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quinnylouhughesx43 · 1 day

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Believe in Me — jh86

summary: in which the summer following Jack’s rookie year is coming to an end. Not only did his rookie year come with being shafted by the league as the biggest bust, but he managed to get painted as the biggest (and newest) playboy of the league. His personal management team, the team’s management, and PR step in to clear this all up, but it takes work from Jack.

warnings/points of importance: use of y/n, fem!reader x jack, use of nicknames for female character and for Jack, fake dating trope, oblivious pining trope(?), childhood friends, minor usage of foul language, creation of side original characters for plot, time jumps, memories inserted - tumblr’s intention and italics used to notate, inner thoughts marked with ‘..’ and italicized if they occur

word count: 4.32

notes: any names used for original characters that relate to someone’s name or closely relate to a person’s name is purely by happenstance. The names were rolled by random from a generator where I inserted random first and last names.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the worn wooden planks of the back porch swing, her eyes following the lazy dance of the sunset as it descended behind the distant tree line. Her childhood home had changed so little over the years, the same comforting embrace of familiarity wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a chilly evening. The porch swing squeaked in a soothing rhythm as both her and Jack slowly swung, a nostalgic tune that had serenaded countless summer nights spent sharing secrets and laughter with Jack. The only other kid who had been in her grade when she moved in, well really one of the only other neighborhood children. The other two children in the neighborhood were his brothers. All three of which had become as much a part of her life as the very foundation of the house she grew up in.

She had spent all day out with his family by the pool, her mother insisted he come to their house for dinner though. Nothing to offer course for their life, well a year ago it wouldn’t have been.

"Do you want to talk about your new headline?" Y/n tried to hold back the hint of amusement in her tone but failed miserably. Jack's rookie season had just come to an end before the beginning of summer. In just a few months he had gone from the talk of the league as the number one draft pick to talk of the league as a "bust."

He was nothing close to a bust. It was just how the year fell.

Jack leaned back in the swing, the sun's final strokes of light for the day painting his cheekbones. He sighed; a heavy exhale filled with the weight of the rumors that had been following him like a dark shadow. "It's just how it's going to be now. You know how it is with the media. They're desperate to find a new angle to keep me going." There were a few moments of silence shared between them before he found the words to continue. "First, it's all about my game, how I'm not scoring enough or I'm not this hotshot star that every analyst built me up to be. Season ends and it's about my supposed love life." His voice was a mix of annoyance and defeat. He was used to being the center of attention, truthfully he strived to be in the center of attention. He just wasn't used to it always being negative attention.

"To be it all, I have this video chat meeting with public relations, franchise management, and my management team about some idea they have come up with to help bring attention away from everything." Jack groaned. "We have three days left of the summer before we drive back to Jersey, I don't want to spend one of them in meetings."

Y/n nodded sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his forearm and leaning herself over on him. "It's okay, bubs. Maybe it's nothing too serious." But she could tell from the furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched and the tension in his voice that he was already aware of what they had come up with. Or at least he had an idea. She didn't dare pry, they may be best friends, but Jack was clearly not ready to share his thoughts. "And... If it is serious I will be in Jersey this season to help you through it."

Jack gave her a grateful smile before standing up from the porch swing, stretching his arms out wide. "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't worry about it tonight." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, a gesture that was as commonplace as breathing between the two of them. "Thanks for the pep talk, toots." He said, using the childhood nickname that never failed to make her smile despite the circumstances. "I should head back down the street to my parent's place. It's getting late."

As he turned to leave, the rising moon cast a cool glow over the yard, highlighting the tall blades of grass that danced with the intermittent breeze. Y/n watched him go, her mind racing with the implications of what might happen at that during his meeting tomorrow. Would they really suggest something so ridiculous? And if they did, how would Jack handle it?

Jack's footsteps grew fainter until they were swallowed by the night. The house, once alive with the echoes of their laughter, now felt eerily quiet. Y/n remained seated out on the swing, her thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of doubt and concern. She knew Jack was strong, capable of taking on any challenge thrown his way, but the thought of him being manipulated into some scheme to save the face of the Devils franchise made her sick. Then she thought, what if they didn't call a meeting to manipulate him into anything? What if it's simply to offer suggestions on what he can do differently going forward?

Y/n eventually shut that portion of her brain off and headed inside herself. A long hot shower and her bed was calling her name.

The next day Jack sat in his father's home office, the room smelling faintly of cologne and leather, waiting for the others to join the video call. The space was a testament to his father's success, filled with trophies and framed newspaper articles from his own days as a star player and coach. It was both inspiring and daunting, a constant reminder of the legacy he and his brothers were trying to live up to. The computer screen flickered to life, displaying a Zoom call with a row of faces, some familiar, some not. His management team, PR reps, and a couple of team officials stared back at him, all expectant and poised.

Jack leaned back in the chair, his casual attire feeling woefully inadequate among the suits and professional backgrounds of his callers. He had taken his mother's advice and dressed comfortably, but now he wished he had at least put on a button-up shirt. He glanced down at his New Jersey Devils t-shirt, the logo stretched slightly across his chest. It was a fan favorite, one that had been thrown at him in excitement by a young fan at a game. It felt like a piece of armor, a symbol of his pride and commitment to the team, but today it just made him feel like he was the kid, and he was playing dress-up in his dad's old gear.

The meeting began with a round of forced smiles and awkward greetings. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/n's words from the night before echoed in his mind, a comforting whisper amidst the storm of uncertainty. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for whoever their absurd suggestion be his girlfriend when they had conjured up the fake relationship idea to "fix" his image.

"Jack, before we start, do you remember the guidelines I told you for this relationship or should we go over them again with everyone here?" The voice was cold and calculated, belonging to one of the stern-faced PR reps. Her eyes bore into him through the screen, demanding his full attention.

Jack's stomach lurched. He had hoped they would just come right out with what was new, news. "I think everyone is aware of what we're trying to achieve here, but please go ahead," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm at bay.

The stern-faced public relations rep, Ms. Castellanos, nodded curtly. "Good. So, the first guideline is that you two must be seen together at least three times a week. This includes public appearances such as dates, her being seen attending your games, and even casual outings like grocery shopping or walking the dog. That is if you or her have one."

Jack's eyes widened slightly, glancing down at his half empty coffee mug. He didn't have a dog, but he still didn't know who this girl they paired him up with was. Plus, he didn't know if Y/n had picked up any new hobbies involving pets in her last year of college. It was never mentioned during their weekly calls or on visits. It would be important to know that since she’s going to be living with him.

"Jack, are you listening?" The voice brought him back to the present, the sternness of Ms. Castellanos' tone was unmistakable.

Jack swallowed down the anxiety that was bubbling up inside him and nodded in acknowledgement.

Ms. Castellanos continued, "Guideline two, and perhaps the most important one, is that the relationship must appear genuine. You must exhibit believable public affection and body language. This means holding hands, occasional kisses on the cheek, maybe a few on the lips if the situation calls for it. As for body language," the stone-cold lady stopped speaking, watching Jack carefully once more. "You're both young, attractive, and in the public eye. If you lean into each other, have your arms around each other's waist, or even occasionally rest your head on her shoulder, it'll look natural and convincing. The media will eat it up, and your image will be transformed from a lonely heartthrob to a lovestruck boyfriend in no time."

Jack felt his cheeks flush slightly, the thought of faking intimacy with someone he'd never met before was nerve-wracking, to say the least. He took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee, trying to imagine how awkward the first kiss would be. He had never been one for faking emotions, especially something as intimate as love.

Ms. Castellanos continued, her voice unforgiving. "Guideline four is critical. The relationship must end with your girlfriend, and I stress this, must be the one to initiate the breakup. It should be done publicly and dramatically enough to make headlines, but not so much that it causes a scandal." She paused, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. "You cannot under any circumstances leave her. If it looks like you're the one who ended things, it'll only add fuel to the fire of your reputation. You need to be seen as the heartbroken party, the victim of a fickle heart. It'll humanize you, make you more relatable to the fans."

Jack felt his jaw clench at the coldness of the plan. He had agreed to a fake relationship to get the media off his back, but this was starting to feel like a script for a reality TV show gone wrong. "And what happens if we... I mean, if she gets tired of the whole thing?" He stumbled over his words, trying to maintain some semblance of respect for the stranger he was about to be romantically linked with.

"Ah, that's where guideline five comes into play," said Ms. Castellanos, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of her own cleverness. "We've prepared a non-disclosure agreement that she will be signing before the relationship begins. It's quite comprehensive and includes clauses for breaking it off in a controlled manner. She'll understand her role in this, Jack."

Jack's grip tightened around his coffee mug, the cheap porcelain feeling fragile under his thumb. "But who is she?" he repeated, his voice a little louder, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Ms. Castellanos' smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Her name is Elena Petrov," she said smoothly. "A local influencer with a clean reputation. She's been briefed on the situation and has agreed to help. She's a fan of the team and understands the importance of this for your career."

"No." Jack huffed out. gaining the attention of everyone on the call. Just the same as Jack, everyone else barely stayed tuned into her annoying voice. "She is the reason I am in this shit hole. Her friend is the last girl I was with. Elena took all the pictures. Maggie? A little help here." Jack pleaded with the IT media girl that for some miraculous reason was sitting in on the call.

"Oh. Uhm, yes. It took me days to get the pictures she put up taken down. And Mr. Hughes, we were able to prove they were edited after looking closer at them," Maggie spoke up, her voice shaky, probably from fear of interrupting the woman that could potentially ruin their lives with a tweet.

Ms. Castellanos' eyes darted from Jack to Maggie and back again, her displeasure clear. "Jack, this is non-negotiable. This is what's best for your career right now. You need to be seen as more than just a party boy. The sooner you start this relationship with Elena, the sooner we can start repairing your image," she said, her voice like a whip cracking through the tension in the room.

Jack's manager, Mr. Taylor, cleared his throat before speaking up, his tone measured and calm. "Perhaps there's another option we haven't considered. What about Y/n?" he suggested, glancing at Jack, who looked up at him, hope flickering in his eyes.

Ms. Castellanos raised an eyebrow. "Your childhood friend?" She sounded skeptical, but the video stream grew quiet, all eyes on Jack.

Jack nodded, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. "Yeah, Y/n. We've been best friends since middle school. Everyone already thinks we're together. It'll be believable, and she's... she's not in the spotlight like Elena is. It'll keep things more low-key." He swallowed, hoping he wasn't about to ruin their friendship.

Ms. Castellanos leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Very well, Jack. We'll consider it. But you need to talk to her and make sure she's on board with this. The last thing we need is for her to spill the beans and ruin the whole charade."

Jack nodded, his heart racing. He knew Y/n would do anything for him but asking her to be his fake girlfriend was a big ask. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he was about to have. After the call ended, he let out a guttural groan due to frustration. He needed to go shoot some basketball or pucks before he talked Y/n, but he didn't have that time to waste. Instead of blowing off some of his stress he slipped on some shoes, kissed his momma goodbye, and headed out to the house he has visited time and time again.

The warm afternoon air was a major contrast to the coldness of the conversation he had just had. The streetlights flickered to life as Jack approached Y/n's house, the familiar path to her door as comforting as ever. He stopped in front of the door, the color of her door had changed since last summer, but the memories that lie behind it remained the same.

Jack took a deep breath before raising his hand to knock, the sound echoing through his head. Only thing on his mind was the conversation they were about to have. Jack flinched as he realized how hard and urgent he had beat on her mother’s front door. His heart thudded against his chest, partially with the anticipation of her reaction to the proposal and because of how quickly he had walked down the block. Jack took a deep breath in an urgent need to calm himself and appear as normal as possible before he was face to face with her.

Before he could finish his internal mantra of calming himself, the front door swung open in a rush. He was slightly hoping it would somehow be one of her relatives, but there she was, looking up at him with her soft, hopeful eyes. Her hair messily tossed into a messy bun atop her head and a sprinkle of fresh freckles danced across her nose from spending the day in the sun with his family yesterday. She was wearing the momentous hoodie that he had gifted her before leaving last summer. A hoodie that held a lot in its threads for the two of them. For her, it now held a lot of silent screams and wiped away tears from the last year, but it still held their joint memories.

‘It originally had become Jack’s superstitious hoodie for a while. The lucky hoodie he would wear all the way up to when he would change for warm ups, then she would wear it. This superstition developed during the years of world juniors. The year he brought home the Gold, the superstition shifted. Jack had a “girlfriend” that entire season and she wasn’t fond of the idea of Jack and Y/n swapping clothes like they did. The games with the development program were when she noticed this happening. She confronted Y/n about having a useless crush on her boyfriend and she would be taking over wearing his hoodie from then on. Jack didn’t take lightly to it, that was his best friend, his biggest non-family supporter. So, he decided y/n would wear the hoodie the entire time, from the time they all got dressed for the day to after the game. Now, it’s hers entirely, his decision since he couldn’t be here for her and live out his dream. He wanted her to have a piece of him, but if be a piece of them. Once again, it has become her comfort item as it has been back then.’

