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novaursa · 19 days

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The Dragon's Right (5)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!targ/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all previous chapters, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The Faith of the Seven works a little differently here, and they never fully accepted brother-sister marriages. Trust the process.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Previous part: 4

- Next part: 6

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Red Keep, as Rhaenyra walked the familiar corridors, her steps light and purposeful. The castle was already bustling with the day’s activities, courtiers and servants moving through the halls, each engaged in their own tasks. But despite the steady hum of the Keep, Rhaenyra felt a sense of calm as she made her way toward the Great Hall, her newly appointed protector, Ser Criston Cole, trailing a few steps behind her.

Ser Criston’s presence was still new, but it was a welcome one. There was a quiet confidence about him, a sense of reliability that Rhaenyra appreciated. She had chosen him herself, after all, and she felt a certain pride in that decision. The Kingsguard had always been composed of men of noble birth, but Ser Criston was different—he was a man who had proven himself in battle, a man who understood the realities of war and loyalty.

As they walked, Rhaenyra was lost in thought, her mind occupied with the matters she was expected to attend to that day. But her thoughts were interrupted when she caught sight of a familiar figure coming down the hall toward her, his presence instantly commanding attention. It was you, her brother, and the sight of you brought an immediate smile to her face.

"Brother!" Rhaenyra called out, her voice bright with warmth as she quickened her pace to meet you.

You smiled as you approached, your demeanor relaxed but with that ever-present air of responsibility that seemed to follow you everywhere. You were on your way to the training yard, where your presence was often required, but the sight of your sister brought a welcome distraction.

"Rhaenyra," you greeted her warmly, stopping in your tracks as she came to stand before you. "I see you’re off to attend to courtly matters. Hopefully nothing too tedious?"

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I hope not, though you know how these things can be. What about you? Off to the training yard to beat sense into some poor squire?"

"Something like that," you replied with a grin. "But I couldn’t pass by without saying hello."

As you exchanged pleasantries, your gaze shifted to the man standing just behind your sister. Ser Criston Cole stood at attention, his armor polished and gleaming, the white cloak of the Kingsguard draped over his shoulders. Your expression brightened with recognition.

"Ser Criston," you greeted, nodding in acknowledgment. "I see you’ve traded your old armor for the white cloak of the Kingsguard. It suits you."

Ser Criston inclined his head respectfully. "Your Grace," he said, his voice steady. "Thank you. It is an honor to serve."

You nodded, clearly pleased. "You served well under my command, Ser Criston. I haven’t forgotten the skirmish we had on the border near Yronwood. You fought with courage that day, held the line when others might have faltered."

A flicker of surprise crossed Ser Criston’s face, quickly replaced by a look of quiet pride. "Thank you, Your Grace. I’m honored that you remember."

With a final nod, you turned your attention back to your sister, your smile warm and genuine. "Take care, Rhaenyra. I’ll see you at the council later?"

Rhaenyra nodded, her smile lingering. "Of course, Brother. I’ll be there."

With that, you continued down the hall, your guards falling in step behind you. Rhaenyra watched you go, a small smile still playing on her lips. There was something comforting about your presence, a sense of stability that she had always relied on.

As you disappeared around the corner, Ser Criston spoke, his tone thoughtful. "I must admit, Princess, I’m surprised the prince remembered me at all. I was just a foot soldier in that battle, after all."

Rhaenyra turned to face him, her expression soft with understanding. "My brother remembers everyone who served under him, Ser Criston. Whether they’re lords or common soldiers, it doesn’t matter. He values loyalty and bravery above all else."

Ser Criston nodded, though his expression remained contemplative. "It’s just that… it’s one thing to remember the sons of important lords or famous commanders. But for him to recall a mere foot soldier like myself… it means a great deal."

Rhaenyra smiled, her admiration for you evident in her eyes. "That’s who my brother is, Ser Criston. He doesn’t see people as just titles or ranks. To him, every man who fights for his family and his realm is worthy of respect."

Ser Criston’s gaze shifted downward, his thoughts clearly turning inward. He had seen many lords and commanders throughout his years of service, but few had ever treated him with the kind of respect and recognition that you had just shown. It was a humbling experience, and it only solidified his resolve to serve the Targaryen family with all the honor he could muster.

Rhaenyra noticed the introspective look on Ser Criston’s face and decided to lighten the mood. "Come now, Ser Criston," she said, her tone playful. "Let’s not dwell on the past too much. We have matters to attend to, and I’m sure there will be plenty of time for reflection later."

Ser Criston looked up, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Of course, Princess. Lead the way."

The training yard of the Red Keep was alive with the sounds of clashing swords and the grunts of exertion as new recruits tested their mettle against seasoned trainers. You stood at the edge of the yard, your arms crossed over your chest as you observed the proceedings with a critical eye. The morning sun was climbing higher in the sky, but you were focused on the work at hand.

The recruits were a mix of eager young men and more experienced soldiers looking to hone their skills further. As the prince, you had taken it upon yourself to oversee their training whenever you could, ensuring that the men who served your house were of the highest caliber. You had been through enough battles to know that preparation was everything, and you took your responsibility seriously.

You watched as one of the trainers—a burly man with a weathered face and a scar running down his cheek—barked orders at a pair of recruits who were sparring with wooden swords. The younger of the two was struggling to keep up, his movements clumsy and unsure. You frowned slightly, making a mental note to spend some time with him later, to help him refine his technique.

As you continued to observe, your thoughts briefly drifted to the conversation you’d had with Daemon the night before. His words about taking control of your own fate had resonated with you, and though you had pushed them to the back of your mind to focus on the day’s duties, they lingered like a shadow, waiting to be addressed.

Meanwhile, not far from the training yard, Alicent Hightower walked alongside her brother Gwayne, the two of them making their way toward the gates of the Red Keep. Gwayne was set to return to Oldtown, and Alicent had insisted on seeing him off, a quiet farewell before he departed.

As they walked, Alicent’s eyes kept drifting to the side, stealing quick glances at you as you oversaw the training. The distance between you and her was enough that you likely didn’t notice, but Gwayne certainly did. He had always been protective of his sister, and he was keenly aware of the pressure their father placed on her to secure the favor of the Targaryen prince.

Gwayne’s gaze flicked between his sister and you, his expression growing thoughtful. After a moment, he cleared his throat, drawing Alicent’s attention back to him. "Alicent," he began, his tone carefully neutral, "is this something Father wants… or something you want?"

Alicent felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks, the question catching her off guard. She had known Gwayne would notice, but she hadn’t expected him to be so direct. She hesitated, searching for the right words, but the truth was more complicated than she wanted to admit.

"It’s… both," she finally admitted, her voice soft. "Father has his plans, and I understand what’s expected of me. But it’s also something I feel I have to do. For our family."

Gwayne sighed, his expression tightening with concern. "Alicent, you know how these things can go. Court life is dangerous, and playing with the affections of a prince—especially one like Y/N—is no small matter. You need to be careful."

Alicent looked down, her hands clasped in front of her as they walked. "I know, Gwayne. But what choice do I have? Father has made it clear what he expects, and if I don’t at least try…"

Gwayne stopped, turning to face her fully. "You’re more than just a pawn in Father’s game, Alicent. Don’t lose sight of that. The prince may be noble, but he’s also burdened by his own duties and expectations. If you get too close… if things don’t go as Father hopes…"

Alicent met her brother’s gaze, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I understand the risks, Gwayne. But I have to do what I can for our family. It’s what’s expected of me."

Gwayne’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Just promise me you’ll be careful, Alicent. Don’t let Father’s ambitions blind you to your own happiness."

Alicent nodded, offering him a small, strained smile. "I promise."

With that, they continued their walk to the gates, Gwayne’s concern lingering in the air between them. Alicent’s thoughts were a jumble of uncertainty and duty as she glanced back toward the training yard one last time before they reached the gates. You were still there, focused on your responsibilities, seemingly unaware of the silent turmoil playing out in the hearts of those around you.

As Gwayne mounted his horse and prepared to depart, he looked down at his sister with a final, reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself, Alicent. I’ll see you soon."

Alicent nodded, watching as he rode away, the weight of his words and the pressure of her father’s expectations heavy on her shoulders.

The air in your chambers was stifling, despite the late afternoon breeze drifting in through the open window. You had been pacing for what felt like hours, your mind restless and unsettled. The allure of flight was strong, and the thought of taking to the skies on Silverwing, leaving behind the heavy stone walls of the Red Keep, was becoming harder to resist. You longed for the freedom that only a dragon’s wings could bring, the vast expanse of the sky where no courtly intrigue or whispered plots could reach you.

As you stood by the window, your gaze drifting out toward the horizon, the quiet knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. A moment later, Ser Harrold’s voice came through the heavy wooden door.

"Your Grace, Lady Alicent Hightower seeks an audience with you."

You turned, surprised by the announcement. Alicent had rarely sought you out on her own, and while you had nothing against her, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that her presence here was likely on her father’s orders rather than of her own accord.

"Let her in," you said, your voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

The door opened, and Alicent entered the room, her steps measured and graceful as always. She was dressed impeccably, as befitted a lady of her station, her hands clasped in front of her as she approached. Her expression was polite, though there was a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes as she met your gaze.

"Your Grace," she greeted you with a slight curtsy. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

You shook your head, though the truth was you had been yearning for solitude. Still, you motioned for her to come further into the room. "No disturbance at all, Lady Alicent," you replied, keeping your tone neutral. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Alicent hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "I’ve come to relay a message on behalf of my father, the Hand of the King." Her voice was steady, though you detected the underlying sense of duty that drove her. "He wished to discuss the upcoming negotiations with the Free Cities and thought it would be prudent if you were present at the council. He believes your insight would be invaluable."

You nodded, unsurprised. Otto Hightower had always been a man of strategy, constantly maneuvering the pieces of the court to his advantage. It made sense that he would want you involved in such discussions, especially with the growing tensions beyond the Narrow Sea. But still, the thought of another meeting in the council chambers filled you with a sense of unease. The court had never felt like your place, not the way it did for your father or for men like Otto.

"I’ll attend," you said simply, your voice betraying little emotion. "Tell your father he needn’t worry."

Alicent inclined her head in acknowledgment, though she lingered for a moment longer, her eyes scanning your face before settling on your expression. You felt her gaze, and after a brief pause, she spoke again, this time more softly.

"You look… tired, Your Grace."

The comment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. You studied her, trying to gauge her intentions. There was nothing malicious in her words, no hidden barbs. If anything, she seemed genuinely concerned.

You exhaled softly, the weight of the Red Keep’s walls pressing in on you once more. "The Red Keep has that effect on me," you admitted, your voice quieter now. "I’ve never been one for court life. My father thrives in it, but I… I feel trapped here. Agitated. Like I’m not meant for this."

Alicent listened intently, her hands still folded in front of her as she took a step closer. "I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Your Grace," she said gently. "The courtiers speak highly of you. They respect you, and many admire the way you carry yourself."

You smiled faintly, though there was a touch of weariness in the gesture. "Perhaps. But I feel more at ease with a sword in my hand than I ever do in the council chambers. Politics, alliances, all of it—it’s like fighting a battle without ever knowing who the real enemy is."

Alicent seemed to ponder your words for a moment before speaking again, her tone still measured. "That’s exactly why your presence is so important, Your Grace. You bring a sense of stability, a strength that many in the court lack. Your uncle Daemon, as skilled as he is, doesn’t have the same restraint. Your father relies on you more than you may realize."

You considered her words, but even as she spoke, you could feel the gulf between the two of you. Alicent was polite, always diplomatic in her conversations, but there was something distant about it. Her attempts to engage you, to compliment you, felt more like duty than genuine interest, much like this visit itself.

You nodded, acknowledging her point. "I understand the necessity of my role, Lady Alicent. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it."

The conversation drifted into a more comfortable silence, though Alicent still seemed to linger, her eyes searching your face as if trying to find some way to connect. But despite her efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all part of her father’s plan, that she was here not because she wanted to be, but because it was expected of her.

Finally, sensing that her attempts were making little headway, Alicent straightened her posture slightly, preparing to take her leave. "Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Your Grace," she said, her tone still courteous but tinged with a hint of disappointment. "Thank you for your time."

You offered her a polite nod. "Thank you for relaying your father’s message, Lady Alicent. And for your… kind words."

Alicent gave you one last curtsy before turning to leave, her expression unreadable as she made her way toward the door. As she stepped out of the chamber, you found yourself alone once more, the brief interaction already fading from your mind.

For a moment, you stood there, gazing out of the window once again. The Red Keep felt more suffocating than ever, its walls closing in around you. The thought of escaping to the skies on Silverwing grew stronger, the urge to leave the court behind for a time nearly overwhelming.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. Alicent had been polite, even complimentary, but there was no spark of connection, no real interest that went beyond the surface of courtly duty. She, like so many others, was part of the world that you struggled to navigate—a world where words were often more dangerous than swords, and where alliances were forged not in battle, but in whispered conversations behind closed doors.

As the door closed behind her, you felt a sense of relief but also a lingering sense of frustration. Whatever her intentions had been, the conversation had left you feeling more disconnected than before, a reminder that the court was not a place where you could truly be yourself.

The decision to leave for the Dragonpit was made the moment you closed the door behind Alicent. The walls of the Red Keep felt too close, the weight of your duty pressing down on your shoulders. The pull of Silverwing, the freedom of the skies, was irresistible. You were halfway to the door, ready to escape the stifling atmosphere of your chambers, when the sound of the door opening again stopped you in your tracks.

Rhaenyra entered, her eyes immediately locking onto you. She seemed amused, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she observed your state of readiness to flee.

"Planning a great escape, brother?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she sauntered into the room and took a seat with casual grace.

You chuckled, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Maybe," you teased. "The Red Keep is starting to feel more like a cage with every passing day. I was just thinking about flying—Silverwing and I, far away from all this."

Rhaenyra smirked. "Always running off to your dragon. What would Father say?"

You shrugged, a grin tugging at your lips. "Father would say what he always does—something about duty, responsibility, and how I should learn to enjoy the trappings of court life."

Rhaenyra laughed softly but then noticed the contemplative look in your eyes. She leaned forward, curious. "What’s really bothering you? It’s not just court."

You hesitated for a moment before deciding to mention it. "Your friend Alicent was here, a few moments ago."

At that, Rhaenyra’s amusement vanished. Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Alicent? What did she want?"

You raised an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanor. "She came to deliver a message from her father, about a matter in the council. Something to do with the Free Cities."

Rhaenyra’s annoyance deepened, and she crossed her arms, clearly irritated. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course she did. She’s always doing her father’s bidding," she muttered, more to herself than to you. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I’ll need to speak to her about this later."

You sensed that her frustration with Alicent ran deeper than just the message. It was something about the way she had reacted—how quickly her mood had soured at the mention of Alicent’s name. Still, you decided to change the subject.

"Speaking of Father," you began, leaning back slightly, "he’s been pushing me lately. Urging me to find a wife."

Rhaenyra’s expression changed in an instant. Where there had been annoyance moments ago, now there was something much sharper, more intense. Her lips parted slightly, and a flicker of unexpected anger flashed in her violet eyes.

"Father’s pressuring you to marry?" she asked, her voice low, almost as if the idea itself was a threat.

You noticed the shift in her tone, and you sighed inwardly, knowing this conversation was heading into dangerous waters. "Yes, he thinks it’s time I consider it. He’s worried about securing alliances through marriage, the usual concerns of the crown."

Rhaenyra stood up abruptly, her annoyance boiling over into outright protest. "But you can’t marry just anyone!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with something deeper than frustration.

You raised your hands in a placating gesture. "I know, Rhaenyra. But it’s not just me. Father is also feeling the pressure himself to remarry, and…" You paused, watching her closely. "He’s also being pushed to marry you off as well."

Her expression darkened further, and she took a step toward you, her fists clenched at her sides. "I don’t want to marry, Y/N. I have no desire to be some tool in a game of alliances. I belong to myself, not to some lord looking to secure power."

You could see the fire in her eyes, the fierce independence that had always defined her. But you also knew that your father’s worries weren’t so easily dismissed. "Rhaenyra, I understand. Believe me, I do. But Father fears what might happen if we don’t secure ourselves soon. The council’s already pressuring him, and he’s dreading having this conversation with you."

Her eyes flashed with defiance as she stepped closer, her voice rising slightly. "Then I’ll tell him myself. I don’t want to marry anyone, and I refuse to be forced into it."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing this would not be an easy conversation. "Rhaenyra, I’m not calm about this either. But we both have duties—"

"How can you be so calm about it?" she interrupted, her voice sharp as she moved even closer, her face now only inches from yours. "I know you, Y/N. I know this isn’t what you want. But you’re letting them control you, push you toward something neither of us wants."

You hesitated, unsure how to respond, when her eyes locked onto yours, and her expression shifted. There was something there—something intense and unspoken, lingering between you both since that day in front of the Dragonpit. Rhaenyra’s voice lowered, becoming more intimate, more insistent.

"I know you felt something too, that day," she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. "After our flight, when we nearly…"

She trailed off, but the memory was crystal clear in both your minds. The closeness, the shared moment when the lines between you had blurred. Her words sent a jolt of emotion through you, something you had been trying to suppress for days.

"Rhaenyra," you said softly, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, "it’s complicated."

But she didn’t relent. Her eyes never left yours as she pressed closer, her voice low and determined. "No, it isn’t. You felt it, just like I did."

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours with a boldness that sent your heart racing. You felt her hesitation, but also the certainty behind her actions. When the kiss deepened, you didn’t pull away. The moment lingered, the connection between you undeniable, until finally, you both pulled back, breathless.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and longing, and she spoke with quiet conviction. "You can tell Father to wed me to you. In the traditions of our house. It’s what we both want, isn’t it?"

You stared at her, torn between what you felt and what you knew was expected of you. "Rhaenyra," you began, your voice heavy with the weight of duty, "it’s not that simple."

She shook her head, determined. "It is simple. King Jaehaerys married his sister Alysanne, didn’t he? It’s in our blood, in our history."

You sighed again, stepping back slightly to clear your head. "Jaehaerys and Alysanne married in secret, and even then, it was a different time. The Faith might approve now, but Father—and the court—they’ll want to use us for alliances to strengthen the crown."

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, her defiance unbroken. "Then let them think what they will. I don’t care what they want. I care about what we want."

You could feel the pull of her words, the temptation of a future free from the court’s manipulations, but you knew that your path, and hers, was far more complicated than either of you could admit in that moment.

For now, the decision hung in the air between you, unresolved, as the reality of your positions slowly settled back in.

Rhaenyra sat in her brother's chambers long after he had left for his flight on Silverwing. The tension between them still lingered in the air, and her heart raced in her chest as her mind replayed the kiss over and over. It had been so brief, so unexpected, yet it had ignited something deep inside her—a yearning that felt both familiar and foreign. She had always loved her brother, Y/N, admired him, and looked up to him as a strong, dependable force in her life. He had been her protector, her confidant, the one person she could always trust.

But now, something had shifted. The love she felt for him, once innocent and pure, had taken on a new, more dangerous form. She couldn't deny the physical attraction that had bloomed between them, the pull she felt whenever they were close. It scared her, and yet she couldn't resist it. The kiss they had shared wasn't just a fleeting moment of weakness—it had been something inevitable, something that had been building between them for years.

Rhaenyra stood from her seat, pacing the room as her thoughts tumbled over one another. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, the way his breath had mingled with her own. She had always known she was possessive of him, but now, that possessiveness had taken on a sharper edge. The idea of him marrying anyone else filled her with a jealousy so fierce it was almost painful.

And then there was Alicent.

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened as her thoughts shifted to her so-called friend. Alicent had come to her brother’s chambers—of course, under the guise of delivering her father’s message, but Rhaenyra had seen through it immediately. Alicent had been trying to get close to him, no doubt hoping to secure his attention for herself. The thought made Rhaenyra’s blood boil. How dare Alicent, who had always claimed to be her friend, make such a blatant move behind her back? And her brother, so polite, so unaware of what was happening, had entertained her.

Rhaenyra couldn’t sit still any longer. She needed to confront Alicent, to make her understand that whatever she thought she was doing, it had to stop. Without another thought, she swept out of her brother’s chambers and made her way through the winding halls of the Red Keep, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

As she walked, her thoughts returned to Y/N. She had felt the way his body had tensed when she kissed him, the hesitation in his response, but he hadn’t pulled away. He had kissed her back, and that gave her all the reason to believe that he felt the same—whether or not he was willing to admit it. They were Targaryens, after all. Their blood was different, their traditions different. She had heard the stories of their ancestors—Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the greatest king and queen Westeros had ever known—who had married each other in secret and ruled side by side. Why couldn’t she and her brother do the same?

But the idea of anyone else—anyone else—trying to steal him away from her was unbearable. And she knew that Alicent, for all her demure politeness, was playing her own game. Rhaenyra would not stand by and let it happen.

She found Alicent in the gardens, sitting quietly beneath a tree, her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was a peacefulness to the scene, but Rhaenyra was anything but calm. Her anger boiled over as she strode toward Alicent, her footsteps loud enough to announce her approach.

Alicent looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of her friend, and immediately sensed the storm brewing in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

"Rhaenyra," Alicent greeted cautiously, standing to meet her. "Is everything all right?"

Rhaenyra didn’t bother with pleasantries as she stormed forward, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “Don’t act as if you don’t know,” she snapped, her voice low but laced with venom.

Alicent blinked, genuinely taken aback by the sudden hostility. “I… I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, closing the distance between them, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “You went to my brother’s chambers.”

Alicent’s face paled slightly, but she tried to hold her ground. “Yes, to deliver my father’s message,” she said, though her tone wavered with uncertainty.

Rhaenyra scoffed, her anger flaring. “Your father’s message?” she echoed mockingly. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

Alicent’s hands tightened in front of her, her composure faltering under the weight of Rhaenyra’s accusations. “I… I was only doing what my father asked of me. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to what? Go behind my back? Try to gain my brother’s favor?” Rhaenyra’s voice rose as she stepped closer, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of betrayal and possessiveness. “I thought you were my friend, Alicent. But friends don’t do what you did.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, her voice faltering. “I am your friend, Rhaenyra. You know that. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Rhaenyra’s fists clenched at her sides as she fought to keep control of the emotions surging within her. The kiss with her brother was still fresh in her mind, but she couldn’t say it, couldn’t let the truth slip out—not yet. “A friend wouldn’t try to worm her way into my brother’s life like this,” Rhaenyra hissed, her anger spilling over. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing. The way you look at him. The way you linger when you speak to him.”

Alicent’s expression hardened slightly as she realized where this was coming from. “And what if I do look at him?” she countered, her voice steadying. “He’s a prince, Rhaenyra. You know as well as I do that if he doesn’t choose me, he will choose someone else. He’s the heir to the Iron Throne. It’s his duty to marry, to strengthen his house.”

Rhaenyra felt a flash of unexpected jealousy burn through her chest. She stepped even closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. “I know his duty,” she spat. “I know better than anyone.”

Alicent met her gaze, searching her face for answers, for some understanding of why Rhaenyra was so deeply affected by this. “Then why are you so angry?” Alicent asked, her voice tinged with frustration. “There’s nothing wrong in what I’ve done. Your brother has a responsibility to marry, to secure alliances for the crown. You can’t stop that.”

Rhaenyra’s chest tightened at Alicent’s words, and she nearly let slip the secret she had been holding onto—the kiss, the feelings that had stirred between her and her brother. But she stopped herself just in time, swallowing the confession before it could escape her lips. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Alicent’s brow furrowed in confusion, her tone softening. “Then help me understand, Rhaenyra. Why are you so angry? Is it because of me?”

Rhaenyra’s hands trembled at her sides, her emotions spiraling out of control. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling without revealing too much—without revealing the truth about her and her brother. But the thought of Alicent trying to take him from her, trying to gain his favor, made her sick with jealousy.

“You have no idea,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Alicent, still perplexed, tried to reach out to her friend. “Rhaenyra, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just doing what’s expected of me, the same as you. Your brother is—”

Rhaenyra cut her off, her voice hard again. “My brother will make his own choices. And I’ll make sure he knows what you’ve been doing.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock at the veiled threat, her voice trembling. “I’m not trying to steal him from you, Rhaenyra. I—”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her voice cold and final. “Just stay away from him.”

With that, Rhaenyra turned sharply on her heel and stormed away, her heart racing and her mind spinning with a tangle of emotions she couldn’t quite control. The kiss, her jealousy, her anger at Alicent—it was all too much. But what hurt the most was the uncertainty of it all. Her brother hadn’t rejected her kiss, but he hadn’t embraced it fully either. And the thought of him being forced to marry someone else—whether it be Alicent or another noble lady—made her stomach churn.

As she walked through the gardens, her thoughts returned to the moment in front of the Dragonpit, when she and Y/N had been so close to crossing a line that neither of them could come back from. That kiss had awakened something in her—something she had been trying to ignore for so long. She loved him, she had always loved him, but now it was different. Now it was a love that burned with a dangerous intensity, a love that she wasn’t sure she could keep hidden for much longer.

One thing was certain—she would not let anyone, not even Alicent, come between her and her brother.

The sky stretched endlessly above you as Silverwing’s wings beat in steady rhythm, carrying you high above the Red Keep. The wind rushed past, cool against your skin, and the sound of it drowned out everything—every voice, every demand, every burden you carried. Up here, there was no court, no intrigue, no weight of duty pressing down on your shoulders. It was just you and Silverwing, soaring over the vast expanse of Westeros, far from the tangled mess of emotions and expectations below.

But no matter how far you flew, no matter how high you soared, your thoughts couldn’t escape the turmoil inside you.

Rhaenyra.

Her name alone was enough to stir something deep within you, something you had been trying to suppress ever since the moment you left her chambers. The kiss you had shared had ignited a fire between you, one that you had feared for some time. In that fleeting moment, it was as if all the walls you had built, all the careful distance you had maintained, had come crashing down. You had always loved your sister, always admired her strength and spirit, but over the years, that love had grown into something else, something dangerous.

And now… now you couldn’t deny it any longer.

Your grip tightened on the reins as Silverwing dipped lower, gliding gracefully over the hills that stretched beyond King’s Landing. The dragon’s power beneath you was a comforting presence, but it did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. The memory of Rhaenyra’s lips against yours haunted you, the way her body had pressed close, her words a whisper between you: "You can wed me. We are Targaryens."

She had said it so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps for her, it was. You had grown up hearing the stories of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the dragon-riding king and queen who had been siblings and lovers, ruling together in harmony. But that had been a different time, and even their union had sparked controversy. The Faith had never fully accepted the Targaryen tradition of sibling marriage, and the realm was no longer the same as it had been under Jaehaerys’s rule.

Could you truly wed Rhaenyra? The thought was daunting, and not just because of the moral or political implications. She was your sister, your blood. Yet, when you looked at her, it wasn’t just as a brother looks at his sister. In those three years you had been gone, she had grown into a woman—beautiful, fierce, and full of life. Her presence had always been a comfort to you, but now, it stirred something far more complicated. Something you feared you couldn’t control.

You exhaled sharply, trying to clear your mind as Silverwing carried you higher, the city of King’s Landing growing smaller beneath you. Your father, Viserys, would never approve. That much was certain. Even if the Faith were to tolerate a union between you and Rhaenyra, the realm would demand alliances. Viserys had always been a king who sought peace, and he would never risk alienating the great houses or the Faith for such a marriage. The political consequences could be dire. The Targaryens were powerful, but they could not afford to make enemies of the Faith, not now.

And then there was the court, always whispering, always plotting. Otto Hightower, your father’s Hand, was no fool. He would see through any plans you and Rhaenyra might try to make. Otto’s mind was sharp, always calculating the next move for House Hightower, and you knew he had ambitions of his own. The idea of him maneuvering behind your back only made your head ache more.

You grimaced, your thoughts turning to the meeting you would have with Otto soon—another matter that weighed heavily on your mind. The council was preparing for trade negotiations with the Free Cities, and Otto had insisted you be part of the discussions. It wasn’t something you particularly relished; your strengths lay on the battlefield, not in politics. But duty was duty, and as the heir to the Iron Throne, you had no choice but to be involved. The coming talks would be critical for the realm’s economy, and your presence was expected, even if the court’s intrigues made your skin crawl.

