#but then he called rose HIS NIECE

[shittywriterbrain]

HE'S THE WEIRD BISEXUAL UNCLE THAT TELLS FUNNY STORIES WE HAVE WON. WE HAVE SO FUCKING WON

[davidtennan-t]

a proud uncle 🥹

[cr34tur33]

They're so found family 🥹

[groblinboy]

IM!!????? That episode!!?????? ??!!!?!!!!?!!??!

[arcielee]

Devotion

Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Word Count: 5.7k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, neglect, angst, unrequited love?, kissing, fingering, unprotected p in v, more angst, oral sex (m and f receiving), a mother's reprimand, lots of blood, death, more angst Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @zaldritzosrose for looking this over and helping me this story. I Mushroom-tweaked it to fit the angsty plot. This started as an anon request and unfolded into so much more. It is dedicated to my darling @opheliax98 who encouraged "all the drama" of this piece. I hope it you enjoy it. 💜 You can also read it on ao3.

Your mother decided that you would return to the Red Keep as an envoy, because of your ability to hide in plain sight despite the poisoned word that first followed your steps–ilībōños, bastard. It was the same that was thrown towards your half-brothers, but with a tone as bold as their brown curls and brown eyes; they did not have the fortune of their Valyrian roots to hide under, their features often speculated as too Strong. 

You, however, were the first, albeit illegitimate, born of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, conceived the same night that her virtue was called into question. 

There was a bitter speculation of your origins that faded away with your birth; you were another nameless Targaryen princess that would decorate the family tapestry, another egg that turned to stone in the crib. Life in the capitol was lonely for you; your father was away in Pentos with his new family, while your mother remained preoccupied with her White Cloak, and then her Gold Cloak and new husband. There was an age gap between you and your brothers, your nephews and your niece, and it was an isolating chasm that placed you as an outsider, a spectator, with the unfocused eyes of the court looking through you. 

Your only company was your handmaiden, Elinda, but her loyalties reported back to your mother, and then your Septa, but her complaints were ceaseless, especially as you learned the pathways that Maegor the Cruel had carved into the Keep; they became your escape from her lessons. 

It was then your mother requested a knight from the Kingsguard to watch over you, and you mourned the little bit of independence acquired, assuming you would be assigned someone old, doddy, who served as another set of eyes that would only look through you. 

You were not expecting Ser Erryk Cargyll. 

To begin, he was only three years older than you–it was said his swordsmanship so impressed the Lord Commander that he also recruited his twin brother, bringing them both to King's Landing to serve in the Kingsguard. He was handsome, standing tall behind your mother, long and lithe. His ruddy complexion brought out the blue-gray of his eyes that showed unsure, almost shy with the introductions. 

You smiled at him and his lips curled upwards in response, a rose dusting to his cheeks. 

You liked him at once.

He was devoted to your shadow, almost rapt to your beck and call. The attention fed your girlish infatuation with the young knight, and you were always teasing him in a way that teetered on the edge of his duty and his oath with your coy questions and smirk. Ser Erryk was rarely rattled by you, but seemed more amused–he would answer you with a frank tone, a welcomed honesty, that ended with your title: it was always, “Yes, princess,” or “I shall see to it, princess.” 

It continued on for months until one evening, as he escorted you to your room, you asked him to call you by your name, to set aside the formality. You saw the brilliant blue of his eyes, bright amongst the flush of his features; his tongue wet his lips, searching for his voice. “I could never do that, princess,” he started slowly, his eyes flickering up again to look at you as if for the first time. You saw the dust of his freckles that burned bright against his skin. “My purpose is to keep you safe.” 

His voice was low, so serious, and it made your blood rise to the surface. You tried to laugh it off. “My purpose is to wait around until I am able to marry the highest bidder.” It was something that weighed heavy on your heart; your eyes fell away and your fingers grasped into the fabric of your skirts. “I know I will not be missed within these walls once I am gone.” 

“That’s not true, princess.” 

It startled you, and you peered back up from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating against your skin. You watched Ser Erryk choke on his boldness, his regret knotting into his face before he settled on silence. You watched him go, the muted ensemble of his armor as he returned to the barracks below. 

That moment created something palpable that pressed overhead. You were too young, too rash to even know how to tactfully touch the subject again. The forced return to your norm left your bones aching; Ser Erryk doted on your steps, and you rambled on to drown out the incessant screaming of your heart within your chest. 

It spilled over at Driftmark. Your family went for the Velaryon funeral procession for Daemon’s wife, feeding further into the resentment that rifted within the house of the dragon. You slipped away and found Aegon in his cups, deciding to steal some of the liquid courage. When Ser Erryk found you, your eyes were glassy and your cheeks flushed. 

He sighed, shaking his head, reaching to help you stand, but you swore you saw the hint of a smile touching his lips. Ser Erryk said nothing, but wrapped his arm around your waist and matched his gait with your staggered steps to your room. You rested your head on his shoulders, enjoyed his smell of olive oil used on his sword and how it mixed with his perspiration. 

At the door, you felt his breath tickle your ear, “I will not speak of this to the crowned princess, but you should get some rest–” 

You spun to face him, your hands pushing on his breastplate to steady yourself on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to meet with his. Ser Erryk froze with your kiss, his White Cloak tightening like a vice. His palms were rough, but he was gentle to wrap your elbows and pull you back, his gaze rooting you to cobblestone. 

Moments ticked away with your beating heart that was now bruising against your bones before he finally said, “I cannot give you what you truly deserve, princess.” 

He said nothing else and your embarrassment fed the fire in your blood. You pulled away from him and slipped into your room, careful to close your door. Your back pressed against the carvings of sea creatures into the oak and you melted to the floor, your tears spilling to ease your girlish heartache. 

Elsewhere on the island, a dragon was claimed and bloodshed followed. The walls rattled as the king proclaimed his true loyalty and it ended with you being whisked away to Dragonstone. It was for the best, you decided, to leave your broken heart behind. You felt the tinge of hope when you learned that your mother and your father were finally together, and decided to set aside your infatuation of the White Cloak, but instead focus to aid your mother, to help solidify what your grandsire, King Viserys, had proclaimed to the Seven Realms. 

That she was to be queen. 

It had been six years since you last been at King’s Landing. It was now a place both familiar and strange. The same architecture rose above, shadowing over Blackwater Bay, though inside your ancestry of Old Valyria had been replaced, the Keep becoming a shrine to the new gods who had not yet paid their dues for such a show of devotion. 

As you entered through the Barbican, you smirked at the memory of the girl you were before, only ten and five, on the cusp of womanhood that required your gowns to be stitched to fit your slender frame. Now your figure filled your dresses, your curves pressing to the seams and your hair twisted and styled to showcase the dragonblood in your veins, that shined in the amethyst of your eyes. 

The queen was first to come and greet you. The handmaidens selected were controlled by Elinda, who watched their flurry to unpack. You looked up to see her lips pursed, her dark brown eyes washed over like you were a specter coming to haunt, like she wished for the earth to swallow you whole. 

“It has been requested–” her tone was queenly, but you noted that she would not mention how it was your mother that penned her a letter, “–for you to have a knight assigned. I was advised that Ser Erryk has served this role before.” 

His name caused your blood to roar in your head as you turned to watch him enter the room. Ser Erryk seemed taller, or perhaps that was how he now held himself, his pride set on his shoulders and onto his features that sharpened. He was still sinewy, though he seemed to fill out the armor hammered to fit his frame, polished and gleaming in the sun that streaked through; it burned bright in his copper hair that was brushed back to show his beard trimmed to fit his jaw. 

The coloring brought out his blue-gray eyes that shined almost unsure, almost shy. 

It kindled something within you that you believed to be gone, a feeling that washed away on the shores of Dragonstone and swept to the depths of the bay, buried in the sand. 

Ser Erryk looked at you and you could not help your smile. His lips ticked upwards and you felt your pulse flutter anew, seizing your heart again. 

Your iron-clad shadow followed after your steps, a devotion renewed, and it returned the muscle memory of his constant and comforting presence as you reacquainted with the old castle. Ser Erryk accompanied your rounds to visit with Helaena and her children, watching your brief exchange with each prince, and even briefer with the king who smiled when he called you Rhaenyra. Your knight then escorted you back to your room without a word, just the chink of his armor with his steps, echoing off the stone. 

You paused in the doorway, looking back to see his stance. As he watched you, your mind flittered with words but none could knit together. “Sleep well, princess,” he finally spoke with a small bow, excusing himself. 

The room had also been stripped of your Targaryen history, almost unfamiliar despite your chests unpacked. Elinda and the other handmaidens helped prepare you for bed, and a cup of wine was poured but your stomach would not hold it down. They left you alone and your quarters were now a gilded cage to contain you; you pulled on your pale, silk robe and finished half of the goblet, summoning your old courage to slip away.

The same panel opened with ease, but inside, basked in the amber light of torch set in a sconce, stood Ser Erryk with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Your mouth fell open and he grinned at you. “I take my oath with my heart, princess,” he reminded you. 

“How did you know–?” You stammered, licking the wine from your lips. 

He only shrugged, his eyes glittering in the fire. “You seem so very different, but also are still the same.” 

You pulled the panel closed to silence his chuckle. You finished the rest of the wine poured and returned to your bed.  

Your days at Kings Landing were idly filled. Your old Septa returned with her scrutiny of the woman you had become, her brow furrowing to find fault as you showcased your refinement of a lady mastered over the last half decade. Your afternoons were spent in the company of Helaena and her children, the only ones welcoming your return, with the littlest one, Maelor, especially taken with you. 

The time was spent in the gardens with a blanket sprawled out. Helaena would hum songs while the twins played their games. Maelor was content to sit in your lap, his eyes wide to discover whatever came within his chubby grasp. 

And Ser Erryk, your shadow, would stay close by, always. 

“He will draw his own blood to protect you.” The princess spoke suddenly, jarringly–it was a common happenstance with Helaena, you learned. Her every impertinent thought spilled off her tongue in riddles. 

Maelor’s eyes widened with his beginning grasp of the spoken word. You blew a raspberry onto his cheek to distract him, and he fell into a fit of giggles. “He would draw blood, but only if it was needed,” you corrected her, your voice low. 

Helaena only hummed in response, falling back into whatever song as she looked over the flowers that surrounded you both, watching the insects that lived amongst them. Her words remained with you, echoing in your head long after the moon began its silver stretch overhead. It guided your steps back to the panel in your room and you pushed it open. 

Ser Erryk straightened at once, his hand back on his pommel. “Princess? Why are you still–” 

You stopped him with a gentle touch on his breastplate, steadying yourself to rise on the balls of your feet until your lips pressed to his once again. But this time he responded, melting against–his lips were soft and warm, and his beard tickled your skin. 

You fell flat-footed to the floor with a smile spreading across your face; he was enraptured to watch the words that spilled from your lips. “I thought I had forgotten that night at Driftmark, but it seems what you said has embedded into my bones.” You felt light-headed, but also embolden by his gaze and the black that swallowed his murky cobalt eyes. “You once said that you could not give me what I deserved, but did you ever think you could give me what I want, what I desire?” 

It was a dam broken and he surged against you, pressing until your back touched the other side of the corridor. He reclaimed your mouth with a honeyed fervor that warmed your blood. Your fingers pull away the tie that held back his hair and combed through his silky copper spill. His fingers bruised into your hips, holding on as if you would slip away. 

You broke the kiss, breathless, your fingers knitting with his own and pulling him back into your room. It was a quiet exchange, littered with soft kisses, as you helped him remove his iron armor piece-by-piece, stacking the plates aside. 

He draped the white cape over a chair and looked to you. Underneath he wore a pale tunic and cream slacks, his outline pressing to the seams in a way that made your thighs clench. He stepped closer, his desperation more controlled, and pulled you into his chest, his thumb pressed to tilt your chin for a slow and searching kiss. 

You sighed and his tongue curled to taste, his fingers peeling away the bedtime silk that covered your skin. He worshiped every inch shown with his mouth, blooms of color decorating your skin. 

You helped him pull his shirt over his head, wanting to feel the heat of his skin, to feel the golden hair across his chest. His heart was vibrating beneath, and his arms wrapped around your waist with another kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. Ser Erryk tightened his hold to lift you and walk you backwards until you felt the edge of the bed touching the back of your knees; you sat down, your thighs plush and pink.

His hands cradled your jaw, tilting your head back to look at you. “Beautiful,” he whispered before leaning to capture your lips again. 

Your fingers curled at the nape of his neck to pull him towards you, moving back against the mattress. He followed, his skin flushed red and his eyes wide as you laid back into the pillows. He moved on top of you, gentle to touch you with soft caresses and lingering kisses, following your guide as you led his hand lower towards the intimacy between your thighs, wet and wanting. 

He trembled with his exhale as his fingertips split apart your velvet folds, his calloused touch careful to map the bloom of nerves above. You gasped with his testing touch and his smile curled into his blood stained cheeks; he moved softer, but quicker, until it elicited a sweet sigh. 

Ser Erryk was responsive, attentive to you. He was aware of your breathing and soft sounds, matching his ministration to pull something deeper within you, sparking at the base of your spine. It felt different from your own touch, this passion he pulled without your control, and you squirmed from the pressure building in your core. 

“Erryk,” you whined, your hips lifting against his hand.

He grinned, shifting to press a kiss underneath your jaw, and your skin rippled over in response to the contrast of his lips and his beard. “That’s it princess,” his husky tone was hot against your skin; your hands moved to hold him close, another pitiful mewl spilling. He shifted his hand, moving to curl two fingers within your cunt while his thumb pressed to your swollen pearl.  

“Erryk–!” you gasped, and your nails pressed red crescents into his shoulders. 

His brow was knitted with his concentration, moving to litter kisses along the column of your neck and to your collarbones–a gentle nip that bolted the length of your spine. He does not stop, his fingers coated with your slick with his rhythm that curled upwards into you, sparking a euphoria that poured white-hot into your blood, your heart bruising until you feel it rattling your bones. 

His other hand touched to return you back to your body; his palms rough but kind, following the curve of your stomach and resting to feel the rise and fall with your bated breath. You felt dizzy, blushing, and you blinked, looking down to see him watching you. He moved to give you another searing kiss that rekindled the same warmth pooling between your thighs. 

You kissed him back and spread your legs for his slender waist to slot in-between. He pulled his slacks lower, allowing the underside of his cock to spread your velvet folds, a heady but delicious pressure against your cunt. You pulled him in for a kiss and he groaned into your mouth as you canted your hips, your heart pulsing against his heavy cock. 

He was flushed. “I will be gentle, princess…”

You swallowed his words with another kiss, your legs knotting around to rut your hips against him. He panted into your mouth, his arm dipping to line himself with your entrance, and you clenched with your anticipation. 

Erryk pressed into you with a trembled control as your heat enveloped him fully. You were split apart with the most delicious fill; you mewled, pitiful, and his head fell forward, tucking into the curve of your neck. “Gods be good…” he rasped. 

Your fingers dimpled into his waist, encouraging his thrusts. His pace filled you sinfully, a slow roll of his hips that spurred a pleasure coiling within. You gasped against his chest, your nails biting into his skin as he quickened, going deeper, almost bruising. You felt your walls flutter around him, pulling another guttural groan from the back of his throat, his rasped whisper of your name buried into your hair. 

The euphony trilled your spine and you clenched with your second release. It pulled him over that precipice of pleasure, crashing like a tidal wave. Erryk melted against you, hot, pulsing deep within you, and you breathed in his skin, the same intoxicating scent mixed with olive oil and wax. 

He pulled away, the tender moment passing as duty resurfaced. 

You made a noise, pushing to sit upright and your head tilting to watch his heavy sway between his thighs as he walked back from the basin with a clean cloth in hand. Your eyes met with his and his brow arched in return, teasing; you caught his wrist and pulled him back into the bed, against your heart. 

Erryk twisted his face until it pressed into your skin, licking and kissing whatever his mouth could touch. You giggled, squirming until you could rest your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you. 

You did not want this night to end. “Do not leave me, Erryk.” 

“I am sworn to you, princess.” He reminded you, pressing his lips to your hairline. 

It was not what you wished to hear, but it was all you would get at this moment. You hummed, burying your face until his chest hair tickled, listening to the low thrum of his heartbeat. 

That night changed the monotony of the Red Keep. You thought of any reason to pull Erryk away from prying eyes; stolen kisses and touches that lingered, heating your skin. Your eyes now would flit to find him and see that he was always standing close, his gaze piercing through, settled onto you. 

When the sun tucked away into the horizon, he would slip through the passageway and back into your embrace, the intimate tangle of bare limbs abed with breathless kisses and secrets shared. He learned your body, an instrument to be mastered and a passion to taste you on his lips, staining his beard. He became your confidant, sharing the mutterings of the court; he was the one to warn you about the claimant for Driftmark. 

You wrote your mother at once.

It had been months since you left Dragonstone and you were excited to see her, your father and your siblings again. You were deciding on what gown to wear while Elinda was cleaning up, pulling your sheets away with a scowl on her face. 

You laughed at her expression. “What is it?”

She was perplexed. “I cannot recall your last moonsblood, princess,” she admitted, her lips pursed. “I feel that time seems to run itself together within these walls.” 

Her words ripped through you, but you said nothing, your expression as solid as the stones stacked to create the walls she referred to. Elinda finished tucking the corners before she noticed. “Princess! Are you okay–?” 

“I am fine,” you lied. “Help me with my dress.”

Underneath you were rattled, frightened with the revelation of life within you. Your disquiet settled away, disappearing once your mother arrived. You rushed to greet her, seeing her swollen with another heir in the making. Her silver brows knitted as she looked over the state of the Red Keep, and you wrapped an arm around your side, pulling you close to whisper: “It is even worse than what you described!” 

There was comfort in your mother’s arms and you pressed a kiss to her cheek. She looked at you a moment before her gaze fell back to Erryk, your ever dutiful-shadow noted. “Good ser, you have my eternal gratitude for keeping her safe.”

He was pink with her words. “Thank you, princess.” 

Her focus remained on him another moment before she looked back to you, her eyes now careful to comb over. You swallowed, unsure, and she said nothing as her attention was whisked away to her purposeful return to the Keep. 