She fiddled with the stretched out sleeves hanging over left hand anxiously as her right hand was still grasping the door knob.

"How was your meeting?" The words fell from her lips so fast she hadn't taken a moment to invite him inside. Y/n had sat out on the porch swing all morning waiting to hear from him. Seeing him now ignited her anxiety and her need to know.

Jack let out a simple laugh at her eagerness to know. He softly touched her side, giving a slight nudge as if to signal her to walk backwards into the house.

The coolness of the air conditioning kissing his skin. "It was... interesting," he said, his voice a mix of relief and dread.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She walked a few steps backwards with his guidance to allow him in, the old floorboards creaking under their weight. "Interesting as in good or interesting bad?"

Jack shrugged, his smile wavering as he let go of her and made his way into the living room. The same room where they had spent hours playing video games, watching movies, doing homework.

—Could he ask her to do this? What if it blows up in their faces and ruins everything. What if he ruins her? He’d never be able to live with himself for hurting her.

The couch looked inviting, but he knew better than to sit down without spilling his guts. "Well, it’s one of those ‘depends on how you take it’ interesting type situations..." he trailed off, his eyes wandering around the room.

Y/n looked at him, her eyebrows rising in a questioning manner. Her eyes were filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. She could read the hesitancy written all across him. Starting with wanting to open up about his meeting. Which is something he's never had an issue with, at least with her, to not wanting to sit down. Almost as if, if he got too comfortable he would tell too much.

Taking a hold of his hand, rubbing her thumb over his palm she leaned her head on his upper arm. A common gesture between them. “Jackers?” She whispered so softly, he nearly missed it. He hummed in response coming out from where he drifted off too. She took a hold of his hand and softly pulled him down to take a seat on the couch with her.

“Jackers, just tell me. Did they come up with something ridiculous?"

Jack let out a small laugh , the sound hollow and forced. "Ridiculous doesn't even begin to cover it," he whined, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "They want me to start a fake relationship with someone who I know is not going to help me. Then my manager suggested someone who would be great and I was for it because we already know each other but.." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction.

Y/n let go of his hand, in an unnatural reaction as they have been platonically physical since high school, "A fake relationship?" she echoed that one snippet. “With.. With who? Since I’ll be living with you I should be prepared for a new girl even if she is a fake girlfriend.”

Jack took a deep breath and looked up at her, his eyes filled with a desperation she had never seen before. "Toots, I really don't know what to do about this. PR decided on Elena Petrov. B—”

“You mean the friend of the bitch who started this mess? No I’m sorry the two who started this mess? You’re going to pounce around all lovey with the girl who put you here?!” Y/n’s chest heaved up and down heavily. She watched Jack’s face twist in annoyance then soften.

“If you had let me finish… I flat out said no. I will not and am not going to do this plan with her. When I told everyone on the call right then that I wouldn’t, my manager suggested someone else. But I don’t know if they’ll do it. They seem pretty disappointed in me…” Jack kept his voice even and didn’t raise it. He knew how you felt about being yelled at and he couldn’t be the one to cause a panic attack because he got a little upset.

“Well, who did they suggest? Maybe I can help. As long as it’s not Elena..”

“They suggested you. They asked me if I thought you would do it or if I would like you to do it with me. But if you're upset or disappointed, I'll tell them no right now," Jack explained, his voice a low rumble of uncertainty. He started fishing his phone out of his pocket in case he had to call his manager.

Y/n felt her throat tighten as a knot formed, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She had always been there for Jack, and he for her, but this was something entirely different. This was a line they hadn’t truly crossed, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to pretend to cross it again. "Jack, I..." she murmured looking down at her hands in her lap, her voice trembling slightly. "Yes, I'll do it."

Jack's head snapped to look at her, his eyes failing to meet hers as she’s staring down, though a spark of hope igniting within him still. "You will?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

Y/n nodded, her throat tight with unspoken emotions. "Yeah, I'll do it," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "For you, I'll do it."

Jack's shoulders slumped with relief. He reached out to lift her head hesitantly so that he could meet her eyes with his. His eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, management can figure it out.”

Y/n forced a smile and nodding her head yes, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and dread. The thrill of being able to go and do things with Jack was nice, but the dread of being scrutinized by females she didn’t know was already gnawing at her. "Besides, it's only for a couple of months, right?"

Jack's smile didn't part to show his teeth, it stayed tight lipped, evident he wasn't as enthused as his tone of voice was letting on. "Yup! Just for a couple of months."

"Okay, we can totally pull this off. It will be like playing pretend, remember?" She nudged him with her elbow, trying to lighten the mood with a memory from their childhood. More so for herself than him.

"You mean like when we got married under that old oak tree at my grandparents' house in the summer between sixth and seventh grade?" Jack nudged her back.

"Yup when you only agreed to get pretend married so you could get your first kiss."

She let a little giggle slip out as she reminisced on the memory of her and Jack as kids under the oak tree.

A young Jack with his signature smirk standing at the ‘altar’ with the “preacher Luke”. Jack didn’t wait for Luke to do his part of the pretend wedding he skipped straight to the kiss. ‘Couldn’t wait tootsie I was just wanting my 1st’

"If I remember correctly that was your first kiss too, and you asked for another one because of the ‘belly flies’." Jack teased her enjoying seeing her cheeky smile and blush creeping up on to her cheeks.

Y/n’s laughter echoed loudly through the room. "Jack Hughes, you are such a jerk!" She said playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jack laughed echoing her laughter. "So, do we have an agreement? You'll be okay with fake dating me, even though we never got fake divorced?"

Y/n shook her head yes once again, while rolling her eyes at the boy next to her. “Yes, Jackers. Even though you never fake divorced me, I will fake date you.”

If she only knew that Jack was silently and brutally beating himself up for this. They were in for a roller coaster of chaos and changes.

Now that he had secured one portion of the agreement, he has footwork left in figuring out how to get out of the hoops and twists. Like how to get out of that very public break up after a few months into dating. He wasn’t going to make her out to be some bitch she’s not.

And if Jack has it his way, they won’t be breaking up and it won’t be a “fake” relationship for long either.

Because Jack Hughes is hopelessly in love with his best friend. If he has any luck, besides puck luck, she loves him too.

notes 2.0: hello! welcome to my newest mini series, believe in me i hope you enjoyed the first part of the series. i am always open to kindly put creative criticism. i truly appreciate all of the continued support by reading, liking, & reblogging! thank you thank you!

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fullsunalicia · 3 days

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gif made by @dojaejung ! all credits to @dojaejung !

roses (m.) | jeong jaehyun

“it’s killing me to know there’s someone else out there buying you / roses, roses” OR where jung jaehyun is pathetic enough to be yearning after his beautiful ex-girlfriend, whom he reconnects with after awkwardly crashing her date with a new potential lover.

jeong jaehyun x ex-girlfriend! reader

warnings: some allusions to stalking and online harassment, some make-outage, oral (fem. receiving), some exhibitionism ig?????, some cussing, jaehyun is EXTREMELY down bad (he who yearns is he who earns amirite yall), svt as side characters for my caratzen agenda, also i’m still an awkward writer (in my opinion) so that warrants its own warning

This is why Jaehyun despises leaving his apartment.

For the first time in weeks, Doyoung and Taeyong, in their combined nerdy best friends power, have managed to make him go outside again. Although it’s the middle of the winter, each day inching closer to Christmas day, the bustling city is filled with people enjoying themselves despite the sub-zero temperatures. It makes him sick, really. Not people in general, for sure, but the sight of couples swarming about, their happy faces making sure every single person’s envious gaze is following them until they disappear around the corner.

Winter is sickening. Winter makes people too cozy, too cuddly, too loving. When spring comes, that love melts away, fleeting as it was. It dims out like the warm fire you stoke in the evening as you gather with your loved ones, in the morning long gone and forgotten with the loss of the guests. Jaehyun hates it. His friends knows he hates it.

So did you.

As Doyoung and Taeyong keep him in their middle, holding on to his arm on each sides as if they were old aunts bickering away, he reminisces about your shared hatred of the cold. You had hated snow, most of all, he remembers as he watches the thick, cold flakes swirl around in the air. It leaves a mist on the people passing by him, painting them in the lovely shades of the cold. Rosy cheeks, white smiling teeth, blue fingertips. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it’s you clinging to him again, complaining loudly about the weather, scared of falling to the ground. You had always been incredibly clumsy, and unashamedly loud. Every passerby could not help but smile at your antics, but none smiled wider than the man you had wrapped around your littlest finger; Jaehyun, who had always stared at you instead of ahead. Jaehyun, who in the end always made you guys fall because he wasn’t concentrating on walking, he was concentrating on you.

You, the single star in his solar system he was orbitting around. He had felt himself collapsing, folding around you, as if he could ingrain himself in your existence in the very same manner you had immortalized yourself in his soul. How pathetic you had left him.

“Hey, earth to Jae! You’re not seriously upset we made you leave the house, right?” Taeyong’s hand forces itself into Jaehyun’s periphery as he waves it infront of Jaehyun’s face, trying to gain the man’s attention. Every finger was perfectly manicured, the tell-tale rings that signified Taeyong snapping Jaehyun out of his daydreams. Mentioned friend looks worried, but not regretful. “We were beginning to think you had fallen asleep in there, like some bear. You shouldn’t hibernate.”

“But bears got it so right. It’s so much better to sleep the winter away.” Jaehyun sounds exhausted, almost childish. He knew he was a grown man, not a teenager mooning over his first love. But it certainly felt like he had become the former. That was your effect.

“Dude.” Doyoung grasps his shoulder then, boring his gaze into Jaehyun’s face. He had been dreading that, actually; it’s hard to act like a complaining child when Doyoung makes you face yourself just like that. Almost unconsciously, Jaehyun straightens up. It’s almost like facing your mother, and he’s trying to avoid Doyoung’s fussing. “It’s been almost a year. I hate to be the one to be saying this, but you have to let it go at some point, man.”

You have to let it go at some point. Doyoung’s right, of course, but Jaehyun hasn’t yet reached that point of being reasonable. It’s not like the five stages of grief. Jaehyun is in the awkward process of trying to understand what has actually happened to him; why your relationship came to an end, why you were so kind to him despite it all, how you had finally cut him off. No one really knows why you did it, least of all Jaehyun. As you had broke it off with him after dropping him off at the airport before he flew to the first stop of his current world tour, there wasn’t exactly time to ask questions.

You had given him a letter and apologized (seriously, so not cool to explain in a letter just so you didn’t need to face him), and just as soon as the flight touched down at his destination and his phone had regained connection to his cellular data, you had changed your number, deleted your socials and disappeared from his life.

(Not like he immediately found you again when you re-debuted on social media. Johnny, as a true best friend, has forced him to limit looking at your instagram account to once a week, but how will Johnny know if he does it more? No one needs to know. Jaehyun would lose face if even anyone knew how much he misses you.)

Jaehyun lowers his eyes then, unable to keep looking at Doyoung. “Let go. Yeah.”

Doyoung and Taeyong exchange a worried gaze at that, before nudging him to a new direction. Their footsteps leave soft white traces, disappearing as quickly as they are made as fresh snow falls. “I got just the thing to cheer you up,” Taeyong quips then, and when he smiles at Jaehyun in an attempt to comfort him, Jaehyun finds the strength to smile back. Those are his friends, after all. If he weren’t so detached from his emotions, he’d find himself moved by their sincerity; his silly friends that loved and cared for him despite his habits and his weird coping methods. They didn’t judge when he sent them new song lyrics he had written in the middle of the night because the memory of you is still haunting him, scaring him off sleep because the comfort he gains from dreaming of you is as addicting as chasing liquor. They had let him ruminate in his apartment for as long as possible. It was time to face the world properly now. “Hot cocoa and waffles?”

Jaehyun snorted. “Like children?”

“Like children,” Taeyoung announces, his voice too earnest for the statement. Doyoung laughs, and then it’s difficult to not join in. Taeyong grins, happy to have drawn that reaction out of them. For the moment, Jaehyun feels normal again, and he offers to buy the waffles as Doyoung and Taeyong line up to buy the hot cocoa.

That’s the same moment where Jaehyun immediately regrets having left the house.

The sight of you physically knocks the breath of his lungs. For just a second, just seeing your face erases the feeling of all the pain that had been wrenching at his heartstrings, your beauty so all-encompassing it stuns him into silence. The cold season has kissed your face in the most pretty way - as you throw your head back in laughter, your (incredibly tempting) lips curve into his favorite smile of yours, the smile that has to be stolen out of you, so surprised by something that you laugh involuntarily. Honest. And earnest.

And beautiful.

It’s almost beautiful enough to make him not acknowledge the other man that you are gifting it to.

Jaehyun forces himself not to look, the effort incredible. He does not want to see who you have replaced him with, he really doesn’t, truly not, but then the dizzy envy makes him look so that he can bombard the man with death threats in his mind. Not that it matters. He could have been anyone, anyone at all. What did it matter if that was someone he knew or someone unknown, when the most damning thing about the situation was that it wasn’t him?

