He lies! He always lies!” He sobbed.

“He’s very persuasive.”

“What will they do to me?”

“I don’t dare imagine, but…gods above, I don’t wish to know what they will do to Dondus.”

His jaw quivered with the rest of his body. “What-what shall we do?"

You sighed. “I…I have a proposition, but it is most outrageous and-.”

“-Julia,” he begged, grabbing your hands. “dear, sweet sister, please tell me.”

Breath shuttering, you reached into your cloak and held the blade out to him. “Slay your brother tonight. You shall be crowned the sole emperor of Rome when morning comes, and Dondus, the child I carry, and I will be safe.'

He took it, yet still had that look of terror. “This…It has always been he who led everything. I do not know who to trust or-or who to command.”

“Then let me-.” You stopped yourself, eyeing the monkey that lay at his legs. You held your hand out to him, and Dondus climbed into your arms. “Let us help you. Claim Dondus as your first in command, and I your second.”

You wished the same as Lucilla and Marcus; to have Rome be a free empire. Yet, you would have to free Lucilla yourself before that happened.

Caracalla nodded yet said. “You-you are with child. You will become delirious as time progresses.”

And he was the epitome of having a clear mind.

“I will need a third.” He settled.

You shook your head. “That has never been done before-.”

“-I will be emperor!” He screamed. “If it is to be done, it shall be done!”

Raising your hands in surrender, you pleaded. “It shall, it shall! For a third…Macrinus. He has been loyal and informed us of the general’s betrayal.”

“Yes, yes Macrinus will do.” He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. It didn’t even truly feel like a kiss, yet it shocked you nonetheless. “You are the wisest woman I have ever met, dear sister.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. With that, he stood on his feet and left the room. IT would have been easy to stay in there and wait for his return…

Yet, you wanted to be the last thing Emperor Geta saw.

No fear toiled within your body as you approached the throne room, not even when you hear the cries that you knew belonged to Geta. You walked through the doors, watching as Geta held his hands up in fear, begging his brother to spare his life as he was forced onto his knees, trying to stop the knife in Caracalla’s hand.

“I love you!” Geta squealed, staring up at him through tears “You are my brother, I love you!”

You moved to stand behind the younger twin, glaring at the man before you. Geta’s eyes dropped in relief.

“My love, my love, please help me!”

There was nothing uncertain about how you grabbed Caracalla’s hand that held the dagger. With eyes unblinking, you guided the blade into Geta’s throat, pushing it further and further as blood drained from his mouth.

The emperor was dead, and you would sleep like a child once more that night.

There was something inside of you when you awoke that morning. Not the child you had lied to all of Rome about; it felt like a parasite. You threw up an hour after you woke up, but when you checked with the healers, they said that there was nothing ailing you.

Was it…guilt? No, no it could not be.

Was it possible to feel guilt for the act of killing someone, but not feeling it for who was killed?

You had no time to debate these issues as if you were a philosopher.

Dressed in your finest silks, you made way into the room where the hundreds of senators met, carrying a hefty sack beside you. You sat in a chair next to Macrinus.

“You have done well.” He said softly.

You smiled. “Only because of you.”

Your gaze turned to Caracalla, who sat in one of the two thrones that were there for him and Geta. He looked like the worst you had ever seen him be. A blood rag had been placed at his feet.

“Now I am the only one.” He began, voice low. “I was the true us, and he was the false me. We were always ‘we,’ all our lives, but now I am only I, me, alone.”

The senators look at one another in silent terror. The only ones to not feel fear were you and Macrinus.

Caracalla continued. “My hand held the blade, but my father’s hand guided mine. I was the puppet, dancing on his string. As Emperor, I have convened the Senate to appoint my First Consul and bestow upon him the power to administer the military and civic functions of the Empire.”

He tossed his hand to the second thrown, revealing his fury companion. “I name Citizen Dondus!”

Where the senators were beyond terrified, they were now confused. Macrinus was the first to rise, applauding. “Hail Dondus!”

You repeated his sentiment, clapping with vigor. Caracalla and the rest of the mortified senators applauded all repeating ‘Hail Dondus!’.

Once the excitement died down, Caracalla resumed. “As is custom, I am naming a Second Consul to advise the First and to assure his integrity. Though you will find that Dondus is incorruptible! As Second Consul, I name…”

Macrinus took one step forward.

“The mother of the future heir to the throne, Julia!”

All eyes fell upon you, standing taller than you ever had done in your life. How strange it was though, that the same reaction to a monkey being assigned first in command, was to you, a woman.

Utter silence, until Caracalla applauded enthusiastically. Like sheep, the senators followed; all but Macrinus.

“Yet, as mother to the heir,” the emperor said after finishing. “it is apparent she shall be incompetent for majority of her advising. So, for the first time in the history of Rome, I name Citizen Macrinus as my third!”

Even with this third twist in a counsel, the senators seemed more so relieved at the decision. Macrinus did not smile or even acknowledge the honor, simply stared ahead. Caracalla gathered Dondus in his arms.

“There will be a triumphal parade to celebrate. There will be games and mass executions! Long live the Empire!”

“Long live the Emperor!” You and the senators all yelled.

The Emperor Caracalla carried the First Consul Dondus sweepingly out of the hall, to the Senate’s terrified silence. You picked up the sack that had been beside you this whole time, then making your way to the center of the room.

You opened the sack, and out fell Geta’s decapitated head. The Senate gasped and gagged at the sight of the former emperor’s head. You almost felt sorry for the horror they felt that whole time. Yet, there horror is what would bring you fortune.

“This is what befell your emperor.” You pointed to the head at your feet. “He was slaughtered by the one who shared a womb with him. Tell me, senators, is this who we must trust to maintain the greatness of the Roman Empire?”

They did not glance at one another in uncertainty; no, no they were listening to you.

You continued, your heart stammering. “I am not the one who will stand with you for the rest of my days, it is the son I carry within me. And if it is my son who will become emperor, then there must still be an empire for him once he is born. Hysteria has poisoned the streets for decades now, it is time to put an end to it!”

Murmurs and nods of approval began to echo amongst the counsel.

“Every single one of Rome’s children matters; from the beggars to the emperor himself. If one falls, so shall the rest of the Empire. I have walked beside the lay people of the city, and they feel betrayed by the former emperor for the murder of their beloved general. To right this wrong, I call for the release of Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.”

Not one of the hundreds of senators made a sound. Deep within you, you knew that there wouldn’t be much rejoicing over Lucilla’s freedom, but you still had to try.

“The people adored her for far longer than they adored the general!” You pleaded. “If we kill her only for the amusement of the elites, then the children of Rome-!”

 “-Shall live.”

You turned to Macrinus, who finally stepped all the way forward.

“Forgive me,” He bowed mockingly. “my lady, but for a woman complimented to have a golden mouth, you have no idea what you are saying.”

A few of the senators chuckled.

“You wish to free the woman who mean to have you, and the emperors killed?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I wish to show the world that Rome is capable of forgiveness.”

“A desire so foolish, only the emperor’s favorite whore could have it.”

“Another word of slander out of your mouth, and I will have your tongue removed!” You stood toe-to-toe with him.

He grinned like the devil, and just from your outburst alone, no matter how warranted it had been, he had you. Macrinus stepped away, looking around at the senators.

“Me thinks the little girl believes she is Marcus Aurelius himself born again.” He straightened his tone. “What say you, senators? All in favor of releasing a traitor to the Empire, speak.”

Not one of them said ‘aye’. If you weren’t under a sheer amount of duress, you would’ve seen perhaps a few faces of inner turmoil, debating on calling for Lucilla’s release.

Yet, no one said a word because they shared the one thing that will contribute to the death of humanity: Cowardice.

Macrinus tutted. “Now, dear Julia and I happen to have, through good fortune and not a little skill, the remaining emperor’s ear. We can speak reason in it and tame the madness in the street. Yet, I will leave the domestic work of calming the emperor to his second in command. As for myself, to restore order to Rome, I will need power over the affairs of the state. Including command of the Praetorian Guard. The decision is in your hands. Ballot or hand?”

One hand rose immediately. Another followed, then ten, then thirty, and then, all of them. He provided no evidence for his cause…yet there was a unanimous decision.

Macrinus held his hand out to you, and you could only stare up at him in question.

“I believe we shall take the seats that are rightfully ours.” He said lowly.

Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, and he led you up the stairs to sit upon the chair that belonged to Geta, while he took Caracalla’s.

This would be the first and the last time a woman ever sat upon the emperor’s throne.

After being embarrassed that morning, you paced around your chambers. Perhaps you could have found Caracalla and gave him the same reasonings the senate did not listen to. Perhaps he could somehow see to the logic that would be in setting Lucilla free.

No, of course he wouldn’t. Even if his mind was sound, he still knew she was apart of the coup to try and have him dethroned; killed in his mind’s eye.

As your mind grew heavy with existential possibilities towards the future, the door to your chambers opened. Stopping where you stood, you watched as Macrinus entered.

“Now, try to make me understand this," he shook his head. "I let you have your vengeance on the man who used you as a slave, I promised you freedom, and yet you wasted it.”

You clenched your jaw. "How dare you-."

“-How dare I?” He tensed his voice. “How dare I keep silent about your lie? How dare I give you the privilege to take your revenge? I have saved you more than you believe I have harmed you, lady Julia."

The name had always bothered you, but with one emperor dead and the other incapacitated, you assumed it would stop.

Now, it only enraged you more; or perhaps that was just because it was Macrinus saying it.

You glared. “It was your own mistake to believe you were the only one who desired power.”

He took a deep breath, then moving to sit on your bed. “Sit beside me, Rome’s Delight; I have a story to tell you.”

“I am not a child, you may tell me in short.”

“You are not the only slave wishing to be free.” He pulled back the collar of his clothing, revealing a branded ‘M.A’ “You are lucky enough to not carry your master’s mark, but were a slave nonetheless. Marcus Aurelius spoke of peace while still using violence against those who served him.”

Swallowing your pride thickly, you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You have learned now, that is all that matters.”

“But Lucilla will still be dead.” You tried to keep your voice steady. “She wanted the emperors to be gone as much as you, but she will-."

“-Her father enslaved me.”

“Her father is dead; and if taking his empire wasn’t enough, than killing his last child will satisfy you?"

Macrinus clutched your arm, fingers tightening with every word. “I would be careful with how you speak to me. I wish to offer you one last ounce of kindness before I regret it. Now tell me, Brutus, will you accept me as Rome’s new emperor?”

You had all the right to say it was Caracalla, but you thought better of it. So, with the softening of your entire person, you nodded. “I accept you.”

He dropped your arm. “I’ll let you say goodbye this time.”

Macrinus led you down into the dungeons of the palace, and he was right; somehow it was more heavily guarded than the gladiator pit. Even when the worst of the worst prisoners sneered or jeered at you, your sorrow and anger could not stir your fear.

The door to one of the cells was open, and you ran in just as Lucilla turned to see you.

“Five minutes.” Was all Macrinus said before locking the door and leaving.

You embraced one another when he left. Neither of you said anything, just clung to each other as if the world itself would tear you apart.

“Forgive me, mother Lucilla.” You choked up.

Lucilla pulled away, taking your face into her hands. “Sweet child, there is nothing to forgive.”

“I failed you.” The tears finally came. “I was right there in the senate’s room, I-I told them the chaos that would befell Rome if-.”

“-You were in the senate’s room?” She sounded as if her breath had been stolen.

You nodded. “Yes, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“My dear girl,” she smiled. “if you were able to even get half a sentence in, than they listened! My father but sixteen years ago said that it was a shame I had been born a women, for I would have been a magnificent emperor. Yet, here you stand; you who had been once a slave, rose above into having a sear in the senate council.”

Still, no matter how much pride she held, your own shame outweighed it. “I still have failed you.”

“I have already accepted my fate.” She whispered. “I must take care of those who matter to me before I leave this earth.”

“Do not say such things!” You cried. “I’ll still find a way to save you.”

“Hanno is my son.”

You expected her to deny your attempts at rescuing her, you even expected her to coddle you, curse you…but this?

“What?” You uttered.

“He is Lucius Verus Aurulius,” she said gently. “second of his name, but the first son of Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

“The-the gladiator?” Was somehow the first question you asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Lucius didn’t run away, I sent him. With him as heir to the empire, I know many would not rest until he was dead. How was he to fight for a claim he knew nothing about? Now, he is here; and I am no longer frightened of dying.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to!”

She shushed you, combing her fingers through your hair. “I can speak to you until the earth is burnt by the sun of how I have made peace, but I know that will not work. So, I have two final requests for you.”

“Anything.”

Lucilla walked to the small desk she had in her cell, then picking up a scroll loosely wrapped in twine. She handed it to you. “My first is to give this to my son before tomorrow. It…explains a great deal of things I do not have the time to say to him.”

You took it, holding it to your heart. “And the second?”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around you and kissing the side of your head. “To take care of him as I intend him to take care of you.”

It was not the first time that day your eyes had grown. “He despises me.”

“If the gods are merciful, then I truly believe you will both come to see eye to eye as the only two who remain.”

“I nearly killed him.” You admitted. “The night before his duel with Acacius, I brought a knife with me and stabbed him; well…not enough to harm him.”

Lucilla shook her head, giggling. “He will need someone who disagrees with him.”

You found yourself laughing along with her, even through your sobs. She pulled away from you, wiping your tears. “He is a good man. He may deny it but believe me when I tell you.”

“I trust you.” You nodded.

She took a deep breath. “I will be with you, even when I’m gone.”

“I…I know.”

“Now go before I beg you to stay.”

You forced yourself away from her before you could change your mind. You could not even look at her as you left her cell and went up the hall. Just in time, you remembered to hide the scroll as Macrinus approached you.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Sighing, you said. “She’s…inconsolable. I couldn’t bear another moment with her.”

Macrinus nodded. “You should rest for the remainder of the day. It has been quite exhausting.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “it certainly has.”

It was the first time that night you were forced to sneak out of the palace on your own. Fortunately, you remembered the route you took to the Gladiator pit and managed to dodge any of the guards on patrol that night.

The pit proved to be more difficult as the overseers of it had less space to watch over, yet you still somehow managed to maneuver them.

Perhaps the gods were on your side.

“Hanno.” You whispered once you found his cell.

The man turned over his shoulder once he heard your voice and approached with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

You wasted no time, holding out the scroll. “Your mother told me to give you this.”

He paused for only half a beat. “My mother died when-.”

“-Your mother is Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.” You whispered fiercely. “And you are Lucius, the lost son.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he reached down to the latch of the door, and cracked it opened. “Get inside.”

Though you wished to, you didn’t question how he had unlocked it and only walked in. He shut the door tightly, then took the scroll from you. You stood there as he unraveled it to read. His face changed every few seconds, ranging from distress to downright confusion. When he was finished, he looked at you.

“She gave this to you?” You nodded. “Why?”

“I was allowed to say goodbye to her.”

“From Macrinus?” He tested. “Was this before or after you attempted to steal his power?”

“I was cruel to you.” You admitted. “Even after discovering Acacius had pillaged your home and murdered your wife, I expected you to show mercy. I am astounded you did, but as I look back, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. My desire for the general to live extends to your mother; if not more. She did not give up my name at any moment despite the fact I too was apart of the coup to try and overthrow the emperors. I cannot simply let her die.”

Lucius stared at you, his gaze intimidating yet at ease. He approached you. “You wish to save her life?”

“More than anything.”

“It is a rumor that Macrinus was the one to puppeteer Caracalla in slaying his brother. But…it wasn’t him, was it?”

Breathing deeply, you looked at the floor. “It was I.”

“Look at me.” He commanded softly, and you did. “Would you kill again if it meant protecting her?”

Your mind said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation, but your heart only sunk into your stomach at the thought. It must have been apparent on your face, for he said.

“There is no shame if you are unable to.”

“I will be with him in the emperor’s box.” You said, determination in your eyes. “I will simply need you to buy me time in the arena. It shall be done.”

Lucius nodded, and released along breath before saying. "I treated you harshly. I...I don't believe I would have survived what you have been put through."

You picked at your fingers. "I think you would have."

"No." He solidified. "I wouldn't."

A silence fell between the two of you. There wasn't a hint of discomfort; as if, for the first time, you felt seen.

“You never told me your name.” Lucius uttered.

You pressed your lips together, shrugging. “It was never important.”

“It has been,” he said. “and it is now. You know my true name, if I am to understand you as how my mother wishes I do, then I must know yours.”

Your mouth parted to speak the first syllable, but even that had felt foreign. You instead lied. “I do not remember it.”

As he looked at you, the steely gaze you always knew began to disappear. “You must remember how it sounded from your mother’s mouth.”

“She died before she could hold me.”

“Then your father.” He walked closer to you, yet you felt no fear. “It does not matter if he was wretched or kind, he spoke your name and your name alone. What did it sound like?”

Like he loved you. Even when he was cross, he never raised his voice. You hated more than ever how tears started to build within your eyes.

“Geta had beaten me until I could no longer use it.” you confessed. “It will feel like poison upon my lips.”

“Then whisper it to me so you will scarcely have to move them.”

You had been lain down on a bed and had every bit of a man touch and invade your body. Even before the emperor, you had lain with people in the past of your choosing…

But none of that amounted to the intimacy you felt in that cell as Lucius stood nearly chest-to-chest with you, hovering his ear over your mouth as you finally (finally) spoke your name aloud.