Still, it was the matter with Rhaenyra that gnawed at you the most. How could you face the council, the court, even your own father, with this secret between you and your sister? The kiss had opened floodgates you feared you couldn’t close again. Rhaenyra had made her feelings clear, but you… you were torn between what you wanted and what your duty demanded of you.

Silverwing let out a low rumble beneath you, sensing your unease. You patted the dragon’s neck absentmindedly, grateful for the connection you shared. Up here, with Silverwing, there were no expectations, no demands. But you couldn’t stay in the sky forever. Eventually, you would have to return to the Red Keep, to face the reality waiting for you below.

As you flew further, your thoughts kept returning to Rhaenyra’s suggestion that you wed her. The logic behind it wasn’t without merit. You were both Targaryens, and such marriages had been part of your family’s legacy for generations. Rhaenyra had even pointed out that King Jaehaerys had wed his sister Alysanne, and they had been beloved rulers. But it wasn’t that simple anymore. The court, the Faith, the realm—all of them would expect you to marry for alliances, not love. Certainly not for a bond that many would see as an abomination.

You felt a knot of frustration tightening in your chest. Rhaenyra was right about one thing: you did feel something for her. That kiss had stirred something primal, something you had tried to bury, but it was undeniable now. But no matter how much you desired her, how much you wanted to throw caution to the wind and claim her as yours, the responsibilities that came with your title loomed larger than your desires.

If you were to marry Rhaenyra, the realm would demand answers. Otto Hightower, in particular, would be the first to protest. He had his own designs for Rhaenyra, no doubt aiming to secure her hand for a lord that could strengthen House Hightower’s position. And then there was the matter of the Faith—if you wed your sister, you risked reigniting old tensions with the Faith of the Seven, tensions that could spill into conflict. The crown couldn’t afford another war, especially not one fought over such a personal matter.

The irony of it all stung. For all the power and privilege you held as a prince, you were just as bound by duty and expectation as anyone else. The thought of being used as a political pawn infuriated you, but that was the price of being the heir. Your desires were secondary to the needs of the realm.

And yet… what if you could make it work? What if there was a way to marry Rhaenyra and still keep the peace? The idea seemed impossible, but you couldn’t shake it. You were a Targaryen, after all. The rules had always bent for your family before. Perhaps, if handled delicately enough, you could find a way to navigate the court’s demands and still claim the one person you truly wanted by your side.

But as you flew over the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the decision that loomed before you. The kiss had changed everything, and now you were faced with choices that could shape not just your future, but the future of the realm.

Silverwing let out another low rumble, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts. For now, you would enjoy the freedom of the skies, the cool wind against your skin. But soon enough, you would have to return to the Red Keep, to face Rhaenyra, your father, and the court that watched your every move.

The small council meeting had drawn to a close, with the lords and advisors filing out of the chamber one by one, their voices still murmuring about the matters of trade, security, and the upcoming negotiations with Essos. You remained seated at the table, your thoughts drifting far from the council’s discussions, far from the politics that had dominated the room. Though you had offered your insight where needed, your mind had frequently wandered—to the skies, to Silverwing, and, most of all, to your sister, Rhaenyra.

As the last of the council members left, Otto Hightower lingered. He rose slowly from his seat, his sharp gaze fixed on you, watching as the room emptied. There was always something calculating about Otto, a keen intelligence behind his measured words, and you could feel his eyes on you even before he spoke.

"Your Grace," Otto began, his voice smooth and polite, "if I might ask for a moment of your time. There are a few matters I wish to discuss privately."

You nodded, already suspecting where this conversation might lead. The chamber doors closed softly, leaving just the two of you, the dim light of the candles casting long shadows on the stone walls. You leaned back in your chair, your fingers drumming lightly on the wooden table, waiting for Otto to make his move.

Otto took his time, folding his hands behind his back as he approached. "I must say," he began carefully, "the court feels more… grounded with your return, Your Grace. The king has been much more content now that his heir is safely home. Your presence has brought a sense of stability to the capital that was sorely missed."

You inclined your head slightly in acknowledgment. "I’m glad to hear it, Lord Hand. It is my duty to be here for the realm and for my father. Though I admit, I sometimes find the weight of court affairs to be a heavy burden."

Otto’s lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. "A burden, yes, but one that you carry with admirable grace. It is no small thing to be the heir to the Iron Throne. Your father, the king, relies on you more than you may realize."

You knew where this was going, the subtle flattery, the careful words meant to soften what was coming next. Otto Hightower never spoke without intention, and you could feel the shift in the conversation as he guided it toward more personal matters.

"I imagine," Otto continued, his tone still polite, "that your time in Dorne was… challenging. A different kind of duty, certainly, but one that suited your skills well. But now, being back at court, you must find it… refreshing to be surrounded by family again."

You nodded, though your mind was already elsewhere. "It is good to be home. My family means a great deal to me."

"Indeed," Otto said, his voice taking on a slightly more casual tone. "And speaking of family… I believe my daughter, Alicent, had the pleasure of delivering a message to you today. I trust she was able to assist you adequately?"

There it was. The real reason for this conversation. You could see the way Otto’s gaze flicked over your face, gauging your reaction, trying to read you. He was probing, testing the waters, to see if his daughter’s attempts to gain your attention had borne any fruit.

You kept your expression carefully neutral, offering a polite but noncommittal smile. "Lady Alicent was very kind. She delivered her father’s message with grace and professionalism. I appreciate her assistance."

Otto’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was a man used to maneuvering through the intricacies of court politics, and he wasn’t easily dissuaded. "I am glad to hear that, Your Grace. Alicent speaks highly of you, as does the rest of the court. It is clear that your presence here brings a sense of calm and strength, particularly to those close to the king."

His words were deliberate, carefully chosen to steer the conversation toward Alicent without being too direct. But you could see through it easily enough. Otto was testing your interest, trying to discern whether you saw his daughter as anything more than a messenger or a polite face in court.

You nodded again, keeping your tone courteous but distant. "Lady Alicent is a fine lady, and I value her friendship with my sister."

Otto tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, but he didn’t press. "Yes, she and Princess Rhaenyra have grown quite close over the years. It is a friendship that has been a great comfort to my daughter, and I believe it has been mutually beneficial for both of them. Strong friendships are important, especially in court, wouldn’t you agree?"

You could feel the shift in Otto’s approach, the way he was trying to guide the conversation toward more personal matters. It was a delicate dance, one you had seen countless times in court. You knew what he wanted—you knew he was hoping to plant the seed of a potential match between you and Alicent. But your thoughts were far from the Hand’s daughter. Every time he mentioned her, your mind drifted back to Rhaenyra. Her kiss, her words, the fire that had sparked between you both.

"I agree," you said after a pause, choosing your words carefully. "Court can be a lonely place without strong bonds."

Otto’s gaze sharpened, his tone growing just a touch more pointed. "And bonds of marriage, of course, are among the strongest of all. They unite houses, strengthen alliances, and secure the future of the realm."

You nodded, though your thoughts remained distant, swirling around Rhaenyra and the tangled mess of emotions she stirred in you. Otto continued to speak, but his words began to fade into the background as your mind wandered to the possibility that Rhaenyra had raised. Marriage. It wasn’t just a political tool for you anymore—it was something personal, something tied to the fierce and complicated love you felt for your sister.

"Of course," Otto was saying, "there will come a time when certain decisions must be made about the future of the realm—decisions about alliances, about securing the throne through marriage. It is a delicate matter, but one that I trust you will handle with wisdom and care."

You blinked, refocusing on the conversation at hand, though you had heard enough to understand his meaning. "I am aware of the responsibility I bear, Lord Hand," you replied, your tone still courteous but distant. "But some matters require careful thought, not haste."

Otto studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He could tell that you weren’t fully engaged in the conversation, but he chose not to push further. Instead, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Of course, Your Grace. There is always time to consider these matters carefully. But know that you have the support of those who wish to see you succeed—myself included."

You nodded, offering a polite smile. "Thank you, Lord Hightower. I appreciate your counsel."

With that, Otto seemed to understand that there was little more to be gained from this conversation. He bowed his head respectfully. "If there is anything else you require, Your Grace, you know where to find me."

As Otto took his leave, you let out a quiet breath, the tension of the conversation still lingering in the air. You had played your part well, keeping your responses polite but noncommittal, careful not to give Otto any more insight than was necessary. But beneath the surface, your thoughts continued to churn.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the importance of what Otto had said—alliances, marriage, duty. These were all things that had been drilled into you since you were a child. But every time you considered the prospect of marriage, it wasn’t Alicent, or any other noble lady, who came to mind.

It was Rhaenyra.

Her kiss still haunted you, the memory of it sharp and electric. You had always admired her, always loved her, but now… now that love had grown into something you weren’t sure you could control. And the thought of her being married off to someone else, of her being taken from you, was enough to make your chest tighten.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from your chair and walking toward the window. The view of King’s Landing stretched out before you, but your gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sea met the sky. Somewhere out there, Silverwing was always waiting, the promise of freedom calling to you. But freedom wasn’t something you could easily claim—not with the weight of the realm on your shoulders.

And not with the tangled mess of emotions that now bound you to your sister.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x male reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #alicent hightower #house targaryen #silverwing

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onehoplessromantic · 2 months

Text

B. Bradshaw | Masterlist

Top Gun - Maverick

Updated: 8/7/2024 [permanent state of oblivion]

!!authors!! if u want something removed plz pm me 💕 ily

Hi!!! So? This is it! I've been continuously cringing at myself for even making the first search for this the other day but I did. I ended up falling down a rabbit hole full of incredible fics written by some incredible people so I hope you give it a look. No need to judge me, I'm already judging myself T-T.

peace!

PSA: if you want to be kept up to date with the happenings of this list you can sign up for my tag list here so you will be notified when i add fics or chapters and you can choose to keep up with bigger announcements as well

fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️

Series

☆ ALTITUDE | @tongue-like-a-razor

13 chapters | on hold | 🌧️🤍

Sydney is not a pilot. But she knows all their tricks. That's why, when she meets the smooth-talking Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, she's not falling for any of them. She's not falling for him, either.

☆ ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? | @perpetuallydaydreaming

12 chapters | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw and you have been friends since you can remember, just friends (unfortunately) but when you are called back to Top Gun everything changes...

☆ JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY | @feralforfrank

3 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍🍋

Rooster and you have never liked each other. One night at the Hard Deck is enough to change the dynamic between you.

☆ IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY | @bloatedandalone04

4 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍🍋

The one where you give Bradley your heart and he breaks it.

☆ FAKING IT | @tongue-like-a-razor

8 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍

Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

☆ AT LEAST I LET THE LIGHT IN | @heartsofminds

1 chapter | on hold (?) | 🌧️‼️

Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha doesn't know how much more she can take - unofficial sequel to 'cause no one breaks my heart like you (linked here)

☆ DRUNK IN LOVE / DRUNK IN LOVE | @feralforfrank

2 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍

Rooster brings a drunk!reader to his house. What happens when you wake up in bed with Rooster, your sworn rival?

☆ THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME | @beyondthesefourwalls

13 chapters | complete | 🌧️‼️‼️

You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could ever truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him in for a kiss, he thought maybe it was a perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply wanting it.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE read the warnings carefully before reading this story!!

☆ REMEMBER YOU EVEN WHEN I DON'T | @beyondthesefourwalls

10 chapters | complete | 🤍🍋🌧️

A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting right beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement

☆ HOTTER THAN TEXAS | @tongue-like-a-razor

3 chapters | ongoing | 🤍

Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Oneshots

☆ BRAD BRAD | @peterparkersnose

wc: 1.9k | 🤍🌧️

teasing, intimidation, situationship coming to a close, ANGST, mentions of death and dealing with death, rooster is in denial of looove, fluff at the end

Rooster gets upset when a harmless joke crosses the line.

☆ "YOU TOLD ME NOT TO WORRY ABOUT THEM" | @katsu28

wc: 1.3k | request | 🌧️🤍

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x aviator!reader, callsign casper (like the ghost hehe), some swearing

Rooster gets upset when pilot hazing goes too far

☆ LOVE IN THE DARK | @bloatedandalone04

wc: 2.8k | 🌧️

swearing, angst, sad boy bradley, lowkey depressed reader, more angst bc im sick and unhappy about it, new theme

The one where the deployments become too much.

☆ WHEN I PICTURE MYSELF HAPPY, I SEE YOU | @feralforfrank

wc: idk loll | prompt | 🌧️🤍

angst with a happy ending, miscommunication trope (?), nondescriptive reader

Rooster and reader fight, but they make up in their own way.

☆ "THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT" | @katsu28

wc: 1.7k | request | 🌧️

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, some swearing, angst

You miss Bradley so much while he's away, in trying to communicate this to him, lines get crossed and emotions rise.

☆ CRUMBLE | @daddy-bradley

wc: idk | 🌧️🤍

angst, cursing, mentions of parental insecurity, depression, anxiety, has a happy ending

You and Bradley are having your first fight after your baby is born. How will you both come to a solution and learn to cope through this together.

☆ 'CAUSE NO ONE BREAKS MY HEART LIKE YOU | @heartsofminds

wc: 19k | 🌧️‼️

heavy angst, miscommunication, heartbreak, right person wrong universe type shit, slow burn angst, disrespect towards women, drinking, bradley is a dick

Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though its hard to see)

☆ MIDNIGHT RAIN | @bloatedandalone04

wc: 3.6k | 🤍🍋🌧️‼️

fluff, smut, angst, oral (f receiving), mentions/descriptions of bad past relationships, mentions of abuse, past abuse, toxic ex, trauma?, bad coping habits, arguments, crying, swearing

The one where Bradley is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but even he cant fully erase the bad memories of your last relationship.

☆ THINGS UNSEEN AND HEARD | @bloatedandalone04

wc: 4.1k | 🍋🌧️🤍

smut, angst, fluff, obvious bradley insecurities, self-deprecating thoughts, unprotected sex, swearing, alcohol consumption, maybe more

The one where you overhear Bradley talk about you to Jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

☆ THE STACHE INCIDENT | @feralforfrank

wc: no clue | drabble | 🤍

tooth rotting fluff, its honestly tragic

the title says all you need to know

☆ WHO DID THIS TO YOU? | @feralforfrank

wc: i dunno | 🌧️🤍

accidental injury (reader got hit in the face), crying, nondescript reader

It’s a drabble, I cant say much…

☆ THE ZIPPER INCIDENT | @tongue-like-a-razor

wc: i honestly, truly, don’t know | request | 🌧️🤍

fluff, angst, swearing, a pinch of smut, you stand up your date, which is shitty of you, but it’s probably worth it

You’re running late and you need help zipping up your dress. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing you all dolled up, Rooster is more than happy to assist.

☆ SLEEPYHEAD | @roosterbruiser

wc: *shrugs* | blurb | 🤍

tooth-rotting fluff, sleepy bradley

just read it goddamnit 🥹

☆ PERMANENT STATE OF OBLIVION | @topgun-imagines

wc: 3.2k | request | 🌧️🤍

drinking, arguments, angsty feelings

Despite all the times you have tried to make your feelings for the mustached pilot obvious, he still hasn't caught on. You make things clear one night at the hard deck.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

All In 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: double chapters when I know I shouldn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“We got a suite available, Amalia?” The man, the owner of this casino, Bucky, asks as he approaches the glass counter of the hotel lobby. You barely keep up as your surroundings smear and your head spins. Everything’s happening so fast.

“Mr. Barnes,” the woman on the other side greets as she nears the slim monitor, “I think we should.” She glances at him, then your sister as she blathers drunkenly in his arms, “having a good night?”

“Oh, just some friends in the city for a night,” he lies easily, “she got a bit carried away so we’ll let her sleep it off.”

You chew your lip as you stand just behind him. Your stomach lurches as your eyes wander around the fine decor. It’s all out of your price range. Again, your brain is a beat behind.

“Doll, would you get that?” He asks as the desk agent holds out a small folder.

“Oh, yeah, er,” you rush up to take the room keys, “sorry.”

“No problem, just got my hands full,” he scoffs, “Amalia, have a good night. Hopefully you don’t get anyone too rowdy.”

“Thank you, sir, you too,” she preens after him as he heads off across the lobby.

Once more you’re on his heels as he struts toward the elevators. You catch up to him and force the frog from your throat, “uh, sir, Bucky?” You stammer, “I don’t think... I can afford--”

“Doll, don’t worry about all that. It's on the house,” he stops before the elevator and stares at the golden doors, “I’m not some sort of grifter. I offered, I’m not gonna squeeze ya. What’s the room number?”

“Er, oh,” you open the little folder, “720.”

“Right, hit the button,” he nods before him.

“Sorry,” you cringe again. You’re so behind. It must be so obvious to him how lost you are. Maybe that’s why he noticed you. He feels bad that someone so pathetic could exist.

You press the up button and the doors open. He nods you ahead of him and you step into the box. The walls are transparent and you can see outside along the river. He gets in and comes to stand parallel with you as you avoid looking through the glass.

“Seven,” he says.

You make another mousy noise and tap the button. You recoil, clutching your hands over your chest, and stare at the doors. As the elevator rises, you feel a wave of head rush, and you sway just a little. You gulp and widen your eyes.

“Not a fan of heights?” He asks as the box stops sharply and the doors ding and open.

“Not really,” you mutter.

He waits for you to exit first and you eagerly do. He follows as you look back and forth between the doors, searching out the number to match the folder. 720, right at the end. You fumble and it takes three tries to swipe the card correctly.

Finally, the door opens and you push it inward, holding it as you flatten yourself to the wall to let him through. He enters without hesitation. For a moment, you wonder what it must be like to be so sure and so comfortable in a place like this. To have this be your normal.

You let go of the door and trail him further inside. The room is huge. Not just one room, but two. The front room is closed off by a pair of doors, painted white with fine spirals etched into the wood. You flit ahead of Bucky to slide them open and reveal the bedroom. He takes your sister to the bed and lays her down as she lets out a bubbly belch.

“Sorry,” you apologise on her behalf as you hover in the door.

“She’s her own person,” he stands back, “you need anything, call down to the desk. They’ll be happy to get you whatever. Oh, and, should probably have some water ready for the morning. She’s gonna be feeling this.”

“Right,” you push your lip out then quickly fix your face, “thank you. I...”

“Checkouts at eleven but I’ll tell Amalia to mark you down for a late departure,” he comes towards you slowly.

“Oh, we won’t stay that long,” you assure him and scrape your palms together.

“Ah, you got somewhere to be? Work? Gonna be a long day after tonight.”

“No, I... I don’t...” your eyes drift to the wall. Again, you can’t help but admire the ivory paint and the crystal lamp and tall posts of the bed. “I don’t... have a job.”

“Mm, tough out there,” he says, “just gotta find the right thing, huh?”

You want to fold into nothing. This man, a millionaire at least, who owns this whole place, is telling you you’ll find something one day. Just like your mom does when you melt down over another rejection. Ugh.

“Thanks, yeah,” you take a heavy breath.

“You’re tired,” he surprises you as he caresses your sleeve, “I’m not gonna keep you up. You get some sleep, alright?”

You nod and reach to scratch your neck, shifting away from his reach. He’s so much bigger than you that for a moment your stomach is crawling, as the thought occurs of how much control he really has. Not just because of who he is.

“Good night, doll,” he purrs and brushes by you.

You stay as you are, staring at your sister, muttering to herself. Why does she have to do this? You could be sleeping in your own bed but instead you’re here, burning in shame and pity. You turn as you hear him near the door.

“Night,” you offer up.

He stops and turns back, sending you a wink, “there’s a hot tub in here so... might enjoy the room at least.”

You force a smile though your stress likely makes it more a grimace. He spins and leaves you, the door shutting with a click and releasing you to your self-reproach. You drop your head in your hands and huff. You are leaving the minute your sister wakes up. You never want to see that man again. You just pray he forgets you just as quickly as you want to forget this whole night.

🃏

You hardly sleep. Your sister’s drunken snoring keeps you from relaxing for more than twenty minutes at a time, not to mention how unsettled you are. You hate sleeping in new places but moreso you hate that even on a night out, after all the assurance that you could just enjoy yourself, that you are once more a burden for someone else.

You get up just after six. You rub your forehead as you go out into the front room and look over the amenities. There’s a fancy coffee maker with pods and a mini fridge with a glass door. You take out a bottle of water to leave by the bed for Roxie then return to figure out the coffee. You don’t often have any but your head is pounding.

You sit down and sneer at the bitterness. Did you make it right? You never liked the taste so you can’t tell. You finish the cup if only for the soothing warmth.

At seven, you get up to check on Roxie again. She’s still out like a light. Come on! You want to go.

You rinse the mug in the sink as best you can and return it to the shelf. There’s a knock on the door. You flinch and reluctantly tread down to the hall. You peep through the hole as you fix your clothing. You push down the handle slowly to greet the woman with the cart.

The golden embroidery on her white blouse marks her as an employee and she beams a smile in your direction. It’s too early for that amount of cheer. She has her hands on the cart, angling it towards the door.

“Morning, miss, breakfast, complements of Mr. Barnes,” she declares, “where can I put it?”

“Um,” you back up slowly, “inside... uh, by the table, I guess.”

She rolls the cart in and asks if you need anything else before she leaves. You shake your head. There’s more than enough there for you and Roxie. If she can even stomach any of it. You’ve seen the way she is after her nights out.

You sit and stare at the buffet of food before you. Fresh fruit, waffles, pancakes, french toast, bacon, eggs... everything and more. Just another favour to feel bad for.

As you look over it all, you notice a note, nestled between the glasses beside the pitcher of orange juice. You take it. That must be the bill. You unfold it and read the slanted capitals hand-written across the casino-branded page.

‘Good Morning, Doll,

Enjoy breakfast on me.

B. Barnes’

Under his name, is a sharp zigzag of the same black ink, a post script below.

‘PS. If you’re still looking for a job, call me.’

You nearly drop the paper. What? You stare at the digits of his phone number and slowly lower your hand to your lap. This can’t be real. Could you really work at a casino? Would you be a dealer? Or maybe you’d be more suited to a cleaner, somewhere you can be out of the way.

A long groan interrupts your inner turmoil. You fold the paper and tuck it away. It’s something. You’ll have to just figure out later what.

“Coffee,” Roxie grumbles as she appears in the doorframe, gripping her skull.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you get up and go to the machine. You grab a random pod and shove it into the top.

“Where... how’d we get here?” She sits heavily and reaches for a piece of bacon.

“Um, you... you were really drunk so...”

“How the hell did you get us a room? Wait. Did we win? Blackjack?” She bites into the greasy strip and moans. “Or... I didn’t sleep with that guy, did I?”

“Erm,” you frown, thinking for a moment before you realise she must mean that Sam guy. “No...”

You don’t explain. You don’t know how. Oh yeah, you were such a disaster that the owner noticed and didn’t kick us out. Actually, he let us stay in an overpriced suite because... you don’t know.

“He must be loaded if he’s handing out hotel rooms,” she scoffs as she continues on in her assumption. You don’t correct her. It doesn’t matter. “Coffee,” she snaps her fingers as the grind quiets.

You bring her the mug and she adds too many packets of sugar before she tastes it. You hide the paper in your cardigan pocket and search for your purse. You fish your watch out of it and put it around your wrist checking the time.

“We should head out before nine,” you say.

“Why?” She scoffs. “Ugh, what’s the bath like in this place? I could use a soak.”

“Mom’s going to be worried.”

“Nah, she knows I’ll get you back,” she waves you off and stands.

She walks slowly, rubbing her temples as she sips from the cup, and examines the hotel room. She dips into the bathroom and the light flicks on. You hear her turning the faucet and shifting things around.

You play with the zipper of your purse. You reach inside and pull out your phone. You get up to grab the key folder and enter the wifi code into your outdated model. It takes far too long to connect. You type into the search of your browser, ‘Bucky Barnes’.

Almost at once, an image of the very man who carried Roxie into this room appears. It’s familiar. You tap it and it opens up a local news story. That makes sense. He’s younger, his hair is shorter. You remember when the casino changed hands and was renovated all those years ago. It was big news.

Hm. Not just rich, famous, at least to a degree. It means he has a lot more going on than two disorderly girls at his casino. He’ll forget. You just hope you can too.

Roxie comes back in a robe and put her mug on the table, “make me another. I’m gonna try those jets.”

She spins away and you stare at her empty cup. How can she not care about anything? Does she not realise that she ruined the night? That she made a fool of both of you? No, she just sees shiny things and forgets all about her own behaviour.

Well, you’re not like her. You don’t like being a burden or asking for things or living on someone else’s affection. You look down and feel along your pocket, the slip of paper firm through the fabric. You could clean a few hotel toilets for a buck. It’s not like you have much else going on.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #casino au #series #all in #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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itneverendshere · 2 months

Text

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - seven (finale)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

word count: 6.3k

warnings: last chapter <3

You’ve been to Kildare County Sheriff’s Department way more times than you care to admit

Being the oldest kid in your family—and somehow the only actual adult—you lost count of how many times you had to drag your dad out of jail between the ages of sixteen and twenty. It felt like a full-time job.

Then there were the countless times you’d been there for your friends.

JJ, for instance, had been taken in more than once for public disturbances. It was almost a given that he'd end up in that shithole whenever there was a party or some kind of trouble brewing. You knew every officer by name, and they knew you too. Some gave you that look—you know, the one that said, “Oh, sweetie, you again?”—while others just shook their heads, probably wondering when you would finally stop playing caretaker and start looking out for yourself.

But you always showed up, no matter what, because that’s what you did. You took care of your own.

The first time you had to pick up your dad, you were sixteen. Brand new driver’s license, barely knew how to parallel park, and boom, you’re getting woken up at like 2 a.m. because your dad’s been arrested. You were shaking the whole time, gripping the steering wheel like your life depended on it, eyes blurry with tears. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him wasted or bruised up, but this time felt different. This time, it hit you that this was gonna be your life now.

You were stuck.

You remember pulling up to the station, parking all kinds of crooked because your hands wouldn’t stop trembling. You ran inside, still half-asleep, and the officer at the desk gave you this sad little smile. “He’s in the back,” he said, like you didn’t already know.

When you saw your dad slumped over, bruised, and barely awake, something inside you just... cracked. He looked up, and for a second, he recognized you. “Hey, kiddo,” he mumbled, still drunk, still out of it. Back then, there was still some part of him left, some shred of the man he used to be.

You signed the papers, helped him stumble to the car, and drove home in silence while he passed out in the passenger seat. It was the first of so many nights like that. And you knew it wasn’t gonna be the last. When you finally pulled into the driveway, you helped him inside and onto the couch. He mumbled a thank you before passing out, his snores filling the room.

Now, sitting in the small, stuffy waiting room of the sheriff’s department, you glance around, feeling a knot of tension tightening in your stomach, the fluorescent lights doing little to help, making everything appear sterile and unforgiving.

You wish you could be anywhere but here.

JJ’s next to you, his leg bouncing like he’s got caffeine running through his veins instead of blood. You’re already annoyed, and it doesn’t help that Rafe is sitting on your other side, looking just as pissed off.

“Will you stop bouncing your leg JJ?” You grit out, already irritated from waiting longer than an hour.

“Why the fuck did he have to come?” JJ mutters, throwing daggers at Rafe with his eyes.

“JJ, not now.” You put your hand on his arm, trying to keep him from starting something. The last thing you need is another fight.

JJ glares, but his jaw clenches shut. “This is so messed up,” he grumbles.

“Messed up is leaving your sister alone with your drunk piece of shit father.”

“Like I knew he was there, you dumbass?” JJ shoots back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Maybe stop leaving her alone.”

“Oh, here we go,” you mutter, feeling the tension rise again. The last thing you need right now is for these two to start another fight.

Ever since JJ came back to the mainland only to pick you up from Taneyhill, things had been…tense. It was one thing to talk about you and Rafe, it was a completely different thing to see you together.

You know your brother hates every second of it.