When he looks back at you to keep analyzing whether you like this man a lot, Jaehyun has come to the startled realization that you have noticed him, aswell. Your face has dropped, the shock painted over your face like an ill-fitting mask. “Jaehyun?” you say, the sweet voice carried over to him in the wind, and his knees almost buckle. (Jesus Christ, he’s a grown man.) Your partner notices, looking up to see whom you’re addressing, and Jaehyun’s nonchalant reaction to the irrelevance of the man’s identity disappears instantaneously.

Fuck you, he thinks hard at the dude, as if the sheer mental strength of his thoughts could reach him, for actually looking gorgeous. Fucking hell.

“Jeong Jaehyun?” You call again, robbing him off the opportunity to maybe pretend he hadn’t heard you. He forces himself to move forward.

“You know each other?” the guy asks then, and Jaehyun thinks to himself, No, idiot, I am the stalker that’s been breaking into her apartment and leaving her letters. But then he remembers how Johnny has admonished him for doing the social media equivalent and how often he visits your socials just for a glance at you, and the thought almost immediately sobers him up. “Jeong Jaehyun,” he introduces himself then, reaching out his hand to shake the other man’s, even though he’d rather bite it off. “We were…”

“Acquaintances,” you interrupt him almost immediately. The smile you sport now is nervous, to the untrained eye flawless. But Jaehyun knows every inch of your soul, and the look in your eyes pleads him not to acknowledge it. “Jaehyun used to be really close to my brother. You’ve met my brother, right?”

“Oh, Seokmin, right?” The stranger’s eye glint in recognition. “That means you must be cool, man. Anyone who’s in Seokmin’s good cards is good in mine. My name’s Junseo.”

“Nice to meet you, Junseo,” he makes himself speak, although the words taste like coal in his mouth, turning ashy as he pronounces them. He’s never been a good liar, always careful about choosing his words, but then, he’s never been in the situation where had to meet the lover that was going to replace him in your heart. He turns to you, your lovely face ripping into him. You stare back as if you are aware of the effort it takes him to remain friendly. You don’t look like you enjoy inflicting this havoc upon him, but ever since that day, he doesn’t truly know what you are capable of. “It was nice to see you,” he tells you, turning away as soon as the words leave his lips.

He never hears your “Jae”, the sound ripped out of you like an old instinct.

jaehyun

could you maybe at least warn me that your sister is back in town

dk 😁

i didnt even know she was

can you let her know to bring milk to mom’s house we ran out this morning

jaehyun

. . .

no dk i cannot i almost collapsed when i saw her

can you say hello to your mom tho

Jaehyun drops the phone on the couch, the interaction having soured his mood just as much as the meeting with you. Seokmin was cool, and a really good friend, although a bit clueless. He had been firm in his support for Jaehyun, not picking sides, but not abandoning their friendship either, and had been one of the friends who had dragged him out for dinner once a week ever since the break-up to make sure Jaehyun was actually eating. Jaehyun doesn’t even think this happened to your dismay. You were way too nice, and even your fucking break-up letter had been kind, even though it hadn’t been enough to wipe the blank look in his eyes as he had read it.

“Okay, so that may have went worse than we thought,” Taeyong proclaims, the hot cocoa still steaming in his hand. Even though they had technically paid for the cup as a loan, taking it back home felt like stealing. Jaehyun couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was staring at the ceiling, looking at no one. “But hey, at least we found out who the mystery guy on her instagram was!”

Johnny, who had let himself into the apartment while they were gone, perked up at that. Very aware of your instagram due to Jaehyun’s influence, he knew that there had been an odd silhouette in your instagram story the past few weeks, almost a soft-launch and almost not. There had been theories whether the mystery guy had been a new lover. Jaehyun had almost thrown up when Mark had suggested the idea. “You did? She was with a man?”

“Yeah, Junseo what’s-his-name. Didn’t give a last name, though.” Doyoung sounds concentrated, probably too focussed on not breaking Jaehyun’s new coffee machine. “Jaehyun, coffee?”

“No,” Jaehyun deadpans. “I want death.”

The entire room groans at that. “Fresh out of death, dude,” Johnny tells him, bowing over the couch to throw a blanket over where Jaehyun was laying and Mark had fallen asleep. Johnny was his best friend in the entire world, and very used to Jaehyun’s antics. Throughout it all(the acclimatization to the celebrity life, the growing into a fully formed and actualized person in the public eye, the stabbing ache of heartbreak), Johnny had become a brother to him. It was Johnny’s hand pulling him along through life, his ears that were entrusted with every joy and worry in Jaehyun’s mind, his kindness that kept Jaehyun standing sometimes. “It’s coffee or nothing,” he continues after ensuring both men on the couch were covered with the blanket. And then, as he turns back to Doyoung: “Make him some coffee. He hasn’t touched his cocoa.”

The quiet bickering of his friends fade away then, forcing him to come to terms with what has happened. Seeing your face again felt like being struck down by God, to put it in blasphemous terms. You had always been the most beautiful person to him, including both his preference that came from loving you and his attraction to people in general. Jaehyun hadn’t been the kind of man to have an exact type before meeting you, but now he looks for you in every smile, every fluttering lash, in every face he meets. Looking for the traces of where your ancestors had painted their magic, the overarching connection between several generations, the hand reaching across time. Whoever crafted you had taken his time to ensure every single detail, and the love that had flowed into the shaping of you glinted across every feature. Having been starved of seeing you, this interaction had thrown him into cold water face first. Even the memory stung.

You hadn’t looked bothered to see him. If anything, you had been as sweet as always, even though you hadn’t expected to see him. He had thought being gone from your side had hurt, but seeing that Junseo was making him sick to the stomach. It was his job to make you laugh like that. It was his duty to ensure your happiness. To think of that fool doing it in his stead made him spark up with a fury that he had long forgotten, the feeling so unfamiliar it made him reach inside those spaces inside himself that he had abandoned for so long. During the separation every emotion had come to him so dull and muted - happiness, sadness, surprise, anger. But as if they had never left him, Jaehyun recognized that he was jealous.

Awfully jealous.

So that was the next step of Jaehyun’s alternative five stages of grief process. Instead of coming to terms with the ephemeral nature of his relationship with you, he’s pining over the one woman he cannot have. He raises his hands to cover his face, his fingers shaking - it’s crazy, how you unravel him. It’s been eight months and Jaehyun is still willing to go on his knees to beg just to make sure you stop seeing anyone else.

(At that point, he was very unaware of how near in the future that was going to happen.)

“Hey, dude.” Jaehyun is snapped out of his thoughts by the raspy voice of one Mark Lee. He lowers his hands to see Mark peaking his head out of the blanket, hair completely ruined from tossing and turning in his sleep, looking just like the lion that his friends affectionately nickname him as. Their friends are still bickering in the kitchen, arguing about how to handle the coffee machine properly, with Doyoung’s voice cutting through the others. “You alright over there?”

Jaehyun clears his voice. He suddenly feels glad that Mark doesn’t know yet that he’s seen you, as he doesn’t want to burden Mark with his worries. He’s only a little younger, but he’s the closest thing to a younger sibling Jaehyun has, and he treasures him to the point where he often wants to shield him from the shit that Jaehyun has going on. “Yeah, all good. Why did you wake up? Not sleepy anymore?”

“Your phone has been going off like crazy.” Mark points at the aforementioned phone before yawning. As Jaehyun reaches for the device, he sits up and looks into the kitchen from the vantage point he has of the kitchen. The screen lights up after a few quick taps, and Mark asks: “Something important? Sounds like someone’s spamming you.”

dk 😁

not to be the bearer of bad news but mom wants to have you over for dinner on saturday

😭 maybe i shouldnt have delivered your greetings bro

i think my sister has a date on that evening tho so maybe nothing will happen?????

i mean you can say no but you know damn well my mom loves you (because you kiss up to her) so

yeah

i get if you dont want to

Jaehyun blinks. Several times. Then, he drops his face into his hands again, sighing so loudly that even Mark seems astonished.

It seems like you’re not gonna leave his mind anytime soon.

The first time Jaehyun had met you, you had still been a junior in college.

He’s always known you existed, of course - the pretty-faced little sister that was off-limits to anyone, who had the most embarrassing haircut when she was still in middle school, who liked to receive flowers for her birthday instead of gifts. Seokmin doesn’t talk about you often, but when he does, there’s a gentle smile etched on his face that seems like the most jarring contrast to the way he bickers and fights with you in person. Jaehyun couldn’t conjure an image of you, but when he thought of your name, it filled Jaehyun’s mind with a sweet dream. He had been missing you in his heart before he had even met you, the soft tug of a red string around his littlest finger.

The request had been hastily asked and innocent in nature. Pick up my sister, please? An unusual request, as Seokmin never introduced his sister to anyone for your own privacy, but it didn’t bother Jaehyun to do it, especially since DK was a very good friend. You had been incredibly drunk, and uncomfortable at a party, and called for the person you trust most in the world. DK on the other hand, drunk out of his own mind at an entirely different party in his own dorm shared with his bandmates, had called a friend he knew he could entrust with the safety of his littlest sister.

Completely hammered and wobbling on your entirely too high heels, you had gladly clung to Jaehyun’s arm after realizing he had been the savior your brother had sent you. Your introduction came out loud and clear, and you had enunciated every syllable to make sure he heard it. When he correctly repeated the name back to you to ensure he remembered it, a dazzling smile had split across your lips in the cutest way possible. It had made his heart jump in a deliciously agonizing way.

“Can you walk?” he had asked you then, pointing down at your monstrous heels. He had truth be told been incredibly impressed with the way you had managed to leave the front porch of the party house, even though every step enunciated that you were incredibly intoxicated. You had waved off his worry and beamed at him with the innocent happiness only a drunk person could exude, completely free from all wordly burdens. “Don’t worry!” you told him, your voice as melodious as it was pleasing. “I’ve walked in worse heels! And I’m not even that drunk!”

Jaehyun had no intention of questioning you, but the exclamation did make him laugh. He had been awkward about the interaction the entire time he had driven here. Would you be able to even feel comfortable with him? What if you guys didn’t speak about anything? But your behavior had loosened up the tension inside his chest, and he found himself relaxing under your hold, gently guiding you back to his car. Your grip was tight, but not painful, and you had hooked your arm around his to keep close to him in a way that wasn’t entirely unwelcome to him. He had not expected to warm up to you so quickly. “So you’re able to hold your liquor? You must not actually be related to DK then. The guy can’t hold his liquor for shit.”

The joke tugged a surprised laugh out of you. It was a nice sound, the genuineness of it making a smile form around Jaehyun’s lips. So open, so friendly, so extroverted - so incredibly different from him, and yet a simple laugh from you made Jaehyun entranced with the existence of you. He wanted to relish the sound, making him wrap his fingers around the keys in his pockets to ensure they wouldn’t rattle when he pulled them out. “I’m sure he’s got that from mom,” you had explained to him while snickering, momentarily letting go from him as he opened the door for you. After clambering in and pulling the door shut, he had walked around the car to climb in himself. The door clicked shut. “I’m my father’s daughter through and through. We used to place bets at New Year’s parties with the family how much time it would take for mom to crash out after a single bottle of champagne.”

“And?” he asks. The engine of the car sprung to life with a simple press of a button, idling quietly while Jaehyun had put on his seatbelt. “Did you win the bet?”

Your expression in the rearview mirror was smug when Jaehyun checked his surroundings in it, pulling out of the parking space he had found near the house the party was in. “I was fifty bucks richer about half an hour later.”

Jaehyun couldn’t help but laugh - at your behavior, your teasing little remarks, the way you hiccuped before laughing because you were a little liar that couldn’t hold their liquor. By the time he had reached DK’s apartment building, where you had requested to be dropped off because you wanted to sleep over at your brother’s, your drunkenness had made you drowsy. Without even thinking about it, you had climbed over the console to envelop Jaehyun in a hug, shocking him to the core. Your floral perfume had been dizzying, but the near proximity of you had almost made him drunk himself. Jaehyun was an idol under the strict gaze of both his employer and his supporters. His resulting touch-starvation had made him grasp your soft waist with both hands, and he closed his eyes to soak in the warmth of your touch. It was startingly intimate. “Thank you for bringing me home,” you had murmured against his shoulder, momentarily resting your head on it, as if it belonged there - as if you had been made to be held by him. You lined up perfectly, like puzzle pieces, and for a moment, Jaehyun had felt complete in a way that made him question himself was my heart always hollow of you?

When you pulled back with your bright smile and your hazy eyes, a pink blush had dusted across Jaehyun’s cheeks that he prayed you hadn’t noticed. “You’re super duper nice,” you proclaimed then, not fully retracting from where you were leaning on his body. Not pushing his hands away, either. “And it’s way more fun to ride in your car than in Jeonghan’s. You drive like a responsible adult.”

“Are you saying Jeonghan doesn’t drive like a responsible adult?”