If the heat of his body lingering over yours did not set your entire being aflame, it was the breath he released once he said.

“It’s a kind name.”

It was all too much for you, so you pulled away from him, drying your eyes. “I…I will pray for your safety.”

He outheld his hand to you. “Strength and honor.”

A saying you had overheard people use as they entered the stadium. You shook his hand. “Strength and honor.”

You didn’t expect to be in the parade Caracalla raved about the day prior. Yet, there you were, draped in the finest and most colorful silks with jewelry in your hair. Inside your sleeve, you’d hidden the same kitchen knife you attempted to stab Lucius with.

You were sat beside Caracalla, who had Dundus upon his shoulder, and who had only grown more delusional since the day prior.

“Where is my brother?” He pulled on your sleeve like a child as you were escorted from the float and into the Colosseum.

A watery smiled pulled upon your lips, and you soothed him. “He feels most unwell today.”

“He should be here.” He sulked as you walked. “He would be happy for me.”

“And he is.” You lied. “You will see him again shortly.”

That managed to ease him, and you both were seated in the emperor’s box with Macrinus. It didn’t escape your vision how hundreds of Praetorians also circled the entire arena. As the time to the match grew closer, you did your best to calm your own nerves. This would be for the good of Rome. Once it was done, you would be able to rest easily again.

It was then you watched as, on one side of the Colosseum, a wagon was rolled out into the center of it. Tied to a pole, dressed up as if she were Venus herself, was Lucilla. All that attempt at soothing yourself was gone once you saw her eyes.

“Must we kill Lucilla?” Caracalla questioned.

You couldn’t even snidely repeat his question to Macrinus you were in such a state of anxiety. Macrinus responded.

“Until she is dead, you will never know peace.”

Thus, the event commenced. The announcer himself even sounded guilt-ridden as he spoke of the crimes Lucilla was being charged with. Treason, betrayal, all of it only anguished the spectators even more to see her being prepared for execution.

“Let it not be said that the Emperor is not merciful!” He yelled. “The queen will be granted a champion to defend her!”

Out from the other side of the arena came Lucius. Half of the Praetorians held their weapons to the man, while the other half faced the civilians as if expecting them to riot. Once again, at the sight of the scene before them, it would not surprise you.

You had been taught one a many myths by your father, mainly belonging to the Greeks. You were Cassandra; blessed by Apollo to speak of prophecies but cursed to not be believed.

When it seemed that hope was gone…Lucius rose his sword, and hundreds of gladiators sprinted from all sides.

The crowd and Caracalla were in an uproar at the excitement. Pandemonium ensued as the gladiators began to climb the barriers and civilians were attempting to enter the arena. The sound of arrows screaming entered your ears; so much so you could not hear what Macrinus was saying to another man, and why Caracalla was screaming.

You simply blinked, and once your eyes were open, you watched as Macrinus dove a needle into the side of Caracalla’s neck, killing him.

Only a gasp tore through your throat, having no ability to scream. Your body soon found reason to move, and you rose to your feet, remembering your duty. Macrinus had acquired a crossbow, aiming it towards Lucilla and Lucius now at the center of the arena.

You rose the knife from your sleeve, charging towards the man. The arrow was fired, and you leapt upon his shoulders.

He moved wildly, trying to force you off of him. You made attempt to slash his throat, but it made contact with his eye instead.

Still…he overpowered you. Flipping you over him, you dropped down into the arena, your head colliding with the ground.

The sky was orange above you when you opened your eyes. Your head had never felt so awful before, and you were surprised you could even sit up. All around you, bodies littered the Colosseum floor. If there was not blood laid before you, there were swords and shields.

Your eyes drifted to the center, and now sunken to the floor, was Lucilla on her wagon. You forced yourself to stand and walk towards her.

When you could see the arrow sticking in her chest, you began to run.

Climbing atop the wagon, you untied the ropes around her hurriedly.

“Mother,” you begged. “mother, can you hear me?”

“I am still here, sweet child.” She whispered weakly.

“Save your energy now.” You managed to free her, and then pulled her to your lap.

“I will be seeing my beloveds now.” She smiled.

“No,” you hissed. “you are going to live.”

She reassured. “It is alright. I have fulfilled everything that was asked of me, and what I wished for.”

“Mother-!”

“-You will look after him, won’t you?”

You wanted to cry; you wished that sadness was the first thing you felt. But no, it was anger. Still, you nodded. “I will, but you will be there to make sure he takes care of me too!”

“He shall.” Was all she said.

“You will live, just please stop talking.”

“I love you.”

“Lucilla…” Your voice broke.

“Tell Lucius I would do this all again for him.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Lucilla rose her hand to your cheek, brushing it tenderly one last time.

Her eyes were held open as she went limp in your arms. You closed her eyelids, knowing her gaze would haunt you.

You did not move for the first hour, nor did you cry out in despair. It was when the sun was completely gone, and you tore yourself away from her corpse did you collapse into a fit of sobs.

The ugliest sounds were released from your mouth as you could barely stand. You do not know how long you cried, but when you could finally move again, you crawled to the nearest sword, and trailed it behind you before climbing back up onto the wagon.

You tied the rope from her body around her legs, and brought her back into your lap, sword in hand.

There was no rest for you that night. You would nearly drift off into sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give in until you could bury her properly. You also couldn’t bring yourself to bury her at the same time.

When you had lost time altogether, and the sky was purple as twilight broke, a gentle hand shook you.

Raising the sword in surprise, you felt your body relax once you saw Lucius. You should have asked how he survived, what happened to Macrinus, anything else…but all you said was.

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

He nodded, tears threatening to fall as he gazed upon his dead mother. He took a deep breath. “May I take her?”

You handed her to him, and he took her into his arms. You scooted off the wagon, your eyes reddened and exhausted.

“Where,” you cleared your throat. “Where should she be buried?”

“I…” He heaved. “I know where my father’s grave is.”

“Okay.” Was all you managed.

And you walked by his side, neither of you knowing what your fate would befall in Rome.

Yet…once both slaves, you were now free.

[anyarose011]

The Most "Wonderful" Time of the Year {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Despite a nice trip to the art gallery and ice skating rink, sometimes, Andy Williams just gets it wrong.

Part 8 of 10 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, description of nudity (on art), suggestive conversations, minor sexual harassment, a father has issues, fighting, Reader has a knife, and ANGST.

Heyyy guys (senior year, once again, has been kicking my ass and I also started a new mini-series that should be done soon). Again, I'm so sorry for how long it took me to upload and write this, and I know this chapter is short, but I swear it's got good shit in it. It's also fitting to have more chapters around Christmas time since, you know, this be a Christmas movie (yes, Alexander Payne, this can be a standalone movie, but you set it during Christmas so....) Anywho, I hope you like it (and that it breaks your heart :)

Word Count: 5.5k

You hated to admit it, but you actually like history museums. Even though your father always dragged you to them from childhood to adulthood, you didn’t really mind them. Your father’s additional commentary only added to the experience as you walked through the Greek section. It didn’t really for Angus.

“Are we almost done?” He asked.

“Quit whining.” You reprimanded him.

“I’m not.”

Your father chuckled. “What’s your hurry? I thought you liked Antiquity?”

He sighed. “In class, maybe. But I never think about it unless I need to.”

Humming, your father pointed to a casing of ceramics behind you. “Here, what do you see?”

You and Angus turned. Of course, he said. “A bunch of pottery.”

“Look at that one.” He pointed.

You certainly weren’t expecting to see a man diving his dick into a woman as she bent over to pick something up on an ancient Grecian artifact, but there you were in the Boston Fine Arts Museum, jaw on the floor.

“Amy look, a Candy Cane!” Angus teased.

“I hate you.” Was all that managed to leave your lips.

Your father chuckled, shaking his head. “Children, there’s nothing new in human experience. Each generation thinks it invented debauchery or suffering or rebellion, but man’s every appetite and impulse, from the disgusting to the sublime, is on display right here, all around you.” He gestured around the room filled with art. “So, before you dismiss something as boring or irrelevant, remember that if you truly want to understand the present, or yourself, you must begin in the past. History is not merely the past; it’s an explanation of the present.”

Angus nodded. “See, when you say it that way, and throw in some pornography, it’s a lot easier to understand.”

Mr. Hunham glanced over at you, surprised at your lack of outburst. “You’re not going to comment on that?”

“No,” you shrugged. “porn helping men understanding things checks out.”

Angus snorted, turning back to the teacher. “You should try talking more and yelling less in class. You know, most of the kids pretty much hate you. Teachers, too. You know that, right?”

“Hey.” You glared at him as if to say, ‘Lay off’.

Your father nodded, obviously trying not to show the hurt that was apparent on his face. “Well, I appreciate your frequent candidness, Mr. Tully.”

“Sure…” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down.

It was then you realized another thing about Angus Tully that reminded you about yourself: You only noticed how horrible your words were as soon as you were done saying them.

The rest of your time at the art museum wasn’t as awkward as that entire scene, thankfully. The sun had completely set by the time you had exited, and the three of you made your way to the park. It almost made you laugh how quick Angus was to the booth to rent ice skates.

“Have you been ice skating before?” He asked as you both sat on the bench, tying up your skates.

“Once when I was eight, I think. You?”

“I played hockey until high school.” He finished tying his and stood. “And I go every chance I get when I’m in the city.”

“So, you should only fall if I push you, right?”

“Right.”

You smiled after double knotting your ice skates and approached the entrance to the rink. “My feet feel weird.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been skating for almost ten years.” He teased, walking past you and standing on the ice with ease.

Sighing, you took a step out and immediately started flailing. Still, the two of you laughed when you retreated back to solid ground. “Nope.”

Angus begged. “Come on.”

“Nuh uh, not going to do it.”

“Your dad paid a good two dollars for us to skate, and you’re going to waste it?” He joked.

“Two dollars doesn’t mean anything to my father if I’m dead!”

“You’re not going to die.”

“But-.”

He said your name with the right amount of sincerity and playfulness. “You can hold onto me. I’ll cushion you if you do fall.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you still held onto the side railing, but stepped out onto the ice. Taking a deep breath, you began walking.

“You don’t want to do that.” Angus skated by your side at your pace.

“I’m alright.” You struggled to say.

He scoffed, holding out his hand. “Yeah, I can tell. Come on.”

You stared down at it as if he had never touched you before. Still, you took it. You expected him to pull you out into the center and leave you there for dead (or try to figure out how to skate on your own), but instead, you stayed by the wall.

“Okay, you’re gonna want to lean forward, and just glide; don’t walk.” He explained, showing you.

“I’ll fall.”

“No, you won’t. Just trust me.”

Against what your nervous system was saying, you decided to. Leaning forward, you tried to copy him; and it worked for like a few seconds before you started tripping over your own feet. He caught you, of course.

“Hey, not bad!” He held you up so you could stand.

“I almost died.”

“You’re standing on your own though!” He backed away, and you still were. “That’s a good start.”

You wanted to fire a nasty retort at him, but you could only girlishly giggle. You don’t know how long you spent on that ice skating rink with him. Yes, there would be times when your feet would ache, or you’d be a mix of sweaty from the physical labor of skating and freezing from the cold, Massachusetts air. Yet, as you finally gathered your footing, you felt as if you could compete in the next Olympics.

You couldn’t, of course, but you sure had the confidence to do so.

And it was fun to laugh and talk with Angus. It always was, but it felt as if you were both on an actual date as you skated together. To everyone else on that ice rink, you were. When Angus had completely fallen onto the ice (you didn’t actually push him down, he fell on his own), pulling you down with him, you’d nearly forgotten that your father was chaperoning you two as you laughed.

After leaving the rink and taking your skates back, you walked up a set of stairs with your father and Angus, discussing where to go for dinner when-.

“Paul Hunham, is that you?!” A man and a woman approached the three of you with a gleeful look. “It’s Hugh. Hugh Cavanaugh.”

Your father’s face fell for just a moment before laughing. “Yes! Yes, of course. Wow, Hugh Cavanaugh. Oh, how are you, Hugh?”

“Oh God, what’s it been? Thirty years?” He turned to the woman beside him. “Oh, uh this is my wife, Karen. Honey, this is Paul Hunham; we went to Harvard together.”

She smiled, shaking his hand, then yours, then Angus’. “Hello.”

“Yes,” your dad nodded at Hugh’s comment. “yes we did. Uh, wow; what have you been up to, Hugh? Still in the area?”

“Oh, uh, yes-yes I’m still in Boston. Cambridge.”

“Harvard.” Karen said proudly. “He just got tenure, statistics. He won’t blow his own horn, I have to blow it for him.”

“Okay,” Hugh said to change the subject. “what about you, Paul?”

“Oh, still teaching, we have that in common.” He nodded. “History, ancient history.”

“That’s great, that’s great. Where?”

“Abroad mostly.” Your father lied through his teeth on each word. “On fellowships. Privately funded fellowships. Universities and private academies. Mostly fellowships, you know. I’m currently posted in Antwerp. Just back here for the holidays.”

“So, are these your kids?” He pointed to you and Angus.

“Well-.”

“-I’m his nephew, Laurie.” Angus cut in, then looked at you. “This is my cousin, Amy.”

Karen smiled. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Hugh squinted his eyes as if to see you more clearly. Then, he chuckled. “Paul, do you know who she looks like?”

Your father hummed. “I would hope me.”

It was weird to hear your mother’s full name come out of a stranger’s mouth. He went on. “Do you see it? Same nose, same hair; you are the spitting image of beauty, young lady.”

Snickering, you didn’t even think of thanking him. “I’ve been told I have more of her temper than her looks. Although, our mouths are the same.”

“I have no doubt.” He laughed. “Paul, do you remember that one time freshman year?”

“Oh yes!” Your father pretended to. “When she-it was that one time during Roman history when Nolan-.”

“-Wouldn’t call on her when she was the only one to raise her hand,” Hugh looked back at you as if you didn’t know the story from the set up. “so she fed all the boys in the room the wrong answers for the rest of the class!”

“Yep,” Mr. Hunham nodded. “even I fell victim to it.”

Hugh was the only one who had relatively been amused by the fable. “Never put you and her together.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

The group fell into a strange silence after that. Thank God for Angus Tully.

“He’s writing a book now.” He titled his head toward your father. “Tell them about your book, Uncle Paul.”

“My book.” Your father snickered, then immediately played it off. “It’s not a book, really. Just a monograph. Nothing special.”

You decided to jump in. “Don’t be so modest, dad. It’s about, uh, cameras, right? Ancient cameras?”

Hugh hummed, a quizzical look on his face.

“What she means, of course, is the camera obscura.” Your father explained. “You know, the optical and astronomical tool that dates back to, um, the time of Anaxagoras.

“Tell him the title, Uncle Paul.” Angus went back, and you masked your smile for one of curiosity and not at the misfortune of your father.

“He’s not interested, Laurie.”

Hugh smiled. “Sure, I am.”

Sighing, Paul Hunham said with the perfect amount of enthusiasm and disinterest. “Lights and Magic in the Ancient World.”

Hugh nodded before turning back to his wife, and then to your father, clasping his hand on his shoulder. “Well, Paul, I’m so glad you landed on your feet. You look swell.”

“You too. So, swell.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Amy.” He said to you.

Thinning your lips in a tight smile, you said. “Thanks.”

Him and Karen walked away hand in hand, but he turned over his shoulder. “And we’ll keep an eye out for your book, Paul. Won’t we, honey?”

 She nodded. "Of course. Merry Christmas, Paul. Bye, Laurie and Amy.”

You all wished them ‘Merry Christmas’ as you three also left. Angus wasted no time turning to you.

“What the fuck just happened?!”

“You’re asking me?!” You matched him. “You sprung into ‘Tell them about your book, Uncle Paul!’, ‘What’s the title, Uncle Paul?’.”

“I had to think of something!”

Your father sighed. “I appreciated your efforts, but I would’ve been fine on my own.”

Rolling your eyes, you asked. “Can we get dinner now?”

“I need to pick something up from the liquor store first.”

Sighing overdramatically, you and Angus stumbled behind your father. That was when you looked at the boy beside you. “Also, Laurie and Amy? Really?”

“What? They’re like brother and sister. If I said you were Jo, then that would’ve been weird.”

Oh my god, he wasn’t even halfway through the book.

You wish you had a camera solely to capture the look on your father’s face as he turned over and stared at both of you. You wonder if that was when he found out about you and Angus.

Shaking your head, you didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff as you said. “Unbelievable.”

“What do you mean ‘unbelievable’?” Angus questioned. “Jo and Laurie get married in the end, right?”

“Unbelievable.” You repeated but smiled this time.

“Right?!”

Your father sighed as you finally made it to the store. “Look, the fact of the matter is, what happened, happened, and we should just pretend it didn’t.”

Angus furrowed his brow as you all walked in. “I thought Barton men don’t lie. Don’t get me wrong, that was fun, but you just lied through your teeth.”

He held up his hand, not having it. “What I say during a private conversation is none of your goddamn business. You’re not to judge me.”

“It wasn’t a private conversation; your daughter and I were there. Besides, he brought her into it.”

“I’m right here.” You announced yourself.