“Oh, but you wanna talk about drunk pieces of shit? How many times did your daddy bail you out?”

Rafe’s eyes narrow, his fists clenching, “How many times did you make your sister bail you out, huh?”

"You wanna talk about sisters too?"

You shut your eyes, attempting to ignore the way they’re clawing each other’s throats out with tainted insults. It was a miracle they're standing in the same room without killing each other, but you can only take so much. It’s like they’re about to throw punches, right there in the middle of the sheriff’s office.

"Shut the fuck up Maybank."

“Fuck you, Cameron!” JJ snaps, standing up so fast his chair skids backward, “You think you’re better than us?”

Rafe stands up too, stepping closer to JJ, “Better than you? Yes.”

“Don’t act like you’re doing this for her,” JJ scoffs. “You’ve never helped anyone but yourself, you manipulative asshole.”

“That’s enough,” you snap, standing up and stepping between them, pushing them apart. Your voice is shaking with frustration. “You two are going to shut the fuck up or take this shit outside. It’s nine in the morning. I didn’t get a wink of sleep, and I’m not gonna sit here and hear you two bitch it you.”

JJ glares at Rafe over your shoulder. “We don’t need this asshole’s help. We can handle it ourselves.”

Rafe sneers. “Handle it? Like you’ve handled everything else?”

Your brother lunges forward, but you push him back, your voice shaking. “Sit your ass down or leave, I’m not going to repeat myself.”

They both just stare at you, their harsh words still hanging in the air of this stuffy room. The tension is almost suffocating, but there's no way you’re letting them keep tearing each other apart. You’re exhausted, emotionally and physically drained. The last thing you need right now is to play mediator between them… again.

Rafe finally sits down, arms crossed, biting his tongue—for your sake, you know. JJ’s sitting too now, still fidgeting like he always does, tapping his fingers against the armrest.

"Look," you say, your voice still firm, "We're here for a reason. Let's just get through this and get out, okay?"

Your brother just grunts, glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended him. Rafe lets out a sigh and gives you the tiniest nod, like a reluctant “fine.” You sit back down, feeling a bit of the weight in your chest ease up. Rafe leans in and gently takes your hand, mouthing, "I’m sorry." You give it a little squeeze—apology accepted, for now.

JJ notices but looks away too quickly for you to read him. You know he’s pissed, but at least for the moment, he’s staying quiet.

The minutes crawl by, each one feeling like forever, and finally, a cop shows up at the door, calling your name. The three of you stand up at the same time, and Rafe and JJ follow behind you, silent but close, as you walk down the hallway.

The clanging of barred doors shutting behind you makes your stomach twist, and you eventually end up in a small interrogation room. The officer gestures to a chair, "Take a seat." He heads off to get paperwork, and you glance at Rafe, who’s watching you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You know he won’t relax until your dad is completely out of the picture.

Your brother, on the other hand, leans against the wall with crossed arms, a brooding expression on his face. He's always been protective, even if his way of showing it often led to clashes with others. You wish things could be different.

Officer Malcom comes back with a stack of papers, but before you can even look at them, Rafe’s lawyer, Mr. Johnson, walks in. Rafe's had him on speed dial since the whole mess started, and honestly, he's been a lifesaver. He sits beside you, reviewing the papers calmly, and just having him there makes everything feel a little less scary.

“Alright, folks, let's go through this step by step. The first form here is the petition for a temporary restraining order. It outlines the incidents and reasons for seeking protection.”

“Are these incidents documented with the sherrif’s office?” Mr. Johnson's expertise is evident in the way he examines the document meticulously.

“Yes, sir. We have reports dating back to—" Officer Malcom stops for a second, checking the data, “About eight years ago, give or take.”

Rafe’s head snaps in your direction, brows furrowed, clearly pissed off that this has been going on for that long without anyone doing anything. You try to ignore it, focusing on the papers in front of you instead.

“What happens after I file this?

“Once filed, a judge will review the petition. If approved, a temporary restraining order will be issued, usually effective immediately. Then, there'll be a hearing within a few weeks to determine if a permanent order is necessary.”

“What if he doesn't abide by the temporary order?”

The officer only nods sympathetically. “Violating a restraining order is a criminal offense. He could face fines, jail time, or both.”

Rafe’s still looking at you, “Does she have to serve him personally with these papers?”

“It’s crucial that he’s officially notified. We handle that part, though.”

Rafe’s lawyer is taking notes when he speaks up again, “If he contests the order, he’ll have the opportunity to present his side at the hearing. Both parties can bring witnesses or evidence. But based on your father’s behavior, that’s unlikely.”

You hope to God he doesn’t. The thought of seeing him again makes you feel like you might throw up. You take a deep breath, hands itching to twirl a piece of your hair.

“How long does the process usually take?”

You feel a hand touch your shoulder, gently tightening the grip around the skin, you don’t have to look back to know it’s Rafe. By now you know the lines and the ridges of his hands as if they are your own.

"The timeline can vary, but typically, from filing to the hearing, it might take a few weeks. It depends on the court's schedule and any potential delays."

You nod, absorbing the information while trying to steady your breathing. None of this feels real. Not the legal stuff, not the fact that this could actually be over soon. As the conversation continues, Mr. Johnson outlines the next steps clearly, discussing what will happen during and after the hearing.

The officer quickly gathers the papers in his hands, “I’ll get everything started then. Just a moment.”

As he leaves to process the paperwork, a brief silence settles over the room. You exchange glances with JJ and Rafe, both of them entirely too interested of the concrete floor.

“This is the right thing to do, right?”

You know it is. You’ve known for years, but it’s still hard to understand how it came to this. Your life could’ve been so different.

JJ nods, fiddling with his shark tooth necklace, the one you’d given him when he was seven. “Yeah. He shouldn’t be able to just...” He trails off shaking his head.

Rafe squeezes your shoulder once more, then lowers himself to your level and plants a quick peck on your temple, “You’ve got this. It’ll be okay.”

Mr. Johnson finally puts his pen away, turning to you, “I’ll stay on top of the filings and keep you updated on any developments.”

This moment is a culmination of years of struggle. It's daunting, but you’re not alone.

"Thank you.”

JJ shifts his weight, his agitation visible. "I hate this," he mutters.

"I know," you reply, not knowing what else to say.

The door swings open again, and Officer Malcom re-enters, holding a stack of papers. "Alright," he says, handing you a pen. "Just sign here, and we'll get this process started."

You take the pen with shaky hands, knowing there’s no going back after this. As you sign your name, you can't help but sigh in relief.

This is a step towards freedom.

Rafe watches you intently, his eyes full of concern. He reaches out, placing a hand on your back, a little reminder that he's here for you. JJ stands close by, his protective instincts on high alert.

After you finish signing, Officer Malcom takes the papers and gives you a reassuring nod. "We'll take care of the rest. You should hear from us soon about the next steps."

You stand up, feeling a little lighter, but the emotional toll of the day still kicks your ass. As you make your way out of the room, Rafe keeps a steady hand on your back, guiding you.

Once outside, the morning sun feels almost blinding after the harsh fluorescent lights of the station. JJ immediately lights a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling with a sigh.

Rafe looks at you, his expression softening. "You're good?"

You nod, managing a small smile. "Yeah, I think so. Thank you for being here, both of you."

JJ smirks, though there's a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Where else would I be?”

You glance at the two men beside you, each representing a different part of your world. Your brother stubs out his cigarette, glancing over at Rafe with an exaggerated sigh. He smirks, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Gotta admit, I never thought I'd see the day when 'Rafe the Retch' would be helping us out.”

A laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it, but you quickly cover it up, turning it into a cough. You’d forgotten about that one.

Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up. “'Rafe the Retch'? Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Ask her,” JJ nods in your direction.

“You called me that shit?”

You bite your lip, “To be fair, I called you worse things.”

Rfe tilts his head, hands on his hips, “Like what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

The three of you start walking toward the parking lot, as you reach the cars, JJ pulls you into a quick, tight hug. “We’re gonna get through this,” he murmurs, his voice filled with determination.

You hug him back, “I know, Jay.”

Rafe stands a few feet away, watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression. When your brother finally lets you go, he steps closer, “Ready to go?”

JJ looks at you, the concern in his eyes clear. "I gotta head to work. Do you want a ride home? It's on the way.”

You glance at Rafe, then back at JJ, sensing his reluctance. “No but thank you.”

JJ’s shoulders tense, but he nods, trying to hide his disappointment. "Alright. Just... call me if you need anything, okay?"

You smile, appreciating his concern. "I will. Drive safe."

He nods again, glancing one more time at Rafe before getting into his truck and driving off. You watch him go, knowing that things are still far from being okay between the two of you.

You know he’s never going to change his opinion about Rafe, maybe not until he witnesses the changes in him, but you hope that one day they’ll find some common ground. It’s a lot to ask from your brother, you know that, and it’s why you never push him.

“You sure you’re doing okay?”

You nod, leaning into Rafe now that he stands behind you, “Yeah, just a little tired.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you towards his car, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

"Barely," you admit. "Just couldn't stop thinking about today.”

He unlocks the car, opening the passenger door for you. "Well, now that it's done, you can rest. I’ll even put that bullshit show you like.”

You gasp ready to punch him in the shoulder, but by the time you turn he’s already on the other side of the car, “Love Island is not a stupid show!”

He chuckles as he starts the engine. "If you say so.”

“You watch it too.”

“Only because you force me to,” Rafe counters, a playful glint in his eyes.

It’s been a month since the nightmare with your dad, and you’ve pretty much been living at Rafe’s new place ever since. Sure, you’ve got your own house, but it just doesn’t feel like home anymore. Rafe’s apartment though? It’s like your little safe haven now. You don’t officially live there, but who are you kidding? Most of your stuff is in his drawers, he’s stocked the bathroom with all your skincare, hair stuff, even a toothbrush. He tried to go all-out, buying you everything, and you kept telling him to stop, but it’s like talking to a wall. You gave up eventually.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, his hand slides over to grab yours. It’s such a simple thing, but it makes the tight feeling in your chest ease a little. You’re both quiet for most of the drive, but it’s not awkward or anything. It’s actually kind of nice. You never imagined he’d be so...attached. Things between you are still...somewhat undefined, but it definitely feels like a relationship. That thought is pushed to the back of your mind for now. It's just not the right moment to talk about it—not with his father’s trial only weeks away and your own dad still recovering in the hospital.

When you pull up to his apartment, the building feels familiar in a way that makes your stomach flip. He hops out of the car and, as usual, rushes around to open your door for you. It’s such a small thing, but it always makes your heart race.

Once inside, the place feels so different from the craziness of the day. It’s cozy, warm, and just... safe. You kick off your shoes and flop onto the couch, sinking into the cushions.

“Wanna watch your show?” Rafe asks, giving you that half-smile you’ve come to love.

You chuckle, feeling lighter than you have all day. “And you say you don’t love it.”

He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, navigating to the show. As the familiar theme song starts playing, you snuggle closer to him, finding comfort in the routine. It's all trashy drama and ridiculous contestants, but it’s the distraction you desperately need. Rafe’s arm stays around you, like always. But as the episode progresses, your eyelids grow heavy. The events of the day, combined with the sleepless night, catch up to you. You feel yourself drifting off, your head resting against Rafe’s chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm lulling you to sleep.

“Rest, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Next thing you know, you wake up to the smell of something cooking. Blinking your eyes open, you realize Rafe’s in the kitchen, and the living room is dimly lit. A blanket slips off your shoulders as you sit up, and when you look over, he’s already smiling at you.

You’ve seen him smile more times over the past month than all the years you had “known” him combined. It looks good on him, makes him look younger.

Stretching, you ask, “What’s all this?”

“Dinner. Figured you could use a good meal,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal that he’s cooked for you.

You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. “Look at you, Chef Rafe.”

Ever since he moved in on his own, he’s been slowly learning how to take care of himself. You’ve caught him watching cooking and deep cleaning videos more times you can count. You find it endearing. It makes your chest ache, in a good way, to watch him slowly turn into his own person, not the Rafe his father shaped him to be.

He chuckles, giving you a quick forehead kiss. “Eat before it gets cold.”

You sit down, and the first bite has you practically moaning. He snorts at your reaction, but you can tell he’s proud of himself. As you eat, though, you notice he seems a little off. His shoulders are tight, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you pause. You reach across the table, placing your hand over his.

"What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Rafe. What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, then sighs. “Got a call from my lawyer. About Ward.”

The mention of his dad sends a chill down your spine. “What about him?”

Rafe’s thumb brushes your knuckles as he looks down. “He wants to talk.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

Rafe's jaw tightens, and he lets out a slow breath. “Yeah. But every time I’ve tried to stand up to him, it’s backfired."

You squeeze his hand, “He can’t hurt you anymore, you know that, right? You're not the same person you were before," you remind him gently. "You've grown so much, Rafe. You’ve made your own life."

He looks up at you, his gaze softening. The intensity in his eyes is clear—vulnerability, determination, and a deep-seated fear. It's as if he’s silently pleading for your reassurance, for the strength to face his demons.

“You think so?”

It's in the way his eyes become softer when they meet yours, the slight quiver in his lips, the way he holds your hand just a little tighter.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Okay. I…I’ll think about it.”

The two of you finish dinner, the conversation shifting to lighter topic. After cleaning up, you find yourselves back on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background.

Everything feels so domestic it pulls at your heartstrings. And it hits you how much you love this, just being here with him.

But you can still feel the tension rolling off him. You turn to him, tracing little patterns on his chest. “You’re still worried, huh?”

He sighs, throwing his head against the cushions, his hand coming up to rest on yours. "Yeah. I’m scared talking to him will pull me back into that dark place.”

You press a kiss to his clothed chest. “You won’t go back there. Not while I’m here.”

He tightens his hold on you, “You know you’re too good for this world. It’s ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes, “Am not.”

“Yeah, you are, Pretty Maybank.”

There it is. That nickname. “You know that’s so stupid, right?”

He grins, completely unbothered. “You love it.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “I tolerate it.”

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Fits you perfectly.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the grin tugging at your lips.

“If you say so.”

His eyes soften as he looks at you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. “I do.”

“Shup up,” You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t even know how you came up with that shit.”

Rafe laughs, the sound low and rumbling, his hand moving to rub your leg. “It’s really stupid.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “’Course it is.”

“Remember when we were fourteen, and we were both at the beach for that huge surf competition? You were this cocky, skilled little girl with an ego bigger than the waves.”

“And you were a suck-up mother—"

“Anyways,” He rolls his eyes, ignoring the way you tried to cut him off, his hand now lightly squeezing your knee, “You were out there showing off, catching wave after wave. I was so fucking annoyed."

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Oh, so you were secretly in awe of me?”

“Maybe,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “Or maybe I was just bitter because you made me look bad.”

“I made everyone look bad.”

“Okay, Gabriel Medina. You were out there showing off, making everyone watch you like you owned the ocean. All the boys were ogling you, calling you pretty, and you were loving every second of it.”

You smirk, remembering the day. "I was pretty good, wasn’t I?”

“Good?” He snorts, shaking his head as his fingers trail up and down your thigh. “You were more than good, you were unreal.”

"Yeah, yeah, so how does that tie into the nickname?”

“You came out of the water, hair all messy, sand on your skin, but you had this huge smile. One of the boys called you 'Pretty Maybank,' and you just laughed, brushing it off. But I— I guess I remembered it. It fit you.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off, "I...I didn’t know you remembered that."

“You’re kinda hard to forget Maybank.”

Your heart flutters at his words, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to breathe, “Shut up.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, his hand cradling the back of your head. It only lasts a few seconds, before you’re pulling away, mumbling against his lips.

“You know, it’s funny. Back then, I thought you were just this arrogant piece of shit who was always trying too hard to fit in.”

“That’s so sweet.”

You cup his face, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks, “Hmm. You were always showing off, too.”

“Well,” he drawls, pulling you a little closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, “We both grew out of that phase. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” you agree with a grin. “But I guess some things never change.”

“Yeah,” He doesn't take his eyes off your face, “Some things don’t change.

There’s a brief silence, filled with the quiet sound of the TV and the comfortable presence of each other. His fingers continue to trace patterns on your hand, and you can feel his earlier stress easing if only a little.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” He admits quietly, “With you.”

“We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

Rafe’s fingers gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “Yeah, we have.”

“I’ll keep you in check, Cameron.”

He holds you tighter, his breath mingling with yours. “You're too good for me, y’know that?”

You laugh, “I know.”

Before you can react, his fingers are dancing across your sides, tickling you mercilessly. You squeal, wriggling and trying to escape his grasp, but he’s relentless.

"Rafe!” You gasp between fits of laughter.

"Say sorry,” he demands, his fingers still working their magic.

"Never!" you manage to choke out, tears of laughter streaming down your face.

He grins wickedly, the movement driving your tummy insane.

"Wrong answer."

You squirm in his grip, the tickling intensifying. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" you finally relent, breathless and giggling.

Rafe stops, his hands coming to rest on your waist. His grin is triumphant, but there's a softness in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat. "That's what I thought," he muses, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You catch your breath, still smiling. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be a tough guy, you’re surprisingly good at this domestic stuff."

He chuckles, pulling you closer until you're nestled against him.

"What can I say? You bring out the best in me, Pretty Maybank."

"I like this," you admit softly. "Being here with you, just... us."

"Me too," Rafe murmurs, his hand gently stroking your hair. "Feels right, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does.”

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

Three weeks later, Rafe finally agrees to visit Ward in prison.

His lawyer arranged the meeting, emphasizing the importance of having this conversation to find closure. Despite your protests, Rafe insisted on doing this alone. Plus, prison's security measures are stringent, and there’s no way you could accompany him inside.

Instead, you’re stuck waiting outside, the anxiety killing you slowly. You're sitting on a bench outside the high-security prison, your foot tapping nervously against the ground.

The sun is blazing, making the wait even more unbearable. You wish you could be in there with him, supporting him. You glance at the ugly building, feeling desperate to get the hell away. Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. It’s a text from JJ.

"how's it going?"

You quickly type back.

"he just went in. kinda losing my mind out here."

"he’ll be okay. devil spawn and all yk".

"not helping???"

"my bad sis, just trying to lighten the mood. seriously though, he's got this."

You sigh, putting your phone down and glancing around the barren surroundings. The high walls and barbed wire of the prison seem to loom even larger now. Time drags on, every minute feels like an hour. You find yourself looking at the entrance every few seconds, hoping to see Rafe walk out.

Inside, Rafe is led through a maze of corridors, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the cold concrete walls. The guards are stoic, their faces expressionless as they guide him to the visitation room. His heart pounds in his chest, but he forces himself to stay calm, to stay focused. He's going to be just fine.

When he finally walks in the room, he sees Ward already seated, the older man looking surprisingly composed. Of course he'd care about his appearance even when he's locked up. There's a glass partition between them, with phones on either side for communication. Rafe sits down, picking up the phone with a shaky hand. He wishes you were here.

Ward's eyes are piercing as they lock onto Rafe's. "Look who finally decided to visit," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Took you time, boy."

Rafe takes a deep breath. This is it.

"Only came to tell you something."

Ward raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Oh? And what's that? That you’re an ungrateful piece of shit?”

Ignore him, your voice echoes in his head. He knew Ward was going to try to get a rise out of him and he hates that it might work.

"I'm done," Rafe says, his voice steady. "You don't control me anymore."

“After everything I've done for you?"

Rafe's grip on the phone tightens. "You didn't do shit for me. You did it for yourself."

Ward leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy. You need me."

"No, I don't," Rafe retorts, “No one needs you.”

Ward's eyes flash with anger, but he quickly masks it with a calculating smile. "Is that what you really think, son? That you can just walk away from everything? From me?"

Rafe feels a rush of anger fighting it's way up his throat, but he holds it back, remembering your words. He takes another breath, steadying himself, “I don’t care.”

Ward's smile fades, replaced by a sneer. "You think you're so strong now, don't you? Do you think you can survive out there without my influence? The world is a cruel place, Rafe. You won't last a day. You think that Maybank trash is gonna solve all your problems, huh?”

“You’re not getting under my skin.”

Ward's eyes narrow further, and he leans in closer to the glass, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So, it’s about her now, is it? What makes you think she’ll be any better for you than I was? She doesn’t know you like I do."

Rafe’s temper flares, but he forces himself to stay calm. He can’t take the bait.

"Keep her out of this.”

“You think you’re so righteous, so superior. You’ll need more than just some girl to get you through.”

“I don’t need you,” Rafe insists, his voice firm. “I never did.”

Ward’s expression turns cold once more, but there’s a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe just a reflection of his anger. “You can pretend you’re free, but you know I’m not so easily forgotten.”

Rafe takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay composed. “I don’t need to hear anything else from you. I’m done.”

“You won’t be able to keep her safe.”

He knew the conversation wouldn’t be longer than five minutes.

He stands up abruptly, the phone clattering against the partition as he drops it. He doesn't need to hear Ward any more. He turns his back on his father and walks out of the room, the door clanging shut behind him. As he walks back through the maze of corridors, his thoughts turn to you, knowing you’re outside overthinking and ready to hug the live out of him.

He’s striding to you the moment he sees you. You're still on the bench, trying to distract yourself with your phone, but it’s no use. You jump up, rushing over to him. You’re always so endearing to him it pains him to know he hurt you so badly over the years.

“You okay?”

Rafe’s arms wrap around you, finally breathing normally. His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as if you can protect him from the Ward’s harshness. “I was going crazy waiting out here.”

“Sorry for making you wait,” Rafe murmurs, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

“I don’t care,” You pull back slightly, your hands moving to cup his face. Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath your touch, “You did what you needed to do. And I’m proud of you.”

He smiles a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Needed to hear that. Thank you.”

You nod, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “For what?” you ask, leaning into him again. “You did great, baby. You stood up to him. That takes so much strength.”

You take his hand, your fingers intertwining with his as you lead him away from the prison. His grip is strong, his palm warm against yours. The two of you walk in silence for a moment, the only sound the gravel crunching beneath your feet. You glance at him, noting the way his shoulders have relaxed a litte.

“I felt it. Like a weight lifting off me. It’s not completely gone, but it’s lighter.”

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. Your free hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. It had grown so much over the past few weeks. “And it’ll keep getting lighter,” you assure him.

“You think?”

“I know. You’ll keep needing to stand up to him,” you acknowledge, “But it will get easier each time.”

His hand brushes a stray hair from your face, copying your earlier movement. “And you’ll be here with me?”

“Always.”

Rafe’s expression softens, the hard edges smoothed away by the promise in your words. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

His lips linger there.

“You really are too good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, the sound blending with the hum of the car engines in the distance.

“I know.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. The intensity in his gaze takes your breath away, but it’s a different kind of intensity than you’re used to seeing in him. It’s softer, more open, and entirely focused on you.

“Let’s go home."

You nod, a smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe cameron au #rafe x pogue!reader #rafe x maybank!reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe obx

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rise-my-angel · 1 year

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

1 - Wolves of the Lone Stag

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (slow burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: Slow Burn, Strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, secret relationship, arranged marriage, injured/sick child mention, smut, p in v, slight dom/sub dynamics, loss of virginity

Notes: Reader is firstborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon, based off the show but will include direct book elements, slight canon divergence. First Chapter is really long due to set up, subsequent future chapters won't be quite such a massive read. Chapter Two Here.

Travelling along the Kingsroad was far longer and more tedious with this company. Normally you would spend only so much time on here from White Harbour, most of the journey done on sea. Yet now, there were far too many people and it’s leader insisting on treating the journey as it’s own adventure. By the time you reached Winterfell it would be a month on horseback and no one to entertain your morose demeanour. Though perhaps you had to consider that it wasn’t just the company of the others that was less then ideal.

You had the supposed misfortune of being the daughter to the less favoured of the three Baratheon brothers. Robert, King Robert to those in public company, was a more complicated man. A mix of a man who successfully kept the peace for over twenty years but also was as unhappy on the throne and was unafraid to show it. He did however, have enjoyment in wine, hunting, and did hold a jovial laughter that kept people around him.

Your other uncle, was much more agreeable. Renly was the youngest of them and was charismatic and well liked. He was naive, not really a man suited for leadership but he did the best with what he knew to do. Closer to your age, you often found yourself spending time with him and it was right now that you were annoyed he chose to stay back in Kings Landing. A month with the King, his own family and the entire royal brigade and not one of them knew how to get a smile from you.

That was a trait from your father no doubt. Stannis Baratheon was the middle child, and he was easily the most disliked. He was cold, distant, unemotional and seldom allowed laughter at his table. He took his job seriously, more seriously then the King did his sometimes. In his prime, he was a proven battle commander and he never lost that. Robert was a warrior and he was happiest as such, but Stannis had never stopped being a commander and whether it made him liked or not, it taught you to be who you were now.

A Lady of the House Baratheon, firstborn daughter to Stannis and heir of Dragonstone was your current position and you were taught to uphold that name. Often found with a flat expression, close to a scowl as you walked the capitol you found nothing to enjoy there. Not that Dragonstone was where you’d find happiness either. The only place that had never been your home was the one you felt it in.

You had turned eight when your father had begun sending you out. Brought up, he ensured you had a Lord’s education as well as what all girls were taught. If you were to take up the mantle after him, he wanted you to learn from those that would teach you to be like him. That was when he sent you to Winterfell for the first time. Not a friend of Lord Eddard of House Stark, but your father did respect him the most. Two men both stern with upholding honour and justice, always doing what is right and what is honourable rather then what they wanted.

You spent seven months in Winterfell, and it was the first time your mother and father hadn’t been there for your name day. At the time, it made you sad but you had long since gotten over it. Over more then a decade had passed since your first stay in the north and many name days had been spent there with no word from your family. Well, at least your parents. The only family member you spoke too and more fondly with then Renly, was your baby sister. Shireen Baratheon was not just the light of your life but your fathers too. Some used to say that you were the only one who could make Stannis smile but you were nothing compared to how he smiled at that little baby.

You were fine with her being the favourite, she was your favourite family member as well.

Not long after baby Shireen had beaten a bout of horrific illness, your father had been summoned to Kings Landing. The King telling him that he was of no use to the realm shut away on Dragonstone, and he was to come to the capitol and sit on the small council as Master of Ships. He had taken you with him, and thus your new home was the wretched city full of backstabbers and manipulators.

Back and forth you went from Kings Landing to Winterfell, each stay growing longer and each stay you grew closer to the Starks then you did anyone in the Red Keep. Lord Stark was the perfect example of a good leader, warden of the North and inspired nothing but loyalty amongst the northerners and made you as welcome as anyone in his home. You followed him around most days, learning from him, watching how he handled diplomacy and made his lessons your own.

It was that how you got to know his ward, Theon Greyjoy. A rambunctious lad who listened diligently in formality and was crass and brash outside of that. You knew he would hate Kings Landing but often found yourself at your fathers side wishing the smart ass was next to you, nudging you with his elbow every time you were too closed off for your own good. It was easy to forget that he was technically the Starks prisoner, he fit into their family, the north as well as you did.

Not quite a leader as you were being taught to be, but you were confident once he had the chance to prove himself, you’d expect great things from him. You’d gotten a raven from him while on the road, and in his usual style he spent some time making fun of you for having to be “shacked up with the lamest of the three”.

Right. The reasons your company headed to Winterfell. The King had one, you were being forced into another though. The news shocking you as Stannis told you of your new duty the night before you left was double. That he was leaving for Dragonstone and you were to return to Kings Landing with Lord Stark and serve as acting Master of Ships in his absence.

He wasn’t just dumping his responsibilities onto you with no explanation of his distant behaviour and secrecy, your father had also dumped a marriage onto you and told you that you were to marry and come back. As if he didn’t just dictate your entire life to be like his. “You will marry the Stark boy, and with or without him you are to return in my place.”

Trying to reason with him, “You’re expecting me to have, what? A night maybe two with my new husband and then leave for however long you decide?”

Not even the slightest change of expression, but there was a twinge of regret in his eyes that was soon covered up. “I didn’t decide this alone. My brother, our king, has decided it with no room for question. I’m sorry, but you’re a Baratheon. You’re my daughter. And sometimes our duty requires us to marry not for love, but for the good of the realm.”

