#dreamer reader

[i-will-give-you-love]

°𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖑𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘°

"𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔰. 𝔄 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔶𝔭𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯.

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯, 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔦𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯.

��𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔪 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤."

☆~~~ 🌙 ~~~☆

Hello! I drew this piece, based on our dear Dreamer Reader, in the concept of elden ring! Thank you so much @whitewitchqueen for expanding this wonderful fic idea! I read your answered asks and requests everyday, since I'm obsessed with Elden Ring currently!! So I drew fanart of the character I had in mind.

I hope you can guess who made that statue of reader lol. @whitewitchqueen has an answered request on who could've loved to make statues of reader lmao 😂

Please check her page out!! So much reading material to love from!❤️

Here's translated version, if no one can read the font lol:

"They say this statue brings thoughts of comfort and longing of desires. A feeling that can be sought out through the guise of a state of hypnotic slumber.

This statue was built under the bewitched hands of a powerful crusader, whom holds a fiery kindle of ember.

Beware to those whom dare lay harm on this effigy of yearning."

Thank you!

[beware-of-pity]

Pythia Hiereia - IV

Masterlist I Ao3 link I Chapter Three - Next

Harry James Potter x Reader

Tw: Mature and Explicit/Graphic depictions of violence.

Summary :

Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.

Chapter IV: This is a happy house (We're happy here, in the happy house)

. ⚯ ͛

The change of robes had been a hasty affair.

He did not wish to be reprimanded for entering the hall in his ‘muggle’ clothes.

When he reunited with you and Luna just at the steps of the door, his nose was still pouring out blood, even if less than before.

The handkerchief you’d given him was soaked red. The white cotton was sure to be left stained no matter how much washed it would be.

He felt bad.

It was a pretty thing with embroideries on the sides. He could spy the protruding needlework mark songbirds and roses, once blue and now a crusty deep red.

Blue. The same colour as the tie, stripes and crest of your uniform, the same as Luna’s beside you.

Ravenclaw.

Of course, you are. He thought. Fitting, he supposed. Great minds think alike, after all.

Therefore, it must have been you; he could only assume — the roommate Luna was talking about on the train.

Everywhere and nowhere at once, Luna was right. If until a month ago he didn’t know of your existence, it was as if you had entangled yourself in every way his life went.

The Great Hall was already brimming with students when the three of you walked in. Several students looked up from their meals, their gazes lingering on his blood-stained handkerchief and nose. In the light of the hall, Harry’s blood-spattered face is quite the sight.

Hermione spins, watching the three of you approach, concern etched on her face.

He leaves you and Luna to take his seat at the Gryffindor table, Ginny beside him, while you, hand in hand with Luna, walk towards the seats Choo had left you two.

His eye spies with his hand the way your cloak sways in the air and your hair bounces behind you, your perfume lingering up his nose still.

“Where’ve you been, Harry? And what happened to your face?” Hermione urges in great worry.

“Later” he dismisses “What I’ve missed?”

“Sorting Hat urged us all to be brave and strong in these troubled times -- easy for it to say -- it’s a hat, isn’t it? First Years seemed to enjoy it, though. Wankers.” Ron shrugs as he continues stuffing his pace with the gelatine in his golden plate.

Harry steals a spoonful of it, gulping the only bit of dinner he’ll get tonight.

He hadn’t noticed Ginny and Hermione’s eyes eying the handkerchief with curiosity.

“Where’d you get this from?” Asked Ginny, taking it from him and offering a damp napkin which to clean himself with.

Harry took the napkin, trying to clean the blood from his nose, which had now stopped leaking. "from a friend," he muttered. The vagueness of the response was not lost on his friends.

The indistinction of his answer leaves Hermione and Ginny in an exchange of bewilderment, but they don't press on further, which he is grateful for.

He was in no mood to discuss exactly how he had gotten the handkerchief at all.

“Like the one you came in with? Who was that beside Luna?” Asks Ron in great amusement.

Tease. Frowns Harry. He was sure Ron knew who you were, to a degree, and was just asking for the thrill of the game. He shoots him a warning glare.

"A friend," he repeats, more conviction in his words again, more emphasis on the word.

Before Ron can continue his prodding, the light in the Hall dims gently, and all eyes turn to Dumbledore, standing at the top of the Hall, ashen hand raised to the enchanted ceiling, where clouds respond to his gestures and shroud a gleaming full moon.

Dumbledore always knew how to gain the attention of his students, and it was no different this time.

“What happened to his hand?” Hermione whispers in horror at the sight of the darkened flesh of the professor.

“It was like this the last I saw of him, too,” he tells her, his eyes too stuck on the raised hand.

“The very best of evenings to you! New and old. First off, please join me in welcoming the newest member of our staff, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn raises from his seat, plump cheeked from the feast, a few buttons of his big waistcoated loose to let his stomach breathe from his indulgence. He smiles at the future arrays of students and possibilities laid before him.

“Professor Slughorn, I’m happy to say, has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Meanwhile, the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts will be assumed by Professor Snape.”

The news is met with stunned silence. Harry groans in his head, and were it not for the bang he took to the head earlier, he might have let his bump on the table right now.

“Now, as you know, each and every one of you was searched upon your arrival tonight. You have a right to know why.” A beat, then “Once there was a young man who, like you, sat in this very Hall. Walked this castle’s corridors. Slept beneath its roof. He seemed, to all the world, a student like any other. His name? Tom Riddle.”

The silence is deafening as the name of the darkest wizard of all is uttered so casually, too. It had become easy enough to speak of Voldemort as Voldemort and not as ‘You-Know-Who’. But Tom Riddle? Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to humanise him in such a way as a figure.

“Today, of course, the world knows him by another name. Which is why, as I stand looking out upon you all tonight, I am reminded of a sobering fact. Each day, every hour, this very minute perhaps, dark forces attempt to penetrate this castle. But in the end, their greatest weapon remains… you.”

He knows Dumbledore enough to know his eyes are not just wandering the sea of students for nothing. When his eyes stop, Harry finds that they’ve landed on you.

Dread rises up his troath and washes over him.

Harry turns his eye to watch on you. As unbothered as ever, you hold the gaze of the professor. An understanding is shared between you two.

Dumbledore smiles before his eyes flick to the Slytherin table, where they stare intently at a boy older than he and you —Harry’s do so, too.

He forces his eye to transcend past your figure to watch over him as well.

Tall and lean-faced, he has the cheekbones of a sphynx.

The likeness does not bypass him. When their eyes met, he was taken aback by the same striking eyes you stare at him with.

The same but not in colour.

Whereas yours are alive despite your disposition, his are dull, empty of the life yours alight with.

For a moment, he thinks, Sirius is staring at him again. A younger version of his godfather comes alive once more in this man.

His eyes are adorned with sunk dark caverns that highlight the light colour of his eyes. White, almost, if not grey. His by nature or not, Harry could not decide, but as they narrow in silent fury, he snaps his away from them to land on the seat beside his. On his white-haired companion — Draco.

He slouched low, lazily levitating a fork with his wand as if Dumbledore were unworthy of attention.

He can’t resist the urge to sneer lowly at the blatant show of disregard. Draco's arrogance and lack of respect knew no bounds. No matter the circumstances, the boy never fails to irk him, and Harry has not forgotten their earlier altercation.

This back-and-forth of eyes moving around the room seems to last an eternity, but in reality, it is but a moment lost in time before Dumbledore returns to end his speech.

“Just something to keep in mind. Now, off to bed. Pip pip!”

As Dumbledore dismissed the hall, a collective sigh of relief echoed through the students. Exhaustion washes over Harry and sets deep in his bones.

The day had started with the excitement of seeing Hogwarts again and had ended with the prospect of dark forces trying to penetrate Hogwarts.

His head was hurting just by thinking about it.

"That was cheerful" comments Ron with a small scoff as they rise from the table.

"Yeah," he said dryly, "A real morale booster.”

The heavy atmosphere lingers in the air and sets deep inside of him. The younger students are none the wiser to the implications of tonight’s speech as their chatter fills the air like a song of many voices, eager to be escorted to their common room for the first time in many to come.

Ginny taps his shoulder as they walk, returning him the bloodied handkerchief and it is then, just as he turns to regard her, that he catches the sight of you and that boy talking together.

He freezes just as he is about to put the handkerchief in his pocket, his eyes fixated on you two. There is something in the way you two conversed together that sets him on edge — the closeness, the familiarity, the hand that grips at your arm, protectively and angrily.

Two sides of the same coin and It is only as he sees the two of you side by side, just at the steps of the grand staircase he’d climbed halfway through, that it dawns on him that this boy is the brother Slughorn was insistent about earlier on the train.

It’s uncanny, he thinks. The theatrics of personalities coming alive. You were quiet, calm, almost demure, while from the short and brief interaction, he’s had with him, your brother seemed arrogant, cold, and proud. A true Slytherin, as green as spring grass, the same colour as his robes.

He couldn’t call it a proper ‘interaction’, for it would not be fair, and Harry was a fair person.

They’ve barely met the other's eye, and he was sure that to your brother, he might have come off as a pipping creep for staring at him from where he sat three tables over.

He can see that your brother is in a frenzy about what he’s inquiring about. Harry wishes he were closer so he could hear whatever it was clearly, but alas, he can only slow his steps to delay his departure from the scene any further. Ron, Ginny and Hermione don’t notice his slacking in climbing the steps as they advance forward in order to catch the stair in time, while his feet move to a slow drag as snippets of your brother’s low voice reach his ear.

"Where were you? I was looking for you everywhere, and then in you come, with Potter of all people. Haven’t I told you to stay away from him?”

It is one thing to hear Malfoy’s drawl; it’s another when he hears it from others. He frowned in confusion at the discontent your brother’s voice laced with when speaking his name and the insistence in which he urged you to not engage with him.

"Haven't I told you to be careful? Hasn't Father warned you enough? It's dangerous out there, Y/N! You can't go waltzing around as you please anymore.”

“I can take care of myself.” You neither flinched nor reacted to your brother’s harsh tone.

You knew him better than he did. He didn’t suppose you would shout in his face the few choices of words that came into his mind as he would.

“You think you'll be able to fend yourself against death eaters were they to come knocking at our door? Do you think this is a game you can play the way you do? You can't!” your brother heaved “Why do you wish to let me know what it is to come close to losing you?”

The pain in your brother’s voice was as clear as the night sky outside. He cared for you deeply, and Harry could hear the concern behind his harsh words. He could understand his fear for your safety, even if he didn’t agree with the way he expressed it.

He couldn't help but stare from his shoulder in fascination as you rose on your toes to place a kiss on your brother's cheek. It was a gesture of comfort, a wordless act of reassurance, and despite all, it seemed to come effortlessly from you. He wondered if that's what it was like to have a sibling — someone who would care for you and worry about you like that.

Your brother sighed as you did so. The harsh lines on his face softened slightly at your affectionate gesture.

Harry felt a pang of envy in his chest. It was a tender moment between a brother and a sister, it wasn't meant for his eyes. He felt like an intruder, a witness in something so private and intimate.

He slips away before he can hear what you say to your brother.

“My brother.My dearest brother.” You whisper to him tenderly, “You are not prepared for what is to come, and it will hurt you. But don’t worry, I’m with you, Leyton. I love you.”

Your brother is pained, he shows as much. His eyes are weary and wet as he places a hand on your cheek.

"I just want to protect you," he mutters.

You place a hand on his and give him a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance.

"I know.”

He knows that he cannot protect you forever, but for a moment, he can cling to that hope as he draws a shaky breath and kisses your forehead.

That night, Harry finds no sleep, even back in the comforts of the warm bed with red and yellow beddings. But neither does Ron, apparently.

The two talk for hours on end before they truly grow tired.

Ron asks about Harry’s nose, and Harry is lucky enough that Ron has known him for so long that he doesn’t laugh at the tale. In turn, Harry tells him what he heard before the altercation. 

“Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson. What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?”

“How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts?” Argues Harry.

“Whatever for would he?” Shrugs Ron.

Harry shakes his head, knowing it's a losing battle. He knows his suspicions are not unfounded, but perhaps a part of him understands why Ron didn't believe him. Ron is a logical person, even if he is a bit dense at times.

"You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures this year, are you?" Ron shook his head.

"And you're not either, are you?" Harry shook his head, too. "And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?"

“I think not. I’m also not taking Divination.”

Ron snorts but tries to hide behind a sneeze. Harry knows better.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

"Oh, nothing" Ron mutters, trying to maintain a straight face.

“Come on, Ron, I heard you already. Spill it," said Harry

"It's nothing, just-" Ron tries, but he bites his lip to muffle a chuckle "That girl. Abelar's daughter. She's like the best in our class in divination. Wouldn't have thought you would drop out now that you've got a friend such as her to help you out.”

The emphasis on the word “friend” was not lost on Harry.

“We know each other," he said dryly.

"Since when?" Ron is confused, and perhaps he’s right to be. "Have you actually ever met her before tonight? You didn't even know of her existence until what? a few hours ago?”

"I know her well enough.”

But he doesn't. Sure, you two have this thing where for an entire month of his summer, you've done nothing but enter his head, make him see dreams you wished for him to dream, whisper some intelligible words he's supposed to pass as prophetic and warn him against the danger coming by the result of Voldemort's return. But apart from that, what was there he knew? That you were fond of walking? That you smell of vanilla and warm cotton sheets? That you like ribbons?

Harry sighs.

"She seems nice” The words feel wrong as they come out of his mouth.

Nice isn't enough to define you at all. You are captivating, fascinating, bewitching, and strange… but "nice" feels almost offensive… to you. You’ve been more than nice. You’d saved his skin a few hours prior when you had no obligation to. Not everyone would do that.

“Sure she is” murmured Ron ��She’s weird.”

“That’s rude, Ron”, argues Harry, and all of a sudden, he’s ready to defend your honour as if it meant the death of him.

"You don't know the whole of it, Harry. She used to come visit the burrow with her lot of the family. Mom’s relatives, distant and all. One time, there was an accident. I was eight or something. She'd been murmuring and muttering things all day to herself, attached to her father’s hip. Then, he leaves a moment, you turn your back, and next thing you know, she's on the floor, convulsing as her eyes roll back, and she’s choking on her tongue while she turns blue. I had nightmares for days on end.”

"That's terrible", Harry mutters, feeling sympathy for you. "But she was a child too, Ron. Whatever it was, can you fault it on her?" "No, I suppose not" he responded quietly after a few moments.

"Then, it's hardly fair to call her weird, is it?”

"I guess not" he concedes with a reluctant sigh."Just…be careful, alright? There’s something about her…”

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of the sky visible through the high-mullioned windows as they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon the morning after.

The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Turns out that spending his free period watching the parade of confused first-years wandering around trying to find their way was more entertaining than he thought, especially when it got Professor McGonagall in a frenzy.

Until it wasn’t, and in a moment, he’s beckoned forward by her with a disapproving shake of her head as he ‘swarm upstream’.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?”

“I’ve had a free period this morning, professor—“

“So I’ve noticed” McGonagall chastised. “I would think you’d want to fill it with Potions. Or is it no longer your ambition to become an Auror?”

“W-Well” he stutters “It was but I was told I had to get an Outstanding in my O.W.L. —“

“And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching Potions. However, Professor Slughorn is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with ‘Exceeds Expectations.’” She smiled, oh so happily.

“Really? Well… brilliant. I’ll head there straight away”

“Good. And take Weasley with you. He looks far too happy over there.”

He does, and Ron has not stopped complaining about it still, arguing he had to practice for the Quidditch tryouts.

The class is packed, and the both of them look like two deers out of the headlight as everyone turns to stare at them the moment they enter. But they’re not embarrassed enough not to wrestle for the newer copy of the textbook in the abandoned cupboard. In the end, Ron stands triumphant as he goes off grinning, while Harry is left to stand defeated with the old, shabby and soiled copy.

As they settle in place among the crowd watching Hermione explaining the functions of Amortetia, Harry’s eyes settle on the little vial held in a ladle.

“You haven’t told us what’s in that one?” Ketie Bell asks.

“Ah, yes!” Slughorn smiles “What you see before you, ladies and gentlemen, is a curious little potion known as Felix Felicis. But it is more commonly referred to as —“

Before even Hermione can but in, a voice in the back calls for the name.

“Liquid Luck.”

A buzz runs through the class. Even Malfoy perks up. The crowd parts, their heads turning in the direction of the sound, even Harry’s.

Your eyes and his meet in a locked battle of who can withstand the longest the sight of the other.

Today, you seem light. Your hair is not loose but up into a loose updo. He can spy the lilac strings holding it together.

It gives you an almost juvenile look. It makes you look younger, and the fact that your eyes were not as sunken as they usually were may be the result of a good night's sleep. Which you much need, you must admit.

You smile his way, in that heavenly but soulless way that carries a thousand agonies.

But while he held the sight with no problem, those beside you look as if they have seen a ghost. Some back away, if slightly, in startled surprise from you.

"Yes, Miss Gaunt.Correct!" grins Slughorn. You were really proving his words on the train yesterday right, and it was just the first day of classes.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw. Now, this potion is desperately tricky to make. Disastrous should you get it wrong. One sip and you will find that all your endeavours succeed… at least until the effects wear off.”

Harry watches Hermione’s shoulders sag at being preceded for the answer, and he smiles at her reassuringly.

"But be warned!” Slughorn adds in a solemn voice “Taken in excess, it may cause overconfidence and recklessness. So. This is what I offer each of you today. One tiny vial of liquid luck to the student who, in the hour that remains, manages to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death, the recipe for which can be found on page ten of your book.”

Excitement seizes the class, and Slughorn smiles knowingly.

“You should know that in all the years of my previous tenure at Hogwarts, not once did a student brew a potion of sufficient quality to claim this prize. In any event — good luck! Let the brewing commence.”

The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws, including you. To his luck, his table and yours were not far from each other. That meant he could blissfully gaze whenever he wanted from across Hermione’s shoulder and there you would be, working on your own potion.

He tries not to think about it too much, as he finally opens the used book, only to find something else to worry about. The margins of the page before him are black with the tight scribblings of a previous owner. As he turns on the following, rows of graffiti, or rather notes, fill the pages going forth through the book.

Shaking his head, Harry runs his finger under the first printed instruction for one cauldron of Draught of Living Death.

“Cut up one Sopophorous bean.”

That had not proved to be the most useless of instructions, for the whole potion was wriggling with imperfections and misleading him in all ways. His silver dagger had not made a dent on the bean he was supposed to cut open. He had to instead duck from Ron’s bean, who shot across the room to bounce off Katie’s head.

Upon further inspection, Harry finds that everyone is struggling, not just to cut the resistant legume. He considers the instruction again. He notices an arrow has been drawn from the word “Cut” to the margin, where a modification has been written in the tight scrawl:

“Crush with blade -- releases juice better.”

Harry considers the dagger in his hand, then places the flat of the blade against the bean and presses. Instantly, the protective parchment covering the desk runs red with juice.

Despite his progress, Hermione is insistent that whatever he’s doing is wrong, even as doubt begins to gum at her when her potion goes awry midway through the process. But as he proceeded on, he and his mind were as calm as the gentle draft from the mountain on the horizon outside the window.

His eyes are divided between his cauldron, the book and you, who had sat on one of the stools, reading your textbook intently, your cauldron long forgotten. You do so without a care in the world, even as Slughorn comes to eye down on it and frowns at your lack of activity.

“Not working on your potion, Miss Gaunt?” Slughorn asks, his frown of disapproval making him look more like a bearded bulldog.

You look up from your book, unbothered by his words, as you smile at him in that way that makes the professor bristle.

“This potion's all wrong, Professor.” You affirm, leaving him in speechless confusion.

He can't help but snicker, if only under his breath. Hermione, beside him, is staring at you, too, wide-eyed, mouth agape at the blunt way in which you had chosen to answer the professor.

But Slughorn, as he often does in these situations, laughs it off.

“I suppose you need not worry about failing, now, do you?”

“I know I won’t, Sir”

Slughorn chuckled again as he patted your slumped form on the shoulder.

“Of course you won’t.” He mutters, before moving on as if to look over Malfoy’s progress, cut had just cut himself, cursing.

Harry, cool as a cucumber, adds one last ingredient, steps back, done…

Hermione, hair like Medea now, glowers at him.

Slughorn drops a rose petal in his cauldron, the two, or rather four, well five if he counts you as well, of them at the table, watch as it drops on the pearly sheer bubbling liquid.

“Merlin’s Beard! It is perfect. So perfect I daresay one drop would kill us all! Your mother was a dab hand at potions, but this… My, my, what can’t you do, m’boy? Perhaps you will save us all in the end…”

But his success is not met with the same enthusiasm by the exhausted crowd that stands before him as he’s handed the vial signifying his success.

“Here you are then, as promised. One bottle of Felix Felicis. Use it well.”

One clap, another reluctant follows until they’re all clapping.

But not you.

No, you just stare at him with that knowing look of yours as your eyes skim his face to land on the hand behind his back that holds the book to him secretly.

Harry knows you know about the book, he can feel it. And he can’t help but feel like a hypocrite under your stare. A fraud, almost, for how he had come to achieve such a success.

But he doesn’t dwell on it as much as he would like to. Because as his gaze locks with yours once more, the look of boredom on your face is gone, replaced by an almost…pride. He has no words for it.

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

The rest of the day was spent flying between lessons to lessons, but alas, to his dismay he didn’t see the likes of you until the evening. And in the most unexpected way.

Dumbledore has called for him to his office, through a letter given to him by Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, who was more interested in asking him when he would hold the tryouts than why he was delivering a letter from the headmaster to him.

It was late at night and for all rights, he should not be out of his bed, room, or common room altogether, but with the special permission he held between his hands, he was free to roam his way to the office as he pleased, taking as long as he liked.

He reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall.

"Acid Pops," was the word he’d been given instructions to use, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which Harry stepped so that he was carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's Office.

He stopped just a few paces short of the office's door as he heard two voices coming from inside of it. His ears perked, and he paused, his hand hovering over the handle, listening curiously.

"Say, my dear. Have you made any progress with him?”

that was Dumbledore's voice, he was sure, but who was he speaking with?

"I think so, Sir" the voice responded "He's troubled. His mind is dark. Filled with the darkest of times, memories, and visions. He's plagued, but he remains strong and valiant…The road ahead is uncertain, but the end is clear. I can see it.”

You took a deep breath, one that filled your lungs and made your chest burn like fire.

“When the dark dims, and the sun sets, his presence in him shall end.”

It’s you. He knows it's you. He's grown accustomed to the way you speak. But there’s something in you. Something he can only recall to the night in the forest. Your voice, soft, feminine and as breathy as always holds the same authority as Dumbledore’s. A sureness as firm and calm as a sea on a moonless night.

"His presence…" Dumbledore echoed, his voice solemn as if the very words haunted him.

"That sounds rather poetic, my dear," he hears a hint of a smile in the man’s voice. "I suppose we should trust your judgment on the matter. I know better than to question your judgment by now. But say. You are sure of this?" He asks

"As sure as I can be" you affirmed "As sure as the oracles are.”

“The oracles have been wrong before, you know?”

“But I’ve never been.”

“That remains to be seen”, he mused “But your confidence is admirable, to say the least. Very well, my dear. You've done as I've asked, and for that, you have my graciousness, but i'm afraid that we must end our conversation short, for we are not alone anymore.”

The door flows open before Harry, surely by the flick of magic, revealing his form before he can hide. Dumbledore smiled at him from where he sat at his desk, and before it stood you, who tilted your head in that captivating way of yours.

He stiffens under the watchful eyes. Dumbledore smiled a benevolent smile at his discomfort.

“Ah, there you are, Harry. I trust you had little trouble finding your way here?”

"Yes, Sir" his voice is as weary as his form as he steps into the office. He eyes the open pensive on the side. "You wanted to see me?”

“Quite right” Dumbledore regards you with a warm smile “Thank you, Y/N. We will finish this conversation another time.”

You nod, giving him one last look before leaving the office and closing the door behind you. His nose catches the scent of puff pastry lingering among all the others he’s become familiar with. He waits until the sound of your steps fades before turning back to Dumbledore.

“How are you?”

The question is simple but it makes Harry smile.

“I’m fine, Sir.”

“Enjoying your classes? Professor Slughorn for one is most impressed by you.”

“I think he overestimates my abilities, sir.” He chuckled sheepishly.

“Do you?”

“Definitely”

Dumbledore smiles affectionately, a twinkle in his eye, and nods.

“That young lady doesn’t.”

Harry feels his face warm ever so slightly. The twinkle in the old man’s eye is almost as if he could read Harry’s mind.

“She tells me lots about you" the man comments offhandedly "It's no wonder, I presume, after the time you two have spent together.”

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye has turned sharper, observant almost, and Harry can’t but feel like Dumbledore is trying to read all the thoughts in his head.

It’s almost like the man had known about your little…dream encounters.

"Quite pretty she is, no?”

That snaps him out of his thoughts. "What?" he asked, his voice a bit too quick.

Dumbledore chuckled, a knowing smile on his face.

"I said, she's quite pretty, isn't she?" he repeated his tone light.

"Um…yeah," Harry replied, a bit unsure of where this conversation was going.

"Very bright too," said Dumbledore "Though, I do suppose she does not play the part well"

Harry raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” He asked, feeling as if he was purposely being played at. You did that often enough.

"Unfortunately for our dear Y/N, her sight got the better of her when she was born," said Dumbledore "Some may perceive her as rather…odd. Different, no? But, as I used to say, it is what's beneath the surface that shows the true iron beneath. But on the contrary to what people might think, that one is a very bright and reasonably good witch at that. That and much more she is," he smiled "I'm sure in time, you will see what she's able to do as well.”

He took every single word in, absorbing it as if he were a dry sponge. He mulled the words, taking care not to put his own bias in them. He was silent for a moment, thinking, before finally speaking up again. Sight? he would have to ask about that later.

"How do you know so much about her, Professor?”

"I know much and more. Harry" Dumbledore said, before standing from his chair "but why don't I show it to you?"

The look on Harry’s face is one of confusion and curiosity as Dumbledore stepped around from his desk and made his way to the pensive. He swings open a cabinet where dozens upon dozens of glittering vials stand like tiny glimmering soldiers.

"You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell me everything," said Harry. It was hard to keep a note of accusation from his voice. "Sir," he added.

"And so I did," said Dumbledore placidly. "I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"But you think you're right?" said Harry.

"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. Being — forgive me — rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger. Mine own mind does not stand the test of time, and  time fades like a memory, which is why sometimes we must rely on murky methods to remember.”

Harry looked at the pensive then between Dumbledore and the basin, his curiosity slowly growing with every word out of Dumbledore's mouth, only to be followed with more and more questions as Dumbledore spoke.

"You look worried."

Harry had indeed been eyeing the Pensieve with some apprehension. His previous experiences with the odd device that stored and revealed thoughts

and memories, though highly instructive, had also been uncomfortable. The last time he had disturbed its contents, he had seen much more than he would have wished. But Dumbledore was smiling.

“I’m just…confused. I feel..like a pawn in some bigger game I’m not playing at,” said Harry, voice quiet.

Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic and perhaps a bit guilty look as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

"I am sorry, Harry," he said, sincerely "I know you have been burdened with so much. So much has been left on your shoulders, and it is far too unfair. But it is a necessary burden. I have confidence, in you, in your courage and in your strength. There is a long journey ahead, Harry, but I have every faith in you. You will not carry it alone.”

He gave the man a bitter smile. Who would choose this path willingly? All those who wished to be the ‘Chosen One’, how much would they still wish for the same if they were standing here right now?

The memory falls in the waters of the pensive as it swims along its current. He pushed his face in, and in a moment, he was no longer in the comforts of Dumbledore’s office, where the warmth of the fireplace seeped in him, and the dim light almost made him sleepy.

He’s in a country lane, bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. Some ten feet in front of him stands a short, plump man wearing enormously thick glasses that reduced his eyes to molelike specks.

He follows after him as the man sets off on a frisky walk. Nothing on the horizon graces this short way, with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead and the swishing, frock-coated figure ahead.

Harry could see a village, undoubtedly Little Hangleton from what Dumbledore had told him, nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible.

Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawns.

He follows him onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them.

Despite the cloudless sky, the old trees ahead cast deep, dark, cool shadows, and it took Harry's eyes the beat of a moment before they could discern the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks.

Harry knows it’s there the man is heading.

Its walls were mossy, and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. It looks inhabited, and it should be by its condition, but there are signs of life all around it if one has a keen eye to spy on it.