“I’m not sure he knows what that is.” Giggling, you untangled yourself from him, startling Jaehyun with the immediate ache for you. Get a grip, he thought to himself. Acting like a teenage virgin. “And I should know!” you enunciated. “The idiot tried teaching me how to drive. If DK hadn’t put an end to that, I would have never gotten my driver’s license.”

Jaehyun, still reeling from the affection you had graced him with, smiled shyly at that. “Well, I’m glad to have brought you home safe, like the responsible adult I am. Can you make it up on your own?”

You “mhm”ed loudly, noisily maneuvring yourself out of the car. Jaehyun winced quietly when the heels of your shoes clacked against the pavement harshly, almost sure one had broken. But you had straightened up with a grin, waving stupidly, shouting loud “thank-you”s and “get home safe!”s as he watched you walk into the apartment complex, running into your drunk brother and almost-brothers (as his bandmates liked to title themselves as, loving you like you were one of their own).

He had sat and waited for a long time for his erratic heart to slow down again. You were a miracle he hadn’t been waiting for, like a sudden blessing after a fervent prayer. He went to sleep thinking of your name, finally being able to connect it with a face, the yearning following him into his dreams.

It was that same yearning that woke him up in the middle of the night now, reaching for the empty bedside, remembering where you were.

Remembering that you weren’t reaching for him anymore, no matter how much you had loved him.

Jaehyun cleans up nicely, when he wants to. When he checks his reflection in the camera app one last time before ringing the door, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. Johnny’s girlfriend had helped him put on a little bit of make-up to cover the black shadows under his eyes and wished him luck, although he wasn’t sure what he needed the luck for. To see you? Not to see you? The question had been eating away at him on the way here, making his hands sweat to the point that the driver’s wheel had looked kind of disgusting afterwards. He can’t shake the cold fear that accompanies the thought of you these days. The desire to be in your presence was a knife turning in his guts, so sharp that even the pain seemed more welcome than another day without you. As he closes his eyes, he imagines you opening the door, welcoming him home, kissing all the exhaustion away. But when the door opens up after knocking at it, the sweet face of your mother receives him.

Not that the sight isn’t welcome. Jaehyun sees his mother often enough to not have to miss her, but the need for a motherly presence never truly leaves you, no matter how old you are. There is a part of him that will always be a child, reaching for his parents’ hands, knowing he will be safe there. Your mother fills that space often when his own cannot. “Jaehyunnie! I’m glad you made it, sweetling,” your mother gushes, hurrying to clasp his hands. The sight of her red, marred hands makes his heart hurt - has she been overworking herself? - but the pain is soon replaced with a gentle warmth spreading inside his chest at her motherly clucking. “Hurry inside, we made your favorite! You still like spicy pork, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He removes his shoes before stepping inside, feeling nostalgic. The first time he had met your parents, the house had been newly bought and hardly acquired, with your parents having haggled for an appropriate price for months. Over the years, the building had been renovated, filled with furniture, and changed as more and more memories had been made in this place. To see it now standing proudly and lived in made him happy, but also sad, as he wasn’t fully part of that experience anymore.

“Don’t be silly, boy! You know you call me mom here!”

“Yes, mom.”

“Mom,” rings out the complaining voice of Seokmin then. He’s standing at the foot of the stairs. His voice had been petulant, but there’s a very big grin on his face as Jaehyun approaches him in greeting, and they hug each other without hesitation. DK had seen him go through enough shit to not have to shy back from physical affection. “Don’t nag with Jaehyun before he’s properly inside. How’s it going, J? I heard your new album, it was awesome!”

Your mother nods enthusiastically. “You are hard-working as always, Jaehyunnie! The songs sound beautiful!”

Jaehyun laughs, bashful. He feels awkward and happy at once, to be complimented upon for his talents while simultaneously knowing that most of those songs had been written with you in mind. “Thank you for saying that,” he answers.

“It’s only right,” your mother tuts then. As she turns to walk back in the kitchen, she opens her mouth to say something again, but there’s another knock at the door, startling them all. The three exchange glances, both Seokmin and your mother seeming surprised by the noise. “Are you expecting someone, Seokminnie?” When DK shakes his head no in answer, she walks back to the door, humming to herself in confusion. “Maybe your father? But he’s not supposed to get off work until 8.”

Before your mother even opens the door, the dread of who could possibly be standing in front of that door tells Jaehyun what to expect. And as he turns over that assumption in that mind, the door opens to reveal you, clad in a red dress that hugs your curves and exposes your mid-thigh. “Oh, sweetie!” your mother exclaims. “But what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to dinner with that Junseo-ssi?”

You don’t answer, your eyes locked onto him. He recognizes the sight of slight panic and confusion in your eyes - apparently, DK hadn’t told you that you were visiting in the hopes that you wouldn’t see each other anyways. Although barely a second passes, it feels like eternity as you take each other in.

Fuck, you’re as beautiful as the day he lost you. He doesn’t even register that your mother is still chattering away as he drinks in the sight of you, the sinful silhouette and the angel eyes that have been accentuated by a skilled hand and your favorite eyeliner pen. The blood rushes in his veins, filling his ears with the sound of waves crashing, his desire lapping higher and higher until it makes his chest hurt. “Mom,” you manage to say. “He was called into work at the last minute. It’s pretty awkward to be the only one all dolled up here, so may I go up and change please? And not have to make awkward small talk in the salon?”

“Of course, sweetling, just go up! Seokmin will help me with the last preparations for dinner.” Your mother leaves at that, and the three adults remaining are crushed by the awkward tension in the room. Even more awkward for the third wheel in the room is that neither of both you and Jaehyun have looked away from each other ever since you walked in, and DK takes the chance to quietly slip out of the room to join his mother in the kitchen, leaving Jaehyun to his doom.

(Traitor.)

Jaehyun breathes out, struggling to fill his lungs with the air he needs. “You look stunning,” he says, his voice straining to pronounce the words. It’s pathetic how much he wants to press you against that wall and devour you. Even though his inner adult yells at him that he isn’t yours anymore, the thoughts do not stop coming. Truthfully, there can’t be any scientific explanation for how fast his heart races because of you, but it keeps on beating, jumping out of his chest. Falling to your feet.

You finally step out of the doorframe, into the house itself. The door quietly falls into the lock. You reach down to unclasp your high heels, the movement mechanic. You seem as dazed as he is. He entertains the possibility whether he has the same effect on you as you do on him, but he casts the thought aside immediately. You had left him, after all. “Thank you,” you answer, your voice meek. As if you were to strangers. “Are you … doing well?”

I hope that despite the way I’m ending things, you will be well. I pray that you are healthy, that you are eating enough, that you flourish in your career as you deserve to be. You are outstanding, Jeong Jaehyun, a flaming star lighting up the sky. I pray that you find it in yourself to forgive me.

“Well?” he echoes, as if that word was a joke. And then, almost in disbelief, he asks back, “Are you?”

You lower your gaze then. “I finish my master’s degree this year, so I’m a little stressed. But aside from that, I am fine, thank you for asking.” You straighten up, intending to walk past him. But Jaehyun, as if possessed, grabs your wrist; the touch makes both of you shudder, and you look up to see the absolute yearning in his eyes staring back at you. He doesn’t really know what made him do it, and he seems as shocked as you are; he had been thinking more quickly than he had been moving, and his muscles spasmed from the lack of communication between his nerves and his brain.

It’s written across his face, it must be. The intense wish to bow his head and lean against you, cage you against the railing of the stairs. To make you reach inside his soul and connect the broken pieces there that were the remaining shards of his heart. Jaehyun doesn’t want anyone else in the world to see inside him like that. He wants you, he wants to be your boyfriend. Despite it all. The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. Are you well? Jaehyun’s hand slips lower, interlocking your fingers, the physical connection there setting fire to the skin. I pray that you are. “Take care of yourself,” he tells you instead of all the words that have been left unsaid ever since you abandoned him, all the tears that he has shed. He wants to tell you how his pride for your success makes him fly higher than any of his own achievements ever would, how soft his heart feels at the fact that you are so close to reaching your goals. How much he wishes to be a part of supporting you towards that. But he doesn’t.

You don’t break free of his hold, but it seems clear that you do not reciprocate the hurricane of emotions he is feeling right now. “You shouldn’t say that,” you tell him, tone polite, but your voice sounds hesitant. He wants to kiss the hesitation out of you, eat your laughter as he tugs at your lower lip. The proximity is driving him crazy. “I mean, I don’t wanna be rude. But I am seeing Junseo. You don’t have to worry about me, Jae. Jaehyun.” You cough awkwardly, as if that can erase the affectionate nickname, as if there isn’t something inside you still calling for him. You step backwards. If hitting the railing is embarrassing to you, you don’t let it show.

He lets go of you and steps back, then silently watches you go up the stairs. Your soft shuffling as you walk back to your room. The decisive shutting of a door.

Silently dreaming of what would happen if you graced him with your attention again.

The dinner itself is uneventful. You make polite conversation, thankfully sitting diagonally away from him, wedged in between your mother and your brother, whom Jaehyun sits across. But he sees the blush never truly leaving your face, and the way you throw glances at him when you think he isn’t paying attention. It makes him delusional enough to imagine that maybe, he wasn’t the only one still thinking about their ex.

Jaehyun glances down at his cleared plate, a half smile curling at his lips. Not truly a real smile. But not truly a lie, either.

@leey/n has started following you on Instagram!

@leey/n has liked a post!

The third time your paths cross, you truly think you are about to go crazy.

This is an art gallery, for crying out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jaehyun in a museum. Not that he’s uneducated or disinterested, mind you, but Jaehyun was the kind of guy to take you to places where you could etch your own memories across the place. The arcade in Busan where you won your first ever plushie and promptly gifted it to him, for one; the trip to Jeju where you had almost fainted and scared the shit out of Jaehyun; the high-end restaurant in Gangnam where you both can never let your face be seen again after having been thrown out for laughing too loud. You had spoken about the particular art gallery here once, debating about attending an event that was held in that month, but ultimately had the decision taken out of your hands after you unexpectedly had to go the hospital due to your appendix bursting. But here he was, looking like the most ravishing man alive in that stupid suit.

It should be forbidden to look that good. Genuinely. You think your heart stops momentarily when you see him, and then again when your gaze involuntarily drops to the exposed skin of his chest, displaying the vulnerable area due to the v-cut of his suit jacket. Hell. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was doing this on purpose.

You gather up the train of your dress and hurry over before anyone can recognize either him or you. He looks startled, and then that weird flash of desperation flits across his eyes before he hastily makes himself appear composed. You don’t for the life of you know why exactly his reaction to you is like that, but you suppose the time for complaining was over, since, you know, you broke up with him. You knew it had been a bitch move to write a letter, but you couldn’t exactly tell him the true reason to his face. Hey, I know this sounds stupid, but I’m afraid of ruining your career because netizens keep shit talking our relationship and tainting your reputation, have a nice day though!

No, he’d never understand. This was for the best. He’d been so close to completing his album, so proud of what he had achieved, and the grief of almost taking that away from him made you want to throw up. So you had decided to sacrifice yourself, in an as cowardly manner as possible.

No one would ever know that Jeong Jaehyun made your soul sing in the most exquisite way possible, and that your heart had been filled with so much joy that it almost burst. No one needed to know.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss at him. You turn your head to ensure that no one is actually looking, before tugging him to the side. Almost unconsciously, you take his hand and guide him to a different spot, a quiet corner where only strangers were staring at the art being displayed. Even the music was muted.

“Is this not a public event?” he hisses back, confused by your behavior. But he lets you do as you please, even lowering his head to yours to make sure no one hears. His fingers gently tangle with yours, swiping across your knuckles as he always does - did. It’s like your love runs deeper than human behavior, deeply embedded in your body’s instincts. You see it in the way the caution you display reflects back in his eyes, as if your secrets are still holier to him than his own. Even though he has no idea why you’re being so ominous. It’s one of the qualities you love most about Jaehyun; he never once tries to tell you what to do, always acquiescing your needs, letting you take the lead when necessary. It makes a traitorous happiness bloom inside your chest that he is still the kind of person who would always have your back. “Why exactly wouldn’t I be here? If it’s because you didn’t want to see my face, don’t tell me that. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Jeong Jaehyun,” you groan, exasperated as you are. You hastily scan the area, always dreading that Junseo is about to turn the corner to catch you both. It had already been a surprise that evening had been made possible, since Junseo was a workaholic. Your friends joked around that he loves his residency at Seoul General Hospital first, and you second. You did not want to squander this opportunity of growing closer to him, a whim based on the fact that he was a pretty face and you desperately needed to move on. You weren’t serious, and you could count the amount of dates you had been on on one hand, but it worked its magic enough. Jaehyun only needed to believe that you were moving on. And Junseo only needed to believe Jaehyun was unimportant. Not like it’s forbidden to speak with an “acquaintance”, even if he did see you both here - but Jeong Jaehyun wasn’t an acquaintance, he was your ex-boyfriend for crying out loud, and if it weren’t for the necessary masquerade to appear as if you were moving on, you wouldn’t even be entertaining Junseo’s presence, no matter how charming he was. It was a stupid plan, concocted by an even more stupid Jeonghan. “Who would’t want to see your face? That’s not what I mean.”