You had spoken to your betrothed since the announcement, but had yet to see him in person. A major reason as to why you wished Renly had come with you. Have someone to ease your nerves on the months ride, instead you were entirely on your own lost in what you were losing.

After all, you received a raven from not just Robb after the announcement. And it was that second one, and the finality of it’s contents that shattered the still remaining rosy dreams you once felt as if you had a lifetime to indulge in. Who your betrothed was, wasn’t the upset in any way. It was the unavoidable conclusion of the love in your heart that simply wasn’t allowed to be.

As the party approached Winterfell, your heart begun to race.

The crisp cool air on your face that once relaxed you, only stoned it further into a solid expressionless pose. Reminding yourself that you weren’t just here as yourself, you were to represent your father and you wouldn’t do so by falling apart. You rode into the walls right up near the very front alongside your craven of a cousin. He represented the luxurious royal side of the family, and you the steadfast duty and justice.

The House guard stood all around the courtyard as well as many people who simply worked close by or wanted to just see the King. Riding into the main area, you refused to look. The Starks all stood with their closest men behind them but you looked nowhere but above the heads of everyone with a straight back atop of your horse.

The carriage which carried the Queen and the other two of her royal children filed in and revealed the King following suit. Your eyes forcing to stay nowhere but him, and it struck part of you that his deep scowl seemed to just be a trait that was shared amongst much of this family. As your party stayed atop their horses, you watched everyone near kneel down as Robert was assisted off his horse.

Watching him make a straight line towards the Starks, he stood in front of the kneeling Lord Stark beckoning him with his hand to stand. Everyone around them rising in toe as you watched the two old friends look stoically at one another. The quiet in the courtyard as everyone waited.

King Robert, it seemed, left posing the stoic formality of the Baratheons to you. Looking down at his friend’s frame and casually commenting, “You got fat.”

Two magnets, designed by the gods to be brought together your eyes met without any thought. His grey ones widened with a playful glint and a raise of the sides of his mouth as if to say, “He got fat?” You, broke just as easily. Quirking your eyebrows up slightly, trying and failing to cover a smirk as you flickered your eyes in gesture to the King, agreeing with his silence as you both instantly looked away from the other. Knowing neither would smother such a begging grin if you kept glancing at each other.

Robert greeting each member of the family, making polite chat with the Stark parents you climbed off your horse. Your head angled enough to see your cousin, Joffery, staring at the direction you just had with a smirk you would describe in private as slimy.

You weren’t the only one with a betrothal in mind for your King, but it was the other Stark which would suffer. Somehow whatever genes made the Baratheons so respected, had skipped Joffery in every single capacity. He was more Lannister then he was his father, and not even with the decency to be like the one lion which you could speak to without agitation.

You couldn’t say Sansa was the one you got along with the most, but watching the way the prince looked at her, you pitied what she couldn’t possibly know she was in store for.

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei Lannister, the Queen, barley made an effort to toss any level of genuinity in her voice. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

Her term of endearment sounding as fake to your Uncle as it did you, he ignored her and summoned Lord Stark anyways. The Queen glaring as they walked away, and directed it towards the youngest Stark daughter, Arya as she without any care of properness, asks where the “Imp” was. The Imp being the Queens younger brother, Tyrion.

Were you to be honest, as you unpacked some of your things from your horse you could only think of one place he would go. And he certainly would not find such a place inside the castle walls. Seeing the Queens twin brother, Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard to “go and find the little beast.” Holding another smirk back, you heard footsteps approaching.

Not the ones you normally would expect, he wouldn’t come to you here. Not now, not in front of the royal family, all these people, and certainly not after learning you’ve come here to marry. Instead, the voice that spoke behind you was the only other person you’d care to see, calling your name.

Robb Stark, Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest true born son stood tall behind you. His northern accent deep and thick, and drenched in a soothing warmth that always felt comforting yet unfitting of the cold he lived around. Turning to face him, you could still see the trailing remnants of the Queen and her children in the distance.

Play your part, your fathers voice told you. With a slight nod of your head and a smile you clearly amused Robb with such a proper curtsy. “My lord.”

A raise of his eyebrows, he had less care of hiding such a smirk. “Is that how we are playing it, my lady?”

You had to bite your tongue to keep from smiling, but still failed somewhat. Robbs smirk growing more playfully smug as he watched you lose your static composure. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord. I am here with the royal company, we are nothing if not with our courtesies at all times.”

Dropping the act, Robb rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Well if you’re people have a problem with it, they will just have to get over it.” Pulling you into a hug, you felt part of your racing heart and screaming nerves settle a bit.

You’ve known Robb since that first visit when you were eight. No matter what you were both being shoved into, he wasn’t anything near a stranger. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as your face was snuggle tugged into the deep browns of his cloaks fur. Soft as anything, they helped sooth your heart more and he seemed to hold you for as long as it did his as well. His voice low in your ear this time, “We’ll talk in private.”

Pulling away with a deep inhale, you nodded. Face falling back into a stoic composure. It sometimes took you a little bit to drop the harsh demeanour you lived with once you got to Winterfell, but with this company in toe you felt bad that the Starks weren’t going to really get you in any relaxed form. Nodding at Robb you fell quiet, but he was happy to take up the mantle with enough volume for those around to be satisfied with. “Let me help bring your things up, my lady.”

In the corner of your eye as Robb slung the heavier of your bags over his shoulder and you insisting on carrying at least the lighter one, you caught sight of his mother. Lady Catelyn Stark, originally born to House Tully, was something of a complicated relationship for you. You admired her in countless ways, and you saw her more as a mother then you did your own for many years growing up. But there was no mistaking the slight rift that was caused by the only other member of the family you were closer too then her eldest son.

That one though, was nowhere to be seen. You both knew full well that such a meeting was going to have to happen in private, and you hoped you would find time to sneak away from the feast tonight to get it. You two had to talk, you needed to talk to him before you marry or your resolve might crumble.

She watched you and Robb politely walk through the court towards the main doors. Describing their home as a castle felt odd after living in both Dragonstone and Kings Landing. The Starks castle in Winterfell was home in your heart, not a fancy collection of stonework designed to impress. Robb had written that the news came as surprise to all of them, that Lady Catelyn had tried to protest saying that the King shouldn’t just force this on you.

Her husband had to remind her, that they married of duty and look where they are now. You hoped that your companionship with Robb’s brother had not soured her opinion of you being capable of being a good wife. Robb didn’t have your heart the way he did, but he would be the one to keep it from now on and you hoped Lady Catelyn wouldn’t hold it against you.

Falling in love with Robb was not the impossible, in fact he could make that quite easy.

Making small talk of the trip here as you and Robb passed a numerous amount of servers and maids scurrying about the halls, you were thankful for how well you knew him. That the tensity in his stature would only relax the second the door would shut and you both would drop this growing painful act.

Your room was in a corridor away from the main family, closer to where Theon stayed. Many times the main four of you would stay in either his or your room to drink, laugh and get into trouble all without the keen ears of the Stark parents. Your room in Winterfell was a place that you could stop being the daughter and first born heir of Lord Stannis Baratheon, and just be you.

The room had been freshly cleaned, new sheets draped on the bed frame as well as a cozy fur begging you to plop down onto it with a sigh and a nap to boot. Robb dropped your bag down by the window, holding his hand to take the one in your hands to join it. Turning to you, he watched as you let out a shaking sigh.

Your face dropping, finally free to shine in a tinge of shame and exhaustion as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your palms flat on your thighs. Opening your mouth to speak, he cut you off with a sharp edge. “Don’t apologize.” Your brows narrowed in question, but Robb paced over to lean against the wall across from you. His arms crossed casually in front of his chest as he looked into your eyes. “You were about to say sorry for all of this, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Head dropping, you bit your tongue more and nodded. Hands clasping together in a fidget before returning to rest flat on your thighs. His eyes shined blue, and out of the sunlight his hair looked far closer to a Stark brown then it did a Tully Red, if your heart didn’t weigh a thousand pounds you might have spent more time admiring him. “I just,” Sighing again you looked away, unable to cope with the unblinking seriousness in his eyes. “I only found out before you did. I don’t want you thinking I asked for this, or am trying to force you into this.”

Robbs sigh wasn’t defeated, but annoyed. You hadn’t the courage to look again yet. Your name slipping from his tongue with a seriousness. “No one here thinks that.” Glancing up at him, you felt your resolve slip even more. “No one.”

Not that Robb would have any reason to suspect it, but you were desperately hoping that one person in particular didn’t think that out of everyone. Robb took a few steps forward, hoping to beckon you to look up at him, but instead chose to sit down next to you. Enough space between you to not be intrusive. Your voice was small, quiet like a whisper and you knew this was not the words of a proud lady, but just a girl. “He hadn’t even brought up marriage in years. Not since..”

You faded off, both of you know what you were going to say but luckily Robb knew that reliving it would not make you feel any better. He leaned closer to you without breaking your personal space. “Your father has talked to you about marriage more then he has me, at least. In some ways you’re more prepared for this then I am.”

Laughing out, you didn’t turn to see the soft smile on his lips at the sound. “Oh I doubt that. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my parents. Between them, and being around the King and Queen’s marriage? It it weren’t for yours I’d assume every married couple is bitter and unloving to the point of near contempt.”

A breathy laugh leaving him, you were thankful once more that at least your husband to be was someone whom you didn’t have to hold you thoughts around. Robb leaned back on the bed, his palms outstretched to rest against the furs and look at you partially from the back and side. “We could get separate beds if it makes you feel better.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at the mocking in his tone. Quick to turn around with the intention of snarking back he took you by surprise. Lurching forward to wrap his hands around your waist and drag you back with him, both of you laying now back against the bed as he respectfully moved his hands from you. His eyes shined with laughter however, and it loosened yours enough to laugh out loud.

Playful words sat at the tip of your tongue, but what came out was far from it. “It feels like he’s planning something,” turning to look at Robb’s profile against the light coming from the window. “My father. He and Lord Arryn have been doing something in secret, and he kept me away from it on purpose. Both of them seemed to be worried about something, and then...”

“Then he died.” Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and a long time friend of both the King Robert and Lord Stark had passed from a fever that took him in one night.

You nodded. Glancing up to the ceiling as your hands rested along your stomach. “He was fine one day, and then he just...not even a day later was when my father called me to his office. Told me everything, about coming here, about your father, then just..ended the conversation with this.” Your eyes narrowed as you recalled the sternness of his rasp.

“You’re to marry the Stark boy then return here in my place. I won’t have any more questions on the matter.”

Robb was lost in thoughts of his own, tone light yet distant when he spoke up. “He wants my father to be Hand of the King. He hasn’t even been in Kings Landing since the war.”

You understood why. Not just the horrors inflicted on Lord Starks father and brother, but it was a den of vipers all wanting you to play a game that a man like him would want no part in. None of the Starks belonged there, too good for a disgusting place the capitol was. Sighing yourself, you shrugged. “He’ll hate being there as much as my father does, as much as I do. At least I’m the Kings niece I’m supposed to belong there.”

Robb turned onto his side and you followed suit. Your dress hardly made for proper warmth like his attire was, but the Queen insisted that you dress properly to impress your to be husband. As if the man in question hadn’t seen you covered in dirt, mud, bruises and knocked you into the dirt countless times over the years. You didn’t feel like yourself anywhere but here, and yet with the royals all here you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Just a plaything meant to look pretty and play the part. For once, you felt like a normal highborn lady you supposed. Born and bred to be a wife that's born to breed. You were looking at Robb, and yet you reminded yourself with a lurch of your heart to push back the other face in your mind.

Later you told yourself.

Robb’s voice was low, soft, and with an affection that at the very least, wasn’t unusual for him. “You haven’t belonged there in a long time.”

Your tone dropped quieter then his. “Where do I belong then?”

To his credit, it wasn’t with himself that he said. “Here. You belong here.”

By nightfall you still hadn’t seen him. You’d seen many of the others. Arya being the first, practically running past Robb into your room and leaping into a hug with zero sense of formality. You knelt down somewhat to meet her with a loud laugh. With a zillion questions about if you’re staying, did you know, does this make you her sister, you were blissfully reminded of the only other girl who held your heart like that.

Shireen wasn’t a trouble maker like Arya had a tendency to be, but they had a similar spirit. She felt as much like your sister as the one back on Dragonstone was by birth. Sansa had to call her away, annoyed as ever and with a fluster as she addressed you. The paintings of a crush all over her face from the blonde haired fowl faced cousin, and you wished it was any other boy Sansa was to be promised too.

Well, as Robin Arryn briefly popped into your mind you laughed to yourself. Maybe not any of other boy. Starling the handmaiden attending to your dress as you shook your head in apology. You could dress yourself easily for a normal night in the North, but alas the Queen insisted that you impress your husband to be. As if he wasn’t someone you had known for over a decade as one of your very closest friends.

You did however, stop them fervently as they reached for your hair. The Queen could dress and paint you up like a doll and you wouldn’t really fuss at the treatment, but you would rather cross the wall and throw yourself into a frozen lake before you’d let any of those southern up-dos go anywhere near your hair. If judging by the look you got from the Queen during the feast, she wasn’t pleased in any way, but then again she rarely was ever pleased by anything.

Sat next to Robb during the feast, you were thankful that he and the other guys at the table treated you like they always did. To a degree, it was a bit off putting by your much more distant attitude but judging by the glances you made to the Queen they gathered enough that you were more on guard. The hall was filled to the brim with people, ale, music and laughter.

Off in the distance you could see King Robert laughing with a group of men, and his hands happily exploring a woman who was most certainly not his wife. Most didn’t care, and the ones who did never would say anything. He was King he could do what he wanted. Lady Catelyn much to your sympathy was stuck up at the main table sat next to the Queen herself and struggling to find any conversation that didn’t make the woman utterly miserable.

“Out of all the Northerns, you get stuck with this one?” Theons voice rang out, a lightness in his eyes and ale in his veins. You leaned your elbow on the table and pointed at him with a playful raise of your eyebrows.

“At least this one’s pretty, Greyjoy.”

Laughter from all around the table, and even finally sneaking one from yourself. Theon would sometimes flirt with you, but never in a serious manner. It almost was a game. He would start with a flirtatious comment and it quickly spun into who could jokingly insult the other more after you deny him with a snarky remark first. “Aye, but you’d get some nice experience with me.”

Robb tossing a ripped piece of bread at him with a half hearted protest of his own experience, but you leaned back in your seat bringing your mug to your lips. “What experience is that, exactly? Paying women to pretend to moan for you isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my wedding night.”

Pushing it back down, if you joked about it you didn’t have to think about the reality. With no experience of your own, you weren’t immune to the whispers of girls and women of their nights with pain and blood. At least you would get one single thing right come time for that part of the wedding. You almost didn’t though, and the longer you kept trying to not think about it, the more you felt yourself looking for someone you knew wasn’t there.

You had to talk to him, but the first day in Winterfell was just far too busy for it thus far.

Opportunity luckily, arrived in the form of Arya being unable to behave. You and Robb had been joking and laughing about something when the sight of food flinging from another side of the room caught your eyes. The food in question splatting directly onto Sansa’s face as she yelled out indigently.

The quickness of Arya smiling and going back to pretend as if she didn’t do anything got a laugh out of you, but also drew the attention of Lady Catelyn. Gesturing to Robb over, his face fell more serious as he brushed a hand over your lower back as he stood up. Grabbing Arya around the sides and hoisting her up. “Time for bed.”

Glancing around the room, Lady Catelyns eyes elsewhere, as was the Queens. Lord Stark talking to who you recognized as his brother Benjen and now Robb gone you took the opportunity you really shouldn’t have. Standing up, you made your way slowly to the entrance, downing the last of the ale before slinking out unseen.

Or rather, unseen by all but the watchful eyes of a golden Lion.

Alone for once, you allowed yourself to be annoyed. The chill of the air hit you with a sting as you were entirely undressed for the cold of the night. Not even graced with a seat at a lower table, no he was put out here as if his existence was so offensive to anyone but her. His birth wasn’t his fault, and as much as you admired and liked her?

It never failed to chip away at something angering in you, how Lady Catelyn treated Jon Snow.

You heard his voice before you saw him, but it the second voice that took you by surprise. “Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

Lord Tyrion Lannister in your sights slowly walked up to Jon, who was faced away from you. There was a bluntness in his words but also a sympathy in his eyes. Leaning back against a stone wall, you watched in quiet.

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

And yet, just as so many liked to remind him, Lord Tyrions words were those that many have said in response. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, a bastard.”

Watching him with narrowed eyes, you held back any defence in your blood. Likely he was the only Lannister which you didn’t entirely distrust towards him. Jon Snow had more then enough people ensuring him he would never be like his brothers and sisters.

Your arms crossed over your chest, and breathe visible in the cold you listened to the man tell him wear what he is like armour. Jon, however, did not seem to be in such a mood. His voice was low, a thick northern accent that came out more like an entrancing rasp then Robb’s warm soothing one. It also, was lined with that of a temper you knew the older Jon got, the more he struggled with. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Fingertips itching to reach out, but you stayed put. Listening to Lord Tyrion’s final comments before departing to whatever plans he had for the night. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.”

Jon wasn’t heartless, nor stupid. Somewhere inside him, you knew he sympathized with the Lannister but being shut out of a feast in the cold, on top of what you knew was looming? Jon had little room left to care about simmering that temper.

Lord Tyrion caught your eye as he passed, a tilt of his head and question in his eye you simply looked flat and unblinking. He wouldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t store his curiosity about your sudden watchful appearance for later.

Slowly approaching, you called out only once the sound of doors closing behind you left the courtyard in silence from the muffled party behind you. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning to face you at the sound of your voice, you hated how unable you were to quell your heart looking at him. Walking towards him, you saw Jon put the sword away entirely before circling around to meet you halfway. It took less then second for both of you to glance around, watch for the no eyes any could see before he closed the rest of the gap.

Scooping you up into his arms, almost spinning you in place as you both held the other tightly. “I missed you.” Your voice muffled in this luscious dark curls, he put you down gently on your feet. His hands on your upper arms still before glancing up. Changing his mind, he turned. Pulling you along with him with a hand on your lower back.

Jon was the only man who could silently drag you away into a dark corner in the dead of night and you wouldn’t question him in any way, shape or form. Neither of you said anything, but out of everyone Jon was the one person who you didn’t need it with. Both of you were always on the air of more quiet, and it was never more appreciated then alone with the other, never worried about having to fill the air with talking to be comfortable.

Once you had reached far enough away, Jon led you into a small building, mostly empty save for some storage and one lit lantern. Door closed, he turned to face you once more with silence. His eyes begging to say too much, but neither of you could handle it in that second. Once more you found the others arms. This time, the desperation was felt both ways.

Both of you letting your eyes shut, and your hands rest freely and yet far to intimate to be platonic as you stood together. It was minutes before he pulled back. One hand resting on your waist and the other back on your upper arm. He watched as your hands wrung together, afraid to touch him. You hated how gently he always said your name, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes.

One of you had to say something, and you ripped the bandage off first. “You’re really joining them?”

His nod was confident, and it broke your heart that much more. “The St-”

Shaking your head you felt your eyes sting, you hated feeling this way. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched wanting to reach out, and he caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was his response a diversion from the truth, or an answer you didn’t know for sure. “You’re marrying Robb.” Like no other, Jon could tell right away that you bit your tongue in anxiety. The hand on your arm moving up to gently trace over the side of your jaw until he felt you relax under the touch. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly left your hands drift forward until the very tips of your fingers rested against his stomach. Much like earlier with Robb, were you not wracked with too much in your head, you might have paused to enjoy the feeling of how sturdy and firm his muscles had grown. Instead you let your head hang, knowing he wanted you to look at him. “And you feel like The Night’s Watch is the only place you belong?”

Were you anyone else, Jon would have pulled away in frustration. But his time with you was limited, and his hands always ached to touch you when you were near. “It is now.” Head rising up to look at him, your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

Something rushed up, and an anger almost yelled out instead of reason. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He sighed, jaw clenching as his hand on your waist held you a slight tighter. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a while you both just stood there, looking at the other. In your heart, you felt stolen from, but your mind reasoned for the best. Just as the silence between you was too much, Jon slowly leaned in.

Your back pressed against the wall and he having moved to crowd you against it, his head dipping down enough as you exhaled shakily. The nerves in you, always managing to make him smirk. But just as you felt the others breath on your faces, a door in the distance opened. Music and laughter and the sounds of a group making drunken rackets paused Jons movement.

If it were any normal day, you’d just say not here.

But you and Jon knew better, in a few days, he would stand in the godswood and watch you marry his brother. And soon after that he would join a group that cut your love off from him for life. You couldn’t kiss now, and not ever again.

It didn’t stop either of you from seeing the other after the night was over. But with the royal company here, with you and Robb spending more time together, you only had time to see each other in the secrets of the dark. What made that much harder though, was how little suddenly anyone looked forward to a wedding.

Bran had climbed the walls and towers thousands of times with a firm grip. And yet, while climbing the one tower which no one use in decades, Bran somehow fell so far to the ground, no one yet knew if he would wake up.

And amongst all that, the Queen insisted, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

The entire family was on edge. Maester Luwin has monitored him closely, and Lady Catelyn even closer having not left his side. You didn’t blame her one bit. It was before anyone else was really awake when you went to go see her.

Slowly peeking in, asking if it was alright you come in for a moment and you were thrown back over ten years ago. Looking at your own mother, Selyse, and how broken and lost she was as Maester Cressen warned her to prepare herself for Shireen to be sent away for good.

Walking by her side, you sat gently on the bed beside Bran. It was cruel. Only a boy of ten, and with the softest, most adorable little face you’d ever seen and yet he lay in bed broken in too many ways. If he woke, he’d never walk again. You thought to yourself, maybe if you were to be a proper northern, you should start praying to the Old Gods. Because it certainly seemed like praying to the Seven had done nothing. It left your baby sister disfigured for life, and so far they seem to have left Bran a cripple should they even allow him to wake.

Laying on the other side was his yet unnamed Direwolf. Hardly more then puppies when you first arrived, you had been shocked to see how they had grown. Sitting asleep by his masters side though, you hoped he would bring little Bran any comfort.

Lady Catelyn was silent beside you, working away on something you hadn’t quite understood. You didn’t ask, you weren’t a mother and you didn’t want her to have to explain her grief to you. Your hand gently ran over Brans wrist, your thumb feeling his pulse weak but still beating if you pressed firm enough. “My sister had greyscale as a baby.”

You felt her look up at you, but your eyes were trained on the adorable boy soon to be your brother. “My father bought her a doll from a merchant, and next thing we knew it was spreading fast over the side of her face. She was just a baby she didn’t even understand what was happening to her, but we all did.”

You felt your eyes sting, but forced them back with a harsh swallow. “I’ve never heard my mother cry like that. She lost four boys in the womb, and yet that was the most I’ve ever seen her cry. And my father?” You stumbled. Voice coming out harsh, and cracked slightly from the pressure to appear steady. “People used to say the only thing that he would ever smile for is me, but they don’t understand. They didn’t see the desperation in his eyes, how far and hard he searched to bring people to Dragonstone just for a chance to save her life. And none of them saw the tears in his eyes when he was finally allowed to hold her again.”

Reaching up with your other hand you ran your hand over the side of Brans face, brushing some hair to the side. “I’m sorry. Me and Robb both tried telling them to put it off, but the Queen insisted that a wedding might do everyone some good.” She tried saying your name, but you interrupted her. “It’s okay if you don’t come. If I were a mother, I don’t think I’d leave him either.”

Looking back at her, there were tears in her eyes and a soft smile that broke your heart. Your relationship with her was always complicated, but in this moment, all you saw was what no one had given to your mother when it was Shireen.

Leaning over to her, you hugged her tightly. The pain in her heart evident in how both weak yet tightly she hugged back. Pressing a kiss to her forehead you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Passing by the busy servants and suspiciously watchful Queen you paid no mind to the preparations that were to be for you tomorrow. At first it had felt like you and Robb were to be wed for some unknown plot of your fathers, but now it felt like a distraction.

Don’t look at the broken boy in bed, look at the happy couple. For their own pain, you had to hand it to the three of them. Lord Stark, Robb, and Jon truly what Starks were made of. Strong willed, and keeping calm acting as a pillar for the much younger and more worried siblings. Arya clearly a big influence on her direwolf Nymeria, as the wolf was agitated and struggled to sit still the past days. On multiple occasions, you found the wolf almost trying to rile up her own siblings to varying success.

Her and little Rickons direwolf Shaggydog had the most energy. As if getting out their tension by chasing and play fighting. Sansa’s Lady was truly an apt name. Stuck by her side and was poise and put together, only getting in the way to provide any comfort to the redhead in what Sansa thought were moments no one was looking.

Grey Wind was as strong headed as Robb. Their mother gone, he had taken up the mantle of leader of the pack and seemed to be a calming presence for the others. Much like how Robb’s confidence in ensuring his siblings Bran would be alright, provided such comfort to them. The more time you spend with Robb during the day, the more used to Grey Wind you got.

He grew larger then the others, a gorgeous mix of greys and browns in his colour and the more comfortable with a new closeness which Robb grew with you over the past few days, the easier it was for Grey Wind to come to your side when not with his own master. Lord Stark had joked that they seemed to sense you were about to become a wolf yourself.

It was the final direwolf however that you enjoyed the most. Pure white with striking red eyes, Ghost was smaller then the rest but quick and silent. He made very little noise if ever, but was always aware of his surroundings. Keeping out of the way without sacrificing his watchful canine eyes from their view, and listened to his master better then any of them.

Jon and Ghost it seemed, were one in the same. From the same family, but not truly one of the pack as the others were. While the others followed their master like an animal companion, Ghost and Jon were almost like friends instead. Certainly he took Jons feelings around people seriously, considering that as you sat out in the godswood while the moon set itself up in the night sky, you were suddenly almost thrown off balance.

Looking down, the small white direwolf had leaped into your lap. Leaning up to give your cheek a lick before settling in. You scratched at his back, “I don’t know what you’re asking for, but I’m getting up in about ten seconds.”

“Maybe he just likes how soft you are.” Looking up, you utterly failed to fight back both the fluster in your eyes and the embarrassed smile that you tried to hide, turning away from him.

Jon’s curls looked more wild and free again, growing out quickly from the clean cut given before your arrival. The wilder look suited him better. His cloak around his shoulders had a bright closer to white fur around him that you knew first hand was warm and comforting. Coming to sit next to you, he reached over and ran his fingers over Ghosts ear, making him shake his head with a barley audible huff at being disturbed. You both laughed gently, were it not a wolf in your lap, a commoner would mistaken you both for that of a couple with their newborn.

You were to be married tomorrow, and in two days you and Jon would part ways for what could be life for all you knew. Two days, but tonight was your last. Tomorrow you would be Lady Stark, wife of Lord Robb Stark, and there was no room in that duty for another or fairness in your heart.

Leaning against his shoulder, you knew in the eyes of the old gods there was no judgment as you rested your head there. His arm coming to pull you into his side as he looked down to you, your own trained on Ghost.

More then once you and Jon had almost kissed, it would be too easy. To fall into it again. You didn’t fall into it the first time, it was just a bond that always existed. The last time you had ever kissed, was when you came close to giving him something else.

The opportunity was right there, and no one would have been there to stop you, but neither of you were people who could so easily push past the honour you were raised with. Deep down in his mind, Jon knew you could never just marry someone like him, not for who you were. He just didn’t expect to come to the finality of it all, only months after almost having you.

Not that he told it to you, but there was a smugness in Jon that said that at least if he had one thing over Robb, or two, was that he was your first kiss. Knew what your lips tasted like, and knew what a cruelly addicted sight your bare body looked like. Though, not if he asked you, you’d say that wasn’t a perk.

Reminding Jon that he was muscle and you weren’t. Only receiving a dark, undoubtedly lustful look as he muttered that your softness is exactly what he dreams about before kissing you, having pushed you back into the furs of his own bed.