Like, the dead snake some had nailed by the front door.

The place in front of him leaves him a furry of thoughts, all snapped away by the sound of a rustle and a crack, and the show of a man in rags dropping from the nearest tree.

“You’re not welcome.” He hisses, but the man before him does not seem to understand the boy.

The boy — or man?—  had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any colour. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions, almost serpentinely. He might have looked comical, but he did not. He was frightening, and Harry could not blame the man for backing away several more paces, as he did, as well as if he might be affected by the memory himself before he spoke.

“Good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic —" "You're not welcome."

"Er — I'm sorry — I don't understand you,” the man said, nervously.

But Harry does. He understands well.

Parseltongue. A sibilistic sound.

The boy in rags was now advancing on the man, knife in one hand, wand in the other. Until a bang and the man was on the ground, clutching his nose in pain.

”Morfin!" said a loud voice, angry, raging from the cottage, where an elderly man came hurrying out of, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically.

This one is even shorter than the first and oddly proportioned. With shoulders broad and arms too long and grown. His bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face gave him the look of a powerful, aged, distorted monkey. He came to a halt beside the boy with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.

"Ministry, is it?" said the older man, looking down at Ogden.

"Correct!" The one on the ground shouts angrily, dabbing his face. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"

Gaunt. The name leaves Harry’s troath dry and his lungs without breath. This is your family, your blood. And the scene before him suddenly makes much more sense.

"Should've made your presence known, shouldn't you?" said Gaunt aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."

“From what?!”

“Busybodies and Intruders like you! Muggles and filth." Mr Gaunt spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Morfin. "Get in the house. Don't argue."

Morfin looks over at him with a resentful look, before disappearing inside the house, the door banging shut behind him.

"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt!” argues the man, as he mops after himself "That was Morfin, wasn't it?"

“What’d you want from him?”

“We sent an owl —"

“I've no use for owls," said Gaunt. "I don't open letters."

"Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," said Ogden tartly. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning —"

“Alright, alright. Just get in the bleeding house!!”

The house is tiny, and so are its rooms. It’s cramped, maybe just like the cupboard he used to sleep in. Two doors led off the main room, used both as a kitchen and living room combined. Morfin is off to the side, sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue.

A scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window takes on Harry’s attention as he realises there is somebody else in the room with them.

A girl wearing a ragged grey dress the exact colour of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, her hair a lanky and dull brown and a plain, pale, rather heavy face set in a frown. Her eyes, like her brother's, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person.

"M'daughter, Merope," said Gaunt grudgingly as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.

“That’s two. May I inquire about your eldest? Denyse Gau-“

“Do not speak that blasted name in my house!” howls Gaunt “That bitch is dead to me! To all of us! She chose her new ‘family’ over us! I will not have her be spoken of in my presence or in this house! I’ll be dead before that happens!"

At the raging, the girl looks up, fear evident on her face.

“Ssh!” she muttered, casting a horrified look at her father “Do you want Morfin to hear you -?”

"I don’t care!” snarled Gaunt, his face purpling with rage again. “Let him hear it anyway! He knows too what your sister has chosen! Money, riches over her own blood!”

The girl seemed more frightened than ever at her father’s words. She muttered something inaudible as she went back to her work by the stove.

The man in the coat seems almost as nervous as the girl, his eyes flickering towards Morfin, who is still sitting in the armchair with the snake in his hands.

“Mr. Gaunt," said the man with caution, “I’m not here for your family’s quarrels. I have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night.”

There was a deafening clang. Merope had dropped one of the pots.

"Pick it up!" Gaunt bellowed at her. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle. What’s your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"

"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began again, "as I've said: the reason for my visit —"

"I heard you the first time!" snapped Gaunt. "And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him. What about it, then?"

“Morfin has broken Wizarding law,” said Ogden, clenching his hands inside his pockets “The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.”

He pulled from an inside pocket a small scroll of parchment and unrolled it.

"What's that, then, his sentence?" said Gaunt, his voice rising angrily.

"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing —"

"Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"

"I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," argues Ogden.

"And you think we're scum, do you?" screamed Gaunt, advancing on the man with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. "Scum, who'll come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?"

The fear is clear as day on Ogden's face at Gaunt's outburst. But his voice remains strong as he replies.

"I was under the impression that I was talking to Mr. Gaunt. And I seem to have a memory of the conversation turning to your son Morfin rather than yourself.”

“You are speaking to him!” Roared Gaunt.

For a moment, Harry thought Gaunt was making an obscene hand gesture, but then realized that he was showing Ogden the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger, waving it before the man’s eyes with great pride.

"See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"

The man tries to dismiss Gaunt’s flaunting, but with a howl of rage, Gaunt runs toward his daughter. Harry’s heartbeat to a mile as he thought he was going to throttle her as his hand flew to her throat. His feet move ever slightly as if he could help the girl in any way, but the next moment, Gaunt is dragging her toward Ogden by a gold chain around her neck.

"See this?" he shakes a heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.

"I see it, I see it!" said Ogden hastily.

"Slytherins!" yelled Gaunt. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"

"Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!!" said Ogden in alarm, but Gaunt had already released Merope, who staggered away from him falling on her knees, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air.

The show horrifies Harry.

"So!" said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. "Don't you go talking to us as if we're dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don't doubt!"

“Quite so,” said Ogden loudly, "but you seem to have been present on the night that Morfin performed a jinx that rendered a Muggle completely mad, so you will understand that the Ministry had to act.”

Morfin giggled quietly.

“Quiet!” The boy falls silent again.

"Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg —"

Ogden breaks off his commentary, as does Harry, when he catches the jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices drifting in through the open window by Merope, who raises her head, a starkly white.

"My God, what an eyesore!" rang out a girl's voice, as clear as though she were in the room beside theirs "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"

"It's not ours," said a young man's voice. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village —"

The girl laughed, a girlish sound. Morfin made to get out of his armchair, a mad look in his eyes.

"Keep your seat," said his father warningly, in Parseltongue.

"Tom," said the girl's voice again, now so close they were right beside the house, "I might be wrong — but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"

"Good lord, you're right!" said the man's voice. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling.”

The jingling and clopping sounds were now growing faint again.

"'Darling,'" whispered Morfin in Parseltongue, looking at his sister. "'Darling, he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway."

Merope was so white Harry felt sure she was going to faint as she looked back at her brother.

“What did you say, Morfin?" Gaunt's voice is dangerously low and for a moment they all forget about the minister, even Harry.

"Nothing," muttered Morfin, turning back to the fire. "'Darling,' he called her," he spat again quietly. “She likes looking at that Muggle. Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? And last night — "

Morfin stares at his sister with a vicious look on his face, who now looks terrified as her father inches on her.

"Is it true?" said Gaunt in a deadly voice, advancing a step or two toward the terrified girl. "My daughter—pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin — hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?"

Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, apparently unable to speak.

"But I got him, Father!" cackled Morfin. "I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him. Did he, Merope?

Harry’s eyes widen as Gaunt goes for his daughter’s troath. He shouts but the sound is muffled through the sound barrier between the world of the living and that of memories. Ogden raised his wand and cried for him "Relaskio!"

But he’s off. The moment he blasted Gaunt, he was chased by Morfin, wielding a bloody knife as his weapon. But the memory does not stop, so he goes after them.

The man runs for his life. Merope’s screams haunt the scene before him even as they grow distant, and it is only then the memory ends — as he watches Ogden leap and fall into a chestnut horse ridden by the handsome, dark-haired young man whom it has been revealed Merope had the fancy for, as his companions beside him ring in laughter �� that he can finally breathe again.

What a mess of a family.

He leaps his face out of the pensive with eyes wide and mind blank at what he’s just witnessed.

His stomach feels all over the place, and the chicken he’s had for dinner threatens to make its way out of his stomach, as well as the bonbons he indulged in for dessert.

"What was that, Sir?" he whispers in great agitation.

“The Gaunts,” said Dumbledore, raising Harry a glass of water for him to take “the beginning of a very long story, that I fear we won’t finish tonight.”

"Were those….?" he leaves his question hanging, but Dumbledore understands what he's asking. Your ancestors.

“Yes,” Dumbledore answers, “Y/N's family. Her ancestors.” he sighs deeply "Though the ones she descends from are not part of this memory, apart from Marvolo, of course.”

"Marvolo?" Harry repeated wonderingly. “As in?”

"That's right," said Dumbledore, smiling in approval. “Voldemort's grandfather, yes. Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope. The last of the Gaunts, or so it was believed for a very long time. A very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense, coupled with a great liking for grandeur, meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."

You and Voldemort. It strikes fear into his heart. What if he's been commuting with the enemy all along?

Harry wants to ask more, so many questions, but Dumbledore holds a hand up.

“Have patience, all will be explained”

"What happened to those in this memory?" he all but asks “Did any of them survive? The girl, Merope, did she..?”

“You might wish you’d never asked. Survived she did, indeed, that and much more. That man, the minister, Ogden apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage, and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo received six months."

"So Merope," he’s star-struck. If the things coming together in his brain are right then that would mean ”She was…Voldemort's mother?"

“She was,” his sense is proven right. "And it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"

“The man the brother attacked,” he concludes.

“Tom Riddle senior. The handsome Muggle who used to go riding past the Gaunt cottage and for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion."

His brows furrow. But in the memory, Tom looked happily in love with that woman — what was it? Cecilia? Cecily?— so when did the two get together? Dumbledore watches the confusion etch into Harry’s face.

“You’re forgetting who Merope was” he instructs Harry, helping him solve the puzzle “A witch,despite all. I do not believe that her abilities appeared to their best advantage when she was being terrorised by her father. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then, I am sure, she was able to give full rein to her abilities and plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years. Can you guess how?”

“The Imperius curse?” Or better, he recalled what Hermine’d been tested on just this morning. “Or love potion…”

“I’m inclined to the latter. Seems more romantic for a girl in such pessimistic circumstances, no? Shines a bright light upon her dreary outlook. In any case, within a few months of the scene, we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter, Merope. But no one was more shocked than Marvolo himself, for when he returned, the shack was empty of his daughter’s presence, and only a note had been left behind. He never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death — or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself. Azkaban had greatly weakened Marvolo, and he did not live to see Morfin return to the cottage."

He did the same with his daughter as he’d done to the other one.

“There was another mentioned…” Harry trails off, trying to remember the name. “D-…Denyse?”

"Oh, yes. Denyse. Now that's another story," said Dumbledore. But I fear I've kept you up too late. Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow?”

“Right,” Harry said as he stood to leave. “I’d like that. But as for Merope. Did she die? She did, didn't she? Wasn't Voldemort brought up in an orphanage?”

"Indeed, she did. But as for the tale of how it happened, I must do a little guessing. Within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumour was that he was talking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment now lifted. But, of course, people come up to their own conclusions, and the villagers may have guessed that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was going to have his baby and that he had married her for this reason."

"But she did have his baby."

"But not until a year after they were married. Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant."

“Why did the love potion stop working?" Harry asked as he himself thought of the reason as to why.

"I believe that Merope, deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. She may have chosen to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son."

The sky outside was inky black, and the lamps in Dumbledore's office seemed to glow more brightly than before, indicating the rather late hour.

"I think that will do for tonight, Harry," said Dumbledore after a moment or two.

He got to his feet but did not leave.

Harry had to ask, even though there was something in him that didn’t want to know.

”Professor.” He began before taking a deep breath. “Why have you allowed familiarisation with the Gaunt siblings and for them to remain at Hogwarts despite being…Voldemort’s family?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly at the question, an almost mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I was waiting for you to ask," he confessed pleasantly.

“You know what they say. Keep your friends close…”

“And your enemies closer.” Finished Harry, voice above a breathy whisper. “But, Y/N—“

“Y/N is very valuable. Keep that in mind. An ally of mine” he looks at Harry, eyes serious “and yours. Remember that. As is the whole of her family.” He smiles in that knowing way “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Harry looked back at Dumbledore, a look of understanding passing between the two. He nodded, a realization washing over him.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, heading to the door.

“Oh, and Harry?” Dumbledore calls after him.

Harry paused, standing in the doorway, ready to leave.

"You may find that a good night's sleep does very well for the nerves" Again that smile, but this time it takes an amusing edge. "a dreamless empty sleep.”

It takes a moment for it to click, and when it does, Harry can feel a hint of a red tinge over his cheeks, flushing to his ears, which feel as if they might explode.

Despite the bewildered he feels, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before saying, “I'll try. Good night.”

Who knew the old man could pull some jokes like that?

I was thinking that this story has grown its own following by now. Would anyone be interested in a taglist?

[ophelieverse]

when my girl talks,you listen to her!

[baelarys]

𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon

Word count: 3184

Warning: fluffy, Pregnancy.

Pt1 pt3 pt4

Autumn had arrived, bringing with it a cold wind that foretold the imminent arrival of winter. You felt the icy breeze cut through your cloak, forcing you to pull it tighter around your body. Unlike your previous two pregnancies, this one seemed to demand more of you; the weight of the life you carried within was beginning to take its toll. Your back constantly ached, your breasts were tense and sensitive, and your swollen feet barely supported the weight you had to bear.

As you walked through the castle halls, lost in thought, a sudden impact made you stagger. You barely had time to place a hand against the wall to avoid falling. As you looked down, you found Aerion on the ground, his small face lit up by a mischievous smile as he giggled. He quickly got to his feet, energetically brushing off his trousers, unconcerned by the slight reprimand he heard in the distance.

The septa approached hurriedly, a frown on her face and a look of evident disapproval. Her voice echoed through the hall as she called out to Aerion, but before she could reach him, the little prince ran toward you, clinging to your skirt for protection.

“Princess,” the septa greeted, bowing as she saw you. “The maester has insisted that you should return to your bed. Rest is the best thing for you in your condition.” Her stern gaze scrutinized the hallway, searching for the little prince who was now hiding behind you.

“That was just what I was thinking of doing,” you replied calmly, hearing Aerion’s faint laughter as he clung to your skirts.

You watched as the septa walked away down the hall, still calling out to the prince with a mix of patience and firmness. When the septa's figure disappeared from your sight, you slowly turned to Aerion. The boy looked up at you, his cheeks flushed red, still trying to contain the laughter that threatened to spill over.

You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s innocent mischief. Despite the worries weighing on you, Aerion’s joy had the power to dispel any cloud hanging over your day.

“You’re a little rascal,” you said softly, as you gently stroked his head. “But you need to be more careful, you almost made me fall.”

Aerion nodded, and his smile lit up his face, revealing that perfect blend of innocence and mischief that you loved so much in him. Still chuckling softly, he took your hand with his small fingers, his laughter fading into a sigh of contentment.

“I want to stay with you, mama,” he said softly, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

His words filled you with a warm tenderness. You knew you needed to rest, but your son’s desire to stay by your side was a request you could hardly refuse. His company, so sincere and selfless, was a comfort amidst the demanding burden you carried.

You bent down slightly to meet his eyes, looking at him with a maternal smile.

"You can stay with me for a while, but only if you promise to be quiet and let Mama rest," you whispered.

Aerion nodded enthusiastically, squeezing your hand more tightly, as if his desire to be with you was enough to protect you from any discomfort or pain. As you walked together toward your chambers, Aerion began to talk with the spontaneity of childhood, telling you about his lessons and how much they bored him. His voice, full of innocent complaints, filled the hallway.

As you closed the doors of your room behind you, you created a small refuge of tranquility, a space where you could allow yourself a respite from the worries that surrounded you. Aerion, freed from the need to stay calm, released your hand and ran excitedly to the corner where the steaming dragon egg rested on its cradle of metal and glowing stones.

However, a sudden, sharp pain shot through your body, pulling you out of the peaceful moment. The pain radiated from your back to your belly, forcing you to instinctively place your hands on your swollen abdomen in a protective gesture. Reality hit hard when you felt a warm, wet burst, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop.

The sound of your water breaking echoed in the room, like a prolonged reverberation in the silence, as the liquid spilled onto the floor, soaking the ground beneath your feet. An indescribable chill ran down your spine, as if in that precise instant, your soul had tried to leave your body, leaving you momentarily paralyzed.

Aerion, unaware of what had just happened, continued admiring the egg while you tried to gather the strength to stay calm. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you needed to do. You knew there was no time to waste; the birth was imminent.

"Aerion, come here," you called, keeping your voice firm yet gentle, not wanting to alarm him.

Your son turned his head toward you, sensing something unusual in your tone. The joy on his face faded, replaced by concern.

"Mama, what's wrong?" he asked as he walked toward you with small, cautious steps.

"I need you to find the septa and the maester, quickly," you said, caressing his cheek with a trembling hand. "The baby is ready to be born."

With effort, you began to walk slowly toward your bed, each step accompanied by the increasing pain that was becoming more insistent. When you reached the bed, you took a deep breath and called for your ladies, who, upon hearing the urgency in your voice, quickly came to your side. Without wasting a moment, they moved with the precision and skill that only experience could grant, helping you lie down and preparing you for childbirth.

Their hands worked carefully and swiftly, untying the laces and buttons of your dress, changing you into more comfortable garments that would ease the birth. Despite the storm of pain threatening to strip away your calm, their gestures were comforting.

"Take deep breaths, Princess," one of the ladies whispered as she helped you settle into the bed, her voice an anchor of calm amidst the whirlwind of sensations overwhelming you.

The doors to your room burst open, and the maester entered, followed by several midwives, all moving with the speed and efficiency the situation demanded. Aerion, his face full of concern, ran to you, taking your hand in a gesture of support.

"It seems the baby has decided to come early," the maester remarked as the midwives began preparing everything necessary for the birth.

One of the midwives approached with more pillows to support your back, lifting you carefully to relieve the pressure on your belly. But the movement triggered a new wave of pain, and before you could stop it, a cry escaped your lips.

Aerion reacted immediately, his protective instinct awakened by seeing your suffering. He lunged toward the midwife, trying to push her away with his small hand.

"You're hurting her!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to come between you and the midwife.

The midwife, surprised by the child's reaction, paused and looked at you with a mix of respect and concern.

"Calm down, little prince," the midwife said softly, kneeling down to be at Aerion's eye level. "We don't want to hurt your mama. We're only trying to help her feel better."

"Aerion, sweetheart, everything is okay. They’re here to help us," you assured him, trying to calm his agitation.

The contractions came in waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving a trail of pain that spread through your entire body. You gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles turning white under the tension as you fought to contain the screams of pain threatening to escape your throat. You didn’t want to scare Aerion, who stayed by your side, his small hand clutching yours.

Suddenly, in the midst of the chaos raging in your mind, a familiar voice broke through the torment.

“Y/N,” you heard Aemond call your name.

The sound of his voice was like a balm, a wave of relief that momentarily dispelled the pain. You turned your head, and seeing him, you felt something inside you calm down. Aemond, with an expression of concern tinged with love, quickly approached your side, taking your other hand with the security and firmness you had always known in him.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb gently caressed your cheek.

Aemond leaned in a little closer, his voice low and reassuring.

“Everything will be alright, my love. I’m here with you.”

You nodded with gratitude, thankful for Aemond’s comforting presence by your side. With each passing contraction, the pain seemed to stretch out in time, as if the hours were elongating into an endless trial. However, the maester, in his firm yet encouraging tone, finally spoke the words you had been waiting for.

“It’s time to push, Princess.”

Those words were both a relief and a new source of fear. You knew the hardest moment was yet to come, and although Aemond had been your constant support, you understood that Aerion’s presence in the room might complicate the situation even further. You needed everything to go well, both for the baby about to be born and for the child who was already the center of your world.

Taking a breath with difficulty, you turned your head toward Aemond, your eyes reflecting the mix of emotions you felt at that moment.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice laden with effort, “please take Aerion outside. He needs to stay calm… and so do you.”

Although it was evident he didn’t want to leave you, Aemond understood your concern. With a look that spoke of his desire to stay with you, he leaned in close, brushing your lips with a gentle kiss.

“I’ll be right outside,” he murmured, his words an anchor for your spirit. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

With one last squeeze of your hand, he stood up and turned his attention to Aerion, who was still watching the scene with wide, worried eyes. Aemond walked over to his son and took his hand.

“Come, Aerion. Let’s wait outside for a moment,” he said gently.

Aerion hesitated, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You forced a smile, despite the pain, and nodded, trying to convey confidence.

“Everything will be alright, sweetheart,” you assured him. “We’ll be together again soon.”

The little one, though still concerned, finally agreed, taking his father’s hand as they both headed toward the door. Aemond gave you one last look before leaving.

Once the door closed behind them, the atmosphere in the room changed. The seriousness and focus intensified as the midwives and the maester prepared for the birth. You felt a mix of emotions—fear, anticipation, and a deep determination—all fighting for control of your mind.

The maester leaned in toward you, with a calm expression that contrasted with the intensity of the moment.

“Princess, it’s time,” he said softly, his tone firm yet reassuring. “I need you to push with all your strength.”

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for what you knew would be the greatest effort of your life. The pain, which had been constant, became even sharper, cutting through your breath as you struggled to follow the maester’s instructions. Your hands gripped the sheets, your muscles tensing in a supreme effort as you pushed with all your being.

The midwives, with quick and precise movements, offered you words of encouragement, their hands working diligently to assist you. You could feel the sweat beading on your forehead, every fiber of your being concentrated on bringing this new life into the world. The minutes stretched on in a succession of contractions and efforts, each more intense than the last, pushing you to the limits of your endurance.

The room, though filled with activity, became a closed and private space, where time seemed to distort. The maester guided you, his words calm and measured, while the midwives supported you, adjusting the pillows and keeping you as comfortable as possible. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pain and effort, the maester announced that he could see the baby's head.

"One more time, princess, just one more time," he encouraged, his voice filled with contained emotion.

With the little energy you had left, you gathered all your strength and pushed with fierce determination. The pain reached a climax, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensations until, suddenly, you felt an indescribable relief as the weight you had carried for months finally left your body.

A moment of silence fell over the room, followed by the most beautiful sound you could have imagined: the strong, clear cry of your newborn. Tears filled your eyes as you heard that first sign of life, and the midwives quickly wrapped the baby in warm blankets, bringing him close to you.

"You have been very brave, princess. You have brought a new Targaryen into the world."

With trembling hands and a pounding heart, you took your child into your arms. As you felt his warmth against your chest, all the pain and fatigue faded away, replaced by a love so intense you could hardly contain it. You looked at your baby's face, his soft hair and delicate skin, and in that moment, you knew that every second of effort had been worth it.

Your ladies, discreet and efficient, quickly restored order to the room. They swiftly cleaned the area, replaced the sheets, and helped you into a clean, soft gown. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on you, their careful hands made you feel comfortable, allowing you to focus solely on the little being you held.

One of the ladies took the newborn with great care to clean him, while you rested for a few moments, watching every movement with eyes full of love and wonder. When they returned him to you, wrapped in warm blankets, a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over you.

You looked at the child in your arms, noticing his delicate features, his hair already showing the shine of Targaryen heritage.

"Laenor," you whispered, the name leaving your lips with the softness of a prayer.

It was the name of your father, a man whose memory lived on in your heart, a brave leader and a loving father. Naming your son in his honor felt as natural as breathing.

The door to the room opened gently, and when you turned your head, you saw Aemond and Aerion entering. The little boy, without paying attention to the baby in your arms, ran towards you with the urgency of someone who had been holding back his worry. Aerion threw himself into your arms, and as soon as he did, you felt the warm tears running down his face as he hid his little face in the crook of your neck.

"Why are you crying, my love?" you asked in a whisper, gently stroking his small back while leaning down to leave a soft kiss on his wet cheek. "I'm alright."

Aerion sobbed softly, his little hands clinging to you tightly, as if he needed to make sure you were really there, safe and with him.

"I was scared, Mama," he admitted in a small voice. "I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you."

"I know, my little one," you murmured. "But everything is fine now. I’m here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Aemond, who had remained nearby, watched the scene with a mixture of pride and relief. He stepped forward, and with a careful gesture, placed a hand on Aerion’s shoulder, silently giving him support. When Aerion felt his father's presence, he finally looked up, his eyes still shining with the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back.

It was then that Aerion noticed the small figure in your arms. His big, curious eyes filled with wonder as he saw his younger brother for the first time. With the same caution children reserve for what they consider most precious, he approached slowly, almost as if he feared breaking something fragile.

"This is your little brother, Laenor," you said with a smile full of tenderness, gently tilting the newborn so Aerion could get a better look.

The little boy gazed at his brother with a mix of fascination and respect, as if he understood that this moment was sacred. With a timid gesture, he reached out his hand towards the baby, gently brushing his tiny hands.

"Hello, Laenor," Aerion whispered, his voice barely audible.

Aemond, with a look that spoke of pride and relief, leaned towards you, his lips meeting yours in a warm and comforting kiss. The connection between you was immediate, like a reaffirmation of the strength of your bond. You responded to the kiss with equal tenderness, feeling in that gesture a deep gratitude for the family you had built together.

"Mama," a small voice was heard at the entrance, soft but full of excitement.

Vaera appeared in the room, her eyes shining with the news she had just received. She wasn’t alone; Helaena followed closely behind, with her unmistakable aura of sweetness and serenity, smiling warmly at you as she saw you cradling the newborn. Just a step behind, Queen Alicent entered with Vaerys in her arms, her elegant bearing and maternal expression completing the family tableau that now filled the room.

"Look, Vaerys," Alicent said in a gentle tone, approaching so the little one could see the new member of the family. "You have a new little brother."

Vaerys, always curious and observant, looked at the baby with big, wide eyes full of wonder. Alicent leaned down slightly to allow little Vaerys to get a better view of Laenor, while Vaera, not wasting a moment, moved closer to your side, clearly fascinated by her new little brother.

"He’s so tiny," Vaera whispered, extending a small, delicate hand to softly touch Laenor’s cheek, her touch full of affection and care.

"He is," you agreed, your voice softened by the mix of emotions that overwhelmed you. "But he’ll grow strong, just like all of you."

With a smile full of confidence and tenderness, you handed the little Laenor to Aemond, who received him with the same delicacy one would treat a precious jewel. You watched as his hands, normally so skilled with a sword, now held his newborn son with an almost reverent care. In his eye, there was a silent pride, a pride that needed no words to be understood.

Aemond turned towards his mother and sister, bringing the baby closer so they could see him better. Alicent, upon gazing at her grandson, smiled with a warmth that softened her features even more, while Helaena, with her ever-serene gaze, extended a hand to gently caress Laenor’s cheek.

Finally, Aemond returned to your side, and together, you looked at Laenor, surrounded by the love and unity of your family. In that moment, everything seemed to be in its place; the arrival of Laenor had not only brought a new life into the world but had also strengthened the bonds that tied you all together.

[withlovemark]

“STUPID CUPID”

pairing: na jaemin x art major! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 24k

synopsis -> mr. cupid — anonymous radio host. running the #1 most popular radio show on campus. famous for his thoughtful advice and classified as a true hopeless romantic. na jaemin — photography major, the sweet fuck-boy. described to be affectionate and gentle…but don’t fall for his tactics! once he’s done with you, he’s gone with the wind. your best friend unfortunately happened to be on the receiving end of this. what happens when you find out that the anonymous radio host is none other than na jaemin himself? sweet revenge.

warnings -> tooth rotting cheesiness you’ll roll your eyes, a hundred different synonyms for a gentle smile, pet name unlocked: angel, lots of stolen kisses, there’s only one bed, reader and jaemin are stupid and selfish sometimes, a tiny bit of angst, a hole in the wall, +18, crude language, fuck-boys, mentions of drugs, alcohol, make outs, one night stands, more than one boner, smut! oral-m/f receiving, fingering, slight nipple play, blowjob, handjob, sex, a brief conversation with his cock, jaemin is whiny and vocal and big, masturbation, public sex if u squint.

an -> the first installment of the loverboy series is finally yours. i hope you love (and hate) it as much as i do. i had so many moments in the three months i’ve had with this work where i almost scrapped this as i couldn’t figure out how to progress the story without it being so cheesy. i wanted something grand, something never been done before! but (fortunately) with rom-com, and the amount of lovely fiction out there, everything has been done before. so i succumbed to the inevitable cheesiness and made something i was happy with. hope you enjoy! with love, c.

dear, mr. cupid,

my best friend slept with her crush! problem is, he’s a total fuckboy and doesn’t even remember her. he walks around pretending he doesn’t know her. what can i do to get back at him?

love,

heart

mr. cupid reads the anonymous confession of the day, ready to give his think piece.