The days that followed were tumultuous in the least, with a tension that spilled crimson on the floor of the Throne Room. Your stomach dropped from the wet sound of the two halves of Ser Vaemond hitting the stone floor, the smell of iron thick around you; Erryk moved in front of you to shield you away. 

King Viserys called for a supper that evening to mend the ever-growing rift, but instead emotions imploded, splitting the room in half. 

Erryk moved to wrap his hand around your arm at your mother’s command. Your father escorted your siblings and their betrotheds back to their rooms, his silver brow furrowing at you and your knight. 

Your footfalls echoed to keep with his pace, a numbed process of what had just happened. “I will have to return to Dragonstone,” you whispered when you felt certain it was just the two of you. “Wait for me.” 

Erryk looked at you before he stepped closer, cupping your jaw. It rooted you as he leaned to give you a chaste kiss, the warmth of his mouth searing through you. You stifled a sob when he pulled back to place another kiss to your hairline, another secret whispered against your skin. “I always have, princess.” 

Dragonstone was gray and dreary as you remembered, becoming a beacon for awful when the news came that the king was dead and that Prince Aegon II Targaryen now sat upon the throne. 

It wrenched through your mother and her hands pressed to her abdomen. The day waned with your father plotting at the very table the Conqueror laid plans, while your mother’s screams echoed throughout. You waited in the shadows, your hands pressing to protect your stomach; you prayed fervently to the gods, the old ones and the new, but they did not answer. 

A pyre was stacked for the bloody swaddle and you watched the flames swallow it, the heat licking your skin. Your mother was pale, her eyes empty as she watched the curl of smoke rise above, her morbid farewell to her child unborn. 

It was the swords unsheathed that pulled your attention, your heart pounding at the sound of his voice: “I mean no harm, brothers.” 

You swallowed your tears, watching as Erryk kneeled to the earth with his vow renewed. The setting sun gave an amber aura that reflected off the crown he pulled from his satchel, the same as King Jaehaerys’ and your grandsire after, the same that was placed on top of your mother’s head that commanded a rippled bow of respect from everyone around. 

Back inside, any unease was settled once Princess Rhaenys spoke of how he helped her escape from the Red Keep. Your mother forced a smile, her pain still haunting her features. “Your vow is to me, and to my family. You are to keep them safe, like before, like always.” 

And he nodded. 

With war burning on the horizon, its imminent threat that would swallow the Seven Realms, there was no moment spared where you could speak of the life created. You kept it cradled to your chest when you saw how war-wearied Erryk was already. His heart had been cleaved in two and one-half remained in charge of the usurper. 

It allowed a new desperation in the passion shared, a clash of teeth and tongues to taste whatever intimacy could be spared amidst the bloodshed. This ever-threat of life so fleeting is what pushed you to be bolder, which was why you were waiting for him outside the bathhouse one evening. 

You reached as he moved past you, your fingers tucking into his waistband to pull him into the shadows. Your royal apartment had a path that weaved as an escape, and tonight you used it to bring him back with you, to allow a moment to forget the inevitable that was coming. 

“Princess…” he started, but you stopped him with a kiss. 

“I missed you,” you confessed against his lips. “I need to feel you.”

Your room was basked in candlelight and you pulled him through the passageway, turning to dip your hand below his waistband, your hand pressed on his half-hard cock. It pulsed against your palm and you moved closer to place a kiss on his neck.

He sighed his pleasure and his torment. “Princess,” he tried again, but you would not let him. 

You nipped at his skin, halting his words, and he smothered a groan while your other hand pulled at his drawstrings. “Let me,” you breathed, and his skin rose in response. 

He felt heavy in your hands that wrapped around him. You stole another kiss before your chin dropped to your chest, your spit falling from your tongue and onto his cock. 

Erryk hissed as you stroked his length, watching as he jerked with another low moan. Your hand held onto his hip to lower to your knees, your other wrapping around the base and bringing his flushed cockhead against your tongue. You pressed a kiss and were rewarded with a groan that rumbled through him; your tongue trailed the side of his cock, feeling every vein and ridge, and you placed another kiss on the underside. 

His fingers combed through your hair, watching as you pulled back to watch you take him inch-by-inch, with your hand holding onto what could not fit. His hips bucked into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat, and you groaned, a heat pooling between your thighs. 

Your mouth and hand worked in tandem, working his cock until you felt it twitch with his pearly spend, his briny taste against your tongue. He shuddered, pulling back to sink to his knees, cupping your face and pulling you close for a messy kiss. 

“My turn,” he whispered, standing and pulling you to follow, his eyes lust-blown. 

You sank into the mattress and Erryk kneeled before you, an altar to be worshiped. His palm pressed to your cunt and his fingers spread your folds, allowing his tongue to run along your slit. You shivered as he pressed further, his tongue now carving into you with a well-known intimacy that made your toes curl. 

Afterwards, Erryk curled into you and your fingers ran through his still damp hair, the occasional pause to press another kiss to his scalp. “I am sworn to you,” he was quiet, his voice barely above your heart beat. “But you are so much more to me.” 

Your heart swelled in your chest. “I know,” you kissed your knight again. “I… love you too, Erryk.” 

He hummed against you, burrowing into the softness of your skin. His words replayed in your mind, giving you the courage that you needed, but your mother already called you to her chambers the next night. 

When you entered, she dismissed Ser Lorent, who locked the door behind him. Her eyes settled on you and your throat tightened. Her face was drawn, thinner, a woman shattered by all the blood spilled and plagued by the fact that more was yet to come. 

You remained standing, waiting as her eyes poured over you. She took a breath before she said, “I already know.” 

It was a relief, it was terror. Your stomach dropped and you looked to see Elinda busying herself with whatever her hands could find. Damn her. “I wished to tell you myself,” you admitted, your fists balled at your sides until your nails pierced through to the bones. 

Her eyes steeled in return, her jaw set. “Who is he?” 

Instead, you answer with, “I love him.” 

“That was not what I asked,” she snapped in a way that both you and Elinda flinched with her words that were scalding with her anger. “Your queen asked who is the father of the child that you carry.” 

But you saw her tears were threatening to spill, her face blotched with her anger. You pressed your hands to your stomach, the new habit formed over the last few weeks. “It is Ser Erryk Cargyll.” 

She closed her eyes, a fury now thrumming. “I should have fucking known…” 

“And how is it any different from what you shared with Ser Harwin?” You could not stop your tongue, her temperament reflecting. 

“You truly wish to repeat the follies of my heart, you daft girl?” She hissed, her tears spilling. “We are on the cusp of a civil war because… I allowed my heart to choose instead committing to the duty that I am bound to by my blood, the very same within your veins.” Her hand pressed to her chest, a sob caught in her throat. “And that choice is the consequence that I now suffer every day.” 

You wanted to glare, to fight back, but you saw her torment. Her tears spilling called to you and you moved to her bedside, melting into her. She fell into your arms with sobs that wracked her body. She held onto you and you remained, allowing her grief to pour over. 

Behind, you heard the other door opening. Your mother looked up from your chest, wiping her face. “Ser Erryk?” 

A cold-fire twisted into your stomach when you saw him, knowing at once that he was not the man you were in love with. The imposter knight stepped closer, unsheathing his sword. He sounded pained. “Believe me, I had no choice.” 

“Brother!”

Over his shoulder, you saw Erryk, his sword drawn and his eyes wild. “Do not do this. I beg you.” 

There was a clash of steel, of heartbreak and betrayal. Your mother screamed at Elinda, but she remained cemented to the cobblestone, stricken with her fear. She grabbed your hand to pull you from the bed, your legs buckling and your heart screaming to stay. You followed after your mother, remembering too late that the door was locked, and you looked over the room for a weapon, an escape. 

Erryk yelled when the sword cut through his thigh. 

Your fear pulled you outside of your body to see your hands resting to shield your stomach, the smell of blood rich in the night air. You prayed to the gods, a cursed habit, and again, they ignored you. 

You blinked to focus. Arryk fell first, a sword splayed through his stomach, and you looked to Erryk, your relief fleeting when you saw the dagger buried between his ribs. He looked at you, his knees buckling, collapsing to the floor with the clatter of iron. 

Your mother ran for the door, screaming for the maesters, for anyone to come and aid. You rushed to his side, your slippers slick in the blood that was pouring out on the stone, staining the pale silk of your nightgown. You lifted his head to rest on your lap, your trembling touch unsure if you could even staunch the scarlett flow. 

“I cannot do this without you,” you pleaded, your hands pressing around the hilt; his blood bubbled between your fingers. “I need you, Erryk. Our babe needs you!”

Erryk looked at you as if you were the sun itself, a dawning realization that washed over with your words. Your heart wrenched from your chest when you looked at him, a choked sob when you saw the red that stained his smile. 

His lips parted, but no words would come. Instead you watched as the blue of his eyes faded to gray with his last breath.  

You leaned over him, your tears spilling, and you pressed a kiss to his brow, your blood-stained fingers gentle to cradle the head of your devoted knight.

hotd masterlist || arcie's navi

[mistymisfit]

it's my birthday today so here's a short Jason x Reader drabble!

warnings: just pure fluff ! + A bit suggestive at the end, but nothing happens (rare no angst)

wc: 1k

Jason's broken into your apartment again, it's pretty much a routine at this point. Though he wouldn't call it breaking in if he was your boyfriend who had keys to your place but couldn't walk through the door like a normal human being. He disarmed and set up again every security measure he installed himself to keep you safe. Took his time to check that you locked everything too, all while you slept peacefully in your room. And just when he was sure everything was up and running and you'd be safe he made his way to the bedroom.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you. You looked so cute sleeping on your side, taking all the covers and your hair a mess. He just felt an overwhelming need to kiss you senseles, so he left the bouquet of flowers on your nightstand. He rapidly removed his mask to leave it on his bedside table, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He made quick work of unlacing his boots and kicking them off so he could hop on the bed with you.

"Baby," He whispered, pulling down the sheets and lifting your shirt so he could kiss your hips. His kisses trailed up on your side until you hummed and shifted in your sleep, now lying on your back, unaware of the presence of your boyfriend.

He whispered your name before he started kissing your stomach. By the time his kisses had gone up to your neck, he started to wonder just how deep you were sleeping.

"Jay?" You finally wake up, barely aware of anything but the figure above you.

"What if it was an intruder?" He teases."You're a pretty deep sleeper, ma"

"Who else would it be? you got me living in the bat cave with how tight the security is. " Even half asleep, you had a quick wit. It made him chuckle and kiss your cheek.

"Happy Birthday, baby"

It made you check the time on your phone, 5 am. Only him would come back from his vigilante activities and wake you up at 5 am on your birthday. Lucky you had the day off so you could sleep in a little more. In the process of grabbing your phone to check the time you noticed the flowers, your favorite ones, and impossible to get this time of the year.

"Those are for me?"

"Not really, some old lady gave them to me so I could ask her niece out," He joked, gaining a swift slap from the back of your hand to his bicep. It did nothing but make him laugh, and you realized just then that he still was in his red hood gear. Even when you've told him a million times not to get in the bed wearing it. "'Course they are, the best for my favorite birthday girl "

"Take your clothes off," You demanded, the sleep still in your mind made you not realize how that sounded. He opened his mouth to make some snarky comment, so you cut him off before he begins "You know what I mean"

He chuckled again, kissing the tip of your nose before getting up to undress. You rubbed your eyes as you sat on the bed, then took the flowers to get a closer look. It was a beautiful bouquet, a mix of colors and flowers that matched your favorites, so unlike your basic red roses. It showed how much he knew you, how sweet of a boyfriend he could be.

"Where did you even get these?" You asked, smelling them. You noticed how fresh they were, how bright the colors were. They didn't look like a usual purchase from a Gotham flower shop, much less this late-or early.

"Ah,I was hoping you wouldn't ask that." He sighed as you watched him toss his shirt somewhere on the floor. He tried crawling back on the bed and kissing you to distract you, but you knew better than that.

"I don't trust the pockets of that," You complained, talking about his cargo pants, moving your head to the side so his lips fall on your cheek. "and careful with the flowers "

"Yes ma'am," He replied in a solemn tone, just to mock you. Then, as you watched him strip to his underwear, holding the huge bouquet like a baby, it hit you.

"Jason Peter Todd, did you get these from Poison Ivy?"

Jason freezed, of course he did. His reaction gave you all the answers you needed. You were ready to hit him with the very same flowers. How could he put himself in so much danger for such a ridiculous thing?

"In my defense,"He began, and you were already having none of it. He was lucky he made it out in one piece. "She said you're the best hostage she ever had, and she's a romantic deep down"

"Jason," You sighed. The way you said his name had him smiling again, knowing all too well, he was about to be forgiven.

"And before you kill me, " He sat down next to you, a hand resting on your thigh. "I've got the whole day planned for ya', ma"

You left the flowers on your nightstand again, and turned your face to see him before asking;"Did she make the bouquet?"

"I'm appalled, 'course not." He gasped offended, "I had a vision"

"Really?" You smiled, straddling him.

He nodded, smirking and putting his hands on a familiar place on your waist. His lips and your finally met in a kiss that's more smiles than actual kissing. He knew he was lucky to have you and that he had to treat you right, there was no other option for him. If you asked for the moon and stars he'd find the way to give them to you. Jason was sure he could face whatever fate threw his way as long as he had you on his side. But he couldn't find the words to tell you that and settled for the next best thing; kissing you desperately.

"Shouldn't we put those on water?" He questioned, out of breath.

"Later, I've gotta fuck my handsome boyfriend " And with that you had him melting under your hands, the mighty and scary Red Hood reduced to a blushing mess by his favorite birthday girl.

a/n: If I feel inspired, I'll write about how reader knows Poison Ivy, but until then, happy birthday to me 🥳. Btw if this has any mistakes, ignore them. My sister is holding my laptop hostage and I'm back in my hometown.

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [1]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"Father, mother, we're back!" called out Haeun, your eldest sister who had been married for years now, returning home with her husband and children to celebrate the birth of your middle brother's first child.

"You're home, our dear daughter!" Your parents enthusiastically rose from their seats to greet her, showering her with praise for leading such a successful life, whatever that meant; it was a concept you still struggled to comprehend to this day.

After exchanging pleasantries with your parents, she made a beeline for your brother, completely disregarding your timid presence in the corner of the room, "Hajoon-ah, congratulations, my brother! It's high time you joined the parent club!"

Your brother-in-law, displaying a touch more consideration than his wife, offered you a warm smile before joining 'the adults' in conversation, leaving you to quietly observe your nieces and nephews playing joyfully in the courtyard. At times, you were envious of the simplicity of children's lives—so carefree, with no expectations weighing them down. Unlike them, you felt constantly burdened by the expectations placed upon you.

This had been the pattern for as long as you could recall—living in the shadows of your successful sister and brother, both excelling in nearly every aspect of life. Haeun, intelligent and outgoing, had swiftly found a suitable match upon reaching marriageable age, becoming the epitome of a perfect daughter in your parents' eyes. Hajoon wasn't far behind, securing a position in the local government and dutifully marrying the girl your parents had chosen for him.

And then there was you.

The black sheep of the Baek household, the peculiar one, always kept to yourself, showing little interest in feminine pursuits such as cooking, gardening, embroidering, or any similar activities. Your days were spent predominantly at home, frequenting your father's extensive library and immersing yourself in the countless storybooks it housed, often seeking solace in the realms of fantasy they offered. Your lack of enthusiasm for conventional interests rendered you an enigma even to your parents.

You maintained scant friendships, lacking any love interests or potential marriage prospects. Unlike other young women, you harboured no desire to adorn yourself or enhance your appearance; you appeared strangely content in your plain white hanboks and minimal hair accessories. Your demeanour led most people to forget the existence of a third daughter in the Baek family altogether. Those who did recall you were hesitant to consider you as a potential match for their sons, and the young men themselves showed no interest.

While your parents had initially held onto hope that you would eventually find your own path to settling down, their concerns began to mount as you surpassed the ideal age for marriage. Beyond mere age considerations, most young women your age were already married with children, leaving you perpetually single.

Though you concealed it well, you weren't oblivious to the whispers and rumours circulating about you already being labelled a spinster. The servants of your family estate often used you as a topic for gossip and entertainment, speculating whether you would ever find a spouse and placing bets on your marital prospects.

Finally deciding to acknowledge your presence, Haeun heaved a sigh before addressing you, "And how have you been, maknae? Will I be hearing news of you getting hitched any time soon?"

Glancing at her, you simply shrugged and shook your head, "Same old, unnie. And no, I don't think you will."

Hajoon frowned in resignation at your customary bluntness, "With that attitude, definitely not. Do you even have any intention of settling down? What are your plans for the future, hm? Are you going to keep causing our parents to worry like this?"

Your mother shook her head, silently urging him to be gentler with you, a twinge of sympathy stirring within her. In your younger years, her favouritism was evident in the way she showered attention primarily to your sister and brother, especially since your father was often away for work. While your siblings made efforts to bond with him during his brief returns, you showed little interest. Consequently, your relationship with your parents wasn't as close-knit as theirs.

It wasn't until Haeun had married and left home that your mother attempted to show you some affection, though by then, it seemed too late to truly connect with you. Despite her earnest efforts, she struggled to understand you. The rest of the family faced similar difficulties. You remained a mystery to everyone, always lost in your own world.

For once, instead of reacting with anger or responding passive-aggressively out of frustration, your sister nodded slowly, as if making a concerted effort to remain patient with you. Despite her occasional harshness towards you, she hadn't always been unkind. As your only elder sister, she had tried to foster a bond with you throughout your childhood, but your reserved nature made it difficult, and your straightforwardness often unintentionally wounded her.

Deep down, she harboured a hope that her harshness might somehow elicit some sort of response from you. But by now, she had come to realise its futility, as you consistently maintained an unbothered demeanour, regardless of what others would say or do to you. Ultimately, she grew tired of attempting to decipher your mind and heart. The same goes for your brother.

However, despite their frustrations, you were still their youngest sibling, and they sincerely hoped that you would one day settle down, have someone care for you, and perhaps start a family of your own.

"I think I know what might help," Haeun began, capturing everyone's attention before continuing, "I've heard about a renowned dressmaker in town who has worked wonders for countless women. If I'm not mistaken, his craftsmanship has even garnered recognition from the King and Queen. I was just thinking... maybe all our youngest needs is just a little makeover?"