A far off moment, sitting together now, cuddled with his cloak around you against the Weirwood tree for the last time. “We never had a chance did we?” Pulling back, Jon tried looking at you with a slight question in his narrowed brows, but you just continued to run your fingers gently over the slumbering Ghost. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he breathed in deeply. “No. No we never had a chance.”

The truth didn’t make it hurt any less. But you weren’t children anymore. You would marry Robb, return to Kings Landing and serve on the small council at the Hand of the Kings Side, in place of your own lord father and Jon would become a man of the Night’s Watch.

In what world did those two things have a chance at crossing over?

Turning your head, you rested further into his neck and his warmth was unyieldingly comforting. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Jon had enough, moving to pull your face up to look at him by your chin. “I know. And you do too.”

Your heart skipping a beat you smiled partially, “You know it’d be a whole lot easier not to kiss you if you weren’t so handsome.”

Smirking, Jon pulled you closer. Your back more pressed against his chest as he wrapped the edges of his cloak around your front, hiding the blissfully unaware Ghost from the cold air. “Oh I’m handsome, am I?”

Rolling your eyes, you relaxed in his touch. “I’m not blind, Snow. It’s an unfair thing about you Stark men, you, Robb and your father, all way too handsome for your own good.” You had always done that. Included Jon when referring to the Starks without question. It was something that only his youngest siblings would still do, and that's just because they weren’t yet mature enough to truly understand why he was treated different.

You were though. You knew why, but you and him were always the closest even before the messy feelings of early teenage hood started to take place, and since then you were only more steady in that belief. He was a Snow, but his blood a Stark. And no matter what he called himself, he would always have the blood and integrity of his father. “Should I be worried? Marrying my brother, and running off to Kings Landing with my apparently handsome father?”

Pinching your sides, you tried elbowing him but Jon was far stronger and held you still with a laugh, your voice high and defensive. “I didn’t mean- sorry next time I’ll call your family ugly, alright?” With a pause, it slipped out before you could stop it. “Jealousy another Stark trait I should be worried about?”

You could feel the smirk still plastered across Jons face in his voice at your ear, “When the girl looks like you, any man with half a brain would be jealous of letting you go.”

It was far later then you should’ve been awake, but peeling yourselves apart for the last time was too difficult. It was quiet for a while, nothing but the quiet hums of the woods to pass the silence. His voice rasped in your ear, a small shiver down your spine at its closeness. “Where’d we meet?” He chuckled at your blatant confused face. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we not still us?”

You enjoyed hearing him so light and casual, it felt like I’d been months long amount of days since you’d seen such casualness. “No, well I mean I’m still me and you’re still you. But we’re not highborns, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom, where’d we meet?”

Eyes squinting in thought, you considered something that was the opposite of the horrible paranoia of Kings Landing, and far from the darkness of Dragonstone. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.”

Jon nodded against your head, “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

Laughing loudly you tried pulling away, “Excuse me, why am I a barmaid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

With such a tone of seriousness you felt light at how easily it came to him, as if it was something he’s thought of before. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.”

“That’s aggressive of you.”

“Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you went, what is job was, how you’d fall in love, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many kids you’d have to which you certainly had protests as to how easily Jon kept raising the number each time he mentioned it. By the time you had planned out a new life, it was late enough that you needed to go back.

You needed some sleep, and Jon wasn’t the only brother who you wanted to talk to before this was all over.

Ghost lept out of your lap and shook his fur out on the ground as you both watched him with a fond smile. Looking back at him, you held onto his wrists and he your waist. This time, neither moved in or even tempted the idea of a kiss.

Raising a hand to cup the side of your cheek, he ran a thumb over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Before you had a chance to spiral, he leaned down to meet your eyes more level. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud. “I promise.”

He nodded once. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the wall. I want you two to be there for each other, no matter what. Besides, it’ll be easy.” You tilted your head. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

The hug you shared wasn’t the last before you departed, but it was the last one just for you.

He sent you off first, not wanting you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, needed to just get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the wall to grieve about you.

The handmaiden was quite mad at how you ignored her. Something about the Seven, not seeing the bride but you went towards Robbs anyways. You were to be married at the Weirwood under the eyes of the old gods, it didn’t matter what the Seven wanted anymore.

Not quite dressed up, Theon looked you up and down as he opened the door. “Didn’t think you were that much of a bore.” You pushed him out the way with a roll of your eyes, he laughed as he closed the door behind him. You were glad that the northerners weren’t so dramatic.

With his mother tucked away with Bran, he escaped what would’ve been her insistence of shaving and another trim. His facial hair growing thick and his curls much more Tully Red in the daylight. “I want to ask you a favour.”

Nodding once, he said anything. Taking a step to you as you sighed out shakily, hands ringing together, he said your name as he came into your space. Looking up at him, you sighed out again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Taken back, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “That’s not a favour.”

Somewhat flustered, you pulled away. Sitting down on his bed, unable suddenly to send away the thoughts of the very next time you’ll be in this room. “I- I don’t want you thinking I don’t want this, or you, but we didn’t plan this, or talk about it before it happened, and now we’re here and,”

Robb knelt down to your level, not yet touching you in your panic, but speaking slow and in a low, comforting tone until the edge fell from your lips. His steady energy slightly bringing you down a little bit as you tried again. “My parents are miserable together.” Your hands started to wring together in front of you, “They barley tolerate each other, I’ve never seen any love between them. And same with my Uncle. He and the Queen basically hate each other I’m shocked they could stand each other long enough to have three kids together.”

His brows narrowed as you put it all together. “Everyone I know whose married for duty, married because they had to...I think your parents are the only ones I know who ended up happy, who actually love each other.”

Robb leaned in slightly, “Are you worried you’ll never love-”

Shaking your head you felt the anxiety in your chest boil up like never before. “Robb, look at me. I’m Stannis Baratheons child, daughter of the supposed most miserable man in Westeros in the most loveless marriage, are you sure you’re okay with marrying me?”

There it was. The first true hint of insecurity that you’ve allowed yourself to be honest with since you had been told of this arrangement. Two out of three Baratheon Lords were in miserable marriages, and when you looked at Robb, you hated the idea that you were forcing him into just another of that cycle.

The girl in you wanted to cry at losing one love, and the woman in you hated yourself for possibly dragging another into something he’d come to hate. You’ve known Robb for as long as you’ve known Jon, and you watched him grow into the man he is now. Both of you could do great things together according to Lord Stark, but what if you were too much like your father to ever inspire love?

Robb stood up, sitting down next to you as he turned his body close. Your name falling easily from his lips. “You’re not your father. No- look at me. You are not him, you’re not any of them. I’ve known you since you were eight. You’re stubborn, and strong willed and always willing to do what duty asks but that isn’t all of you. I’ve also seen you laugh, get into trouble with me more times then I can count, you care about my little sisters and my brothers like their yours too. My father already sees you like your his own, and despite everything, I know my mother does too.”

Running a hand over your hair, he watched tension in your shoulders deflate ever so slightly. “I’m not worried about marrying you, because I know what I’m getting myself into. And no one can tell me to be happy about it, but I am anyways.”

Gently you raised your hand, enough to slightly lay over the arm Robb had flat on the bed, your thumb finding this pulse, unlike little Brans, his was steady and strong. “You shouldn’t be. You get told your marrying me, and then the day after I get dragged back to Kings Landing with half your family for who knows how long.”

Your heart raced, as Robb twisted his arm, holding your wrist the same way you were his. An easy, charming, boyish smile on his lips. “And we’ll have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

Deep in your mind, you wished Robb would make this harder. You wished he wasn’t so easy to be charmed by, but you knew him too well to trick yourself into thinking he wasn’t being genuine or honest. “So about that favour...”

Narrowing his eyes, there was a flush in your cheeks that you hated was making him smirk. “What about it?”

You sheepishly tried pulling away, but he yanked you closed by is hold on your wrist. Looking down anywhere but his face you felt like a little girl again, only that time you didn’t have to be the one to ask for it, Jon kissed you before you knew what was happening.

Robb though? Oh Robb knew exactly what you were trying to ask, but was almost sadistically enjoying the process of making you say it out loud to him. You flushed more at what other implications this potential side of him would bring. “I, okay I’m not some innocent flower.”

He raised his eyebrows and you smiled indigently, “I mean, I’m still- I haven’t- shut up.” Robb was flat out laughing at that point but let you fail at getting this out with composure. “I know you’ve been with women before, physically..”

“Does that bother you?”

Shaking your head no, it was no lie. You may have to get used to the idea of being married to him, but again, you weren’t blind. You had eyes, you knew exactly what women saw in Robb Stark. “What I’m trying to say, I’ve kissed someone before but not you.”

Much more serious, Robb clearly did know what you were asking, but watched with his gorgeous comforting blue eyes intensely as you whispered. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of all of them.” His family, the royals, all those you didn’t know, the old gods, and even Jon. A first kiss in front of him felt too personal, to intimate.

Moving close, you felt his breathe on your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you? Here?”

The room slipped away though, Robb’s voice was so warm and so was he. The hand on your wrist moved to rest at your waist while the other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. His lips would brush against yours if either spoke, but he waited for a single nod before kissing you.

His kiss was different. Soft, but coaxing. Like he knew what was holding you back, and just let you fall into it on your own. It was simple and gentle at first, but as soon as you let out a tiny sigh, something in Robb slipped for a moment. Kissing you again, harder this time. His hands tighter and his kiss a little deeper.

Leaning into his front, your hand found the back of his neck and into his curls, and your other against his chest as if they always knew what to do. It wasn’t until you let out what might just have been a small moan, Robb close to pulling you into his lap did he pull away. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and running his hand once more over your hair.

“Can you live with that? For the rest of your life?”

Robb smiled softly at the very new venerability in you. Pressing one more kiss to your cheek, he knew you didn’t mean only having a kiss. But was he happy with such a kiss was your question. “Wait until tonight, I’ll tell what about you I’ve been fantasizing about living with.”

The grin on Robbs face as he pulled away wasn’t the charming boyish one earlier. No, this one was far more that of who he was really, a wolf. A wolf who looked you up and down and made you realize that Robb Stark just might not be as dashing and honourable as he’s led you to believe.

A thought that should’ve made you nervous, but as you walked back to your room, ready to let the girls doll you up and argue about not touching your hair, you started to think that maybe that wolfish grin, actually excited you.

Just when you thought you were going to die of a heart attack, your to be lord father gave you a reason to have a whole new panic. The ceremony was more fancy then any of you involved wanted, not the Starks nor you, but your own father insisted on marrying you off with the royals in toe.

He wasn’t here. Your mother neither. Both of them, Lady Catelyn and Selyse were either sickly or caring for the sick and weren’t here, but Ned Stark was. He was here, and your own father wasn’t. Stannis was not a consistently comforting father, but part of you felt hurt that he wasn’t here to see his oldest daughter, his own heir, marry for the first time.

Instead, the man who had seen you raised half your life here, the one who would be your father by marriage once this was done was the one who approached you. Looking out into the distant woods as you clearly struggled to hold your nerves back. “I didn’t think this was the thing that’d worry you so much.”

Spinning around, Lord Stark reached out to steady you with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot..was it this nerve wracking when you married Catelyn?”

Not pushing you towards the woods, he stood beside you an arm around your shoulder as he rubbed your upper arm gently. “Terrifying. I’d rather face a thousand armed men then get married in front of all those people. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted someone as delightful as the Queen at mine either.” You huffed a single laugh out and swallowed the rest. “And I know I certainly wouldn’t want the person I love watch me marry someone else.”

Blood in your veins froze, your heart stopped and nothing but nausea flowed up your lungs. “I-”

He wasn’t even angry, or disappointed. He chuckled with a fondness. “I’ve seen you spend half your life here, sweet girl. Watched you grow up alongside my own sons, and I’ve watched Jon be in love with you since the first day you ever arrived.” If you cried, you’d mess up the annoying amount of makeup they insisted on, but you felt a sob in your chest. “You made him happy, and he made you happy. For a time, a long time I thought that was enough. But I also know for a fact that Jon never saw marrying you as an option. He always was painfully aware of who you were.”

You felt the stinging, and you stood still in his hold. Forcing deep breaths to push away the panic.

“There’s a good number of things I regret about how I raised him. It doesn’t feel good knowing that he’s always felt inferior to Robb and now the woman he loves is marrying him too. If I could do it again, would I even be better. Force Roberts hand harder, be more honest with Cat, let him just be a Stark and there’d be nothing in his way for you. But I didn’t do that, nor do I know if I ever should’ve.”

Looking down, your arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t want you to assume I’m just thinking of Jon while I’m with Robb, it’s not that. I’ve known Robb for just as long, and we’ve always been just as close, save for, you know.” His hand was soothing like a true fathers comfort running up and down what he could reach of your arm.

“Here’s whats going to happen. I’m going to walk you out there to my son, you’ll kneel together before the Weirwood and pray and when you rise you’ll be a Stark. Part of you will always be a Baratheon, but you’ll also be our family now. And no matter what, wolves always protect those in their pack. I’m not going to assume the worst of you, because I know you better then that. You and Robb will be good for each other, and just because losing Jon hurts doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re not willing to love Robb.”

Looking up at him you frustratingly wipe at the tears, and he pulled you into a hug. One that you hadn’t felt in a very long time. It had been too long since you felt the hug, the love of a real father. Muttering into your hair, you could feel the same smirk that you could always sense on both brothers. “Besides, I can tell you for certain, having one night with your spouse before being dragged halfway across the country will do wonders for your heart.”

You laughed a lot at that one. Pulling away he looked you over, gently wiping away the rest of the tears on your cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You have a wolf waiting for you.”

If you were being honest, it was a blur. There were so many people, and most of them you’d never want present at your wedding in any lifetime. The golden hair of the Lannisters mocked you, the bored and judgmental sneer of your cousin annoyed you, and the silent watching of an Uncle who you barley knew anymore, but you were thankful that this wasn’t in a sept.

The crowd silent, no words spoken by anyone except you and Robb. He looked tall and fierce, curls shining more red in the peeking sun through the leaves, eyes bright and blue like the sea as he looked at nothing and no one but you. The fur around his shoulders making him look large like the wolf he was said to be, and soon it too would be yours.

Whatever small words you exchanged, you heard none of it but the blood in your veins. Thankful when Robb took your hand and knelt down with you, facing away from the crowd. The Seven was what you were raised to pray too, but you were a wolf now. And the wolves answered to the Old Gods.

A fate you were perhaps always meant to have, feeling much more heard in your silence of the Weirwood then you ever did in a sept. Eyes open, looking up the carved face at the same time, the crowd was silent, Robb grabbing both your hands to stand as he kept your eyes.

Draping the very fur he wore over your shoulders, he gently pulled you in with two fingers under your chin. This kiss was far softer and fairer then the one you shared in private, but this was also all your anxiety could handle. And Robb knew it.

Were it a more jovial occasion, it was tradition for a northern groom to carry the bride to the feast but Lord Stark had the sense to give you two a moment alone and King Robert was more then happy to direct the crowd to where the wine and food sat.

Your heart racing, Robb gently held your waist with his forehead pressed to yours. Eyes both shut as your hands rested on his chest. You left tomorrow, so all you had was now and tonight.

It’s what he demanded of you, and what he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt Jon Snow a great deal to watch you marry his brother, and not once did he ever see the transfixing beauty in your eyes.

You didn’t look at him once, and Jon couldn’t get to the wall fast enough.

Truth be told, the first big laugh you had was at the sheer idea of your father here. Meals with him, there was no laughter or rambunctious behaviour. Just silence, diplomacy, and the mind numbing dings and clogs of Patchface. No joy in a meal under Stannis’s watch, except for the fool himself. Patchface there who was only lucky enough to be in a job, because gods help her, for whatever reason the fool made Shireen laugh.

You couldn’t imagine your father here. The drinking, the laughter, the never ending line of food, talk, and fun. Truth be told, you and Robb spent little time there. You glanced nervously at him more then once, and in your bubble of privacy he would rest a hand on your thigh firmly and a whisper in your ear to at least eat something.

Arya tried many times to come and talk to you, but Sansa yelled at her each time. Telling her to leave the two of you alone, the three of you girls would be in Kings Landing together anyways.

King Robert, on now one too many drinks made an innocuous comment about beds, or sex, or something vaguely incoherent and you and Robb looked to the other. You wide eyed and nervous, but there was something in his that settled it. Leaning to your ear, his voice felt like a rumble. “Normally I’m for tradition, but I’ll be damned if I let this lot see any of you like that.”

One of the men in the crowd had seen you like that, but with the way Robb looked at you, for once, Jon hadn’t crossed your mind. Too much nerves, too much wine, and a fat load of worry about being in a mans bed proper for the first time.

By the time the crowd noticed, Ned just chuckled at Roberts comments about the bride and groom slipping away before a gods honest tradition. “I told Cat I wasn’t going to let their be a bedding ceremony because I didn’t want to hurt someone on our wedding night.” Shrugging one shoulder, he grinned almost proud. “Glad to know my son’s the same.”

The worries of what was to come, ended up being broken slightly by the fact that as soon as Robb opened his door, Grey wind was sat in the middle of the bed. Large body splayed out like it was already bed time. Rising his head up at the sound of the door, you ended up bursting into laughter at Robb having to tell him twice to go.

Shutting it behind the growing direwolf, Robb shook his head something snarky on his tongue that died as he looked to you. Draped in his furs, furs that made you look far smaller and the gentle almost innocent look as you stepped around his room. You’d been in here countless times, slept in here countless times, but never like this.

Trying desperately to hold back your nerves, you looked out the open window focusing on steadying your heart. But the warmth of Robb enveloped your back as he reached over you, closing the windows and sealing you both alone. The crackling of a fire almost enough to hide the shaky breathe as Robb gently ran his hands down your arms.

Resting both on your waist, Robb wrapped one around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. He didn’t let you ruminate on the worry, dipping his head to level his mouth with your ear. “If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me.” Freezing in his arms, he spoke almost quieter but it raged so close to your ear. “We don’t have to do anything, but you need to be honest with me about it.”

You felt light on your feet. You’ve never heard this tone from Robb before, never so intimate in your ear and the deep rumblings of his voice felt as if something strong inside was being held back. The act itself scared you, it always had. But another part of you wondered if you should be fearful of the young wolf behind you, or if that fear excited you.

The arm around your stomach rose up, tilting your head to turn slightly to the side, enough that part of him was within your sight as he murmured your name. “I know you’ve never done this before, is it just that, that scares you or is it me?”

Shaking your head fervently, you startled him. “No, no it’s not you. It’s just- I should know what to expect by now but,” Taking a deep breathe you shut your eyes. “The girls in Kings Landing all talk about men and their first time like it’s painful, violent.”

Robb chuckled deeply, vibrating through his chest into your back and down between your legs. It was a dark laugh, and you felt overwhelmed at how little you really considered what he might be like. “It’s only painful if the man is a worthless, brute who thinks getting off is better then getting their lady off.”

Was your chest heaving with you hard you felt yourself breathing, your eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted you felt more waves between your legs and having it all be because of Robb was more then enough to leave you speechless. Reading your body like a book, Robb leaned down more, brushing his lips against your neck. Grinning at the sigh you unknowingly let out.

Turning slightly more you could see him a bit better. “Will it hurt?”

Smiling like a predator, he pulled you closer to him. “Only if you want it to.” Laughing at your breathless expression, asking why some women would want it to hurt. He moved a hand to your hip and pressed his lips closer to your jaw. “Don’t worry. If you want it, we’ll get there. Tonight’s not about that though.”

Suddenly pulling away he yanked his cloak enough that it slipped from your shoulders and pooled onto the ground. Turning you in his arms, Robb gripped the sides of your dress tightly in his fists before pulling it up and off you. The fact that you let him do that, not telling him how little you had on underneath might have been a dangerous idea.

Usually such a dress was worn with layers underneath, and yet, all that remained on you was that which covered your most lower regions. Your softness, plush skin, and tits all on display. Holding your hips, Robb closed his eyes breathing deep for a moment. “For a girl whose never done this before, this is awfully naughty of you.”

Indeed was the charming boy no longer here, but a man, a wolf looking at his mate like prey.

Swallowing the pounding in your heart, you reached up to Robb, slowly pulling layers up and off of him for yourself. His hands were much more confident then yours were currently, but he stood still watching and letting you undress him at your own pace.

Staring was impolite, and yet Robb didn’t mind as you looked at his chest now totally free. Just as your fingers reached for his pants he snatched your hands. Raising them in the air as you gasped in surprise.

“This is about you. Lay down for me.”

Watching you with dark eyes, you couldn’t ignore how intensely he looked you up and down as you lay back on the top of his bed. Your palms bracing you up before being tossed back down as Robb suddenly climbed up the bed and over top of you. A hand on each side of your head as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Do you trust me?”

Without even considering it, you answered the raw truth. “Always.”

One hand reached up, grabbing your jaw roughly as he pulled your lips back to his. This time he kissed you nothing like before. His kiss was rough, demanding and deep. Guiding your every move and commanding that you obey. He tugged your hip with his other hand up to press into his own and as you gasped, he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Lightheaded, you surrendered to his touch. As if all will of your own bled out onto the bed leaving nothing but Robb to command you as he pleases, and yet the idea didn’t scare you the way it was described by others. Your hands reached up and grasped his waist, a small sound leaving your mouth into his.

Switching between tasting you with his tongue and biting at your lips it, Robb let go of your jaw and ran it behind your head and grasped your hair tightly. Pressing his body down firmly, his hips naturally rutted into yours. He smirked as you gasped.

The rougher he kissed you, the more your hands moved on their own. Reaching behind his neck and wrapping around it to sink into his hair he ground his hips into you harder. A gentle moan leaving you, Robb left your lips, running the same ferocity down your neck. His lips and teeth no doubt leaving marks that a proper lady should be ashamed of.

He didn’t quite stop, kissing down your neck more until he reached your breasts. Grinning at how hard you were breathing, he stopped that right in it’s tracks as his hands cupped your chest. A needy cry left your lips, turning to a longer moan as Robb ran this thumbs over your nipples. Just as one hand grasped one, did he lower his mouth to bite at the other.

Pleasure shooting through you, your back arched into his body and limbs felt like they seized from the pleasure. His teeth switching between a gentle nibble and a harsher bite just to pull a gasp from you, he played you like an instrument. Getting every sound from your pretty lips that made his cock that much harder.

Pulling away, he hovered over you looking down at the almost in awe expression. You weren’t used to such a side to this man, and he seemed to reveal in your innocence over it. Leaning back more, you followed the sight of his dark eyes, parted lips and down his chest to where he hands slowly pulled at his pants.

Swallowing hard, he tilted your head up his a hand firmly at your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me.” Not letting you look down as he stripped himself bare. “Good girl, keep them on me and only me.” Slowly moving down the bed he pulled your hips to, grabbing your underwear and pulling them down.

The coolness of outside did nothing to take away how warm and wet you were between your legs, and Robb forced you to stay on his face. Making you look at his eyes, greedily pushing your knees apart and expression turning dark as he stared at you. A slightly whimper leaving you, he leaned back over you, one hand running over your thigh, first on the outside, then inside, and slowly upwards.

Just as he reached you, Robb bit at your bottom lip. Using the chance to slip his tongue inside you just as he ran his hand over you. Cupping you entirely and already he smirked into the kiss at how soaked you were. Lips brushing yours as he pulled back enough to speak, his fingers gently running back and forth across your soaked slit. “Good girls don’t get this wet, do they?”

Shaking your head no, all you could do was hear his voice. Eye slipping closed as your legs shook and a coil within you twisted at such an easy touch. Robb continued. “No, good girls are sweet and innocent. This doesn’t feel very innocent to me.” Two fingers now soaked danced up and ran across your clit.

Jumping at the shock of pleasure, you grasped him by the shoulders with a whine. “It’s all for you-”

Stammering the words out as Robb now rubbed tight circles against your clit. Your muscles tensing and his own hips refusing to let you close them you had to just take it. His other fingers still soaking up whatever you drenched him with. “I know it is. You ready for me to open you up? Make you cum before you take me?”

You’d say yes to pretty much anything Robb asked of you right now. Nodding, you leaned up to kiss him, making him smile into your lips as he slipped two soaked fingers deep inside to his knuckles. You gasped so loudly, were the windows not closed no doubt the outside world would’ve heard you. Sinking them deep in one go, you writhed in his touch.

Robb slowly slid them out and back, the wetness between you making the sound obscene, but it was the only music Robb could stand to hear. He never picked up the pace, but he did, right as you tensed in his touch? Stopped rubbing at your clit, and slit a third finger down to sink inside you with the others.

You cried his name and he kissed down your neck as he slowly pumped them inside of you. Clenching around his fingers he bit your skin harder trying to force his cock to shut up. Screaming at him like a howling wolf to just take you already.

Pulling back from your lips he looked you in the eye, feeling you clench around him as your sounds grew higher. Something burned hot inside of you as the other twisted and turned so tightly. One free hand, Robb ran over your lips, and something sweet inside you, pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers as he did so.

In return? He ran his thumb roughly over your clit as pumped his fingers slow and deep into you as you came around them. You moaned his name, but muffled it as Robb gently sunk two fingers into your mouth at the same time. One hand grasped his wrist, and yet even as you came something inside you obeyed like you were a submitting prey.

Robb almost snarled at how well you sucked on his fingers, and how he wished you two had more time then tonight. He couldn’t stop the thought of how beautiful you would look on your knees before him, obediently sucking on his cock with his hand guiding you up and down his length tight in your hair.

Pulling out of you Robb pulled your body up to press against his bare one and kissed you full of tongue and a greedy desperation. A desperation you yearned for back. It was a strained rasp of your own in his ear that had him shudder. “Please, Robb. Please fuck me.”

It didn’t even occur to you to try and be sweet or innocent about it. You could feel his cock pressing against you between your still shaking legs and you felt lightheaded at how thick it felt against you. Kissing your ear, he murmured much more gentle, “Are you sure?” As you nodded he bit your earlobe and hissed into it. “Out loud.”

Nodding again, your hands wrapped around his neck as you kissed him. “I’m sure, I want you.”

Kneeling up on the bed, Robb ran his hand gently down the side of your body. His dark eyes soft for just a little while longer, as you felt something in your chest at him. Pulling your hips more up into his lap you think you understood why he kept his eyes on you.

His chest led down to coarse, rough hair surrounding a long, thick cock that you wondered if it would even fully fit in your hand. Your chest heaved as you stared, and he slipped into a deeper tone. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Slipping a hand behind your head, Robb kept you looking down, watching as he ran the tip of his cock over your entrance, up brushing against your clit and back down. Barley sliding in each time until you begged his name once more. This time Robb watched your eyes, as he kept your head looking down to watch him slide his cock inside you.

He was thick, and the stretch itself stung in a way that made you gasp but not a pain that you had feared from it. No, the deeper he sunk the more you soaked his cock. Only halfway in, Robb tugged your hair to look up at him before he in a much more punishing thrust, bottomed out.

His face snarled at how tight, how warm and soaking wet you cunt was and he pulled you right back into an equally as rough kiss. He didn’t go fast, but part of him reasoned to go more gentle, and yet?

Your cries, your begs of his name as each slow, rough fuck had your arching your back into his body all the more. Each pound of his cock inside of you slapped loudly in a way that had him grip your hips so tight, you could already feel the bruises.

Sweat built up on both your bodies and you ran your hand through his own increasingly damp curls, scratching his scalp with your nails that had him fuck into you harder each time. For all his talk, little thoughts came to his mind as Robb fucked you.

Like something of an animal took over and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck you more, harder, faster, fill you until his cum spilled out of you and then fill you more. You cried out, nails scratching down his back without even realizing you were doing so, but muffling each sound as you bit into the meat of his shoulder. Robb, fucked you harder and struggled to stay slow.

You clenched tightly, enough that he had to pound into your cunt roughly just to sink as deep as he could inside and pulling away enough he could see tears at the side of your eyes but you rather then begging for mercy, begged for more as you kissed him.

His hands held your knees, pushing as wide as possible as Robb lost composure. Fucking you faster and just as one hand moved to rub at your clit you came around him. Robb leaving your other knee to press his hand against your mouth at how little you could contain your cries.