“Why’d he ask if you landed on your feet?”

Your father glanced up from searching through the shelves. “What is this, Nuremberg?”

“You’re the hardass constantly telling everybody not to lie and going on about the honor code!”

Looking up at both of you, Paul Hunham sighed. “There was an incident at Harvard with my roommate.”

You gave him a look. “I’ve never heard this story before.”

“He accused me of copying from his senior thesis. Plagiarizing.”

“Well, did you?” Angus asked.

“No! He stole from me.” Your father relented. “But that blue-blooded prick’s family had allies on the faculty. I mean, their last name is on a library, so he accused me in order to sanitize his treachery. And they threw me out.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “you got kicked out for cheating?”

“No, I got kicked out of Harvard for hitting him.”

Angus asked. “You hit him? Like punched him out?”

“No, I hit him with a car.”

“You got kicked out of Harvard for hitting a guy with a car?!”

“By accident,” he approached the counter, talking to the cashier. “Pint of Jim Beam, please.”

You piped up, still in astonishment. “Mom said you left because your grandma was dying.”

“She was, it was just perfect timing to go and help take care of her.” He shrugged. “But my roommate broke three ribs. Which was technically his fault, because he shouldn’t have been in the road.

“Two dollars, please.” The cashier said.

Your father took his wallet out, continuing his story. “Also, he shat himself; which was the greatest indignity.”

The cashier handed him the wrapped-up bottle. “Here you go, killer.”

You couldn’t help your laughter at the sudden statement. As the three of you left and walked down the darkened, cold roads, Angus said.

“So, Mr. Hunham never even graduated college? Holy shit, you didn’t even finish up somewhere else? Who else knows?”

“Did mom even know about you hitting the guy?” You asked.

Your father nodded. “Of course she knew! She gave me an earful on the phone the first time she called me after I left. It was only Dr. Greene who knew it after that. He’d always believed in me, so he gave me a job. Adjunct faculty: zero respect and even less pay, so nobody batted an eye, and I’ve been at the school ever since.”

“Are you ashamed at how things turned out?” Angus questioned.

“Not at all. I’m proud of my work, I love history, I married the smartest and kindest woman on the planet, I helped raise a spitfire of a girl, I love Barton. Barton is my life now. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

“Then why did you lie to that guy?”

“Because I knew he’d relish the fact that I’m a washout and never left my own high school. And he’d probably repeat that story to everybody we used to know. So, I figured he’s not entitled to my story. I am. “

Angus nodded. “Yeah. Fuck that guy.”

“Exactly. Fuck that guy!”

“Fuck him, I hope his car slides on black ice and crashes into a lamp post.” You chimed in.

“Woah,” Angus gasped.

Your father said your name scoldingly.

“What?” You scoffed. “It was weird as hell when he talked to me about my mom like he knew me.”

“I’ll admit it was strange and unnecessary.” Your father tossed his arm around your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He looked at both you and Angus. “But you’ll keep this quiet, right? No one is to know.”

“Entre nous, sir.” Angus nodded. “Entre nous.”

Your father nodded then chuckled, poking you. “‘Ancient cameras’. Where’d the hell you come up with that?”

“I tried my best!” You whined. After the men ceased in their laughter, you then said. “Can we please get dinner now?”

“Alright, alright.” Your father snorted. “Where would you like to go for your absolutely atrocious food concoction?”

“South Street.”

“I figured.”

And that is where the three of you went. It shouldn’t have surprised you it was packed the day after Christmas, which was also a Saturday. It had to have been a miracle you managed to get in line only when it was starting to go out the door; a few minutes after you arrived, the line had started to curve around to the nearest streetlight.

The diner was filled with life once you got in; families pushing tables together, friends absolutely drunk off their asses laughing, even half of the staff seemed to be enjoying the sheer joy from others. Of course, a few were understandably stressed and annoyed from the number of customers and their behavior.

The three of you were soon sitting at a booth. When Angus sat close to the window, instead of sliding into the seat across from him, you took the one beside him. Leaving your father alone on the other side. To ordinary people, it perhaps didn’t mean anything; but you still felt as if it was a signal.

“I can’t believe they’re still playing Christmas music.” Your father grumbled as The Ronettes sang about a sleigh ride and he slipped off his jacket.

You giggled, copying him. “It was just yesterday.”

“I know, but still.”

“I like this song, thank you very much.”

He held up his menu as if to hide his disgust. You and Angus chuckled.

"I feel like I’ve been here before.” Angus looked around.

“You don’t know if you have?” You asked.

“It feels familiar. Maybe when I was a kid?”

“We’d always come here when we’d visit Boston.” You looked at your father. “The owner gave me a free banana split when I turned twelve, he knew us so well, right?”

That managed to pull a laugh out of him. “That he did. If he’s here tonight maybe you could get a free dinner for us.”

You and Angus looked down at the menu before you, and soon enough, an exhausted waitress came by to take your drink orders and lay down silverware. Immediately, you asked for French fries and your favorite milkshake.

“There’s no way that’s going to be good.” Angus pointed out.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” You scoffed.

“That’s not faith, that’s fact.”

“What you’re speaking of is an opinion, not even a theory. If you ever want to make it in this world, I suggest you learn the different between those two before you can even begin to comprehend what an actual fact is.”

“And what is an actual fact?”

“You’re an idiot.”

He smirked despite the fact you insulted him. You also couldn’t hide your own smile. It was apparent from anyone in that room, it was not a smile of victory; it was one synonymous with the feeling inside of your chest as it felt like your own heart would burst forth like light.

Your father had felt this feeling before, so it was not lost on him.

“You seem awfully happy to have your entire statement dismantled, Mr. Tully.” He said to Angus.

The boy looked up, still with a smile but one not as euphoric. “I mean, I wasn’t that serious about it.”

“Oh, and I didn’t think you were. It just astounds me how close you two became in a matter of a few days.” He said. “Wasn’t it only yesterday you both were at each other’s throats?”

You stepped in. “No, that was the first few days, actually. I mean, we were the only kids at Barton after that, so it’s probably best we figured how to deal with each other. I guess we both liked some of the same things too, so that made it easier.”

“Yeah.” Angus nodded.

Your father straightened his gaze between the two of you, but then smiled, getting up from the booth. “I have to use the facilities; don’t go anywhere.”

“No papa,” you teased. “we’re going to go do a line of cocaine with the homeless man a few blocks away.”

“You know, I’m beginning to believe that you’re the bad influence on Mr. Tully and not the other way around.”

With that, he left the two of you by yourselves as he walked to the back of the diner. Once he was gone, you and Angus cackled to yourselves.

“Do you think he knows?” You asked, a hint of concern mixed in with delight.

“I don’t know, probably.” He shrugged, still chuckling. “Is that so bad?”

“I mean…I’ve never had a boyfriend before.” You admitted, smiling shyly.

Even though the rest of the diner was booming with Christmas music and leftover excitement from the holidays, it all fell silent between you two. The boy who was once radiated in the happiness you shared with him, now covered in a shroud of terror.

Well…in reality, he was alarmed, not terrified; yet, that is all you saw.

“Shit I-!” You realized what you had just said. “I didn’t mean-I mean, we don’t have to be together, I just meant that I’ve never had someone like me back when I’ve liked them, and even then, it didn’t happen very often-.”

“-Hey, hey.” He stopped you. “No, I’ve never had that happen either. I mean, I’ve been to all boys’ schools since I was fourteen. I think…yeah, I think I’d like to give it a try.”

“Really?” You felt the weight from your shoulders loosen as your face brightened.

He nodded, glowing with you. “Really.”

You glanced up at the bathroom door, and when there was no sight of your father, you took his face into your hands, pulling him into a kiss. It wasn’t as intense as your previous ones, but not as quick as the one you gave him outside the bookstore.

He pulled away first, and before you could say anything about it, you saw the waitress leave from the corner of your eye. She had brought the drinks, including your milkshake and fries. Turning back towards the table, you immediately picked up a fry and dipped it into the milkshake.

“Oh my god, you weren’t joking.” Angus said with no emotion behind it.

“I know I’m funny, but this I would not joke about.” You talked as you ate. “Try it.”

“No.”

“I’ll kiss you if you do.” You took another fry.

“You’ll kiss me anyway.”

“I’ll kiss you like how the French do.”

“You already do that.”

 “I’ll do something different.”

His eyes grew, and he huffed out a surprised laugh. “‘Something different’?”

“Yeah.” You dipped a third fry. “I don’t know what, but I’ll do it.”

 “Not that you have to, but fine I’ll try it.” Angus reached for a fry, then dipped it into your milkshake and ate it.

Angus’ face went through more arrays of emotions in a short time since you met him. You grinned from ear to ear. “Well?”

“Fuck off.” He tried to hide his smile as he took another fry.

“I’m sorry, what?” You taunted.

“It’s not the best-.”

“-I’m sorry, what?!” You repeated louder, and you both were talking over each other. “It sounds like-!”

“You don’t have to be so-!”

“It sounds like you actually like it!”

“You’re so loud.”

You finished with laughter, and then kissed his cheek. You returned to your milkshake and fries as Angus talked about something funny that happened back in the fall. You can’t remember what he said to this day, because a familiar voice entered your ears as it entered the diner.

Angus kept talking to you, but it was in one ear and out the other as you tried your best not to show your discomfort at the man who laughed a little louder than the rest of the people in the diner. When you thought Angus wasn’t paying attention, you glanced over your shoulder at the entrance.

There he stood; a man around the same age as your father with a woman perhaps ten or fifteen years younger than him, holding a baby on her hip, and clutching her seven-year-old daughter’s hand.

Despite what Andy Williams was singing from the jukebox, this was not the most wonderful time of the year.

Angus tapped your shoulder, and you drew your eyes away to look at him.

“Hey, I hate this song, I’m gonna go change it.” He said. You got out of the booth for him to stand, and once he did you sat back down. Only for him to then say. “Okay, scoot over.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Scoot over.”

“You didn’t even change the song.”

“I changed my mind, it’s not that bad.”

He was bullshitting you, but you scooted over anyway, and he sat beside you. “What’s going on?”

You scoffed. “You’re the one that got up and sat down again.”

“Is that guy Daniel?”

“Angus-.”

“-Tell me.”

“Is he bothering you?”

Both you and Angus looked and saw the man from the entrance stand before you with his hands in his pockets. You dropped your gaze.

“No, he’s not.”

You had no idea what you hated more that night: hearing a man you never met say your mother’s name, or hearing a man you knew too well say yours.

“If he is, just say the word and-.”

“-He’s not bothering me.” You hissed.

Angus slipped his hand into yours as you kept your eyes down, but he kept his trained on the man standing in front of him.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I just didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

You didn’t say anything, so Angus did.

“Could you go? She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He ignored him, still angling on you. “Look, sweetie, you don’t have to, and I get it if you don’t want to, but I’d really like it if you came and meet them. They’re all right here now; Carol, Maria, and Frankie. He just turned one last week-.”

“-Can you just fuck off?” You finally looked at him.

He tilted his head and raised his brows before looking at Angus. “Young man, could you give her and I some privacy-?”

“-No.”

The man looked at you, scoffing. “Jesus Christ, what’d you do to make him so fucking head over heels for you? Was that the issue just now between you two? Under the table action?”

Angus stood. “Fuck you, what’s your problem?”

You pulled on his sleeve, hissing his name and kneeling on top of your seat to try and get him to sit back down. The man continued to taunt him.

“My problem is that you don’t know what’s going on boy, and you’re being a little prick about all of this.”

“Get the fuck out of here or I’ll…”

“‘You’ll-you’ll what?’” He looked over at you. “I can’t tell if you picked the bravest or the stupidest kid to fool around with, Eurydice.”

You were always a strange child growing up. Perhaps it was that there are times in your life you picture music whenever a certain emotion arose within you.

As you heard him say that name, a name that you heard last when your mother was dying in her bed, a name that was only for her to use and her alone…You heard Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns.

You don’t even remember grabbing the stupid butter knife from your silverware, just raising it up above you and believing it would cause any harm. As Angus held you back, the man reached over you to grab your hair.

Chaos ensued for a moment in the diner as you cried out when he pulled the ribbon out of your hair, and both him and Angus engaged in a battle of expletives. Most of the diners held back and watched in shock, while only two of them came up. A man stood between him and Angus, and the wife of the yelling man pulled him away.

“Daniel, what the hell is going on?!” She hissed.

“Yes, Daniel,” all eyes fell onto Paul Hunham, who was behind Daniel. “what is the meaning of this?”

You shrunk back in the booth, Angus hugging you tightly against him as if to hide you from Daniel. Both of you stared at the scene before you.

“Paul…” Daniel nodded, standing taller and holding his wife’s hand.

Mr. Hunham nodded back. “Your Christmas went well I take it?”

“It was fine; yours?”

“Just peachy.” He gave a tight smile, looking around at everyone else. “Family matters everyone, I sincerely apologize.”

Hesitantly, the crowd went back to their own business; or they were at least good at pretending to as they eavesdropped. Mr. Hunham continued.

“Why’re you here exactly?”

“The same as you.” Daniel explained. “Dinner with my family.”

He hummed. “And you thought it wise to inform the child in the scenario but not me?”

“Now wait a minute-.”

“-I assume your wife also didn’t know about this or the letters and money you sent?”

At the mention of her, Daniel’s wife scowled. “Danny, what’s he talking about?”

He shook his head. “Hunham, you should just mind your own-.”

“-Well now you see, I can’t do that, because her mother trusted me to provide and care for her.”

It was only then did Angus Tully understand what exactly had been going on. As the adults fought, he looked down at you in his arms. It was as if it were the first time he had seen you, and it was the first time he noticed that he could not find a trace of Mr. Hunham.

The eyes he thought you had gotten from your mother stared up at him with dread, and when Angus looked back at the man seething with unspoken rage, he saw them there too.

“Look,” Paul sighed. “I don’t want to cause another scene, so let us handle this like men. You will not make contact with her again, and we can walk away.”

He took a heaving breath before responding. “Fine by me. Come on, Carrie.”

Daniel began to lead her away from your booth, but Paul stopped them. “I believe you have something of my daughter’s.”

His eyes trailed down to the ribbon in his hand. He let go of his wife to walk back to Paul who held his hand out. Instead of giving it to him, he turned to Angus, smiling. He handed it to him.

“Keep her on a short leash, boy. She’s got her mother’s mouth.”

With that, he and his wife and children left the South Street Diner. You only pulled away from Angus when he did from you. No tears had fallen onto your cheeks, but that didn’t mean they weren’t stinging your eyes as you tried to keep them at bay.

You took the ribbon from Angus only for it to hang loosely at your side. Paul softened his gaze as he began to put on his jacket.

“I think we should just settle on room service tonight.” He said gently. “I can get them to bag up the fries and let you take the milkshake glass?”

You could only nod, not wanting to look at either of the men with you. You all put on your coats in silence, and Angus, though not hugging you, hovered as Mr. Hunham spoke with the staff; both about not wanting to report the incident, and also on paying extra for you to take the glass.

It was so cold out, and everyone was so tired from not just the events of the night, but the entire day, that Paul splurged on a cab for the three of you back to the hotel.

Angus also didn’t feel shame in trying to hold you hand in front of your father; or…stepfather. You limply held his hand back, but you leaned against him as you sat in the cab, staring at the Boston Christmas lights as the city passed by you.

When the cab made it to the hotel, you led the way in a tired haze to the elevators. It wasn’t just the three of you in the elevator; there was a somewhat large family that piled in, all merry and jolly and reeking of chlorine from the pool they had just swum in.

It was as if God himself was rubbing salt into the wounds, tempting you to lick them.

When you made it onto your floor, you also led the way back to your connecting rooms. There was no ‘Goodnight’ or ‘Can we stay up just a little longer?’ to your companions; you simply opened your door and shut it in their faces.

Setting the milkshake down, you tossed off your jacket and pulled your shoes off. Collapsing on the bed, you looked down at the ribbon still in your hand…and you cried.

[anyarose011]

"Nursing on the Poison that Never Stung" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: It was the one night you were supposed to have off from work. Naturally, that was when Aemond Targaryen came in to bother you (for good reason). He came in for weeks after that to "bother" you some more. Yet, one night changed all of that.

Part 3 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): SMUT, PIV sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), loss of virginity, porn with plot, fingering, riding, titty sucking, dirty talk (High Valyrian style), eye trauma, cussing, mention of past child SA, attempted SA (not done by Aemond), canon typical violence, and someone's throat gets ripped out.

I'm so sorry it took me SOO long. Not only is my life kind of falling at the seams, but this chapter is also hella long so I hope it was worth it! There's a bunch of High Valyrian in this chapter. I myself am not fluent, but I tried to search up phrases and familiarize myself with some of the grammar, so I hope it's accurate. This chapter has a bit more sensitive themes (but mainly at the end, most of it is just porn with a little plot).

Word Count: 9.8k

It had been a week since Aemond Targaryen helped walk you home; and touched you so intimately in your childhood bedroom of all places.

You would see him come and go once in a while from Sylvi’s brothel and talk with him every so often, but not for long. Not even long enough to do anything but greet him, ask him how he was, and then have him be whisked away by Sylvi. It was always a flip of a coin for her to either glare at you or smile every time she did.