“hi heart, hmm,” he pauses, seeming to be in deep thought, “first of all, i think you should be there for your friend. let her know that no man, especially a fuckboy, is worth any of her precious time. as for the guy, let him have a taste of his own medicine, he deserves it. no man should ever treat a woman like that,” he sweetly advises through the radio, making you scoff in disgust.

his fake persona was sickening considering you couldn't even count the number of girls he has been with in both of your hands in just a span of one year.

taste of his own medicine, huh?

two days later, you got all dolled up, looking exactly like the girls you know are his type – all pretty in pink, a cute skirt around your waist, pretty bow adorned on your hair, paired with heels that made your legs look longer.

you couldn’t even recognize yourself when you looked in the mirror. gone were the oversized t-shirts and sweats that usually hugged your body. you were going to make him notice you, one way or another.

it was all part of the plan – it’s simple, really! the entirety fitting in a page in your notebook, titled the downfall of na jaemin:

step one - introduce yourself.

step two - make him fall in love with you.

step three/four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world (university) that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony.

see, easy!

hence, we begin.

you’ve mapped out the trail he took after his first period. and like the mastermind you are, you were right where you needed to be at the right time. walking hurriedly past him and “accidentally” bumping into him, the books and papers in your hand flying out of your grasp, an exaggerated gasp slipping past your lips.

jaemin, quick to his feet, was already on the ground, picking up your fallen items, “sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“no it's okay, i wasn’t looking where i was going, sorry,” your sweet voice captures his attention as he finally gets a good look at you. a devilishly sweet smile growing on his features, eyebrows ever so slightly raising in a way that if you weren’t so observant, you wouldn’t have noticed.

“just be careful next time, beautiful,” he flirts, handing you back your things, the smile on his face never leaving. you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

“thanks handsome, i’ll see you around?,” matching his energy, voice going softer, eyes flirtatiously but calculatively drooping, as you grab your books out of his hands, making sure your fingertips touch, just a little bit, before turning away and quickly walking the opposite direction.

the boy quickly called out to you, “hey!, what's your name?!”

leaning over your shoulder, plastering on the sweetest smile you can give him, you waved away like you were some kind of princess – classic romantic first meetings.

he watches your retreating figure, a small smile visible on his features. he has half the mind to follow you until the sound of his phone buzzing snaps him out of his daze.

mark: where are u? need help setting up

jaemin: omw

𓏲𝄢

“did we get new students?,” was the first thing that jaemin asked when he entered the room, his friends quickly glancing at his direction before continuing their tasks – setting the house up for the fraternity’s highly anticipated valentines day party that was two days away. it was really the only party (besides halloween, christmas and new year) that they prepared for. all the other ones, didn’t require this much work.

“not that i know of?,” mark — leader of the dream fraternity, music major, the favorite fuckboy. unlike jaemin, he doesn’t hide under sweet pretenses. he tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. whether or not you continue, is up to you. so you can’t exactly blame him when he breaks your heart in the end.

“huh..,” he ponders.

“why?,” his leader ask, curiosity piqued.

“saw the prettiest girl today, never seen her before,” he says nonchalantly.

“maybe she was just passing by?,” haechan — member of the dream fraternity, theatre major, the most popular fuckboy. girls love him. boys love him. he’s funny and charming but also very straightforward. you won’t catch him in a single lie because he doesn’t tell any, even if that means ruthlessly hurting people’s feelings.

“can’t be, her books were from our library,” jaemin reasons, remembering the ‘step by step: how to art?’ book that he picked up from the ground stamped with the university’s seal. maybe you were an art major?

“what does she look like?, i can ask around,” jeno — member of the dream fraternity, architect major, the chill fuckboy. doesn’t really like the whole hopping from one girl to another so he ends up in a bunch of meaningless situationships. his current one has been going on strong – a good new record of four days.

“exactly my type, long hair, soft skin, pretty smile, dressed in the cutest outfit,” jaemin sighs hopelessly, like he was just shot with the lust arrow.

“uh oh there you go again, falling for nameless girls,” chenle smirks, throwing him the streamers he was assigned to put up.

chenle — member of the dream fraternity, business major, the lowkey fuckboy. doesn’t get around as much as the rest but also doesn’t do relationships either and he makes that very clear. no use of pet names, or flowers, or chocolates or anything romantic.

“actually, she was holding an art book. renjun, have you seen anyone today wearing a pink top with a white skirt, a pretty white bow on her pretty head?”

renjun — member of the dream fraternity, art major, the fuckboy by association. only got labeled a player due to his friends. doesn’t actually care too much for romantic relationships, but he will have one night stands here and there, he still has a working dick after all. #1 person to call out the boys if they over step a line but will also fight a girl for his friends.

“didn’t go to class today, too busy setting up,” he shrugs, ��leave the poor girl alone jaemin, we don’t need a repeat of last time,” he adds sternly.

“hey!, that one was not my fault, that girl was crazy,” jaemin reasons out earning a snort from jisung.

“yeah, hyung, crazy because she told you she loved you and you said it back then proceeded to avoid her,” jisung — member of the dream fraternity. dance major, the fuckboy in the making. he was in a relationship, once. the girl cheated on him so now he’s decided that love’s not real and is taking fuckboy 101 classes from mark and haechan.

“who tells you they love you while your balls deep in!?,” jaemin practically shouts, “my dick was my brain, okay!, besides who even says i love you to a guy you’ve only been talking to for a week, not to mention we barely talked!,” jaemin quickly defends himself for the umpteenth time.

“yeah, yeah we’ve heard it all before and well…that’s what you get for being sooo sweet,” haechan points out, laughing at his friend.

“that’s why next time you don’t put so much effort in,” chenle adds, joining in on the laughter.

“yeah dude, or maybe next time just tell them you just want sex? it works for me all the time i never have anyone crazy coming in like that,” mark teases, the entire group laughing as they recall the situation.

“well damn! god forbid i actually throw in a little bit of romance before i fuck their brains out,” jaemin sighs.

he can’t help it, he was a romantic at heart.

“fuck your brain out you mean?,” jeno snorts, causing jaemin to chase him around the house, fist ready for a punch.

“be careful! if you break any of the decorations i am not helping!,” renjun yells after them, the rest of the group breaking out into a chaos of laughter.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i accidentally ran into someone today…my books flew everywhere! i swear some even landed on his feet but he was so kind about it, picking it up for me and calling me beautiful and now i can’t stop thinking about his sweet smile. problem is i don’t even know his name, what should i do?

love,

angel

jaemin’s jaw drops, this has to be his mystery girl…right? how many people go bumping around others and dropping their books?

he found himself liking the fact that his identity was unknown. to you he was just the kind boy who helped you out and not one of the school’s residential fuckboy. he thinks this is somehow a work of fate and was sure he had to thank divine interventions for landing you straight into his lap.

clearing his throat, he starts with his advice, “interesting, what should you do, angel?,” he clicks his tongue, “i think you should go to the place you saw him at, maybe he’ll be there again? who knows, he could have felt the same thing…i guarantee you if he did, he’ll walk up to you and say hi…men are simple creatures, after all. if they like you they’ll do something if not, well, you deserve a better man, angel…”

angel — a pretty name for a pretty girl, jaemin thought.

“and of course to all you lovely ladies out there, advice of the day from your favorite cupid is: never accept anything less than the best…goodnight lovelies,” ending the session for the night.

“angel, angel, angel,” the name glides off his tongue. did he just use mr. cupid to get to you? of course he did, but you didn’t have to know that.

just like how he didn’t have to know that everything was falling into place, exactly the way you planned it.

like clockwork, you end up meeting him at the exact same place at the exact same time, your books safely secured in your bag — it was time to put things in motion.

jaemin spots you first, walking up to you this time, “hi angel,” you turn towards the sound of his voice, taking in his appearance, noticing the camera that hung around his neck.

“y-you listen to mr. cupid?,” you ask, playing dumb, of course he listens to mr. cupid. he is mr. cupid. you just didn’t expect him to bring the persona up at all.

“who doesn’t? it’s the number one radio show on campus,” he smirks, “and thank god i do or else i would’ve never known you were looking for me,” he shoots you a wink and it makes sense to you now how he’s never gotten caught. it’s because he doesn’t hide the fact that he “listens” to mr. cupid. he talks about mr. cupid like he was just a casual listener.

too bad for him, you saw him sneak out of the studio late that one evening, catching sight of the mr. cupid neon sign before the door shut.

you let out a playful laugh, “of course, i guess we have mr. cupid to thank…so what’s your name, handsome?,”

“you truly don’t know?,” it takes every ounce of you not to scoff.

“should i?,” you ask innocently, completely opposite from the rage you were feeling inside.

“of course not,” he shakes his head, “jaemin,” he introduces himself, hand reaching out for a handshake. you give him a soft smile before slipping your hand in his, “nice to meet you jaemin, i’m y/n.”

“not angel?”

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,” you explain and jaemin just shakes his head lovingly.

“do you want to get coffee?,” you ask, making jaemin’s smile grow wider.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

how do I get a fuckboy to fall in love with me?

love,

heart

“it doesn’t matter if he’s a fuckboy or not, to get anyone to fall in love with you, you have to dig deep, find out what they like and get to know them beyond surface level.” - mr. cupid.

the air in the coffee shop was buzzing with the faint hum of quiet conversations and light tunes playing from the cafe’s speakers. you sat across from him, sun rays from the window illuminating his sharp features. na jaemin, the playboy who had stolen hearts without a second thought, was now sitting before you, completely unaware of your secret identity.

“tell me about yourself,” you say as soon as the two of you got comfortable.

“well, i'm a photography major, part of the dream fraternity,” he gives the basic answer, not giving you anything else.

“girlfriend?,” you ask, eyebrows raising up as you took a sip of your drink.

“wouldn’t be sitting here with you if i had one, angel,” he responds smoothly, the use of the nickname he has insisted on continuing to call you rolls off his tongue, making you want to gag every time you hear it. perhaps you should have just given your real name.

instead you force yourself to blush, breaking eye contact like it was all too much, smiling down at your hands.

he finds it adorable of course. from his perspective, he had you right in the palm of his hands, all he had to do was catch you.

“you said you were a photography major…can i see your photos?,” you point to his camera, an innocent look displayed on your face, catching jaemin slightly off guard.

no girl has ever asked to see his work, always only curious about his reputation and seeing him as a challenge – maybe this was your ploy, pretending to care about him just so he would sleep with you.

he almost wants to tell you that you didn’t have to go through all that effort. just say the word and he’ll be in between your legs in a second but this is amusing and he’ll let it drag on for as long as you want.

“hmm, maybe later angel, how about you tell me about yourself first?,” his shit-eating grin appeared as fast as it disappeared and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to crack him so easily. you were prepared for that. in the three years you’ve heard about this boy, you have never heard of him being in love. you knew this would be hard. you had to break down your walls first if you ever wanted to see through his.

“okay, i'm an art major with a focus on painting, my favorite color is pink and i love iced americanos,” you point down to your matching drinks, letting out a soft giggle.

“hey, we’re pretty similar,” you hear the smile in his voice. of course, you calculatively said things you knew he also liked, things he’s mentioned in his show, you were an avid listener after all…before you knew it was him.

“what is it about painting that draws you in?,” he continues.

then it clicks for you — this was his own test wasn’t it?

he was using his own advice against you. he was digging deeper. his own personal trick to get you to fall for him. you give him exactly what he’s looking for.

“i guess i just love watching simple colors and lines all come together to create something beautiful…the way it can be interpreted in so many ways by different people, you know?,” you take a quick pause, making sure he was still listening to you. he nods encouraging you to go on, “the way it can carry emotions, i can look at it one day and feel happiness and then another day i could look at the same painting and feel sadness,” you continue, letting your heart talk for you. the passion you had for art clearly on display.

“tell me more, angel,” jaemin looks at you with a soft glow in his eyes like he's really taking in everything you’re saying and storing it somewhere safe. maybe it was because of how the sun rays hit his eyes? maybe it was genuine curiosity? or maybe he’s just mastered the act of pretending to care? you wouldn’t know. but you do know that it was easy to get lost in his gaze and it makes sense how he has succeeded in making everyone fall for him.

“hmm, i like how you can find a story within each painting if you look deep enough and i love the way that story changes depending on who’s looking,” you finish.

he smiles, a gentle smile — this one different from the grins that you were used to seeing and you knew you hit the spot.

“you know something, y/n? i think you and i are a lot alike,” he starts, “except for me, my photos are my painting,” he reveals a little but not too much, hushed voice, leaning towards you as it it was a secret. maybe it was? maybe it was something he’s never shared to anyone but you? again, you wouldn’t know.

you watch him reach for the camera sitting quietly on his side of the table, and before you could process what was happening the shutter of the flash has blinded you.

“w-why did you take a picture of me?,” you asked in quiet shock.

“i like this story, i think i want to keep it forever,” he casually admits, making your heart skip a beat. he was good and you realize now how tough this could be as you sat there thinking, was it this easy to fall for someone’s words before?

“what do you say angel, you want to go to a party with me tomorrow night?," and just like that, the grin was back on his face, snapping you out of your trance.

the NCTU valentines party – you’ve always heard about it being one of the best parties on campus, whether you’re single and ready to mingle or taken and want to party with your significant other, everyone goes to have a great time: sex, free alcohol, drugs and good music. how could anyone pass it up?

“i would love to,” you reply sweetly.

you needed to get into his room.

after all, you had no physical proof that he was mr. cupid.

𓏲𝄢

“i need to borrow a dress,” you rummage through your best friend’s wardrobe, looking for something pretty and pink.

“for what?,” giselle’s attention snaps toward you, her curiosity at its peak. she doesn’t even remember the last time you wore a dress.

“umm for a party,” you mumble, “excuse me?,” she walks over to you, not entirely sure if she heard correctly, “did you say party? you’re going to a party?!” she practically shouts, excitement bubbling through her.

“calm down, it’s not that big of a deal,” you sigh, still looking through her closet.

“uhm, yes it is! i’ve been trying to get you to a party since freshman year and you always turn me down,” she pouts, “in your own words, ‘parties are sooo lame, i have much better things to do,’” she playfully mocks, earning an eye roll from you.

“i don't sound like that,” you snarked, eyes narrowing at her.

“yes…you do,” she says, pushing you out of her closet and pulling out a pretty pink dress you’ve never seen before, exactly in your size. it was the perfect dress for the perfect girl you were currently playing.

giselle hands it to you with a smile on her face, “here, i bought it for you just in case this day ever happened,” making you chuckle, “i can’t believe you, thank you,” taking the dress out of her hands.

“whose party are you going to anyway?,” she asks.

“uhmm,” you take a second to think about whether or not you should lie but giselle knows you more than anyone else, she’ll see right through your words, so you decide to come clean, “theNCTUvalentinesparty,” you mumble and giselle’s jaw drops in shock, “the wildest party of the year for a party virgin…are you sure about that?,” she asks, voice laced with concern.

“don’t worry, i’m not gonna drink or anything,” you shrug and you see the way her mind works, piecing it all together.

“who are you going with?,” she inquired, afraid that she already knew the answer to the question.

“doesn’t matter,” you gulped, looking everywhere but your best friend.

“oh my god!,” she gasped, “don’t tell me you’re going with na jaemin?!”

“ok, i won't tell you i'm going with na jaemin,” you joked, trying to keep the energy light but you see the way her smile has disappeared into a thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“y/n-, i told you…you don’t have to do anything,” she breathes out, almost angry.

“giselle, you lost your virginity to him! and then he pretends you don’t exist?!,” you point out, reminding her of his faulty actions and how much he deserves what’s coming to him.

“so what!?, i probably would have lost my virginity to another jerk if not him, at least he gave me a good time,” you actually can’t believe she’s defending him right now, a frustrated expression appearing on your face.

“are you kidding me?! you cried over him for a week!,” you cursed, remembering the time you had to pick up the mess jaemin made.

“yes because i lost my virginity to a fuckboy!…not because that fuckboy was him, it could've been any one of them and i still would have cried,” she explains, “...but i'm over it!, i’ve been over it!,” she yells, arms flinging around, “besides virginity is a social construct anyways i feel much better without that word hanging over my head and since he’s slept with me i’ve had soooo many guys in my dms—,” she reasons out, rambling, almost losing focus until she caught herself.

“—so please y/n,” she snaps her attention back to you, holding your hands “—don’t waste your time on na jaemin and just…enjoy a good fucking party,” she practically begged.

“no,” you reply sternly, letting go of her hands “he needs to know how it feels like to get his heart broken. if not for you then i'm doing this for all the other girls who have cried over him,”

giselle sighs, your stubbornness was always a problem and she knew well enough that once you’ve set your mind on something, nothing can change it, “whatever y/n, don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face, he isn’t as dumb as you think,” she walks out, leaving you to wallow in your thoughts alone.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i’m going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like?

love,

heart

“be safe. don’t let anyone take advantage of you. and for the person you like? confidence is key. wear your head high, flash on your beautiful smile and always be one step ahead.” - mr. cupid.

loud music, red solo cups, couples sticking their tongue down each other's throat, a guy wearing a diaper holding a toy bow and arrow drunk in the front lawn and it’s only 9pm.

this is the infamous valentines day party?

you wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to the safety of your dorm room, hide under the blankets and binge watch cheesy rom-com movies until the sun comes up.

before you can psych yourself out, an unknown voice makes its way to your ears, “you must be, angel?,” the figure walks up to you, a smirk etched onto his face.

“and you are?,” you ask, already feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“haechan,” he introduces, hand going up for a handshake. he waits for yours but you never give it, only glancing at his hand with a slight look of disgust. quickly retracting it, the boy runs a hand through his long dark hair, laughing it off.

“he was right,” he comments, looking you up and down, “sorry?,” this is by far the most confusing conversation you’ve ever had. you’ve decided you hated parties.

“...long hair, soft skin, pretty smile and dressed in the cutest outfit, you are exactly his type,” he mumbles, sipping from his cup and taking a step towards you.

ahhh so he’s talked about you.

haechan’s figure towers over you and you’re now very aware that he’s an intoxicated man and you’re in nothing but a tight pink dress who forgot to bring some sort of self defense weapon. you hold onto your purse a little tighter, ready to swing if it comes down to it.

“back off, haechan,” jaemin’s deep voice echoes from behind you. his familiar presence brings you a sense of comfort. you’d take him over this random guy in front of you any day. though you’re not entirely sure it’s better.

“just introducing myself,” haechan smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender as the taller boy steps up beside you, “see you later, angel,” haechan bids his goodbye, walking back into the loud frat house.

“sorry about that, he gets a little too confident when he’s drunk but he’s never physically hurt anyone…just a whole lot of talk really,” jaemin snaps your attention back to him.

“physically?,” you question, head tilted.

“well, i can’t say the same for emotionally, he’s a heartbreaker you know?,” jaemin chuckles, taking a step closer to you.

“and you’re not?,” you look at him quizzically, smirk on your lips, challenging him.

“you look really beautiful, angel,” he ignores your question, choosing to lean in and compliment you instead, playful smile on his lips, “stick close to me tonight okay, you don’t want another heartbreaker getting near you,” he whispers, sending goosebumps throughout your skin.

jaemin watches you intently, “now, c’mon…let’s go inside,” he leads the way to the entrance with you following right behind him, head held high.

if you thought the outside was bad, the inside of the house was a whole different nightmare. the music booming filling up every corner of your mind, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against each other, more lip locking, not entirely sure who’s paired up with who, everyone just kissing everyone, one side of the room chanting “shot, shot, shot,” the other side carrying someone on the keg stand. the air was thick with the stench of alcohol and a mix of different flavors of vape smoke, hitting you all at once. you were definitely out of your element, panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

jaemin quickly senses your discomfort, your feet frozen to the ground, wincing as you look around the room, taking it all in. he walks towards you, gently lacing his fingers around yours, “just stay close to me, okay, y/n?,” gone was the smirk that you swore was glued on to his face, eyes full of concern. you nod, tightening your grip around his hand before he led you deeper into the room and into the kitchen where there were less people.

“ahh, there they are, took you guys long enough, i thought you may have just led her right to your bedroo-oW,” haechan fumbles over after the guy next to him punched him in the stomach, “what the fuck, mark?,” he groans in pain, mark ignoring him.

“please ignore hyuck, he’s had too much to drink…i’m mark,” mark smiles at you, he seems normal enough. this time you accept the handshake, “im y/n,” you reply, shooting him a quick smile, “i thought his name was haechan?,” your eyes darted between the three boys, pointing at haechan who was still soothing his pained stomach.

“haechan when he’s flirting, donghyuck to his friends,” mark says, clearing it up for you.

“you don’t have to tell her that, we’re not friends,” the boy chimes in and you agree, “he’s right,” making him perk up, “on a second thought, maybe we can be friends,” he says cheerfully, “sorry about my behavior, y/n,” he drunkenly apologizes, pout on his lips and you’re confused at the sudden change in his behavior.

“praise him once and he’ll do anything for you,” jaemin explains, chuckling at his friend’s antics and handing you a cup, “drink?,” he asks.

you eye the red cup suspiciously, “it’s just coke and henny,” jaemin says, taking a sip out of the cup to let you know that it’s safe to drink. you appreciate the action, “thanks,” you say, taking the cup from his hold and taking a sip. the taste was absolutely repugnant and you try your best to not let it show on your face.

“oooh that’s basically a kiss,” renjun from your art class walks in, teasing, and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. there’s no way he’s here right now? renjun was so polite and proper, what the hell was he doing here?

you realized now that you actually had no idea what happens in your university. too absorbed in your own bubble to know who’s friends with who, “ooooh jaemin and angel sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” haechan sings making the boy’s chuckle as you tried to hide your face behind the red solo cup.

jaemin shoots you a smile before getting dragged away by mark to the other side of the room, creating more mixed drinks for the party, leaving you with haechan and your fellow art classmate.

“hey, i’m renjun,” he walks up to you casually earning a slight nod from you, “you must be angel?,” he questions and all you do is nod, downing your drink, trying to ignore the burning in your throat, “okayy?,” he eyes you suspiciously and you’re afraid your cover has been blown until haechan grabs his hand, “don’t stare at my friend, it makes her uncomfortable,” he steps in and suddenly you’ve decided that haechan is your favorite.

“let’s go look for jisung, i still gotta teach him how to do that tongue thing,” haechan says, grabbing renjun and mark out of the room. you don’t even want to know what tongue thing they’re talking about, just grateful for the fact that renjun was finally gone.

“woahh, slow down angel,” jaemin makes his way back to you, taking the cup out of your hands, “what?,” you didn’t even realize you were still drinking it, too caught up in trying to not get caught.

“you finished it,” he says, almost proud, chuckling at your actions.

“oh…,” you sigh, looking at the empty cup. well, that’s not good. you’re not exactly a pro when it comes to alcohol and you can feel it catching up to you now, the heat in your face growing as a carefree laugh slipped from your lips, “i guess i did.”

jaemin finds you absolutely adorable, “let’s go dance, angel,” grabbing both of your hands and dragging you out of the kitchen, into the crowded living room, a strong hold around your waist, making sure you don’t trip amongst the crowd of people.

the music sounds so much better with the alcohol in your system. for a moment you let yourself enjoy it as you swayed to the beat, singing at the top of your lungs, jaemin right behind you, hands on your waist as your bodies were pushed closer and closer until there was no longer any space in between you.

maybe you understand parties now? you have never felt more free than you did now, all the worries and anxiety that came from school completely leaving your body. the only thing on your mind is the alcohol and jaemin’s warm hands electrifying your waist.

he turns you around in his embrace, coming face to face with his huge smile, “are you having fun!?,” he yells over the loud music.

the red heart shaped lights flashes around the room, illuminating his features, making him glow.

mr. cupid’s words ringing in your ear — be confident.

and so with the help of liquid courage, you wrap your hand around his neck, the smile on your lips never leaving as you made the first move, pulling him towards you, and catching him by surprise, “yes,” you whisper against his lips before finally connecting like they were magnets.

his lips were so soft against yours, jaemin quick to lead like this was a rehearsal he’s rehearsed a million times.

if you were to ask him, he knew you wouldn’t last long — this whole act of pretending to care about his photography. he’ll give you credit for being clever, for letting the romantic in him live for a couple of hours but at the end of night he is who he is. you want one thing from him and he wants one thing from you. he knows how this goes.

his hold on your waist tightened pulling you even closer, the growing bulge in his jeans felt hot against your thigh. one of his hands made its way to your cheeks, thumb softly grazing your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, tongue swiping at your bottom lip for entrance. the taste of alcohol and spearmint lingers as your tongue meets – he was a good fucking kisser and so dangerously intoxicating. he lightly bites your bottom lip, slowly pulling away and making his way down your neck.

“what do you say, we take this up to my room, angel?,” he whispers, sucking the sensitive spot right below your ear, earning a light moan from you. the mention of his room reminds you of why you were here in the first place. that’s the location you needed to get to. you nod, giving him the go signal, the smirk back on his face as he led you up the stairs. you hear the hollers of the people around you. to them, you were going to be another name under his belt and you’ve never felt more sick to your stomach than now. to think, for a brief moment, you were actually having fun with him.

as soon as you entered the quiet of his room, the only sound that filled the air was the faint hum of music drifting from downstairs, helping you think a lot more clearer. jaemin’s lips were littering kisses down your neck, body trapped between his large figure and his bedroom door. this was enough.

“jaemin-,” you sigh, “yes, angel?,” he murmurs against your skin. you lightly push him away, “i-i don’t want to do this,” you mutter out, looking down at the floor, making sure you look embarrassed from your actions.

jaemin immediately stops, taking a step back and giving you space, “that’s okay, we don’t have to do anything,” you look up at him, expecting to see an annoyed expression at you wasting his time but all that greets you is a quiet shock on his face, a momentary confusion before his eyes turned upwards, kind and gentle. the same genuine smile you briefly saw at the cafe making an appearance and it surprises you.

“sorry,” you whispered softly.

“no need for apologies, y/n, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says gently, grabbing your hand and leading you to sit on his bed. you take note of the way he calls you by your actual name when it matters.

“uhm can i get you anything?,” he asks you sweetly, a little awkward.

this entire situation has got you wondering if he was more like his fake persona in real life…but you can’t be blinded by his sweet actions. this is his tactic.

ladies and gentlemen — the sweet fuckboy.

“could you get me a glass of water?,” you ask and he quickly complied “of course, i’ll be right back, make yourself comfortable,” he smiles at you, still that same genuine smile and you almost believe it.

the sound of the door shutting has you on your feet in no time, ignoring the dizziness and blurred vision that came with the alcohol.

you quickly look around his room for any signs of mr. cupid, taking note of his bare walls — absolutely nothing that leads to him being the anonymous radio host.

making your way over to his dresser, you rummage through his drawers, shutting the first drawer as soon as you opened it, the space filled with packets and boxes of condoms and a bottle of lube. the next drawer you opened, to your luck, was his underwear drawer, you shut that one tight as well. you quickly look through each one, not finding a single thing, eyes quickly scanning the room, heart beating quicker as you feel yourself running out of time and then you see it…a box hidden at the bottom of his desk tucked all the way in the back…jackpot.

you open the box to pictures of him at the studio, the mr. cupid neon sign logo right behind him as he sits prettily behind the microphone. you find yourself laughing like a maniac, here it is! proof!

you can finally take him down.

quickly taking one of the pictures, you neatly tuck it in your purse before placing the box back where it belonged, running back to his bed to compose yourself, feeling like you just ran a half marathon.

𓏲𝄢

“that was quick,” jeno snickers as jaemin enters the kitchen, grabbing you a cold glass of water.

jaemin shakes his head at his friend’s comment, “we didn’t do anything, she actually told me to stop,” he explains leaving both of them dumbfounded.

“really?,” chenle inquired, a puzzled look on all of their faces.

“really,” jaemin confirmed, “i told you, she might be different,” he smiled a lovesick smile and they knew their friend was in trouble – he was letting his hopeless romantic side win once again.

“you’ve only known her two days, jaemin,” jeno reminds him, “how can you be so sure?,” he challenged.