Fucking into you once, twice, five more times he pushed inside as deep as he could sink and filled you with him. His cum warm and thick, it felt like there was so much more of it then a normal man would have but you let Robb pull you into another kiss, this one rough and sloppy as he filled you with his cum as his tongue did your mouth.

Never leaving, his hands eventually turned soothing, his kiss softer and his voice not commanding but assuring. Telling you how good you did, how perfect you were. Holding you in his arms and him yours, it was just the two of you in that moment and nothing more.

It was only when you started to laugh, did Robb laugh. Yanking you into his chest as he flopped onto his back with you on top of him. Kissing you gently as he ran a hand over your hair. “Aye, a man could get used to this.”

He should’ve let you rest, but he took you once more that night. This time, far less able to hold back how fast and greedy he wanted to be about fucking you. The only downside, was how exhausted the night made you.

Slipping into a deep sleep, that only meant morning would come quicker. And too quick it did.

That morning, you both stayed in bed as long as you could. Robbs back against the wall and you against his chest, far less worried about the lack of clothes either of you still had. “You were born for this, Robb. It’s not in you to fail.”

Kissing the side of your head, things were feeling a bit easier, a bit more normal between you even in such an intimate manner. “Everyone says that right up until they fail.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned. Leaving his grasp to gently face him, your body in his lap. Hands on his chest, your eyes often trailed over him. He didn’t question your gaze, you had to get used to him as much as he was getting used to you. It was still new, no matter how much a decade and a half of friendship had formed the foundation.

No joke was in your face though. “I’m serious, Robb. Even if you don’t believe in yourself?” Shrugging one shoulder you smiled softly, “I’m your wife now, so I’ll just do all the believing for you.”

Squeezing your hip, he rolled his own eyes. “And let you do all the work? We’re a team, remember?”

Saying goodbye to Robb however, was easier then what waited for you outside.

Packing up your hose, you heard the two of them in the distance. “My mother?”

“She was very kind.” You tensed slightly, hoping no one noticed but you very much doubted kind was the genuine word Jon should be using. He didn’t deserve her ire, not now, not ever.

“Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

“It was always my colour.”

Your eyes closed, trying to tune their goodbye out. You had no right to invade their privacy.

Part of you hoped he would ignore you. You wouldn’t have to handle this and you could ignore it, but Jon knew you way better then that. You’d hate yourself if you left it at this. Reaching over you, Jon pulled part of your things up and secured it without even saying a word. Looking up, he was closer then you thought.

Looking at each other, the responsible thing would be to nod, shake hands, say a cordial goodbye. But Jon stood with his bright eyes, a grey so deep they looked black at times and you wanted to cry. You felt pathetic for being hardly able to hold back such a display of emotions, but the love that Jon had looked at you with for so many years was as strong as it always was.

You had no doubt that you looked just the same.

Jon pulled you into a hug, one too tight and too emotional for the company around and yet neither of you cared. Neither of you knew if this would be the last time, and both of you resented the world for forcing that as a possibility. His hand held you to him from the back of your head as you sunk your face partway into his neck and the other into the fur around him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

Already, even in the others arms, the grieving already begun. Pulling back, you held at his shoulders and he shamelessly cupped the side of your cheeks. “Think I could get to the wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

You burst into a laugh, one bordering too close on a cry. But you tilted your head. “Now or never, Snow.”

The kiss was pressed to your cheek, slow and unrushed before hugging you once more. For too many years you and Jon ignored the inevitability of having to separate like this, and it sat deep and uncomfortable in your stomach to do so. Like leaving the other behind would be a mistake in the long run, but you couldn’t understand why your soul screamed at you to not make it. You knelt down, kissing Ghost on the forehead as he licked at your cheek, whispering to him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me? Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

Seeing the other Starks approaching, you two looked at the other one last time so close you could feel the other. You took off with the company as they all headed out to the Kingsroad, giving enough space for Lord Stark to speak to his son alone before they too parted ways.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about, but you knew Jon Snow better then anyone to guess. As his father turned to leave, you and Jon looked from the distance at the other once more. You said nothing and neither did he. His life was up north now, and yours is both by Lord Stark’s side and your future with your husband. A future you wanted, and one Jon didn’t want to get in the way of. But as you both rode off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling in your gut just screamed louder, the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #robb stark

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anastaaaaaaasia · 7 months

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The First Queen

Aegon II Targaryen x niece!Reader

Important notice: in this series reader has features of Ser Harwin, including Brown hair and tone of skin.

Next chapter

Prologue

Warnings: mention of blood, children (who knows)

Chaos.

The room was in chaos. Maids ran from one corner to another, midwives bended over the princess's body on the bed. The smell of sweat, blood and milk of the poppy mixed into one stench that was nastier than the smell in the farthest corners of Flea Bottom. The sounds were no better. The rustling of sheets, the maester's stern instructions and the screams of Princess Rhaenyra.

It was a hot summer day in King's Landing, so the windows were wide open. Those inhabitants of the Red Keep who decided to take a walk near the Godswood were unlucky, the windows from the maternity room just looked out there. Few people knew, but at the moment of the most desperate screams, the dragon Syrax also screamed several miles away.

Outside the walls of the room, in the corridors of the red castle, there was also chaos. Maids brought new potions while others ran around looking for new towels. When the door opened and a maid began to carry out bloody sheets in a wicker basket, Ser Laenor staggered and abruptly closed Jace's eyes. Although the boy is only a year old, he could not allow his son to see this picture.

Queen Alicent shrugged when she saw the number of towels and sheets in a bloody color. All of her births were relatively easy and it was unusual and frightening to see this. Any woman in the Seven Kingdoms knew that while men fight on the battlefield in armor and with swords in their hands for gold, fame and new lands, women fight on the birth bed with maesters and midwives, for their lives and the lives of their children.

Alicent was rocking the newly born Aemond at this time; the chubby-cheeked boy was calm enough for his age. One-year-old Heileina was busy with a toy dragon figurine her father had given her. The young princess babbled happily as the toy appeared in her view.

At this time, her father was trying to distract himself from his thoughts. He saw such a picture not so long ago, a couple of years ago. When Viserys met long-awaited son. When he made a decision that still haunts him in the darkness of the night. When he lost his wife Aemma. Just the thought of the possible loss of his daughter brought back all the darkest images and awakened what King Viserys tried so desperately to forget, but never could. The ruler of Westeros decided that if the maesters asked to make a choice in favor of a mother or a child, he would do everything to ensure that Laenor named his wife, no matter what.

Everyone was busy with their own worries, so no one noticed how the young prince, the first son of the king, entered the room after the maid. The boy hid behind the closet when a couple of moments later the room was filled with children's cries. He carefully looked out from behind the furniture and saw that the master was holding a new member of the family. They were covered in mucus and blood. Then Aegon thought how disgusting little children were. He might never even get close to Aemond, who knows, maybe he too suddenly becomes like this. No one wants to be dirty in this mixture, especially the young prince.

Then he looked at his older sister, she was lying there and smiling. Rhaenyra stopped screaming as if she had been eaten by a dragon. Now she was lying and waiting for the first meeting with her child.

“It’s a girl, princess,” said the master. Then he placed the newborn in the hands of the princess. She smiled and stroked her new daughter's cheek. This action caused a sudden burst of laughter from the little girl. And then Aegon looked further than he should have.

A sudden gasp from one of the maids caught the attention of everyone in the room, and Aegon turned to see the maid looking straight at him. Then the young prince realized that he was in trouble. He smiled guiltily and tried to hide his eyes.

“My prince, the birthing room is not a place for men,” said the master and ordered that the boy be taken to his parents.

“But you are here, and you don’t look like a female maester, unless you are hiding something from us,” the prince smiled, and devils danced in his eyes. The princess grinned and interrupted the slightly indignant maester.

“Dear little brother, may I ask, what are you doing here?” Rhaenyra looked at her four-year-old brother. The boy didn’t know what to answer and just stood there, then he shrugged and looked at his sister.

"Do you want to see her?" Rhaenyra broke the silence and pointed to the little girl in her arms. Aegon took a couple of steps to the bed and, with the help of his sister, climbed onto it. Big eyes looked at him, he couldn’t understand what color they were.

Perhaps he had not yet learned its name; playing with the sword was much more interesting than sitting in the chambers with the maester and listening to his boring sayings.

He also saw that her skin was slightly bluish. He remembered that Aemond also had a bluish tint, but after a couple of weeks he became pinker and ruddier. The next feature of her appearance was a pair of brown hairs, which he had never seen in his family. Aegon knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t explain it, and it didn’t matter to him. His nephew, Jace, was also dark-haired, and Aegon had sometimes heard his mother complain about it. He honestly didn't understand why Queen Alicent was worried about his hair color. It's just a color, isn't it?

Aegon wanted to touch reaching up to the girl’s plump cheeks, but suddenly froze, looking at his sister, mentally asking permission. Rhaenyra nodded warmly, and the little prince touched his cheek. It felt like the softest fluff, the newborn smiled her toothless smile and Aegon smiled back. Suddenly the girl squeezed the toddler's finger into her fist and started laughing.

“She seems to like you,” said the princess.

“What is her name?” Aegon asked his sister. Rhaenyra didn't know what to answer. She didn't discuss women's names. Yes, she always wanted to name her sister Visenya, but the wound from the loss of her mother and all her shattered dreams was still fresh. She didn't know what to answer and then looked at the young prince.

“What do you want to call her?”

Aegon thought only for a couple of seconds, because he knew the answer to this question. There was a name he loved and it intrigued him. How melodious it sounds and rolls off the tongue. He heard this name during lessons with the master, he was almost asleep, but when he heard the name he suddenly woke up. It was something from Andal legends.

“Y/N,” Aegon said proudly and smiled, the girl also smiled and drooled a few times. A few got on his hand and the young prince shook them off contemptuously. Rhaenyra just laughed at that.

"Sometimes children do disgusting things," Aegon declared.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen imagine

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cinnamon-galaxies · 4 months

Note

Hello! I wanted to request since I saw your box was open. I would like to request a Alastor x husk's sister!overlord!reader and Alastor does not own her soul. She appears in the hotel one day to find Husk on episode 7, when they were building defenses in the hotel before Charlie, Veggie and Alastor returns, she lectures him and later says something like, 'At least, there's something merciful about Alastor. He never broadcasted your screams, that I don't need to hear or to have nightmares about' and 'I'm just glad to see your alive and safe', and Alastor is in love with her. I don't want it to be angst much just some fluff. Thank you! ^^

⠀

The Cat and the Radio Demon - Part 1

Pairings: Alastor x Fem!Overlord!Reader / Reader is Husk’s sister

Warnings/Tags: female reader, reader is Husk’s sister, reader is an overlord, use of alcohol, fluff (?), mutual pining, mention of toxic ex, Husk does NOT approve, English is not my first language! (Tags might change with upcoming parts but there’s no 18+ content planned for this fic.)

Summary: As Husk’s sister, you visit him the day before the upcoming extermination and find the hotel in a surprisingly chaotic state. During a deep conversation with your brother, you not only learn that heaven has specifically targeted the hotel this time but you also discover that an old acquaintance, whom you haven’t seen for seven years, is currently residing at the hotel. You decide to support the residents in their battle against the angels, hoping to also reconnect with the overlord who has intrigued you for decades – unaware that he shares your complicated feelings.

Wordcount: 4.6k

A/N: This will be a multi-part fic! It took me so long to write because I just couldn’t decide which way I wanted the story to go. This part is set during season 1 episode 7 and doesn’t feature much fluff yet because it mostly focuses on the relationship between Husk and the reader as well as the past between the reader and Alastor. I promise there will be a lot more fluff in the upcoming chapters! Comment if you like to get tagged in part two and I’ll add you to the list :D

Masterlist

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Your thoughts race as you walk up the hill towards the Hazbin Hotel. Since the next extermination is about to happen tomorrow, you want to visit your brother just in case things don’t end well for any of you. With a deep sigh you raise your hand to knock on the huge double door as loud rumbling noises catch your attention. Voices mixed with clatter and hammering make the hotel sound like a building site and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Knowing well that no one would hear your knocks under this turmoil you decide to just open the door and step inside.

The noises get louder when you enter the lobby and you freeze at the unexpected sight. The whole entrance area looks in fact like a building site. Little egg demons rush back and forth, carrying long wooden slats that must be at least triple as heavy as them. Most of the windows are bolded with messy wood paneling scattered across the window frames to shield the hotel from outside, letting almost no light through. The whole establishment looks like a lost place and you would've described it as one if there weren't the rumbling of woodwork and the scatter of voices echoing through the room.

“Uhm, hello?” you announce your arrival, calling over the loud noises. You turn on your heels, letting your gaze wander around the gallery as you search for a familiar face – or at least for someone who isn’t an egg.

When you tilt your head back, your eyes trail along the balcony that's surrounding the lobby on the first floor until your gaze gets stuck on three figures barricading the upper windows.

“Hello?” you call again, this time louder. One of the figures stops hammering and turns around. A huge grin spreads across their face as they approach the balcony, leaning over the railing to look down at you. You immediately wave as you recognize Angel.

“Oh hey, toots!” he greets you with an excited voice and waves back, holding a hammer in each set of his hands.

You open your mouth to ask him for your brother as Angel already turns around and disappears so far behind the railing that you can only see the upper tufts of his fluffy hair. He moves his head back and forth, unintelligible voices, then it gets quiet until the pointy ears and huge wings of your brother appear in your sight.

“Oh, hello, Y/N!” he shouts over the railing, “Give me a moment, I’ll come down!” He raises his hand to silently signal you to wait and walks over to the stairs. He approaches you with widely spread arms and a welcoming smile on his typically grumpy face, and pulls you in a tight embrace.

Returning his smile you lean into his familiar hug and a comfortable warmth spreads through your body.

“Hey there, sis. I haven’t seen you in what feels like ages! What are you doing here?” Husk squeezes you for a short moment before he lets go and musters your appearance with furrowed eyebrows, checking if something has changed since your last encounter. But you still look the same: a few inches shorter than him, your hair cut into a messy shoulder-length bob with loose curls falling in your face and tickling your nose and cheeks. In comparison to your brother’s appearance your sinner form looks mostly human – your pointy ears and fluffy tail are the only feline features that suggest a kinship with your brother. Other than that, you couldn't look more different from each other.

You clear your throat and your voice runs deeper as you explain, “I wanted to see you before the next extermination. You know, in case something happens to one of us.” It has always been your personal ritual to meet a few days before an extermination happens but since this one is about to happen much earlier than normally, Husk didn't expect to see you this time – thus making him even more excited about your visit.

“You want a drink?” he points with his chin at the bar and you nod, following over to the swampy-looking structure.

“But please none of those throat-burning hellfire liquids. You know I prefer the lighter ones,” you laugh.

Husk chuckles at your comment and slips behind the bar, his eyes searching the shelf before he takes two bottles and mixes you a light daiquiri with lots of ice to dissolve the taste of the alcohol a little.

“Thank you.” Husk places the drink on the counter and you pull it closer but not intending to take a sip until at least one of the ice cubes has completely melted.

Husk opens himself a bottle of cheap booze and places his elbows on the counter, resting his chin in one of his hands while holding the bottle in the other. “So… How are things going?” he asks curiously between two sips, a sly smile on his face.

“Nothing too exciting,” you reply, twirling the straw in your drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. For a moment, you're lost in thought, recalling the events of the past six months. Then, something clicks in your mind, and your eyebrows shoot up. “Ah, that bastard Visco finally got what he deserved!”

“Oh, really? T’was about time something happens,” Husk mumbles with a grunt and his eyes narrow. Visco, your ex, has been loathed by Husk ever since you introduced them. And honestly, Husk's feelings are completely justified. Visco isn't just a scumbag; he's also a cheater and a terrible liar. He's always tried to shift blame onto you for his mistakes. Even though you ended things with him years ago, he hasn't let go and continues to shadow your every move, denying you peace. If it were possible in hell, you'd have already obtained a restraining order against him. Not even your overlord powers can keep this jerk at bay. Despite your formidable reputation, he sees you as harmless, like a kitten, which is infuriating.

“Yeah, he lost his home and all of the assets after fucking with the wrong demon. Eventually lost his soul to some drug overlord who now keeps him on a tight leash. And well… I might have involved myself a little to make that happen.” You feel a sense of satisfaction as you explain, wearing a proud and mischievous grin on your face. You can feel your eyes change their color for a quick second, before taking the first sip of your drink. The strong flavor of rum is mellowed by the melting ice, allowing the tang of lime and the hint of elderflower to dominate the drink with a subtle sweetness.

“It would surprise me if you hadn't had at least a little influence on it. Took you long enough,” Husk grumbles and you roll your eyes.

“You know very well that despite my status I’m not one of those who prefer to resolve their problems with violence. I like to let my intellect play the game and make up my own rules. And this time, the circumstances had aligned well enough for the best possible revenge!”

The cat demon chuckles and shakes his head in amusement. He knows you well enough to understand how important it is for you to gain your power through subliminal actions.

He clears his throat and looks over to his comrades who are still busy with covering the windows in wood panels. “Well, even though I’m glad you’re here, Y/N, we shouldn’t spend too much time just chatting. We have to prepare a lot ‘cause things will get dirty tomorrow. Even dirtier than normally.” Your brother’s voice turns into a growl at his last words and you frown in concern.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Husk clears his throat and takes a long sip from his bottle, “the angels are specifically coming for the hotel.”

Silence.

You just stare at your brother in disbelief and you could swear your heart stopped beating. Holding your breath you blink a few times, processing the wave of shock. “What?” You exhale. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We just found out recently. Charlie had tried another audience with heaven but that fucker Adam sees the hotel as a threat.”

“Oh Husk…” you raise your hand and cover your mouth in shock, your ears planing under the surge of pity. “That’s horrible. I–I can’t believe it.” Your eyes observe your brother. He seems surprisingly calm despite the news he just revealed to you. But before you can say something he continues, “Did you know that angels can be killed?”

“E–excuse me?” you inquire, cocking your head in surprise, your ears flicking back up into their normal position. You observe a slight but smug smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Ya heard me right. They can be killed. Vaggie’s out getting some angel weapons ‘cause those are supposed to be the only thing that can harm them.”

You hum and bite your lips in fascination, then your voice drops even lower as you mumble, “Interesting…”

“Yes, but please keep it to yourself. At least for now. I don’t wanna get in trouble for telling you this,” Husk murmurs and shoots you a pleading glance before you nod in agreement. When there is one thing you don’t want, then it is your brother getting in trouble because he told you something he isn’t supposed to. Which doesn’t mean that it would be okay for you if he gets in trouble for any other reason. You want him to be as safe as he wants you to be. You are glad he is okay, still alive and unharmed. And hopefully his condition stays the same after tomorrow.

“What about the princess?” you ask, increasing the bite on your lip in curiosity, “Is she accompanying Vaggie?”

Husk shakes his head. “No, she’s currently out with my boss, tryna gather some support from his acquaintances over in Cannibal Town. I’m sure she’ll return soon.”

Your ears twitch in excitement. “Alastor’s here too?” you ask and try to hide your excitement. You know well enough about your brother's apathy for him. ‘Being done with his shit’ is how he once described it to you and you couldn’t blame him. You’d probably be sick of him too if you were on his leash. Honestly, the fact that Alastor owns your brother’s soul should be enough to despise the overlord but you couldn’t because you somehow had found yourself intrigued by him the moment you had met him for the first time. But this was not the only reason you’re surprisingly fond of him.

You can hear Husk growl in disapproval, proving your thought. His voice is raspy and full of annoyance when he says, “You know damn well that he’s forcing me to be here. So yes, he’s obviously residing in this hotel as well. Haven’t you seen him the last time you were here?”

You shake your head. No, you didn't. You had visited the hotel only once and that was almost half a year ago – and Alastor definitely wasn’t present that day. In fact, you hadn't seen Alastor in years, ever since he vanished from the surface, leading many to believe he didn't survive the last extermination – or that he had crossed paths with the wrong overlord by accident. You hadn't even been aware of his return until his clash with Vox dominated hell's media. Furthermore, your brother hadn't mentioned him during your last visit, which isn’t surprising, but bothers you the longer you think about it. You would’ve liked to get in touch with the Radio Demon again. The last opportunity you might have had to encounter Alastor was at the last overlord meeting, but you had skipped it for personal reasons. But hearing that he’s residing in this hotel fills you with a jolt of anticipation that makes your heartbeat go faster. You start to wonder why he even bothers to find interest in this hotel…

Husk shrugs his shoulders. “I think it’s better this way.”

You hum and roll your eyes as you raise your glass to your lips, taking a few sips. Of course he would say that. “He’s not that awful, Husk,” you respond with a defensive tone, earning a low growl from your brother which you choose to ignore. “I think you can call yourself lucky that you lost your soul to him and not any other overlord.”

You look at Husk over the rim of your glass as you take another sip, then you put it down, shrugging your shoulders at his gritted teeth.

“Please, Y/N, don’t start this again…” He mumbles and shakes his head in disappointment. The both of you had this discussion way too often over the course of a few decades.

“What I mean is that your situation could be worse if a different overlord held your leash. Okay, yes, he might’ve a very feared reputation and such but at least there’s something merciful about Alastor.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?” Husk asks and his eyes open wide in disbelief. He obviously can’t fathom what you just said. “He literally used to broadcast the screams of the souls he tore apart.”

You let out a deep sigh. Of course you know about all the horrible actions that made Alastor gain his infamous reputation as The Radio Demon. But honestly, you are in hell. Is there anything else to expect? Almost every sinner is somehow a psychopath in their own way so you can’t really blame him for doing questionable things to work himself up to the top. It’s not that you’ve never done it yourself. You haven’t become an overlord by just deciding to call yourself one on a random day. You had worked hard for it, often in crucial and unfair ways, overpowering the weaker with your manipulative tactics. That is just how the food chain works in hell. And your brother was no saint either. He had dealt in souls as well, betrayed other sinners with a second deck of cards up his sleeve while he kept them believing he was an honest opponent... He had been a cheater through and through when it came to gambling and the fact that he had used his skills to trick other sinners into giving him their souls made him no better. Actually, you had laughed your brother in the face when you had found out that he, the gambling overlord and master of manipulative games, had accidentally sold his soul by messing up his cheating performance during a game of poker against The Radio Demon. You hadn't even bothered to offer him a shred of sympathy for his newly acquired role, as you found yourself relishing the karma that had struck his furry ass. The only one Husk could blame for his predicament was himself. And truth be told, you're somewhat relieved that your brother has been chained with Alastor's leash. After all, he used to be a ruthlessly manipulative and disrespectful drunkard with a self-destructive gambling addiction, who never cared for you even half as much as he does now. Since he had lost his status as an overlord he had changed become a much better person.

Considering how much of an asshole your brother used to be, it is quite surprising that Alastor never treated him the way he supposedly treated other overlords he had tricked into a deal. To your knowledge, Alastor has never harmed or mistreated your brother in any way, nor has he wronged you.When you initially encountered The Radio Demon, he presented himself as a charming and sophisticated gentleman, with impeccable manners and a refined way of speaking. Over time, he maintained this facade, consistently treating you with the utmost respect, prompting you to wonder if it was merely a facade or if he had been raised exceptionally well by his mother. Except, of course, for his psychopathic tendencies. You and Alastor have been acquainted for at least two decades now, and from the very beginning, you found him immensely intriguing. One could even say you were drawn to his charismatic personality. He had even invited you out once, though you still keep that detail hidden from your brother. If he ever discovers that you and his boss had shared a private dinner, he'd undoubtedly throw a tantrum. Or much more. Of course, it had been nothing more than a professional meeting between the two of you…

You take a deep breath. “Don’t act as if you had been any better, Husk,” you respond to his comment in annoyance, reminding him of his once shitty personality, and he flinches at your words. Oh yeah, Husk has always been a master at dishing out but not being able to take it on the chin… “And to be honest, I’m glad to see that you’re still alive and safe. I don’t need to hear your screams on the radio and then have nightmares about it.” You laugh dismissively at your sarcastic comment and take another sip from your drink. You notice the tension in Husk’s expression and reach out your finger, booping his nose.

He flinches back in surprise and his stern face turns a little softer at your silly gesture. “I think I should continue my work. I feel bad that I’m sharing a drink with you while my comrades are working their asses off.”

One sentence the old Husk would’ve never brought over his lips, you think. With one long sip you empty your glass and slide it over to Husk who places it in the sink. “Let me support you. I would’ve come days earlier if I knew that the circumstances were this bad…” you exclaim, your tone more of a demand than a request.

Husk nods without hesitation. "Fine. We need any help we can get!”

With that you and Husk leave the bar and approach Sir Pentious and Angel.

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You support the three men in building defenses, laughing and chatting here and there. Time passes quickly and the other residents return from their missions.

You turn around when you hear the door open and go straight up to the railing, looking down at the entrance right under you. You chuckle in joy as Charlie and Vaggie come into sight and you clear your throat.

“Well, if that ain't the princess of hell and her girlfriend!” you call out and turn over to your male comrades, “Look, guys, who decided to show up!”

Angel, Husk and Sir Pentious stop their work and step next to you, a sly smirk on Angel’s face and his hands rested on his hips. “We thought we were fightin’ by ourselves!” he lets out with a laugh.

Charlie and Vaggie look up. “You’re… you’re still here?” Vaggie asks, her voice relieved and trembling in amazement. Tears well up in Charlie’s eyes.

. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” The princess shouts up to your floor and you shoot a grin at her, revealing your pointy fangs.

“I’m supporting you, of course!” you exclaim in excitement and Charlie’s expression turns thankful. But before you can add something, the door opens again and a bunch of people enter, dragging huge wooden crates with warning labels in the lobby. You cock your head in amazement. Looks like they were successful in their missions…

Vaggie immediately turns around and starts to shout clear instructions through the lobby, leaving her girlfriend behind. So you decide to head downstairs.

“Are they all weapons?” you ask with wide eyes as you glance around, counting at least a dozen of wooden crates.

Charlie, who you stands just a few feet away, turns around immediately and nods, her already bright face turning even brighter when her gaze falls on you.

“Are you really here to support us?” she asks in an enthusiastic tone, forgetting your question completely. A sparkle of joy flickers in her eyes and you can’t help but smile back.

“Well…” you take a deep breath, pondering the best way to explain your presence without it sounding wrong because you originally came here for a chat, not expecting the hotel and its residents to be preoccupied by such drastic preparations. “Honestly, I had just planned to visit my brother but now that I’ve found out about your situation I decided that you could need my help. I will fight with you all, tomorrow.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Charlie screams enthusiastically, raising her hand above her head before she pulls you in a tight embrace.

You stiffen at the sudden proximity but relax after a couple of seconds, wrapping one of your arms around her shoulder. Three quick pets on the pad of her suit, then you slowly pull away. You are so focused on the princess that you don’t notice the shadow forming behind you.

“Charlie, I didn’t know you invented a guest!” a voice, distorted by radio static, cuts through the babble in the room.

You instinctively hold your breath and Charlie moves her head to look behind you. “Oh Alastor!” she exclaims, her arm tucking at your shoulder to signal you to turn around.

You do as the princess silently demands and face the new arrival: a tall and slim man dressed in a red pinstripe coat, a black bowtie and black slacks. His red and black hair frames the sharp features of his handsome face, deep red eyes glowing surprise as they lock on you, his huge smile widening into a well-knowing grin that reveals his sharp yellow canines. The fluffy ears on his head twitch the same way yours do when you get excited. Is he excited to see you? Because you are definitely excited to see him…

Charlie reaches out her hand, gesturing between you and the other demon as if she wants to introduce you to each other. “This is Y/N! She’s Husk's sister, and–.”

A chuckle escapes Alastor’s throat. “Oh, there’s no need to introduce us, dear,” he interrupts her with a dismissive gesture of his clawed hand and approaches you. His voice turns softer, deepening in tone and the radio static is just a buzzing background noise as he mumbles, “How could I forget about such a lovely lady…?” With those words he bows his head in a classy manner and leans down to take your hand in his. With a sly smile he places a soft kiss on your knuckles, resting his lips on your skin a little longer than necessary.