The compliment slips out before you can hold it back. It’s so easy, so habitual to make it, to admire Jeong Jaehyun’s existence. You had never even met a man like him. He was sin made flesh, with his well-formed, strong body, the gorgeous face, the sun-kissed hair that switched colors from comeback to comeback. Jaehyun looks surprised to hear it. The dimples in his cheeks signal the smile that stretches across his lips, sweet and genuine and startled. It makes you sad, that he doesn’t expect those compliments; he is the kindest, sincerest, most attentive man you know.

(And if you were still in a relationship, you would have torn the clothes off of him and jumped him for looking that good in a suit. Not want to see his face my ass - you could stare at Jeong Jaehyun all day.)

“I thought we weren’t supposed to say stuff like that,” he says back, his voice low. It sounds deliciously rough, the way it sometimes sounded when you woke him from his sleep to kiss him, the sleepy yawns turning into soft moans when you rode him, his hands mapping out the space of your skin. You shake your head, as if you can shake off the memory. Your adoration for him went bone-deep. “Whatever,” you say hastily, as if that can erase the obvious pining you are displaying. “I mean, I don’t want Junseo to see us. I know you don’t like to lie, and I’m sorry for introducing you as an acquaintance, but I’d like it to remain that way. For him to believe there was nothing between us, I mean.”

“And is there?” Jaehyun’s voice sounds steady. It kills you to see the hope in his eyes, even now, even after you’ve hurt him after flaunting a new relationship. You remember his beautiful face on that day at the Christmas market, where the agony in his eyes had almost made you weep. You never ever wanted to be responsible for Jaehyun’s grief, not even now. “Nothing between us?”

You falter then, forgetting what you want to say. You can’t tell him the truth, you cannot - the truth being that when you look into Jaehyun’s eyes, your knees go weak and your hands yearn to claw at him and your kisses want to devour him whole, bones and all. You want to crawl inside him and live there forever, like the insane lover you are. You want to kiss him until you forget your own name, until the mornings become routine where you wake up next to him, where the sight of his beautiful face becomes the first thing you see after waking up for the rest of your life. The wish is so fervent it catches you off-guard, and it weakens your resolve. “There’s nothing, Jaehyun,” you say. Even you can hear the uncertainty. The atmosphere is so tense that you didn’t even notice the room has cleared out; the area is curtained off, a special exhibition inside the actual exhibition, for a yet-to-be-discovered artist who gained the space to present their art through chance. The few people who had mingled here had quietly left, identifying the situation as a lover’s spat. Anyone could walk in. Anyone. The realization makes your heart skip a beat. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Your words make sense, yet your actions don’t. You unconsciously inch closer to him. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t. “You’re confusing me,” Jaehyun responds, sounding frustrated, but when his hands find your waist, his touch is careful. Gentle. Like a collector in awe of the precious rare item he has found. “I thought you hated my guts. You know, that’s the kind of interpretation a break-up letter entails.”

“Jaehyun,” you whisper. You want to rip his hands off, leave him here to come to terms with the realization that this relationship is over. It had been such a difficult situation, and so painful; to rip the band-aid off in the manner that you did. You hadn’t even told Jeonghan about the reason you broke it off, so afraid of the consequences, yet more afraid of the repercussions of your relationship to Jaehyun’s career. You needed to tell him off now, before you do something you would regret. You do none of these things, however. You let Jeong Jaehyun cradle your face in the middle of the gallery as if nothing has changed and the two of you are eternal and you have never been apart. Something inside of you reaches for his soul, across the gaping abyss that forced mythological Orpheus and Eurydice apart. You let him bring your face close enough that he can press his cheek against yours, mimicking Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss hanging in the hall outside. A sweet irony. It had always been your favorite painting, and you know there was a copy of it hanging in Jaehyun’s living room, bought by you for an anniversary long past. His lips trace the lines of your cheekbones, feeding the selfish ache inside you that is always desperate for Jaehyun. “It doesn’t matter. I’m with a different man.”

The answer makes Jaehyun draw in a sharp breath, but his ministrations continue on; as if his love for you was an instinct he was chasing after unconsciously. His lips trail a burning path across your face, his fingers curling at your nape. Lulling you in. Entrancing you. “At the risk of sounding like an asshole - I don’t care,” he murmurs against your skin, the words reverberating in your blood. “I would give anything for being able to touch you like this. Even if this is the last time.”

You screw your eyes shut. Even if this is the last time. Almost mechanically, you raise your arms to draw him against you, your bodies lining up perfectly; you had always secretly enjoyed how well you guys fit together. A perfect match. When you had dropped him off at that airport, you had been robbed of truly saying goodbye to him. Coming home late, almost oversleeping and missing his flight, riding in separate cars because the staff had piled into the seats of which at least one should have been reserved for you. You couldn’t even kiss him goodbye - you had let go of Jaehyun with a heavy heart, a mind full of anxieties turning over all the threats you had received not only digitally, but now even physically, and with a mouth full of lies. This is the last time. You look up at the same time as Jaehyun decides to throw all caution against the wind, bowing his head to inch closer. “Let me kiss you, please,” he whispers, the desperation in his voice so heady it makes you feel drunk. “May I kiss you?”

You draw in a sharp, shuddering breath, and murmur your assent. As if this had been a decision and not a stabbing, sharp need below your chest. “Yes. Yes, Jaehyun.”

Your lips meet his halfway, although meet is the wrong words. It’s a crash and burn, two stars folding around one another and exploding in a supernova; there is nothing human about the way Jaehyun hungrily devours the surprised gasp you let out. His kiss is all fire and blood and teeth, the messy clacking of two people who had been made to love each other once and then cut apart by fate. Your hastily sucked in breaths keep getting interrupted every time Jaehyun kisses you again, and again, and again. It’s a sweet torture, and a productive one. By the time he has dragged you against a wall you are lightheaded and out of it, your skin prickling with the feeling of Jaehyun mapping out his way. “Oh sweetheart,” he sighs out against your collarbone, his teeth painting markings across your chest. You barely even register him falling to his knees. “I could die tomorrow and be a happy man.”

“What are you doing?” You ask him, dazed. Your hands find his shoulders (has he become even broader? You seriously need to have a talk with Johnny and the gym routine he forces Jaehyun through). Despite your confusion, your body remembers Jaehyun. You barely even think about following his guidance, complying almost immediately when he taps against your waist so that you raise your leg and angle it over his shoulder. The belated realization makes you blush heavily; your addled mind cannot keep up with your body’s compliance. “Jeong Jaehyun! Are you insane?”

You intended to sound fierce and reprimanding, but when you finally look down to meet his gaze, your knees almost buckle. Jaehyun looks like a man starved, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire, the irises blown wide to ensure every detail of you is burned into his recollection. He looks like a worshipper, and his hands move across the supple flesh of your thighs as if in prayer. Blasphemous and heavenly. And incredibly dangerous. You can still hear the loud chatter of the other guests behind the curtain, just across the room. The nervousness makes your veins thrum. “Baby,” he says, sounding genuinely disbelieving. “Do you honestly think I won’t use this chance to taste you one last time? I don’t know what made you tolerate me suddenly, but I am not going to be the idiot that ruins the opportunity. You’ll let me go down on you, won’t you, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment makes you all fuzzy-minded and giddy. “I … yes … But anyone could walk in…” you nervously start, and yet you angle your hips forward so that Jaehyun can tug down your black lace panties, barely noticing that he tucks them inside his suit pockets. “And we’re not supposed to … I mean, I shouldn’t …. Jesus, Jae!”

In the middle of your feeble attempt of climbing back to the moral highground, Jaehyun had positioned himself right at your core; your hands fumble to hold on to his shoulders before he kisses your vulva way too innocently for a man who’s currently going down on you in the middle of a public art gallery. You barely remember to lean back against the wall for support before Jaehyun dives in like you are the last meal he is ever permitted to have on this earth, and he is determined to make it last.

You bite back a cry when Jaehyun finally laps at you, the torturous kitten lick lighting your entire body aflame with want. Although Jaehyun immediately follows it up by generously sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, you cast aside all pretense of decorum due to your greed and dig your fingers in his hair to direct him closer, much closer, and Jaehyun moans. The sound is so delicious it makes your veins burn with desire, the physical pain of craving him running almost hotter than your need to be pleasured. Keyword almost. You wanted to come all over his mouth just for that delicious fucking noise, but your stomach was tensing up, the quick arousal accomplished by the serious lack of sex and masturbation that the past few months had been for you. Jaehyun’s hands claw at your knees, climbing to your thighs, forcing your legs wide open to welcome his fingers where he drags them across your all-too-welcoming entrance. “So wet,” he groans against your core, and you whimper at the vibration, bucking against his lips. Even though he loves to run his mouth during sex, he gets it to work anyways. Jaehyun laps up your sweetness as it drips down, his thumb flicking at your sensitive spots until he has you keening and tearing at his hair. “God, sweetheart, look at what a mess you’re making. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Jaehyun,” you gasp when he finally dives his tongue into you, the muscle pumping in mock-fashion of what he would love to do to you. The compliments are doing insane things to you and your heart, your poor heart that is going to cling to this moment forever. While Jaehyun’s fingers work their magic, your own begin to spasm, pulling and tearing at him. Submitting to you and your feral hunger he finally adds a finger, his right hand busy with fingering you while his left hands continues to trace circles over your clitoris. The sudden penetration has you remembering that his own digits are way longer than yours, the memory accompanying the sensation of him reaching further and further until he finds the right spot that has you bowing over him with a loud moan. This is what you missed, what you were imagining when you were daydreaming about sex, daydreaming about the godly way Jaehyun pounded you into the mattress. He knows he’s got you now, speeding up his ministrations at every noise you make. You screw your eyes shut with a bone-deep shudder, the sweet tension inside your abdomen pulling tighter and tighter in a familiar tell-tale sign. “Jaehyun, slow down, fuck!”

He’s curling his fingers, eager for your approval, hungry for more noises - through your blurry eyes, you realize he’s watching you through it all, the gaze of a predator. Not once does he look away, continuing his sweet song of praise. “So beautiful,” he coos against your pussy, pressing close so he can speak the words into your skin, your soul. In your state, it almost sounds like Jaehyun is the only thing in your world, and hasn’t it always been? The miracle in your life that you surrendered all your worship to? You lurch forward when he sucks your clit into his mouth, seeing white for a second, the stimulation becoming too much. “Keep looking at me, please. Wanna watch you when you come.”

“I…. can’t!” you manage to babble, realizing you are edging closer to your climax. You’ve never once been this quick, not with anyone but with Jaehyun; the only man in your life that knew every inch of you, the very shape of your soul. Your body is as familiar to him as the back of your hand; more familiar to him than his own self. Jaehyun is too impatient to deal with your arguments, though. “You can,” he hisses against you, dragging his fingers more fervently. Your warm walls tighten around them, hungrily trying to keep them in, to keep going. The sudden clenching around his fingers makes it difficult. “Look at me and cum or you won’t get to cum at all, I swear it.”

That’s all it takes for you to finally let go, almost weeping with the overwhelming pleasure. Your orgasm washes over you almost too violently, forced on by Jaehyun’s overstimulation as he keeps going and going and going, and by the time you push him off your sensitive pussy there are tears falling from your eyes. But you drag him close and kiss him, kiss him so hard you think he’s going to bruise, and Jaehyun lets you; it is much sweeter and patient than the beginning of the altercation, so sweet on your tongue it has you melting against Jaehyun. This is it, that adrenaline you kept chasing; true, painful, but worth it love. You feel too sensitive and too aware and too alight, but you wrap your arms around him all the same, as if you can keep him forever. Your kisses reach inside of him, desperate for connection, heavy with the longing that had accompanied you everywhere ever since you left him. You think you were born to love Jeong Jaehyun, and you kiss him as if you are Eve reaching for the forbidden apple - knowing it’s wrong, wanting it anyway. You want and you want and you want. Your hands are on his soft cheeks, dragging against his shoulders, careless, loving. You love Jeong Jaehyun, love him so much that your very existence is exploding from the inherent triumph that accompanied witnessing him.

You think you would gladly go to hell for tasting divinity on Jaehyun’s lips. You’d rather be a sinner than apart from him for being a saint.

When you finally tear away from him, Jaehyun’s lips are swollen(your heart almost fails at the sheer pleasure that sight gives you). He lets you drag your thumb across the kiss-stained lip, wiping away the lipstick, tracing his jawline. “Such a beautiful face,” you tell him, watching as he preens from the affection. Your heart to yearns to give him more, but you finally force yourself to step away before you die from the overdosis that is Jaehyun. He watches you, completely out of it. “This is the last time,” you remind him. The lie comes so easily now, even though you are trying to memorize his gorgeous face, tattooing it across your mind palace. You will never forget this, no matter what illness or loss comes for you. Not Jeong Jaehyun. “The last time, okay, Jae?”