“well, if she was like the rest, i would be inside her right now,” jaemin points out, earning a playful punch from the two boys.

jaemin was used to girls wanting him for one thing and one thing only – bragging rights.

it’s not a secret that he was known for only sleeping with the hottest, prettiest girls on campus. in turn, he has been a personal target for them, feeling justified and confident when jaemin gives them the time of the day and well, how could he pass up the offer?

they used him for reputation and he wasn’t a saint. he used them for easy sex. everyone wins. after a while he stopped trying to remember their names but the hopeless romantic in him lives on through his persona. he tries his best to add in a bit of romance but no girl could even fathom the idea of one of the fuck boys falling in love. no girl could even trust him to do so. only one girl told him she loved him but how could she? when all she knew about him was that he was incredibly good in bed.

so this, right now, the rejection he just received from you – it feels sweet on his tongue.

jaemin notices your disheveled appearance as he walks back in his room. you’re still sitting where he left you, sweat trickling down your forehead. he glances around his room, concern creeping into his voice, “you okay?”

were you okay? hell yeah, you felt fucking great you could hardly control the giddiness seeping out of you.

“i-uhm, don’t think the alcohol is settling in my stomach properly,” you lie. well, it was a half truth. the alcohol coursing through your system doesn't feel as great anymore and now that the adrenaline has worn off, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits, leaving you feeling sick to your stomach.

“c’mon, drink this,” he makes his way over to you. the cool water is refreshing, but it does little to ease the churning in your stomach.

jaemin grabs something on his desk before making his way behind you, gently brushing your hair out of your face, carefully tying it up into a ponytail. he was surprisingly really good at it and you can’t help but wonder how much practice he’s had.

he kneels before you, gentle eyes matching his kind smile, “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess, earning a shocked expression from him, “i shouldn’t have given you that cup,” he sighs, grabbing one of his jackets and softly placing it around your shoulders.

“let’s get you home, angel,” he says sweetly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before helping you up and leading you out of the fraternity.

𓏲𝄢

“you really don’t have to walk me all the way to my dorm,” you say again for the third time.

“i told you y/n, i’m not letting you walk home alone, you’re drunk—”

“i'm pretty sober now! i really am okay!,”

“—and it’s late, i don’t feel good about leaving any woman out here at this hour,” he insists, tightening the hold he had on your hand. with his caring nature, he reminds you more and more of mr. cupid.

it’s confusing. or maybe it was still the alcohol?

“well, here we are,” you point to the building of your dorm room, “thank you for walking me home, i'm sorry i crashed your party so early,” you apologize, taking note of the time, it was almost midnight.

“there will always be another party,” he shrugs, not at all caring about missing out on the fun, “thank you for showing up by the way, for letting me walk you home and–,” his hands finding that same spot around your waist, “happy valentine’s day, y/n,” eyes gazing into yours, voice barely a whisper, “can i kiss you goodnight, angel?”

instead of the usual teasing tone that accompanied the nickname, this time it was soft, calm, almost hypnotic.

he was so close, invading all your senses, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, fingers clenching his shirt as you waited, heart racing…you’re definitely blaming this on the alcohol.

jaemin takes this sign as a yes and soon enough his lips were on yours in a slow, intimate kiss — different from the rush kisses you’ve shared earlier that night.

before it could get deeper, jaemin pulls away, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, eyes fluttering open, “goodnight y/n,” he says, soft smile on his lips and your breath catches in your throat, unable to speak, “g-goodnight, jaemin,” you whisper.

he finally lets you go, but doesn’t leave until he’s sure you’re safely inside.

his lips still seem to linger on yours as you stood there, body pressed against the door, replaying everything that just happened.

𓏲𝄢

“STOP!-,” you point at the mirror, “what are you doing!…stop it now!,” you tell your reflection, who was looking back at you with a giddy smile.

“you’re still thinking about the kiss, i know you are!,” you talk to yourself and you swear maybe you’ve finally lost it.

“you can’t do this! this is part of his game plan and you have your own!,” you continue, arms flinging around like a crazy person.

“stick to the plan!,” you huff out, grabbing your laptop and shooting an email to mr. cupid.

dear mr. cupid,

i found that sweet guy i told you about. we spent valentine’s day together and i know this is cheesy but there were butterflies and all. i wanted to thank you for the helpful advice. please don’t read this out loud because i know he listens to this show and this is a bit embarrassing to say.

love,

angel

the next morning was a saturday and lucky for you, you had no saturday classes which meant you could go run to the safety of the art studio and paint to your heart’s content.

a way to debrief and just be yourself, shut your mind out from the rest of the world, even if it is just for a couple of hours. ditching the cute pink outfits, you settled for your go to paint splattered oversized t-shirts, matching your oversized sweatpants, hair in a messy bun, ready for the day.

as soon as you stepped outside, the sunlight blinding your eyes, a familiar voice hit you, halting you in your tracks, “good morning, angel!,” na jaemin stood before you, radiant as ever, eyes sparkling, smile beaming.

oh…why the hell did you bring him here last night?

now he knew exactly where you lived. now he knew exactly what you looked like. the real you, anyways. the alcohol truly was a horrible idea because him showing up here unannounced was something you didn’t plan for.

“what are you doing here?,” you say, almost harshly.

“i thought you would be hungover, so i brought you tea,” he says, walking over to you, finally taking note of the cup in his hand, “i promise you this is the only remedy you need to get rid of any headaches, proven and tested,” he smiles proudly.

you wait for him to say something about your appearance – a snide remark, a look of disgust, anything that shows his feeling of indifference but all you were met with were his eyes that for some stupid reason, can’t stop shining as he looks at you.

“thanks,” you say, grabbing the cup, “i’m busy right now though, so i’ll just take this and be on my way,” you finally shoot him a quick smile before turning around and briskly walking away.

“hold on, angel!,” jaemin yells out, quickly jogging up to you, making you curse under your breath. there’s no way you’re going to the art studio now.

“jaemin, i would really like to just have a me day,” you force out a smile before he could say anything else.

“of course,” he nods, completely understanding, “i-just, i-,” for the first time since you’ve met him, his confidence falters a bit, words getting lost in stutters.

“-is everything okay?,” worry laced in your voice. you can’t help it. this was abnormal behavior coming from him and you had a tendency to care too much.

he gives you a shy smile, “everything’s okay and i promise to leave you alone, i just need to ask for your help,” he finally says, you look at him quizzically, urging him to explain, “i have a project due at the end of the month, the theme is ‘recreating romantic cliche scenes,’ it’s exactly how it sounds…i was hoping you could be my partner,” he finishes, expectantly waiting for your answer.

“why me?,”

“there’s no one else i want to do this with but you, y/n,” he quietly confesses, cheeks turning pink, slightly embarrassed – different from he's usual flirting.

truth is, jaemin saw your confession in mr. cupid’s mailbox this morning. it was his final confirmation. you truly were different from the rest and he can’t help but feel those butterflies you were talking about.

you ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. it would be weird to say no, besides you have yet to accomplish step 2 - make him fall in love with you. so you answer with one word that captures jaemins attention, a smile of gratitude on his lips, “ok.”

as promised, jaemin left you alone for the rest of the day after asking for your phone number and an agreement to meet on monday which is when you would start. you agreed on one scene per day, a total of three scenes for his project.

you can’t expose him just yet and this project is the perfect way to stop finding excuses to meet up with him. it’s easier this way. the more time you spend with him, the more you can play the perfect girl.

the faster you can get na jaemin to fall in love with you.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin: hi angel, i'll meet you tomorrow at 7pm at the cafe at 127th street, wear something cute

the text message pops up on your phone on sunday night. you ignore the slight tingle in your stomach seeing his name on your phone.

the cafe at 127th street was a vintage coffee/bar, popular for its retro style and smoothies. you already know the kind of cliche scene he has prepared – sharing a smoothie.

y/n: can’t wait! see you there, jaemin <3

dear mr. cupid,

how can i tell if the guy i like, likes me back?

love,

heart

“if a guy likes you…you’ll know it, not a single doubt will cross your mind. you’ll see it through his actions, hear it in his words. he’ll share with you things he’s never shared with anyone else,” - mr. cupid.

the sound of 80’s love songs hit your ears as you entered the cafe. seeing as it’s a monday night, the space wasn’t filled and as loud as it usually is on weekends – most of it being taken up by retired senior citizens coming for a good time, away from the crowd of college students this place usually brought.

jaemin waves at you from the red booths, his angelic smile on his lips, the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. the smile that annoys you because of the feelings that were starting to appear every time you saw it.

you notice the camera has been set up to face the booth you will be sitting on, proper lighting placed around it to really illuminate the space, “hey, quick question,” you ask, greeting him. he gives you a quick side hug, before letting you ask your question, “since this is for your photography class, shouldn’t you be behind the camera?,” you wonder.

“well, photography is also all about the proper lighting and the editing which is the main focus for this project,” he answers your questions while clicking buttons on his fancy camera, eyes focused on the task at hand, “—and besides, if i have to take pictures of you acting these scenes out with someone else, i might crash out,” he winks at your direction, earning a playful eye roll from you.

“okay so what am i supposed to do,” you await his instructions, standing awkwardly.

“just wait a while, i’m still waiting on that chocolate smoothie,”

“ahhh so we are doing the ‘sharing a smoothie’ scene?,” you ask, eyes full of curiosity. he sends you a smile of confirmation, finishing his set up as you continue to watch him work. his eyes flickering around his camera, making sure everything is perfect. in a quick second, the flash of the camera blinds you.

“sorry angel, practice shot,” he smiles apologetically as you got up to see the photo he took. he moves to the side a bit, giving you room to see behind the lens. “oh my god, i look ridiculous,” you giggle at the expression you were making, a light shock on your face as you were staring not right at the camera but the figure behind it, “you look beautiful…as always,” jaemin whispers by your ear, a small smile starting to form on your face as you take note of all the colors and shadows the camera has picked up, “it looks really pretty,” you comment and jaemin observes the way you're taking every detail in.

you turn your face towards him, finally realizing how close he was to you. so close to the point you could remember the lingering feeling of his lips on yours. you could feel yourself leaning in when the waiter’s voice snaps you back to reality, the chocolate smoothie being served.

jaemin instructs you on what to do. sitting right across from him, the chocolate milkshake placed right in the middle of the table in between you, one straw for him, one straw for you.

“ready, angel?,” he asks you from across the booth, starting his countdown “…3, 2, 1…” as soon as he reached 1, you both leaned in, taking a sip out of your separate straws, eyes locked together, FLASH, you held your breath, making sure not to move, only focused on the warm brown eyes that seemed to look right into you.

after making sure the camera captured the moment perfectly, you finally break away, giggles erupting from both of you as you reach over to wipe the whipped cream that painted the corner of his lips, before getting up to check the picture.

“looks good to me,” you say, opposite to jaemin sighing next to you, “there’s a glare on the corner,” he comments, his attention to detail spot on as you looked a little closer and noticed exactly what he was referring to.

“let’s take it again,” he instructs, ordering another chocolate milkshake.

“jaemin, can’t we just drink from the same one?,”

“no, the whipped cream is already a mess,” he pouts and you respect it.

as an artist yourself, his attention to detail was admirable and you find yourself liking this serious side of him. how much time and effort he puts into it — completely opposite from the way he treated his relationships. this was a side of him you’ve never heard of, a side of him that you wished to know.

the waiter comes back again, serving a new set of chocolate milkshake, snapping you out of your thoughts as you make your way back into the booth, ready to pose for the camera.

this time the picture turned out perfectly. you can tell by the way jaemin's eyes lit up like a child on christmas day, the way his smile grew on his face before turning to you and nodding his head in approval.

you find yourself getting lost in him. he was so beautiful like this — indulged in his work, an innocent glow radiating off of him, “come, take a look,” he invites.

immediately, you could see the difference. you’re not sure what he did, which buttons he pressed to make this picture turn out like this but it looked straight out of a movie scene and he hasn’t even edited it.

the two of you spent the rest of the night finishing the two chocolate milkshakes, listening to whatever song people chose to play on the coin jukebox. at one point, jaemin even got you dancing with him, joining the crowd of elderly’s on the dance floor. he shows off his silly dance moves, like he was one of the grandpa’s in the cafe.

“you’ve got a charming young man, my husband was exactly like that when we first met,” a lady whispered in your ear, a blush appearing on your cheeks at her comment.

“he’s not really my man,” you confess to her, smiling sheepishly.

“oh but he will be sweetheart, no one will act that foolish if they weren’t interested,” she points out, directing your attention back to jaemin, who was already looking right at you before joining the grandpa’s dance battle, making sure you were watching every move he made — making you laugh like you’ve never laughed before.

the night ended with him walking you to your dorms, a soft kiss placed on your lips before the two of you bid your goodnights. you swore your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

and what’s worse? you couldn’t blame this on the alcohol. you walked up to your room with a heavy heart. the weight on your shoulders getting heavier as you remembered this was all part of the plan and there was no way you were going to lose to his charms.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i like his serious side. i hope he’s serious with me too.

love,

angel

the next day, jaemin tells you to meet them at their frat house for the next scene. you hoped to god, renjun wasn’t there. you’re not entirely sure how you were going to hide from him this time around. but just to make sure he doesn’t recognize you, you amp up the makeup a tiny bit more, completely opposite from the minimal to none makeup you usually go for during classes.

you rang the doorbell once before coming face to face with none other than renjun himself – of fucking course, just your luck.

“hey, it’s you,” he greets you and suddenly you’re frozen in place, does he know?

“you’re not much of a talker are you?,” he asks, eyeing you up and down, “uhmm-,” you try to find your words but not a single sentence escapes your lips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

renjun sighs, definitely weirded out, “he’s upstairs,” he says before stepping aside and letting you in, it takes you a second or two to find your steps, walking into the house. it was much bigger now that no one was around and surprisingly, it was clean, like it wasn’t filled with boys 24/7.

“-it’s so clean,” you weren’t aware you said it out loud until renjun’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ahhh and she does talk,” renjun grins,” jaemin’s a clean freak so we have to keep this space clean or he starts nagging,” he explains and you nod in response. that was definitely a fun fact.

“anyways, just go up the stairs, i think you already know where his room is,” he smirks, before walking away and leaving you to it.

as soon as he was gone, you felt like you could finally breathe. he didn’t know it’s you. shaking your worries away, you make your way up the stairs, knocking against the door you remembered.

“come in,” you hear jaemin’s voice from the other side before turning the knob and entering his room. it looked exactly like the night of the party.

he immediately lights up as soon as you enter, attention focused on you, as he greeted you with a kiss. it was starting to get ridiculous how much your heart skips a beat every time his lips touched yours.

you weren’t really expecting to be kissing him this much to begin with but that doesn’t stop you from kissing back, your lipstick staining his lips, “sorry,” you giggled as you gently wiped it off of him.

“that’s okay, pink is my color anyways,” he says before stealing another quick peck. at this rate, you’re not entirely sure who was making who fall in love anymore.

“okayyy,” you push him back playfully, chuckling, “what scene are we doing today?,” making jaemin wiggle his eyebrows as he made his way to his closet, pulling out a vintage boombox.

“where the hell did you get that?,” you ask, inspecting the old device.

“i have my ways,” he winks, “so…you ready to win me back?,” he smirks and your jaw drops, “i have to be the one holding it?,” you ask, flabbergasted. boomboxes aren’t exactly the lightest objects in the world and you barely had any arm strength. for god’s sake you were a painter, your hands were as gentle as a feather.

“you’re my muse angel, you gotta be in the picture,” he flashes you an apologetic smile in a way that he wasn’t really sorry, instead finding that pout on your lips amusing.

so now you’re here standing a little outside the porch of his steps, boombox over your head, as jaemin angles the camera from the balcony, capturing you perfectly…well, not quite, “wait, the sun is in your eyes!, move to the left a little bit!,” he shouts from the second floor, as you quickly follow his instructions, “is this good?!,” you yell back, earning a nod of approval from the boy.

he takes another snap and another and another – this time around, you curse his attention to detail, your arms starting to burn, back starting to ache, legs getting tired from standing for so long with the heavy boombox over your head, “jaemin, are we almost done!,” you yell out, annoyance seeping through you.

“just one more shot angel, i promise!,” he shouts back. and so you do one more shot for him, posing in the way he wanted and just like he promised, it was finally over.

jaemin hurries down the steps of the fraternity house as you head back inside, “sorry, that took longer than i expected,” he says, gently taking the boombox from your hold, swapping it instead with a cool glass of water he had readily prepared for you.

taking a napkin, he carefully dabs away the sweat that has formed around your temples, “it’s okay, did the pictures turn out okay?,” you ask, offering him a warm smile.

“come see for yourself,” his hand envelops yours, tugging you up the stairs and onto the balcony where he had been standing. and just like the diner photo, this one also looked exactly out of a rom-com movie.

“wow, guess it only takes an amazing photographer for me to look like a lead in a movie,” you compliment and jaemin can’t help but grin from ear to ear, your praise going straight to his heart.

“well, a photographer also needs a beautiful muse, so thank you,” he smiles warmly, “and since you went through all that trouble for me, i want to show you something,” he says shyly before taking your hand in his once again and leading you back to his bedroom.

you make yourself comfortable, sitting on his computer chair as he rummages through his shelves, looking for something. after a minute or two, he takes out a large book and slowly, hesitantly, makes his way over to you, carefully landing the book on your lap.

“what’s this?,” you ask, curiously inspecting the outside of the book.

“that day in the cafe, you asked to see my photos,” you realize now that what you were holding was a photo album.

“i’ve never really shown them to anyone before so please be kind to me,” he says, rambling nervously, “of course constructive criticism is always welcome and you don’t have to like it,” he chuckles softly, trying to play it cool, hoping you won’t notice how loudly his heart was pounding in his chest.

“jaemin, you don’t have to show me this,” you say, your breath catching in your throat, heart aching.

for the first time since all of this began, you realize that jaemin is being entirely sincere with you. and here you are, sitting on his bed, taking up space, with a knife hidden behind your back.

“y/n, i want to show you,” he admits, “you’ve been entirely honest with me and i’m ready to do the same,” he says, nudging the album in your hand, wanting you to finally open it.

if only he knew.

you couldn’t take looking into his warm brown eyes any longer, focusing instead on the photo album.

finally turning a page. the first picture that greets you is of a woman that resembles the man in front of you, a shining smile on her face as she sat on a picnic blanket, the green scenery behind her making it look like she was straight out of a fairytale.

“that’s my mom, most important person in my life, she loves going on picnics,” he quietly comments, snapping your attention back to him, you give him a smile, “she’s beautiful jaemin, you captured her perfectly,” your voice faltering, before turning to the next page.

you recognize the next picture was of the boy you met during the party - mark, his name was. holding a guitar, and just like his mother in the previous page, he had a happy smile on his face, clutter of music sheets surrounding him.

the next couple of pages were all the boys you recognize from his fraternity, each one sporting a look of contentment in a place where they seemed to belong.

jaemin watches you flip from page to page, taking in the way your eyes would widen, the small smile that would appear in your lips as you looked over every photograph. his heart pounding in his chest. he wanted to impress you.

you turn and turn, getting to the photos where he was in, with his family and his friends. the sweet smile that he would share with you all marked in these pages. you realized those were your favorite. you wanted to paint it. wanted to capture every detail and keep it to yourself.

then, at the very last page was the picture of you – sitting in the cafe, on that very first date the two of you had.

you felt like you lost the ability to speak, just staring at the photo, guilt creeping in your heart. you didn’t deserve a place in these pages yet here you were… and he has managed to make you look as beautiful as the rest, like you were a part of everything good and true in his life.

“why am i on here?,” you shakily whisper, trying to push back the lump forming in your throat.

“these are all stories i want to keep forever,” jaemin softly whispers, “and i told you y/n, i like this story,” you turn to look at him, reading him. looking into his eyes, you see nothing but honesty.

the boy in front of you has finally let his walls down but you don’t feel an ounce of accomplishment. none of the feelings of gratification that you were supposed to be feeling came. the thoughts of revenge so far back in your mind.

instead you sat there, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life as you inched closer, closing the space in between you and capturing his lips in yours. jaemin quickly responds, kissing you back just as sweetly. the gravity of the moment hanging in the air.

“i'm guessing you like it?,” he asks.

"i love it," you confess, just before he pulls you in for another kiss, feeling his smile against your lips.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin walks back into the fraternity just right after dropping you off. head all up in the clouds, a love arrow happily pierced right into his heart as he hums a tune. he’s loving the constant goodnight kisses, loving the thought of being able to kiss you forever.

“jaemin–,” a voice strictly calls out to him, bringing him back to reality.

“yes, my lovely friend, renjun,” he sighs happily, sitting across from him on the living room couch.

“how long have you known, angel?,” renjun inquired.

“a week now, why?,” jaemin asks, nonchalantly. if he was here to tell him that he was being a hopeless romantic again then he doesn’t really want to hear it. this time he knows it’s different.

if the butterflies in his stomach weren't proof enough, the messages you leave for mr. cupid sure was.

“there’s something off about her,” renjun comments, making jaemin roll his eyes, “oh c’mon, you say this about every girl im with,” he points out. renjun has always been picky with the company his friends kept so this wasn’t really new to him.

“i’m serious jaemin, she seems familiar but i just can’t place my finger on it,” renjun ponders, earning a scoff from the younger boy, “there’s no placing your finger on anything, she goes to our university, you’ve probably seen her walking around campus,” he reasons out.

“whatever jaemin, just be careful,” renjun advised before walking out of the living room and up the stairs.

jaemin shakes his head, thinking back to the memory of you looking through his photo album and once again, find himself humming, smiling at the ceiling. there was absolutely nothing anyone could say to ruin this for him.

dear mr. cupid,

i think i'm falling for him.

love,

angel

you hated yourself that night.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin leads you to the parking lot, hand in hand. you inspect the location, wondering what romantic scene he had planned out for the last scenario. you’ve been dreading this moment, realizing that it’s soon coming to an end. every tick of the clock leads you to step three: breaking his heart.

you stop in front of a silver car, your brain not connecting the pieces together. turning to the boy right next to you with a set of curious eyes.

“we're going to a new location for this one,” he explains, opening the car door up for you. you don’t question it, somehow you trust him enough to hop into the passenger seat.

jaemin ensures you're securely buckled in before stealing a quick kiss, leaving a surprised flush on your face. with a smile, he jogs around and settles into the driver’s seat, putting the car in drive and hitting the gas.

you sat in silence, gazing out the window as the scenery shifted, the soft hum of the radio barely audible, allowing your mind to wander.

as you reflected on the past few days, each quiet moment seemed to lead you back to this – the heavy weight of dread and guilt slowly taking over.

the once alluring idea of revenge now tastes bitter on your tongue. you expected it to be difficult, but you never anticipated that the true challenge would be the way he’d quietly capture pieces of your heart and how you didn’t mind it at all.

in fact, you liked it. you liked being around him, liked his stolen kisses, his stories, his gentleness, the warmth that he left on your skin with every touch, his laugh and most of all, that stupid sweet smile he always seems to be sporting around you.

you’ve replayed it in your mind a thousand times, torn between the devil and the angel on your shoulders, unsure if this plan is worth risking the bond you've built with him. but every time, the same side wins — the side of pride, the side that tells you this is all still a lie. and if it’s not, then the truth remains. this relationship was born from anger and hate.

jaemin interlaces his fingers around yours, grabbing your hand, bringing you back in the car with him, “what are you thinking about?,” he asks softly. even without looking at him, you can see the smile on his face, the gentleness in his tone.

“just thinking about where we're going,” you lie, staring at your interlocked fingers that somehow seemed to fit like two perfect puzzle pieces.

“hmm, we’re going down south, to busan,” he answers and your eyes almost bulge out of your head, “what?!,” he chuckles at your expressive reaction, “jaemin that’s like a 4 hour drive,” you sulk in your seat, hand still in his, “why do we need to go that far?”

“for rain,” he shrugs, bringing your hand up to his lips as he placed a soft kiss upon your knuckles. you fight the urge to smile.

“what exactly do you have planned, loverboy?,” you tease him, pushing all your previous thoughts to the side and focusing on this moment.

“oh you know, pretty rain, pretty girl,” he tosses you a look, confirming your thoughts. he was planning to do the ever so famous rain kiss.

“if you wanted to kiss me, you don’t even need to ask,” you teased, earning a playful laugh from him, “-will keep that in mind, angel,” he winks.

the rest of the car ride was spent singing to whatever was on the radio, learning each other’s favorite things, sharing fun stories and a few more stolen kisses, some of them coming from you.

it all felt comfortable, almost like you were always meant to be here with him by your side. eventually, sleep crept up on you, leaving jaemin in the warm silence, eyes occasionally drifting to your figure, finding peace in the calm as he drove.

the next time you open your eyes is when you finally get to the location jaemin had in mind. it was cloudier here, the sky already casting a soft gray hue. jaemin sets up his equipment, preparing for the rain, while you rush to assist, quickly placing everything into the makeshift set. the lush green landscape stretches around you, the open field decorated with blooms of pinks, whites and yellows, while the river in the distance adds a cool touch of blue. you’re not entirely sure if the camera could capture the beauty of nature but you trust jaemin will find a way to make it come to life.

the rain came at the perfect moment.

jaemin decided to hit record on his camera instead, explaining how it’d be easier for the two of you, since he didn't have to run back and forth to take the picture.

he led you to the right spot, flashing you a smile before his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and without wasting another second his lips were on yours. heart immediately racing in your chest as you move in complete synchronization, lips chasing his as he took the lead.

the rain continuously pouring over you.

when you could no longer breathe, you pull away, giggles erupting from both of your chests.

the rain pours harder and harder. jaemin feels like he’s been struck by lightning, your giggles melodically ringing in his ear.

he pulls you back in again, kissing you gently, so intimately, like he forgot there was a camera a couple feet away. every kiss, he loses himself in you, melting under your fingertips and for the first time in forever he says words he’s never said to any girl.

“i really like you, y/n,” he confesses, the words floating in the air, replacing the sound of the rain thumping on the ground, filling every corner of your mind. he rests his forehead against yours, warm brown eyes filled with sincerity, making you unable to breathe.

and just like that, the other side won — the side that has fallen for him. the one that believes this is real. the side that likes hearing your name slip from his lips, the stolen kisses, the warmth of his hand in yours, the laughter and of course that sweet smile forever etched in your mind.

you don’t want to let go of any it.

instead, you decide to throw your four step plan out the window, casting away all thoughts of revenge that once burdened your heart.

in that moment, you felt light, free.

the rain fell in an endless rhythm, drumming against your skin, soaking every inch of you, but you barely noticed it as you kissed him again. this time with a passion that made it feel like your life depended on it.

he’s a dream you couldn’t bear to lose, a fleeting moment you feared would vanish the moment you opened your eyes. but then you feel him smile against your lips, warm hands tightening around your waist as he pulls you even closer and you’re reminded that this is real and exactly where you want to be.

you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace until the cold slowly crept in, seeping through your clothes.

the rain never letting up.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin did not plan this well at all. besides the fact that he didn’t think to bring extra clothes, the light showers the weather app had predicted had turned into a brutal rainstorm and it was getting harder for him to drive, the droplets continuing to pour heavily on the car window.

“angel, we’re gonna need to stop and stay overnight somewhere,” he suggested in which you quickly agreed to, prioritizing safety. which is how you ended up sitting on the bed with nothing but the bathrobe that came with the hotel, your clothes drying in the bathroom that was currently occupied by none other than jaemin, himself.

the hotel only had one room available and of course, like this was all a part of your doom, that available room happened to have only one bed.

you’ve already taken your shower, washing off the remnants of the cold rain sticking to your body. now that you're in the safety of the warm room, waiting for the boy to finish, your mind can’t help but wander at the possibilities the night held. you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself if he decides to advance. in fact, you’re not entirely sure you could control yourself around him.

shaking the thoughts away, you finish drying your hair before getting under the bedsheets and tucking yourself in, making sure your robe hugged tightly around your body.

grabbing the remote from the bedside table, you switch the t.v. on, hoping the noise could drown out the nerves. you settled on the channel playing harry potter and the goblet of fire, forcing yourself to focus on the movie instead of the boy that was as naked as you just on the other side of the bathroom door.

jaemin steps out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, his robe hanging loosely around his body, a bit of his toned chest exposed to the cool air. you try not to stare for too long as he walks around the room, eyes on the t.v. he quickly shuts off the lights before finally settling on the chair, farthest away from your side of the bed, “i love this movie,” he comments, your heart pounding in your chest at the sound of his voice, somehow raspier in the night.

the effect he had on you was absolutely insane. you’ve had sex before, had a couple tricks up your sleeve but nothing like what you’ve heard about jaemin. the fact that he was amazing at sex was a known fact throughout the entire university, girls always giggling about how they had the best night of their lives and how they couldn’t walk the next morning.

turning your head towards him, you’ve realized how engrossed he actually is in the movie that’s playing and it makes you feel silly. jaemin has never made you do anything you didn’t want to do and not once has he ever crossed a line. you really needed to get your head out of the gutter.