Your cheeks flush instantly at his gesture, and you find yourself locking eyes with him, meeting his crimson gaze. Your body tenses under his touch, sending shivers down your spine, and you only realize you've been holding your breath when he releases your hand and straightens his posture.

“Alastor, long time no see,” you greet him in return, a sly smile tucked on your lips as you eye him from head to toes and back to his head. After all those years he still wears this everlasting smile on his face…

“You… both know each other?” Charlie involves herself, interrupting the quick greeting between you and the Radio Demon.

Alastor lets out a laugh. “Oh, Charlie… Of course we do!” he responds with a raspy voice, the radio effect on his voice increasing. Then his attention falls back on you. “You didn’t show up at the last overlord meeting, Y/N.”

You shrug your shoulders at his indirect question. “And you didn’t show up for seven years,” you countered teasingly with raised eyebrows.

“Touché, ma chère.”

Charlie bites her lip and switches her gaze between the both of you, when suddenly, Vaggie calls her name and she excuses herself, leaving you and Alastor alone.

You tilt your head to the side, now finally able to ask one of the questions that are burning on your mind for quite a while now. “So, tell me, where have you been all those years?”

Alastor releases a chuckle and waves his hand dismissively. “This is a long story, dear…” Though his expression stays the same his eyes darken a bit as you bring up his absence. You bite yourself on the lip, feeling a surge of nervosity rise and churning your insided. Immediately understanding that this must be a difficult topic for him, you push your thoughts away, dismissing the topic.

As fast as Alastor’s eyes darkened they return to their usual glow. He twists his cane in his hand and leans closer. “Enough about me, Y/N. May I ask what gives us the honor of your company?”

There he is again. The witty demon you had found yourself way too fond of. You give him the same answer you gave Charlie and look around the room, scanning the tumult around you, the lobby a bit less crowded than just minutes before. Your eyes stay on a young woman in a lab coat who writes something on a clipboard, probably checkmarking all the delivered supplies and weapons.

“Another overlord would surely be a great support,” you hear Alastor respond, interrupting your mental absence and pulling you back into reality. “Voices say that you are remarkable at fighting.”

You close your eyes and release a chuckle before you open them again and face Alastor with raised eyebrows. His gaze lingers on yours, his smile a little softer than normally. Your stomach flutters at this sight and you turn your gaze away, sensing his eyes still staring at you. “Is that so?”

Leaning on his cane, he regards you in silence, his proximity feeling closer than before. Is that his breath you sense against your skin? You swallow hard, hesitant to direct your focus back to him. Instead, you fix your gaze on a random person in the room, feigning interest in their actions to avoid catching Alastor's attention. Although, he likely notices your avoidance regardless. He's far too skilled at discerning others' behavior to overlook such a detail.

“Don’t play ignorant, Y/N. Everyone knows that your combat skills are as formidable as your intellect,” he suddenly interrupts the silence between you and you chuckle at his compliment.

Satisfied by your response, Alastor tucks his cane back under his arm and places his hand on your shoulder. "I believe you'd serve as an excellent mentor for all the Cannibals outside," he says. With light pressure he turns you around to force you to look at him.

“Uhm.. what?” you ask, way too surprised by his words to be affected by his face right in front of yours. Cannibals…?

Alastor doesn’t respond but you could swear that his eyes shine in amusement. With a nod of his head he points in the direction where two huge double doors mark the hotel’s main entrance.

Holding your breath you follow him towards the exit, a jumble of voices coming through the door causes your ears to perk up.

Alastor chuckles at your reaction, obviously amused by your confusion and the closer you get to the door the louder the voices get. Alastor conjures a shadow tendril to open the door for you and you both step outside, walking side by side.

You stop as your eyes fall on a huge crowd of pale faces with black eyes and sharp canines. “Uhm… Are those your acquaintances you were supposed to sign up for support?” you wonder, completely stunned by the amount of people Alastor and the princess had managed to gather.

"Do you believe you could handle instructing some of them in combat?" he asks, both answering and ignoring your question at the same time. He looks down at you, though the distance between you is more appropriate than before.

You press your lips into a straight line and tilt your head back to return his gaze, your expression clouded by overwhelm and a tad of uncertainty until it quickly switches to determination. “We’ll see,” you smirk at him.

178 notes · View notes

lemonlover1110 · 1 year

Text

Baby Steps

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 29] Growing Family

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

*this is really the last chapter, thanks for sticking with me in this cute adventure🥹

Seven years after Seiji is born, you constantly find yourself thinking about destiny and your first discussion with Satoru about it. Neither of you are sure, but you’re happy that this is how your life turned out. You love waking up next to him as his wife and proceeding to start off your day with him and your kids. With your seven-year-old Seiji and your five-year-old Saori.

You both have teaching jobs– Of course, they’re very different. Satoru teaches three teenagers, one of them being Megumi, while you teach a classroom full of at least twenty second graders. Satoru always tells you that you’re one of the reasons he decided he wanted to become a teacher, apart from the part that he’s the strongest (you still have no idea what he means) and that’s his duty. You have a much bigger home than before; yet neither Megumi nor Tsumiki live with you anymore so many rooms are empty, however, considering the fact that you have two young children, the house is still very lively.

Satoru still had a great idea to fill up the empty rooms, and that’s how you find yourself expecting your third child with him. You swear to Satoru this is the last baby you’ll have, but that’s what you said when you gave birth to Saori. It’s easy to forget how bad pregnancy and childbirth are when you watch Satoru being the best possible father to your kids.

“Daddy, can you help with my homework?” Seiji asks, even though you’re the one that teaches his grade level and knows what his teacher is teaching. Apparently you’re great at explaining things but daddy just does it better, and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you watch Seiji approach his father with the notebook.

“Sure thing, buddy. Wait till Saori finishes with my nails.” Satoru answers, watching as his daughter paints his pinky nail a blue color. She was going for pink since it’s her favorite color but then she decided that blue would match his eyes (in reality she couldn’t find the pink nail polish and didn’t want to admit that she lost it). It’s fine though, her father will just buy her another one. “Wow, look at you. You’re doing such a great job.”

“I know.” Saori answers, so focused on not making a mess and painting her father’s whole finger. Satoru manipulates his infinity every time that she’s clearly about to paint his whole finger.

“Saori, will you hurry up?” Seiji asks, clearly annoyed. He wants to get finished with his homework so he can watch TV, since you told him he could watch his show after he was finished with homework. You offered to help, but he turned you down.

“Don’t rush your sister, Seiji.” Satoru says, and he watches how Saori sticks her tongue out at her brother, causing Satoru to sigh. “Don’t stick your tongue out at your brother, Saori.”

“I can help you, Seiji.” You pop into the living room, where your husband and kids are. You find yourself bored for once in your life because Satoru took care of everything.

“It’s okay.” Seiji responds, making you pout. He does usually accept your help, but during your third pregnancy you’ve been a victim of pregnancy brain. You don’t think you’ve ever felt dumber, so stupid that even your seven-year-old notices.

“Saori, honey, will you paint my nails next.” You say and she perks up. For the first time Satoru fails, not turning his infinity on and getting nail polish all over his finger. She smiles brightly and nods her head.

“I’m done with you, daddy.” Saori tells her father, and he laughs as he looks at the unfinished hand. He stands up and walks over to Seiji to help him with his homework. You take Satoru’s seat and extend your hand to your daughter. “Do you want blue as well, mommy?”

“What other colors do you have?” You ask.

“I used to have pink.” She replies, which makes you laugh. She doesn’t have it anymore so you don’t see the point in bringing it up. She begins to paint your nails, and she’s awfully concentrated until she finally speaks up, “When’s my baby brother or sister getting here?”

“Around two more months.” You answer. You’re due in December, a little while after Satoru’s birthday. A month after her birthday. “Are you excited to be a big sister, honey?”

“Yeah.” She answers. She’s focused, therefore, she can’t talk. You stare at her, watch how concentrated she is. She has to push her white hair out of her face since it covers her vision. The more you stare at her, the more you realize how neither of your kids look like you and you hope that the third time around you give birth to your twin. “When’s my birthday?”

“In a month.” You respond since you won’t count down the weeks until her sixth birthday. You can’t believe just how fast she’s growing up, it feels just like yesterday when you found out that you were pregnant with your baby girl. You smile, watching as she paints your whole finger. Satoru has shown you his infinity, yet you still find yourself surprised how she never messes up Satoru’s nails. “Woah, you completely missed the nail there.”

“Sorry.” She apologizes yet she continues to make the same mistake. You aren’t paying too much attention to it, you just listen to Satoru explain to your son how to do his homework. You’re sure that you could explain it better, but you still smile. You never really thought you’d be here seven years later, but here you are.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Satoru isn’t the type of man that goes to bed early– Well, he wasn’t. Up until he had two babies under two and ever since he had to handle a very energetic Seiji and a crybaby Saori, he’s been going to bed since eight at night. When you put both of your kids to bed, you both go to bed as well. His head barely touches the pillow and he’s passed out.

This specific night though, when his head touches the pillow, a scream comes from his daughter’s room and he sprints out of bed and to her room. He literally just put her to bed, there’s no way that she already had a nightmare. Seiji isn’t much of a prankster either so he’s ready to kill just about anyone.

Satoru finds his little girl with her knees to her chest. She buries her head in her knees, and she covers her ears. Satoru looks around, turning on the light. He’s about to ask what’s wrong since his eyes don’t see anything, but he feels the energy. His eyes land on the half open closet and he begins to walk towards it.

“Is everything okay, Saori–” Seiji comes running into the room after hearing his sister scream. He’s much slower than his father, but regardless he’s here.

“Go to your room, Seiji. Take your sister.” Satoru orders and Seiji does as instructed, even though it takes some effort to get Saori out of the room but he succeeds. Satoru fully opens the closet and a sigh leaves his body seeing the small curse. Nothing scary to him, but surely scary for his baby girl.

He exorcizes the curse with no issue before walking out of the room and going to Seiji’s room. Seiji comforts his little sister, who’s trying to hide under the blue blanket that Seiji let her borrow. There’s a frown on Satoru’s face as he walks over to his babies and sits on the edge of the twin bed. He engulfs his kids in a hug.

“I’m sorry you saw that, Saori.” Satoru mutters. He feels guilty that the curse that he holds is passed down to his children. He’s known they can see them, but he tries to protect them as much as he can. Sometimes he can’t though. Satoru’s parents want him to start training his son as well, after all, Seiji is a descendent of the Gojo clan but Satoru doesn’t want to do that. He wants his kids to be free of this all.

That’s not his decision to make though.

“Everything’s gonna be okay while daddy is here.” Satoru reassures them. He kisses the top of their heads, and just holds them while he can.

“What happened?” You show up a little too late. Getting up from your bed is the hardest exercise that you face lately. Satoru chuckles, it’s not like you’re really going to understand anyway. He doesn’t want you to.

“The kids are sleeping with us tonight, honey.” Satoru says, picking both Seiji and Saori from the bed and carrying them to your bedroom. You slowly follow behind, already out of breath by simply getting up from bed and going to Seiji’s bedroom.

When you stand in the doorway, you watch how Satoru tucks them in the middle of the bed, filling their faces up with kisses. Maybe it wasn’t exactly planned, but you’re glad you’re with him and the fact that he’s the father of your kids. Now, as his wife, you can’t imagine spending the rest of your days with someone else and you can’t imagine a father more perfect than him– Of course he has his flaws but they hardly poke through.

He often asks if you think he’s doing well as a parent, worried that he’s messing everything up. You can’t even begin to say how proud you are of him, and how you think he’s a far better parent than you are. He loves to remind them that their father is always there to help them, protect them, and love them. Maybe that’s why you agreed to have a third child with him, plus the process is always fun.

“I love you two so much.” Satoru says, and while he should lay down with them, he’s no longer tired, and when he looks back at you it seems like you aren’t tired anymore either. “We’ll be right back, do you want to watch some TV for a bit?”

They nod their heads and Satoru turns the television on. They’re too agitated to go to sleep as well. Letting them stay up for half an hour isn’t the end of the world. He then walks over to you, and throws his arm over your shoulder. You walk out of the room and go downstairs to the living to sit down for a moment and talk. It’s rare that you find yourself alone to just talk.

When you take a seat, a moan leaves your lips, and he furrows his brow. You grab his hand and put it over your belly, and your baby doesn’t waste time kicking. No matter how many times he’s felt it, it always amazes him. He always looks so in awe, and he doesn’t remove his hand until his baby kicks a couple more times. He then pecks your lips, muttering, “Thank you so much for this.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts because this is the last time we’ll have a kid.” You tell him, and he sweetly smiles at you, pecking your lips again. You rest your head on his shoulder for a minute, and he enjoys the moment. You appreciate the unusual silence. You’ve gotten used to so much noise, and you’ll grow to miss it if you sit in silence for too long. You still appreciate it.

“How’s Kaya?” He asks, interrupting the silence.

“She’s planning the baby shower. She’s going crazy.” You respond, and you hear him chuckle.

“Isn’t she due soon? She shouldn’t be stressing over a baby shower.” He says and you hum in response. You wouldn’t know either way, you opted out for a baby shower the second time around since you were already stressed enough planning a wedding and handling Seiji. Every time you’re reminded, you laugh due to the fact that your father was right about the fact that Satoru would knock you up months after Seiji’s birth.

“She’s due around Halloween– Maybe two weeks before Saori’s birthday.” You answer. That’s so soon, Satoru only prays that her water doesn’t break during the baby shower and that he has to handle all the chaos. Satoru knows Daisuke is absolutely freaking out about it all; Satoru knows that feeling all too well, he’s still freaking out even though this is his third baby.

“Our baby will finally have a little cousin this time around.” Satoru comments and you chuckle. Seiji didn’t need a cousin, he had his younger sister. This new baby doesn’t though, and you’re adamant on not having more kids which he understands since he’s not the one that carries them for nine months.

“What ended up happening in the kid’s room?” You ask, and Satoru takes a long minute to answer. There’s no point in lying. He lied so much to you when you first met, he can’t do that anymore while you’re his wife. You swore you’d leave him if you ever caught him in a lie again, and now he tells you the truth even when you can’t see it. He doesn’t see the point in telling you a problem that you can’t solve.

“Well… Uhm… A curse.” He answers, and you remove your head from his shoulder. You slowly nod your head in response, and you aren’t really sure how to answer that other than,

“Oh yeah…” There’s some things that you’ll never understand about them nor about your husband. You don’t like to think about the fact that there are some issues that you’ll never be able to help them out with, only Satoru can help them.

You sit in absolute silence for a minute as you get lost in your thoughts. Satoru watches you, wondering what goes on in your mind.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you sigh. You can’t try to play it off as if you’re okay because you expect him to remain honest with you, it’s hypocritical to lie to him.

“Yeah, it’s just… What if you aren’t around and a similar issue comes up. How would I handle that?” You ask, and he wraps his arm around you, bringing you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head, his hand going down to rest on your belly. “I just feel useless for some stuff, Satoru.”

“You aren’t useless, baby.” He responds. He doesn’t want for you to think about this– He doesn’t want to think that you’re useless in any way. It makes him recall an incident from five years ago, and he hid the truth to not worry you. “Can I confess a lie I told you?”

“Better be from before we got married.” There’s a frown on your face, and Satoru chuckles.

“You remember when Seiji was three and Saori two, how they went running to you crying about a bug that you could not find?” Satoru asks, and you remember the incident clear as day. You were scared shitless but you still went after the bug to kill it; when you couldn’t find it and they kept crying about it, you just comforted them while Satoru dealt with the problem. “There wasn’t a bug, it was a curse. But you still managed to deal with the problem, even when you didn’t know what it was.”

“That does make me feel better.” You smile at him before kissing his lips. “I love you. You always know the right thing to say.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Seiji, stop!” Saori yells at her brother who keeps messing around with her tiara. You’ve already struggled getting into a kangaroo onesie to go out with them, you’re already far too tired to stop their bickering. You have no idea why you agreed to go trick-or-treating with them, you doubt you can walk too much. In your defense, you promised you’d do it two months ago, and your circumstances now are much different than before. You should’ve known that by Halloween you’d be in a much different mood. You only glance at Satoru, who lays down on the bed and stares at the phone, and he stands up to deal with it. “Seiji!”

“Seiji, what are you doing?” Satoru yells, walking out of the bedroom to go to where his kids are at. Satoru crosses his arm as he looks down at the seven-year-old who wears a superhero costume, ready to go trick-or-treating. Seiji tries to play it off as if he’s doing nothing, but he’s holding his sister’s tiara in his hands. Satoru sternly says, “Give it back and apologize.”

Seiji drags his feet, walking over to his sister to give her back her tiara. When Saori gets her tiara back, she runs to her father’s side and hugs him. He picks his little princess up from the floor and kisses her forehead. She sticks her tongue out at Seiji, making Satoru sigh and say, “Don’t do that.”

“Mommy! Saori is being mean to me!” He yells, hoping to have a parent by his side. You’re forced to leave your room to deal with it, even after your efforts of not dealing with it.

“What’s happening?” You ask. You look at Satoru and Saori before looking down at Seiji. Before Seiji responds, Satoru says,

“I got it handled, honey.” He puts Saori down on the floor again, “Apologize to your brother, Saori.”

“What for?” She responds, giving her father doe-eyes, which always work. He looks away, at his son.

“Apologize to Seiji for sticking your tongue out at him.” Saori crosses her arms before dramatically turning to her brother. She mutters an apology which is good enough for the minor offense. When you’re no longer needed, you begin to walk away, but you don’t get too far before your name is called again.

“Is Megumi still going with us?” Seiji asks, and you nod your head in response. You then look at your husband.

“Change. We have to get going soon so we get home early.” You order, and Satoru has no option but to do as you say. That’s what he signed up for when he chose to marry you.

When you’re back in your room, you lay down on your bed, grabbing a picture frame that’s beside your bed and looking over it because every time Megumi is brought up you’re reminded of the little family you had six years ago. It’s an old photo of baby Seiji, Megumi, and Tsumiki. Looking at Tsumiki’s precious smile almost always makes you cry, and when the tears well up, they spill as you laugh at Megumi’s awful smile.

Maybe you should’ve appreciated those times more, but you had a lot on your plate. It’s not like you can stop time or stop awful things from happening. You’re still happy with your life right now.

The picture frame is snatched from your hands, and you glare at your husband. He looks at the picture before he puts it down on the nightstand. He leans down, and kisses you, “Don’t start getting sentimental now, it’ll ruin your night.”

“I’ll try not to.” You respond. He takes a seat on your side of the bed, his hands resting on your belly.

“I got a call.” He announces, and it makes your brows raise. He clears his throat, “We’ll have to go trick or treating without me. It’s an emergency.”

“Oh?” You reply. You want to be upset about it, but you know he doesn’t do it on purpose. Satoru is the first one to be bummed out about missing time with his kids. “I can take the kids out.”

“No! I want you to stay here till I get home.” He sounds defensive, and you know better. It’s rare when Satoru says no, so you’ll listen. He pecks your lips, telling you, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His head goes down and he presses a couple of kisses on your belly before he promises,

“I promise, I’ll be back as soon as possible. We gotta take these kids trick-or-treating together.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #anime #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo saturo

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unconventional-lawnchair · 1 month

Text

We'll heal together: Chapter Six

Seven Taylor Swift

Sirius Black x Reader (Past) / Severus Snape x Reader (Platonic-Past)

Masterlist

Summary: The reader reminisces on some old friends of hers. Harry starts seeing a curious fox.

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Mean Snape, Slut shaming, Curses, Avery and Mulciber, Fights, mentions of child abuse, toxic friendships (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 5462

A/n: This is mostly more filler for the characters relationships

You only stopped when you reached the road. Looking all around, you allowed yourself to transform back. You truly hoped that you already passed the hardest part of your escape plan. You knew you had to get to king's landing, there were other trains to take you to and from Hogwarts Valley, as to how to get there…

You wondered, slowly raising your wand to the street and took a deep breath. Here goes it. “Lumos.”

You gave it a few minutes before you grew anxious and began to look around the street. It felt like an hour had passed, maybe more, but the moon hadn't even shifted in the sky. “Heyy! Witch in distress here!” You wiggled your arms about. “Lost and uhm.. stranded and all!” You shouted and put your hands on your hips. Tapping your foot, you clicked your tongue and began to wonder if the Knight Bus was even a thing anymore.

As if to spite your skepticism you suddenly heard the rowdy bus. Eyes snapping up to it with a bright smile. That's more like it.

You could have sworn the Knight Bus drove more responsibly in your younger years. Maybe you were just used to the humdrum of muggle life, the slow and easy. Regardless, you managed to get to kings crossing in one piece. Shifting into a fox and hiding in one of the upper compartments in the near empty train was simpler then you thought it would be.

So much nostalgia rushed through you as you passed the magical barrier to the platform. You walked and skittered past people, hiding in their luggage and hopping from cart to cart to get inside the train. You walked down the mostly empty train car, beady eyes taking in the familiar interior. It felt like it was from another lifetime. A lifetime that was so cruelly ripped from you.

“Excuse me!” You heard a high pitched feminine voice call out to you. Turning your head, you saw a young girl. She had long red hair that reached her back, bright green eyes and a stern determined look. Pulled together with a slight pout, she looked ages wiser than her baby cheeks would lead you to believe.

“Uhm.. Hello?” You called back, turning to look at her fully. You weren't used to people coming up to you without your parents present, most who were forced to be meek and reserved, respectful with you as if you were the superior. At least, that's what your father always told you and everyone else around. As if the memory reminded you, you straightened your back and tried to put on a sour expression of indifference that your mother taught you to do. She was the master of it after all. “How can I assist you?” You asked in a much more mature and collected tone.

The red head seemed physically thrown for a loop at your sudden change in demeanor. She waved it off as she looked back at her father who was hovering around her sobbing sister, Petunia having an absolute fit and sobbing louder whenever their parents even glanced where you two stood. You winced and turned up your lip.

Lily’s look turned apologetic, before she looked around quickly and waved her parents off.

“I found someone, mum, da! I’ll be fine!” She called back as you looked around her form to get a better look at the three family members. They looked… Well, a lot like your family’s friends. Snobbish and thick headed. Who you assumed was her father called over.

“Good! Good! Don't be late!” He dismissed her, not looking up as he offered Petunia a stuffed doll and her mom didn't even acknowledge her as she tried to appease the little terror they created. They looked relieved as they left their little girl in the middle of the train station alone. At least your parents knew you were meeting the Potters. Well, you were, if your parents' poor planning didn't end up with you missing your meeting time.

“Was that your sister?” You asked with a gawk, and Lily slowly nodded.

“Unfortunately. I actually was coming to ask you, did you uhm.. Get summoned by a letter too?” Lily leaned closer to you and you purse your lips. What an odd way to phrase it, but you didn't think about it for too long.

“You’re looking for platform nine and three quarters, yeah? Here.” You took her hand without thinking. She was nice, she was like the sun and it brought you a bit of a gooey feeling. Watching that unfold gave you an unexplainable protective feeling of the red head, so you pulled her along. Lining up your carts.. You gestured to the wall and she gave you a scandalized look. “What?”

“The wall. You run at it.” You implored and the girl scoffed. “I may be new to this, but I'm not an utter fool.”

“Like to make a wager?” You mused, allowing yourself to be more playful, she reminded you of the safety James brought you, she was such a soothing presence, you slipped into yourself easily. “Ten Galleons says I walk straight through that wall.”

“What on earth are Galleons?” Lily asked in a bemused tone and your eyes shot open wide at the question.

That's how you met Lily Evans. Your best friend for the next ten years of your life.

You two eventually made it to the train, walking down the train car corridor, laughing at some stupid mistake Lily had made, leading to a domino line of luggage falling over and crashing open. You two ran as fast as you could to the train before you were spotted.

“Merlin, we are lucky the Blacks didn't notice that!” You giggled, and Lily gave an easily bright but confused smile. “Blacks?”

You tilted your head at her, your smile remaining but turning confused. What a strange girl. She didn't want to talk about Hogwarts out loud? Now she expects you to believe she hasn't heard of the Black family? It was like she was completely foreign,

“Blacks, the pureblood family?” You pushed and before she could respond a voice called out to her from down the corridor. You both looked up and saw a boy, slightly taller than you both, with an annoyed look as he gestured for her to follow him to his compartment. Lily looked at you and gestured over.

“Lily?” You asked as you made it to the door and slipped in. you raised your luggage above your head as the black haired boy lifted up Lily’s and put it away for her.

“Oh! Right! My name is Lily, Lily Evans.” She lit up and held out her hand. You mirrored her look and took her hand in your own.

“{Y/N}! {Y/N} {L/N}.” You introduced and she nodded, mouthing your name as if to get used to the feel on her tongue. You began to shift and make faces at her, trying to copy her, until she noticed and playfully shoved you.

You fell on your seat in a fit of giggles and looked across from you, seeing the quiet boy was already staring at you. You tilted your head and leaned forward, feet kicking out from under your seat. “Hello! Nice to meet you! I’m-”

“{Y/N} {L/N}. The {L/N} family is quite famous.” He snarked back in a sarcastic tone and your face fell, slowly leaning back into your seat. Right. Being around Lily had you forgetting who you were. She was a dangerous kind of fun.

“Yeah...” You mumbled and the boy sneered.

“You are aware Lily Evan’s is muggle born, yeah?” he challenged and your jaw went slack. Oh Merlin, you didn't even think about that. Your father would have your head if he knew you were running around with Mudb- Muggle borns. But Lily was nothing like how your father described, she was quite fun and smart, at least to your twelve year old brain.

“Is that true?” You asked Lily in a low whisper and Lily pursed her lips. Seems this wasn't the first time she was asked this.

“.. I am.” She answered cautiously and Snape watched you like a hawk as you pouted and deflated. “My dad would be so mad if I told him I was friends with a Muggle born. I am already pushing it with the company I keep, he says.”

Lily pouted and she looked like a kicked puppy, her eyes big and pout heart breaking. You three sat in silence for a moment before Lily spoke up again.

“Do you have to tell him?” She asked and your head snapped over to her. “What? Of course I do.” You mumbled and she narrowed her eyes.

“Why?”

“W-well he's my father, and I can't lie to him.” You argued and she tilted her head.

“But why?”

That stunned you for a moment. When you were younger, the fear of lying was debilitating. Your father could always look into your mind and sort anything out for himself, so the more truth you told the less you would have to deal with the pain. He was cruel and your younger mind has made him out to be an all seeing eye, just daring you to slip up so he could show you just why people feared him. Just why you should fear him too.

“I..”

“He wont find out, I won't tell a soul, would you Severus?”

The raven haired boy, Severus, seemed stunned by the question. Of course, he caved, and muttered a ‘no.’

Lily had that effect on people. One look in her eyes and you would do anything you were asked of, she had you and Severus wrapped around the very pinkie finger she used to promise you her silence since day one.

Little did you know, a few more months to come, and she would be much the same with you. Lily, Severus, and {Y/N}, would be names that would find themselves in each other's company for years to come. Their names and the tragedy that would follow.

It was morning by the time the train stopped at the Hogsmeade station. You huffed and dragged yourself to your paws. Once you scampered off the train it was much easier to follow the trail. Students were in their classes, and truly, no adult seemed to give a damn about you. You were just another woodland creature. If you did manage to catch someone’s eye, it wasn't hard to lose it in the edges of the forbidden forest.

You chose to stalk deeper into the forest, eventually being able to follow the river up stream, the one that ran straight from the Black Lake. Once you made it out and stumbled across the field. A feeling settled in your stomach you remembered all too well. Regret, hurt, pain, your ears pinned back,you remembered the day so clearly, as you stared at the tree that used to represent your little trio’s friendship. It was hard, being both Severus Snape and James Potter’s friends. When Lily told James around year 3 that if he wanted to impress her to lay off of Snape, you two thought it would be the end of their stupid fights.

That lasted exactly two years.