Tonight was the rare night you would be at the brothel not to prepare for your ‘Woman at the Well’ act, but to mend the clothes of the women. It was something you did only once every moon, but it was a nice break in between your more so risky job.

Because you mended the clothes so rarely, it would take hours upon hours to do. That was why you begun it at dinner with the girls who usually helped pretty you up.

And, just like the week prior, their minds were filled with-.

“-I heard that war will come to King’s Landing in a fortnight.” One of the younger workers theorized.

Chansey scoffed, eating her dinner. “I heard that you run your mouth with gossip when it should be running down a man’s chest.”

The girls laughed, and you joined along with them momentarily. Then, Valda broke it up.

“I heard that it’s a curse the Kingsguard put upon the land by parading the skull of a dragon through the streets.”

Silence filled the air as if Death himself walked in. Once again, it was Valda who spoke first. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them burned the city to the ground simply to take revenge.”

She stormed out of the room with the slam of the door. Murmurs followed, questioning and complaining of her concern.

“Don’t mind her, girls.” Chansey shook her head. “She’s only upset because she got the clap.”

It was unfortunate for her, but fortunate for you; you had someone to talk to and not worry about a smelly man bursting in to ask for sex.

So, there you were in one of the private suites wearing only your corset and a skirt. You were sitting comfortably on the bed mending a thin dress as Valda laid her head on your lap. It was only the third day of the week; there was no way that many rich suitors would want to reserve a private room.

“How’s your side?” She asked.

“Tender,” you answered. “but I feel much better. How’s your clap?”

“It hurts to piss.” She groaned. “And do you remember when you got shitfaced and saw that fella kissing my cunt?”

Giggling, you nodded. “I do. Against popular belief, I remember many things about that night.”

“Like Prince Aemond?”

“What’s this about your cunt kissing fella?”

“He said he was going to come back tonight.” She whined

“And you’re sure he’s not the one who gave you the disease?”

Sighing, Valda sat up, playfully glaring at you. “Even if he did, he’d have the decency to come up and apologize.”

You chuckled, finishing up your final stitch on the dress before moving onto a sock. “If he does, he’s not kicking me out of this room.”

“You can join us if you’d like.” She joked. “Or just watch, whatever you want.”

“And get the clap from you?!” You laughed.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

You sighed. “At this rate, might as well get it out of the way.”

Valda hummed. “You don’t mind just ‘throwing’ your purity away now?”

“I’m the only woman in this building who hasn’t.”

“Yes but…”

You eyed her. “But?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I like that you’re a little romantic; that you want it to be with someone you love and trust.”

You ceased your stitching, dropping your eyes. “Of course I’ll do it with someone I trust but…I’d rather do it now so it would feel good later.”

Valda gave you a look, saying your name warningly.

“No more talk of this.” You smiled. “I’m glad your tantrum ended.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who said it ended?”

“Why are you so upset?”

 “I love my life.” She sighed. “Regardless of where I work, or how much I make, I am happy. If the Targaryen children or Rhaneyra’s bastards want to make a war because they do not know how to-.”

“-Hold your tongue!” You whispered. “What you say is treason, what if anyone were to hear you?”

She laughed. “We’re in a private room.”

“Someone could be outside and be listening in.”

“They’d make out anything over the moans of men and the women that are faking them?”

“Valda-.”

“-They say Rook’s Rest was a victory, but my brother says otherwise.”

Yes, her brother, Mikhail. No, not a knight of the City Watch or the Kings Guard, but a sailor. Still, he was a sailor who had a silver tongue and could make anyone speak simply with his charm. If it wasn’t secrets he specialized in, it was exporting goods. Sometimes, it was an ordinary transportation of ordinary goods. Other times, either the goods were illegal, and anyone found with them would be hung, or the transportation of them would be off the books (therefore illegal) and a man would be publicly scourged.

Luckily, Mikhail avoided it all.

“What does your brother say?” You questioned, interest piquing.

Despite her early protests of anyone being unable to hear you, she leaned in. “That the king and his dragon fell from the sky while bathing in fire.”

A chill ran down your spine, but she wasn’t finished.

“He also said your little prince had been there on his dragon.”

Taking a deep breath, the first thing you said was “He’s not my little prince.”

“That’s what upsets you?” Valda chuckled bitterly, saying your name gently. “You understand what this means?”

“Say it.” You dared.

She sucked in a breath. “Mikhail’s told me that-.”

“-Mikhail told you that some random man told him what?”

“That it was Aemond Targaryen who lit his own brother aflame.” Valda hissed lowly.

Swallowing the growing dread within you, you said. “Were you there?”

Valda said your name, almost as if she was begging you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Like our Madame has told me.”

“Sylvi is jealous, I am genuinely fearful.”

 “Jealous? She’s jealous of me?” You scoffed. “As-as if I stole something that was hers, when in fact, he isn’t hers because he is a person and she-!”

The sound of rushing footsteps and a body clashing into the wall stopped your thoughts. Valda opened her mouth but was met with the door slamming open. There, only wearing a pair of trousers, was Aemond; his hand clutched over his left eye, writhing in pain.

You called his name, standing. “What’s wrong?”

“Take it out.” He huffed.

“What?”

“This damned thing.” He grunted. “It’s burning.”

Only being able to nod, you gently took his arm and led him to the bed. “Sit, sit, sit.” You turned to Valda. “Do-do you know how to do this?”

She shook her head, just as much terror was on her face. As she opened her mouth to respond, you watched as Sylvi burst through the half-opened door. “My prince, what is the matter?!”

He groaned in response, digging his nails into your arm.

Sylvi turned to you and Valda. “Both of you, head down to the healers and-.”

“-Leave us.” He heaved in pain.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Yet, once you rose from the bed, he didn’t let go of your arm. “Stay.”

“What?” Your voice broke.

Sylvi shook her head. “Aemond-.”

“-Leave us!”

Valda leapt off the bed, giving one last look of regret to you before she left. Sylvi continued to stare at you as if you had been the one to scream at her, before turning and hastily leaving, slamming the door.

You were truly on your own.

Taking control as best as you could, your eyes darted to the opened sewing kit on the vanity. Tweezers. Last time you checked, they should’ve been in there!

You dumped the box upside down, several needles creating almost a trap around you until a pair of tweezers landed on your foot. Picking them up in a snap, you stood in front of the prince.

“Aemond, Aemond,” you clutched his shoulder. “you need to remove your hand.”

When he did so, you winced at the sight before you: the creases of his eye were as red as the morning sun, and the sapphire in his eye was as blue as ever. You set down the tweezers and reached over to the nightstand beside the bed, grabbing the small tub of cream Valda had for her own condition.

“It’s a cure all.” You could only say, opening it. “It should help.”

He gritted his teeth in reply.

Dipping your fingers into the tub and hesitantly rubbing in over the redness. He hissed at the coldness of it, and you mumbled an apology. Once his skin was covered, you set the tub down, and your gaze hovered over the tweezers on the bed.

“Just take it out.” Aemond begged.

“It’ll hurt.” You warned, more so for yourself.

“Please.��

Your throat tightened at his voice; a voice you had never heard him use before. Taking a deep breath, you ripped a piece of your skirt, bunching it into a small cloth and placing it onto your lap. You hovered the tweezers over the sapphire eye in one hand and cupped his cheek with the other.

“Close your eye.”

He listened with trembling breath.

“Cou-count to three, and I’ll do it.”

Aemond nodded. “One-,”

You dug the tweezers into his left eye. A scream tore through his throat and into your ears. You forced yourself to keep steady, pulling on the sapphire. It was barely budging, but it still was moving.

“I’m sorry!” You yelled over his cries.

Aemond forced his screams into raged groans, clutching the sheets of the bed beneath him. “Keep going.”

“If you need me to stop-.”

“-No.”

You went back in, twisting the tweezers instead of just pulling. The sapphire was moving more than it had been, and with one final tug, it was out. Instantly dropping the tweezers onto the floor, you took the cloth off your dress and covered his left eye as he brought up his own hand to hold it.

“I know, I know,” You whimpered, still holding his face and kissing his left brow, mumbling against his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

With a final kiss to his forehead, you pulled away and looked at him as his body shuddered from the pain. He opened his eye, fresh tears escaping. It was only then, in his vulnerability as he stared back at you, did you realize:

You had just placed your lips upon him.

“Aemond I-.”

He silenced you, his right hand clutching your neck. Your breath stilled, as if you were to breathe, you wouldn’t be able to anymore. His one eye burned into yours, silently begging him to have mercy on whatever would happen next.

Then…he kissed you.

It was as if he was trying to devour your face when your lips weren’t enough. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer as he tried to kiss every inch of skin. His teeth got into the mix of it, leaving temporary marks.

Setting your hand on his bare chest, you pushed him away once you began to see stars. Your chest rising and falling as if you had run for your life, you looked at him. No more tears had fallen from his right eye, and from his left…there was skin still reddened and irritated from your prodding and pulling. The long scar had been most apparent to you that night.

You must have been the first person to have truly seen him like this. Not as a fearsome prince with one eye, not as a killer…

But a man; a man who ran to you and only wanted you in a time of great distress.

With one, brave breath, you placed the lightest of kisses across his scar; barely touching his skin. You hand traveled into his hair, pressing your lips down the bridge of his nose until you finally made it to his mouth with the same gentleness.

He followed your pace, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you impossibly closer. You were on your knees, practically hovering over his lap when his kisses became more feverous little by little. It was when he bit your bottom lip you finally pulled away.

“You should go to the healers downstairs.” You said, just remembering why he came up to you in the first place. “The best one is named Alezander. Or-or you have those fancier ones at the Red Keep, right? Perhaps they’ll know more how to-.”

Aemond only hummed loud enough to get your attention, but other than that, spent more of his time unlacing your corset.

“Out of all the days to wear undergarments…” He shook his head, teasing.

 “I apologize that I didn’t dress appropriately for your liking tonight but-Aemond, I’m serious!” You grabbed his hands from around your waist, stopping him. “I don’t want you to get an infection.”

His smile did not waver. He took one of his hands out from your grip and stroked your cheek. “Please.” He mimicked.

Oh, you were fuming now.

“I’m not going to ask you again-.”

He laid you down on the bed, then traveling down to your legs, and his head disappearing under your skirt. A squeak escaped your mouth when you felt his lips upon your right ankle, then your knee.

“What-what are you-?”

Your leg was soon resting over his shoulder, and you felt his nose brush your pearl before his lips followed.

Another groan left you as he continued to kiss you somewhere you never knew you needed to be kissed before. Valda had told you how wonderful it is…but gods, you never believed her until then.

It was embarrassing how high your cries sounded as he continuously licked strips up and down your sweltering cunt. His fingers soon parted the folds, and just somehow, you became more sensitive, clutching the sheets beneath you.

There was a fire burning in your stomach, but it tightened and tightened like a knot in your hair. You arched your back with each growing pleasure, and you spotted Aemond’s hand reaching for you.

Taking it, you pressed a kiss to each knuckle before placing it on the top of your breast peeking out of the corset. He squeezed it every time his nose bumped against your clitoris, and the fire within you turned into an inferno until you were rocking against his face, moaning with each thrust.

Then, it stopped.

A haze of tiredness you’d never experienced swept over you. You hadn’t realized Aemond came out of your skirt until he was looming over you, kissing your cheeks and down your throat.

“What was that?” Your words slurred.

“My admiration for you.” He nibbled on your pulse point. “You’ve felt that before, haven’t you?”

“Your admiration or that?”

His hand traveled back under your skirt, teasing your clit and inserting part of his finger into you. You gasped at the sensitivity of it. “That.”

You shook your head.

He retracted his hand. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“Is that why he called it a ‘little death’?”

“Who?”

“The man pawing after me when I saw you with your cock out.” You admitted as if you were drunk. “He said he’d give me a ‘little death’ when I was stabbed.”

Aemond nodded, helping you sit up and begin to unlace your corset. “Do you remember his name?”

“He didn’t tell me. I felt like I died a little just now, that’s why I said it.” You stopped his hands again. “You didn’t ask me if I want this.”

“Do you?”

You nod at first, then shrink into yourself. “I…I don’t think you’ll enjoy it that much.”

“I just want you.”

“Valda said it hurt the first time she did it.”

“She laid with a man who had no idea what he was doing.” He brushed your lip with his thumb. “Just relax.”

You determined that Aemond Targaryen had a way about him; how you somehow could trust him after everything. So that’s why you turned your back to him, making it easier for him to remove your corset. After it was fully unlaced, you slipped it off, revealing your naked back to him.

“I’m not turning until you’re bare first.”

He didn’t give a retort or an insult. You felt the weight of him behind you leave, and heard his trousers fall to the floor.

“Look at me.”

You wanted to then and there, but you didn’t. Instead, you rose up onto your knees and tugged your skirt down. It was all over when you tried to step out of it; falling onto your side with your other leg still in the skirt.

All you could do was laugh at that point. Aemond’s hand rubbed up and down your arm, laying behind you, lightly chuckling in your ear. He helped you slip out of your skirt, and then ran a finger over your side where a scar was beginning to form.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little, but not horribly.” You rested on the pillow.

Aemond turned you gently onto your back, his eye running down your naked form. You mirrored him, taking in just how lean he truly was. You were just a girl as well; of course, your gaze paused on his cock dangling between his legs. He never looked away as he crawled on top of you.

“This might feel strange.” He warned, lowering himself and pressing his cock just against your center.

“Okay,” you said.

He was right; it felt strange when he inserted himself. In fact, it felt wrong. You whimpered at the feeling, the tightness and the discomfort. Aemond shushed you, kissing your tightly shut eyes.

“Gimin, gimin.” he whispered. “Lykirī. Lykirī.”

Despite not knowing what he was saying to you, you felt at peace. Your breathing slowed as the pain fell away, and you opened your eyes. You took his face into your hands, bringing his lips down to yours, and wrapping your legs around his waist, your heels pressing into his backside.

“Please,” you begged. “just go slow.”

He placed a kiss to your brow before rolling his hips. You had decided that, if and when you were going to lay with a man for the first time, you would never fake your pleasure for his comfort. Whether it was a stranger, a friend, or even a prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

You would let Aemond Targaryen know if he was doing a bad job.

Yet, as he rocked into you at a gentle pace, and the trail of his pubic hair caressed your bundle of nerves, you couldn’t help the small, staccato grunts that escaped. One of his hands took yours, holding and pressing it into the mattress to hold himself up, while the other held your face. Your free hand traveled into his hair, pulling him chest-to-chest with you, and placing your lips on his.

He quickened once you copied his thrusts, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to move you at an angle that felt…oh.

Your cries grew embarrassingly louder, tugging on his hair and causing him to moan right into your mouth. You were barely kissing now, just your lips hovering over one another as he fucked you.

His hand guided yours down to where his cock and your cunt met. At the feeling of something moving against your hand, your eyes flew open.

“Aōla renigon?” He asked. “Do you feel me?”

“Yes, yes!” You gasped as you felt his bulge move within you.

You were lowered back down onto the bed, but he did not slow for a second. His mouth went to your chest, taking one of your breasts in between his lips. His tongue circled your areola, and it was then your hips began to grow sore while his found a new vigor pounding into you.

He was more vocal too, and as his groans reverberated through your skin and the room, the growing pleasure within you was climbing and climbing until-.

Until-.

A cry none like the others tore through you. No, it wasn’t loud. Unrestrained, yes, but it wasn’t so comically deafening. Aemond pulled himself away from you, and took his throbbing dick into his hands, palming himself and tossing his head back in a groan.

Spurts of his cum tainted your stomach and quivering legs as you laid flat on your back.

Both of your chests rose and fell like waves on the sea in a storm, and you couldn’t look away from each other. Never in your life had you felt so…okay with being completely bare in front of a man.

To be fair, it was the first time you were.

Aemond grabbed a spare blanket that was on the bed and wiped off his spent. You hadn’t even asked him to, but he did so regardless. As he worked over you, you moved a piece of hair out of his face.

“You’re beautiful.”

He smiled, sitting up and tossing the blanket off the bed. “I’m the first man that bedded you, of course you say that.”

“No.” You shook your head, sitting up. “I mean it. At least, when you’re being nice you are.”

Looking down at your legs, you saw a strain of blood upon the blanket. “Oh shit.”

“It’s natural.” He immediately reassured. “This was the first time you-.”

“-No, I know. It’s just still unusual.”

Aemond kissed your cheek before crawling between your legs, resting his head on your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair, feeling your heart finally slow. The only sound in the room were both of your steady breaths.

“What happened before you came here?” You asked in the silence.

“I was with Sylvi.” He surprised you by answering. “My eye had felt strange the whole time, until it was too much. I asked where you were, and she told me.”

“You know that’s not all of it.”

As if it would draw your attention away, he placed a kiss to your breast. Rolling your eyes, you pulled him off so he could properly look at you. “When you took me home, you doubled over in pain because of your eye. That was a week ago.”

You saw right through him as he had done to you. Sighing, he laid down beside you, shutting his eye. “I have to take the jewel out every so often to clean both it and the socket. It hurts to do so, and I’ve been busy considering my sister is trying to usurp my brother.”

Rhaenyra, you had to remind yourself for a second, not Queen Halena.

“You’ve kept it in for a while.” You finished for him.