“why are you sitting all the way over there? this bed is big enough for both of us you know,” you say, capturing his attention, reminding him of the fact that this bed is a queen sized bed.

he sends you a soft smile, “i’m a gentleman, angel”

“oh please,” you scoff playfully, “we’re both adults, we can control ourselves,” you point out, completely contradicting your thoughts and burying yourself in a bigger hole. it’s not that you were trying to provoke him, it’s just that he was the one who paid for the room and you would feel absolutely awful if he had to squeeze himself in the chair, that was obviously too small and uncomfortable, the whole night.

you pat the empty space beside you, “c’mon, i won’t bite,” you playfully tease.

unbeknownst to you, jaemin was in a way tougher spot.

he accidentally caught a glimpse of your pink lacy underwear, the one you left behind in the shower, tucked in between the rest of your clothes, and couldn’t get the image of you in a matching set out of his head. then his mind started to get a little out of control, if your underwear were here then that must only mean you were completely naked underneath that white robe.

he had to relieve himself in the shower, hand wrapped tightly around his hard cock, biting back his moans as his mind brought him to images of you. he thought jerking himself off in the bathroom would help push away all his desire for the rest of the night but as soon as he stepped into your room and saw how small you looked, tucked into the queen sized bed, he felt his cock twitch under his robe again. which is why he had to resort to turning off all the lights in the room, afraid you would see his boner poking out. then he sat there, focused on harry potter, as he tried to drown out your presence.

but now, you’re inviting him to take up the space next to you and god, you have absolutely no clue what you’re doing to him, it’s unfair. he feels disgusted at the fact that all he could think about is how much he wants to fuck you.

he really needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

slowly, he got up. surely this would not help his case but he didn’t want you to think he was a horndog that couldn’t control himself. he usually was better at this. it was just the fact that it was you and he wants you so bad. needs you. all those lingering touches and kisses finally catching up to him.

he focuses again on the screen ahead, the t.v. illuminating the dark room, light bouncing off of your faces as you sat in silence, just watching the movie play out. though if you asked him what just happened in the scene, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. his mind racing with anything that could help soften his dick.

at one point it got way too hot beneath the sheets and you made the mistake of releasing your arm out from the under and onto the bed, right next to where jaemin’s arm was lying. you try to ignore the heat radiating off of his body, try to ignore the rapid rhythm of your heart. pulling away would be suspicious so you kept it there.

jaemin’s eyes flicker from the t.v. to your hand. you were so close, all he had to do was move his pinky and his hand would be in yours.

his self-control was becoming thinner with every second that passed and before he even realized what he was doing, his pinky moved — bumping into yours and in the next second he had your hands locked together.

he turns his head towards you only to see you were already looking up at him, starry eyes locked on his for a second before you quickly turned away, blush creeping up your cheeks at being caught.

he can’t help himself anymore, moving away from the headboard and lowering himself down to the pillows as he turned his body in your direction. this time, when he turned to look at you, you were only a couple of inches away from him.

“angel,” he whispers. you cautiously turned your head towards his, knowing that there was absolutely no going back from this. the tension in the room has got you clenching at nothing and you were getting sick of it. you wanted him and you’re not entirely sure why you were holding back, considering the confessions you shared earlier.

jaemin takes a second to study your face, memorizing every freckle before he let his eyes finally dart down to your parted lips, “i really want to kiss you,” he confesses into the night air, like it was a secret no one else was allowed to hear.

“i thought i told you if you wanted to kiss me you don’t even need to ask,” you quietly tease and that was all jaemin needed to hear before giving in to the cravings of the night, harry potter long forgotten as he finally pressed his lips on yours.

he kisses you once, twice, three times before his tongue darts in begging for permission. your mouth immediately parting as you gave him access, tongues moving in melody.

the make out session grew heavier and heavier, fingers finding their way through his hair, lightly tugging, eliciting a messy whine from him, his moans sending tingles throughout your body. “fuck, y/n, i need you,” he groans against your lips and you couldn’t agree more.

you wanted his hands all over you, regretting how tightly you tucked yourself into the blankets. swiftly, and with jaemin’s help, you pushed the blanket off of you, never once breaking the kiss, leaving both of you in your robes. the lack of the heavy covers made it easier for your hands to roam, wandering down to his chests as jaemins hand settled on your back, a little bit above your ass, pulling you so close you could feel his bulge against your clothed core.

“take this off,” he demands, untying your robe and pushing it off of your shoulders, jaemin quickly tossing it somewhere across the room before hovering over you.

he takes a moment, taking you all in for the first time, practically drooling at the sight of you, you’re so beautiful to him. it’s as if an actual angel was right in front of him and the thought of him ruining you makes his cock twitch. he didn’t even know he could get this hard.

“jaemin, please do something,” you say, starting to feel insecure under his gaze. your small voice snaps him out of his daydream. “you’re so fucking beautiful,” he praises before his lips latched onto your nipple, sucking, licking, making your back arch towards him, moans slipping past your lips, other hand playing with the other bud, twisting, pinching and you feel like you could cum just from that.

“f-fuck jaemin, want you please,” you sigh in pleasure, hips bucking up in response to his actions.

“what do you want, angel?,” he asks, teasing you and it takes every ounce in you not to pounce on him.

“i want you to touch me, p-please,” you don’t even care how desperate you sounded right now.

“i am touching you, angel,” he was loving this way too much. the way you were unraveling underneath him and he hasn’t even touched the neediest part of your body.

“lower,” you plead, earning a smirk from him, “hmm, right here?,” he asks, his hand, wandering down to outline the curve of your waist and landing on your hip, rubbing soft circles around your love handles. you don’t know how much more teasing you could take, your pussy dripping with arousal, “lower, please,” you cry out, “tell me where, angel, want to hear it from you,” he grunts against your ear, leaving marks all over your neck, “i want your fingers inside of me, please,” you plead for the third time.

“anything my angel wants, she gets,” jaemin playfully whispers before his fingers found its way to your folds, rubbing up and down, “so wet already, all this for me huh,” he praises, your head nodding vigorously in response, “only for you, jaemin.”

happy with your response, his finger slides into you, finally giving you what you wanted. even with your pooling arousal, you were still so tight around his digit, making him curse. he curls his finger, immediately hitting that spot that made you see stars, eliciting a high pitched moan from you, pussy clenching even tighter.

“fuuck angel, im gonna need you to open up for me,” he slides another finger in, curling and scissoring againsts your walls, pleasure coursing through your veins, he was so so good.

“i need to taste you,” he warns before he was diving into your pussy, mouth sucking and blowing against your clit, lapping up your juices, catching your breath, “holy fuck, jaemin,” your stomach clenches, heat traveling all throughout your body as you feel your orgasm coming to a close embarrassingly soon.

“i-m gonna come, baby,” the new pet name drives jaemin absolutely crazy, fingers practically moving at a speed of light inside your walls as he continued to suck on your clit, “go ahead angel, come for me,” he moans against your pussy, the added vibrations rolling your eyes back as you lost the ability to moan, head falling backwards, mouth wide open as you came.

jaemin coaxes you through it, savoring every drop before his lips were back on yours, pulling you back down to reality as you taste yourself in his tongue.

“you okay?,” you hum in approval, a smile taking over your features as you kiss him back, hands quickly untying his robe. jaemin quickly responds, pushing the last piece of clothing away, cock springing free.

in one swift motion, you push him back down to the pillows, taking the lead as you straddled him, “your turn,” you whisper, a light shock appearing on the boy’s face before he settled into the bed, getting comfortable. one of his hands coming up to support the back of his head as he watched you, the other roaming all over your skin, a smirk displayed on his lips.

you were fucking nervous, you’ve never been this upfront in the bedroom but due to how much experience he had, you wanted to show him that you could keep up.

“want to make you feel good,” you whisper in his ear, making him shiver, he swears you were going to be the death of him. your lips found its way to his neck, decorating him with the same pinks and purples you’re sure he has left all over your body.

jaemin was very vocal, already whining under your touch, helping you completely push away any of the remaining worries you had. your fingers found it’s way around his nipples, lightly squeezing and you realized how sensitive he was as he squirmed below you, hips immediately thrusting up, “fuck, angel you’re gonna kill me,” he whines and you can’t help but let out a soft giggle as you travelled lower and lower, hand softly wrapping around his hard length, earning a breathily groan from him. you understood now why your body really needed to open up. he’s huge and you were definitely intimidated.

you start by kitten licking his tip making jaemin hold his breath as you stare up at him, his eyes completely blown out. you can tell how much restraint he’s trying to hold on to to not shove his cock down your throat. you don’t tease him for too long before finally taking his length in your mouth, sucking on his tip, jaemin’s groans immediately increasing as his hand found its way to your hair, gripping tightly, orgasm already creeping up.

you bobbed your head up and down, tears brimming in your eyes at his size. he has no idea what you’re doing to him, how you managed to have him coming undone in seconds, body shaking under your touch. no girl has made him cum this fast before, “fuck angel, i can’t last,” he manages to mumble in between heavy pants. the words encouraging you as your hand finds its way around his balls, gently cupping.

you barely touched him before he was toppling over, cum shooting down your throat with no warning, making you choke.

your hand continued to work him through his orgasm as you cleared your throat. jaemin had to practically push you away, “angel, please stop, i need to feel you,” he groans, pulling you back up to his lips and kissing you passionately.

carefully, he switches the position, having you under him once again. he reaches out for his wallet placed on the nightstand, taking the pack of condom and ripping it open with his teeth before placing it on his already semi hard cock, “god, look what you do to me,” he grunts.

your hand rubs up and down his thighs as you watch him swipe his length between your wet folds, the tension in your stomach building up once again.

he wraps your legs around him, kissing you slowly, so intimately, “i really fucking like you, y/n,” he admits for the second time that day, sending you what has now became your favorite smile.

“i really like you too, jaemin,” you reply, pulling him closer as he aligns his cock against your entrance.

jaemin wasn’t a fan of missionary but god, you’re so fucking beautiful, he wanted nothing more but to look at you when he entered, watching your face contort as you adjust to the size of his large cock, harmonized moans mixing in the air.

for the first time, he finally understood all the sentiments his friends in relationships would say — this feeling was so different from the regular hook ups. the passion, the intimacy of it all. you were so dangerous to him and yet he was obsessed with the way you have him wrapped around your finger.

he loves the way your eyebrows furrowed in between pleasure and pain as he bottomed in, your walls finally hugging the size of his cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper. the way your lips fell into moans once he started thrusting in and out of you. your eyes shutting as he increased the pace, faster and deeper and always hitting that spot that got your head rolling back, toes curling. the way you gripped his back as he rubbed harsh circles around your clit, sending you to overdrive. the way your body went completely limp against the pillows, face in complete bliss as your walls tightened around him, sucking him in. his abs clenching in response, a guttural moan from his throat escaping, reaching a high he’s never felt before as he burrowed his face into your neck to control his shaking body.

you enjoyed the feeling of his skin against yours, reveling in your shared orgasms. staying that way for a minute or two, his body heavy against yours before he snuck in a gentle kiss to your lips.

you hiss as he pulled out, already feeling empty without him. he fucked you so good that all you wanted to do was slip into the peaceful darkness, sleep begging to take over.

the distant hum from the t.v. continues, playing the credits, as the rain pounded on the windows filling your ears. you feel the bed dip beside you as he moved around, feel the soft cloth against your pussy, wiping away your arousal, feel him take the spot next to you once again, shutting off the t.v and pulling you close to his chest.

“goodnight, angel,” he whispers, gently draping the blanket over your bodies, before placing a soft kiss on your temple and finally letting sleep consume you.

jaemin wakes up the next morning, your figure right next to him. it was strange, waking up to a person but he liked it — liked that it was you.

the sunrise peeks through the curtains as the memory from last night vividly replays in his head. he softly pushes away the layers of hair that have covered your face, taking in your angelic appearance as your chest rises and fall to a steady rhythm, sleep still hugging you.

he starts tracing the outline of your cheekbones, fingers softly grazing the curve of your nose, down to your lips. he takes in every detail, taking a mental screenshot.

your eyes flutter open at his light touches, “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease which you figured was the wrong thing to say to a photographer as soon as the words lef your mouth, jaemin wasting no time to reach for his phone and snapping a shot.

“oh my god! i was kidding, i look like a mess,” you scream playfully, bringing the blanket over your head and covering your face in embarrassment, earning a laugh from the boy beside you.

he tugs the blanket off of your face, “you look even more beautiful in the morning, angel,” he compliments, making you blush.

the rest of the morning was spent well — shared selfies, slow kisses, lazy sex, touches lingering all over your skin, an innocent shower with millions of stolen kisses, laughter and more stories.

everything truly felt like a dream, like you were sitting on a cloud occupied by only two. hands never leaving the other’s as jaemin drove back to seoul, the car ride filled with sweet nothings.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin was worried sick. it’s been two days and you haven’t reached out to him. his texts being left on delivered. fear was starting to creep up on him in the form of doubts and mistrust. he thought maybe you were exactly like the rest and you did only want him for sex and now that it’s done, you were also gone and he was nothing but a fool being hit by his own karma.

he realizes now that he’s too deep into this, that it’s too late now to take it all back. too late now to make sure you can’t hurt him. he’s never given anyone this much control over him and he was absolutely losing it.

his phone dings and he scrambles to pick it up, hoping that this time it was you on the other end. his prayers being answered when your name pops up, letting out a sigh of relief.

my angel: jaemin i’m sorry…

his heart races in his chest, not entirely sure what you were apologizing about. he watches as the three dots appear on the screen, an indication that you were still typing.

my angel: i’m sick :(

my angel: i think the rain finally caught up with me

he reads the message, feeling absolutely awful and guilty that his mind could even taint your image like that. that he could even let doubts fill his head.

all he wanted to do now was take care of you.

on the other side, you were really regretting staying out in the rain for so long as you sat in your bed rotting, body burning up, head hurting, nose red, throat dry. it’s been two days since you last saw jaemin and you missed him…a lot. but you didn’t want him to catch your virus so now you’re here, hanging on by a thread as he spammed your inbox with messages filled with tips on how to get over a cold quickly.

the next morning, after asking around, jaemin finds himself knocking on your dorm room’s door, a bag containing hot soup and medicine in hand.

he couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing so here he is, ready to be your nurse for the day and cure you back to health.

the door swings wide open only to reveal a familiar face, “jaemin?,” the girl with long black hair asks, head turned like a curious puppy.

“uhmm,” he mutters, quickly racking his brain for information, searching for a name he definitely knew. he remembers her face, remembers the fact that they shared a night together but he can’t quite pinpoint who she is exactly.

for a second, he thinks he’s in the wrong room, until her voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “are you looking for y/n?,” she asks.

he nods in response as she gestured to the door across the room, “she’s in there,” she said before stepping aside, letting him in and quietly shutting the door behind him as she hurries into her own room.

jaemin stands there, bewildered, if she was your roommate, who he’s sure he definitely knew, then surely you must have known who he was when the two of you first met. surely, you’d heard about his reputation. so why did you say you didn’t know him?

the sound of a cough coming from behind your door snaps him back into place. when doubt clouded his mind yesterday, he turned out to be terribly wrong. pushing the confusion aside, he steadies himself and gently knocks on your door.

“giselle, don’t come in, i’ll get you sick,” you respond, the raspiness of your voice evident.

your roommates name echoes in his ear as he finally unlocked the memory of who she was – the girl who told him she loved him. the girl he said the words back to…on accident.

he quickly pushes the memory away, turning the door knob as he finally makes his way inside your room, eyes scanning the space. he notices the various trinkets scattered on shelves, paintings and posters adorning the walls, books stacked in neat chaos, brushes cluttered on your desk.

“jaemin?,” you manage to croak out, eye squinting at the bright light coming from the living room. you’ve been pent up in the dark for too long, the only light coming from the small lamp on your desk. your hair sticks up in every direction and you had absolutely no color on your face. you look like a total mess. but somehow, seeing you like that only makes his heart skip a beat.

god, he was down bad.

“hey angel, i brought you some chicken noodle soup, it’ll help you feel better,” he says softly, completely forgetting the thought of giselle as he sat on the edge of your bed, taking out the bowl he had prepared.

“jaemin, i’m gonna get you sick,” you pout, hiding under the covers to try and contain your virus, earning a soft chuckle from the boy, “angel, i’m pretty sure you’ve already contaminated the air in this room,” he points out, playfully poking your side until you came out from underneath.

“you don’t even have a humidifier,” he teases, reaching over to smooth down your messy hair before bringing the spoon filled with the hot soup to your lips. you let out a resigned sigh, rolling your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you give in.

he spends the rest of the evening taking care of you, checking your temperature, making sure you take the proper medicine. his quiet care speaking louder than any words could.

carefully, he tucks you both in, ignoring your sleepy protests about him catching your cold as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, your head resting against his chest. it's warm, safe, and comfortable. so comforting that the next minute, sleep takes you, carried off by the side effects of the medicine and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

𓏲𝄢

the sound of clutter jolts you back to reality, waking you up from your slumber. blinking slowly, you spot jaemin’s figure hunched over, quietly gathering the things he must have knocked over, “you okay?,” you groggily question, rubbing the sleep away.

“sorry angel, i accidentally bumped into your desk, i’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” he says softly, already rearranging your things back into place.

but then you see it – a little too late. your stomach drops, everything inside you stills. instantly you knew your world was about to crumble down, “wait, jaemin–” you call out, urgency creeping into your voice, but he was focused on the task at hand.

jaemin picks up the fallen journal, a photo slipping out from between the pages.

it takes him a second to process that the person in the photo was his own reflection but once he did, everything shifts – there he is, staring back at himself, the mr. cupid sign right behind him.

a wave of realization crashes over him, bringing all his doubts to the surface, “why do you have this?,” he demands, turning around to face you, the photo gripped tightly in his hand.

the guilty expression on your face was enough to shatter any remaining illusions – he knows he’s been playing the fool. he should’ve known that this was too good to be true.

in a flash, jaemin flips through your journal, looking for answers, “jaemin, don’t!,” you get up, ignoring the way your vision momentarily blurs, threatening to pull you under. but you were too late. jaemin has stumbled across your four step plan.

“the downfall of na jaemin. step one - introduce yourself. step two - make him fall in love with you. step three and four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony,” jaemin reads out loud, his entire figure rigid as he connects all of the clues, his mind replaying every memory like it was some sort of cruel punishment crafted just for him.

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,”

dear mr. cupid, i'm going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like? love, heart / “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess.

the way you walked out that saturday morning he brought you his hangover cure, ditching the pink outfits because you knew he wasn’t going to be around.

renjun voicing out his suspicious concerns and telling him to be careful.

the door opening to giselle, a girl he had sex with at a random party. the same girl that was standing just outside your bedroom door – your roommate.

every single moment, every confession, every word that he believed to be true led to this – your four step plan, cold and calculated, had no other intention but to hurt him.

every ounce of trust he’d placed in you, every bit of affection, it was all nothing but a step forward.

every time he was being honest, you only showed him what he wanted to see.

he didn’t know the person in front of him. all he knows now is that this is all a lie.

“jaemin, please let me explain,” you plead, voice shaking as you fight back the tears that were daring to escape, taking a cautious step towards him, unsure if he’ll let you get any closer.

he meets your gaze, pain and betrayal flashing all over his features – raw, gutting, all-consuming and gone in a second.

his face goes stone cold, “there’s nothing to explain,” he says, each word cutting clean, final.

“have fun with step four, y/n,” he mutters, voice deep with frustration before tossing your journal and the now crumpled photo to the ground. without another word, he storms out of your room, angrily slamming the door behind him, your heart dropping.

you rush after him, voice breaking as you cry out, “jaemin, please,” you grab his hand, desperation flooding your every movement, holding on tight, trying to make him stay, “it’s not what it looks like, please,” at this point you don’t stop the tears from flowing. you don’t care anymore. you just can’t let him walk out the door.

the loud ruckus catches your best friend’s attention. giselle quick to join you in the living room, eyes wide with concern, “what happened? is everyone okay?,” she asks, frantically looking between your broken expression and jaemin’s seething anger.

her presence was enough to pull your focus away, jaemin taking the opportunity to yank his hand out of your grip and finally making his way out.

you tried to follow him out but before you could take another step, your body finally gave up on you and you came crashing down the living room floor.

jaemin hears the sickening thud of your fall and giselle’s frantic shout of your name. for a brief moment, he hesitates, just long enough to almost turn back and check if you’re okay…but he doesn't.

blinded by rage, jaemin stormed into the fraternity house and without a second thought, his fist crashed through the living room wall, no longer able to contain his anger. he was seeing red.

“dude! what the fuck?!,” chenle yells, everyone turning their heads in surprise. but what shocked them the most was the next scene — watching their friend drop to the floor, quiet sobs escaping his lips as he burrowed his face into his hands.

jeno was up in no time, making his way over, “what happened?,” he asks, checking his friend for any injuries.

“you were right, renjun,” jaemin choked out between his broken sobs, feeling absolutely defeated.

the room fell silent as everyone turned to face renjun, wanting for an explanation, “y/n, isn’t who she says she is,” jaemin muttered, wiping tears that refused to stop. he felt pathetic — so this is what heartbreak felt like.

he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even on his worst enemies.

“who’s y/n?,” renjun looks around, confused, earning a light punch from donghyuck, “angel, dude,” he whispers under his breath like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

renjun pieced it all together in an instant. he knew you looked familiar, he just didn’t know you were that familiar, that you were the same girl who sat behind him in art class — you disguised yourself so well, you fooled even him.

he watched his broken friend on the ground, jaemin’s figure slumped against the wall he’d struck moments earlier, lips trembling, tear-streaked face buried in his hands.

𓏲𝄢

“renjun, please just let me talk to him,” you ask for the umpteenth time. it’s been three days since your fight with jaemin and in those three days, his friends have done everything in their power to keep you away, rightfully so.

when you showed up to the fraternity house, ready to explain your side and apologize, haechan immediately shut you down, slamming the door in your face.

when you saw him in the university’s cafeteria the next day, jeno was right next to him in an instant, pulling him away before he could even see you.

every single message you sent him was left on delivered, every call going straight to voicemail. you were desperate to reach him and renjun was your only access. he couldn’t exactly ditch class to avoid you.

renjun rolls his eyes, scoffing, “again, the answer is no, angel,” he says sarcastically, the nickname dripping with venom, his tone laced with disgust.

you wince, desperation creeping into your voice, “i just need to explain and i promise i won’t ever show my face again.” your eyes are full of conviction, pleading for a chance to right your wrongs.

he sighs. truth is, him and the boys have no idea why jaemin was so upset, only telling them that you lied to him about who you truly were but what does that even mean?

after mulling it over he finally says, “his showcase is on friday at the university’s gallery, 3 p.m., he has to be there for his project which i’m sure you know all about,” he pauses, “you can talk to him there if he wants to but all the boys are gonna be there too,” he warns.

renjun and the boys practically hated your guts but they also know how important you’ve become to their friend, otherwise he wouldn’t be sat at home, moping around, watching rom-coms as a form of self destruction, muttering “love is a lie,” every time the two characters get together in the end.

“thank you,” you nod in understanding, your gratitude mixed with a quiet tension.

“let’s get something straight y/n,” he says, his tone hardening as he starts to walk away, “i’m not doing this for you.”

with that, he leaves you standing at your station, the weight of his words sinking in.

𓏲𝄢

the university's art gallery buzzed with life, lined wall-to-wall with projects from various photography majors. you hadn’t expected such a crowd, the room filled with chatter and laughter as the bright lights illuminated the spacious room.

you take your time, making your way around, palms clammy and heart pounding as you move through the room, quietly practicing the speech you've prepared for days. gone were the sparkly pink outfits and the persona that came with it. replaced by just jeans and a plain t-shirt. you continued weaving through the art gallery, the panels shifting from artist to artist, until you finally reached his.

jaemin’s name stood boldly against the wall, his project titled, “stupid cupid.”

your breath caught as your eyes dropped to the description beneath it:

“love in the movies feels effortless and looks beautiful but all those picture-perfect moments turn out to be nothing more than echoes of a love that was never real to begin with.”

the word’s, achingly beautiful in their bitterness, struck like an arrow piercing your heart. you scanned the pictures on the wall, trying to contain your emotions.

each image held a memory, fragile and glowing – the moment in the cafe, the boombox in your hand, the kiss in the rain, now looping endlessly in video, truly playing like a haunting echo of what once was.

you stood frozen, emotions tightening in your throat, eyes brimming with tears as you wanted nothing more than to step into that scene and live in the moment just a little longer.

you wipe the tears from your cheeks, steadying yourself. you had an apology due, you couldn’t let another day pass without telling him everything you wanted to say. this was possibly your only moment and you weren’t going to let it slip away.

your eyes searched the crowded room, until they landed on him.

jaemin stands a little further back, deep in conversation. you recognize mark and jeno right next to him along with some girls from campus who were obviously flirting with him, one of the girls laughing a little too loudly and you almost scoff.

taking a deep breath, you force your feet to move, making your way through the crowd, heart pounding.

mark notices you first, eyes widening for a split second as he immediately grabs jaemin’s wrist, steering him further away from you, “hey winter! have you met my friend, jaemin?,” mark calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear, every word sharp and intentional.

jaemin looks at him suspiciously before greeting the new girl in front of him. you catch the subtle glance of the previous girls lingering behind, clearly disappointed that he walked away.

you cursed under your breath, frustration mounting, they really won’t make this easy for you.

“what are you doing here?,” a voice to your right captures your attention.

“donghyuck!,” you quietly exclaim in surprise, a hand to your heart.

“haechan,” he corrects immediately, “so what’s the angel in disguise doing here?” he laughs like he just said the funniest joke, “god that’s a good one, gotta tell the boys about that,” he snickers to himself, completely lost in his own amusement.

every conversation with him felt like some weird episode you didn’t sign up for. you still couldn't figure out how he managed to charm everyone. his mocking tone was grating, but deep down, you knew you’d earned it.

“i’m just here to apologize,” you sigh, too tired for an argument.

“huh, you’d think you’d get the hint after all the text messages and calls jaemin ignored,” he says, voice dripping with malicious amusement, “don’t flatter yourself too much, y/n, you’re not special, this is just what he does, you were just another girl who fell for it,” he taunts, his words sharp like a dagger before he walked away, leaving you in your thoughts.

they’ve been trying to stop you from reaching him and you’ve had enough. all you wanted was to have a chance to fix things. so you abandoned the careful apology you’d been rehearsing and did the one thing you hadn’t planned.

you called out his name.

your voice rang out, echoing through the large room as the chatter slowly diminished. one by one, every head turned in your direction, but you only saw him.

jaemin's eyes locked with yours and for a split second, something softened in his eyes. then, just as quickly, the wall was back up and that cold, unreadable mask slipped right back into place.

you ignore the hush whispers around you, even the one that cut through clear as day, “wait…she’s the girl from his photos..,” as you slowly walk towards him.

jaemin doesn’t utter a single sound, doesn’t make an effort to move away, he just watches as you approach, silent and unmoving, until you were standing just a few feet away.

“hi”, you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. you ignore haechan’s mocking chuckle, as he now stood next to jaemin.

“im sorry!,” you blurted out, not wasting another second. jaemin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, only looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“alright, you said it, you can go now, we’re a bit busy,” jeno cuts in, sharp and dismissive, a devilish smirk on his face as he spoke for his friend. the audience snickers in the background…but you weren’t finished.

“i’m sorry i lied to you,” you say a little more composed this time, standing your ground.

a shaky breath escapes you as the words you’ve been dying to tell him tumble out.

“i hate iced americanos, i hate the color pink and i definitely hated you…at first,” your voice cracks slightly, but you push through it, eyes locked on his.

you don’t care about the stares or the whispers or the way you knew this moment will be dissected by everyone watching – none of it matters, only him.

“and i know, i know everything must feel like a lie now. i wouldn’t blame you if you never believed another word i said,” you laugh bitterly, pushing away the ache in your chest.

“i only did it because i thought it was the right thing to do, i thought you deserved it for leading so many girls on…it’s stupid, i know,” your gaze softens, slightly shaking your head as your voice drops to a fragile murmur, regret and embarrassment written all over your face.

you look up at him once again, his expression still as hard as stone but it doesn’t stop you from saying your next words.