Your father's eyes widened in astonishment, "His work is recognised even by His and Her Majesty, you say?"

Haeun nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, father! I couldn't believe it myself, but it's true. He's the mastermind behind Lady Park's stunning white and gold wedding hanbok!"

"He must be truly exceptional! Well, then, it seems worth a try. Perhaps this is just what our youngest needs to catch the eye of a potential suitor," your mother chimed in, her gaze hopeful as she turned to you, "Are you on board with the idea, dear?"

All eyes swivelled to you, and you once again felt yourself shrinking under their scrutiny—this familiar sensation of never being enough for them. The truth was evident: they were all tired of you. You had been a disappointment your entire life. If all they desired was for you to marry and depart from the household, perhaps it would be best to acquiesce to their wishes. It wouldn't hurt to entertain their request.

With another indifferent shrug, you replied, "Sure, if that's what everyone wants. After all, I don't have much to lose."

For the first time in forever, your family's faces lit up with smiles because of you, cheered by your response. As you retreated to your quarters that night, your sister eagerly taking charge of contacting the renowned dressmaker they had discussed, you pondered whether their enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to see you gone.

In truth, your parents' neglect and blatant favouritism toward your siblings over you during your childhood had moulded you into someone who wore indifference as armour, a coping mechanism to shield yourself from the constant sadness you felt. The weight of constantly letting everyone down had driven you to suppress your emotions, opting instead to feign apathy. Eventually, this façade became your reality; it felt safer to shut yourself off from feeling anything at all.

As you attempted to drift off to sleep that night, thoughts of the acclaimed dressmaker they had been praising occupied your mind. You couldn't help but entertain the idea that, like everyone else, he too would eventually grow weary of you. Surely, upon seeing you, he would deem you a lost cause.

Heh, at least he'll be paid to deal with me.

"Thanks a bunch, hyung. I promise I'll treat you to the finest meal once this is over!" Wooyoung exclaimed, hugging the disguise crafted by the dressmaker at the eleventh hour for his latest case—more like a mission to play knight in shining armour, one that might finally win him the affections of a girl, unlike the silly crush he harboured for Lady Park, leading absolutely nowhere.

With a shake of his head, Hongjoong gave the younger man's shoulder a reassuring pat, "Yeah, you better. Off you go then, you don't want to keep her waiting a moment longer now, do you?"

"Yes, sir!" The private investigator saluted playfully before setting off in pursuit of his new dream girl.

Once he was out of sight, the dressmaker returned to his shop, settling comfortably back into his seat, ready to resume work on his latest batch of orders. His fingers moved with practised ease, guided by the rough design sketch before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he worked, a swell of pride warming his chest at his friend's development. It wasn't just Wooyoung; everyone had left the general's estate weeks ago, returning to their own lives. While part of him missed the chaos of their shared moments, he was content to give the newlyweds their well-deserved privacy.

Still chuckling to himself, he reflected on the fact that the once-intimidating Park Seonghwa was now but a lovesick fool. He had once worried about the general's prospects for finding love, but now he realised it had been a needless concern. Who would have thought that General Park would find love before him, or even before the ever-charming Jung Yunho?

As he put the final touches on one of his dresses, he couldn't help but wonder how the couple was doing. It had been weeks since he last saw them, and he shook his head when he recalled how 'excited' his friend had been, even when he was injured. Now that they had all the time in the world together, he imagined Seonghwa would struggle to keep his hands off his wife. He pondered whether he would soon hear news of a new addition to their family.

Before he could become further engrossed in his thoughts, his sharp senses alerted him to the presence of a man and a woman entering his shop. Without hesitation, he plastered on his best business smile—a façade rarely seen by his friends, perhaps except for Lady Park. It was part of his practised persona, an outwardly amiable demeanour he employed to win over customers and potential clients, doing whatever was necessary to secure their business. This isn't to say he wasn't genuinely pleased, but his true passion lay in designing and dressmaking rather than customer service. Unfortunately, the latter was an essential aspect of his job.

Hongjoong had never been naturally a people person, but as he had previously made it clear to the general, he was reluctant to hire assistance for such a simple task. So here he was, stuck with doing his least favourite part of the job: greeting customers.

"Good day, sir and ma'am! Welcome to Kim's Dress Shop. May I inquire what you are searching for today? A hanbok for a special occasion, perhaps? That happens to be one of my specialities. However, if you're seeking an upgrade in everyday attire, I also offer a selection of simpler yet elegant designs," he recited, sticking to his customary script upon each patron's arrival.

The couple glanced around in amazement before eagerly beaming at him. The woman spoke, "Um, are you the renowned dressmaker Kim who crafted Lady Park's famous wedding gown?"

Grinning proudly, the dressmaker was pleased to once again be acknowledged for his recent accomplishments, "Indeed, that would be me," he confirmed. He couldn't deny that his orders had doubled since news of the iconic hanbok he had designed for his friend's wedding had spread. Perhaps he owed Seonghwa a debt of gratitude for hiring him. Without him, Hongjoong might not have achieved the level of success he enjoys today.

Stepping forward, the woman bowed respectfully, "It's truly an honour to meet you, Mr. Kim! You see, we are interested in engaging your services, but it's not for myself—it's for my younger sister."

"Oh? Will she be coming by soon for me to take her measurements and discuss her design preferences?" he inquired, surprised that the intended recipient of his hanboks was not present.

Shaking her head sheepishly, she clarified, "Unfortunately not. Forgive me for not starting with a self-introduction. Good day, Mr. Kim. I am the eldest daughter of the Baek household, and I'm here on behalf of our youngest."

Upon hearing this, Hongjoong immediately grasped the situation. Having worked extensively with noblewomen, he was well-versed in local gossip about nearby noble families. He had heard of the mysterious third daughter of Official Baek from the local Civilian Office, who rarely ventured outside her home—a well-known wallflower who, if he wasn't mistaken, remained unmarried despite being well past the ideal marriageable age.

With a nod, he smiled warmly, "Ah, Miss Baek! Or should I say, Mrs. Heo," the dressmaker corrected with a grin directed at the man beside her, presumably her husband, "It would be my pleasure to create hanboks for the youngest miss of such a prominent family. I assume that means I will need to visit the Baek estate to meet her."

The couple nodded with a slight grimace, "Yes, I'm sure you're aware of her reputation. Whatever rumours you may have heard are true. She remains single, and our entire family is deeply concerned for her. We've heard of the wonderful work you've done for others, and we were hopeful you could work your magic on her. My sister has always been a unique individual. I apologise for the inconvenience of asking you to leave your shop just for her. However, I assure you we will compensate you for any inconvenience."

As he listened to her plea, the dressmaker's mind raced with excitement. That was because no challenge was too daunting for him; he thrived on the opportunity to showcase his talent. The woman was right in what she said; he had indeed helped numerous single young women find matches after they had worn his designs.

This time would be no different.

What truly fueled his enthusiasm was the knowledge that the youngest Miss Baek was known to repel potential suitors, making her a particularly challenging case. If he could help her in finding a match, it would undoubtedly bolster his reputation, adding another significant achievement to his already impressive portfolio.

Moreover, the Baeks were one of the wealthiest noble families in the area. It would be foolish not to accept this job, even if it meant temporarily closing his shop more frequently to visit their estate. He was certain that the compensation he would receive for his services would more than make up for any inconvenience.

With a feigned understanding expression, he nodded, "Oh, please don't worry about it, Mrs. Heo. Nothing brings me greater joy than helping young women gain confidence and find love. Miss Baek clearly needs my assistance. If it means I can help one more woman escape singledom, any inconvenience will be worth it."

The couple cooed at his kindness, profusely thanking him for his selflessness, while he celebrated internally, eager for the opportunity to make that buck. Reassuringly, he welcomed them into his shop, offering them seats and some tea as they made the necessary arrangements for the special job: determining which days he would need to close his shop and visit the Baek estate as well as negotiating the payment. Fortunately for him, they had even provided a down payment to demonstrate their sincerity.

After a lengthy discussion that may or may not have interfered with his current orders, Hongjoong happily bid the couple goodbye. He couldn't care less about any disruptions; his pockets were full, and he was content. With the success of the business that Seonghwa had brought him, he was sure that this would be his next most satisfying endeavour. As he watched the couple leave, a sense of anticipation washed over him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Thank you, Miss Baek, for this wonderful opportunity. I'm certain we'll get along just fine, you and I. Gosh, I just love it when rich people are gullible, and money is easy to make," he muttered to himself, brimming with excitement for what lay ahead.

Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life.

Perhaps the dressmaker might have spoken too soon, been a tad overconfident in his abilities, and underestimated the true enigmatic nature of the youngest Miss Baek. He would soon discover this the hard way during his very first visit to the family's estate, which was nearly as large as the general's, albeit slightly smaller.

He remained confident and pleased as he was warmly welcomed, not only by the couple he had met at his shop the other day, but also by Official Baek and his wife, Lady Baek, along with their middle son and his new wife—everyone except for the one he was hired to make clothes for. The youngest Miss Baek was nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. If anything, it only heightened his curiosity about you. He was eager to finally lay eyes on the girl whom so many noble families and men tried to avoid.

The more your family emphasised how hopeless you were and expressed their concern about you remaining a spinster, the more determined he became. His fingers were itching to work another miracle. No ugly duckling could remain ugly forever, especially not if he could help it.

"We're terribly sorry our youngest is not here to greet you, Mr. Kim! We specifically informed her that you would be arriving by this time. She must still be holed up in her father's library. We'll fetch her immediately!" Lady Baek exclaimed, her urgency and embarrassment evident in her tone.

Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands to signal that it was fine, despite feeling a slight disbelief at your apparent disregard for his presence. He tried his best to play the role of a considerate man, reminding himself that it was your family who wanted him here, not you. He tried to be understanding of how you might be feeling, "It's quite alright. Perhaps I could go meet her in the library if she doesn't want to come outside."

"Oh, is that really alright? You've come all this way, Mr. Kim. The least she could do now is come to you and make your job easier," Official Baek remarked with a slight wince.

"I assure you, it's perfectly fine. My task today is simply to take Miss Baek's measurements and discuss her design preferences. For that to happen smoothly, it's important she feels comfortable. Conducting it in her own space might be the best approach for all of us," he responded.

Your brother nodded, "If you insist, Mr. Kim. We'll have the maids escort you there. Let us know if there's anything you need."

Hongjoong bowed, "Thank you, sir. I will."

"We entrust her to you, Mr. Kim," said your sister, her hands clasped together to show her gratitude and hopefulness.

"Please do not worry, Mrs. Heo. I have a feeling Miss Baek will find love in no time."

"We're counting on it."

As a few maids escorted him towards the library as instructed, the dressmaker's mind buzzed with speculative thoughts. Considering all the talk about Miss Baek's perpetual singleness, he couldn't help but imagine you to be hideous. If that were indeed the case, he surmised it might stem from low self-esteem.

Throughout his career, he has developed a knack for identifying his customers' underlying issues. Just as he had done with Seonghwa's wife, he could often discern precisely what they needed, whether it be a boost in confidence or a transformation in appearance. He was almost certain he'd be able to figure you out in an instant.

Upon arriving at the destination, one of the maids spoke up, "We're here, Mr. Kim. You should be able to find the young miss somewhere inside. Just call out to any of us if you require anything at all."

Hongjoong nodded, expressing his gratitude, "Of course, thank you," he replied before heading inside. His heart quickened for some reason as he stepped into the room, uncertain of what to expect.

Taking a cautious step after gently closing the door behind him, he called out softly, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquil atmosphere of the silent and peaceful library, "Miss Baek...? Sorry for the intrusion, but this is Kim Hongjoong, the dressmaker your family hired to provide you with a new wardrobe. If you would be so kind as to come out, we could proceed with the initial stages of the dressmaking process for you."

Releasing a small sigh at the continued silence, he called out again, "Miss Baek...? If you won't respond, I'll have to enter."

While he understood your potential shyness, he struggled to contain his displeasure at what felt like disrespect towards him. After all, he had made the effort to come all this way and even prioritised your comfort. Yet here you were, still playing hard to get.

"Very well, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he began to make his way down the aisle, scanning the spacious room from left to right in search of you. It was only when he was about to pass by a hunched figure between the rows of tall bookshelves that he halted, doing a double take before fixing his gaze squarely on your form. There you were, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands.

Whatever he had anticipated, you were none of that. The girl in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, your delicate and refined features were illuminated, accentuating your natural beauty. In that moment, you appeared almost ethereal. With such looks, finding a match shouldn't be a challenge at all.

Huh, guess I was wrong about her looks.

Yet, it wasn't your appearance that posed the issue. He had expected as much, considering the attractiveness of your family members. However, he could understand why you were often overlooked. The problem lay not in your physical attributes, but rather in that god-awful attire you chose to wear – a plain, white hanbok devoid of any embellishments. Furthermore, you seemed to lack hair accessories and makeup. He dared say that even some of the maids had put more effort into their appearance than you had.

Goodness gracious, you looked like a prisoner in that outfit. In his opinion, you ought to be arrested for donning such a monstrosity. Perhaps you weren't aware yet, but today you would be encountering the fashion police, and he was not pleased with what he saw. It was evident to him that you were in dire need of his assistance.

Kim Hongjoong was here now, and he intended to effect swift change. By the end of his makeover, he was confident you would be fit to enter even a beauty pageant.

"Hello, Miss Baek," he greeted, finally drawing your attention as you glanced up to see him approaching.

"Oh, you're here. Mr. Kim, right?" you responded, acknowledging him with a nod. Folding the edge of the page as a makeshift bookmark, you carefully slid the book back into its place on the shelf before rising from your spot on the ground.

The dressmaker's grip tightened around his bag of tools, a hint of displeasure flickering behind his façade of a smile, "Yes, that's correct, my lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you," he attempted to charm you, a tactic that typically worked wonders with his clientele, eliciting blushes and smiles. However, his heart sank as you remained unfazed.

"Did you really? I can't imagine it's anything favourable," you murmured, turning to face him squarely, "And there's no need for pretence. I highly doubt there's anything pleasurable about meeting me. I prefer unvarnished truths to false pleasantries."

What in the world.

Taken aback by your bluntness, he paused briefly to compose himself before clearing his throat, "Ah, I see... If you insist, Miss Baek, I won't sugarcoat my thoughts on your choice of attire. Your family has expressed concerns about your ability to attract suitors, and I can see why. It's pretty clear to me that you struggle with dressing in a way that appeals to others but fear not. I'm here now, and I'll help you enhance your style."

Just when he thought you couldn't possibly surprise him any further, you shrugged in disagreement, "I don't believe I'm struggling at all. I know exactly what I like, and this is it," you gestured to your hanbok, "It's not my fault nobody shares the same opinion."

Baffled by your words, he finally grasped the true extent of your problem. Yes, your fashion style was the main issue, but more crucially, it was your entire character. Throughout his life, the dressmaker had encountered his fair share of eccentric individuals, but you seemed to easily surpass them all in peculiarity.

Your blunt honesty was one thing, but it was your overall lack of emotion or ability to read social cues that truly puzzled him. Perhaps it was simply your indifference. Regardless, one thing became abundantly clear to him: he did not like you. Despite having only just met you, he eagerly anticipated the moment he could leave your presence.

Lord help me, I cannot stand her already.

Blinking rapidly, he struggled to maintain the smile on his face as he responded stiffly, "I... I understand, Miss Baek. Perhaps that's your belief for now. However, I'm confident you'll change your mind once you see my designs. They never disappoint. I've never had a dissatisfied customer, and I fully intend to keep it that way."

Not wanting to dwell on your comments, he quickly clapped his hands together and continued, "Now, without further ado, let's proceed with taking your measurements."

Forget discussing your preferences, you had made your stance clear. But Hongjoong remained determined to impress you with his work. He was eager to unveil his best design, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you would realise how stupid you were to prefer prison clothes over his hanboks.

Retrieving his measuring tape and notebook from his bag, he turned to you, making an effort to conceal any hint of displeasure on his face as he approached, "Stay still, my lady. This will only take a moment," he instructed, beginning with your shoulders before proceeding to measure your height, sleeve length, and neck size. His breath caught and his hands trembled as he reached the final step, assessing your waist and chest measurements.

While he typically performed these tasks with ease, it was usually in the familiar surroundings of his shop, with others present. Now, it was just the two of you in the expansive, quiet library. For some reason, the atmosphere felt almost... intimate.

Focus, Kim Hongjoong!

Suppressing the sudden spike of his heartbeat, he maintained a composed expression and directed, "Please raise your arms, my lady. I'll need to measure your chest and waist next."

Flustered, he attributed the fluttering of his heart to the persistent, unabashed curiosity in your gaze throughout the measurement process. That must be it, he reasoned. You didn't possess goddess-like beauty, nor were you sweet as an angel. There was no other reason for him to react that way than sheer embarrassment under your scrutiny.

Little did he know, you experienced similar, if not more intense, emotions than he did. But who could blame you, really? It was the first time a man had ever been in such close proximity to you. The only difference between you was your adeptness at concealing your feelings, contrasting with the subtle shifts in his demeanour and the slight tremor in his hands, which did not evade your perceptive gaze.

He was merely a man, after all. You supposed it was only natural for him to exhibit such reactions in the presence of a woman.

But that didn't mean much.

You could tell he disliked you, a sentiment you had grown used to. Like everyone else you met, it seemed no one genuinely liked you. Your family's acceptance stemmed from obligation, your servants' compliance from their employment, and Hongjoong's engagement from his professional duty. Once that was done, you were certain you would never see him again. Armed with this notion, you maintained your stoic façade.

"Very well, Miss Baek. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return when the first batch of your hanboks is ready," the dressmaker stated, swiftly gathering his belongings and offering one final bow before hurrying out of the library, pink tinting his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Mr. Kim."

Back at his shop that evening, he struggled to focus on his work. His thoughts kept wandering back to the moment your faces were inches apart, when he had to briefly encircle his arms around your waist to take measurements. Despite the unattractive hanbok you wore, he couldn't deny that you smelled quite pleasant. At the very least, you had good hygiene, he had to give you that.

Get a grip, you fool!

Giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek, he shook off the distraction. He reminded himself of the sheer frustration of being around you. From your perplexing bluntness to your questionable taste in fashion, it was enough to raise his blood pressure. How could someone like you even exist? He realised now that he had vastly underestimated your peculiar nature. Once confident he could see through anyone, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: you would surely admire the designs he had in store for you. His work had always been his stronghold, never failing to impress. If even royalty had been impressed, why wouldn't a mere noblewoman like yourself? You claimed to dislike fashion, but that was only because you hadn't seen his masterpieces, he was sure of it.

No one, no one could ever resist his work.

Determined to swiftly overcome this minor obstacle, he reassured himself that you were just a small hurdle on the path to another remarkable achievement. In the end, when you were basking in the glory of the century's most sensational makeover, all the effort would be worthwhile. He could not wait for you to shed tears of gratitude, thanking him for opening your eyes to the true essence of beauty. With that conviction, he delved into his work, flipping through his sketchbook until he reached the section reserved for his finest designs, carefully curated for an occasion like this.

Pausing at one of his personal favorites, a masterpiece he had been saving for a worthy client, he decided that now was the perfect opportunity to bring it to life.

Oh, you were sure to adore it.

You had to.

But he should have known better than to actually believe that. He was, once again, in for a surprise a few days later when he arrived at the Baek estate with the first hanbok done. Only once he had your green light would he be able to proceed with making more for you. As the maids escorted him to your quarters, they noted his bright demeanour; you had risen late today and were still having breakfast in solitude, "You seem quite cheerful today, Mr. Kim," one remarked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked confidently, "Indeed, I am. Your young miss will be very impressed with what she is about to see today. With this makeover, she'll surely catch the eye of potential suitors in no time."

The maid hesitated, cautioning, "I'm not sure you should be so certain. The young miss isn't like any other girl you've worked with."

"Ah, I know, but my work speaks for itself," he retorted, "She'd be silly not to like it."

"If you say so, sir," the maid replied, her tone conceding defeat. She knew better than to doubt his skill, but she also understood that you were unlike any other. He would soon discover that firsthand, and she was almost certain he wouldn't leave the estate with the same confidence he arrived with.

"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.

Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."

As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."

You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.

"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."

Ouch.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, causing the maids who were waiting in your room to quickly shuffle closer to you, noticing you had finished your meal, "Young miss, we'll just be clearing this up and excusing ourselves."

"Thank you." You nodded curtly, watching emotionlessly as they hastily picked up the table containing the empty plates and bowls and left with a deep bow. Meanwhile, the dressmaker remained in his spot, visibly heaving deep breaths as if trying to calm himself from the outburst, before carefully setting the hanbok down.

After you were left alone, he took a deep breath before apologising, "Gosh, I— I'm so sorry, Miss Baek. That was uncalled for, I—"

Shaking your head, you cut him off, "No, please don't be. You were merely telling the truth. As I've said, I prefer unvarnished truth to false pleasantries. In fact, I believe you are right about that. You are not the first to say that, and you certainly won't be the last."

As he absorbed your words, a wave of discomfort washed over Hongjoong. For some reason, he would have preferred if you had yelled at him or thrown a tantrum rather than accepting his insults like that. Surely, it couldn't feel pleasant to hear such remarks, no matter how unaffected you made yourself appear. It made him feel terrible, and he hated it — hated the guilt that filled him for uttering such words.

Clearing his throat, he sighed, "I... my lady, please don't say that. It's just that... I really need your approval before I make more of these for you. At the end of the day, you are the one who has to wear them." His voice softened, an attempt to make up for his earlier harshness.

You detected the familiar pity in his tone, and you despised it. Raising a brow, you shrugged, "Why does my approval matter? It's my family who's paying you, not me. You owe it to them to make me look perfect, whatever that means. I've made it clear what I like, and if it's not to yours or anyone's taste, so be it. I see no point in consulting me on your designs, Mr. Kim. Just do what you're hired for; it doesn't matter what I like."

It never has.

While that should have brought relief to the dressmaker, knowing he had the freedom to pursue his vision without worrying about your approval, something about your words left him feeling... melancholic. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own struggles when he initially embarked on his fashion career. At that time, it was met with disapproval from society, which deemed it an unfitting profession for a man. Despite the opposition, he chose to be himself.

However, seeing you succumb to societal expectations, suppressing your true self to please others, including him, stirred a sense of empathy within him. It mirrored his own past battles with conformity. Unlike him, you were forced to adhere to societal norms, sacrificing your individuality for the sake of others' expectations.

And he didn't like that.

But what he hated even more was how you managed to evoke emotions he hadn't signed up for. Despite his efforts to push thoughts of you aside and concentrate solely on his goal—to craft the finest hanboks in all of Joseon and transform you into a vision of beauty, one you did not desire—the memory of your somewhat disheartening expression, as you dismissed the importance of your preferences, lingered in his mind. It unsettled him, he hated the way it was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"I'm telling you, Yunho, she's infuriating!"

The physician, busy tidying his clinic counter, rolled his eyes, "How could I not know, hyung? You've been talking about her since my lunch break. We're almost at closing time; are you finished?"

Hongjoong crossed his arms, scoffing, "What, do you have somewhere else to be? Don't think I haven't noticed you've been going to that apothecary more often lately."

Yunho stilled, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "What do you mean? I've always gone there for herbs."

"Yes, but not as frequently as you do now. Ever since you met a certain herbalist," Hongjoong teased, wiggling his brows.

"If you have nothing important to say, please leave," the physician grumbled, tired of the older man's rambling.

Uncrossing his arms, the dressmaker said, "W-wait! Look, you're the most rational one among us. I just... wanted to know your thoughts on the matter."

Sighing, Yunho softened, "You know, she's right. You're hired by her family, your job is simple, and you know what you have to do. The only reason you're so affected by this is probably because you care."

"I do not care about her—"

"Sure, if you say so. Then go on ahead and complete your job. You'll receive your payment and all the benefits that come with it anyway. So, what's really bothering you?"

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for 1.6k followers! Same as Wooyoung's spinoff, the next part will be the second and final part. I've decided to standardise the format, so all the spinoffs will be two-shots.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[fayes-fics]

Vignette

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An artist meet-cute in the park.

Warnings: none... this is the fluffiest of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors Note: Anon request fill (see HERE) about Benedict and an artist having a meet-cute in the park. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this, Nonny, and sorry it has taken so many months! <3

A wooden toy hoop whooshing inches from your knee interrupts your quiet refuge amid the flower gardens of Regents Park, breaking your intense concentration on your drawing and almost dropping your charcoal.

Seconds later, a pretty young girl of maybe eleven years old comes running after the errant object, her plaited hair bouncing, her blush pink dress swishing around her knees as she calls out an apology to you and retrieves the hoop from the nearby bush.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her face a picture of impish inquisition as she wanders back to your bench.

“I am drawing,” you smile benevolently; something about her mischievous spirit reminds you of your nieces.

“What are you drawing?” her grin somehow infectious.

“You see those roses there?” you point with your charcoal to a nearby white alba maxima rose bush, stems almost bowing under the weight of the heavily ruffled peach-tipped petals. “Those are in peak bloom, and I am attempting to capture them, their ephemeral beauty...”

“Are you any good?” 

You chuckle at her youthful bluntness, but just as you are tilting your work towards her, you are interrupted by a man rounding into this same quiet corner. 

“Hyacinth! Please refrain from injuring and bother…” his refined voice begins to chastise but suddenly grinds to a halt mid-sentence as soon as he catches sight of you.

But he is not the only one who has lost the power of speech. 

Something vaults hard in your stomach like you are plunging down an invisible chasm. He is handsome in a way you have never seen before in your twenty years on this earth: tall, with a strong jaw and a dandyish colourful outfit that fits him very well. 

There are a few moments where all you do is stare at each other, lips parted, before he appears to shake himself a fraction and bows his head in polite greeting.

“Where are my manners? I would like to apologise for my little sister almost causing you injury, Miss. The fault is entirely mine; I should not have let her play quite so spiritedly in a public park. I-I hope you are not injured?”

“N-Not at all; the hoop merely brushed my skirt. I am more than fine,” you assure hurriedly. “Mr….?”

“Bridgerton,” he offers, nodding to you in a more formal greeting.

You would know that name anywhere—one of the most esteemed families of the Ton. You instantly know he is not the Viscount, having seen him at society events, so you surmise this must be one of his younger brothers. Before you can offer your name, however, he speaks again. 

“You draw?” 

“Oh.. yes, yes… I-I do,” you stumble, a little taken aback by his question, even as you feel his sister’s gaze volleying between the two of you with a bemused expression.

“I draw too,” he explains, placing a hand over his sternum, the sunlight catching upon a signet ring on his little finger. 

“Oh…” you seem inordinately pleased to share such a hobby with this virtual stranger.

“I also know well that charcoal fingers are an occupational hazard..” he adds cordially as he catches you attempting to wipe the dark smears upon your hands with a rag. “May I see your work? If it is not too impudent of me to ask,” he adds modestly.

“I-I am not very good…” you fret, looking down at the partial image you see on your sketch pad. “Tis merely a pastime I use to escape…”

“Believe me, Miss…?”

“Y/l/n.”

“Believe me, Miss y/l/n, it is very much the case for me too - being that I am one of eight. Including such trouble-makers as this one,” he rolls his eyes affectionately as he signals to Hyacinth, who seems to be rapidly losing interest, distractedly spinning the hoop she holds. “Escaping is almost a full-time hobby for me…” 

You cannot help but giggle at his droll humour, and he seems delighted, his face lighting up as you hide a mild blush behind the back of your hand.

“May I?” his ask is so soft you cannot do anything but acquiesce.

“‘Tis just a small vignette…” you excuse meekly as you hand over your sketchpad, suddenly so nervous to hear his opinion. You have never shared your drawings with anyone before, but something about his affable demeanour makes you bold enough to do so.

He is quiet for some time. It feels like an age, even though it is likely only a matter of seconds, but still long enough that butterflies start to roil in your stomach.

“I did say it is just a hobby…” you titter nervously, looking away.

“It is beautiful…” he exhales quietly, tone filled with admiration as your eyes ping back to him.

Your heart flutters as he extols the virtues of your work, effusively admiring your use of shading to capture shadows and the lines you have used to denote the multitudinous layers of petals, his gracious hand gesturing over the picture as he speaks.

“You flatter me entirely too much, Mr Bridgerton…” you demure, even as you feel yourself blooming under his praise, just like the flower you have painstakingly attempted to capture. A warmth in your chest that seems to radiate out to glow all over.

“I assure you I do not,” he smiles, handing you back your sketch pad.

“Benedict,” Hyacinth whines, stamping her little boot on the grass, “you said we would play…”

“I do not wish to interrupt your family time,” you placate, pleased you have learned his first name.

“Hyacinth, I am sure Eloise said something about sandwiches; you want lunch, do you not?” Benedict responds, raising a pointed brow.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Run along then,” he pulls an exasperated face at her that again has you giggling, making a shooing gesture with his hands.

She sighs but departs with a dramatic flounce.

“Sadly, I must also depart; a family picnic indeed awaits. But if I may be so bold, I would very much like for us to meet again. If you would be amendable? With a chaperone, of course,” he adds hurriedly, keen to be gentlemanly. “I think perhaps we would have much to speak of… around art. And perhaps we could… draw together? Here?”

His proposal, so sweet and straightforward, has you rendered speechless again, heart leaping at the very thought.

“I…I would like that very much,” your honest confession out of your mouth before you can swallow it.

“As would I,” his response instant, his face beaming. “Would you be here, perchance, Thursday afternoon around this same time?”

“I would…” The hitch of excitement in your own voice unmistakable.

“Excellent!” his hazy blue eyes seem to dance in the sunlight as he respectfully tilts his head again. “I am so looking forward to it, Miss y/l/n…” are his parting words before he takes his leave.

“As am I, Mr Bridgerton…” you murmur belatedly, the words shared only with the fragrant roses surrounding you, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Your stare lingers where he stood long after he has left, an excited buzz over your skin at the thought you have met a kindred, artistic spirit. And one so very handsome, too.

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[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, humiliation, bullying, chauvinism ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had always felt that he lacked something. Part of him claimed that if a dragon had hatched from his egg, things would have been different, however, years later, he recognised that this was not entirely true.

Aegon had a gift for light-hearted conversation, an ironic humour that he lacked. He kept telling him to smile at last, to get his nose out of his books, that he was boring, perpetually serious and withdrawn. He preferred to spend time with Jace and Luke − they were louder and funnier than him, they understood him, they had what he was missing.

They had dragons.

They didn't spare unpleasant comments even to their own sister, calling her a hamster, most likely referring to her rosy, firm cheeks and big eyes.

He could see that she was running away from them crying, but he wasn't going to comfort her. She was a girl – her world, filled with poetry, embroidery and music seemed to him as distant as Essos.

The only thing they had in common was books.

They bumped into each other occasionally in the library, and although at first they simply pretended not to see one another, one day she dared to sit next to him as he looked through the family tree of their ancestors.

"What is it?" She asked, placing the large volume on the table in front of them with difficulty.

He huffed as the dust that rose with her movement reached his nostrils, out of the corner of his eye he noticed that it was The Great History of Aegon the Conqueror.

He did not reply, turning the page of the book, not knowing why he should explain it to her.

He didn't believe her, didn't trust her, didn't want her.

She was a bastard, though she probably didn't know it herself, wallowing in riches like a princess even though she didn't deserve them.

He didn't want her pity, attention or anything else she could give him.

He didn't want to be her second choice, the place she ran to because her brothers were mean to her; he had his own, in his mind very adult, worries and he didn't want to listen to hers.

"Is this a book dedicated to our family history?" She asked softly, leaning out so that she could see what he was reading.

She stood up, coming closer to him, intrigued. He pressed his lips together when he smelled her pleasant scent, some intense vanilla oil.

He felt a tightening and burbling in his stomach at the thought of the cake that smelled similar, which his mother had ordered to be baked for his Name Day a few months earlier.

"Ah, our family tree. Where are we?" She asked cheerfully, and he sighed heavily, reluctantly flipping forward a few pages, tracing their line with his finger, showing her a place at the very end.

He swallowed loudly as he saw how Laenor Velaryon was written in the space where her father was inscribed, trying not to smile with mockery.

She leaned lower, looking at the area he had pointed at and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different they were, apart from the obvious fact that he was a man and she was a woman.

His eyelashes were almost white and translucent and hers were black, long, surrounding her shining eyes, making them seem even bigger to him. His skin was pale, thin as parchment when hers was flushed and full of life, her lips plump and moist, her nose shapely and straight, the contour of her face gentle as his jaw was outlined sharply.

And finally, his hair, the colour of Targaryen's, the white she lacked, her luscious black curls falling gently down her back was visible proof of who her father was.

Although he liked to mock her in spirit, he couldn't say she was ugly or repulsive.

"Would you marry Helaena if our King so commanded?" She asked curiously, glancing sideways at his seated figure. He lifted his gaze to her and sighed heavily, figuring that nothing would happen if he spoke to her for a while.

She was simply bored, just like him, and he didn't get the impression that she had come to entertain herself at his expense.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes. I would do my duty as a Prince and son of the King." He said lowly, solemnly, fiddling between his fingers with the page of the book he had just looked at, crossing his legs.

Even though he was still a child, he was trying to sound and look like a man.

She cocked her head, clearly genuinely intrigued by his statement, a wide smile on her face.

"Are you in love with her?" She asked as if it was obvious, as if she was encouraging him to reveal to her his little secret. He looked at her in disbelief, not knowing what to make of her question.

He swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, feeling his heart pounding fast.

What did it matter?

"Well…she's my sister. Of course I love her." He replied coolly, feeling strange with the words on his tongue, as if there was something inappropriate about them.

"I love Jace too, but I'm not in love with him. There's a difference." She said with a kind of calmness and wisdom that surprised him, looking at him with a gentle expression on her face that consternated him.

Why were they even having this conversation?

Still, her words made him feel a tightness in his throat, a realisation that he understood what she meant, but didn't want to admit it.

The tenderness of falling in love, the poems and the late-night frolicking were the domain of women's imagination, which unfortunately then had to collide with the cruel reality. He was a man, however, and he had no intention of getting into these deep divagations of the weaker sex.

"Don't be naïve. Marriage is not meant to be a pleasure. It is meant to be a sacrifice for the good of the kingdom, to secure its needs." He said dryly, turning back to the page he had been reading earlier, frustrated for some reason by her remark.

She did not speak again, returning to her seat, sinking into reading the gigantic volume dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

Although he could have done it in his chamber, he had been coming to the library to read ever since and always met her in the same place. Although they didn't appoint themselves, they both had their assignments until midday and would turn up there to read immediately afterwards, sitting next to each other, exchanging thoughts in passing.

He was afraid that Aegon would see them one day, but fortunately he never ventured into the abyss of the library, few people went there and he felt reasonably safe.

Usually it was she who asked him questions and he was the one who answered her. He felt some sort of empowerment because of this – at last there was someone who appreciated his knowledge and rhetoric, who listened intently to his opinion.

"I would like to be like Rhaenys in the future." She said softly and he looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Rhaenys? What's interesting about her? Visenya could fight with a sword and she rode the largest dragon still alive in this world. If I had a choice, I would marry her." He said without thinking, recognising that it would be wonderful to have by his side a woman who could wield a sword perfectly, with a sharp tongue and temperament, who would be a born warrior like him.

He saw his niece raise an eyebrow in amusement, a sort of childlike joy on her face, her eyes shining.

"Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise. Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys." She said mockingly, as if immensely pleased that she could take the argument out of his hand. He pressed his lips together at her remark and shrugged his shoulders, returning to his reading.

He didn't care what men and women did at night − his mother had told him that he shouldn't bother with it for the time being, and he had decided that there was in fact no need to, until his father called on him one morning.

"− no −" He heard his mother's voice, leaning over the table where the tired King sat, looking at her as if half asleep. "− I do not agree, Viserys, it's not −"

She did not finish, hearing his footsteps and folded her arms in front of her, trying to calm herself, letting out a loud breath. His father nodded at him to come closer, which he did obediently, feeling his heart pounding hard.

His father had never yet called on him on any serious matter.