“I have.” He looked back at you. “And before you ask, I’ll get to the maesters tomorrow and have them put it back in.”

“Sylvi didn’t tell you I was here, did she?”

“I asked one of the girls serving me wine.”

You hummed, turning on your side. “Not before putting on your undergarments.”

“I didn’t want to frighten you.”

Laughing, your mind was taken back to that night you wandered upon him and Sylvi as you were bleeding out.

“Gods above, you were naked as a newborn babe when I was being stitched up!”

A grin etched his lips; he smiled more when you were with him those days. “I didn’t have time to cover myself.”

“It was odd though, how you walked out into the open with your cock on display.”

“It was the second time I had done that.”

“I suppose princes are allowed to do that.” You sighed. “I suppose men are allowed to do that.”

Aemond drew his eye back up to the ceiling. “Women are more beautiful in their natural state than men. It’s truly a shame they cannot walk outside completely bare.”

You rose your brow at the statement, turning onto your stomach and poking his cheek teasingly. “Oh? And if you were king, would you let them?”

He looked back at you, his eye briefly running down your body.

“Only a few.”

“You nasty, rotten dog!” You shoved him, laughing.

His face changed into a moment of panic, and you thought you said something wrong until he slid off the bed and crouched on the floor. Sitting up you watched as he frantically crawled on his hands and knees, mumbling in High Valyrian.

You called his name, feet hanging off the bed. “What is it?”

“The sapphire!” He hissed. “I can’t find it.”

Grasping the seriousness, you got onto the floor with him, searching the entire floor for the jewel. You both must’ve searched for just a few minutes until you heard Aemond sniffling. He wasn’t crying, but his face started to turn red from frustration.

“Hey,” you said softly. “if we don’t find it now, we’ll-.”

“-You wouldn’t understand!” He spat. “If I don’t find it this instant than she’ll-!”

He stopped himself, his anger crumbling just as it began. His body was tensed and puffed out like a bird trying to show aggression; but underneath all that, you saw terror.

“What will she do?” You asked, sitting up taller.

His gaze dropped, and his breathing quickened as he rapidly blinked back his tears.

“May I touch you?” You questioned, and he looked at you as if you had told him you loved him. He nodded. You cupped his face in your hands. “Whatever she wants to do to you, I won’t let her. Do you hear me? I’ll kick and scream like a wailing child before I let her harm you.”

For whatever reason at all (perhaps it was because he was afraid, perhaps it was because you were both naked on the floor, or perhaps it was because he had told you a shocking piece of history he had with her), but you assumed ‘she’ was Sylvi.

A woman you had come to trust ever since you were a child. A woman who had in turn, took advantage of a boy the same age you were when she proclaimed she’d never let a man touch you, even if he was Viserys himself.

You still thought that, of course, when Aemond wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, kissing you before then resting his head in your lap. You returned to softly brushing his hair.

“She made the maesters put it in.” He confessed. “She could only look at her son for what he was for only a few moons until she became disgusted.”

…He was speaking of his mother….the Dowager Queen.

It was still heartbreaking; so, you decided to ask. “And what is her son?”

“A monster.”

He didn’t even have to think. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the softest of kisses to his scar. “Would a monster walk me home in the rain and show kindness to the only other person I can call family? Would a monster feel sorrow in believing that he is a monster?”

Aemond hid himself further into your lap. You traced your hand up and down his spine. “It’s late. Perhaps you should-?”

“-Just a little longer…”

Sighing lightly, you teased. “Could we at least be on the bed?”

He didn’t leave your arms for another hour after that; and no one had knocked on the door either.

Two weeks later, three things were apparent. The first was that all of King’s Landing had been put on lockdown, not allowing any person to leave, or any person to enter. The next, was that Aemond had been appointed as Prince Regent, which added to Valda’s statement of him being the one to purposefully set his brother ablaze with his dragon.

And the third: You were completely, and most ardently addicted to him.

Almost every night, whether it was after you put your grandmother to bed, or even after luring and robbing a man in nothing but a thin dress, you would meet him at Sylvi’s brothel in one of the private rooms.

Each time you fucked was better than the last. In the short time you had been with him, you’d gone from being an unsure, inexperienced girl, to having touched every inch of the prince’s body. Some nights were more intense than others; physically and emotionally.

One night, you would be rocking into him until both your skins turned red, and the other, you would be holding him in your arms, talking about nothing and everything.

He taught you how to touch yourself, you taught him how to fully bare his soul to you (or at least…you thought he did).

“I haven’t done this for a while.” Aemond told you one night as you kneeled in between his legs.

You giggled, still high off of how he used his fingers on you prior. “Which part?”

“A lot of it. I hadn’t with Sylvi since…I can’t even recall.”

Swallowing at his words, you asked. “You mean, you didn’t fuck her?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t even let her kiss me, it felt…confusing.”

“I saw her mouth on you…”

Placing his hand on your cheek, he rubbed his thumb over your lips. “Perhaps I was imagining it to be someone else’s.”

He didn’t have to imagine it that night.

Whenever you arrived at the brothel, the worst reaction from the other girls (mainly Valda) was a disapproving shake of the head, or light teasing. Then, there was Sylvi.

She had her back turned to you one night as she counted coin. You returned from a job (he had pulled your hair, so you would have to tell Aemond to be gentle), and it was the first time you were alone with her. Other nights, she would stare at your from across the room as a man pawed and groped her, all the while, you were on your way to find the Prince Regent.

You tried to tiptoe past her, but she turned as if she knew you were already there.

She spoke your name with a smile. “How was the night?”

You approached her, reaching into the pocket of your dress, then throwing her the small sack. Sylvi opened it, her face lighting up.

“Seven Hells…” She gasped.

“I know.” You shrugged. “I didn’t expect him to be so wealthy either.”

“Did you rob a Lannister?” She jested.

“I wish.”

You thought it was over once you gave her the coin, and so you tried to brush past her to go up the staircase. Only for her to catch your hand.

“Stay,” she said. “I feel like I haven’t properly spoken to you in ages.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” She laughed, pulling you around so she could see your eyes. “I’ll call in your little friend to make us cake.”

You sighed. “Sylvi-.”

“-She makes Northern Snow, right?”

“Sylvi-.”

“-You’ve done so well, I say you-.”

“-Can’t you just leave me alone?!”

You hated yelling; you felt like you would throw up every time you did. But she wouldn’t stop, you had to. Her smile dropped. Not in anger, not in sadness, but annoyance.

“Leave you alone to do what?” She challenged.

“I…” You glanced off to the side; there wasn’t anything there, you just didn’t want to look at her. Then, you finally did. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to talk. I know that the arrangement between Prince Aemond and I upsets you-.”

“-You assume I’m jealous of you?”

“What else am I supposed to assume?”

“That I worry for you.” She cupped your cheek.

You pull away, laughing joylessly. “Why is everyone telling me that? You were with him for nights on end and never had anyone afraid for you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why? Why isn’t it the same.”

“You’re…you.”

You could only gawk at her; jaw loosely hanging. Deciding not to even grace her with a retort, you turned on your heel and rushed up the stairs.

“What would your mother think of you pleasuring the prince for free?” She asked.

Freezing where you stood, you didn’t even have the strength to turn and look at her. So, you forced yourself to stand taller. “What would my mother think of you stealing a child’s innocence?”

You were no longer in the mood to be kind.

She didn’t say anything for a bit. “His brother was the one to-.”

“‘-I don’t care if Viserys himself came into my brothel. I would be put to the sword before I let a man lay a hand on a child.’” You recited perfectly.

Sylvi breathed deeply, folding her hands. “King Aegon did not come in asking for a child, he came in with one; one I was not responsible for maintaining his honor-.”

“-But taking it.”

“What do you think will come from this?” She taunted. “Hm? Do you seek only carnal pleasure? Pleasure in knowing a Targaryen desires you? Or are you truly a foolish little girl? You think he’ll ask for your hand in marriage, only for him to place it around his cock!”

You still hadn’t turned to look at her. Tears pricked your eyes as you trembled with rage. Gripping the railing, you spoke coolly.

“It doesn’t matter what I seek from the Prince Regent. What matters is you keep your childish envy far from the both of us. Goodnight, Sylvi.”

When you got to the room, you didn’t give Aemond the time to ask what was wrong before you sealed your lips with his. He didn’t stop you.

There were more nights than not he would speak in High Valyrian as you shared your body with him. You giggled while he pressed kisses to your chest.

“You could be insulting me, and I wouldn’t even know it.”

He looked up at you, his mouth traveling lower. “Perhaps I should teach you then.”

Of course, you thought it was just him flirting; saying something tender and personal to make you feel good.

But then he brought you books the next night; books for children on how to learn the language properly, fictional stories in High Valyrian, and a dictionary from Common to High Valyrian. He had meant it.

“Gods above.” You breathed, laying on your stomach, flipping through the pages of a book. “I don’t think I’ve read so much.”

“Is it too much for you?” Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“No, I actually enjoy it.”

You felt the bed dip on each side of your thighs as he hovered above you. “I’ll take you to the Red Keep one day.” He teased his cock over the globes of your ass. “You cannot comprehend the library until you see it.”

Humming, you shut the book. “I would adore that.”

He hadn’t taken you to the Red Keep at all, and he never would.

It was one night (one damned, fucking night) that determined it.

“Skorkydoso glaesā?” You questioned, lying under the covers with him.

“Sȳz iksan, kirimvose. Se ao?”

“Glaeson.”

He furrowed his brow. “Skoro syt?”

You mirrored him, hesitating on your words. “Syrī tosh ao?”

Aemond stared at you before a grin spread wide across his cheeks.

“What?” You asked.

“You cannot hate my company that much.”

“What?!” You sat up in shock. “I told you I’m doing well because I’m with you!”

“Glaeson, you said. It means ‘Not well’. Glaesan means you’re well.”

Sighing, you laid down flat on the mattress. “I’m never going to get it.”

He traced his fingers over your stomach. “You won’t if you stop now. Again.”

“Can’t you read me one of those children’s books again? The one about the bird and the fish, or something.” You begged. “I’ll translate it.”

“If it gives you any peace of mind,” he kissed the tip of her ear. “you speak better than my brother.”

Huffing, you looked up at him. “May I make a request?”

“I’m not reading another story.”

“It’s not that, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let us never talk about family when either of us are naked.”

He turned you onto your side, hugging you from behind. “I’ll allow it.”

You relaxed against his bare chest, deciding to fill the air with your first thought. “I had three nightmares last night.”

“Three?” He sounded offput, but still brushed your shoulder with his lips.

“One right after the other. I thought I woke up, but I was still asleep.”

 “What happened in them?”

“I can’t really remember.” you curled your hand around his. “There were stacks of dirty laundry and chairs everywhere at some point. You were mean to me in one of them.”

“How was I mean?”

“You called me a cunt.”

“Well, you are.”

You shoved him off of you; not so roughly to hurt him, but not playfully.

He still chuckled. “But you have the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

You scoffed. “Now you’re lying.”

Aemond placed his hand on your shoulder as he sat up, turning you to look at him. He said your name genuinely. “I mean it.”

A smile finally appeared on your lips, and you snickered, pushing him away jokingly this time. “How in the world have you not married yet when you say such loving things?”

He sat against the headboard. “I was meant to.”

“Oh…” Well…you weren’t exactly expecting that. “And why didn’t you?”

“I was betrothed to a Baratheon girl to secure alliance. After what happened, Lord Borros wasn’t so keen on letting me be near her.”

No one should blame you for not knowing how to properly respond right away. So, after some thought, you said. “Did you want to get married when you were younger?”

“Not much of something I imagined; I suppose you did though?”

You smiled shyly. “Gigi would read me her fictional novels; many were romance.”

“And you wanted a knight in shining armor to come and whisk you away from your dull life.”

“No, that was Gigi.” You sat up, grabbing a comb on the nightstand and began to run in through your hair. “I much preferred the quiet, knowledgeable boy who was outshined by the loud and brutish men.”

He hummed. There were rare moments like these where you could not see his gaze, but you knew how it burned into your skin. How, despite being given permission to, he held himself back from touching you.

“And which did your mother prefer?”

At the mention of her…you didn’t feel sad. Was this how you thought he was the one for you? How you didn’t feel like he was invading you whenever he asked about her? How you wanted to tell him about her?

“I’m actually not sure.” You looked at him, grinning. “I think she had to see all sides of men and stopped caring for them.”

“They can be ugly, I’m sure.”

You nodded, setting the comb down sitting up and resting your head on his shoulder, “They can, but a few of them aren’t so bad.”

“What do you remember most about her?” He asked.

A memory resurfaced sooner than you thought. “On the rare days she’d wash our clothes and bedding, she’d let me help. I’d get to stomp out the dirt, hit the clothes, but my favorite part was after she’d dry everything. Especially on a hot day when I was little, she’d come in and toss all of the blankets and towels on me; I’ve never felt anything warmer in my life.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted from you to the front of the room. “It must have been nice.”

You tilted your head. “Something’s bothering you. I won’t ask but-.”

“-He got away with it.”

“What?” You took your head off his shoulder to look at him properly.

He sighed. “When we were children, and I had claimed Vhagar, one of them wasn’t happy for me. She said that she was hers to claim because she had been her mother’s dragon. She attacked me, and the other three followed. I fought them off and tried to run, but they caught me. I had struck Jacaerys with a rock, and Luke had struck my eye with his blade.”

“Aemond…”

“I forgave him for it long ago.” He leaned farther back, sighing. “I understand why he felt the need to defend himself; I don’t forgive him for getting away with it…and my mother didn’t for so long.”

She hated him, you knew that already. It hadn’t been any of your business before, but now…

“My mama would’ve liked you.”

The words leave your mouth before you could stop them. That was when he finally looked at you, a smile threatening to show. “Why?”

“Well, you’re funny, and intelligent-.”

“-Oh, stop; but do go on.” He teased.

“And you know that I am more so those things than you are.”

He hummed. “I do?”

“Of course you do.”

“I rebuke this slander.”

 “Well, what is it you want me to say?” You laughed, dramatically tossing yourself back down onto the bed. “Oh Aemond, you’re foul and arrogant, but kiss me anyway because you have the most fearsome, biggest dragon in the-!”

He followed your order, leaning over and kissing your lips fully before caging you between in arms. “You should meet her one of these days.”

“Vhagar?” You chuckled. “She’d kill me.”

“Perhaps, but not until I take you up on her.”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not stepping foot on that dragon.”

“I command you to.”

“Oh!” You gasped in an attempt to taunt him. “Oh, you command me to?! What else will my Prince Regent command of me?”

He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose. “As we are in the sky, I will do unspeakable things to you.”

The words did not reach meaning as you heard them. Then, once they did, you began to laugh. No matter what Aemond said to you, you could not stop laughing.

“What is it?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I can’t say it.”

“Your Prince Regent commands you.”

Taking the deepest of breaths to relax yourself, you finally said. “The first time I ride a dragon, it will not be while I’m riding y-.”

His lips on yours silence you once again. Though this time, he wasn’t letting up; diving his tongue into your mouth as he began to place more of his weight on top of you. Before he could completely trap you, you tossed yourself over him, straddling and holding him down, panting.

“I wouldn’t mind it now; if you’re fine with that.”

He grinned like the devil, his hands squeezing your hips. “You can practice.”

Giggling, you took his cock in your hands and rose yourself up before sinking down onto him. You were still wet from earlier that night, so it didn’t take too long to readjust. Once you were fully seated, you rested your palms on his chest, beginning to move.

You switched between rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. When you’d get tired, you’d lean back and let him chase his own pleasure, all the while, mumbling in his mother tongue.

“No, no.” You babbled, leaning forward and halting your motions. He cursed, but you remained still. “Let me hear you.”

Aemond called your name like he was praying; like he was begging for one of the Seven to hear him. He tried to move your hips himself, but you tore his hands off you, pinning them on each side of his head.

“When I move, you move.” You hissed, then said the next words slowly. “Let me hear you.”

He sucked in each breath, collecting himself before uttering. “Dīnilūks.”

Of course, it was something you didn’t know.

So, you merely kissed along his jaw. “Ñuho glaeso hūrus.”

He grunted when you jolted your hips forward at an uneven pace. Sitting up, Aemond held you against him with no space between you. He thrusted like a madman, sucking on the pulse point in your neck.

“Did-ah!-did I say it right?” You murmured, feeling a coil tighten in your stomach.

“Yes.” He breathed, grasping one of your tits. “Yes!”

A loud knock on the door bounced off the walls of the room, causing a sharp gasp to escape you.

Sylvi said your name. “Open the door, I need you for something.”

You immediately halted your movements, swallowing thickly. Sighing, you went to get off of Aemond, only for him to latch his arm around your hips.

“Keep going.”

You shook your head. “You know she’ll throw a fit.”

“I don’t care.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Let her hear what I do to you, and I’ll let her hear what she couldn’t do to me.”

With quivering breath, you resumed the movement in your hips, pushing him back down onto the bed. Aemond fucked into you like a wild animal, almost throwing you off balance if not for digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Gods,” he moaned. “ñuha dijītsos, if you could see yourself…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make you-fuck-I’ll make you watch yourself one day.” He took your pearl between his fingers. “Watch how I penetrate you, how I desecrate you.”