“—but i also know that i’m in love with you,” you quietly confess, the words rolling off your lips for the first time, hanging in the air – honest, bare, terrifying but all so right.

you notice the flicker of something behind his eyes that betrays the coldness in his expression. something almost soft. but it’s gone as soon as it came.

“i’m in love with you,” you repeat, hoping.

“and i'm sorry that we started out this way but this is me, the real me,” you continue, voice shaking as you ignore the lump forming in your throat.

“i prefer iced matcha over iced americanos, my favorite color is white and i have completely, stupidly fallen for you,” you finish your speech, letting the last words hang there, raw and unguarded. there’s nothing left to hide behind, no more reason to pretend.

this is your truth.

the room is silent – so silent that it felt suffocating. not a single person dared to speak, no one even moved, everyone holding their breaths with you, waiting for something…anything.

finally, jaemin takes a step forward, each step he took was slow, deliberate. his expression unreadable, eyes still cold, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt or just tired of it all.

he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the way his jaw clenches.

“well, angel,” he say, voice low and quiet but cutting all the same, the nickname sounds nothing like it used to – no warmth, no teasing. just ice.

“this was fun,” he snickers, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

it wasn’t the smile in his photos – it wasn’t the smile you fell in love with.

“-but that was all it ever was,” he continues and you feel like someone has just punched you in the gut.

“thank you for letting me use you for my project,” he adds, his tone light, casual, like it’s just another throwaway line in a script he’s already performed before.

“but you, of all people, should know–,” he leans in just a little, voice dropping, and for a second his warmth consumes you until his words turn everything cold, “-i never fall in love.”

his friends start chuckling at the back, the crowd joining in. other’s looked at you with pity having fallen for the boy in front of you but you didn't pay attention to them. you don’t even look at them. you’re still staring at him and you don’t buy a single word.

not with the way his hands are clenched at his sides. not with how his voice trembled, just barely, when he said never.

he’s lying. protecting himself the only way he knows how – by pretending not to care. trying to convince himself more than you but even knowing that doesn’t dull the sting. tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face as you blink them back, forcing yourself to stay composed.

you nod once. small. almost imperceptible. a silent acknowledgment. not of belief but of acceptance.

then, carefully, you pull out the white envelope tucked in your back pocket, “this belongs to you,” you say, voice soft, barely hanging on. you hold it out to him and then you turn.

you don’t look back, running out of the gallery – out of the stares, out of the suffocating stillness that had begun to close in on you.

your vision blurs completely now, hot tears streaming freely down your face. you can’t breathe. you’re not sure if you even want to.

jaemin watches you retreat. he doesn’t call out, doesn't make an effort to stop you. he just watches.

only when you were finally out of his sight, he felt it – that sharp swell in his lungs, the ache in his chest unraveling into something hollow and brutal.

he thought it would feel satisfying to hurt you the way you hurt him. he thought having the last word would fix the damages of his broken ego and piece back the heart you shattered. but as you left he realized that parts of it were still in your hands.

the crowd begins to break apart, quiet murmurs replacing the earlier hush. now that the show’s over, their entertainment has ended and one by one, they leave, continuing on with their day, until he’s standing there alone, the envelope in his hands.

he opens it slowly, like he’s afraid of what’s inside, even though some part of him already knows.

and there it is. the photo. the one you stole from his room. the one in your four step plan. his secret.

for a split second, all he can feel is the surge of anger and betrayal, remembering everything that has happened in the past two weeks. his heart pounds in his chest, a sharp sting of violation threatening to overwhelm him.

but then, something shifts.

he looks at the photo again and it hits him – you’re giving it back to him. you’re not using it. you’re not following through with your plan to expose him. you had returned the evidence with no strings attached. you were telling him the truth.

the confessions you made, your voice trembling with sincerity, resonating in his mind.

renjun snaps him back to reality, the rest of the boys next to him, “hey, you okay?” he asks his friend, tone sharp with concern.

he forces a half-hearted laugh, voice laced with self-deprecation. “i feel like absolute shit,” he quickly tucks the envelope in his pocket, hiding it away from prying eyes, mind still reeling.

“well, i know just the cure for that,” haechan teases, slinging an arm around his neck. “a pretty girl and some drinks,” he continues, his voice is playful, trying to pull jaemin back to the surface and he’s grateful for the distraction.

“yeah, come on,” mark chimes in, grinning. “we gotta celebrate your gallery’s success!...party at the dream fraternity tonight!” he calls out, his enthusiasm infectious as cheers erupt from the crowd, a wave of excitement sweeping through the room.

jaemin feels disconnected from it all, but he can’t ignore the energy around him. he shakes his head, finally allowing himself to breathe. maybe they’re right. maybe a party is exactly what he needs. maybe he can continue to pretend that this doesn’t hurt him until it finally doesn’t.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin can’t get it up.

“i thought you were supposed to be good at this?,” the pretty girl from the gallery comments, making him sigh in frustration.

“just give me a second,” he grunts, furiously pumping his cock up and down, hoping a miracle would happen. this has never happened to him before and he’s beginning to get really worried.

“you said that five seconds ago,” she cuts in, looking at him with those judgmental eyes, like he doesn’t fucking know he said that five seconds ago. the urge to run to the doctor’s getting stronger with every second.

“you know what? just get out,” jaemin says annoyed, tossing her clothes back to her as he made his way to his bathroom, not caring at all about the girl sitting on his bed. he hears the girl scoff, followed by shuffling and a, “thanks for absolutely nothing!,” before his door slammed shut.

jaemin rolls his eyes, hopping in the shower, the lingering touches she left behind felt sticky and gross on his skin. he knew she wasn’t going to tell anyone, knowing her reputation was also on the line and he didn’t even feel bad. the girl should’ve known he wasn’t in the right mind for some ego boosting. or maybe she should’ve tried harder for him.

yikes. maybe he did deserve the heartbreak you served him with.

as he stood there, under the hot shower, his intoxicated mind can’t help but wander back to you and the time you’ve spent together.

he can’t help but remember that morning of your first night together, the innocent shower you took together as he admired your body – thoughts of your scent consuming him, the way your lips left trails of kisses, soft skin against his.

then he feels it, his cock hardening.

all it took was the memory of you, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he scolds his dick.

“really?, a pretty girl on your bed and absolutely nothing from you and just one thought of her and you’re up,” he talks to his member, feeling absolutely crazy before his hand got to work – mind flashing with scenes of you and only you.

hopping out of the shower, jaemin feels a little more refreshed, his mind clearer than it was a few shots of alcohol ago. the party outside his bedroom door has now died down.

he picks his clothes up from the ground, ready to toss it into his hamper, when the envelope peaks out, reminding him of the picture.

he takes it out again, staring into his own image, the slight crumple on the top left marks the photograph, evidence of his anger. he sighs as sadness takes over once again.

flipping the image, he sees your handwriting, words that you have left behind just for him. words that has signified the mark you left on his life.

dear jaemin,

thank you for showing me this side of you. im sorry.

love,

y/n, angel, heart

it was your last confession and right away he knew what he had to do.

𓏲𝄢

“hi my lovely listeners, it’s mr. cupid here on a surprise live session, i couldn’t prolong this any longer,” jaemin’s voice filters through the mic, softer than usual.

he pauses, a shaky breath pulled in as he braces himself for the inevitable, “i haven’t been completely honest with you.”

there’s a beat of silence and then, “i have been keeping a secret and lately i’ve realized how much secret’s hurt.”

“so today, im finally telling you who i am,” jaemin continues, fingers tightening slightly around the mic stand as he braced himself.

“i am mr. cupid, your #1 go to for all things love and heartbreak but i am also third year, photography major, member of the dream fraternity,” he takes a quick pause, finding his courage, “my name is na jaemin,” he finally confesses into the microphone.

the words land like a stone thrown into still water, rippling through the space between him and the hundreds of people listening.

his inbox immediately lights up, emails flooding in. he could already see the previews. lots of surprised listeners, lots of angry listeners.

his phone quietly flickers by his side, messages from the boys swarming his screen as the group chat blows up ��� all of them shocked and confused.

he would have to deal with all of that later.

“i want to take this moment and apologize,” he continued, voice soft but firm, “to every girl i’ve hurt, every person i made feel disposable…i’m sorry. i wish i could remember all your names but the truth is, part of me was that player, part of me liked being that player,” he sighs in embarrassment, the weight of it all sinking in.

“—and i’m sorry for hiding behind this persona, for pretending i had it all figured out while calling out the very things i also did,” he continues, a bittersweet feeling rising in his chest.

he took care of this radio show, he wouldn’t have climbed the #1 spot if he didn’t. but every truth must be revealed someday.

“—i need you to know, i meant every word i’ve ever said on here. the advice, the stories, the moments where i told you to believe in love even when it hurts…that was all real. i was just too much of a coward in real life to admit that i wanted that too,” he continues, feeling lighter with every word.

“there’s a girl i met recently,” a nervous chuckle slips from his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond the studio walls.

“she knew who i was, from the very beginning” he rambles, “she had this four step plan to make me fall in love with her…the last step of her plan was to expose me but she never followed through with it,” a quiet moment passes.

“somewhere along the way, she fell for me anyway…the player, the romantic, the scared, complicated mess,” he shakes his head, a halfhearted smile tugging at his lips.

“i always thought that i had to be one or the other, turns out i was just waiting for her to freely be who i truly am,” a heavy sigh leaves him, full of everything he’s carried alone until now. his thoughts catching up to him.

“—and i really need to follow my own advice and get her back,” the words left him in a rush as he finally reached his own conclusion.

love was a strong word and unfortunately it took him a while to accept that this is what it was and it was all he wanted.

without another word, he abruptly ends the session. running out of the studio, finally seeing things clearly.

he runs, lungs burning, heart pounding. he ignores the students who were still outside this late hour, calling out his name, calling out mr. cupid, until he finally reaches your building, sweat forming around his forehead, as he tries to catch his breath.

he knocks on your door, practically pounding on it, adrenaline rushing through his veins, nerves and excitement coursing through him at the thought of seeing you again only to be met with none other than your roommate.

“oh, if it isn’t mr. cupid,” giselle greets him, voice laced with mockery, her expression twisted with subtle disdain.

“you know i was wondering why y/n was so adamant on getting revenge, i thought it was just because of what you did to me, turns out you’re not just a huge player you’re also a pro liar,” giselle continues, a pointed look on her faced, eyebrows furrows, lips pointed.

“pretending to be mr. sweet angelic guy just to be a fuckboy behind the scenes, man, how did you fool everyone?” she chuckles, almost disbelievingly.

jaemin shifts uncomfortably, his confidence briefly faltering, “giselle, im sorry,” he says, catching the girl off guard, “i do remember our night together and i’m sorry…i shouldn’t have said those words so lightly, i wasn’t thinking, just putting my needs first,” he confesses, completely owning up to his actions.

she blinks, then lets out a small, surprised laugh, “it’s fine, i just wanted to give you a tough time for what you did to y/n at the gallery,” she says, “besides, i used you that night too, we both win,” she shrugs, really not caring, “i would actually prefer it if we never talk about it again.”

jaemin nods, a quiet gratitude in his eyes for her unexpected grace, “is y/n here?,” he asks.

giselle ponders for a second or two, studying him, eyes narrowing slightly, reading him like a book until she nods, “second floor of the art building,” she says.

“thank you,” he breathes, already turning, “wait jaemin!,” giselle stops him in his tracks, “you hurt her again and i will kill you, okay pretty boy?,” she says with a sugar-sweet smile, almost like she didn’t just threaten him. it wasn’t a question, not really.

he chuckles, not entirely sure if she’s joking or not, either way, he would not like to find it.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, flashing her a smile before sprinting off.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin stepped quietly into the art room, spotting your back to him as your fingers worked like magic, brushing smoothly against the canvas seated on your easel, completely immersed in your work. he notices the iced matcha sitting on the table to your right, your paint-stained jeans and oversized t-shirt on display, hair in a messy ponytail.

even with your back turned to him, you looked so at ease, like the world had melted away and left only you and your art behind. he stood still, taking it in, wishing he had his camera with him.

content hums slip past your lips as your hand glided from your palette and the canvas. then he notices what you’re painting and he can’t look away, transfixed by the way you captured the scenery of the luscious green landscape blurred by the gentle rain, the pink and whites of the blooming cherry blossoms, opposite to the gray hues of the clouds floating on top.

it was like he had stepped into that day once again. almost like he could feel your lips on his again.

he clears his throat before finally finding his voice, “that’s beautiful.”

your head turns quickly, jumping slightly at the sound of your intruder’s voice, eyes wide with surprise. you weren’t exactly expecting anyone else to be here this late.

“jaemin?,” you question, voice uncertain, wondering what he was doing here at this hour.

“hi,” he smiles sheepishly, hands awkwardly tucked in his pockets, almost shy, as he walks closer to you, your breath stuck in your throat.

“you uhm…you have paint right here,” he points at his own cheek, mirroring the spot on yours as you quickly tried to wipe it away, missing completely.

“not quite, here let me-,” before you could protest, he closed the gap, licking his thumb and wiping the smudge away from the apple of your cheek. the moment was so intimate, his light touch igniting that spark all over again.

“thanks,” you whisper before taking a step back and trying to ground yourself.

“what are you doing here?,” you asked, voice soft.

“i was looking for you,” he responds like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“i-i thought you didn’t want to see me again?,” you say, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i thought that too,” he admits, “but as soon as you left, all i wanted to do was see you again,” he continues, looking for any signs of rejection on your face.

“how did you know i was here?,” you ask, puzzled, you never brought him here before so you wouldn’t expect him to even know it.

“i asked giselle,” he replies simply, leaving you confused, your brows knitting, “you talked to giselle?”

he chuckles slightly before saying, “i actually stopped by your place first and you weren’t there and then i got an earful from giselle about being mr. cupid and now i'm here,” giving you a quick rundown of what happened.

“wait, what? i never told her your secret,” you say, wide eyed. that’s when he realizes then that you had no idea what happened in the last hour.

“i uh…i actually finished your four step plan,” he explains and you’re left speechless, “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, voice soft.

“no, i did,” he quickly retorts, “it was time,” a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“he wasn’t all a fake persona, you know?,” he exhales, voice laced with honesty.

“i know,” you say quickly, eyes meeting his. “i saw him,” voice filled with sincerity, “fell in love with him,” you whisper into the night air, making him look up, hope flickering behind his eyes.

“i thought i had to hide that side of me,” he admits, “i’ve been very aware of the whole fuckboy label and yeah…i got caught up in the ‘cool’ image of it all. it was easier to be who everyone expected me to be, it’s stupid, i know,” he smiles softly, his words reflecting your confession.

“but that’s not why i came here tonight,” his eyes find yours, unwavering.

“i'm sorry about what i said earlier at the gallery,” he adds softly and you shake your head before he can go on, “it’s okay jaemin, i get it, i know why said it, it’s not like i didn’t deserve it,” you reassure him.

“no,” he says, a little firmer this time, “it’s not okay because it wasn’t true and i'm tired of all the lies between us so…here it goes,” he takes a breath, almost like he’s steadying himself.

“you’re not the only one who fell,” he says, a quiet smile forming, tender and nervous,“i did too.”

“—and i’m pretty sure i hit the ground way before you did,” he pauses.

you looked at him like he had somehow brought the stars to you and that was all the courage he needed to continue.

“i think white looks perfect with pink, i’m not a big fan of matcha iced tea but i’d still love to see my glass of americano sitting next to yours, and i am completely, stupidly, undeniably in love with you,” he confesses, voice steady and full of conviction, “that’s what i should’ve said earlier.”

you blink, heart pounding, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile you can’t fight, every emotion rushing to the surface.

“better late than never, right?,” you softly tease, making him chuckle before finally taking a step closer. this time, you don’t move away.

“you told me i didn’t have to ask,” he whispers and then he kisses you, soft and certain, and full of emotion.

for the first time since he walked out of your bedroom, angry and overwhelmed, jaemin feels like he could finally breathe again.

his hands gently make their way to your cheeks, deepening the kiss as yours clasped around his neck, pulling him in closer.

“god, i love you,” jaemin whispers against your lips as he moves down to litter kisses on that spot below your ear, eliciting a breathy whine from you.

“i love you too,” you whisper in his ear, large hands making their way behind your thighs as jaemin picks you up, sitting you on the long wooden table, now eye to eye level, his lips were back on yours in an instant, as he stood in the place between your legs.

you could feel his growing bulge against your thigh, making you dizzy, “jaemin, i need you,” you whine desperately. he gives in to your request quickly, no longer wanting to deny the pleasure coursing in between your bodies.

unzipping your pants, he slides it down, before pushing your panties to the side and shoving two fingers in, “so fucking tight, angel,” he groans as his fingers curl drawing out breathy moans from your lips as you tried to be as quiet as possible, afraid someone would walk in. usually no one was here during this time but you could never be too sure, you were still in a public place after all.

you could feel the tension in your stomach rise, heat starting to travel down to your toes, but you needed more, “please, n-need you now,” you plead, “you sure angel? it might hurt,” he grunts, his fingers brushing your walls repetitively, trying to prepare you as much as he can.

no longer able to wait, your hand reached for the wallet in his back pocket as you took out the condom you knew he always carried.

jaemin’s pants falls to the ground, pooling around his ankles, his boxers soon to follow as you wrapped the condom around his throbbing cock, the warmth of your hands making him groan into your shoulder as he tried to control the urge to bust right then and there, “have i told you how much effect you have on me?,” he grunts.

“show me,” you whisper, kissing that soft spot below his ear.

“you make me so fucking crazy,” he says, looking you in the eyes as he pushed his tip in your entrance. you bite back your moans, the expression on your face between pleasure and pain as you looked up at him, trying your best not to shut your eyes at the way he was slowly expanding your walls, pussy molding to the shape of his large cock.

“fucckk, you feel so fucking good,” he compliments as he bottoms in, tip kissing your cervix, your shared moans mixing in the air as you burrowed your head in his shoulder, leaving trails of wet, sloppy kisses, trying to distract yourself from the pain of the stretch.

“missed your pussy so much,” he whines. carefully, he pulls the hair tie out of your ponytail, letting your hair fall freely down your shoulders as he starts thrusting, setting a slow pace. you were so incredibly tight around him, he knew he had to be gentle, “so fucking pretty,” he whispers, watching your every reaction.

“d-don’t stop,” you sigh, getting used to his size, as he continues to thrust in and out, the slow pace becoming more addicting with every push. jaemin’s warm hands gripping your hips, massaging slow circles around your thighs, the added pressure adding on to the coil tightening in your stomach as your body arched up, hips starting to move in rhythm with his.

“faster, jaemin,” you moan. his name spilling from your lips immediately increases his speed as your hands rest on the table, trying to stabilize yourself. moans heighten as the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. you don’t even care about wandering ears anymore, or what would happen if a professor happened to catch the two of you in this position.

all you cared about was this high — the way his cock seemed to be made for you, hitting that spot that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud as angels sang all around you. jaemin feels the same way, absolutely lost in the feeling only you could give him.

it was getting harder to keep it together as he starts losing his rhythm, “i’m c-close, angel,” he grunts, finger finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles, “cum with me, please,” he groans and it was enough to snap the coil in your stomach, eyes rolling back, pussy gripping his cock as you gave into the pleasure that is na jaemin.

𓏲𝄢

it’s been a week since that night that brought you back together. a week filled with “i love you’s,” and everything sickeningly sweet.

the boys have all apologized to you, spilling repetitive sorry’s about their behavior. forgiveness came easy. especially since you knew they were only like that because of how much they loved him and you were happy jaemin had people like them on his side.

mr. cupid became “love, na jaemin” — jaemin decided to continue it after emails upon emails of request from his viewers to come back. this time, he promised complete honesty, no longer hiding behind the fake persona. the show was back to #1 spot within a day, everyone loving this side of him even more.

there were still parties, almost every night, but instead of sneaking around with random women, jaemin had you by his side every single time — hand wrapped in yours, playful stolen kisses all over your skin, dancing and laughter. and in the days where you couldn’t go to a party, he’d simply have fun with the boys before retiring into his room alone, preferring to facetime you on the phone.

today, jaemin surprised you with a picnic. the sky was painted with soft blues and golden sun, a warm breeze curling through your hair as you sat on the picnic blanket in the park. he pulls out a bag filled with two mini canvases and a small set of watercolor.

“what’s all this?,” you giggle, as he hands you your canvas.

“i saw it on tiktok, we have to paint each other and then show each other the results,” he explains excitedly, a sparkle dancing in his eyes, like a kid getting a new toy.

“winner gets whatever they want!,” he continues, explaining the rules as you laughed, “you know i’m gonna win, right?,” you tease, raising a brow.

“hey! you’ve never seen me paint, you don’t know that,” he cutely defends himself, a pout on his lips.

“okay baby, you’re right, sorry,” you giggle, kissing his pout away, frown instantly melting into a bright smile.

“quit distracting me, angel” he said softly, grinning as he picked up his brush.

the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you start, eyes flicking between your painting and each other. the air was filled with quiet focus and unspoken affection. you could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on you, the way your fingers moved slowly, like trying to capture every piece of him with love.

but while you were focused on painting him, jaemin had a different mission entirely.

he knew you were going to win, of course you were. this was just his little ploy to finally make you his girlfriend. a week has been long enough and he was starting to go crazy every time he wanted to call you his girlfriend but couldn’t. he’s never wanted to the boyfriend title so badly in his life.

he kicked himself over and over, wondering why he didn’t just ask you during his confession but that night was powered through by overwhelming emotions of love, hope and desire that the words had slipped his mind.

since then, nothing had felt romantic enough and you deserve to be asked properly…in the most special way. and he has finally figured out how.

after a couple more minutes of painting you break the silence, “i think im done,” you announce, setting your brush down with a satisfied smile.

he glances up at you, pretending to be busy as he continues to paint the background of his artwork, “hmm, give me one more second,” he chimes before adding his final touch.

“okay, you ready?,” he wiggles his eyebrows as you nod, your heart fluttering.

3…2…1…

you both flip your canvases, showing each other your board. your eyes immediately widen as you process the words written on his board in bold, messy paint: will you be my girlfriend? — decorated by a ton of pink and red hearts.

a happy squeal escapes your lips as you launch yourself at him, sending him back onto the picnic blanket. you pepper his face with soft kisses, laughter bubbling from both of you.

“yes, yes, yes, of course i’ll be your girlfriend!” you say happily, dreamily. he was laughing too, arms wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

“by the way, i want to go to busan again,” you smile up at him, letting him know that you still win. he breaks into a soft laughter, “whatever my angel wants, my angel gets,” he says, kissing you softly, sweetly and full of promise.

jaemin swears he’s in heaven — laying under the open sky with the girl of his dreams, the girl who he loves and loves him, and the word finally echoing in his heart.

𓏲 the end.

—

an: ahhh! if you’ve made it this far thank you so so much for reading <3 i wish you all find yourself a na jaemin (the real na jaemin of course, he’s better than the one written here lol >.<) while i have you! please please please help me decide who’s story to write next by voting here -> click!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

[alicentofhightower]

being the targtower’s youngest sister would include…

pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader

synopsis: what it’s like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.

includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegon’s are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicent’s is i wasn’t feeling much inspo for her

a/n: one of my favorite things about alicent’s dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicent’s devotion to her family and her “duty”. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls

Alicent

Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.

She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.

She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.

By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegon’s second nameday celebration. Helaena is her “dearest love”, and you are her “sweetness.”

Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.

That is one of the other strange things you’ve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.

When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. It’s improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.

— “You have done well, my sweetness,” Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after you’d finished your labors. He’d quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.

She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green she’s clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. “The babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am… proud of you.”

Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.

“Aegon’s birth came quick for me as well,” She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.

Your firstborn sons’ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the family—

She stops the list she’s making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.

“I shall leave you be. Good night.”

Aegon

For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. It’s the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. He’s a little indifferent when you’re born.

As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your mother’s handmaidens hear and alert her of it.

It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.

After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and you’d tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as “repayment”, though he did not actually mind it.

You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.

On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadn’t been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced to marry Helaena, and you your “fat, old husband”, as he put it.

Speaking of, he’d made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest he’d ever saw you; he’d drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husband’s brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. You’d almost lost your voice that night from how loud you’d yelled at him, asking when he’d ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.

“You know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?”

(You do not know the reason he’d done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)

Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?

One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, “I should like for my son to be like you.” Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.

One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. It’s hard not to laugh with him.

Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you would’ve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what he’d said.

After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.

He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until it’s absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.

The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid he’ll slip through your hands like sand.

Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his son’s body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. “If you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,” You’d begged. It does nothing.

As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one who’d taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.

Aegon’s visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like he’s his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. It’s only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.

Rook’s Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.

He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but he’ll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.

— “I feel a monster,” He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. You’re clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and it’s hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.

“Why is that?”

“You know why.”

You can’t even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. “You should not. You are king.”

Aegon rolls his eyes. “That did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.”

Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. You’re careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.

He takes a sharp breath. “…If it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.”

You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. “They set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.”

Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. “I am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.”

Helaena

Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Mother’s babe had come a girl.

She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.

As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.

Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her you’ve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.

Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.

It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegon’s coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.

Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.

Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.

When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. It’s why you are the sibling she is fondest of.

Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegon’s coronation. The look on her face had confused you. She’d appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if she’d known that this was going to happen.

After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.

— “This one will not live,” She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.

“What?”

You feel like you’re about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.

She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. “I do not think this one will survive.”

You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. “Why is that?”

“The art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.”

(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after he’d been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)

Aemond

Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Mother’s pregnancy.

Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before he’d claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the “pink dread” incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.

After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.

However, he does keep the little gifts you’ve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch you’d embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.

When Vaemond’s head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one who’d help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.

Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesn’t mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.

In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylvi’s assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.

Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course he’d never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Criston’s morningstar.

Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.

You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a “new Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessors”.

As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only “quiet” Aemond has ever known.

When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegon’s coronation, Aemond’s palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.

Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Luke’s murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.

Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegon’s bed because of nightmares. The only time he’s ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when he’d crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful must’ve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?

He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?

— Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keep’s balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of King’s Landing.

You sniffle. “Where were you?”

Aemond’s eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.

“When news of… the boy spread,” You begin, “I went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?”

“Patrolling.” It’s an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.

He’s ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. “…I won’t tell anyone,” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Wherever you were.”

[nicksolemnlyswears]

STAY WITH US

this oneshot can be read as a standalone.

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME (PT. 2 HELAENA'S TURN)

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader x helaena targaryen

word count: ~2.7k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of death of a child, mentions of blood, light cursing

a/n: so i lied, so sorry, my apologies, remember how i said i wanted this part to be smut? well it didn't happen. in the end it didn't seem right because these oneshots originated form a place of care and comfort [not horniness like usual]

that being said i am open to doing a series of small oneshots based on their relationship that are more spicy because regardless it lives rent free on my brain and i'd love to share the pervertedness they'd get up to. also i've never written a threesome and that seems like a good writing exercise.

hope you like this oneshot. it's really sweet and when i was thinking of what else to do with them it simply clicked. my only wish is for it to have the same comfort provoking feeling as the other two. while this little series was written as a way for me to feel better about these characters it makes me happy to know it served the same purpose for a lot of you guys. also this was my first time writing for HoTD and you're all so nice ;) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE.

enjoy!

Without Jaehaerys by her side, his twin sister Jaehaera must adjust to being alone. Her lifelong playmate is gone, and now she ought to find her place as an only child.

The silver-haired girl restlessly jumps through different activities, searching for the one that will entertain her long enough without company. It is difficult because each time she successfully gets distracted, she turns to catch her brother's attention, only to find he's no longer there.

Queen Helaena watches her as she stitches together a new embroidery piece for a dress. The Queen spent her days with both her children, but now that one of them is gone, she spends nearly every waking moment with her daughter. Observing. Protecting. Alert.

"The three-headed dragon shall rise once more," Helaena mumbles under her breath. The maids ignore her mumblings. The Queen's words don't make sense half the time.

A squeal of delight from her daughter prompts the needle to pierce Helaena's finger and a bead of blood forms at the pad of it. Looking up, she finds you picking up Jaehaera and kissing her chubby cheeks. The girl is enamored by her cousin and the attention you provide.

"Good morrow, 'Laena," you brightly greet her, setting down Jaehaera and sitting by her on the floor. "Have you broken fast yet?"