It has been days since you got your acceptance letter. The weekend that followed you had been a whirlwind of meeting the most remarkable people to ever work as Aurors, working alongside heroes everyday.. Well, from the inside of your cubicle. Your relationship with Alastor moody was shaky at best, but you went in with an impression to make. You weren't just there because your father, or your family, the very two things that did everything in their power to try and stop you from getting in. You came back to school Monday on cloud 9, you felt remarkable for the first time in your life and not because you were told you were.

Not from some suck up, or from your blood status obsessed family. You were remarkable because you worked to get to that point on your own. You had to remember to thank Slughorn for introducing you to the people who ran the program at his Slug club.

There was one person you had not been able to talk to since you got your letter. Severus. Being in the same house you would figure that you two saw a lot of each other. However, he had made some new friends. Friends you didn't exactly like. Avery, for example. He had been trying to get in your good graces since you met him, you knew why, it was painfully clear he wanted the connection to your father and you refused to be a vessel for that. He also spent more time with Mulciber as well.

That boy was a piece of work. You had made your feelings on him known to Snape early on in their twisted little friendship. He had done horrid things to the muggle borns, not to mention how he seemed to get some sick gratification from targeting the weaker women of the school. He had a passion for making any witch with what he called a ‘loud mouth’ his personal target. You had managed to avoid him, aside from a few crude comments here and there about your blood status and making himself known to your father as a potential suitor.

They were vile and whenever you mentioned the behavior to Snape he would simply scoff and go on rants about how you and Lily were never around because you two seemed to worship the ground the boys who tormented him for years walked on. You would always counter by saying he wasn't exactly innocent in their interactions, but it would always dissolve into stupid and petty fights. He would go for blood every chance he got, making sure you knew he prioritized Lily in every interaction.

Maybe that was when your friendship started to crumble. You knew what he said was to hurt you, that he would never truly mean it. Just like his accusations that you cared more about Potter than him, the length of your friendship meant nothing, and you knew he cared for you more than he cared for most.

And you him.

It got exhausting, however, taking his hurt for yourself. Putting it all on your shoulders as he lashed out for any evidence you cared for him still. It hurt to grow up, clinging to people you knew were bad for you. Severus Snape was bad for you. Saying that out loud broke your heart, because you were still young, and you would still always care for him, you didn't know a thing he could do or say to you that would push you away. Not for long. Because he was someone you knew, someone not many people got to know.

Severus Snape, the boy who would nag you for not bringing your cloak to Quidditch games but allow you to use his. Snape was the one who would nag you for your grades and give you his study notes. The boy who would absolutely ruin your confidence in potions after a simple mistake, and bring you candy from Honeydukes as an apology. Maybe that was it. He never said it. All the times you told him you cared for him like the rain cares for the breeze, Like how kindling cares for fire. You cared so much you made something dangerous, and it destroyed you.

Still, you held onto that hope that maybe, maybe. He would come around and put down his pride just,,, set it aside for you. It never happened. It did happen for Lily, but she never had to try for him. She didn’t know the times you had to pick up the pieces of him she shattered. It wasn't her fault, not her fault he refused to say it. He would let you know when you hurt him, never that he cared. He would let Lily know he cared, but never when she pushed him too far.

Yet you were the one to destroy it. You always took the blame. You let it happen, as what you had was turning fragile, and you weren't ready to give up on him just yet.

So here you were, walking down the halls to go and tell Snape the news, Because he was your friend, and because he never had to guess if you cared or not. This was his chance. He just needed to show he cared.

You made it to the dungeons but paused as you heard familiar voices fill the halls. You quickly froze and slipped behind a pillar to hide away. Bloody hell, what's your luck? He’s with the two nimrods.

“You know, even if she's a bit of a harlot.” You heard Avery quip and you rolled your eyes. You prayed for whatever poor soul the boys were talking about.

“She's always around those boys, heard she's doing Remus. A half blood? Go figure,” You heard the snake that was Mulciber speak up next. Your face turned sour and you narrowed your eyes. No.. He wouldn't let them talk about you like that, right? You bit your cheek and continued to listen.

“I wouldn't be surprised if she's doing all of them. That Potter boy and her have been friends since they were kids, can't say I'd keep a witch around that long if she didn't help me out once and a while.” Avery snickered and Mulciber chuckled.

‘True, and that Peter kid is like her pouch pooch. Maybe that's why Sirius hates her so much, shiny new toy and he doesn't have all the boys attention anymore.”

You took some even breaths and steadied your hands that shook with this sudden shock of nausea. Come on Snape. Say something.

“Talking about friends, Snape, you're close to her yeah? Ever had a go?”

Snape continued to look at his book with a bored expression, “I wouldn't touch her if she paid me.”

Your heart broke. Your eyes closed tight and you clenched your chest. You should of just walked away.

“Why's that? Too busy day dreaming about Evans? Cant say ive ever had a Mudblood before.” Mulciber snarked and Snape's book slammed closed.

“Don't call her that. Don't talk about her like that.”

That was your last straw. You turned sharply on your heel and walked past them. Dashing right up the stairs, You did not spare them a glance. If you had, you would have seen the look of shock and guilt all over Snape’s face.

You didn't remember running, or what you were thinking. But there you were, at the Fat Lady, trying to hide your tears in your sleeve as you knocked. You tried to mutter acknowledgement to the painting as she cooed and tried to comfort you as you waited, but nothing but a sob came out.

The door opened and you faced Marlene. The girl gasped and didn't even think before she pulled you in and closed the painting.

Next thing you knew, you were wrapped up in a warm blanket you knew to be Peter’s, a cup of warm brown liquid you used for steam to clear your nose enough to breathe. You knew this mug. It was Remus’s. You tried to stifle another onslaught of tears, as Marlene robbed your back from where you laid on her lap.

Peter was helping to take off your shoes and talking about his day to you. He knew you weren't listening, but giving you something to fill the silence. Remus had gone to get James, and Lily was rushing down the stairs when she heard you were in tears. Mary and Alice were not far behind.

When everyone was there you begrudgingly told them what happened. You watched their expressions. Your heart melted a bit, at how they seemed to react to the news. They were repulsed, not just for Lily, but for you. You had never seen James so calm, so careful with his words despite his clear anger.

You set the drink down and slowly melted into the comfort you friends offered, not even noticing as James dragged the boys aside to talk about something. You just let yourself be coddled as you did your best to forget Snape’s words.

The next day was better. You had Remus escort you back to the Prefect dorms, your walk was quiet but you felt safer then you had that entire day. He made an excuse to Slughorn as to why you weren’t there for your duties. He was even there early to your dorm in the morning to make sure you got out of bed on time and got ready. Honestly, you felt guilty, enjoying his presence so much.

You went through most of the day like that, until your free period. You were shocked to see Remus wasn't waiting for you, instead, Lily was. You smiled and you both linked arms to walk down to the field. You were still mad at Severus, so you hoped he wasn't there. On some degree, you have to admit, you wanted to yell at him, shout and tear him apart like he did to you.

But you couldn't. Because he was your friend, and because he never had to guess with you. He knew. That hurt worse.

As you both made it down to the Black Lake, you and Lily froze at the sight laid out in front of you.

Snape, dangled upside down by his ankle as James and Sirius threw taunts his way.

“James Potter!” Lily shouted and ran down the hill, you weren't really thinking before you shouted a spell at James, “Expelliarmus!”

His wand was smacked out of his hand, and next came Lily’s palm across his face. Sirius gave a low whistle at the contact. You ran down and slowed Snapes fall, “Severus! Are you okay?” You asked and tried to help him up.

“Get off of me!” He snapped at you. You flinched away with wide eyes and he snarled at you. “Always to the rescue, huh, {L/N}? Compensating for your name sake?”

He shouted out in anger and you let him. Again, letting him tear you apart. But this was different. He didn’t stop. He didn't calm down. His words just got sharper. You waited, this was the first time he berated you in front of a crowd.

“You see what they've done to me for years and you still pick them! You still hang around them! I don't need your pity! I don't need your help!” He snapped and Lily walked over cautiously, knowing your choice to handle Snape’s temper was always to let it pass. She didn't want to aggravate you. “Severus-”

“Not now you worthless Mudblood!” He shouted, eyes still narrowed on you. That gave you the perfect view of his eyes going as wide as an owl as he realized what had left his lips. He turned on his heel and stared at Lily whose jaw was slack and eyes turning glossy. She turned sharply and began to run off, and you let your face fall into your palms.

Remus was by your side in a second, wrapping his arms around you and ignoring Snape as his mouth opened and closed like a fish, muttering pathetic apologies.

“Let’s go.” Remus muttered, you could feel how he was tensing, holding himself back, You simply listened. Everything had happened so fast. You just remember how he looked at you when you glanced back. Pathetic. He looked like he was going to fall to his knees. If he did, Remus didn't let you see it. Last thing you saw was James running after Lily towards the castle. As Remus leads you off to docks, away from everyone's eyes.

You winced at the memory, eyes slowly lidding as you carefully stalked around the place it all happened, eyes locked on it, like it would come running after you. Once you had made enough distance you dashed off to the school. Slipping passed the gate with practiced ease, your eyes trailed up and your mawl dropped open in shock. Dementors? What in Merlin's sweet name were they doing here?

You pushed the thought aside, you didn't want to think about it. The great thing about having them as guards, however, not a single one noticed you as you made it to the school grounds.

You looked around before hurrying off and around the field. You stopped as you noticed the Quidditch court, with red ribboned boys flying around. It took you exactly three seconds to ponder if James Potter’s son would be in Gryffindor, and on their team.

If a fox could click their tongue, you would. Hurrying out further across the bridge, you snuck your way under the large tarps that covered the scaffolding. Slipping your way up and over, you managed to get a viewpoint from between the benches.

You didn't have to look long. As if on instinct, your eyes found him. A seeker too, you wondered if he was as cocky as James in the field. Slowly, your little tail began to shuffle around in excitement. He looked so much like James, but you could also see the boy you held all those years ago.

He was running his heart out, you watched his eyes follow after something you couldn't see, before he launched himself forward with a brilliant smile. Oh that smile.

“{Y/N}! Sirius! Come in!” You heard Lily's voice call from the living room. You and him were holding gifts, you had brought an empty photo album and several of your enchanted photos from Hogwarts, ready to sit down with Lily and make a time capsule of sorts for Harry when he went. Something with a cheesy ‘now it's your turn’ at half way for him to finish off.

Sirius had brought some dishes he made with your help, so Lily and James didn't have to cook for the next few months while Harry was still small.

“Where is my nephew?!” Sirius demanded in a playful rawr, walking into the living room, shoving the dishes onto James who sighed and waxed on about being forgotten for a tot. As he passed you to get to the kitchen you got on your toes and kissed his cheek, that seemed to satisfy the attention quota of his.

You walked deeper in and lit up at the sight of Lily, handing over the little bundle to Sirius. He looked so happy holding Harry, it made your heart flutter. You bit your lip and tried to fend off the baby fever.

Setting down the book and photos you walked over to Lily. She held the couch to stand and when you opened your arms she practically collapsed into yours. You giggled and pressed your nose to her cheek and she gave a sigh of approval. “Missed you.” She mumbled and you nodded. “Missed you too.”

You broke away from each other with a quick peck on the cheek, and you turned to meet the wrap of blankets in your fiancés arms.

“Oh, look at you.” You cooed and Sirius smiled at you. “Cute one, ain't he?”

“Very.” You agreed and reached over to let him grab your finger. He lit up in a smile and you mimicked it, sticking out your tongue and gave a delighted gasp when it made him giggle. Sirius chuckled.

“I've never been good with kids.” You admitted sheepishly.

“Neither of us. Guess we have our exception.” He teased and you rolled your eyes fondly at him. “For now.” You whispered against his sleeve and Sirius's smile twitched before James returned and spoke up.

“Now that you're here, we wanted to talk to you about something before Remus gets here.” He mused in a serious tone, arm wrapping around Lily's waist as she leaned into him. You felt your heart swell with how love struck Lily looked at James.

“Oh?” Sirius mused and rested Harry in your arms. You looked down at him and smiled, he again, returned it with a fit of giggles. Oh he was just precious. Oh wow, James Potter, the kid you wouldn't have trusted to watch your owl for a weekend had a small human. One he needed to make sure stayed fed. And breathing.

“Good luck little guy.” You mumbled to him, in your own little world. “You're gonna need it. Call Auntie {Y/N} whenever you need me.” You gushed.

James fell silent for a moment as he watched you coddle his son. Lily smiled brighter as she looked at Sirius, no other word to describe him but love sick. Absolutely destroyed with what he was seeing.

“About that.” James cut in and you looked over at James with a pout. He laughed before you could even snap at him. “Before you kill me.”

“We were looking into a godparent for little Hars.” Lily whispered and your eyes widened, looking at Sirius.

“I wanted Sirius, Lily wanted you.” James continued and you gave the most offended expression you've ever made. “How dare you! I've known you since diapers!”

“Exactly what I told Lily when I tried to argue what a horrible idea it was.” James snickered and Lily hit him with her elbow.

“So, we compromised. A godmother and godfather.” Lily finished and your jaw went slack, you looked at Sirius with wide hopeful eyes and he returned the look.

“Y-yes! Yes of course!” You declared quickly and Sirius nodded vigorously before he pulled James into a tight hug. “I'll keep him safe.”

You walk up closer to Lily and she leans her chin on your shoulder. “And I'll make sure he's a proper bloke.” You quipped and Sirius playfully scoffed. “Define proper bloke.”

“Not you.” You teased and he wet his lips with a bright smirk. You turned to Lily and James, tucking Harry on your shoulder. “You two should get some rest. We'll watch Harry for the rest of the day.” You mused and Sirius didn't complain. Taking Harry from you.

“Oh, {Y/N}, you really don't-”

“Go go! Begone! It's godparent bonding time!” You scolded and James laughed, nudging Lily. “I'll run you a bath.” He muttered into her hair and she sighed blissfully. “Sounds like heaven.”

Oh they were love.

You and Sirius stayed that whole night. Cleaning up around the place, taking care of Harry, and keeping the volume low. Remus came over and you and him worked to distract Harry and Sirius took a nap. That really only consisted of him staring at the muggle tv and flicking through channels. When the actual parents returned you and Sirius went home.

You went home and had one of the most vicious fights you had ever had.

You shook the thought from your head as you watched Harry land. Slipping through the benches and squeezing your body onto the platform you watched from above before you hurried down the stars behind a fluffy haired girl. She ran on the court, joined by a very familiar redhead.

You stopped just outside the pitch in the grass, watching as everyone packed up and Harry talked to his friends with such life in his eyes. Your own eyes trailed up to his scar before you tilted your head. You still had a lot of questions on your mind. But now, now was time for observing. His smile, it reminded you so much of your days within these walls. The days you spent with James and Lily, running down the halls and making fools of yourself. You hoped he was having a similar childhood.

You watched him for a few minutes, before he seemed to register your presence. His eyes flicked over to you and you two shared eye contact.

Harry could have sworn to Merlin that the look you gave him, he'd seen before. Just like that, in the meer moments you were there, you were gone. Slithering your way into the forest and into a small den. You scratched your neck out, shaking your fur vigorously, a sign of stress as you tried to figure out what to do next. You didn't want to leave Harry, you didn't want him out of your sight ever again, but you also didn't want Moody sending an Auror strike to find you. Eventually, you relented. You'd go back, practice your apperation again and again until you were able to make it from Wesley's to the forest. You knew you could do it, you'd done it from farther away. You took a deep breath and transformed back.

Time to unrust some wheels.

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Miscarriage, death of a foetus, blood, depression, anger, angst, grief.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello sweethearts, please read the trigger warnings for this one. Tread carefully as always, and I love you all. I have absolutely LOVED seeing you all talking and thinking and even plotting on what is happening! Makes me so happy <3

Chapter 91: The Absence of Three

Aemond escorted you back to your chambers as you whimpered and hissed in pain. It was so overwhelming, and unlike anything you felt before. The pain came in waves, and it felt like your hips were being crushed together, your whole core clenching in agony.

Aemond kept asking you what was wrong, kept whispering to you what was happening, and each time he came to your side as you clutched the back of the chaise, another wave crashing through you, you grit your teeth and pushed him away with a curse.

“I shall fetch the Maester.”

“He’s dead.” You growled, hands rubbing against the front of your dress as anxiety climbed higher and higher within you.

“I shall fetch the other.”

“No.” You snipped, doubling over again.

And then you felt it.

Something wet and warm between your legs which felt familiar and foreign all at once. But you knew. Of course you knew. Because your body knew.

Aemond watched in confusion as you reached a hand beneath your skirts, grunting as you moved under the different layers.

Just as you mother once had.

Your fingertips pressed against the warm, wetness, and with slow movements, you brought it back out and away, your hand hovering in front of you.

But you knew.

You already knew.

They were covered in blood.

“What’s happening?” Aemond asked, spotting the blood.

But it was too late.

And you knew.

And he knew that too, but he was in denial. A sick and twisted attempt to undo what had been done, to have faith in his precious Seven that the child would be saved.

But deep down, he knew, just as you did.

It felt like the day your mother had lost your sister. Now only you in her place.

Is this what she had felt? Was this the agony she had endured?

But Rhaenyra's pregnancy was further along than yours, and she had to give birth to the body of your sister who was already still.

Would you face the same fate?

Agony rolled through you again, and you sobbed. Aemond rushed to your side, holding your back and one arm as you grunted. You squeezed his hand as the pain did not let up, nor ease.

As if thinking he could help, the fool that he was, the man that he was, for men don't truly know the horrors of being a woman, Aemond raced towards the door and called for the knight to bring the Maester.

You laughed humourlessly at him, watching as he turned around in confusion, your knuckles white against the back of the chaise.

“It’s too late.” You sobbed angrily, pushing away from the chaise as you stumbled towards the wardrobe, bending over as your hand reached behind it, Aemond watching with a hawklike expression.

“What are you doing?” His brows were furrowed from across the room, rooted to the spot as he watched you rummage at a wall.

“Something I should have done in the first place.” You spat back at him, pain, and anger, and grief moving through you. Your fingers finally found what they were looking for, grazing the small vial that you had wedged there, not too long ago.

Aemond took slow steps towards you, suspicion in his eye as you whimpered once again. With great determination, you pulled the vial from the wall, uncorking it with your teeth and bringing it to your lips.

The ruta root slid down the vial and into your waiting mouth.

Aemond stormed towards you, snatching the vial from your hand as he looked at it. You chewed hastily and swallowed, ignoring the foul taste on your tongue.

Aemond looked ready to break, his hand grasping your cheeks painfully, forcing you to open your mouth as his eye searched inside, finger following to try and feel or scoop what you had eaten, only to find nothing but remnants of the root.

“What have you done?” He asked in a rush, panic in his voice.

He thought you were trying to kill yourself.

“Ensured that it’s dead.” You sneered, the vile, bitter taste of the root on your tongue.

“What?” Aemond breathed, “Where did you get that?” The Prince panicked, looking at the vial in his hand once more as he turned it over rapidly.

“A parting gift from our Maester.” You grit, pushing away from him, and limping back towards the fire.

You stood by the chaise again, leaning against its back as your fingers dug into the wood. You bent forward, hand against your stomach in pain as another wave of agony rolled through you.

Aemond rushed towards you, trying to guide you to sit, but you slapped his hands away, irritation and pain and anger continuing to swallow you whole. The Prince stood and stared at you with his brow drawn, obvious fear in his eye as he watched you whimper and whine.

It was all too much. All too much.

Everything was too much. But your body took over, inhaling deeply despite your lungs feeling withered, and your throat feeling shut. A pain that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Something that was concentrated and spread out, as though it was creeping up along your spine and into your ribcage.

Aemond moved from your periphery as another sob left your lips, a tear falling from your eye to drip onto the stone below.

When he came back to you, he did it carefully, whispering your name to coax you to look at him. And so you did. You looked at him with watery eyes, and a face full of agony and grief, and eyes flickering with rage.

Slowly, as though approaching a startled animal, Aemond lifted his hand. In his palm was a small cloth. A handkerchief or napkin, or perhaps even just a scrap of material. You did not know, nor did you care, as he moved to gently wipe at your face, swiping the light sheen of sweat that had gathered on your brow, and the stray tears that streaked down your cheeks.

Aemond waited for the Maester to arrive, tension in his shoulders as he hovered about you, unsure of how to tend to you as waves of contractions wracked your body.

“You did this.” You whispered, not looking at him, eyes locked on the fire place, where two dearly missed figures had begun to appear, “We lost the babe because of you.”

It was all a blur when the new Maester arrived, ordering you to lay in bed as he tried to give you Moon Tea to help with the continuation of the miscarriage. But you refused it, pushing it away from you, knowing the ruta root would do the job.

Aemond had ensured the Maester that he would get you to drink it, and had spoken quietly to him at the side of the room as to what to do if you became worse, or pale, or fevered with chill.

It was, in that moment, that you realised that this was the Maester that had once had sewn his face shut. A Maester who had tended to Aemond and his healing. A Maester that Aemond clearly trusted.

You lay in the bed in pain, feeling the wet blood between your thighs as you cried quietly.

It felt so familiar. To be in that bed, crying and bleeding.

Was it a curse? Was this what you were destined to? To be burdened with the pain of being a woman?

To be born a woman is to be cursed.

Another wave coursed through you and you curled on your side, clutching at your stomach as you tried to hum to yourself softly, anything to distract yourself from the pain that slid through you like a knife, your body reacting on its own, clenching and tensing.

Aemond sat himself on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he watched you cry and groan, shifting with the pain as your body began to get the urge to push.

It was so strange. It was just as Alicent said.

Your body would know what to do.

But it was too early.

And it was too late.

And the child that had begun to grow within you was gone.

Aemond brushed the hair that had stuck to your face from your sweat or tears, hushing you as the contractions rolled through you hotly.

You sobbed, grasping his hand as you squeezed, hoping to channel the pain through him.

“I’m sorry.”

The next days blurred together, and you found that you barely had the strength to leave the bed. The pain slowly subsided, but the sorrow had burrowed its way inside of you like mould. No matter how much you had tried to scrub it free, it would always come back.

The Maester had come to check on you multiple times a day, checking your condition, and ensuring that you passed the embryonic tissue completely.

It was after the third day that you found the strength to leave the bed. And it made you ache even more for you mother, as she lost her father, the throne and her daughter all in one day. She had to burn her daughter, and stand before the council, all in one day. She was crowned, all in one day.

She was stronger than you.

Stronger than most.

And you wished she was here.

As you shifted amongst the sheets, you moved to stand, but the sound of the sheets rustling caused Aemond to jump from his seat, padding across the chambers towards you as he offered you an arm, and held the top of yours gently.

Whincing, you shied away from his touch, “Please, don’t.”

“Let me help you.” Aemond insisted, and reached to try and grab your arm again.

Anger erupted from you, “You’ve helped plenty.” You snapped.

You moved slowly, grasping a cloak from its spot in the wardrobe, throwing it over your shoulders before slowly shuffling out of the chambers.

Pain was still in your body, grief was still in your chest.

You moved down to the Godswood, where you would always go and sit. To talk to the Gods. To talk to yourself. To simply be. But all you could do was think.

Did you do this to yourself?

When you thought of such things beneath its branches?

When you thought of losing the child to spite him?

Had you wished for this and the Gods had delivered?

That silken stillness of grief was back.

The leaves above you were quiet, no breeze to rustle them, nor birds to sing amongst their branches. It was all so quiet. So still. The world seemed to have stopped. Or it had stopped for you.

You sat for a time in your grief beneath the leaves of the Godswood, wondering what your child could have been, what they would have been like.

But it was not just the child that had been lost. You sat with the knowledge that the Maester was no longer here. And your allies in the Keep had dwindled dramatically.

Perhaps now, more than ever, was the time to ask for the star fruit.

But the eyes on you would be sharper right now, and your movements had to be more calculated and secretive moving forward.

They would all be waiting to you to act.

Or waiting for your family to react.

It was no longer as safe as you thought at the Red Keep.

Not that it ever really was.

Beneath the shade of the Godswood was where you sat until a familiar head of chestnut brown came to stand before you, a usual vision of green.

Alicent looked down at you sadly, and gave her shallow condolences.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, keeping your eyes to the branches of the tree instead of letting them drop to the woman before you.

If you looked down, you were sure tears would spill over.

“How are you faring?” She asked tentatively, tone gentle.

All that the Dowager Queen got in response, was a soft rustle of the breeze and the silence of nothing. She stood for a moment more, if only waiting for your resolve to break, for you to turn and face her, seek her out as a daughter, like the one she was missing.

But you didn’t.

And so the older woman left you to be alone with the Old Gods.

You counted your breaths, and mentally filled the cracks in your chest with a thick, goopy paste, similar to the one the Maester had given you.

You thought of each stroke of your hand, filling in the gaps with the paste until there was nothing left to show. As though the cracks were never there to begin with.

Each stroke of the paste you counted, and each stroke you inhaled deeply.

On the twenty-seventh stroke in your mind, the twenty-seventh breath in your lungs, and the twenty-seventh count in your head, the gentle sound of feet atop grass pulled your attention away from the mental image and repetitive motions.

But the person did not come to stand in front of you, nor did they move to stand beside you, or even pass through the small courtyard. Instead, the feet stopped on the opposite side of the tree, and the rustling of robes indicated they had sat down beneath the Godswood.

Just by the action alone, a habit, muscle memory, memory itself, you knew it was him.

Aemond had sat beneath the crimson leaves and white speckled bark of the ancient Weirwood tree, behind you and hidden away, much like how he did as a child. And though, you could not see him, you could feel his presence greatly.

It struck a cord in your already string plucked chest.

“I did not tell Larys.” He whispered to you, voice almost lost to the wind.

“I told no one of what you did.” Your uncle paused, and you rested you head back against the bark, looking up into the shadowed sky, “He must have found out through his spiders.”

And once again, you believed him.

It wasn’t him.

He had not told Aegon.

Larys had.

You are both silent for some time, basking in the familiarity of it all until you heard him shift, and soon a shadow was cast across you, for however brief it was, before he sat himself down. His shoulder gently brushed against yours as he sat close to you, yet made no move to touch you with his hands.

And you were thankful for it.

As you sat in the silence, your mind raced away from you again, the sticky paste that you had crammed into the cracks, slowly dripped away to reveal them once more. With each drip of the paste, another crack was revealed, and with each crack revealed, another chip of your resolve crumbled away.

You realised that Larys didn’t care for Alys.

You had threatened him, and told him there were things that he didn’t know in your stupidity. In your anger. And in your moment of triumph against him;

You had hinted that you had an ally.

And so he had spun his web, and waited for his prey to lay a foot on one of his strings.

The Maester got caught in the web that was crafted to catch him.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the branches together in the quiet knowing of your shared loss. Another thing that you would both endure. Another piece of grief to bring you two closer together.

“I don’t think I can survive much more loss, Aemond.” You whispered, surprising yourself to find your voice.

The One-Eyed Prince turned his head to finally look at you, hand coming to your lap to hold yours, touching the scar from the ceremony gently as he always did, almost as if he doesn’t believe that it is real.

As if he doesn’t believe that it is there.

That he would wake up one day, and you would be gone.

“I am sorry for my part in it.” His voice was steady.

Your heart clenched.

“No you’re not, because you wouldn’t let me suffer the way you do.” The words passed your lips, gentle and quiet, fragile as snow, the words lingering in delicate silk around you. A fatal movement of a hand could cause them to break, to crumple and fall apart. Even the breeze could blow too steadily, and whisk the silk threads away.

But they held strong. And they hovered above the two of you heavily.

“I am truly alone in this Keep.” You breathed.

You could feel Aemond’s eye on the side of your face, his hand tightening around yours.

“You are not alone.” He countered, head turned to look at you completely.

A small laugh escaped you, too tired to hold it in, too weary to stamp it out, and so you let it be, let it crackle from your dry lips that were bitten raw.

You looked down to where he held your hand. A hand that had hurt you. A hand that had taken from you. A hand that had given. A hand that had held, and caressed, and stroked. A hand that now loved, and cherished you.

The hand of the man who has so many sides.

“You and I both know that that is not the truth,” You confessed, “As much as we both wish otherwise.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

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