"I have just been discussing with your mother the importance of our family, of our kingdom remaining united. Although I have agreed that, according to tradition, your sister should marry your brother and not your nephew, I would like you to be the one to bring House Targaryen together anew, and that you should marry the daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor in the future." He said calmly, with each finished sentence tapping his fingers on the table top, as if to add some finality and certainty to his words that he was convinced this was the right thing to do.

"− this is ridiculous − Aemond should secure our kingdom with a marriage to the daughter of one of the lords who can benefit us −" His mother began impatiently, her husband sighed loudly, exhausted.

"And who should receive this honour? The Starks? The Arryns? The Baratheons? No choice would be good, for someone would always feel disadvantaged. Marriage within the family will not outrage anyone on the outside, and will only strengthen what has been strained." He said with conviction; the Queen swallowed hard, shaking her head, finally looking at him as if she was certain he abhorred the idea as much as she did.

"− Aemond, you don't have to agree −" She said in a trembling voice, and he swallowed hard, looking at the stone floor beneath his feet, feeling his heart pounding hard.

Bastard or not, the dragon's blood flowed in her, as it did in him. She didn't despise or mistreat him. She knew what duty and obligation meant.

He reasoned that although he would have preferred to have a female warrior by his side, in fact the idea of marrying her did not reject him. He preferred her to the daughter of some common lord.

In his own way, he even liked her.

He grunted, feeling proud to rise to the occasion and fulfil his father's desire.

"If it is my King's wish, I will marry her, for the sake of the kingdom and our family." He said lowly, looking him straight in the eyes, standing upright, his hands folded behind his back.

He felt a squeeze in his throat as his father smiled at him sincerely, for the first and last time in his life.

"So it's decided."

He didn't know how the message had been conveyed to his betrothed, however he could see by the look on her face as she ran into the library, all red with emotion, that someone had made her aware of what had happened and he felt a twist in his stomach at the thought.

He was afraid she would make it clear to him that she didn't want him, that she abhorred him, that she had no intention of marrying a man who didn't have a dragon of his own.

As she approached him however her eyes sparkled, she laughed as if she didn't believe it.

"Is it true?" She asked breathing loudly and he swallowed hard, nodding his head, looking at her with wide eyes.

"I'm so happy." She giggled sweetly, warmly, covering her mouth with her hand, as if someone had just given her a wonderful surprise.

He felt some kind of heat in his chest, an affection towards her, a gratitude for her faithfulness, for her devotion, for the fact that she respected him.

He was shocked to think that she would make a good wife.

Aegon laughed at him, not understanding where his lack of objection came from, how he could think that good had happened.

"She doesn't even have an arse or tits." He sneered and he clenched his jaw, wrinkling his brow, looking at him over his shoulder.

"Shut your mouth. Don't speak about her this way." He growled, feeling that her good name was now his as well, and that he had to protect her.

Aegon snorted, shaking his head, patting him on the back piteously.

"My little brother fell in love with Lady Strong?" He asked, forcing himself into a sweet, mocking tone as if he were speaking to a small child, which angered him even more. He slammed his head against his forehead, and he swore in pain, staggering backwards, catching the table, which fell over with him.

"You fucking bastard!" He shouted throwing himself at him, and they began to pound each other with their fists, wrestling with each other on the floor, until, hearing the commotion, a servant girl rushed into his chamber, trying to separate them.

His future wife visited him in his chamber that day, concerned that he had not appeared in the library, raising her eyebrows in simultaneous concern and amusement as she saw him holding an ice cube to his red cheek, a large bruise under his eye.

"What's happened?" She asked as she was accustomed to, without any pleasantries, approaching him sitting in a chair that was, however, too big and his legs did not reach the ground. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders without answering.

He had no intention of revealing what had caused the fight − he wasn't going to appear to her as a prince on a white horse who would worship and adore her, as in all those poems she had surely read.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She asked further, and he shook his head. She sighed heavily, taking a single lemon cake from the pocket of her bottom gown, placing it in front of him.

"I know the Queen only allows you to eat sweets after your weekly visit to the Great Sept, but I stole one for you anyway. As a consolation." She said proudly, and he nodded, lifting his gaze to her, involuntarily feeling grateful.

She cared for him without wanting anything in return.

Since they were betrothed, she hadn't asked him for solitary walks, gifts, confessions of love or anything else a lady of her status might desire from the man she was to marry.

"Thank you." He replied calmly, recognising that he could give her at least that much.

She looked around his chamber and he realised that she was in it for the first time in her life. He stood up, setting the ice sack down in the bowl, walking over to his bookshelf, a gift to him from his mother.

"If you wish, I can lend you some. Just pick which one." He said softly, coming to the conclusion that he wanted to be kind to her, that he wanted her to have no regrets about him becoming her husband, to be proud of it.

She looked at him gratefully and took out a book written by the ancient philosopher, Areon, dissecting human dignity and duty. Something about her choice pleased him, the thought that she wanted to understand him.

She pressed the book to her heart and looked at him, her eyes seemed even bigger to him than usual, her beautiful long eyelashes, hair and plump lips shone in the summer light of the day.

He felt a pleasant tickle in his lower abdomen watching her without saying a word.

"– can I kiss you? –" She asked so quietly that for a moment he thought he had overheard himself. He felt his whole body tense up as his pupils dilate in disbelief, his fingers involuntarily began to rub against each other in a subconscious nervous reflex.

Oh gods.

Should they be doing this?

Was this the right thing to do?

She was supposed to be his wife. From what he understood, husbands and wives did this, as a kind of union and intimacy.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her lips, thinking they looked pleasantly warm and soft; a shiver went through him at the thought that he could feel them in a moment if he wanted to.

He nodded his head.

He watched her vigilantly, involuntarily breathing through his mouth as she stepped closer to him; he was taller than her and leaned in slightly, wanting to make her task easier.

She surprised him when she suddenly lifted up on her tiptoes and her lips pressed against his in a warm, innocent kiss − he felt like his heart had stopped for a moment, the scent of vanilla filled his lungs, her skin delightfully moist and soft.

It felt so pleasant.

She pulled away from him immediately, all red as he was, breathing hard, as if it took a lot of effort and courage from her too, her wide eyes looked at him in excitement, as if she was waiting for his reaction.

"– one more time –"

These words came out of him like a weak whisper, like a plea through which he felt the shame overpowering him.

She smiled before rising on her toes again, this time placing her hand on his shoulders for balance − she pressed her fleshy, moist lips to his for a longer time and sighed softly as he touched her cheek, wonderfully soft and warm.

She pulled away from him with a quiet click and closed her eyes feeling him stroke her skin with his thumb. He pressed his forehead against hers, feeling butterflies in his stomach.

"– will you come to me at night? –"

He had nightmares most of the time at night − usually dreams in which he saw anew the pig that his brother and nephews had introduced to him as his dragon, humiliating him as no one had ever done before.

He found that her presence calmed him and that perhaps if she slept in the same bed, he would finally get some rest.

He didn't think about the fact that it might have been at least inappropriate in the eyes of others when under the cover of night she snuck into his chamber, slipping under the thick furs beside him, snuggling up to him. In his mind she was already his wife, and wives slept with their husbands − unless it was his parents.

They lay that night looking at each other with their foreheads pressed together, stroking each other's cheeks, shy and embarrassed.

Their wordless, innocent confession of affection and need for closeness.

"We are going to have seven children." He stated after some thought, as if he had decided that such a number would satisfy him. He wanted his family to be strong and broad, and also seven were gods, so it had symbolic meaning as well.

She blinked, as if something troubled her in his words, furrowing her brow.

"My mother gets very tired during childbirth and then can't get up for a few days. With the rest, how do we do it?" She asked uncertainly and he shrugged his shoulders.

He had never delved into the ins and outs of the pleasures of the flesh too much − Aegon had said that rapprochements with women were very pleasurable and, as he understood, that was why he couldn't pull away from them, to him, however, what he had was enough.

"We'll find out everything when we're older. Do not fret." He said with certainty, stroking her soft, plump cheek with his thumb. She cheered up, he saw the sparkle in her gaze before her lips stole a soft, warm kiss from him again.

He smiled at the thought that he felt that in her eyes he was a man, the head of their future family.

There had been times when he had forgotten who she was, who her father was, her smile, her laugh, her eyes, the sweet kisses she bestowed on him when they were alone made him think it didn't matter anymore.

Years later, he could not believe how wrong he was.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[watermelonlovershigh]

Baby Fever /blurb/ (housemate!harry series)

AN: i now wish i would have made this blurb into a regular chapter with more details, making it longer, but i can't go back now. so this will be the first blurb in my series. i wrote this because i was having issues coming up with something to write for part 16. but after this, i'll get on top of starting part 16. i hope you enjoy and feel free to send in blurb ideas for this series.

This story contains: pure fluff, baby fever

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - uncle!harry }

word count- 1,076

Harry has to babysit his niece for the day unexpectedly, and you get to watch Harry interact with a baby for the first time, which gives you baby fever.

It's evident that Harry was great with children, given his profession as a teacher. However, you were unaware of the extent of his skills with young children and infants until he was given the responsibility of caring for his sister's baby for the day. This situation arose when his sister urgently called him at four in the morning, explaining that her husband was facing a family emergency and needed someone to watch their daughter, Juniper, for a few hours.

Being the wonderful uncle that he is, Harry told his sister he'd be happy to spend his Saturday babysitting his niece. You had not yet met his sister or niece prior to this morning. But after meeting in Harry's entrance way at half past five in the morning, his sister was incredibly kind to you, even in the midst of her hurried departure after leaving little Juniper in her uncles care. As for Juniper, although she's just a baby, 8 months to be exact, she graciously allowed you to hold her, which you regard as a positive first greeting.

Since it was very early in the morning, Harry encouraged you to return to bed for a few hours while he kept Juniper entertained. Knowing he's an early bird anyways and you liked your sleep. You were hesitant at first but ultimately chose to follow his suggestion. You fell asleep again until around seven, when the delightful sounds of giggling stirred you awake. Rubbing your eyes, you got out of bed to see where all the laughter was coming from.

As you made your way down the hallway, the cheerful giggles intensified. Upon your arrival in the kitchen, you found yourself captivated by the sight. Juniper was comfortably seated on Harry's lap at the kitchen table, one of his arms providing her with support to ensure she remained steady, while his other hand carefully held a tiny spoon containing what seemed to be mashed peas from a jar of baby food.

Given that you've only been dating Harry for three months, you've not yet explored his views on the idea of having children one day. However, you're curious about whether he envisions a future with kids. You would be thrilled to give him as many children as he desired, especially if it meant starting each day with this delightful view.

Before long, Harry noticed your presence as he's feeding his niece and smiled gently at you. You walked over and took a seat at the table, continuing to observe him as he fed her the unappealing mushy peas until her tummy was completely satisfied. Harry then rose with Juniper in his arms and headed to the sink to get a damp paper towel, which he used to clean the green food that had smeared around her little mouth.

As soon as you heard the rumble of Harry's stomach, you decided to prepare breakfast for the two of you while he carried Juniper into the living room. You made avocado toast and served yourself a cup of coffee, aware that Harry had already enjoyed two cups since being awake.

Based on your background in waitressing during your teenage years, you skillfully transported two plates of avocado toast and one cup of coffee to the living room. As you stepped inside, you observed Harry gesturing to keep quiet with a finger pressed to his mouth, and then you understood the reason for his request.

Likely in a food coma, little baby Juniper rested soundly against his clothed chest. The sight brings a tingle to your ovaries. He slowly rose and made his way to the baby swing in the corner provided by his sister, gently setting a sleeping Juniper inside before activating the motor, which caused the swing to move softly while playing a calming melody.

Harry walked back over to the couch where you handed him his plate of avocado toast, saying, "Thank you, baby." before leaning in to peck a kiss to your lips.

"You're welcome." you replied sweetly, then begun silently eating your toast and sipping your coffees, being mindful of the sleeping baby. Once you're finished eating, you turned to Harry and can't help but blurt out the question you've thought all morning. "Do you want kids one day?"

Harry looked taken back at your question before a warm smile spread over his features. "Yeah, I would love to have kids in the future."

Keeping a quiet tone, you continued to prod, "You've always wanted kids?"

"Um yeah, I think so. I mean, after comin' to terms with my sexuality, I knew there may be a chance I can't have any biological kids. I would've been okay with that because there's adoption and stuff of the sorts. But havin' biological kids would be just as great. So yeah, I want kids one day. What about you?"

"Yeah, I want kids, but only if I'm with the right person." you answered and Harry gets a cheeky smile on his face, knowing you're dating. So if the answer doesn't describe him, then he must be doing something wrong.

Just to tease you, he asked, "Oh yeah, and what does the right person look like to you?"

You repositioned yourself on the couch, settling into a position that allowed you to straddle Harry's lap. In this close proximity, you explained, "I donno. Someone who is kind and gentle. A person who's responsible and smart. Someone who would always encourage our children to be themselves. And someone who may or may not pass on the charming trait of dimples to our kids."

Smiling, Harry cupped the sides of your face in his large hands and cooed in a mere whisper, "Does this person have a name by chance?"

You nod, "Mhm, his name is Harry." Right as his name rolled off your tongue, Harry leaned forward to capture your lips with his. The kiss is gentle yet passionate. It lasted a total of ten seconds before you pulled away. "We better stop before we start something we can't finish right now. There's a baby asleep in the corner."

With a fake pout, Harry commented, "Fine, but just so you know, in the future, when we're hopefully married, or not yet married because things happen, I'd love to be the father of your children. And I'd love you to mother our children. You'll be the best mother in the world."

Yep, it was the right decision to start dating your housemate.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ɢᴏ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ…"

Word count: 7,150.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

REUNION — 11. Her.

Her heart skipped a beat when, inadvertently, she nearly collided with him at the threshold of Helaena’s door. Although she should have anticipated the possibility of finding him there, her thoughts had absorbed her so completely that she forgot about that eventuality.

Aemond looked at her intently before slightly inclining his head in a greeting that felt as harsh as a cold slap. “Niece” he pronounced with a formality that seemed unusual, like a barrier that had risen.

It was as if that single word was a reminder of the distance that now lay between them, a sharp contrast to the days when they had called each other by their names, when their voices had been soft and intimate, meant only for each other’s ears.

Upon entering, a feeling of relief enveloped her, as if the warmth of the place allowed her to release the breath she had been holding and as if the very air within had the power to soothe her troubled spirit. 

It was a reflection of Helaena: decorated with soft tones and peculiar objects that seemed to have been chosen with almost ritualistic care. There were antique furnishings and pale blue silk curtains, and delicate aromas of dried flowers and spices pervaded the air. Everything created an atmosphere that made her feel like she was in a world apart, far from the realities waiting outside those walls.

“It is lovely to see you, princess” Helaena said, her voice as soft and ethereal as she remembered, a melody that always seemed to float in the air. Despite the years, she retained that magical aura.

“And you as well, princess” she replied, returning the smile. “I was wondering, could I interest you in a walk through the gardens?”

Helaena’s smile deepened as she nodded, then rose from her chair and approached her. She remembered that she had never been fond of physical contact, so with a subtle gesture, she decided not to offer her arm, respecting that particular trait that had always characterized her.

They walked side by side, exchanging words about trivial matters as they made their way through the halls. The bustle that filled the place and the presence of others compelled them to keep the conversation light, avoiding topics that might attract idle glances. However, there was an undercurrent of unspoken thoughts, a tacit understanding flowing between them.

Eventually, the noise of the castle faded as they reached the gardens. The winding paths were lined with freshness and color, and the murmur of the fountains created a soothing symphony. The sky was a clear blue, dotted with fluffy clouds, and the air was filled with the sweet perfume of flowers and the crisp and salty scent of the sea.

“I heard that you got married” she began gently as she chose her words with care. She watched Helaena closely, noticing the way her serene expression flickered for a brief moment, a fleeting shadow crossing her face. It was a subtle change, almost imperceptible, but it revealed melancholy. A pang of guilt quickly followed, realizing she had touched a delicate subject. “I apologize, I did not intend to…”

“It is quite alright, do not fret” Helaena raised a hand to reassure her, a gesture filled with understanding that eased her discomfort. “This marriage may not have been what any of us would have wished for, but some things simply must be.”

She nodded, feeling a small ache as she saw the resignation in her aunt’s blue eyes, those that used to shine with such pure light and now seemed to have lost some of their sparkle. “He may not be the greatest husband, but he is a good brother” she added, offering a faint smile. Her words were an attempt at comfort, though she knew they carried a weight, an acknowledgment of the complexities and compromises Helaena had to endure.

She found herself wondering how much she had sacrificed, how many dreams had been set aside for the sake of duty. 

“And are you happy here?” she asked, hoping to delve into Helaena’s feelings, into that deep well of emotions her aunt had always carried with her. There was something in her expression, a latent sadness, a yearning for something more that she couldn’t ignore.

Helaena paused, gazing into the distance before she spoke. “Happiness is a curious thing,” she said with a wistful tone, “sometimes it hides in the most unexpected places. I believe I have discovered a peace here that I did not foresee, though it is not what one might imagine.”

She felt admiration and sadness as she listened, recognizing the strength it took to find peace in less-than-ideal circumstances. “That can be a form of happiness” she offered gently, aiming to convey her understanding. “It may differ, but it is nonetheless genuine.”

Helaena smiled softly. “Indeed” she agreed. “It is a gift in itself, and I have learned to cherish it.”

She nodded slowly. She knew her aunt had always had a special connection to the world, a perception that transcended the visible, touching the mystical, the ineffable, and that what she had found was not resignation but a deep acceptance of her place in the grand scheme of things.

“And how has time treated you?” Helaena asked.

She swallowed, aware of the subtext in her own response. “Time can be relentless, yet it is also revealing” she said, with a tone that tried to remain neutral. “However, Dragonstone has truly brought me joy and transformed me.” A faint smile touched her lips as she allowed herself to reflect on the place she had come to love. “I hope you might visit someday; Aegon’s garden is as beautiful as they say. Perhaps less vibrant than this, but just as lovely. There are blueberry trees and numerous pines” she added.

Helaena nodded, her eyes shining. “Yes, I do like it very much” she said.

She cleared her throat, as if preparing to pose a question whose weight could change the course of the conversation. “How has he been?” she finally asked, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost as if fearing that the wind might carry her question away before receiving an answer. 