You place your hand over his heart, and he places his own above it. For a moment, the situation feels eternal. You were in love and you were both idiots, but it was okay because you were handling it together. Because you would face all the challenges together. Because you would work towards a future together. But the spell is broken soon, and you make the first step back, biting your lip at the sadness resurfacing in his eyes. Jaehyun, you think. The only man you’ve ever entrusted your heart with like this.

“Okay,” he finally answers, helpless. He holds on to your hand, though, making the last few steps to follow you before he is forced to let you go. You turn back at the last second before you enter the main hall, just to see if he is looking away, but there he stands, watching you.

His face is forlorn, softened by his quiet sadness, and your heart breaks again. You leave him there before you can do something else you regret.

When Jaehyun had fallen in love you, he knew he was in for some deep shit.

Picking you up had become a natural habit now. You had long since stopped calling your brother and instead resorted to texting Jaehyun first. It felt like an honor, to be entrusted with your care. That you’ve started to know him in a way that makes you rely on him. Picking you up had led to late-night-drives to sober you up, late-night-drives had turned into a shared breakfast the next morning when Jaehyun was worried about you having hangovers, and fussing over you had turn into regular meet-ups because Jaehyun could no longer deny that what he craved was not reassurance of your well-being, but you in person.

He remembered one morning where he had slept over after a particularly nasty crash-out. You had been laughing and weeping incoherently, your friend Karina aiding him with the information that you had failed your exam and drowned yourself in booze. He had texted DK a “FYI, your sister’s puking her guts out in my apartment” after deciding his home was closer than yours and you wouldn’t last long enough to throw up in your own toilet, before he had sat there with you and braided your hair back while you emptied out your entire stomach. The next morning, when he had woken up to you cuddled up to him still on the bathroom floor, he had carried you to his bed, tucked you in and walked into the kitchen to cook hangover soup, something he had mastered by this point due to the amount of times Mark had familiarized himself with that toilet just like you did last night. Having checked his phone, he read your brother’s only response: “LOL. didn’t even realize she left party”

You had wandered in shortly after, sleepy and pale like a ghost. The sound of your footsteps had startled Jaehyun, but his surprise had turned into a sudden happiness at the sight of your eyes lighting up when you saw him. The realization that his presence made you as happy as yours made him was invaluable. He loved the kind of person he was when you guys were together; existing felt like floating, a light cloud of pure contentment.

Even though there hadn’t been a lot of talking, you had both been deeply comfortable. That was the very first time he had kissed you; when you couldn’t stop singing his praises after claiming his soup was too tasty, he had simply leant over and shut you up himself. It was almost funny at how quickly you had dropped that spoon, tugging at his pyjama shirt to pull him closer, damn right pulling him over the counter. Not that he was complaining. He loved the way you made him feel, the way your touch made it feel like there were stars blooming below his skin. It made him feel like the brightest sun in the sky. “Why did you do that?” you had immediately asked when he finally pulled back. Jaehyun had cradled your face, realizing he was holding his entire world in the palm of his hand. “I just suddenly understood that I want to hold your hair back for you for the rest of my life,” he had admitted then, earning himself a slap to the shoulder. But you had laughed, that pure boisterous laugh that sparked with joy, and his heart had pounded in his chest: unable to handle the luck he was experiencing.

The mornings had blurred into days, the days into weeks, finally bleeding into the most happiest months of Jaehyun’s life. He’d never been cautious, but you had certainly made him braver. Sudden shenanigans in public, joking around entirely too loud during important events, having fun everywhere you guys were together. You had made him believe there were no honeymoon phases. Jaehyun woke and rose in the morning, and went to sleep in the dawn obsessed with you. There were rough patches, stressful and grieving periods when your private lives had been rocked particularly hard with a certain event, but he never once stopped adoring you. You were in every waking breath, every racing heartbeat.

Even now, as he wakes the day after your goodbye in the art gallery, he wakes up with the taste of hope in his mouth, of the shape of your heart on the tip of his tongue. He wakes still dreaming, always dreaming of you.

“So what you’re saying,” states Johnny, twirling a biscuit around in his coffee, “is that you had sex with your ex-girlfriend in a public museum, fully knowing she’s dating someone else.”

“Johnny,” comes the muffled response from where Jaehyun hides his face in his hands. It’s too beautiful of a day. It should be raining, to reflect Jaehyun’s mood, to encompass this entirely too awkward feeling of knowing Jaehyun was still in love with his ex. He had spent the entire morning racking his brain for ideas to get rid of the other man, feeling like Lana del Rey in her worst situationships. Jaehyun has reached a very new low, the kind of pathetic that makes him not care that he’s embarrassing himself by still being at your beck-and-call. “It wasn’t sex.”

Johnny waves the retort away. “Oral sex, then. Still sex.” The comment is too loud and earns Johnny some weirded-out looks, but the man looks completely unbothered. He had once watched Johnny talk about different sex positions completely seriously while standing in line for gelato in Little Italy, back when they had visited New York together. Johnny Suh did not know what shame was. “I never even knew you were freaky like that. Little exhibitionist freak. Maybe I underestimated you.”

“Johnny,” Jaehyun deadpanned. “Is this the time to be making jokes? Can we get to the point?”

“What point, dude? You basically went on your knees and asked her to take you back, and she didn’t. I didn’t realize you wanted me to throw salt into the wound.”

Jaehyun lowers his head to the tabletop, resting his too warm face against the metal surface. He doesn’t dare close his eyes, because the image of you is burned into his eyelids. He feels like an addict itching for a quick fix. It had been like this the entire week now. It was one thing to be ghosted by you and forced to move on by the lack of interaction, and another to be making out with you and getting his hopes up despite the fact you told him this was the last time. All it did was make him delusional enough to think he could convince you for it not to be. “She didn’t say no,” he tells Johnny, sounding pitiable even to him. “She just told me this had to be the last time.”

A few seconds pass before Jaehyun finally raises his head due to the lack of answer from his best friend. The look Johnny gives him tells him is answer enough, and Jaehyun pulls a grimace. He hadn’t expected of Johnny to be feeding into his delusions, but there had been some hope. Hope for you to call. Hope for you to come back. Hope for you to still want him.

You hadn’t unfollowed him yet; you hadn’t posted in days; and your brother has kindly snitched to him that you’ve even been blowing off Junseo. He knows you have finals coming up soon, but thinking rationally was something Jaehyun severely lacked at the moment. He had been entertaining the idea that the … meeting, for a lack of better words, in the museum had shaken you up as much as it did him. He kept replaying the memory in his head, the way your plush thighs had trapped him there on his knees, your pretty lips jutted in a pout, the tears falling from your eyes from the way he was making you feel so good … he almost felt himself get hard again, but quickly killed the boner by thinking of something else. “I just wish she’d be more clear,” he sighs out. At the sight of Johnny raising his eyebrows, he clarifies: “I mean that she’s playing hot and cold with me. I’m not stupid enough to not realize she does want to put an end to this. And yet she’s the one that followed me on Instagram, and kissed me, and made me fall all over again for her. I wasn’t doing well before I saw her again, but I was going somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” Johnny repeats, his tone mocking, but then he sets down the biscuit that had come with his coffee. This is what Jaehyun liked about him the most. He considered everything and thought about everything carefully before giving his honest opinion, and even though he sure as hell wasn’t unbiased, he still tried his best to be. “I guess,” Johnny concurs then. “I guess that’s true. I just think there must be a reason to this. I haven’t known her half as long as you do, but we were friends once, and she never once acted as irrationally as she did this past year.”

Jaehyun perked up at that. It was true, at least. In the weeks leading up to your break-up, as well as the months afterwards, you had been acting incredibly off, to the point that even your close ones had been questioning your case. He hadn’t realized how keen Johnny’s observations could be. “So you think she’s going through something that she couldn’t tell me?” he asks, his voice tentative.

Johnny shrugs. “That sounds like the most logical explanation to me. So you either hook up with her again and question her while you’re at it, or you start looking up ways to get rid of Junseo, I guess.” The suggestion makes Johnny’s face light up with excitement. “Dude, I actually always wanted to hire an assassin on the dark web. Do you think we can do that?”

“No, you idiot,” Jaehyun hisses back. But the gears in his head are already turning, chipping away at the past year, at your secret glances and your guilty letter and the sadness in your eyes when you had let him go. He had always thought that even though you had been decisive, you had at least been sad for not being able to love him in the way he deserved to be loved anymore. now he wonders how selfish he has been, and whether he should have been texting his ex all along instead of grieving what was.

Well. Jaehyun thought it couldn’t hurt to try.

Jeonghan sees him before you do.

It’s the way your best friend immediately starts cackling and turns back around to walk back into the library. You halt in your movements, looking at him imploringly. “Your ex, dude,” he tells you, visibly enjoying the way you immediately enter full-panic-mode. “You’re on your own.”

Your panicked “Hannie!” is drowned out by his snickers, and Jeonghan leaves you to your distress to pretend going to the bathroom. You met Jeonghan years ago, and even though he was older than you, you had become such fast friends that DK threatened to beat you guys up for laughing too loud whenever you were over at their dorms. He was your stupid older unnecessary brother that loved you more than anything, but he is also the most brutally honest one out of all of your friends. You do not go to Jeonghan for advice if you aren’t able to handle the truth. He cuts to the chase real quick and will call you out on your bullshit.

It’s also why he immediately told you that your plan wasn’t going to work out. “Let’s not pretend this is the most lovey-dovey you’ve ever been in your life,” Jeonghan had told you with a straight face. You wince at the memory; Jeonghan’s words are able to tear down buildings. “You love-love that man. You’re in deep, deep shit. Whatever it is you don’t want to tell me about, the thing that made you think up this idiotic plan in the first place, it won’t be able to amount to the feelings you have for him.”

Yes, you love-love him; you know just as much, and your heart sings with that knowledge. It pinches and tingles beneath your ribs, calling out a certain name. It rejoices at the sight of Jaehyun out there, in the rain, wearing not even a jacket but instead jeans and a hoodie that looks large even on him, and a bouquet in his hands. But you love him enough not to want to be selfish enough to endanger him.

The messages had blown up your instant message box for weeks then, each threat becoming more explicit. At first, you had resorted to deleting them. They were all the same at their core, anyways, the same hatred being spewed with different names. But then one persistent account had started attaching pictures to their messages, waking you up from the rose-tinted dream that was being in love with Jaehyun. Pictures of him at private events, including the other band members as well, even the youngest ones who were innocent. You hadn’t responded, but the fear had you making hasty plans; setting up everything carefully, writing the letter, while you prepared to leave Jaehyun in the most respectful way you could imagine because that is what you owed him. But then pictures of his own rented studio inside SM building had started popping up, a room you knew no one but Jaehyun and his aides should have access to, one single message with one ominous threat: Leave him or I’ll ruin the both of you. His life’s work being killed will be your fault.

Your lack of answer surely had made them furious.

You didn’t know whether to approach the managers, or even the police. Stalkers weren’t unheard of in the industry, one being caught and sued almost weekly by now, and Jaehyun had cycled through his fair share of them. No one had ever went for you in that way, though. You were certain that this wasn’t a singular threat, certain that this was someone who would pull out all stops to get rid of you. SM Entertainment was more tightly under lock and key than a literal jail. This person knew what they were doing. And so you did what you thought was right, at the cost of your own wellbeing. How much you had sacrificed and cried after distancing yourself from the man you considered your heart.

And yet here he was.

You shake the umbrella open before stepping out of the library, into the rain. In three quick strides, you’ve reached him. You try to convince yourself you’re just eager to be rid of him, but the corners of your lips quirk up way too happily for your brain to believe that. “Is this your equivalent of a boombox outside my window?” you question.

Jaehyun smiles, and it untangles the heavy knot of dread inside of you. The weather is awful, but you feel warm, spreading inside your chest like the soothing effects of medicine. “It kind of is,” he answers. He sounds like he is carefully weighing his words, but his voice is gentle. “I didn’t know which one your window was. And entering the building to go visit you in your apartment seemed creepy to even me.”

You tentatively reach out, brushing your fingers over the roses. They’re a deep red, plush and freshly bloomed. Expensive. Junseo has never even got you a three-dollar-bundle of flowers from the grocery store. “You know, I already have someone who’s giving me flowers,” you tell him, but the threat is empty. Every inch of you is bursting with happiness. Jaehyun is here, even though it’s the middle of the night and the weather is completely awful, just to give you roses.

(You never even make the connection someone must have told him you’re here. (DK was shitting himself for days in fear of you finding out he was the tattletale.)

Jaehyun hands you the bouquet, his hands covering your own as you grasp it. You watch him as he takes the opportunity to step closer to you, never once reprimanding him. His face is open and trusting, and the force of his loving gaze hits you right in the chest. “I know,” he retorts. “And the thought is killing me. It should be me. And so I will. I will keep buying you roses until you ask me to stop, sweetheart, because I don’t mind if you forget about me, but I was made to adore you. I can’t ignore my instincts.”