Whining, you sped up your thrusts, the slapping of skin and the calling of his name from your lips drowning out anything that was not in the room.

You moved with him as best you could, leaning over him to press your lips to his as one of his hands moved to your backside, pulling you even closer. The sweat of your skin glued you to his chest, your thighs starting to cramp from kneeling.

“Ae-Ae-!” You grunted, feeling the burn both from your growing pleasuring and the pain in your legs.

“Give it to me.” He made a weak attempt to suppress his grunts.

Your orgasm hit you with both the suddenness and intensity of a screaming arrow. Vision blurring, your cries grew sharper as you rode it out, and all the while, Aemond was still thrusting up into your cunt. As you were beginning to come down, he let out a moan from his chest, releasing himself into you.

You collapsed fully onto him, it being your heavy breathing now harmonizing instead of your groans.

“What-what did you call me?” You kissed his heart. “I’m your dijistos?”

“Dijītsos.” He corrected, running his hand up your back. “You’re my little desire; although, the word is much cruder than that.”

“Little arousal then?”

“Exactly.”

You both stayed like that for less than you wanted to; again, the knocking on the door disturbing your peace. Sitting up, you pulled yourself off of him, hissing from the pain in your legs.

Aemond sat up. “I’ll get it.”

“No.” You grabbed his arm. “Just put my dress on. I have to look somewhat presentable.”

He reached down, grabbing the thin dress you always wore for your jobs. You placed your arms above your head as he slipped your dress over you.

“You know,” you began. “if I had it my way, I would say we should hide under the covers like children and pretend the rest of the world does not exist.”

Humming, he kissed your clavicle. “Perhaps one day we shall.”

You gritted your teeth once you got up, only then feeling Aemond’s spent travel down your leg. Still, you were high from the overall activity. Which is why you slammed the door open to greet Sylvi as if she still favored you.

“Ah, what a pleasant surprise!” You cheered. “What can I do for you, Madame?”

Her nostrils flared for a moment until she forced herself to relax. “Well, at least you look the part.” She shoved an empty jug into your arms. “Chansey found a man for you to seduce.”

You stared at her before chuckling. “I already did one an hour ago.”

“Two hours ago. This one is actually wealthy. Stupid too, so it shouldn’t be hard for you.”

Sighing, you knew there wasn’t any other way to get out of it. Yes, there was the Prince Regent behind you, but he didn’t seem to want to intrude for some reason. You foolishly shrugged it off.

“Okay, just let me pretty myself-.”

“-Please,” she interrupted, “he’s not looking for an innocent maiden. He’s looking for another warm place to put his cock.”

And she left you standing in the doorway. You glanced into the jug and saw your sheathed knife visible, along with a red ribbon, Sighing, you sat down against the wall and reached in to grab them. You soon felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Do you need help?” Aemond asked, crouching in front of you.

“Sure.” you sighed, hiking up your dress and laying your knife against your thigh. You held the ribbon up to him. “Tie it, please.”

He double knotted the ribbon, placing a kiss to your knee when he was finished. “I shall be here when you come back.”

You scoffed. “It’s getting late. Won’t the council be worried about where the Prince Regent is?”

“Precisely because I am, I choose to stay here. Do not keep me waiting.”

Kissing his cheek, you wished him farewell before rushing down the stairs and past all the couples and groups, pleasuring themselves with a newfound vigor.

The night felt a little darker that night. You didn’t know the exact time, but it wasn’t exactly the darkest hour of night you had gone out; at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. It was more likely you were growing tired and weary from exhausting prior activity as you trudged through the slim paths of King’s Landing.

You still managed to find the man you were meant to be looking for; stumbling around as if it was the first time he was ever drunk. With a sigh, you began to sing the same song, walking in the direction of the well you have come to know for years.

It wasn’t just your body that was weak; it was your voice. That night wasn’t the nicest you sounded, but it had got the job done. Sylvi had been right: It was easy.

Just with from the sight of your blade gleaming in the moonlight, the man cowered like a child, tossing a hefty sack at you.

You didn’t even touch him.

So, with a skip in your step, you rushed back to the pleasure house. You dropped off the money in Sylvi’s room and attempted to make yourself more presentable for Aemond. That being dropping one of the straps off your shoulder; there wasn’t much more you could do. With a smile on your face as you reached the door, you grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

There was a man in the room; a man that wasn’t Aemond.

“Ah, there you are.”

His grin was hideous, in fact, his entire self was. The look in his eyes as they ran over your body caused you to shrivel like a leaf. If it were any other night that you had found a stranger in a bedroom, you would’ve known exactly what to do.

Yet, tonight you were expecting your lover to be there; and he was nowhere to be seen.

“You have the wrong room, ser.” You deepened your voice.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t.”

He said your name.

How did he know your name?

“You’re not meant to be here.” You attempted to sound forceful, but instead, your voice wavered when he approached you. “I suggest you leave before the man I am expecting-.”

“-Comes back?” He interrupted. “The Prince Regent? Is that whom you speak of?”

Swallowing thickly, he was standing so close you could finally see him better. It was the same man that followed you as you were bleeding out; the man that left only when you stumbled upon Sylvi and Aemond.

You reached between your legs and whipped the knife out from under your dress. Unsheathing it once it was out, you dove the blade to his torso. He caught it as the tip reached his clothing.

“Who do you think told me to be here?” He taunted, squeezing your wrist.

Your foot met his shin, and he stumbled backwards, loosening his grip. With a yell, you rose your hand again and slashed his arm. He hissed, and you made the mistake of looking into his eyes. A fury you had never seen before washed over them.

He grabbed your wrist again, twisting it this time. A horrible crack was heard, and a cry ripped through your throat as you collapsed to your knees, dropping the knife. Gripping your hair, he forced you back to your feet before tossing you into the wall.

Falling onto your side after colliding with the wall, all of the wind had been knocked out of you. Just as you took a breath in, the man landed a kick to your ribs. He picked his foot up as you cried and kicked again.

As he tried to do so a third time, you released a growl, crawling to the knife on the floor. He picked it up just as it was in reach.

“How does a silly little cunt like you know how to use this? Woman at the Well?” He questioned, setting the blade on the bed.

You got to your knees despite how your body stung, and only was able to place one foot on the ground before his knuckles met your nose.

He snickered as you laid on your back, breathing unstable. “It’s not your style to give up, isn’t it?”

The man got onto his knees, essentially straddling you. He brushed his hand over your face, and little whines left your bloodied lips as you tried to push him away.

“Gods,” he sighed, moving one of the thin straps down your shoulder, exposing your breast to him.

“Stop.” You sniffled. “Please, stop!”

Wrapping his arms around your aching body, he brought your lips up to his and kissed you like you had never been kissed before. It was violent; hands tearing and grasping your dress, teeth dug into your flesh.

And you reciprocated.

You placed your hands upon his cheeks, attempting to respond with the same vigor. You pulled your lips away, pressing them to his cheek, then traveling downwards.

His chin.

His jaw.

His neck.

You lingered there, forcing out little noises of pleasure when his hand traveled up your thigh, dancing closer and closer to your center.

That was when you sunk your teeth into his throat. For just a moment of euphoria, he thought it was a love bite.

Then, an involuntary scream left his mouth.

Blood colored your teeth red as you bit into his skin until each little strand of flesh was torn off from his neck. He’d let go of you long ago, and you landed on your back from the force of pulling yourself away.

You watched as he crawled backwards, hand on his neck as he groaned out in agony. The adrenaline made it to your legs, letting you stand effortlessly. As if you were a spectator of your own body, you watched yourself spitting his own throat onto him, before picking the knife off of the bed.

Kneeling over his body, you jammed the blade into his neck.

Again

And

Again.

Red painted your body and dress like it was a canvas. It was almost impossible to find the color of your own skin when you were finished.

It was exhaustion that forced you to stop. You didn’t know what silence truly was until you did. You didn’t know when he stopped screaming, or when he had stopped breathing. When you were forced to sit down and catch your breath, did you only then realize you were alone.

You tasted blood and tears on your tongue as you whaled, your hands shaking so horribly the knife dropped without you knowing. The rest of your body slid to the floor, crying into the creaking wood.

As a puddle formed underneath you, you brought your head up, and something shimmered in your sight. Rubbing your eyes, you looked again, and saw something shine under the bed.

Crawling with what little strength you had, you reached for it, clutching something smooth with somewhat of a rough texture. Your breath stilled when you brought it out into the light.

Aemond's sapphire. The one that was in his eye and lost for weeks...under the bed the whole time.

“Seven Hells...”

You clutched the sapphire in your hand, snapping your head up at the voice. Once you saw Sylvi, wide-eyed and mouth hung open, you wept.

She dropped to her knees, taking off her shawl and wrapping it around you. She shushed you, caging you in her arms and pressing kisses on your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She soothed as you tried to fight out of her hold. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

You finally gave into her embrace, tears and blood coating her neck as you buried yourself into it. She kissed your messy hair, squeezing you tighter and tighter until you squealed.

Sylvi loosened her hold. “I’m sorry. Sweetie, what happened?”

You blubbered your response. In your mind, you were forming words, but your mouth was doing otherwise. You had said something of ‘Aemond’ at some point, and that was when she spoke up.

“Aemond?” She repeated, and you nodded. Her eyes had grown impossibly larger than when she had first seen you and the man’s body. She said your name gently. “Gods above…I saw him leave and speak with another man but I-I hadn’t thought he…I’m so sorry.”

“He-he said he would,” you stammered out. “he said…”

He would wait for you to come back.

That was what he told you.

“I’m sorry.” Sylvi lamented, hugging you again.

You pulled away from her. “I-I want to go home.”

“Let me just get the healers to check you-.”

“-Mama,” you shivered. “she-she’s home by now.”

Sylvi took a quaking breath, saying your name again.

“I-I’ve never been out this late,” you forced yourself to stand. “I don’t want to worry her or-or Gigi.”

“You shouldn’t be walking right now.” She followed after you.

Everything was abnormal after she said that. You could hear her saying words, but your mind wasn’t letting you process what any of them meant. You stumbled your way down the stairs and out of the pleasure house; no one had stopped you.

 It was as if you were a babe again: learning to walk, and all the words around you were nothing more than babbles and strange sounds.

And no one had bothered you that night. You realize now that you were either extraordinarily lucky, or the Seven do exist.

When you made it back to your house, you hobbled in through the door and the living room; trying your best not to make a sound.

You thought about going into your mother’s bedroom, not minding the fact you would have to sleep in between her and Gigi…but your hand stained the door with blood once you touched it.

No, you weren’t going to dirty the bed; you and your mother had just cleaned the sheets. She’d be mad at you.

You tiptoed into your room, shut the door, and collapsed into your childhood bed.

The sapphire you had forgotten about dropped from your hand and onto the floor, but you didn't even hear it fall.

If you woke up tomorrow, than this was all just a bad dream.

GOTCHA BITCH!

No, this ISN'T the last part, I just overestimated how much I'd write and wanted to scare the shit out of you guys.

Also, you may be wondering: WTF is the timeline?

Well...I'm wondering too

High Valyrian

Gimin, gimin. Lykirī. Lykirī: “I know, I know. Be calm, be calm.”

Aōla renigon?: "Do you feel me?"

Skorkydoso glaesā?: “How are you?”

Sȳz iksan, kirimvose. Se ao?: “I am fine, thank you. And you?”

Glaeson: “Not well.”

 Skoro syt?: “Why?”

 Syrī tosh ao?: “I'm with you?”

Glaesan: “Well.”

Dīnilūks: “Marry me.”

Ñuho glaeso hūrus: “Moon of my life.”

Ñuha dijītsos: “My little desire.”

[anyarose011]

"Crawling Back to You" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: It started with a night out in King's Landing, then a fake name, and then a disagreement. Some time after cooling off, and after a job gone wrong, you and the one-eyed prince come to...an understanding in the rain.

Part 2 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Oral sex (f and m receiving), nudity, groping, talk of death, swearing, canon-typical injury, sexual harassment (not done by Aemond), and mention of past child SA

Heyyyyyy pookies. So I just started my senior year and it's been hectic. BUT I hope this long ass chapter (it took me forever) makes up for it! I'm also not sure how accurately I'm writing Aemond. I mean, I know HBO is making him into the edgiest edge lord, but I'm taking creative liberties i guess. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 8.5k

 “It’s a pleasure to finally put a name to your face. One that fits its beauty.” He smiled.

You lowered your gaze, fighting the smile on your lips. It was a stupid compliment, one that you had heard several variations of the rare times men would flirt with you those days. But…it felt different from him.

Still, you merely scoffed, setting the jug on your hip. “Do you want to lead the way, or should I?”

“Go ahead; considering you believe I’ll harm you somehow.”

“See?” You decided to tease instead of defy as you began to walk up the cobbled hill. “You are funny.”

Aemond scoffed, following you. “Did I ever deny it?”

“How you reacted when I first said it never gave me a clear answer.”

“Shouldn’t you change?”

You looked back at him. “What?”

Unashamedly, his eye trailed over your body and yours soon followed. Your nipples were perking through the thin material of the dress.

“Seven Hells.” You cursed, bringing the jug in front of yours.

Aemond came to your side, a hand on your back and leading you up the hill. “You don’t wear a corset?”

“Not with this. I’m meant to lure lustful men, remember?”

“Perhaps you can tell me where you tailor so we can get more appropriate clothing?”

Hell no.

“Or,” you suggested. “I could teach you how to properly steal something?”

“You need to be able to not draw attention to yourself to do that.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“I have no doubt, but the clothing off a man’s back?”

You paused for a moment before replying. “Yes, actually; I even managed all of one’s undergarments.”

Aemond shook his head, pulling his hood farther up to hide his smile. “I mean more so with that dress.”

“It might surprise you, but that is how I robbed him blind.”

“I mean in the sense that-.”

“-I understand.” You shut him up, but not aggressively. The two of you passed by more and more people through the many alleys of King’s Landing. When you got to the main roads, you would’ve lost Aemond in the crowd if it weren’t for the fact his hand had traveled from your back to your arm.

Maybe it was because he was paying you, or maybe it was because you didn’t know how touch starved you had been until it felt like his hand was simultaneously burning and soothing you; but you welcomed his touch.

As you continued to brave through the busyness of the city, you managed to spot a hobbling man wearing a long cloak with a drink in his hand. You smirked at your companion.

“Are you watching?”

He nodded, and how he looked you up and down briefly didn’t escape you. “I’m watching.”

You handed him the jug of water and approached the slightly incapacitated man. You pitched your voice up when you asked. “Ser?”

The man glanced up at you through hooded eyes, and he grunted in response.

“Are you alright?” You feigned concern, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him up.

“Aye.” He sighed. “Much better now that you’re here.”

You giggled, leading him. “You’re too kind.”

“If it’s possible, could that kindness be repaid?”

“Let me at least have your name first,” you turned him down a spacious alleyway where there were less people. “Then I will know what to scream.”

“Gaius. You may-oi!”

You snatched the cloak right off his shoulders and took off in a mad dash down the rest of the alley. Turning your head over your shoulder for merely a second, you were graced to watch as the drunk man stumbled over his own footing before two hands in front of you grabbed your arms. Once you were pulled around the corner, you raised your hands to strike your assailant; to which he caught both of them.

“Is it truly that easy to rob Smallfolk?” Aemond asked, not letting go of your wrists.

Snickering, you pulled away from him. “I thought you said you were watching me?”

“I was.”

“Clearly not.” You slipped the cloak over your body, tying it. “You were lurking in the shadows.”

“I still saw you.” He retorted.

Shaking your head, you bent down and picked up your jug of water on the ground. Then, you stuck your hands into the pockets of the cloak. Your face lit up, and your retracted your hand, holding four pennies in your palm.

“Come with me.” Was all you said before walking past him and continuing down the street.

Aemond was by your side once more. “And where exactly are you taking me to?”

“Are you fond of sweets?”

“I enjoy them, but rarely indulge.”

“Then I will be more of a temptress tonight without having to show any of my skin.” You said excitedly.

All the prince did was smile; somehow trusting your ‘madness’. It was a short walk from where you were to a small stand in one of the several market corners of King’s Landing. Despite the long line, you pushed to the front, ignoring all of the comments and curses from the people.

“Evening, Marija.” You greeted the older woman. “Oh my, has someone bewitched you? You look younger!”

“What do you want?” She sighed your name tiredly, but a pleasant smile was on her features.

Sliding the four pennies onto the counter, you said. “Two dishes of Northern Snow.”

“Do you have two other pennies?”

“This was all I was paid.” You sighed. “You know how short everyone is on coin.”

“Precisely why I need every bit of what is owed to me.”

Shaking your head, you lowered your voice. “Do you see the man lingering behind me? The one with one eye.”

She glanced over your shoulder for just a moment, long enough for it to look like an accident and not a stare. “Yes?”

“He’s a rich lord from Essos,” You began the lie with a truth. “and he has fallen in love with me.”

“You have always told marvelous tales, but even for you-.”

“-Marija…I have a good feeling about him.” You spoke with more insistence. “You know that doesn’t happen very often.”

The older woman looked at you for a little longer, as if to try and pick apart your deceit. Then, when she could find no trace of it, she sighed heavily. Still, she brought out two small vanilla cakes and laid them on the counter, then brought out the bowl of puffy cream.