Helaena places a hand in yours as a greeting and nods kindly, assuring you she's been eating all her meals. At times, her appetite turns into nausea as glimpses of her dead son invade her senses, but she tries fighting through it.

She closes her eyes and thinks of anything else—primarily you. You who distract her and treat her with such care without judgment of her eccentricities. It's odd how she's caught herself multiple times seeking your approval.

As Helaena returns to her stitching, Jaehaera bounces over and falls into your arms. "I wish for my hair to be like yours."

"Allow me, Princess," Jaehaera's nursemaid intervenes. She does not wish to be seen as lazy and incapable of her job to care for the children.

The small Princess holds tightly onto you, hiding her face on your chest as she settles on your lap. "No, I want my cousin to do it. She's a Princess, and I want Princess's hair."

You giggle at her words and gesture to the nursemaid that it's alright. "Come on, sweet girl, sit," you coo, positioning her in front of you.

One of the maids hands you a hairbrush, and you begin your work. As a Princess, your hair is mostly styled by your maids, but every lady should know how to style it appropriately.

"You're such a pretty girl, Jaehaera. Did you know that?" You talk to distract her from squirming too much. She's an impatient little thing, like her father.

Jaehaera giggles sound throughout the room. She hasn't laughed like that since her brother died. It brings a sad smile to Helaena's lips.

"You're prettier," Jaehaera whispers bashfully, her cheeks a healthy hue of pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're much more beautiful. Do you know why?"

Jaehaera shakes her head, causing you to hold tightly onto the intricate plaits you're weaving in her hair. You inadvertently smile at her benightedness.

"Because you look just like your mummy, and she's very beautiful, and she's a Queen," you gasp lightly, creating a tone of excitement in your voice.

Although she's kept her nose down while stitching, Helaena's cheeks burn just as brightly as her daughters. Your words continue to flatter her. You have a way with words that can make even the most ordinary of townsfolk feel special.

With a small, excited gasp, Jaehaera asks, "Will I be Queen one day?"

"There's always a possibility," you hum, pining the remaining plait into her hair. It is hard to explain the complexities of succession and legacy to a child when there is a current war debating that same subject. "All done, go over to the mirror."

"She adores you," Helaena sighs as she watches her daughter fawn over her new hairstyle.

"And I, her. She's the sweetest girl ever."

Helaena turns to look at you and sees the soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes then catch hers, and your smile broadens. It makes her wonder what her life would be like if you were not around. How would she have dealt with her emotions?

"I must go, but can you come to my bedchambers tonight? There is a matter I must discuss with you," Helaena says timidly, casting aside her embroidery.

"As you wish, my Queen." You can't fault her for preferring to speak in the depth of the night when the castle sleeps, and there are no wandering eyes to pass judgment.

It gives Helaena whiplash when you effortlessly switch from calling her name to calling her 'my Queen.' She rather enjoys both terms, especially when you call her yours.

Helaena bids you farewell with a kiss on the cheek, blissfully unaware of its effect on you. Such displays of affection are not rare in court, but lately, their significance has changed for you, as Helaena has never been one to indulge in court etiquette when it involves physical touch.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the castle has quieted down, you make your way to the Queen's bed chambers.

You have always been inclined to stay in the shadows, where it's safe. You are a sheep amongst a den of wolves, and if you draw too much attention to yourself, danger will follow.

You have failed so far, considering you enjoy the company of the King and Queen. Grief unexpectedly brought you together and made your bond steadfast, but wherever Aegon and Helaena go, watchful gazes follow, thus making you part of the spectacle as well.

Otto and Alicent Hightower are taking the reins of this unnecessary war, but you feel safe under Aegon's and Helaena's careful watch. You believe they will protect you from any danger coming from within the castle walls, at the very least.

You're doing your mother a great disservice as you strengthen the bond of the King and Queen. The ache of losing a child will forever remain in their hearts, and waves of pain continue to crash, but that thick fog of grief that was cast upon them has slowly started to lift, thanks to you.

Pushing open the door to Helaena's bedchambers, you step into the room. It's well into the night, and the candlelight illuminates the room. You stumble over your steps when you notice Aegon and Helaena standing close together as if they were about to kiss.

"My apologies, your graces. I believed the Queen to be alone," you bow your head, red painting your cheeks. It's a gesture that originates from embarrassment rather than submissiveness.

"Do not apologize. We wished to speak to you," Aegon speaks, beckoning you deeper into the room.

He offers you a goblet of wine, which you accept gracefully to alleviate the dizzying wave of nerves you're feeling. You've never been alone with Aegon and Helaena. People have always been around, and up to a fortnight ago, they barely spoke to one another.

The ruling couple sought your counsel regarding their marriage, recognizing you as an intermediary. You offered your advice to the best of your abilities, considering you have yet to marry.

With time and encouragement, they reached out to each other for comfort. Piece by piece, they were able to speak and share the emotions that troubled them. Nonetheless, they kept you closer than ever.

You're the calm amidst the storm.

You take a drink of the sweet wine to busy yourself. Helaena and Aegon stand side by side, his hand on the small of her back as Helaena plays with her fingers. They're backlit by the fire burning by the fireplace. It casts a warm glow over their figures, making the situation seem much more intimate. You're certainly intruding.

"We wish to thank you for everything you've done for us recently," Helaena breaks the creeping silence. She's just as nervous as you are, if not more.

"Helaena and I have been thinking about how to repay you for your generosity," Aegon continues, staring intently back at you to gauge your reaction to his words. He's afraid of reading you wrong and fucking things up—like he usually does.

You instantly shake your head, "As I said before, there is no need-"

Helaena's following words cause silence to befall as you stare back at them in surprise. A sort of surprise they cannot read. "We wish to wed you," Helaena blurts nervously, her fingers twisting together.

This is not a moment to speak in riddles. Helaena is fully aware of the situation before her and wishes nothing more than for you to stay by their side, no matter the cost.

For once in her life, she hasn't felt lonely in the castle. She has an ally she can trust and confide in.

You've been the subject of Aegon and Helaena's conversations for numerous nights. At first, it was difficult to understand that they both held deep affection towards you while caring for each other. They debated for a long time about what to do about it and they agreed on one thing wholeheartedly—you only deserved the best.

Then, it came to Aegon.

He's named after Aegon' The Conqueror' Targaryen. The King took over the seven kingdoms with his sister wives by his side.

A simple Valyrian tradition would solve their dilemma while strengthening his claim to the throne. It's poetic, a part of history being re-enacted.

"Pardon?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You stare back at them with wide eyes as they jump from Aegon to Helaena and back to Aegon.

The goblet in your hand lightly shakes along with your hand. You place it on a nearby table, afraid of spilling it. Surely, you misheard.

"Our affection grows greater day by day. More than we ever thought possible," Helaena confesses, desperately reaching for your hand.

Your gaze falls on Aegon to seek his opinion, and he nods in agreement. There is not much to say. You have proved yourself valuable to them in a way that is much too important. You serve to keep them sane and emotionally stable. A feat no one has cared to accomplish before.

You do not use Aegon as a puppet or manipulate him to achieve sinister goals on behalf of his name, much like the rest of the court does. Those people only care for power, even if they break Aegon piece by piece. They destroy him while you take the time to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

"Such drastic actions must not be taken. I merely offered you comfort when you needed it because I care for you both," you stutter, pressing a hand to your forehead. All of a sudden, the room is warm, and a layer of perspiration forms on the back of your neck.

Aegon grunts and approaches you, cupping your face in his palms, "That is precisely why we wish to do this. You have cared for us like no one has before, including ourselves. You planted yourself in our souls, and now we cannot let you go lest we go insane. If you do not feel the same, say it, but do not lie to us."

His tone is firm, yet he cannot disguise the pleading behind it. He's never wanted something as much as he wants you.

"I-" Your palms ghost over the top of his.

It is all too much. The prospect of being wed looms over your head like a threat. Otto Hightower will have no qualms about using your lack of a husband as a war strategy. It should not be his decision in the first place, but it is out of your hands as you're considered a prisoner to him.

You would be a liar if you said you did not reciprocate their feelings. They've been present for a while now, it is why comforting them comes so easily to you. Seeing them hurt only pains you.

With this new opportunity, you will no longer be used. You will not be sold to some old lord in the countryside for the gain of a few hundred men. You would be protected.

Most importantly, you will marry a man and a woman who love you. Yes, they are broken, but with you by their side, they will thrive and rise to the occasion.

Aegon's lilac eyes beg you to accept their proposal. "I feel emotions I thought impossible. They are confusing and overwhelming, but they are real," you admit.

Relief floods over Aegon, and he can't help but release a sigh of relief. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a silent thank you to the old gods and the new.

"Will you become our wife? Our lifelong companion?" Helaena asks, coming up behind you. You feel her breath on your neck as she leans her head on your shoulder.

One word is enough to respond. One simple word will change your life. For good or bad is to be determined.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for her hand. The smile on Aegon's lips and Helaena's giggles in your ear make it all worth it.

Aegon needed to do things right so no one could argue against your union. He contacted the Septon himself, and only a day later, after his proposal, the Valyrian ceremony took place.

He clearly instructed his guard and the Septon that they must not tell anyone, or there would be consequences.

The ceremony is quick and private amongst the gardens of the Red Keep. You wear the traditional red and gold robes and headpieces that match Aegon's.

A red dragon decorates the front of your garb, matching Helaena's golden one on her dress. She stands to the side with a faint smile, Jaehaera clinging to her dress.

Aegon carefully cuts your lip with the dragon glass. As blood surges to the surface, he presses his thumb to the cut and later spreads it across your skin. You repeat the same on his lips, staring apologetically back at him, yet the burning pain does not compare to the pain he's felt before. It's almost pleasurable as he takes in the symbolism of the gesture.

Cutting your palms, you let the blood that will bind you together for eternity fall onto the goblet. You lock eyes with Aegon as you take a drink from it, passing it to him a moment later.

He was not raised surrounded by Targaryen customs, but he has a new deep appreciation for them. The ceremony is deeply intimate as they share the blood that will mark them as one.

With a couple of final words, the Septon concludes the ceremony and with the knowledge that you are entirely theirs, Aegon crashes his lips against yours.

Aegon stayed firm in his words. He did not wish to sully your name, so he waited until the moment was right. The reward is much too sweet.

It is the first time you've shared a kiss with Aegon, and it is unlike anything you've felt before. In the past, you've snuck kisses in dark corners of the Red Keep, but none have ever kissed you with the intensity Aegon has to offer.

Helaena approaches your tangled embrace, and as you resurface for a breath, she presses her much more delicate lips on yours. The kiss is so different yet the same simultaneously. The intent behind it is identical while the pace is slower and sultrier.

Yours and Aegon’s blood coats her lips and it’s as if she also partook on the ceremony. Your heart beats intensely inside your chest but you’re happy.

Finally, you three are bonded, destined to stay together for eternity.

Jaehaerys will forever be missed. His life has become a mystery; Aegon and Helaena will never see it fulfilled. But in this tragedy, the gods were kind to Aegon and Helaena and provided a new person to love, cherish, and join their family.

were you expecting a good old throuple situation? eh, eh (pretend i'm wiggling my eyebrows and nudging your side with my elbow). im just saying she's perfect for their little dysfunctional family and the drama it will create with the Hightowers and Targaryens? immaculate.

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and gushing about hel and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[rithiathemoth]

So, Folly fans... how we feeling?

[daenysx]

hi lovely, this is my first time requesting so please feel free to ignore x

could i please request a poly!marauders x pregnant!reader that they’re all obsessed with - i have a major baby fever and i just read your remus x pregnant!reader and i need!!

again please feel free to ignore, i’m having so much fun at the sleepover <3

hi, angel, thank you so much!! i'm not sure if i did well, and this is a really small piece but i hope you enjoy <33333

poly!marauders x pregnant fem!reader

"you know, i knew babies are tiny, but this is like way too much tiny." sirius says as he grabs a pair of baby shoes from the shelf. "i mean how small should you be to get your feet fit into this?"

you laugh at your boyfriend. he still cannot picture baby sizes in his mind. "just imagine how tiny the rest of her will be if this is the size of her feet."

"okay, overuse of the word 'tiny' for you two." remus intervenes. "she'll grow up faster than you can imagine at the beginning so maybe we could get something bigger."

"i find this whole conversation pointless, why don't we just buy everything we find cute?"

you turn your head to james. he looks at a pink baby dress like it's the coolest thing he's ever seen. he's just too big and broad in a store like this, all tiny baby clothes and your tall boyfriend with strong arms to carry everything. you put your hand on your belly, admiring him from afar.

"someone seems to like seeing jamie holding up a nice baby dress, huh, gorgeous?"

"can you blame me?" you whisper to sirius. "he looks extra hot in here."

"yeah, he also looks kinda like a statue amongst us poor humans."

james comes next to you in two steps. "i'm serious, angel. we should get everything we think is cute, isn't this how you shop for a baby?"

"we have a list to complete." remus says, softer than he intends to. baby stores bring out the best of him apparently. "are you okay, dove? we can go home the moment you feel a little tired."

"or james can carry you." sirius says. "just saying."

"i'm okay." you tell them. "let's get the stuff on the list."

it doesn't take long, remus asks for help from a nice girl who works here and after half an hour you're done with the list. james also puts some unnecessary but cute as hell dresses on the shopping bag. no one stops him.

"oh, look at that!" you show them a stuffed panda. it has huge eyes and the softest fabric. "we should get this."

remus takes the stuffie from the shelf. the baby's first stuffed toy. it's just the right one.

"we're definitely getting this." he says. "maybe we can even name it before she's born. another member of the family."

"moons, it's already hard to pick a name for our babygirl and you want us to decide on a name for her stuffie, too? this is too much."

"yeah, well." remus shrugs. names are important. "we still have time before she joins us."

dreamer girl sleepover ♡

[lionneee]

Favourite Uncle

Masterlist

Taglist

English is not my first language, please be kind

OC!Aemond x Fem!Reader - OC!Jace x Fem!Reader

•Warnings: smut, kissing, taking of sexual themes, cheating, incest, secret relationship.•

To Jace, it almost seemed funny that he got to marry his niece just as Daemon did.

He was happy too, you were kind, innocent and sweet, the perfect wife, despite the father and the uncle.

He could still remember the glance the two brothers gave him when the engagement had been announced, and Jace kissed her hand.

But eventually, everything went good, he found himself satisfied with marriage, and also with his two young white haired boys his sweet wife gave birth to.

He had sighed loudly in relief as soon as he saw the white hair on the babies, happy that they would have never had to go through what he did, just because of his brown hair.

He smiled as he saw his wife come inside their shared chambers, her hair perfect as always.

“Have you already taken a bath, wife?” He asked as he stood up from the bed.

“Yes, I had, uncle.” She smiled up at him as he approached her.

“You don’t have to call me uncle anymore.” Jace smiled softly as he caressed her cheek. “Actually, not even husband. Call me simply Jace. We are family.”

She nodded with a sweet smile.

“It’s almost a shame your husband can't see you like this.”  Aemond smirked as he kept pounding you from behind, your tits bouncing up and down as you gripped tightly the edge of the table. “Being fucked like a cheap whore.”

His hips snapped forward, thrusting deep into her heat. The feeling of her slick walls gripping him was intoxicating. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to tangle with hers.

His hips slammed against hers relentlessly, the force sending ripples through the wooden surface beneath them. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the air, mingling with Aemond's low groans of pleasure.

“I always thought you had favourites, you know?” He smirked as he thrusted into her deeply, feeling her hot wetness envelop him. “I’m pretty sure I’m your favourite uncle, not that bastard husband of yours.” His hands gripped her hips tightly as he pounded into her, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

"Fuck, niece." He growled. "You feel so good around my cock." His words were punctuated by swift, powerful strokes that sent shivers through her body. He could feel her walls clenching around him, trying to milk his release. “That dumb brother of mine married you to the wrong person.” He moaned as he pulled back slightly, only to slam back into her with renewed vigor, the force of his thrusts made the table creak ominously beneath them.

She moaned softly as she bit her lip, her back arching off the table as she straightened up. She threw her head back enough to see the expression of pleasure of her uncle as he fucked her unce again.

He gazed at her with burning intensity, purple eyes nearly black with lust. His free hand slid up her body to cup her breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he continued to drive into her.

"But it’s okay. We found a way to fix it, didn’t we?" He chuckled as he looked down at her, her short, petite form squirming as he kept fucking her raw against his table. "Let's give your husband another kid." The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrill through her, making her moan a bit louder.

“Yes, uncle… put a baby in my belly, please -” She panted as his hand moved down to rub her clit. “Oh, I will, my sweet niece -” He smirked.

“Okay… Jace.” She smiled. “I have great news.” She said as a shiver went through her body as he felt Aemond’s seed starting to run down her thighs. “I’m with child.” 

Jace’s eyes lightened up at the news and quickly hugged her.

“It's wonderful news!” He exclaimed happily. She hummed in agreement as she looked at the door ajar, where she saw Aemond looking right back at her.

“We shall celebrate tomorrow!” Jace hugged her tightly.

Aemond scoffed a laugh as he turned, walking back to his chambers.

“Imbecile.” He mumbled to himself.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe @sapphirevhagar

[urdeftonesgrrrl]

KING Aegon, QUEEN Helaena and just Rhaenyra... oh George you ATE 😭😭😭💀

[i-will-give-you-love]

𝔅𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡, 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰.

"A depiction of a sleeping angel, in the musings of a dream."

Hello!! Just made another fanart piece depicting the Dreamer AU! for Elden Ring. Just note that the dreamer can be depicted however you would like, just wanted to draw something that I constantly think about lmao!

Thank you, @whitewitchqueen for the daily posts!! And thank you everyone for wonderful asks and ideas that come out of this concept!! Really feeds my imagination and scenarios, when I play Elden Ring :) ❤️ !

Yall have a pleasant day!

[vhagarys]

The Conquerer

brother!aegon x reader, sister!helaena x reader

summary: aegon decreed he’d take both his sisters for wives. luckily, you and helaena were already quite taken with each other.

warnings: smut, canon-typical incest, oral, breeding kink, oral fixation, voyeurism, licking?, reader LOVES her brother and sister <3

MDNI

Following in Aegon the Conqueror’s footsteps, your older brother Aegon decreed he would take both his sisters to be his wives.

This decision was not met joyfully by his mother nor the hand. However, his position warranted no argument and soon he exchanged vows and blood in the tradition of your house.

Luckily for him, you and Helaena had taken a fondness to each other from a young age. Practically tied at the hip, you two were rarely found without the other at their side.

As the years went by, that fondness began to morph into something deeper. A twisted desire for one another that never seemed to wither.

Behind closed doors you and your sister ravaged each other like men starved. Devouring each other body and soul, with an almost endearing desperation to please one another.

The two Targaryen girls each harbored the blood of dragons and fire, showing itself in their unwavering passions for one another.

This arrangement soon became common knowledge to the other members of your family. Your brothers Aemond and Aegon never batted an eye. Such incestuous endeavors had remained common practice in your house for generations.

Aegon knew any attempt to separate the pair of you would prove futile, thus wedding you both seemed a kindness on his part.

After a night of drink, feast, and revelry, the bedding ceremony was soon announced. With a faint blush to your cheeks, you and Helaena were both escorted to your shared chambers to prepare yourselves for your lord husband.

“You lucky bastard,” Ser Criston Cole slurred as he sat down next to the king.

Aegon smirked and lifted his goblet, “Given the title of king must come with some benefit, should it not?” he took a large swig of his wine.

“Who am I to marry now that you’ve stolen both of our sisters away,” his brother Aemond scowled at him, jealously etched all over his features.

“Perhaps a new tradition is in order, hm? I shall not only marry to my sisters, but i shall take my brother as a husband,” wine escaped through ser criston’s nostrils as he howled in laughter.

With a disdainful scoff, Aemond promptly stormed out of the room.

“I must take my leave to bed my two beautiful, blushing brides,” Aegon loudly announced before his made his way out of the room and towards his chambers.

As if the prospect of bedding you both did not excite him already, upon peeking through the doors he almost released in his trousers untouched.

You were completely bare, you lower body hanging off of the bed as your older sister held your hips with her mouth attached to your cunt.

You whimpered and wreathed beneath Helaena who aggressively licked and slurped at you like a man deprived of water for days.

A sheen of sweat appeared on your hairline as you held tightly onto your sisters silver tresses.

She reached up to pinch and pull at your nipples and your moans grew louder, whinier.

Seven hells, he gaped to himself.

He stood right at the doorway, though he knew neither of you had an inkling of his presence.

His mind blanked save for the scene before him. he stood frozen in place, immediately reaching to release his cock from its confines and began to stroke himself.

“Kostilus ivestragī issa māzigon jorrāelagon mandia,” you cried out. Your body beginning to spasm and chasing after your incoming peak. (please let me cum sister)

Offering no more than a hum, Helaena tightened her grip on your hips and pushed her face deeper between lips. Her harsh sucking on your clit sent you barreling into climax.

Aegon fared no better. He was hypnotized by the erotic scene, his wives caught in the throes of pleasure.

After a moment, your breathing began to steady and you sat up. A gasp escaped you as you registered your brother pleasuring himself, eyes feasting on the pair of you.

A low growl left him as he tugged at his dripping cock. You briefly met each others gaze and just as quickly you and your sister climbed from the bed and stalked over to him.

A cruel smirk graced your lips as you stood behind him and lightly pressed your nose to the sensitive spot of his neck.

“It seems our husband is quite the pervert, mandia. He’s been watching us,” your hand delicately pushed a lock of his hair behind his reddening ears. (sister)

Aegon couldn’t bring himself to stop. He stroked himself faster, aroused at the proximity of the two of you.

“I’d say he’s enjoying himself. Tell me, did you like watching me devour our little sister, lekia,” Helaena muttered in his ear as her nails scraped down his chest. (Brother)

“Gods,” Aegon practically whined as he felt both of your hands roaming over his body.

“Relieve yourself, husband. Let me see you make a mess of yourself,” you whispered with a hint of cruel delight in your tone.

With a final grunt, he spilled his spend all over his hand and trousers, knees on the verge of collapse after experiencing such a strong release.

Helaena grabbed his hand and led him to sit on the bed. With no more than a quick exchange in glance, the two of you kneeled between his parted legs, admiring his soaked clothes.

Your mouth began to water at the sight of your brothers spent cock. Helaena could see the hunger cloud your eyes and a wicked idea soon made its way out of her mouth.

“As his wife, it is your duty to clean your husband, sweet sister. You don’t wish for him to be uncomfortable, hm?” Helaena mused, a devilish grin consuming her features.

Already feeling a pool of arousal in your small clothes, you met Aegon’s exhausted yet wide eyed gaze.

“Of course, my king. I live to serve you,” and you leaned forward and began to hungrily lick his seed that began to stain through his trousers.

Never breaking eye contact, you moaned at the addictive taste of him. You could feel your slick began to seep through your small clothes and onto the floor.

You didn’t care, you were consumed with the need to please your brother and sister.

After you deemed his clothes cleaned, you immediately moved to his shaft, lapping up each drop like a kitten.

Aegon could feel himself hardening once more. He watched in sick delight at his baby sister, lost in the taste of him.

If only I knew what a slut for cock you were sooner, he thought.

Your sister couldn’t help but grow aroused at the depravity before her.

Grabbing you by the nape of your neck, she turned your head to face her.

“Show me,” helaena commanded. Ever the obedient sister, you stuck out your tongue and presented the sticky, white substance that coated your tongue.

Beyond impatient to taste, she surged forward and met your lips in a filthy swap of tongues. You groaned as you felt her wet muscle lap up the remaining seed in your mouth.

You both gripped onto each other for dear life, lost in the lustful moment.

Consumed with the need to claim both of his wives, Aegon pulled you away from one another.

“Desperate little things, aren’t you,” he cooed.

Both of you gazed up at him with ferocity. he almost came once again at the sight.

He watched a line of drool slip from your lips and promptly scooped it up with his thumb. without being told, you obediently opened your mouth and allowed Aegon to push his digit inside.

Eyes glossy, you suckled at his finger until clean and swallowed. Aegon couldn’t hide his fondness for your easy submission, knowing you’ll take whatever he gives you.

“This marriage must be consummated, and I must fulfill my duty as your husband and pump my seed into your little cunts until you swell with my heirs, hm?”

You both whined at the dirty words.

Extending his hand, he roughly pulled you both on the bed and began to tear through the layers of your sister’s gown. Exchanging in a ferocious kiss, you watched the two dragons battle for dominance.

Your brother reached down to rub his fingers through her wetness and soon your sister was reduced a whining mess beneath him.

You watched them consume each other, and when both pairs of eyes landed upon you, your cunt throbbed at the prospect of what was to come.

authors note: i need more helaena content !!!!! also, enjoy!