“My dear brother is quite hard to decipher” she responded. “He has merely been… simply existing.” She paused, then added, “I do believe your visit might prove beneficial for him.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, a sound born of frustration and the nagging doubt that her presence could make any difference. Her expression twisted with sadness and cynicism, the weight of her feelings pressing down on her. “I am uncertain that my presence is what he requires” she muttered, the words tinged with a bitterness she hadn’t intended to show. 

Helaena, however, only chuckled softly at her response, her gaze knowing. “You may be surprised” she said with a smile. “Sometimes, fate takes its toll on us in ways we cannot control” Helaena mused. “I am sure he wishes to speak with you.”

She knew that when Helaena spoke with certainty about the future, her words were more a revelation than a mere observation, so a spark of hope emerged within her.

The sea breeze gently caressed their faces as they continued walking through the gardens. The sound of waves breaking against the sand in the distance provided a soothing backdrop that accompanied their conversation.

“I recall when we used to play here” she said, her eyes sweeping over the landscape that had witnessed so many shared laughs and secrets. “We were so different then, so innocent.”

Helaena nodded. “Time alters us all… Yet, at times, I wonder if we truly change or if we merely uncover who we are meant to be.”

She furrowed her brow, pondering these words. “Perhaps that is the case” she murmured, more to herself than to Helaena, as if trying to unravel the hidden meaning behind that reflection. There was something in her aunt’s serenity that had always puzzled her, a kind of deep calm that contrasted with the turmoil that seemed to envelop the rest of the world.

“So, Silverwing” Helaena said suddenly, smiling with a glint of complicity in her face. She smiled at the simple mention.

“It was magnificent, Helaena” she said, filled with emotion. “I feel as though all the years I awaited have finally borne fruit.”

“I knew it would come to you,” Helaena said softly. “It was destined to be.” She lowered her gaze, her voice descending. “I did see a story repeating” she murmured. “The connection between you and her is deeper than you imagine, and your destiny is tied to hers in ways we do not yet understand.”

The words lingered in the air, imbued with mystery, as if the future was traced on an invisible line only she could see.

She fell silent, immersed in the depth of what she had just heard. The sensation of standing on the edge of a premonition, of knowing that something was coming but being unable to see it clearly, was both intriguing and unsettling. Her mind raced with possibilities, questions, and the fear of the unknown. With a nervous laugh that barely masked her growing unease, she asked, “Should I be fearful?”

Helaena’s expression softened, her lips parting to speak, but before she could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the fragile moment. A maid appeared before them, and with a respectful bow, informed them that Rhaenyra was awaiting her presence.

She nodded, thanking the maid with a faint smile. She turned to Helaena, who said, “It appears that duty always beckons.” 

“Shall I accompany you back to your chambers?” she asked, hoping to prolong their time together, even if only for a few more minutes. There was so much left unsaid.

“I would prefer to stay here a little longer” Helaena replied softly, almost dreamy.

She nodded again, though her mind remained tangled. As she headed toward the exit of the gardens, her steps grew slower, and before crossing the threshold back to the castle, she turned once more to look at Helaena. There, standing among the flowers and the murmurs of the garden, Helaena with her enigma and wisdom seemed to hold answers to questions she hadn’t yet fully formed. 

As she stood there, torn between staying and leaving, a flicker of movement caught her eye. From one of the nearby galleries, she saw Jacaerys making his way toward the garden. A spark of intrigue ignited within her at the sight of her brother, his presence unexpected.

She watched him for a brief moment, curiosity mingling with a sense of foreboding. With questions swirling in her mind, she finally turned away, continuing on her way.

After a quiet dinner with her family, she retired to her room. Although the bath was meant to be a refuge of calm, it did little to soothe her agitated mind; the words continued to echo in her head like an unrelenting echo.

Once in bed, frustration took hold of her, marking every line of her face with the hardness of unease. Uncertainty gnawed at her inside. Why would he want to talk to her? After years of cold silence, after so many unanswered letters and desperate pleas, what could he possibly have to say? 

She wrestled with the idea of seeking him out. Why should she be the one to make the first move when he had maintained such a cruel distance? She recalled how that very morning, during breakfast, he had shown not the slightest indication of wanting to address her, and that indifference had felt like a calculated insult, intensifying the raw edge of her anger.

The annoyance turned into an oppressive presence. She felt trapped in a cruel paradox: cast aside and yet irresistibly drawn to him. She closed her eyes, grumbling. Worse still, memories began to flood her, each one more painful than the last. Everything about him was etched into her being in an indelible way, and yet, he remained an enigma, a question without an answer.

It was tormenting to dream of the delicate act of brushing his long, silken hair; distressing to aspire to feel the softness of his skin under her fingers; exasperating to imagine being close enough to trace the features that the years had added and molded on his face; unbearable to visualize his imposing presence beside her, and maddening to fantasize about kissing the lips she once knew.

Would it be enough to stand on tiptoe to reach him, or would he have to bend down as well to close their distance? Would his mouth still hold the same sweetness it had that night? Would she still melt under the heat of his proximity with the same intensity?

Then more demoralizing questions arose: Would she still be the only one whose arrival softened his gaze with relief and illuminated it with joy? Would she still be the only one he allowed himself to show his true vulnerability to, the only refuge for his battered soul?

Each memory, each fantasy, was an echo of what had been and what could have been, both a comfort and a torment. Resignation and hope intertwined within her, each struggling to dominate the other, leaving her at an emotional crossroads. The battle between the desire to forget him and the longing to reclaim him was so intense that it offered no peace.

She wanted to hate him for what he had caused her, for the endless nights of loneliness and tears shed in his name. She wanted to hate him for the agony of waiting for a sign that never came, for the affection that remained alive despite the pain. Yet, despite her resolve, she could not. Her soul, bruised and defenseless, could not harbor that hatred. 

“Fuck” she cursed under her breath, burying her face in the pillow as if she could smother everything within her. But it was futile; every emotion refused to be silenced, every memory clung tightly to her soul.

Finally, unable to bear the pressure in her chest any longer, she got out of bed with a nearly frantic impulse. She needed to see him, and needed answers. She hastily dressed, her determined hands slipping into a silk robe that barely covered her attire, and took a candle to light her way.

She left her room, traversing the hallways she had long abandoned. Each step echoed in the night’s silence, and her thoughts raced uncontrollably, driven by an uncontainable longing. She didn’t know what she would find at the end of this path, but something inside her urged her to keep going, to face whatever awaited her in the darkness.

With each step, she questioned her decision, but then she saw him. There, approaching her. The dim light of the candle barely illuminated his features, but she didn’t need more to recognize him. They both stood frozen, staring at each other, each trapped in their own thoughts.

She wondered if he was there for her, if he had felt the same impulse, or if their meeting was merely a coincidence. Before he could confirm the latter, her lips moved forward, and though her voice tried to remain steady, a subtle tremor betrayed her nerves.

“I wished to speak with you” she said, her words hanging in the air, a tentative bridge between the two of them, each waiting for the other to cross it. “Shall we go to your chambers?”

He nodded, and though the dimness made it hard to read his expression, the surprise was evident in the tension of his posture, in the way his shoulders lifted slightly.

He walked silently beside her, guiding her to his room. The space had remained untouched, as if the years had not left their mark. Everything was in place, meticulously ordered.

She set the candle on the bedside table, and with an instinctive gesture, her gaze landed on a sapphire resting in the same spot as the one she had gifted him so many years ago. This one was smaller, less imposing, yet its presence in that familiar place pierced her core in a way she hadn't anticipated. A dull ache pierced her chest.

Without saying a word, she walked to the window, seeking the fresh air that seemed just beyond the glass. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her irregular breathing, but the words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.

“Why?” The word cut through the air like a knife, sharpened by years of pain, unrequited love, and accumulated fear that had festered in silence. She turned on her heels to face him, her voice trembling with the intensity of what she felt. At that moment, more than ever, she needed the truth. 

Why had he ignored her for so long? What invisible force had kept him away, preventing him from responding, from seeking her, even once?

She wasn't sure what answer she was yearning for. Perhaps finding comfort in the notion that he hadn’t cared as much as she had; though such a revelation might break her heart again, it would at least allow her to turn away and bury those fragile hopes that kept her on edge.

Finally, in a grave and almost muted whisper, he said: “Why what?” Hearing him again made her pulse race.

“Why did you never come to see me?” she asked, her composure wavering, barely upheld by the strength of her resolve. 

The silence that followed was unbearable. He looked at her, his eye reflecting a storm of emotions, but his lips remained sealed, as if the answers were trapped in his throat, unable to escape. His mouth opened and closed several times, making no sound, as if the weight of the truth was too heavy to bear.

“I did not know if you wished for my presence” he finally responded, so simple that it seemed almost insulting, only deepening her disbelief.

“Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she demanded with growing bitterness. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” Her voice hardened, laden with a suppressed rage that had been wounding her for too long.

“What letters?” he asked, his confusion evident, etching across his face like a blank canvas, as if he couldn’t comprehend the words she spoke. The question seemed almost naive.

“The letters!” she exclaimed, feeling her short patience running thin with every passing second, “the ones I sent you” she added, stating the obvious. The urgency to clarify the situation was like an unstoppable force, driving her to speak, to bring to light what had remained hidden. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” She finally cracked. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool. I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me” she confessed, her emotions overflowing, raw and naked before him.

“You wrote me?” he asked, as if he needed to hear it once more to fully grasp the reality of her words.

She glared at him, her frustration boiling over. How could he be so cruel as to toy with her emotions? “Do not mock me” she snapped, turning her back on him in anger. 

She felt his proximity, the radiance of his body like a magnet drawing her in, but she forced herself to look out the window, struggling to regain her composure. Then, his voice broke through, filled with a desperation that tugged at her heartstrings. 

“I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times. I swear this to you, by all the gods” he said, pleading. There was something in his tone, an earnestness that made her hesitate. It sounded so genuine, so wounded, that she couldn’t simply dismiss it.

“I never received a single letter from you” she countered, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me" he replied with pain, as if each word cost him dearly. “I thought you did not want to hear from me”

She studied him, trying to read the truth in his eyes, the shadow of anguish that seemed to cling to him. Despite the sincerity she sensed, a veil of doubt still loomed over her, casting a cold shadow over her. He had never deceived her before, and she had no reason to disbelieve him now, but the situation didn’t make sense.

“Why would I not?” she asked, distrustful. His shoulders rose in a gesture of ignorance, unable to offer a concrete answer. The confusion on his face reflected the internal chaos they shared.

Then, a possibility emerged in her mind. What if he was telling the truth? What if the years of separation were not due to their own actions, but to some malevolent force that had kept them apart? The idea was both terrifying and liberating, but she still couldn’t fully accept it.

She shook her head, her mind spinning in a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. She began to pace nervously around the room, searching for answers in the air. Her steps were quick, uneven, as her mind tried to process what she was hearing. The room felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in. After several minutes of internal struggle, she halted abruptly and turned to face him. He stood still, his gaze fixed on her.

“Are you not upset about this?” she asked, skepticism still marking her tone. If all of this was true, then the situation was even more perplexing, almost impossible to comprehend.

He looked at her intently, his eye piercing through all her barriers, touching her very soul. “I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment, not when you are here before me once more” he whispered with a tenderness that seemed straight out of her wildest dreams. His words were heavy with a melancholic sincerity, as if every syllable was a tribute that carried the weight of the years they had been apart. Her own heartbeats began to quicken, almost painfully, resonating in her ears. 

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you” he continued, cutting through the layers of her distrust. “I never wanted to lose you.”

The tears that had been threatening to appear pooled in her eyes, clouding her vision. “Is that true?” she asked, trembling. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?”

He moved closer slowly, closing the distance between them with each step. “Never,” he confirmed, “not for a single second.” A small shiver ran down her spine as she heard him. The romantic words she had longed for so much, which had seemed like mere whispers in books and songs, were now manifesting in her reality, but it felt so surreal that surrendering to it seemed almost naive.

She bit her lower lip, struggling to maintain control, to not give in. She shook her head, avoiding his gaze, murmuring softly, “This is too much.”

With an air of quiet acceptance, he responded, “I understand. Take all the time you need.”

She turned away, still in shock, her mind unable to fully process what had just happened. Before she could think any further, she turned back and threw herself into his arms, her body acting on her deepest wants.

He, always so prepared for anything, took a step back, caught off guard by her sudden move. Feeling his heart racing, tears began to fall uncontrollably. The embrace was fierce, as if she could hold onto the fragments of their lost time and prevent them from slipping away like the letters they never received.

He held her close, gently resting his head on hers. The only sound in the room was her ragged breathing and the small sobs escaping from her throat, creating an intimate cocoon of shared vulnerability.

“I am sorry, I am sorry for everything” she whispered through her tears. She didn’t quite know the reason for the lament, perhaps for the love they had let slip away, or for the illusion she had created to justify his silence, which didn’t do justice to the boy she had loved. She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the moment, allowing her emotions to overflow.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head to look at him. “What do we do now?” she asked, searching for a glimmer of direction, a way forward amidst the uncertainty.

He raised a hand to her face, gently wiping away the tears that fell, the hot contact on her skin causing a tingling sensation. “I won’t let us be separated again” he said with firm determination. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

He looked at her expectantly, searching for a sign of consent, and she nodded softly, accepting the offer. In that moment, she understood that, despite the time and distance, maybe, just maybe, they could find a way back to each other.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended in a heavy silence. Their gazes intertwined, merging in an instant that felt endless. Finally, she slowly pulled away from him, though his hands seemed reluctant to let her go. With her mind overwhelmed, she let out a deep sigh and turned toward the door.

He took the candle and opened the door. He went first, leading the way that she knew better. A small smile appeared on her lips.

Arriving at the door of her room, she pushed it open and entered, pausing to look back at him. He stayed a few inches behind, right at the threshold. “Take it” she said, pointing to the candle. He nodded with a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Good night” she added.

“Good night” he replied.

Before closing the door, she gathered her courage and planted a small kiss on his cheek. The contact, though brief, left him momentarily stunned. As the door clicked shut, she leaned against it, allowing herself a moment of solitude, letting out another deep sigh.

As the minutes passed and the echo of his footsteps faded in the hallway, she moved further into the room. She set aside her silk robe and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. She buried her face in the pillow, stifling a cry of frustration and relief, letting the weight of the evening’s emotions pour out.

Dawn brought a new perspective and a soft light that had yet to filter through the window. She woke up with a sense of duality, both agitated and peaceful, her thoughts still tangled with the events of the previous night.

The revelation that her letters had never reached their recipient, that the words she had poured out with so much love and desperation had been lost in a void of no return, was a bittersweet blow.

It had been both reassuring and heart-wrenching at the same time, a truth that revealed much and, at the same time, very little. It had stolen her years of companionship but also showed her the resilience of a bond that seemed to defy distance and time.

She slowly sat up, the weight of emotions still fresh. Before she could finish getting ready, the door creaked open, and Lyra entered with a look of shock.

“Did you tumble from your bed?” she joked. “Are you well?” she asked, moving closer upon noticing her expression.

She took her friend's hand and gently guided her to the bed. Lyra sat beside her, her eyes filled with silent empathy.

“Has something happened?” Lyra pressed, shifting from playful to serious, and her brow furrowed more intensely.

“I visited his chambers last night” she said directly, without preamble. The reaction was immediate: her mouth fell slightly open.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Lyra asked, her voice rising with indignation. She made a gesture with her hand, signaling her to keep her tone down. “Why?” she repeated, more forcefully this time.

“I needed to speak with him” she replied. The expression on Lyra’s face turned into a blend of understanding and exasperation as she tilted her head, studying her. “You yourself suggested we needed to resolve matters” she justified, trying to validate her actions.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, a gesture of reprimand. “I did not intend for you to seek him out in his chamber in the middle of the night” she corrected, low and tense. “If someone were to find out…”

“Nothing happened, we merely conversed” she interrupted, trying to defuse the situation. 

“But you are not children any longer” Lyra continued, concerned. “Such a visit would not be well seen, especially not for you.” She nodded, acknowledging the truth in those words. “Well, go on then, what did he say?” Lyra asked finally, her curiosity clearly overcoming her initial concern. 

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “He claimed he never received my letters and that he had written to me” she replied, quoting his words. “It turns out, both of us were left waiting, each under the impression that the other had moved on.”

“How can that be?” Lyra inquired. “That is a great deal to process.” After a moment of reflection, she asked cautiously, in a barely perceptible whisper, squeezing her hands. “Do you believe him?” 

“Yes, I do. Besides, what motive would he have to deceive me? If he had truly ignored my letters, he would have no reason to deny it.” She sighed before continuing. “Aemond can be unkind at times, but he has never been untrue.”

Lyra nodded, although doubt still lingered in her mind. “Do you think it could have been…?” she began, her tone dropping even further, as if fearing the words she was about to utter, hesitant to voice the suspicion.

“I do not believe so” she replied firmly. “This seems excessive, even for her.” Lyra looked at her skeptically, recalling past actions.

“For the woman who nearly harmed your mother?” Lyra asked, with an incredulous grimace. She bit her lip, knowing that a mother’s desperation can drive one to extreme measures, but she didn’t dismiss the idea entirely.

“But this situation does not solely affect me” she continued, with an intensity reflecting the complexity of the situation. “It affects him as well. And she cares for him deeply.”

“Precisely” Lyra agreed. “She would do whatever it takes to protect him.”

“Protect him from what?” she asked with confusion. The question hung in the air, and Lyra remained silent, without a clear answer.Then, finally spoke, thoughtful. 

“She might have had reasons to keep him away from you, perhaps out of fear or misguided protection.”

She pondered, her mind racing with the possibilities. “But why? What could be so dire that it would justify such measures?”

“I do not know. But at least you have cleared the air now. What comes next?”

“I am not entirely sure” she admitted. 

After a few minutes of silent reflection, a soft chuckle escaped Lyra’s lips, slowly building into a cascade of infectious giggles. The accumulated tension seemed to dissipate with that joyful sound. She looked at her, caught off guard by the sudden shift in mood.

“What is so amusing?” she asked.

Lyra tried to stifle her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand, but her eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam. “Ever since I arrived, I have been giving him the cold shoulder” she admitted between giggles. “The poor boy must be utterly baffled.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of a confused and helpless Aemond. “Do you think he noticed?” she asked, the smile still lingering on her lips.