“You better invite me to this extravagant wedding of yours.” She frosted the cakes with the cream, creating a fluffy topping that looked as if it was true snow itself. Marija then drizzled melted chocolate over both cakes before handing them to you. “Considering this handsome stranger is wealthy.”

“He is strange.” You chuckled. “A bit arrogant too, but I shall live.”

“All men are arrogant.”

“You have not met this one. Thank you, Marija.”

“Sure, sure,” she scoffed. “Give me your water as well; I’m parched.”

“Only if you give me the jug back. I need it.”

“I’ll come around tomorrow and visit Yelena in the meantime, is that alright?”

Your smile fell for just a moment, before forcing it back. “Sounds great!”

Rushing away, you could barely hear her goodbye before you soon found Aemond again, handing him the dish. His nose wrinkled as you immediately sunk your fork into the pastry. “What is this?”

“Northern Snow.” Your answer was somewhat muffled by the amount of food in your mouth. “Marija’s traveled across the realms and has been popular for her desserts. The snow is just whipped cream with sugar and some rosewater.”

“The brown parts?” He poked the treat.

“Chocolate, but it’s meant to look like horse droppings.”

“I believe I’ll pass.”

You shook your head. “I’m meant to be showing you around the joys of the city that is not just brothels. Trust me.”

He matched your seriousness. “And if I find it revolting?”

“Then you may know where I tailor.”

Humming, he smiled as he dug his fork into the cake and then into his mouth. He pursed his lips together as you watched him ponder the taste. Then, he shook his head, taking another bite.

“You must be a witch to have known I would favor it.”

Smiling victoriously, the two of you walked a short while through the congested market until you managed to find two chairs and a table.

“What did you tell her?” He asked as you sat. “The woman who made this?”

“That you were Prince Aemond and would have my head if I did not serve you a Smallfolk delicacy.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” You agreed, taking a bite of your treat. You hesitated on your next words. “I…she’s a romantic, and I didn’t have enough for the cakes, so I told her you were a rich lord courting me.”

It was nice you didn’t immediately expect him to lash out or condemn you to your death; he seemed genuinely composed every time you were with him, and he stuck to that.

“And what was my name?” He humored.

“I didn’t tell her one.” You teased. “If you were not yourself, what would you have wanted to be called?”

He hummed, taking time for an answer before settling on. “Ciarán.”

“I’ve met one or two of those.” You nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Might I ask you a question now?”

“Of course.”

“Do you summon your knife out of thin air, or do you hide it in your cunt?”

Choking on your food, you placed your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Once you were alright, you finally looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“The rumors I’ve heard of you isn’t just about your beauty.” He grinned, knowing the effect on you. “It’s known that you assault men with a blade, but I’ve heard conflicting accounts.”

You stared at him for a little longer before shaking your head, snorting. “Inside of my thigh, like a normal person. You nearly grazed it the first night.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head to the side.

Nodding, you smirked as you took another bite. It was then that his eye darkened just a hint. “What?”

Aemond didn’t verbally respond. Instead, he bunched up the sleeve of his shirt, reached over to take your face into his free hand, and wiped the corner of your lip with his sleeve. “You had something white on your face.”

It was your turn to hum at his statement, continuing to eat; yet, you would glance at him more often while you slid the fork into your mouth, tongue trying to lick the utensil clean of the whipped cream. You both finished up in silence between each other, yet the people around you only chatted excitedly, laughed boldly, or moaned and fucked one another in the dingiest of places nearby.

“Is it fun to be a prince?” You asked, pushing in your chair when you bother stood to leave.

“I wouldn’t call it such.” Aemond shrugged, following suite, and the two of you were wandering aimlessly once again.

“Then what is it you do for fun?”

“I find myself in the library often; reading, studying the history.” He listed. “I train with Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Hand of the king.”

“You sound like you enjoy his company.”

“I enjoy making him falter as we spar.” He looked at you. “You mustn’t be so horrible in combat. On account of you supposedly taking men’s lives for bounties.”

Shaking your head, you place your hands in the pockets of the cloak. “I don’t take pride in it. I’ve also had my fair share of bruises and broken bones.”

“How many have you killed?”

“How many have you?”

Your response would’ve only worked if it had not been for the well-known fact he had killed Lucerys; something you had forgotten when you saw him again. Now, there you both were, your pace slowing equally in the silence that was the discomfort you had created.

Still, he responded. “Only one; and I assume you along with the rest of Westeros knows who by now.”

Nodding, you kept your eyes down on the road in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?” He questioned.

You shook your head. “It’s not my place. If you wish to tell me, then tell me. If not, then I believe it’s your turn to ask something about me.”

Humming, he prodded. “Again, how many men have you killed?”

“The same as you.” You stood closer to him as a crew of rowdy men began to pass by. “He was an angry man; a ratcatcher fired from his profession, and to my luck, with no family or anyone to miss him.”

“It must have been his luck as well, considering what happened to all of them merely a week ago.”

You didn’t want to acknowledge the gate into that conversation. “I had only done the luring and thievery for a single moon; the worst I had come across was a bloodied nose and a bruised rib. This night…Chansey had warned me not to pursue him, but I was young and ignorant. I didn’t even get to the well before he came up behind me and…”

This was far too intimate of a story to tell someone you had only met twice; nonetheless, one of the princes of Westeros. You decided to end it as soon as possible. “He didn’t hurt me in the way you’re thinking. We struggled against one another, I had no knife with me at the time, but he did. He dropped it as we fought, we both reached for the blade, and I got it first.”

The two of you had somehow wandered into a small, quiet square; perhaps only a few other people resting from a drunken bender. Aemond, with his hands behind his back, simply inquired.

“Did he have anything of value on him?”

Shaking your head, you grinned. “Three pennies, a half-penny, and a surprisingly clean red scarf.”

“And the scarf was the most priceless.”

“Of course. I would’ve died in the winter without it.”

You both chuckled, and it was him who halted the walking. You stopped in front of him a few places.

 “I hadn’t meant to kill Luke.” Aemond admitted softly.

“Lucerys?” You clarified.

“Yes; only frighten him.” He sighed. “It…it was an unfortunate outcome to what I had intended.”

If he were not himself (perhaps the rich Lord Ciarán he wished to be for that one night), then you would have told him it did not matter what he intended. A boy was dead and that put all of Westeros at risk. Still, whilst your anger was present, you understood you would never know what happened that day. You also understood his regret above all; you had no right to act like a saint.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You genuinely had no idea how to respond to him. So, you did what your mother had done for you whenever you were upset as a child: Ask what you needed from her.

His eye met yours, and you somehow found the courage to not look away from him. After what felt like a lifetime, he approached you suddenly and gradually wrapped his arms around you. Your body was akin to a corpse with how frozen you had become. Still, it didn’t last for long as you found yourself easing into his hold, your own arms around his neck. The night was so quiet, you could hear his shallow breaths in your ear.

Then, his hand slipped into your pocket.

At the sudden change of touch, you flinched out of his touch, but he merely shushed you, pulling away fully. You reached into the pocket and pulled out what he had promised you; three silver moons.

Swallowing thickly, you looked up at him and saw…an array of emotions you could not describe. So, you spoke first.

“I…I hope tonight was enough for you. I’m not sure what else I-.”

“-It was nice.” He interrupted, his gaze still on you. “Lovely, even.”

Nodding, you pocketed the moons and kept your hands at your side. “I bid you a goodnight, Little Prince.”

He rose his brow. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to call me that.”

“Will you have my head then, your grace?” You taunted.

“I should.” He walked closer to you. “But I won’t. What direction is your house?”

Your heart leapt; yet, not in the way it should have after an attractive man (you would later admit) made a forward remark.

“Oh no, I will not bother you.”

“It is not a bother if I desire to see you home safely.” He argued.

“Aemond,” you stepped back, not wanting to play a game. “I don’t want you to walk with me for the rest of the night.”

The quietness returned; but, not one of comfort. He didn’t look angry, and that was what frightened you. He merely stood tall like a man.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean to say it so-.”

“-Yet you said it.”

Shaking your head, you tried again. “I offended you, and I’m sorry. My house is no place for anyone other than myself and-, not even other smallfolk.”

“I wouldn’t go inside if that is what worries you. I am merely curious.”

“Look,” you approached him again, only for him to step away. “if you wish to see me again, I wouldn’t mind at all-.”

“-As long as I have coin.”

Your face went blank for a few seconds you had been so shocked by his words, and soon formed a scowl. “You had offered.”

“You didn’t reject it.”

All you could do was laugh. “You-!”

He wasn’t the one to cut you off, it had been yourself. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands over your mouth to ponder your next words. You were tired, frustrated, and wanted to go home. So, you did exactly that.

“Be safe on your journey back to the Red Keep.” Was all you said, and you brushed past him, expecting him to call you a nasty name, or chase after you again.

But, like the first night you had met him: He did nothing.

A week later, you were back where you’d always been at night: Sylvi’s brothel. As you prettied yourself, the girls were restless; not with enthusiasm for the clients, but for the talk of war. Whether it was the fear of death it would bring, or the lust for strong men to take comfort inside of a woman.

You were a part of the former. Not as horrible as some girls (you found one vomiting up her dinner after the discussion), but you had to admit you were judgmental of those excited about it. You yourself had never experienced war…but if it was just a smidge like the violence you and other women had ever suffered multiplied by a thousand…it wasn’t something you were looking forward to.

Later, you waited in Sylvi’s private quarters (the one place no one is allowed to go during work hours unless she permitted it) until it was Chansey who came, saying she had quarry for you.

She had been with an older, retired member of the Lannister guards. He was three and fifty, she told you; fucked like an animal, but when it was over, while he desired to do it again, his body ached so horribly he could only walk.

It was meant to be easy…but for any reason at all, it wasn’t that night.

You stumbled as you brought your knife out, and he unsheathed a dagger from his side. You fought and fought, it almost being like a twisted dance; he’d strike, you’d doge, and vice versa. He swiped against your side, and it stung but you had no time to even seethe in pain as he brought his blade up to stab you again.

He’d gotten tired sooner than you imagined, and you grabbed onto his sleeve, then dragging him into a handful of barrels nearby. He landed in a crash, and he wasn’t getting up. He was still breathing as you looted him. A few Coppers and a silver Stag.

It was only then, as you pushed your way through the boisterous crowds, that you felt your head begin to lighten, and your side grow heavy. Looking down at the gnawing pain, you saw crimson soak your thin gown. Oh…you were wounded.

“Chansey?” You called out over the groaning of whores and their patrons once you made it back to the brothel. The lights seemed dimmer than usual, and with one hand keeping pressure on your wound, you used your other to tap the shoulder of the nearest server.

She gasped upon seeing you. “What happened?”

“Where’s Chansey?” You asked.

“She-she’s with someone.”

“Seven Hells, already?!” Sighing, you took one of the chalices off her tray. “Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.”

And you took it in one gulp. The server gaped at you as you took another one, also downing it like it was water. “Thank you.”

Her voices of worry were once again drowned out by the sound of constant pleasure from every corner of the brothel. Now, what the server did not tell you, was that it wasn’t the cheap wine usually served to the common payer; no…it was incredibly rich, and incredibly strong.

It also didn’t help you barely ate or drank water that day. So, to no one’s surprise but yours, you were stumbling through the entire pleasure house.

“Needle and thread?” You slurred, pulling open one of the curtains abruptly only to see five naked women lying next to two men. “Sorry.”

You felt the blood begin to seep through the small cracks of your fingers and your pressure wavering as you made your way to the next curtained area.

“Do you have a needle and thread?” You asked again, being welcomed by Valda laying on her back with a man’s head between her legs.

She screamed at your intrusion and cried your name. “What the fuck?!”

“Hey,” in your haze, you found it amusing. “do you know where Chansey is?”

“Get out!”

“Okay, okay.” you whistled at the man. “Good ser, I do declare that you are a gift from The Seven because only They know how many men actually come here to-.”

“-Wait, are you bleeding?!” She sat up in alarm.

You left immediately, taking deep breaths to try and remain upright as you continued your search. A hand grazed your shoulder.

“Are you alright, girl?”

A putrid looking man questioned with a toothy grin as you turned briefly to see who touched you. You nodded. “I’m fine, go away.”

“Hey now,” he tried to make a grab for you again, but you shoved him off. “don’t be like that.”

“I’m dying, I think I can be.”

“Let me give you a little death.” He flirted.

You grabbed the nearest curtain, tossing it aside. “For fuck’s sake, does anyone have a-?!”

Words failed as you gazed upon Madame Sylvi sucking the cock of a standing man. It was then that your eyes traveled up his body, and saw a familiar, silver-haired prince.

A prince with one eye shut, and a sapphire where an eye-patch should have been.

Your mouth ran dry at the sight of him falling apart in whimpers, and it dropped once his eye opened and immediately went to yours.

Aemond released a loud groan, tossing his head back as cum dripped through the creases of Sylvi’s mouth. She drew herself away from him, still on her knees, wiping her mouth and looking over at your interruption.

“What in the devil’s name are you doing here?!”

Your words fell into syllables as you genuinely had no idea what to say. Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw the man that had been following retreat.

“Hey!” You yelled, hobbling after him. “You sheep fucker, get back here!”

Two hands grabbed your shoulders and turned you around sharply, causing a reminder of the wound in your side. You hissed, clutching it and trying to smother a cry. You kept your head low as the person who had manhandled you led you back into Sylvi’s small room. You were laying on the pillows and thin mattress. It was then you saw Aemond Targaryen hovering above you.

“No-!” You tried to push him away.

“-Calm down.” He insisted, restraining you. “You’re going to make it worse.”

“If you touch me, I’ll carve out your other eye and feed it to your mother.” You slurred.

Instead of killing you right there, he thinned his lips. “While I don’t doubt that, you shouldn’t need to worry; I’m well spent.”

You gagged, shutting your eyes in disgust and tossing your head further into the pillow you rested on. You felt a presence soon beside you, and you opened your eyes to see Sylvi.

“My prince,” she turned to Aemond. “please wait in my personal quarters and I’ll-.”

“-I’ll hold her down.” He interrupted. “She’s a fighter, if you don’t know.”

“Believe me,” she unscrewed a bottle of alcohol. “I do.”

Sylvi hiked up your dress, completely exposing you from the waist down, and poured liquid over your side, causing a squeal to escape your throat. In an attempt to not just remain calm for yourself and everyone else in the building, you did your best to stifle your cries. It only became harder to do once Sylvi stuck a needle in your skin.

That was when you instinctively rose yourself up, only for Aemond to force you back down, putting his entire weight upon you. Your hands traveled up to his bare shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin and even scratching in an animalistic attempt to get him off of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in quivering breaths and suppressed your grunts in pain. It looked like everything was underwater, and you could barely make out the face of the man above you. You only saw the shimmering jewel where his left eye should’ve been.

Then, the pain was over.

Your heartbeat began to slow down, and it was no longer the only sound in your ears. Your body rose momentarily as you felt bandages being wrapped around your waist, and your dress finally lowered, covering your nakedness. You felt a warm hand brush your face gently before it pulled away abruptly.

“What did you do now?” Sylvi sighed, tossing her materials away.

You groaned, unable to move. “Bad job.”

“And so, you decided to come and bother me?”

“Chansey was fucking someone and I-.”

“-Watch your words!” She lightly slapped your face and whispered fiercely. “Prince Aemond is here, and I will not have you speak like that.”

You laughed, glancing over at Aemond, who had put his pants on, and was working on his shirt. “Do you hear that, Aemond? I can’t say ‘fuck’!”

“Are you drunk?” She hissed.

“Nooooo.” You trailed off before giggling.

Sylvi stood, placing her head in her hands and shaking her head. Now noticing how strange the whole situation was, you pushed yourself up. Your body was scalding, but you would rather die walking away from embarrassment than in the heat of it.

“He had some coin.” you sat up. “I don’t know where it went, but I’ll find it. I have to go home now.”

“You are not walking out like this.” She pushed you back down.

“I’m not sleeping here.”

“I’ll take her back.”

The prince stood tall, slipping his patch over the sapphire. Sylvi shook her head. “No.”

“Are you questioning my authority, Madame?” He challenged.

You watched her flinch. Then, taking a breath she explained. “You needn’t bother with her; she’s a humble, little thing that doesn’t listen to anyone other than herself. Besides, you requested and paid for two hours, yet you have only used twenty min-.”

“-I will gladly spend the rest of it escorting her home.”

Again, the only sounds being heard was skin slapping alongside loud moans outside. You looked in between the prince and the Madame as if you were a child being fought over. So, coughing, you sat up again.

“Can I wear my own clothes, please?”

Sylvi, for the first time that night, coddled you. “Of course. Aemond, could you tell the first girl you see to fetch her clothes from my quarters, please?”

He nodded, leaving you two alone. When he was out of sight, she brushed the hair sticking against your sweaty face.

“Tell him you changed your mind, and you’re too weak to walk.” She begged.

“And if he says he’ll carry me?”

She scoffed. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sylvi kissed your cheek as if to soothe you. “I don’t want you to be alone with him.”

“He told me he already had his fill of cunt.”

“Men can still hurt little girls without their cock.”