- alice +++

[bumblesimagines]

Grateful You're Mine

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Princess Helaena finally weds the man she's been engaged to since they were children. She finds married life to be more than she expected.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, arranged marriage trope, fluff, they match each other's freaks and social levels, canon divergent/au since the twins aren't Aegons, literally nothing else just short and sweet

Crazy we hardly got to see the pleasant and happy girl she was described as 😔 WFMF coming soon!! just thought i'd give some other characters attention for once

~~~

As consciousness seeped into her body, the sweet smell of flowers filled her nose, powerful yet not overwhelming enough to irritate her. It took her brain a few moments to catch up and remind her that she no longer resided within the dreary walls of the Red Keep, but instead in her new home in Highgarden. She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles gently and pushed herself into a sitting position, her eyes sweeping around the room before settling on the empty spot in the bed beside her. 

"Good morrow, Princess Helaena," Her handmaiden, Maecy, greeted with a friendly smile as she set down a tray with food to break her fast and herbal tea to warm her body. 

"Good morrow," She responded sleepily, slipping her legs free from underneath the blankets and wriggling her feet into the slippers beside the bed. "Has Lord (Y/N) gone somewhere?" 

Her handmaiden smiled knowingly, her slender fingers picking up one of the brushes set on the vanity. "I cannot say, My Princess. I am afraid I have been sworn to secrecy for the time being." 

Helaena's head cocked to the side but she nonetheless nodded silently and stood up, shuffling across the room to retrieve a slice of honeyed bread. She sat down on the comfortable chair and began eating, savoring each bite and licking her fingers clean as Maecy began delicately brushing her hair, untangling knots and smoothing the frizz out with oils. Once finished with her breakfast, Helaena stood up and blinked owlishly at Maecy when the brunette remained rooted in her spot instead of gathering the clothes she'd be wearing for the day.

Before she could question her, the doors parted and Helaena turned around, a smile immediately gracing her features upon seeing her new husband enter. (Y/N) returned it and walked forward, a servant following with a box in her hands as the doors shut firmly behind them. Helaena eyed the box curiously, her brows furrowing questioningly at him. 

"Do you recall that drawing you really liked of the beetle?" He asked her, leaning down to pluck a leftover grape from her plate and plop it into his mouth. Helaena gave a slow nod and he brightened, peering over his shoulder to nod to the servant. "I had a gift made for you."

Helaena watched as Maecy and the servant worked together to take the lid off before she gaped at the sight of a pretty soft blue dress with white accents. They lifted it from the box to showcase its full beauty, and her heart leaped in her chest at the lovely white design of a stag beetle threaded into the bosom area of the dress with small white flowers around it. She pressed her fingers to her lips, her pale lilac eyes widening as she fully absorbed the beauty of the dress. 

(Y/N) watched her, fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. "Do you like it?" He questioned somewhat nervously only for the nerves to fade at the sound of Helaena's giddy giggle. She nodded and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips that made his skin warm. 

Eagerly, Helaena allowed Maecy and the servant to help her dress, the two women giggling softly under their breaths at the way Lord (Y/N) turned around despite the two having wed the week prior. When they finished, Helaena studied her reflection in the mirror, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip at the wave of excitement and giddy rushing through her veins. The compliments and coos from the women were swiftly overshadowed by the way her husband's eyes lit up at the sight of her. 

"It is truly lovely," Helaena spoke softly, clutching the skirt to walk better as she strode forward before releasing it to take his hands into hers. He smiled again, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her hands soothingly, just as he had done under the table during their wedding celebrations when the music and loud chatter had become overwhelming for her. "Thank you." 

"Mother thought the fabrics would have been better in green but I've always thought you looked lovelier in blue." (Y/N) told her and she felt her own skin warm, a breathy and shy laugh escaping past her lips. He released one of her hands to brush back one of her silver strands, his eyes softened and filled with genuine warmth. 

After witnessing the loveless marriage between her parents and the chaotic marriage between Aegon and his Lannister wife, Helaena grew to fear her own wedding would be a miserable one. Her marriage to (Y/N) had been arranged by her grandsire after her mother dismissed the idea of her marrying her own brother and rejected her older half-sister's proposal to wed her to one of her sons, although he remained a stranger for many years until the Tyrells expressed their desires to see their heir with children of his own. 

She'd been nervous that day, and her mother's own anxiety hardly helped her own, but when (Y/N) stood before her with a pink hydrangea in hand and his eyes averted to focus on the floor beneath them, she realized she had little to fear. When they'd been left to wander the garden with a handmaiden trailing behind them, the awkward air faded with ease once she began speaking of her beloved crickets and the small creatures she found most interesting and he told her of the flowers that attracted certain creatures. A spark had seemingly ignited, one fueled the night of their wedding day when he offered to lie to their parents when she'd grown too nervous to consummate the marriage. 

"Oh," (Y/N) brightened once more. "You must see the garden at this time of year, Helaena. There's butterflies in every corner." 

And so they took a stroll through the garden, taking in the floral scents in the air and the vibrant rows of flowers with butterflies, other winged insects, and even a few hummingbirds bouncing from flower to flower.

Her mother had been right when she told her a girl of her disposition would do well within the peaceful walls of Highgarden; everything about Highgarden felt calming. The Red Keep had a tense air to it with its gloomy weather and near-suffocating residents but those who resided in Highgarden appeared more carefree and happy. Helaena enjoyed it, enjoyed being in a place where she received smiles instead of judgemental glances. 

Unlike in the Keep where time passed agonizingly slowly with little to nothing new happening, Highgarden always seemed to be bursting with life and music. Helaena found herself passing time with her husband in the garden, her hands focused on beginning an embroidery of a pretty butterfly she spotted whilst (Y/N) drew a flower with his chalk on paper. Things were silent between them yet merely spending time beside him satisfied her, allowing her to work with a small smile on her face. 

When they finished with their respective pieces, they returned inside and ate lunch in the quiet of their bedchambers. Helaena watched the servants scoop up the plates and take them away, cleaning the table and curtsying before swiftly leaving the room and leaving her to turn to look at (Y/N). His head remained tilted toward the balcony overlooking the large maze, his eyes distant but expression content. 

"Husband," Helaena roused him, bringing him back to the present. She licked a crumb off the owner of her lips and straightened up in her seat, casting Maecy a glance. "What do you think of having children?" 

"Babes are loud and messy." (Y/N) responded, leaning back into his chair and swirling around the last of his tea before bringing it to his lips. "It would be... nice to have some, though. I think it would please Mother to have grandchildren and Father would surely dote on them." 

"I'd like to have some soon," Helaena revealed. She'd always been told she'd make a lovely mother. "A boy and two girls, I think, would be nice. Mother claims Hightowers oft' have many boys, though." 

"We can have as many as you desire."

Children, Helaena came to learn, were rather interesting little creatures that brought forth such wonder and intense feelings out of her. Helaena simply couldn't get enough of watching her newest little one sleep cradled in her arms, her rosy cheeks more apparent from the complexion she'd inherited from her mother. Daenys gave a small yawn and squeezed her eyes before parting them to reveal the violet beneath. 

"Someone has finally awoken," Helaena murmured, tilting her head to look at her husband. He held a book in his hands, one about different flowers documented across Westeros, with their sleepy twins nestled between his arms. She reached out to run her fingers through Jaehaerys (H/C) hair, unable to bite back the smile when he nuzzled further into his father's chest. 

Carefully, (Y/N) set the book aside and scooped Jaehaerys up to settle him at his mother's side before he took Daenys into his arms, eyes crinkling with joy when she cooed at the sight of him. "I hear your nieces and nephews may give Queen Alicent some gray hairs." He chuckled. "It is no wonder why she visits as often as she does." 

"Maelor and his siblings have inherited much from their parents, I suppose. A lioness in gold forced to live in the cold will always have her claws out... and Aegon's never been... easy." Helaena spoke, her arm sliding around her only boy and the future heir to Highgarden. The look (Y/N) sent her way made her chuckle, lightly shrugging her shoulders. "I am certain he is a good father even if he may not be.. an adequate husband."

"If you say so." (Y/N) murmured, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against Daenys just to hear her burst with giggles. Her dozing sister parted her eyes at the sound and eagerly moved closer, eyes wide with adoration as she took in her new sibling again. Her father sweetly stroked the back of her head, tilting his arm so she'd have a better look at Daenys. "Though, he is as good of an uncle as Prince Aemond. He has already sent the finest jewels for Daenys."

"It's not so bad being married to a Targaryen, then?" Helaena asked teasingly, leaning toward him to rest her chin upon his shoulder. 

(Y/N) huffed a small laugh and kissed the side of her head. "Yes, it's not so bad. It's lovely, if anything, dearest." 

[slavicdelight]

The High Tower and the Dragon's Heir

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x male!Targ!reader

Summary: Lady Alicent Hightower was the closest friend of Princess Rhaenyra, yet she couldn't help but fall for her older brother, Y/N.

Warnings: none, following canon divergence

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

Alicent Hightower gracefully strolled the corridors of the illustrious Red Keep, her morning lessons with her inseparable companion, Princess Rhaenyra, having just concluded. The echoes of footsteps accompanied her every stride as she made her way towards the luncheon appointment with her father, Ser Otto Hightower, the King's Hand. The castle bursted with vibrant activity—servants hurriedly carried out their duties, knights stood in vigilant postures, and nobles engaged in animated conversations, exchanging the latest court gossip.

As she ascended a majestic staircase, the voice of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Westerling, reached her ears. With a soft smile, Alicent reciprocated the courteous greeting. The anticipation of her father's chambers lingered in the air as she approached, each step echoing with the weight of her familial responsibilities.

However, the routine of her morning took an unexpected turn when, just before she reached the sanctum of her father, a sudden force collided with her, threatening to send her sprawling. A gasp escaped her lips, but before the cold stone floor could meet her, strong and reassuring hands prevented her from falling. These hands belonged to none other than Y/N Targaryen, the eldest son of the reigning monarch, King Viserys.

In that fleeting moment of unexpected encounter, the bustling ambiance of the Red Keep faded into the background. Alicent found herself lost in his gaze. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, and as Y/N steadied her with an effortless strength, Alicent's heart quickened, realizing that even in the most predictable corridors, destiny had an uncanny way of intertwining lives in an unexpected matter.

"Oh my, Lady Alicent. I'm so sorry; I didn't notice you," the young Prince expressed with a charming smile, nearly as enchanting as the prince himself. His gaze held a hypnotic quality that left Alicent momentarily flustered. Deep down, she possessed an immense fondness for him, but the fear of rejection and the potential repercussions from his younger sister stopped her from ever expressing them.

"No, my Prince. It was I who should've been more careful," Alicent nervously replied, her voice betraying a subtle hint of admiration. The unspoken tension between them lingered in the air. Her father's disapproval of the prince added a layer of complexity to the situation. Otto Hightower believed him to be the same as his uncle, Prince Daemon, hence the mutual hostility.

"Were you heading to your father, perhaps?" the prince inquired, his curiosity evident. Alicent hesitated, aware of the strained relationship between her father, Ser Otto Hightower, and the prince. Otto's opinions about Y/N's fitness for becoming king often clashed with the prince's aspirations.

"Yes, my prince," Alicent replied cautiously, choosing her words with care. The prince graciously took a step back, allowing her to continue her journey towards her father's chambers.

"Then do not let me stop you," he said with a small, understanding smile, his gaze lingering for a moment before gracefully descending the stairs, resuming his own path through the corridors of the Red Keep. That brief encounter, had left Lady Alicent soft in her knees.

Entering the Hand's chambers, Alicent immediately noticed her father seated at the table, a large variety of dishes laid out. She greeted him respectfully and took her place on the opposite side. "Alicent," he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes shining with a mix of sternness and affection. "How was your morning?" he inquired, motioning her to being eating.

"It was fine. I studied with the Princess the whole morning after breaking fast with her and Queen Aemma," Alicent replied, offering a light summary of her activities. The mention of encountering Prince Y/N on her way to her father's chambers prompted a subtle change in his demeanor. His brow lifted, and a stern look accompanied his response. "Prince Y/N is not a good influence. I advise you to avoid him," he coldly said, his voice carrying a weight of disapproval as Alicent cast her gaze downward. "Very well, father," she agreed, and the remainder of their lunch unfolded in a heavy silence.

As Alicent's thoughts drifted back to the violet-eyed prince, she couldn't comprehend her father's disdain for him. In her eyes, he was gallant and the epitome of a perfect prince. The unspoken tension between father and daughter lingered, leaving Alicent with a sense of conflict between her loyalty to her father and a growing curiosity about Y/N.

A fortnight later, the joyous occasion of a tournament took place in order to celebrate the King's anticipated new heir gripped the Red Keep. Nobles from far and wide were invited, marking the event as a grand affair. Queen Aemma, began her labours early in the morning, enduring the suffering alone, as King Viserys presided over the jousting festivities. Prince Daemon, displaying exceptional skills, unseated Alicent's brother Gwayne from his horse.

Victorious, the Prince then diverted his attention towards the stands where Alicent sat. With a charming smile, he asked for her favor, stating, "Lady Alicent, I'm sure your favor would ensure my victory today." Casting a fleeting glance at her father, Alicent handed Daemon her favor. Unbeknownst to her, a certain prince of the crown observed the exchange with a glare and a clenched jaw.

The joy of the tournament swiftly gave way to a somber hush when a messenger arrived bearing the tragic news of Queen Aemma's death. The atmosphere within the Red Keep became grim, mournful mood reigned for weeks. The funeral, held on a distant hill, marked a solemn occasion where the lifeless forms of the Queen and the young Prince lay upon the pyre, awaiting the embrace of dragonfire from Syrax and Shadowspine, the loyal companions of the Queen's surviving children.

Following the ceremony, Alicent found herself once again in her father's chambers, the weight of grief hanging heavily in the air. "How is Rhaenyra?" her father inquired, slight concern etched across his face. Alicent, her fingers idly picking at her fingers, replied, "She just lost her mother." The sorrow that lingered in her words mirrored the collective grief that shrouded the entire Keep.

Not being one to hide his ambitions, her father suggested, "Perhaps you would like to offer the King some comfort. Losing a wife is a terrible thing. He would surely rejoice in a visit." Alicent reluctantly agreed to undertake this solemn task, driven by her desire to please her father. As she turned to leave, she overheard her father's additional instruction, his voice low and laden with subtle implication—indicating that she should dress herself in one of her late mother's gowns.

Rather than heading to the King's chambers as initially intended, Alicent found herself standing before the doors that guarded Prince Y/N's residence. A guard announced her presence, and she entered, greeted by a scene of disarray. The room resembled the aftermath of a storm—furniture upended, decorations scattered in chaotic way. Amidst the disorder, she discovered her prince, seated on the floor, his back against the bed stand, his once-silky hair now tangled, and his eyes holding a haunted look. The scent of alcohol lingered in the air.

Taking a seat beside the prince, Alicent met his gaze, prompting him to question her presence with a strained voice, revealing the results of earlier screams. "I came here to see how you're holding up, my Prince," she replied calmly, her eyes scanning the wreckage around them. He only scoffed in response.

Drawing on her own experiences, Alicent shared, "When my own mother died, people looked at me with pity. I didn't want it. All I wanted was to hear they were sorry." Her empathetic words hung in the air, and she continued, "I'm so sorry for your loss, my Prince," concluding her condolences with a soft look, her eyes reflecting genuine compassion. Y/N stared at her in silence, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, as he began to unveil the weight of his heartache.

"My father's quest for a second son is to blame for this tragedy. He never considered me worthy of the throne," he confessed, his voice full of bitterness and sorrow. "He wished for another son, a better son. One he could put on the throne after himself. I was never enough. Rhaenyra wasn't enough. He killed my mother for a new heir. And now, my brother is also dead," he uttered.

Alicent's heart ached for him, the immensity of his suffering echoing through the confessions. Despite already bearing the responsibilities of being the Heir, this added layer of tragedy made the burden almost unbearable. In her earnest attempt to offer solace, she stood by both Y/N and Princess Rhaenyra, a pillar of support during these dark times.

As Y/N was officially declared Heir before the realm, Alicent stood steadfastly by his side, witnessing the unfolding of destiny. She remained present during the uncomfortable prospect of their father's remarriage, understanding the siblings hesitation. The more time they spent together, the threads of friendship between Alicent and Y/N began to intertwine with the delicate threads of love.

When the time came for the Prince to choose a wife, he declared his intent to marry Lady Alicent, much to Rhaenyra's dismay. While Viserys rejoiced in the prospect, Otto, though reluctantly, agreed to the union. Though not a fervent supporter of the Prince, Otto recognized the strategic significance—marrying his daughter to the future king ensured the placement of his bloodline on the throne.

The union of Alicent and Y/N was immortalized in what became known as the White Wedding. It was a testament to the pure and evident love that bound the newlyweds. The ceremony resonated with the harmonious union of two souls, their vows exchanged amidst the sacred walls of the Sept.

Shorty after their nuptials, the arrival of Aegon Targaryen marked a new chapter in the royal family. The beautiful boy, with the coloring of his father and the distinctive facial structure of his mother, embodied the perfect mix of the royal couple. Aegon, the newest Prince, became a living testament to the love that flourished within the Targaryen lineage.

As Alicent carried the weight of their second child, King Viserys sought to hold a celebratory hunt on his grandson Aegon's second name day. The relationships within the Targaryen family began to mend, albeit slowly, and the noticeable favoritism towards Rhaenyra, perhaps due to her resemblance to her late mother, didn't escape Y/N's notice. Despite the slight discomfort, he chose to focus on his growing family, diverting his attention away from the nuances of favoritism and concentrating on the joyous moments that bound them together.

The grand hunt orchestrated by King Viserys brought a sense of delight to Otto Hightower, who relished the opportunity for both entertainment and strategic alliances. The men, engaged in the pursuit of a White Hart—a symbolic creature representing royalty—set out with purpose, leaving the women to find solace within the safety of the camp.

As Alicent sat beside her husband, Y/N, who held their young son Aegon in his lap, an unexpected intrusion disrupted the peace inside the tent. Rhaenyra, the spirited Princess, burst in with determination, her grievances clear. Viserys, in his pursuit to secure her a suitable match, had orchestrated a connection with Jason Lannister, much to Rhaenyra's vocal displeasure. The fiery Princess asserted her autonomy, rejecting the notion of being treated as a prize to be sold to the highest bidder.

The repercussions of this confrontation left Alicent aware of the strain in her once-unbreakable bond with Rhaenyra. The princess, fueled by a desire to ascend to the throne, resented the twist of fate that seemingly diverted Y/N's affections toward Alicent, who had become the new Princess consort.

In the next years, Rhaenyra's fate took a turn as she was forced into a marriage with her cousin, Ser Laenor Velaryon, because of previous liaison with her uncle Daemon in a pleasure house that added further complexity to the situation. The marriage, arranged against her will, led to the birth of bastards, whom she attempted to pass as legitimate—a move not lost on the eyes of the court.

Despite Viserys's blindness, the court recognized the discrepancy in the children's Valyrian features. Whispers spread, hinting at a connection with Ser Harwing Strong, the Commander of the Gold Cloaks, who served closely under the Princess.

These choices made by Rhaenyra made Alicent bitter. The apparent disregard for duty exhibited by Rhaenyra, coupled with the ability to evade consequences, fueled Alicent's resentment. Yet, in the face of this, the legitimacy of the children born to Y/N and Alicent remained unquestionable. The unmistakable resemblance of each child to their father nullified any potential doubts that might have arisen.

As their children matured, distinct personalities emerged, painting a portrait of the Targaryen legacy. Aegon, the mischievous firstborn, delighted in playing pranks and causing mayhem within the castle. Despite occasional mischief, his loyalty to the family prevailed, a testament to the intricate balance of his character.

Helaena, their only daughter, embodied sweetness and warmth. Though closed off to many, she harbored a great heart, often murmuring riddles that, while dismissed by most, held significance to her parents who recognized her as a dreamer with visions of her own.

Aemond, a mirror image of his father, shared not only physical similarities but also akin personalities. The only distinction lay in Aemond's shyness. His passion for history forged a special bond with King Viserys, who favored the small Prince. Their shared love for learning brought them together in frequent discussions about the boy's recent discoveries.

The youngest, Daeron, charmed all who crossed his path, earning the title of the most popular son among their subjects. His charm and charisma propelled him to Oldtown, serving his mother's uncle as a cupbearer and squire.

Amidst the dynamic growth of their children, Y/N and Alicent's love stood resilient. Any hopes Rhaenyra harbored of a falling out between the couple were in vain; their bond, an indestructible force, continued to strengthen.

The visible strain within the ruling family had spilled beyond the walls of the Red Keep, earning them the titles of "blacks" and "reds" among the common folk and nobility alike. Y/N, recognizing the fractures within his family, attempted reconciliation with his younger sister, but Rhaenyra remained consumed by anger towards him for marrying another and harbored resentment for Alicent, his wife for being said woman. The rift seemed irreparable.

Despite the familial tensions, Y/N maintained a close involvement in the training of his sons, personally overseeing their progress with the assistance of Ser Criston Cole, who had shifted his allegiance from Rhaenyra to the royal family. Aegon and Aemond exhibited remarkable progress, overshadowing their cousins.

During a training session, as Ser Criston instructed the young princes, Y/N was reluctantly pulled away by the demands of his duties as the Heir. King Viserys, observing from the terrace, keenly followed the lesson. The knight, calling upon Aegon, challenged him to a sparring match and taunted, "Let's see if you can touch me. You and your brother." The confident Prince, Aegon, responded with a cocky assurance, "I've won my first bound, Ser Criston. My opponent sues for mercy."

Undeterred, Ser Criston introduced a new challenge, pitting both Aegon and Aemond against him. The two princes advanced, swords in hand, but the seasoned knight skillfully blocked each of their attacks, showcasing his experience and expertise. The training ground became a battleground of skills, the clash of steel echoing the intricate dynamics of power, loyalty, and the indomitable spirit of the Targaryen lineage.

The training ground, alive with the clang of swords and the shuffling of feet, fell into a momentary silence as Ser Harwin approached, offering instructions to the brown-haired princes. His voice redirected Ser Criston's attention toward the younger boys. "It seems like the younger boys could use your attention, Ser," Harwin remarked as he walked closer. A subtle tension hung in the air as Criston questioned, "Are you questioning my method of instruction?"

In response, Criston motioned for Aegon to face Jaecerys, declaring it an "eldest son against eldest son" spar. The white-haired Prince's age and strength became evident as he overpowered the younger Jaecerys. However, as Aegon advanced, he found himself roughly seized by the shoulder and pulled away by Ser Harwin. Aegon, outraged by the intervention, protested loudly, resulting in a reprimand from the King.

Tensions flared further when Criston began questioning the Commander of the Gold Cloaks's interest in the princes' training, suggesting affections that a man might harbor for his children. The insinuation proved too much for Ser Harwin, who snapped and attacked Criston. The incident led to Ser Harwin's banishment from King's Landing, and a few days later, he perished within the walls of Harrenhal along with his father.

More sorrowful news followed swiftly. A raven brought the grim information of Lady Laena Velaryon's death, casting a pall over King's Landing. The weight of Laena's death cast a somber shadow over Y/N, who had considered her another sister growing up. The entire family traveled to Driftmark to pay their respects, attending a funeral marred by Lord Vaemond's continuous accusations directed at Princess Rhaenyra and her bastard sons. Prince Daemon's laughter, strategically employed to deflect attention, added a layer of tension to the already heart-wrenching day.

Once the children retired for the night, Alicent found a moment to speak with her husband. In the quiet confines of their chamber, she gently inquired, "Are you alright, my love?" Y/N, standing by a window overlooking the view of Driftmark, confessed, "She was one of my closest friends, and she died alone. Without her family or friends, because Daemon denied her return. She didn't deserve such a fate."

Alicent, though not as intimately acquainted with Lady Laena, offered words of solace, acknowledging her bravery and kindness. Y/N, appreciating his wife's comforting presence, sighed and turned to look at her. "I'm sure you're right, darling," he said, caressing her face. In that moment, they found solace in each other's embrace, a comforting respite from the sorrow that permeated their hearts.

With a shared understanding, Y/N guided Alicent to bed, where they surrendered to the embrace of sleep, seeking refuge from the weariness that accompanied the emotional journey. Their intertwined forms, nestled in peaceful repose, reflected the enduring strength of their bond in the face of life's inevitable trials.

The tranquility that enveloped Y/N and Alicent was shattered abruptly when a maid, panic-stricken, banged on their door, delivering news of a grave accident involving their son. Swiftly dressing into presentable robes, they rushed towards the hall where their children were present. The sight that awaited them was horrifying—Aemond, their beloved son, was a bloody mess, missing an eye. Alicent's anguished scream pierced the air as she ran towards her injured child.

Demanding answers, Y/N interrogated the Knights, learning that the Prince had been mauled in a brawl with his cousins. The King, arriving on the scene, angrily questioned the guards for allowing such an incident. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys soon joined, but Y/N's attention shifted to the absence of Princess Rhaenyra. When she finally appeared, followed by Prince Daemon, their disheveled appearance hinted at a liaison that further fueled Y/N's anger. How could they disrespect Lady Laena's memory like this?

Amid the chaos, Rhaenyra declared the incident a "regrettable accident," but Alicent argued it was a planned attack. Rhaenyra defended her sons, claiming they were being attacked with vile insults against their legitimacy "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned on where he heard such slanders". Y/N's anger flared; his sister intended to torture his gravely wounded son over a truth that was evident.

Rhaenyra's attempt to extract information from Prince Aemond, who had heard the alleged slanders, only heightened tensions. Y/N, protective of his son, forbade any harm to befell Aemond. As the King sought apologies and forgiveness, Alicent snapped, demanding justice and ordering the eye of Lucerys Velaryon to conduct it. Chaos ensued as Alicent, fueled by rage, advanced towards Rhaenyra with a knife. Y/N noticed his uncle making way to two women to undoubtedly aid Rhaenyra, which he couldn't let happen and stopped him before Daemon could reach her.

The struggle between Alicent and Rhaenyra unfolded, the room becoming a battleground of emotions and grievances. In the midst of the chaos, Aemond, now with one eye, offered comfort to his mother, stating "Don't mourn me mother. I might've lost an eye but I gained a dragon". Y/N joined the embrace, and as his father declared the matter over, the fractured family clung to the remnants of peace amidst the aftermath of pain and turmoil.

As the years unfolded, the Targaryen family found solace and unity in each other's company. Every meal became a cherished time for discussion, laughter, and shared moments, further strengthening the familial bonds that had weathered storms and emerged resilient.

Aegon and Helaena's marriage flourished, blessed with their two beautiful children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Aegon transformed into a caring and attentive husband, shedding his earlier tendencies to become the perfect Prince fit to one day ascend the throne. Aemond, despite the challenges posed by his limited vision, emerged as a formidable warrior under his father's tutelage. Determined not to be hindered by his condition, he trained with unparalleled dedication, surpassing many in skill and prowess.

Y/N and Alicent, beaming with pride, reveled in the achievements of their children. However, their joy was tempered by the somber responsibility that befell them. With King Viserys succumbing to sickness, he lay bedridden, casting a long shadow over the realm. The inevitable reality loomed—the time was approaching when a new monarch would ascend the throne.

Amidst the bittersweet echoes of Viserys's declining health, the Targaryen family stood united, ready to face the challenges that awaited them. The transition of power loomed on the horizon, and the legacy of House Targaryen stood at the threshold of a new chapter in the annals of Westeros.

The arrival of a raven bearing Ser Vaemond Velaryon's challenging petition for the Driftwood Throne thrust the Red Keep into a state of heightened anxiety. The assertion that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children would return to the heart of the realm brought a cloud of unease over the castle, especially given the recent mysterious death of Laenor Velaryon.

In the midst of the commotion, Alicent navigated through the corridors toward the King's chamber, where she knew Rhaenyra and Daemon would be discussing the pressing matter of King Viserys's condition. Upon entering, she greeted them with courtesy, acknowledging the lapse of time since their last encounter. Daemon responded with a nonchalant hum, while Rhaenyra inquired about the authority overseeing the trial of her son.

A new voice cut through the tension as Y/N entered, a smirk playing on his lips. He revealed himself as the authority presiding over the trial, promising a fair judgment even as he acknowledged the accusations thrown at his wife. The room held its breath, and Alicent, standing beside her husband, added, "We have pressing matters to attend to, but please, make yourself at home." With that, the married couple walked away, leaving the guests to navigate the looming trial and the shadows of familial discord that cast their pall over the Red Keep.

The throne room buzzed with tension as the petitions unfolded, each speaker presenting their case before Y/N, who sat on the throne in his father's stead. The weight of judgment rested heavily on his shoulders. Lord Vaemond Velaryon was the first to address the court, delivering a lengthy discourse on bloodlines and the survival of House Velaryon.

However, the proceedings took an unexpected turn when, during Rhaenyra's turn to present her defense, the door opened, and in walked King Viserys. Ready to defend his favorite child, the ailing monarch cast a shadow over the proceedings. The air thickened with anticipation as the confrontation unfolded.

In a swift and brutal turn of events, Vaemond found himself condemned for openly declaring the princess's sons as bastards. The throne room, once filled with the echoes of legal arguments, now bore witness to the irrevocable consequences of familial discord and political maneuvering. As the lifeblood of House Velaryon spilled in pursuit of power and legitimacy, the court faced the stark reality that the struggle for succession and survival could exact a heavy toll on those entangled in the webs of Westerosi politics.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick with tension, mirroring the strained relationships within the Targaryen family. Viserys, lying in his seat of honor, served as the symbolic divide between two estranged siblings, Rhaenyra and Y/N, as the air was charged with unspoken grievances.

Jace and Luke, Baela and Rhaena, each engaged in their own conversations, while Aegon and Helaena shared a tender moment, the Prince gently rubbing his wife's hand. Aemond and Daemon, ever vigilant, sat observing, their tension a reflection of the underlying conflicts.

As King Viserys was carried in, the room stood in a display of respect. The king began his speech, adressing his family. “It’s good to see you all together. My heart aches when I see the faces dearest to me so full of envy and drifting apart form each other. House of the Dragon must be united, so let us forget all and stay strong. If not for the realm, the for this old man, who loves you all dearly.“ But the damage had been done, and the fractures within the family ran too deep to be easily mended.

Rhaenyra's toast, seemingly a gesture of reconciliation, momentarily shifted the mood. Alicent responded gracefully, highlighting the common ground between them as mothers, but the facade of harmony was shattered by a seemingly innocent gesture—a pig brought before Prince Aemond, triggering memories of the Pink Dread incident.

Aemond's explosive reaction disrupted the fragile peace. The room fell into an uneasy silence as he stood, expressing a "final tribute" to the health of his nephews, ending the speech with an insult towards the boys calling them "Strong". Chaos erupted as the young princes clashed, and the adults scrambled to intervene. The disastrous dinner culminated in Princess Rhaenyra's decision to retreat to Dragonstone, leaving behind a shattered illusion of family unity. The scars of the past ran too deep, and the once-grand gesture of a family dinner had unraveled into a painful reminder of the irreparable divisions within House Targaryen.

The dimly lit corridors echoed with quiet footsteps as Y/N made his way to his father's chamber. Upon entering, a solemn atmosphere enveloped the room, and Y/N approached King Viserys. As he assisted the ailing monarch in preparing for sleep, Viserys muttered incoherent phrases, and amidst the confusion, Y/N discerned a recurring theme—Aegon's prophecy.

In the hushed moments of their interaction, the weight of impending succession hung in the air. Viserys, in his final moments, seemed to impart a significant task to his son, urging him to fulfill the prophecy. The murmurings faded as the night unfolded, and King Viserys the Peaceful drew his last breath.

As dawn approached, the realm awaited the news of a new leader who would step forward to succeed the late monarch. The corridors, once traversed by Y/N in anticipation, now held the echoes of transition and the uncertainty that accompanied the changing tides of leadership within House Targaryen.

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A/N: This one is slightly longer, but I couldn't help but give Alicent and her kids the husband and father they deserved. We all could agree that Viserys absolutely sucked in these roles. Thank you for all the support and it would mean the world to me if you checked out my other works ♡