“Most likely, I looked at him like he was the stranger himself.” Lyra replied, her laughter still bubbling up. “He must have wondered what on earth he did to earn such hostility.”

Their laughter intertwined, filling the room with a warm, rejuvenating energy, washing away the remnants of earlier worries.

“Thank you for always standing by my side” she said with genuine gratitude.

“Always” Lyra replied, her hand gently brushing against hers.

Before long, a soft, persistent knocking at the door interrupted their conversation. Lyra stood up and went to open it, revealing the small figure of her younger brother, peeking in with some shyness.

“I came to fetch you for breakfast” Joffrey said.

She smiled and rose from the bed, feeling a renewed sense of purpose as she got up. She approached him, taking his tiny hand tenderly, and let him lead her.

After breakfast, she enjoyed a leisurely stroll with Joffrey, their small conversation peppered with laughter. Later, they lost themselves in the depths of the library, where he became utterly captivated by the history of dragons, his curiosity leading to a flurry of questions that she eagerly answered, pleased to see his fascination.

As the day wore on, and she returned to her chambers, she began to feel the gentle pull of fatigue settling over her. With thoughts of a possible meeting lingering in her mind, she slipped off her shoes, intending to indulge in a brief nap. But just as she was about to surrender to the comfort of her bed, a series of gentle knocks interrupted her reverie. The sound was unusual, coming from the back door. A flutter of excitement stirred within her as she quickly made her way to the door.

When she opened it, she found him standing there, his expression showing relief. The sight of him brought an instant smile to her lips, one that he mirrored with a sincere, if slightly reserved, smile of his own. The mere sight of his face was a cure for her restless soul. 

“My prince, it’s a pleasure to see you” she said, friendly.

“The pleasure is all mine, my princess” he responded carrying a touch of formality that didn’t quite mask the underlying nervousness. After a brief pause, he cleared his throat and added, with a hint of uncertainty, “I was wondering if you might grace me with your company for lunch.” 

She looked at him, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through her. Her heart fluttered with anticipation. “Yes, I would like that. Shall we dine on the balconies?” she suggested, her tone light and inviting.

He hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing his features as his gaze shifted. “I was thinking… perhaps my chambers” he finally said, unsure whether his proposal would meet her expectations.

She raised her eyebrows in mock startelement, a playful glint as she teased, “Do you truly believe that to be appropriate?”

His composure faltered, and a faint blush crept up his neck. “No, of course not, you are right” he stammered, clearly flustered. “If the balconies are your preference, I can…” His voice faded into a murmur, the words trailing off into an insecure murmur.

She interrupted him with a light laugh, a melody that seemed to dissipate the tension in the air. “I was only jesting, let us be off.” 

She turned away momentarily to slip her shoes back on, then returned to his side, his expression more relaxed. He offered his arm to her, and she took it gently, feeling the heat of the contact despite the leather suit he wore. 

Together, they walked their way down the hall, the midday sun filtering through the narrow windows, bathing their faces in golden light that made the atmosphere feel even more intimate. They couldn’t help but steal furtive glances, trying to decipher each other’s thoughts.

Upon reaching his room, she was greeted by a scene of meticulous preparation. The table near the window was elegantly set, offering a breathtaking view of the city below. Every detail had been considered—the dishes arranged with care, the variety of delicacies laid out like a feast for the senses, all reflecting the thoughtfulness of someone who had taken great pains to create something special.

As they approached the table, he hurried to pull out a chair for her, a courteous gesture that brought a soft smile to her lips. “Thank you” she murmured as she settled into it. 

He sat across from her, and as he did, the atmosphere seemed to soften, the initial tension giving way to a more comforting familiarity. “An entire army could feast on this” she teased, her gaze sweeping over the overflowing table. “Does no one find it strange that you requested so much food?” Her curiosity was laced with a hint of excitement, wondering if he had mentioned she was joining him.

He offered a shy smile, a quiet laugh escaping as he began serving the food. “I was unsure of your preferences” he admitted. “And no, I usually dine with my sister.” His voice held a note of apology that didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“I am sorry for the inconvenience to her” she said, with a slight disappointment, but acknowledging the thoughtfulness behind his gesture. The care he’d taken in preparing the lunch spoke volumes, revealing a sincere desire to share this moment with her.

“No such thing” he reassured, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She understood the unspoken message—Helaena, no doubt, was already aware and understood.

As they began to serve themselves, the meal took on a significance beyond the food on their plates. Their conversation flowed easily, touching on lighthearted topics—books they had read, childhood memories that evoked shared laughter, recent events that bridged the gap of time they had spent apart. She noticed how his face brightened with each bite, relaxed. Yet, beneath their words, there was a palpable tension underlying it, a tacit acknowledgment that something important was about to be discussed.

When the meal drew to a close, a silence settled between them—not the awkward kind, but rather the type that felt like a collective breath, a pause before something of great importance. It was as if they were both gathering their thoughts, preparing for the conversation they both knew was inevitable. The room, now quieter, holding its breath alongside them, the air thick with anticipation as they hovered on the brink of a pivotal moment.

She stood up slowly, excusing herself before walking toward the window. Perching on its edge, she gazed out, lost in the endless expanse of the city below. After a brief pause, he followed, leaning against the wall beside her, close enough to share the view but leaving a respectful distance. “It seems like the city never rests” she whispered, barely louder than the soft hum of life outside. He followed her gaze, nodding in quiet agreement.

The silence between them grew deeper, as if the world itself had paused to allow them to find the right words. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Last night… I did not truly know what to say” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for answers in the stones. His hands, usually so sure and steady, now betrayed him, fidgeting with a nervous energy that seemed out of place. “It was… too overwhelming.” She watched him, allowing him to find his own rhythm as he spoke, giving him space to organize his thoughts.

“I cannot help but feel that this is an opportunity the gods have placed before us” he continued, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, a fragile flicker of hope igniting within him. ���I know not if this is the right moment… or if there ever is a right moment” he added, his fingers scratching at the sensitive skin on the side of his nails.

Before his nervous hands could inflict harm, she reached out, gently enclosing them within her own, her fingers wrapping around his in a tender, reassuring embrace. Under her comforting touch, his anxiety slowly faded. She drew him closer, making him sit beside her, their faces now almost at the same level.

He looked out toward the horizon. “I know I promised you time last night… and if that is what you require, I shall honor it” he murmured. “We can start anew… rediscover who we are now. But I feel that, no matter how much we have changed, deep within… we are still ourselves. And I have spent too many days regretting the words I never spoke, the chances I did not seize.”

He turned his gaze from the horizon back to her. “And if there is one thing of which I am certain, it is what I feel for you” he whispered, raw with emotion.

She met his gaze, her curiosity flickering, the unspoken need to hear the words that had yet to cross his lips. “And what, pray tell, do you feel for me?” she asked softly, aching to uncover the depths of him.

He inched a little closer, his eye locking onto hers with a fierce intensity that seemed to draw in all the light around them and steal her breath away. “A force that compels me to search for you in every corner of my soul, the reason my days feel hollow and incomplete if you are not in them" he said, letting the weight of his feelings settle between them like a fragile, precious thing. "Without you, I am but a dragon without fire, a mere shadow of what I could be… with you by my side”

She stared at him, paralyzed by the beauty of his words, unable to find her voice. The seconds stretched out, feeling like an eternity until he, with a tone laced with vulnerability, asked, “And you, do you feel the same about me?”

A pang of remorse pierced her chest for making him wait and for the doubt she had created in him. “Yes, I do” she answered with the undeniable truth.

He sighed, relief and hope lighting up his face. “I believe we must tread cautiously, at least for a time” he said. “There is still one who does not wish to see us united. If we keep this between us, it will be easier to protect what we share.”

She nodded, caught in a tug-of-war between the desire to proclaim their love to the world and the understanding of his wish for caution. While every fiber of her being longed to declare their victory over the obstacles that had stood in their way, she knew there was wisdom in his words.

“I have missed you” he confessed so soft it was almost swallowed by the quiet of the room.

“And I you” she replied, “dearly”

He looked at her with a tenderness that made her heart swell, then the space between them seemed to dissolve as their hands remained clasped. He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers. “Would you like to spend the rest of the afternoon with me?” he asked, his tone gentle and inviting.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @squidscottjeans @truly-abysmal @fossface @congenialcopycat @that-girl-named-alex @oh-you-mean-me

now it's going to start the good part i promise! besitos.

[allywthsr]

Christmas shopping | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando go Christmas shopping

wordcount: 1.1k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: spending a lot of money

notes: tell me your thoughts!!

advent calendar

”Lando, come on, you’re so slow.“

You were Christmas presents shopping with your boyfriend, Lando.

Due to you both living in Monaco, you were currently roaming around shops like Louis Vuitton or Dior. It was harder to get presents than you thought. The cold air was slapping against your skin, whenever you were walking from store to store.

Today were Lando’s parents, his siblings, his sister-in-law, his nieces, and your family on the agenda. Obviously, you weren’t going to get Mila and Athena something from the expensive stores, for that you wanted to drive to Nice and see if you could find something, as well as for the others if you didn’t find anything here.

Lando’s sister Cis and you talked over the phone yesterday and she told you that she wanted this Louis Vuitton scarf for a while, but it was too expensive for her to buy it on her own, so you called Oliver this morning and asked if they would be down to pay for the rest, that Lando and you wouldn’t cover. He gladly agreed and now you were looking through the different kinds of scarfs there were.

”Do you think she‘d want a rose or a beige-colored one?“

”I would choose a beige one, fits better with the rest of the clothes.“

You nodded and called for an employee, to help you. Quickly you had bought the beige one, Lando and you agreed to cover four hundred pounds and the rest four hundred pounds would pay Oliver and Savannah.

On your way out you looked at the different bags, you slowed down and tugged on Lando’s hand.

”Look at that one!“

”Y/N, we’re not here for you.“

”But they’re beautiful.“

Before you could say another word, he dragged you out of the Louis Vuitton, too scared you would feed your handbag addiction. ”Flo talked about this necklace, it’s like silver with a horseshoe pendant.“

”Where do we get that?“

”Tiffany & co?“

With intertwined hands, you made your way to the next store, Tiffany. Immediately someone came up and offered you a champagne, but you declined and went to an employee, wanting to see all the different necklaces. Different colors, silver, gold, or rose gold were shown to you, but in the end, you decided to go with silver, like Flo wanted. The necklace cost two-hundred pounds, but Lando held his credit card against the machine, and it didn’t hurt him one bit. He earned enough money to spend a bit more on Christmas.

Again, Lando had to drag you out, because he knew how you loved looking at (and buying) jewelry.

”What are thinking for your parents?“

”I have absolutely no clue, they have everything they need and if they’re missing something, they buy it. Do you have an idea baby?“

”Not really, maybe like a small trip to Monaco? And we can rent a boat for the whole family for a day or something?“

”I like the idea, mum always likes quality time more than material things, we should invite your parents and the rest of your family as well, then we have a present for them too.“

”Uh yes, I like that.“

He grabbed your hand and put it in his pocket, you’re always cold, he knew that.

His parents and yours were checked off that list, now for Oliver and Savannah. Savannah was a simple girl, she was happy if you would give her a bouquet of flowers, but you weren’t going to do that. Oliver was more difficult, sure he would be happy over something small too, but he had everything he needed.

”What about a spa day for Savannah? I would sacrifice myself and go with her.“

”And of what do you need to relax from? I get Sav needing some time off from being a mum, but you?“

”I need time off from being your girlfriend?“

He looked at you, with a shocked look on his face, but he knew you were joking.

”I‘m kidding, I‘m kidding.“

You put one of your hands on his cheek and pressed your lips against his, for a quick kiss, but Lando being Lando, he tried to deepen it, holding your head with his hand. You tried to wiggle out his grip, ”Baby, we’re in public“, you knew Lando didn’t really care, he wanted to be a normal boy that had a girlfriend, and that’s how he sometimes acted.

With a groan, he let go of you, and pulled you to the next store.

”Alright, Sav gets a spa day and for my brother, I thought I‘d get him a bracelet and one of my helmets.“

”Your helmet?“

”Yes, he always says how he wants to have my podium helmets because they’re beautiful.“

”But then, what do I gift him?“

”We can share the bracelet.“

You hummed and looked around in the different jewelry store, Lando had pulled you in. After looking at a few, you decided to go for a brown one with silver details.

”We only have the kids and the dogs left.“

”The dogs? Are you serious, Y/N?“

”Of course! They can’t get nothing.“

Lando only shook his head with a smile and kissed your cheek.

”Should we go to Nice? The toy store is supposed to be beautiful there.“

”Sure, let’s go.“

You two sat in his car and Lando drove you to Nice, he parked the car safely on the parking spots and you two went inside. You tightly held Lando’s hand, or else he would’ve been in the car section already, swooning over the different cars. He was a little boy at heart.

”Mila likes dolls nowadays, should we get her one?“

”Yes baby, I talked to Sav about it and they got her this specific one, so I know what to buy“, with that you pulled him to the dolls.

With a scan, you looked at all the different girls and found one with a dog, it had a leash and everything.

”Lando, please. It has a little dog!“, the pout on your face was big and Lando could just laugh at you.

Quickly he grabbed it and put it in the basket, now you two only had to get something for Athena, she was still a baby, so it wasn’t that hard. You got a toy, that played different music and would light up when you pressed different buttons, she would love it. Next to the toy store, was a small pet store, you couldn’t resist buying a toy for each dog, they needed to get presents too.

When you returned to your shared flat, in the evening, you looked at all the different bags. You love shopping for Christmas presents, no matter how stressful it is.

[emmyrosee]

There’s soft little grunts coming from the play table just a few feet away, and it doesn’t take long for your confused eyes to meet Atsumu’s.

It’s not too long before Hisako has to get taken for a bath and up to bed, and while the night had seemed to go smooth, smooth as any other night, the way she slowly rose from her seat and practically limped over to her crayons was more than… odd, to say the least.

“Should… we interviene?” Atsumu asks, golden eyes flicking to you.

You shrug, “I… don’t know? Has she been limping all day?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Have you seen her limping?”

“No; and I know Osamu would’ve said something if he saw her limping at breakfast.”

Instantly, a tiny head whips towards you both at the mention of Osamu, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement.

Atsumu snorts, “ya said the magic word.”

“Uncle ‘Samu?” She chirps, looking between you both.

“Later,” You chuckle. Then, you put your phone to the side and shift slightly to lean towards Hisako. “But are you okay, baby?”

Hisako beams up at you both, “‘m okay, mumma!”

Atsumu leans forwards on his knees to join the conversation, “well, baby, why are you walking like you’ve got a boo-boo?”

“Im you, daddy!”

Silence. Silence fills the miya household for longer than enough time. Slowly, trying to stifle back the laughter that desperately needs to pour from your lips, Atsumu tucks his own into his mouth to keep his amused annoyance at bay.

“You’re who?”

“I’m you!” She repeats happily. “Cause when you get up, you make funny noises n’ grab your back and leg!”

This, finally, has you releasing all the laughter you’d been trying to keep in, your arms clutching your sides as you cackle. Between your screwed shut eyes, you see Atsumu tuck his tongue in his cheek. Hisako, not knowing better, joins in with your laughter, leaving just Atsumu to wallow in betrayal.

Once you both quiet down, Atsumu takes a deep breath in his nose, then releases it slowly. “Honey,” he begins. “I don’t do those for pretend.”

“I know,” she says happily. “It ‘cause you’re old, dadda!”

Once again, your cackles fill the room.

“YOU DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, OKAY?!”

“Yuh-huh!” She assures. “Uncle ‘Samu said you got grey hairs too, ‘cause you’re old!”

You wipe a tear from your eye and gently take one of Atsumu’s clenched fists in your hands, “hey; if you’re old, he is too, baby,” you promise him, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Hisako shrugs, “uncle ‘yoomi says it’s cause you don’t listen to him.”

“Yeah, and I’m done listening to you,” he snarls only slightly serious. He pops on his feet, and you do your hardest to hide the snort that slips past your mouth when the sound of his cracking bones ring in the air. He glares, and you tuck your lips in to try and stifle the rest. “Come on you,” he grumbles, grabbing Hisako by the sides and lifting her up and over his shoulder while she giggles and fights his grip. “You need a bath. Wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Daddy!” She squeals; you offer her a small wave as she’s carried up the stairs with Atsumu, and you pull out your phone to text Osamu.

SENT you call your brother old in front of your niece?

Osamu 🍱 duh

we are old

he just ages like milk

im a fine wine

[khaylin27]

Clara Bow

pairing: oscar piastri x daughter reader; lando norris x niece reader; y/n norris-piastri x daughter reader

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: her whole life, olivia lacey piastri-norris has always been compared to family members.

warnings: none

author's note: i had to write clara bow as y/n and oscar's daughter 😭 hope y'all love it. thank you for supporting this mini series from the tortured poets department. now it's time to work on the actual stories on ttpd. if you want more content from this story please don't be afraid to ask on my 'ask me anything' tab.

"You look like Clara Bow in this light Remarkable All your life, did you know You'd be picked like a rose"

November 6, 2024

f1news BABY PAPAYA: After the Brazilian GP, the McLaren driver, Oscar Piastri, and his wife Y/N Norris-Piastri welcomed a baby girl into the world. Congrats to the Piastri family.

user1 THE PARENTS FINALLY BECAME PARENTS 🥹

user2 i already know lando is going to be besties with his niece since their birthdays are a week apart

user3 CARLOS MISSED WHAT HE COULD'VE HAD

user4 can we not bring up carlos for once. let this couple have their moment for once

After the Brazilian Grand Prix, Oscar and Lando went straight back home as soon as they could. Y/N was currently 42 weeks which is 2 weeks past her due date. Baby Papaya wasn't ready to be out in the world.

"Why does your daughter hate me?" Y/N squeezes Oscar's hand really tight as she pushes the baby. Tears falling from her face from the pain she was experiencing from pushing the baby.

"She doesn't hate you honey." Oscar reassures Y/N as she continues to push. "You're doing great honey. She's almost here." The couple hears not Y/N's tears, but the tears of their baby girl.

****

"Where's my niece?" Lando says as he enters your private room in the hospital. It's been 4 hours since Y/N gave birth to their baby girl.