“Take a look at me,” you sassed. “don’t you think I already know that?”

She said your name softly. “He’s not as kind as he seems.”

“No, he’s not. He acts like he’s been born out of an ass’ ass. I mean…how you feel about the Dowager Queen-.”

Slamming a hand over your mouth, she spoke in your ear. “-Not another word from you. You listen to me; I’ve come to know him for the years I’ve spent with him longer than the weeks you have had with him.”

“If he’s so horrible,” you took her hand away. “then tell me what he has done.”

“He-.”

“-Never mind, I don’t care.”

Instead of stepping into the room, Aemond had tossed your set of clothes through the curtains, landing on the floor. Without words, but with looks that could kill, Sylvi helped dress you and then led you out of the brothel.

It was downpouring, and while your clothes thankfully covered almost every inch of your skin, save for your face, you weren’t in the mood to be bathed in rainwater. Sylvi hadn’t even wished you a proper goodbye; just nodded to a hooded Aemond beside you and went back inside.

“I assume you can walk?” He asked, almost annoyed at his own idea to walk you home.

“You’re not going to carry me?” You teased.

“No.”

Sighing dramatically, you took a few steps out into the rain, and immediately felt agonizing pain. Well, not as bad as earlier, but it hurt. Still, you decided to follow the best given advice: Walk it off.

“Stop, stop.” Aemond shook his head after you limped four more steps, coming to your side. “Lean against me.”

You didn’t argue, draping your arm over his shoulders. You both walked as quick as you could in the rain, you giving him directions the best you could (he had to turn around twice to go back to the same fork in the road) until you tapped his shoulder.

“Wait-wait, I don’t feel good.”

“Seven Hells.” He cursed, pulling you over to the side of the street. Grabbing your hands he placed them on the nearest wall, standing behind you to guide you.

“Hey, hey!” You rose your voice. “Don’t-don’t you even think of hiking my skirt up!”

“You’re going to smell like death in a moment, why would I ever-?”

“-Because men are…are…”

You gagged, and Aemond’s hands immediately vanished as you threw up what little you had eaten that day. Your throat was on fire the whole time, making the chill of the rain even more apparent.

“Oi!” An older man yelled. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth and turning over to look at him standing in a doorway of his shop. “Yes, thank you!”

“Do you know that man with you?”

Before Aemond could say anything, you pat his shoulder affectionately. “I’ll have you know, this is Lord Ciarán of House…Strong…Man, Strongman. He’s one of the richest men in Westeros.”

“Is that so?” He nodded, then looked at your companion. “Lad, do yourself a favor and put your old lady to bed.”

Aemond forced a smile, taking your arm and returning it back to its proper place over his shoulder. The two of you were on the road again, you leading him blindly throughout the streets. The rain felt nice at this point; not exactly, but your throat had been parched, so most of the time, you were holding your mouth up and tongue out like a child to catch the rainwater.

At one point, he hissed in pain, his hand coming up to his eyepatch.

“What is it, what’s wrong?!” You gasped.

“Nothing.” He cursed. “’Just keep going.”

Reluctantly, you carried on through King’s Landing until you reached your home.

“Okay, we’re here.” You stopped him a few minutes later.

Aemond looked at the building before him; it was a bouchère. “Here?”

“No, down there.”

He followed your gaze, and sure enough, there was a set of stairs to the side leading down. Carefully, you both scaled down the steps, and entered your home.

There was no leaking anywhere, to your surprise. With only the little amount of light within the sitting room, you knew Aemond (even with one eye) could see just how much dust there was on the furniture.

“Hells,” he sighed heavily, slipping off his cloak before you could stop him. “how do you live in this humidity? I can barely breathe.”

“I-.”

“-Vivi.” A sweet, tired voice called for you.

In the corner of the room, in her usual chair, was your grandmother. Her eyes drew up to the door once you entered, and they were alight.

“I thought you were out for too long.” She stood.

“Evening, Gigi.” You staggered over, embracing her. “And how was holding down the fort?”

“Some mice almost came in, but I showed them who was the boss around here.”

“I’m sure you did.”

It was only then did she fully realize there was someone else with you; a man. A man with silver hair. She gasped, turning back to you.

“Siobhan, you didn’t tell me the king was visiting!”

You cackled. “Gigi no, this is my friend-.”

She gently took his hand into hers, kissing it. “-Your grace, you must forgive my dear girl; she has a knack for getting into trouble, but not for telling me things.”

And then, Aemond did something you weren’t expecting. He placed his other hand over your grandmother’s, smiling.

“All is forgiven.”

Her grin was contagious as she pulled her hand away to hike her long skirt up, walking to the kitchen. “Oh, I shall make tea! Imagine what Cassian would think?” She chuckled. “Jaehaerys himself in our house!”

The name she uttered sobered you up; not all of you, but enough for terror to return into your body. Once she was out of sight, with a growing fear in your eyes, you looked at Aemond.

“You-you must understand, she hasn’t been herself since I was a child. I don’t think she’s even aware there is-was another-.”

“-I’m not a fool.” He stopped you. Noticing you had the face of someone who would vomit for the second time that night, he said. “I told you; I enjoyed reading the histories. I’m well aware the king before my father was Jaehareys.”

Feeling as if you could breathe again, you rested against the wall. “Thank you.”

Aemond hummed. “Why ‘Gigi’?”

“She never liked me calling her ‘Grandmama’.”

“And who’s Siobhan?”

Your eyes drew to the ground. No mice were in the house, but a few spiders had made their way in. “My mother.”

“Ah.” Was all he could manage.

“She uh, she died when I was one and ten; that’s when Gigi…”

“How?”

“What?”

“How did she die?”

Something clogged your throat, and your head felt heavy all over again. Swallowing the lump, you tried to find the words to-.

“-Forgive me. “Aemond spoke. “I shouldn’t have prodded.”

“No, you-.” You shook your head. “I understand your curiosity.”

And there you two were, against the wall in silence. Sighing you finally said.

“She forgets what she was meant to do when she enters a room with a purpose.” You explained. “I guarantee you, she’s doing a puzzle instead of making tea. We don’t have the best leaves anyway.”

He nodded. “Do you wish for me to leave, then?”

Your eyes went to one of the only windows in the house; the long, thin panel at the top where you could see the feet of everyone in King Landing if it were a nice day. The rain came down harsher, the spattering of water being almost too loud.

“You can stay until the storm eases,” you answered. “if you want.”

“I would prefer it.”

Nodding, the heaviness of your head did not cease, and your eyes drifted to the doorway in the back of sitting room. You made your way through it, glancing back at Aemond.

“If I may be candid, I’m quite exhausted. So…unless you’d prefer being called ‘Your Grace’ by my grandmother, then you’re more than welcome to talk with me in my room.”

“Hm, the former sounds tempting.” Despite his words, he followed close behind you.

You pushed open your door, took a few steps towards your bed, and lowered yourself to lie down with a sharp wince. The prince took his time observing your room, taking in every little detail. From the residue of a mess being pushed under your bed, to old childhood art pieces up on the wall.

One piece had caught his eye the most. A sketch of a woman’s face; a haunting gaze in her eyes that would make anyone believe she was watching them.

Much like yours…

“This is Siobhan?”

Better to use your mother’s name as if she were a stranger instead of calling her ‘your mother’.

“Gigi drew that.” You smiled lightly. “It was on one of her namedays.”

“It’s beautiful.”

His compliment unnerved you before it flattered you. You deflected with a joke. “Beautiful enough to have her paint the Targaryens the next time they so desire it?”

“If she cannot remember to boil tea-?”

“-She is herself again when she does or speak of things she loves.” You sat farther up against the wall behind your bed “Even if they’re things that no longer are with us.”

He sat at the edge of the mattress. “And what are some of those things?”

Oh, where to start? As your mind rattled over what exactly to say first, you truly looked over Aemond for the first time. It was strange; you had acknowledged his attractiveness for just a moment, but never delved more into it.

Then, as you stared at him, you knew exactly what to tell him.

Giggling, you began. “Cassian was my grandfather; I hadn’t known him, he died before I was born. Still, if it’s not him she speaks about being in love with, it’s ‘Elio’; a Dornish man, her first love.”

“Some might say they are far greater than the one you marry.” He shrugged.

“She’s never told me his real name.” You leaned forward. “She said that he had to keep it secret from her for a long time, and he only told her after she got drunk, and he thought she wouldn’t remember.”

The two of you laughed lightly, and you kept going through your giggles. “He-he was only in King’s Landing for a year and went back to Sunspear. They would send ravens to each other, but then he stopped one day. She married my grandfather, had my mother, he died, and that was life.”

“And then there was you.”

You nodded, thinning your lips. “And then there was me.”

“You’ve talked about your mother, but you haven’t mentioned your father yet.”

Sighing, you rubbed your finger into the blanket you rested upon, looking away from him. “When my grandfather’s heart gave out, Gigi had to take on more work at the tailor’s and they still weren’t making enough for food. So…my mother took up working with Sylvi. She was fifteen, and Sylvi only let her cook and clean. When she was of age, she let her go to bed with the men for her coin. I could’ve walked past my father, and I wouldn’t be able to know.”

Aemond stared at her, nodding. “You’re a bastard.”

“It’s the one time I enjoy being smallfolk.” You shrugged. “I can just as easily lie and say my father died while married to my mother.”

“No one else knows?”

“Sylvi and Marija; the woman who gave us Winter Snow.” You scoffed. “Some old neighbors who’ve thankfully died, but I still remember their insults as I passed by them when I was just a child.”

He hummed, and you did not blame him for not saying anything after you. The two of you just existed in your childhood bedroom, the rain still beating against the roof, but not quite as hard this time.

“What were you like when you were a boy?” You questioned.

“Not like my brother or nephews.” He answered right away. “They…teased me a lot.”

“I’ve never had brothers or sisters, but aren’t they meant to?”

“Not like how they did.”

Oh…so it was bad. You wouldn’t ask him how horrible it was, knowing that there are some things no one would ever want to speak of.

“I’m sorry they did.”

He shook his head. “No need, it was years ago.”

“It was still wrong.”

Aemond didn’t say anything; didn’t even look at you. Then, for some reason…you felt compelled (maybe even okay) to tell him. “My mother she…died the same way my grandfather did.”

“His heart.”

“We-we think so. It’s strange though; she was so young, and just one night we were eating dinner, she stands to go tend to the fire…and she fell. It…it was as if her soul had been sucked away from her and all that was left was her body.”

“And you think you’ll die like her.”

Swallowing thickly, you had hoped he didn’t see right through you about that; but at the same time…how freeing it felt to be seen even in the most shameful and terrifying moments of life.

“She was the main provider for our house.” You went into more detail. “Gigi tried her best, but it wasn’t enough. My mother…Sylvi hasn’t told me everything she did to earn enough coin, and I don’t think I want to know. Many healers have said that people dying from a bad heart at such a young age is due to stress. I don’t know if they’re right, and even when I was one and ten, I did everything in my power not to feel so, but Gigi would wander around King’s Landing late at night, or we couldn’t afford food for days on end…”

You were vomiting all of your troubles onto him, it was disgusting; but, once you started, you couldn’t stop. The storm had picked up again, and from how the wind shook the walls of your room, you thought they would all crumble.

“Sylvi knew of us struggling, and she paid for our meals. I was to become an indentured servant to her, like how my mother was; cooking, cleaning, running odd errands…but she paid me in coin as well. I think-I think she thought I was going to follow in my mother’s footsteps when I was of age, but I refused. That’s when some of the girls and I came up with a way for me to make extra coin, and here we are.”

“She never let anyone younger than seventeen be a whore?”

For a moment, you pondered how that was the one thing he got from your nervous ramblings. Still, you decided it wasn’t best to think about it. “She didn’t want men bedding little girls.”

“I suppose it’s different for girls.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It was my thirteenth nameday when my brother brought me to Sylvi’s pleasure house.” He said it as if it was common knowledge. “He said I needed to know everything there was about women. Your Madame certainly taught me well. It makes sense I suppose; girls are taught to be more ashamed about it.”

Even with the storm still going outside, the only sound you could hear was the beating of your own heart. “…What?”

You remembered what it was like when you were that age. Your body felt strange, you bled between your legs for the first time, you wanted a husband right away one moment, and then wanted to be a child forever the next. You were good at talking to men who were older than you…but…being intimate? No…and Sylvi had…Sylvi had-?

“Is something wrong?”

If you were delusional, you would say he seemed concerned. Still, if you were to tell him that what Sylvi had done was hypocritical and despicable of her, you would go red in the face with tears, and he would only spit on you and say you wouldn’t understand, and-.

“-Your hair.” You said, having been staring at it whilst your mind rushed. “Has…has it always been curly?”

Aemond scowled, not in scorn, but in puzzlement. It must’ve started to dry as he spent time in the house; it must’ve been frizzy and horrible as well. “Yes.”

You forced a smile. “And here I thought only the ladies of the night burned their hair since men favor it straight.”

“Mothers too.” He sighed when he saw the look you gave him. “It curled more by the time I was fourteen. She had the servants straighten it for me ever since; I believe she hates anything about me that is a reminder that she is my mother.”

“Aemond…”

“I don’t need your pity. I’ve been with her since I was born, it is nothing new and I have-.”

You don’t know why you reached forward and combed a strand of his hair between two of your fingers. Maybe it was because you were still tipsy, or maybe it’s because you just wanted to. He flinched upon your touch, and so did you.

“For-forgive me,” you backed farther up your bed. “I-I forgot myself and I-.”

He brought himself forward, taking both of your hands. Without looking at you, he brought both of them into his hair. Almost like it was second nature, you began to gently run your fingers over his scalp. He shut his eye, his hands traveling to drape along your waste, and he bent his head to rest upon your chest.

It was strange. Strange but nice. You were holding him, but just to have the illusion of you also being cared for…not even your grandmother had done something like this for years.

“I like your hair just how it is.” You whispered after a minute. “If it matters at all.”

He merely hummed, his hand travelling under your shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his finger caress the skin above your wound. Your hands did not still, continuing to comb through his hair softly.

His finger traveled farther up, circling the swell of your breast. You made a noise you hadn’t made before, and you thought you sounded ridiculous. He hummed against your chest, and…

And…

Something between your legs felt like it was beating; like your heart, but it wasn’t that.

“I’m going to touch you there.” He mumbled against the fabric of your shirt. “Alright?”

No, no it wasn’t alright, but it was at the same time.

It wasn’t okay because you’ve only heard stories about this from the girls at the brothel, but it was okay because-because you liked him, and he was-

and you were-

and everything feels warm-

and the way he talked to you-

and the way you-!

“Get off!” You whispered once you heard just the lightest of footsteps outside your door. He listened, backing away quickly to the edge of the bed. An almost silent knock came from your door, and you smiled. “Come in!”

Gigi pushed herself in, holding a tray with two steaming mugs, setting it on the bed. “I’m so sorry, your grace. We do not have tea leaves, so is milk alright?”

Aemond nodded. “It is.”

“How have the both of you been?”

You wore a thin grin. “Fine.”

She nodded, looking in between the two of you. As if she knew what had just taken place, she gave a wry smile and turned to leave. “Well, the rain is dying down now. Let me know if you two need anything else.”

“Thank you, Gigi.” You said without another thought.

She didn’t shut the door when she left. You picked up the mug, took a sip and immediately felt your body heal just a little. Warm milk does numbers on a soul.

“I should take my leave now.” The prince stood up abruptly, dusting himself off.

You tried to stand. “I’ll walk you out.”

The wound at your side burned every inch you moved, and you did a horrible job concealing it. Aemond gently took your shoulders, pushing you back down.

“Rest.” He commanded. “You’re injured, and it’s late.”

“And when have you ever cared?” You teased

“Perhaps just now.” He matched your tone.

“Do you know what I hate?”

“Me? Life itself? Men?”

“Yes, to the last two.” You feel your chest constrict at what you would say next. “I hate that you told Sylvi you would spend time with me because you paid her for…other things previously.”

Aemond tilted his head to the side. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “You…you no longer have to pay for my company. You’ve seen me in turmoil, and I’ve seen you naked.”

He laughed…he laughed in a way you’d never heard him laugh before. “Is that what makes us allies?”

“Friends?” You reworded. “You understand the meaning, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” He scoffed.

“So…are we friends now?”

Friends who touch each other in ways they usually don’t.

A hint of a smile spread across his lips. He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Friends.”

You dropped your face, hopefully to avoid him seeing how you blushed. The damage was done though. Regaining yourself, you took a deep breath and looked at him.

“And…I’m aware I won’t be the first person you’ll seek if you’re in distress, but please know I will help if you need it.”

“Do not call yourself inadequate.” He shook his head. “I might have some use for you.”

You scoffed. “How considerate of you.”

“Rest now.” He repeated, turning to leave without a proper goodbye.

You sat up. “Wait!” Aemond did not turn to look at you, but he stopped. “Your eye. When you were walking me home, you were in pain. Does it still hurt?”

He was silent. For a moment, you thought it was to come up with a lie, then you assumed it was to find the words to tell you the truth…you had too much faith in him for either.

“It’s late.” He said your name softly and walked out of your bedroom. You heard the front door open then shut.

And there you were, on your bed, alone with an undrunk mug of milk.

The rain had completely stopped.