The confession does funny things to your heart, in a way that makes you beam at him for the first time in months. You haven’t smiled like this in so long, and your cheeks hurt from the lack of practise. Jaehyun, the damn fool; Jaehyun, the hopeless romantic; Jaehyun, the love of your life. “Killing you,” you muse, entertaining him. You are playing with fire, you realize, but you are coming to the understanding that even though you had made a decision for him in a completely unfair manner, because you felt threatened to do so, Jaehyun still chooses you. And he continues to choose you. He has respected your wishes, has kept his distance despite the grief you have caused him, and has only re-entered your life because you allowed him to do so. It was your own self-doubt about being the one for him that had forced your hand and made you not ask him for help about the threats; and despite the fact Jaehyun never understood why, he had still reassured you.

“Do you honestly mean that?” you ask him, even though you know what his answer will be. Even though your heart has always chosen him, this sweet boy who knew just what to say to cheer you up. Who listened when you talked. Who bought you gifts just because you mentioned liking some trinket in passing. Who remembers to kiss you every morning before you leave the house, even if it means dragging himself out of bed at 5am in the morning just to see you off because he knows he won’t see you the entire day. Who leaves little notes around the house for you to find when he is too busy to be with you. Jaehyun, your Jaehyun.

“I will always, always mean it,” he answers in the most earnest way possible. “I’ve been thinking about you all this time. I know how pathetic this sounds, but all this time, I kept envisioning you, and the thought of you kept me going even though I knew you weren’t a part of my life anymore. I like the person you made me become, sweetheart, and the way you have helped me shape my life into something I can be proud of. I just wish I had realized sooner that there was something bothering you - because there is, right?” His fingers gently squeeze yours in encouragement, and your little nod makes him press on. “I’m sorry,” he says, and surprises you. “I’m sorry for being so in love with your good and pure heart and failing to realize that it burdened you, despite how good and pure it was. You were going through something that you couldn’t handle, and I couldn’t see it, and I’m sorry.”

You tug at Jaehyun’s hands. His instantaneous, responding smile makes your heart skip a beat, and he lets you pull him down until you can press your lips to his soft, dimpled cheek. “You’re such a sore loser, Jeong Jaehyun,” you whisper then, but you loosen a hand from the bouquet and place it against his cheek to keep him there. To treasure him. “And such a sweet little idiot. You don’t have to apologize about a single thing to me.” He smells like home, like the only home you’ve ever known. Jaehyun hums, and nods in assent to the insults, and the agreement makes you laugh. You kiss his cheek again, and again, and again, until Jaehyun’s impatience makes him turn his head and kiss you so urgently that your head feels like it’s spinning. “Jaehyun,” you sigh into the kiss, feeling his teeth nip at your lower lip, feeling his hands close around your heart.

You have never felt so safe.

Jaehyun rests his forehead against yours, the pouring rain cascading around you both. “Does that mean I can kill your little boy toy now?” he asks, but you only smack him and smile shyly, your face radiant with adoration for him. “I am going to resolve some things first,” you tell him. “Until then, no murder.”

“And after that?”

“After that,” you say, “I am going to prove that my heart has always belonged to you, Jeong Jaehyun. Even when I made you doubt that.”

(For your information, Jeonghan has recorded that entire interaction and forwarded it to Johnny without context. Johnny had texted him back almost seconds later, asking, Who’s this and how’d you get my number? Hannie’s response, as you discover after he had confessed his betrayal, was I have my ways.)

Jaehyun,

I realize me writing another letter is cruel and ironic, but hear me out, please.

When I wrote my first letter, it was with the selfish intention of at least something of mine remaining with you. By the time you read this, I’ll hopefully have gathered enough evidence to explain my case to you and maybe have the guts to ask you to accompany me to the police, but what I first want to reiterate is: I love you. I love you the point of self-sacrifice. I love you enough that I turned my back on being selfless anyways and selfishly chose you, because you are the most important person in my heart. You will always come first.

When I wrote that letter to break up with you, I imagined a piece of myself embedding itself in the ink so that at least something could remain forever. In my mind, you were never ephemeral: no matter how many times I changed my paths and adjusted my future, it has always included you. I never once imagined building a life for myself that didn’t have you as its brilliant, shining center piece, the light of my life, my Jaehyun. I’ve always been afraid of falling in love head-first, always afraid of loving more than the other, but you have proven me wrong. And I love being proven wrong by you. I love the fact that you fiercely, sincerely, and lovingly pull me back to reality every time. Reality with you is more perfect than anything I could have ever dreamed of.

Since my first letter was supposed to be a goodbye, I want this letter to be proof that I choose to greet the future with you. I want this letter to be proof that I will never need a letter again. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and telling you about it, and I will reassure you of that always, in the same manner as you have always me reassured me. You told me that my heart was good and pure, but I genuinely believe that I am constantly reflecting back what you give me: your kindness, Jae, your sincerity, your unbelievable humanity.

You are the only man I ever want roses in my life from, and that will never change. :) So if you finish reading this, stop creeping on my Instagram waiting for me to drop the other man and come bring me another bouquet so I can prove to you there has never been another. You are the only one in my heart.

With love,

your sweetheart

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 days

Text

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter One

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Canon typical death and mild angst. Word count: ~8.4k

Chapter summary: Lia suffers bitter disappointment at the king's tourney, and finds herself uncertain of her future in the wake of an unexpected shift in dynamic.

Series masterlist

Author's note: Header by @vampire-exgirlfriend who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

The wheels of the carriage squeaked and rattled over the bumpy roads of King’s Landing, accompanied by the thumping of the horses’ hooves that pulled them towards their destination. Lia shifted uncomfortably, repositioning against the plush cushions that she sat upon. It was not the instability of their short journey towards the Dragonpit that irked her, however.

Click. Click. Click.

She cast her gaze down towards Alicent’s fingers, the sound of her nails moving against her skin was audible even over the din of the wheelhouse. The flesh was red, raw and bloodied, and Lia had to force herself to suppress the way her lips attempted to curl in disgust, instead leaning forward to place her own hand over top of Alicent’s, squeezing gently, a comforting gesture that halted her friend’s nervous habit.

Alicent smiled softly at her, but Lia could tell from the way she lowered her eyes that she was embarrassed at having been caught outwardly expressing her anxiety. Lia could not help but pity her, she had plenty to feel worried about herself, but had never allowed it to manifest itself in such an unseemly manner. House Costayne was sworn to the Hightowers, and so it was no question that Lia, youngest daughter of Lord Owen Costyane, would serve as a companion to Lady Alicent, the young daughter of the Hand of the King. Whisked away from the Whispering Sound at the age of six, the two years in Oldtown had been extraordinary—the largest port in the Reach, full of bustling excitement and things to see, all temptations to a precocious and formerly sheltered little girl. When King Viserys took the throne, Lord Otto called his daughter to the capital to be a companion to the young princess and of course, Lia joined as part of Alicent's household.

At the age of fourteen, she had spent more of her life away from her family than with them. They were leagues away, and the memory of the castle in which she was born was but a distant memory. The silver chalice and black rose that adorned the Costayne House sigil felt more tangible to her than the faces of either her mother or father.

She could not pretend that she had suffered in their absence though; she had had every luxury she could ever desire at her disposal, and though her family were far away, at least they still lived. Alicent had suffered through the loss of her mother, and had to keep her composure through all of it. The royal court was no place for the weeping and wailing of a young girl. Lia supposed that if she had been forced to endure that, then she would likely have taken to picking her nails bloody too.

The death of Alyrie Florent had brought Lia and Alicent closer together, and with it their shared bond with Princess Rhaenyra had blossomed too. Lia helped to bring Alicent out of her shell, allowing her an outlet for behaviours that were otherwise considered unseemly for a young lady at court; they gossiped, laughed loudly, and did so with the unspoken bond of secrecy that runs like an invisible thread through the fabric of friendship. Alicent had a calming influence on both Lia and Rhaenyra, serving as the voice of reason that helped to keep them out of trouble–most of the time. Oftentimes, it would take but a look from Alicent for both girls to know they had gone too far, a trait she had doubtless inherited from her father. It had taken just a simple widening of those big brown eyes to halt Lia and Rhaenyra’s ascent up through the branches of the Heart Tree in the Godswood; a foolish attempt to gain a vantage point in order to spy through the higher windows of the Red Keep, that would likely have resulted in broken limbs. Rhaenyra shared Alicent’s knowledge of propriety, though not her love of it, and the wild, adventurous side of her played well with Lia’s, her status as The Realm’s Delight allowing them a margin more leniency than most would be afforded.

The three girls were inseparable, yet in the unwavering foundations of their bond, Lia had never felt more uncertain about her own future. Otto clearly had plans for Alicent, and Rhaenyra’s comfort was secured in her position as the King’s daughter, however, no such fate awaited Lia. She was every bit the spare part, aware of the fact that her destiny is one she will have to build on her own. As such, she delights in being Otto’s confidant, sharing news of the movements of Rhaenyra and Alicent in exchange for his favour. It had begun innocently enough, a fatherly figure taking an interest where the patriarch of her own family was unable to. She had taken pride in recounting her lessons to him, beaming up at him with girlish exuberance as he had listened carefully, amusement glittering in his eyes. It had never occurred to her that he had any ulterior motive, and so the unspoken vow of secrecy she afforded Alicent slipped in front of her father, allowing him to be privy to the gossip they indulged in and the adventures that they embarked upon with Rhaenyra within the walls of the Red Keep. As Lia had grown older, she had started to suspect that Otto’s questions served a deeper purpose than simple interest, however, it did not deter her; acting as a confidant to the King’s Hand would not be without its advantages. She hoped that when the time was right, the loyalty of both her and her family would not be forgotten.

The wheelhouse pulled to a shuddering stop just outside of the Dragonpit, and Lia moved to push the door open, stopping as they were plunged into sudden darkness. A forceful gust of air shook the carriage. They had arrived just in time for Rhaenyra’s return on Syrax. Lia and Alicent hovered apprehensively by the door, waiting until they heard their friend’s dragon thump heavily against the earth, before tentatively peeking out. Lia was brave enough to descend the small set of wooden steps to the ground below, while Alicent opted to remain in the safety of the wheelhouse, standing in its doorway.

She could not help but feel envious of Rhaenyra, watching as she slid gracefully from the back of her golden dragon, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth, staring up at the great beast in admiration as it was coaxed back to the pit by the dragon keepers. Lia longed for the sense of adventure and freedom that the princess experienced high above the clouds of King’s Landing, the walls of the Red Keep felt as much a cage as they were an extravagance at times.

Though as Rhaenyra drew closer, the sulfurous stench of dragon radiating from her leathers, Lia wrinkled her nose in repulsion, deciding that if she were to experience freedom then she certainly had no desire for it to be atop the back of a dragon.

“Syrax is growing quickly,” Alicent commented, nodding towards the dragon’s retreating form. “She will soon be as large as Caraxes.”

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two,” Rhaenyra replied with a grin.

“I believe I am quite content as a spectator, thank you,” Alicent quipped, the gentle smile reserved only for Rhaenyra spreading across her mouth.

“And you?” Rhaenyra regarded Lia with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I prefer to keep both my feet firmly on the ground, I am afraid.”

Rhaenyra tutted. “Cowards, both of you,” she jested, stomping up the carriage steps.

The three of them huddled together on the same seat on the way back to the castle, talking excitedly about which knights they expected to be in attendance for the tourney being hosted by King Viserys in honour of the impending birth of Queen Aemma’s second child.

Their laughter carried through the Keep’s corridors as the three of them walked back towards Rhaenyra’s chambers, linked arm in arm, Rhaenyra sandwiched between Alicent and Lia.

While Alicent and Lia reclined comfortably on couches, nibbling on candied lemon slices, Rhaenyra went to change out of her riding gear. The two exchanged a surprised glance as she reappeared in a yellow gown, much too quickly to have bathed. Lia could not imagine being allowed to conduct herself at court smelling quite so pungent; it was a privilege only afforded to royalty. Her and Alicent had to always present themselves as clean and well groomed, a necessity that Lia did not mind at all. She was well aware of her own beauty, and took a level of care with her appearance that bordered upon outright vanity. She would never dream of being seen outside of her chambers without her long, dark curls having been meticulously brushed and styled. Whereas Rhaenyra, Lia often thought, could have been mistaken for one of the scullery maids were it not for the finery she dressed it. She was lucky she was pretty.

Rhaenyra swept into the Queen’s apartments, leaving her friends to stand awkwardly in the doorway, looking in on the queen and her ladies. They both greeted Aemma courteously, and she responded with a polite hello and a strained smile.

A sense of unease crept over Lia’s flesh at the sight of Aemma, fanning herself as she lay on the settee by the open balcony windows. She looked more uncomfortable every time she saw her. It was not a state she wished for herself, though it was an inevitability. Such was the role of a woman, though Lia hoped her fate would be one more fortunate; she was all too aware of the fruitless pregnancies that Aemma had endured prior to this one.