"She's sleeping in her bassinet right now." Oscar says as he's snuggling you in the hospital bed.

"What's her name?" Lando asked admiring his beautiful niece sleeping.

"Olivia Lacey Piastri-Norris." Y/N says as she slowly gets up from the hospital bed to walk towards her brother. "She has her daddy and uncle's letters in her name. I had to put your name somewhere in her name. She wouldn't be here without you." Y/N and Oscar laugh while Lando admires his niece.

"She's so beautiful." Lando says then gives his sister a hug. "Thank you for the best early birthday present."

yourusername olivia lacey piastri-norris ✨🧡 my little rose

tagged oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri she's so perfect. she looks just like you.

yourusername no she looks like you 😭 landonorris y/n she looks exactly like you!!! charlesleclerc that means she looks like you lando 💀 landonorris why do you say that like it's a bad thing @/charlesleclerc 😭

racerbia omg baby papaya is here!! i can't wait for the boys to tell me stories about her in the office 🥺😭🧡

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux can't wait to meet her in the paddock next year 🥹

liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri baby papaya is here 👶🧡

tagged yourusername

mclaren WE LOVE YOU BABY PAPAYA 🥹🧡 congrats @/oscarpiastri @/yourusername @/landonorris -mclaren team

yourusername why is @/landonorris tagged on that comment @/mclaren he didn't give birth to her 💀 landonorris without me olivia wouldn't be here yourusername technically it's my husband sperm . . .

user1 Y/N IS SO UNHINGED I LOVE IT 🤣

danielricciardo another aussie!! congrats you two!

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

logansargeant can't wait to teach her my american ways 🦅

landonorris HELL NO YOU'RE STAYING AWAY FROM MY NIECE user2 just the two L named uncles beefing over teaching olivia cultures 😭

landonorris I'm the favorite uncle. it's a fact 🧡

yourusername you're supposed to watch her lando not fall asleep with her 😭

landonorris it's called multitasking sister ✨ user1 they're both unhinged

carlossainz55 congrats on becoming an uncle camprón

landonorris thanks man. user2 carlos what are you doing here? 😃

user3 he says congrats to lando but not even to the woman who gave birth to his niece.

"You look like Stevie Nicks In '75, the hair and lips Crowd goes wild at her fingertips Half moonshine, a full eclipse"

Growing up with her dad and uncle as F1 drivers, Olivia was always interested in becoming an F1 driver. Not only did Olivia go to races her dad and uncle were racing in, but she would go to the F1 Academy races with her mom.

Olivia and Y/N were currently in Miami supporting Oscar, Lando, and Tita aunt Bianca. "You know I told your Uncle Lando I was pregnant with you after his first win." Y/N tells Olivia while she was watching her Tita aunt Bianca doing Free Practice 1. Y/N sighs as she sees that Olivia wasn't interested in what she was saying and was focusing on the race. "I'm going to see if your brothers are awake." Olivia nods and sees that her mom leaves to check if her twin brothers were awake.

While Olivia was continuing to watch, she gets spooked by none other than her Uncle Lando. "What the hell Uncle Lando!" Lando laughs at how scared Olivia got. "I hate you."

"We all know you couldn't hate me." Lando smirks while Olivia roles her eyes.

"What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be doing press interviews?" Olivia asks Lando.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to join me. It would be good press for you." Lando asks knowing Olivia was racing in F4.

"Fine, I'll join you." Olivia lightly slaps her Uncle before Lando pulls her into a side hug.

****

"So Olivia, has anyone told you that you look like your uncle?" The interviewer asks Olivia.

Olivia lightly laughs at the interviewer's question. "Yes, I actually get told that a lot. Since my mom is my uncle's sister, they have similar facial features. It isn't a surprised that they got passed down to me since I look like my mom. My brothers look more like my dad."

"How do you like your time in F4?"

"I love it. Of course F4 is rooted in my family since my Uncle raced there when he was young. I love the Jensen team so much. They're like my second family." The interviewer then asks if Olivia sees a future out of F4. "Yes I do. Since the Jensen team and I decided not to extend our contract, I've been offered many contracts in F3."

"Have you finalize a contract with any of the teams? When are you able to share?"

"Yes I have. After looking at many contracts with my family, I've decided that I'll be signing with Carlin F3 team next year." Olivia smiles at her response. "My uncle raced in team Carlin when he was F4 and now I have an opportunity to do the same thing."

"That's very exciting for you and your family. Congratulations Olivia on making it to F3."

Once the interview was done, Olivia sees her Uncle talking to Carlos Sainz. Olivia knew the history with her mom and Carlos. It's sad that her mom had to go through that relationship but she's happy that she met her dad because of it.

"OLIVIA! OLIVIA!" The crowd goes wild as they see her walking out of the paddock to walk to her Uncle and Carlos on the track. Olivia waves to the fans.

"The crowd goes wild at your fingertips little Lando." Carlos says as he gives you a side hug. Since Carlos is very close to Lando, he somewhat became your Tio uncle. Oscar and Y/N were fine with it since it's all in the past.

'I know. It's wild how they went from half moonshine, to full eclipse since I announced my contract." Y/N smiles at them before it was time to leave the paddock for the day.

f1news FAMILY TRADITIONS: Olivia Lacey Piastri-Norris, daughter and niece to both the McLaren boys, has announced her contract with Carlins F3 team. She's following the foot steps of her Uncle Lando.

user1 she looks so much like lando 😭

user2 she's working late cause she's a driver ✨

user3 following the footsteps of her uncle lando 🥹

oliviapianorris CONGRATS UNCLE LANDO ON ANOTHER WIN IN MIAMI 🥺🏝️🧡✨

tagged landonorris

landonorris thank you pookie 😸🫶

oliviapianorris never put that on instagram ever again user1 she's definitely her mother's daughter yourinstagram @/user1 that's a fact user1 OMG HI MOTHER liked by yourinstagram

user2 at this point this is lando's home race not logan's😭

oliviapianorris call me an honoree floridian 🫡🦅 logansargeant YES I'VE TURNED U INTO AN AMERICAN landonorris you're going too far @/logansargeant oliviapianorris be nice to each other@/logansargeant @/landonorris

user3 did you film this whole weekend for your youtube channel 😭

oliviapianorris yes i did! coming out on friday!!

"You look like Taylor Swift In this light We're loving it. You've got edge she never did The future's bright, dazzling."

mclaren Olivia. Lacey. Piastri. Norris. 👏👏👏 Our baby papaya has grown up and won her very first World Championship! 🧡🏆 Just like her dad and uncle.

tagged oliviapianorris

oliviapianorris thank you mclaren family 🥹 love and appreciate everything you've done for me and my family.

yourusername @/oscarpiastri I CAN'T BELIEVE OUR BABY IS GROWN UP AND BECOMING LIKE YOU AND @/landonorris

oscarpiastri olivia went from playing barbies at the mclaren office to now working for mclaren landonorris I'M NOT OKAY WITH MY NIECE BEING SO GROWN UP 😭

user1 the piastri-norris family has always belonged in mclaren 😭

user2 olivia is like oscar but with more edge!!!

user3 everyone is loving olivia in this light!

oliviapianorris the future's bright, dazzling 🏆🧡✨

tagged mclaren

mclaren our baby papaya forever and always 🧡💫

liked by oliviapianorris

user1 THE TAYLOR SWIFT LYRIC OH MY GOD

taylorswift dazzling ✨✨✨

liked by oliviapianorris

racerbia congrats on your wdc magandang babae pretty girl 🥹🧡✨

oliviapianorris thank you tita aunt 🥹🫶

carlossainz55 congrats mini lando 🏆

oliviapianorris thank you tio uncle carlos! thank you for giving me tips before the race! user2 y/n and carlos were never meant to be but im glad carlos became a second uncle to olivia and the piastri twins!

landonorris MY TWIN 👯🧡

liked by oliviapianorris

oscarpiastri she might look like you @/landonorris @/yourusername but she's my twin on the track 🏎️💨

oliviapianorris except i got more edge on the track then you 😉✨ oscarpiastri you got that from your mom and uncle lando yourusername 🥹🧡✨

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

[simpingland]

Combing her hair // Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: reader is too concentrated in the idea of being favored by Rhaenyra to notice that the Princess is actually, way too fond of her.

Dragonstone had been a stifling place for you from the first day. Full of damp, dank, stony mountains, the presence of dragons had replaced the roses that grew in Highgarden. Since you had been sent as Princess Rhaenyra's ward, your duty had been reduced to helping Lucerys with his duties and putting up with Jacaerys's chatter. Your so-called mentor seemed unwilling to heed you, pacing the castle listening to the Maester's whispered words, spending entire evenings in the room with the stone table talking to her husband Daemon, and when she retired to her chambers, only her sons and Rhaena were allowed to enter.

Occasionally you would feel her leaning against the doorway of the room where you and Rhaena were studying with the septa, though you never thought of her watching you when her niece was in front of you; when she spoke with you she was gentle, but your need to impress her seemed to motivate her to underestimate you. Sometimes you would find her watching you from afar, as if trying to discover some hidden secret or intention in you, but you would only get nervous and offer her a smile, wanting to be invited to participate. She always averted her eyes quickly, and you had to get on with your day.

Ever since you were a child you had dreamed of the brave and powerful woman that Rhaenyra was said to be, and when you met her you knew it was absolutely true. And so it hurt you all the more that the person you most wanted to impress paid you so little mind.The disinterest of the noble boys of the palace in you hurt far less than the disinterest of the princess.Rhaena laughed at your cringe, saying you were in love with the princess, and you shoved her away, not understanding that she was absolutely right. No one informed you of anything, despite having a mind as sharp as your hearing. You understood the princess's disinterest in a ward when the Hightowers were indirectly on the throne. But still, it broke your heart to eat alone in your room and to be glared at by the children when you were in a mood. Daemon was the one you feared most in the castle. He wouldn't even speak to you, he said, because your father was nothing more than an airhead who offended him years ago.

Sitting at one of the windows, your reading was interrupted by voices shouting at each other, a more heated argument than they used to have. You only understood the word "Alicent" and the word "in love". What followed was a slamming of the door. You walked, curiosity getting the better of you, and though Daemon was already far away, when the door opened again, Rhaenyra found you. She seemed more transfixed than you, her eyes watering and her lower lip trembling, not expecting to see that expression of grief on your face.

"Your Majesty…" you said in a whisper.

"What are you doing here?" She moved her eyes up and down, watching you as she tried to compose herself. She didn't give you a chance to answer her. "Go away."

"I just wanted to…"

"Leave! I command you!"

And you turned away, not knowing who you hated more, the princess or yourself for being such a coward. The day passed slowly with the young princes trying not to mention Daemon, trying to ignore Syrax's stiff pangs of grief at the absence of Caraxes, or the absence of the Princess in the hall at dinner time with her children, the time when she never failed. You put little Joffrey to bed, the only Targaryen who seemed to respect you and asked the favour of giving his mother a small paper ship he had made himself that afternoon. You had intended to give it to one of his ladies-in-waiting or servant, but when you found them all gathered in the hallway and facing the door, you forgot that option.

"She won't let us in," one informed you.

"Someone should see if she's all right." The suggestion made her smile wryly.

"She's the Princess, we shouldn't bother her."

"But she's also to be looked after…it's your duty, in fact."

"Well, let's see if you dare to go in."

In another circumstance you would have joined that princess-fearing group, but you were too moved by the idea of being the princess and no one treating you like the sad woman she was at the time. The Targaryens may have been more than human, but they had a part of it that still entitled them to affection. You picked up your dress to climb the step leading to Rhaenyra's door. You gave the guard an unfriendly look as he approached to lead you away, but stepped inside and carefully walked slowly, hoping that Rhaenyra would have the sound of your heels as a warning.

It seemed all the tears had long since been shed, but her face was no less stern at the sight of you. She rose from the spot on the bed where she sat and stood dignified.

"I have told the ladies not to disturb me." She sounded angry, and it sat badly with you.

"I'm no lady's companion." You struggled to get them out, but your voice did not tremble.

"Nothing that happens in this room is of your concern," she said flatly. You were about to walk away, but there was something about her tousled hair that made you feel sorry for her.

"It does concern me, Princess…" she was confused by your serious tone. "I am your ward…"

"Indeed, and I ask you to leave."

"And what else?" You cut her off. Your hands hid Joffrey's little ship. "What else do you ask of me? Is the thought of helping you such a horrible thing for His Majesty?"

"What? Are you rebuking me?" She took a step towards you, never having paid you so much attention before.

"…" now your fear was returning, but you would not be frightened. "I am here to learn, because I am a good pupil and I thought, as my father thought, that I might be of some use here, but I don't fit into a single room in this castle, Princess. And if you do not want me, why do you not allow me to return to my home?"

"Because you are of much use here."

"Is that so? I don't feel that way… you won't let me help you."

"I won't let you help me because you won't know how. I have maesters who know far more than you, guards stronger than you. You're just a girl, and your duty is to learn. What can you do to help me?"

"Well, I'd start by telling you that Joffrey and Luke and Jace have served you wine at the table waiting for you to come down to be with them… and I'd help you redo that braid that's come undone to get you back to the hall. And I would tell you how sorry I am for your discomfort…"

She seemed embarrassed by your words, as if some of them had enlightened her in her ignorance, and she turned her eyes away from you to return to her surroundings. She nodded in acceptance of that rebuke, and then looked down at your hands. You opened them, revealing at last the gift of her son. You held it out to her and saw her smile a little, a crooked smile, so characteristic of her. Her hand caressed yours as she picked it up, and you watched her as she looked at it. The candles darkened her hair, but it was still magnificent, and her walk was so graceful that one knew who entered by the rhythm of her steps. She sat down in a chair and turned her back to you.

"Comb my hair… I feel like a ride." She pointed to a brush and you were a little offended by the order, that wasn't your duty, but that's something.

You did as she asked, gently, although that was not your forte, you enjoyed the softness of her hair, and from the mirror opposite you could see her, with a tear falling. It was an impulse, but you did not regret it when you wiped her cheek with a finger, gently but quickly, and she looked into your eyes.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty…" she must have seen you blush, but she smiled and took your hand before you pulled it away from her face again. They were strong hands, hands that had led a dragon.

She seemed to want to tell you something, but she instead ran her finger across your palm as she watched you closely. The same impulse you had to wipe away her tear, she had to kiss the back of your hand. Only she didn't apologise, she just released it gently.

When you plaited her hair into a simple braid, she smiled at you and walked away, leaving you alone in the room, unaware that something was stirring inside you. The last thing you heard that night was Syrax's flight back and forth, sleeping very little, still feeling the princess's kiss on your hand.

In the days that followed, Rhaenyra's eyes followed you more than before, and her mood seemed to change. She seemed to care little for her husband's absence, and spent long periods of time in the room where you were. She went so far as to ask you to stay during a meeting with her aunt Rhaenys. You got to share walks with her on the beach, where she would tell you about the things she had seen during her tour in search of a husband, and she would encourage you to tell her about your childhood in Highgarden. She used to push your hair away from your face when the wind was harsh and dodge your gaze much less. There even came a day when she encouraged you to pet Syrax. It became a habit for you to brush her hair, while she gave you little books she knew you would appreciate. She would confess her worries to you, confirming that, indeed, it was not only the crown that concerned her. Motherhood had dulled her self-esteem and Daemon made her feel somewhat aged and ugly.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Princess," you told her honestly. You had undone her braid and she turned to look at you. You felt a rush of warmth throughout your body as she gently cupped your cheek.

"You should go and rest," she replied, much sweeter than she used to be in her day.

You nodded and found it as hard to pull away as she found it hard to let go of your chin.

"You have beautiful handwriting…" she told you the day she found you alone, by your trusty window. One of your many notes had been picked up by her. "It's as distinctive as you are, sweet flower."

She beamed, as you blushed at the compliment and nickname. You tried to reposition yourself immediately, to pay her your respect, but she kept her smile and moved closer to you, resting her hand on your leg to keep you from sitting up.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I didn't realise I had lost it…" you picked up the leaf to keep it with the others.

"I don't think I have thanked you for being the most efficient and attentive person in the castle," she said calmly.

"I don't think that…"

"I do…and I also think I owe you an apology. I led you to believe that I didn't care about you in the slightest. And it's quite the opposite. I had a duty to mentor you, and I only avoided you."

"No need, Your Majesty--"

"Yes, my dear," she cut you off, your eyes trying to avoid her, but her face was unavoidable. "When I was even younger than you, my heart was very evenly divided…. I loved Daemon. And I loved… women." Her hand parted from your leg, leaving you a special space for you to hate her. And yet, she remained dignified in her confession. "I've always… I've always paid attention to you. And precisely because I liked watching you too much, I have consciously avoided you."

Before you could respond, before you could even assimilate her words, she disappeared. And he had already gone back into his rooms when you understood everything. And if you didn't go in that time it was because it took you a sleepless night to work up the courage to tell her what you thought.

She was meditating again in the room with the stone table, watching the fire crackling, the whole castle asleep, and she heard your footsteps but did not turn around.

"It is most unfair…" she turned her head just a little towards you, "to hear your words and leave me alone at once. What do you expect me to do with them?"

"I thought they would be words of relief."

"Well, they would be for your relief and not mine, Your Majesty." At the tremble in your voice, Rhaenyra turned in alarm. "You wish me to leave?"

She approached you quickly, unsure of what to do when she had you close to her. She looked you up and down, and pondered what to say only to shake her head.

"No, I don't want you to leave…"

Her hands held out in front of you, holding each other to restrain herself from touching you, but her rings glistened and you longed fervently to caress them. You took them both, and she let herself, and the space was limited, with her sweet breath close to your lips. You lifted one of her hands, and upon her palm you groped a soft kiss. And with a gentle push of Rhaenyra's hand, she moved your face to her lips and you occupied them. Both her hands now in your hair and yours on her cheek.

Such soft lips, fuller kisses than the ones she received from Daemon, Rhaenyra felt unable to tear herself away from you.

"You have been occupying my dreams for hundreds of nights…" she confessed.

"And you occupy all my thoughts in the day, my queen…"

That made her smile. The room of the stone table would henceforth witness the thousands of hidden glances that carried with them nocturnal kisses.