“Take a bath, you stink of dragon,” Aemma gently scolded her daughter.

Lia bowed her head, concealing the way her lips curved upwards in amusement, suddenly pretending that the golden stitching of her ivory coloured gown was the most interesting thing in the world. She kept her blue eyes fixed upon the cuff of her sleeve, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the delicate golden rings upon the fingers of her left hand. At last, someone was saying it aloud. A statement only a queen could get away with saying to a princess.

Rhaenyra ignored her mother, settling beside her. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

The princess huffed. “How long?”

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

“You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.” The queen’s voice was tired, though of the pregnancy or of this oft repeated conversation, Lia could not tell.

“I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

“We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Lia lost herself in her thoughts as Rhaenyra conversed with her mother, continuing to twist the rings upon her fingers and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, as her mind conjured scenarios she would prefer not to dwell upon. She wished for a secure position in life, but did not want to be confined to the birthing bed. She longed for power, to have authority, over herself, surely, and perhaps over others, yet did not share the princess’ desire to fight in battle. Her days of climbing trees and skinned knees were well behind her.

She was roused from her thoughts as Rhaenyra hurried past her.

“Where are you going?” Alicent called after her.

“I am late!” She replied over her shoulder, running in the direction of the Small Council chamber.

Lia propped herself up on her elbow, lying on her side as she watched Alicent carefully stitch delicate powder blue flowers into the fabric suspended within her embroidery hoop. Her own lay discarded beside her, she had given up when the thread had become knotted, in no mood to attempt to fix it.

“Alicent…” she began slowly, “do you ever think about why your father wanted to bring you to King’s Landing?”

Alicent kept her eyes upon her needlepoint, her tone matter of fact as she continued her work. “To instruct me in what is expected of a highborn lady.”

Lia huffed, leaning across and tugging Alicent’s sleeve to get her full attention. “Yes, but why?”

The other girl sighed, lowering her embroidery hoop into her lap and fixing Lia with an exasperated stare. “To give me the best possible opportunities in life, so that an appropriate match may be made for me.”

“And that is enough for you, is it? To simply be married off to a man who is not of your choosing?”

She lowered her gaze, her voice soft. “My mother did not choose my father, and yet they were very happy.”

“But is that what you want?”

“What is it that you are trying to get at?”

Lia hummed, flopping down onto her back against the plush rug that they sat upon in the solar, clasping her hands across her front as she stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “I am unsure of my own purpose, what it is that I want.”

Alicent nodded in understanding. “Well, there will be plenty of eligible knights at the upcoming tourney. Gwayne is going to be there,; he is competing in the jousting.”

She scoffed, recalling the gangly boy of ten, a mop of hair the colour of rust, that they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. “Ah, yes, how fares your older brother?” she asked, turning her head to the side to look at her friend.

“He is a knight now,” Alicent said proudly, “and quite handsome too.”

“Handsome?! How would you know?”

“He tells me so in his letters.”

The pair burst into peals of laughter, stopping abruptly as Otto stalked into the room, casting a disapproving glance at both of them. “Do the pair of you not have lessons to attend this afternoon?”

“We were waiting for Rhaenyra, so that we might all go together,” Alicent said apologetically, scrambling to her feet and smoothing the skirts of her dress down.

Lia rolled her eyes, knowing their fun was over, and rose to her feet too, running her fingers through her dark curls, rumpled from having laid upon the floor.

“Well, the Small Council has concluded its business for the day, and with it Rhaenyra’s duties as cupbearer, so run along. Do not keep your septa waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” Alicent said quietly, making her way out of the solar. The skirts of her pale blue gown swished behind her, the cascade of her auburn hair down back appearing as Autumnal leaves against a cloudless sky.

Lia readied to follow suit when Otto reached out, gently grasping her forearm and halting her movements. “I trust you are behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” she said with a saccharine smile, moving to pull away from him.

He tightened his grasp, and Lia lifted her eyes to meet The Hand’s, his gaze steely and unblinking, apparently unaffected by the mischief that glittered within her own. “The Princess is…spirited. Do not allow her to lead you or Alicent astray.”

She slipped away from him, pausing once in the corridor to look back over her shoulder at him. “You have raised a well mannered young woman, Ser Otto. She will heed your wishes, though I cannot say the same for myself.”

Lia did not know why, but she had always enjoyed testing how far she could push Otto Hightower. He seemed to have more patience for her misdeeds than that of Alicent’s, and there was a certain thrill to watching his features pinch into annoyance. Perhaps it was because she allowed him to be privy to the secrets of her and her two friends, and he did not wish to sever that connection with too harsh a scolding for misbehaviour. She still remembered when he had taken it upon himself to instruct her in the art of handwriting, claiming that hers looked as though “a spider had fallen into the inkwell and then scurried across the page.” She had taken her quill and flicked the end at him, watching as spots of black had splattered across his doublet. He had scowled, snatching up her wrist, but then she giggled. His grip on her had loosened and his expression had softened. If she did not know him better, she would have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rhaenyra did not turn up for lessons, leaving Lia and Alicent to endure the presence of the stern Septa Marlow without her. Lia would not have minded, except for the fact that that day’s lesson was history, her least favourite subject. She endured a scolding for not remembering that Princess Nymeria departed Rhoyne for Dorne, and by the time the hour was over she felt tired and irritable.

Alicent had always been more studious than she was, her ability to focus surpassing Lia’s, who was far too easily distracted by the world around her. The comings and goings of the Red Keep’s staff was far more interesting to her than what was contained within any book. She preferred to focus on the whisperings found within darkened alcoves of the castle, than the monotonous drone of Septa Marlow.

“Come,” Alicent said, pulling a thick historical tome from the library shelf. “We shall study in the Godswood, the fresh air will help you to remember.” There was no heat in the subtly pointed look she directed at Lia, so she followed without complaint, merely returning a glare of her own.

They had been seated beneath the heart tree in the Godswood not five minutes when Rhaenyra arrived, quickly settling herself between them, as was her customary place within the confines of their group. She placed her head in Alicent’s lap, and her legs across Lia’s, letting out a sigh as she gazed up at the clear blue sky through the branches of the tree.

“You did not attend lessons today,” Alicent said to her, hefting the book onto the grass beside her.

“I did not,” Rhaenyra replied simply.

Lia spied the Valyrian steel and ruby necklace that now rested around Rhaenyra’s neck. It had not been there earlier. She leant over, lifting the pendant delicately between two fingers.

“A gift from your father?”

Rhaenyra furrowed her brow, as though she found the idea ridiculous. “A gift from Daemon.”

“He’s back then?” Lia’s interest is piqued. Daemon had never paid her much attention. As a ward of House Hightower, she was of no consequence to him. However, he was endlessly fascinating to her; his volatility and reckless behaviour served an endless supply of gossip.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, “to take up his position as Lord Commander of the City Watch, and compete in the tourney.”

“And give you gifts,” Lia teased with a smirk, letting the pendant drop softly back against Rhaenyra’s clavicle before settling back against her palms upon the grass.

A look of worry flickered across Rhaenyra’s face, her mouth turning downwards as her gaze grew distant. She studied her fingers for a moment, then asked “So what did I miss today?”

“History,” Lia said bitterly, “Princess Nymeria’s escape from Rhoyne.”

“Have you read it?” Alicent asked her.

“Of course I have read it,” Rhaenyra said, “there was no need for me to be there.”

“Then when Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne, who did she take to husband?” Alicent silenced Lia as she opened her mouth to answer. “Not you, you actually turned up today,”

Rhaenyra groused, shrugging her shoulders as she continued to lay across their laps. “A man.”

Alicent scowled, her tone clipped with annoyance. “And what was his name?”

“Lord something,” Rhaenyra replied petulantly.

“Gods, if only you had been there today,” Lia giggled, “you would have made me look good. Septa Marlow was furious.”

Rhaenyra smirked, playing with the rings upon her fingers. “She is funny when she is furious.”

“You are always like this when you are worried,” Alicent commented softly.

“Like what?” snapped Rhaenyra.

Alicent did not hedge her words, the only one to speak to their princess in this way. “Disagreeable. You are worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son.”

“I only worry for my mother. I hope for my father that he gets a son. As long as I can recall, it is all he has wanted.”

“You want him to have a son?” Lia asked.

“I want to fly with you both on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake.”

Lia snorted as Alicent clicked her tongue. Lia did not mind the idea of seeing the great wonders, or existing solely on cake, however, the notion of taking flight on Syrax made the prospect seem far less exciting.

“We are trying to be serious,” Alicent protested, glancing warily at Lia, “well, at least I am.”

“I never jest about cake,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk.

“You are not worried about your position?” Lia asked, her curiosity piqued, masking the envy she felt that Rhaenyra possessed a position that could be threatened in the first place.

“I like this position,” she told Lia, wiggling her feet in her lap, making her laugh aloud, “it is quite comfortable.”

“Rhaenyra! Lia! It is impossible to have a serious conversation with either of you!”

The princess groaned, moving out of their laps and sitting cross legged in front of them. “Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea on ten thousand ships to flee their Valyrian pursuers. She took Lord Mors Martell of Dorne to husband and burned her own fleet off Sunspear to show her people that they were finished running.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, impressed by her knowledge, glancing over at Alicent to gauge her reaction. Before Alicent could respond, Rhaenyra leaned across and tore the page free from the book, letting it flutter into Alicent’s lap.

“So you remember.”

Alicent chewed her lip nervously. “If Septa Marlow sees this book–”

“Fuck the septa!” Rhaenyra interrupted.

Not for the first time, Lia felt envy burn acrid in her chest. Only a princess could get away with defacing a book from the Crown library and not have to suffer the consequences. She wondered if Rhaenyra had any awareness of the power she yielded over both her and Alicent. And if she was aware, would she even care?

Lia meandered through the halls, slippered feet quiet on the stone floor as she made her way to the library the next da She looked up, her attention stolen by Otto walking in the direction of the Small Council chambers. Changing course, she fell into step beside him, taking in the way his features were furrowed into annoyance. There could be only one explanation for it.

“So, you have heard that Prince Daemon has returned to the Capital?” she asked with a wry smile.

Otto paused, eyeing her carefully before ushering her into a nearby alcove. “What do you know?”

Lia shrugged. “Little and less. He gifted Rhaenyra a necklace, Valyrian steel.”

“An empty gesture,” he remarked bitterly, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he adjusted the collar of his forest green doublet. He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder to ensure they were not being watched, before fixing her with a heated stare.

“Oh, I am not so sure, you would be surprised at what people are willing to share if one is generous.” She reached up, tapping the bronzed hand that was pinned to his breast, as if to punctuate her point.

Otto’s much larger hand clutched hers, enveloping it, though it did not pull hers away. Her eyes shifted to where their hands now rested upon his chest, the gesture stirring something within her that she could not quite identify, filling her with both warmth and unease.

“I know a girl as clever as you cannot be swayed by trinkets,” he said softly, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through their connected hands.

Lia swallowed thickly, slowly pulling her hand back and letting it drop to her side, though still able to feel the place where his palm had rested. She felt an overwhelming need to push back against whatever had transpired, and so doubled her efforts to be cheeky. “If you are not feeling generous, perhaps Prince Daemon may have additional trinkets to spare.”

Otto straightened, his expression turning stony.

There it was, the annoyance that she felt much more at home with.

“You should not covet the actions of that brute of a man. Keep away from him.” He glared down at her, a silent warning before leaving her alone in the alcove, as he continued on his way.

Lia smiled to herself. Provoking Otto suddenly seemed much more appealing to her. If she could capture the interest of Daemon, then perhaps the Hand of the King would be more forthcoming in furthering her position at court, and making clear his plans for her.

“My dearest Lia,

It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your mother and I will be unable to attend the King’s tourney. Your mother is suffering a fever and we did not wish to risk the journey to King’s Landing when our efforts must be spent upon ensuring her recovery. Your mother has requested that your brothers stay here at the Whispering Sound, as she fears her worry over them both competing will worsen her condition.

We have passed along our apologies to the Lord Hand, however, please send him my regards. I hope that life in the capital is treating you well and that you are behaving as befits the royal company that you keep.

Warmest wishes,

Your loving father, Lord Owen Costayne”

Lia gripped the parchment tightly between her fingers, having lost count of the number of times she had read it since it was brought to her by the maester two days prior. She lost herself in the words, the din of hoofbeats and roar of spectators fading to nothing as her eyes flitted between the letter and the lists, as though if she concentrated hard enough she could will her brothers into attendance.

Rhaenyra sat beside her, equally morose, her brow pinched in worry. Shortly after the tourney began, King Viserys had announced to all in attendance that Queen Aemma had begun her labours. It was obvious that Rhaenyra would rather be at her mother’s side than watching this display. However, it had not been allowed.

Sitting on the other side of Rhaenyra, Alicent had picked her nails bloody once more. A combination of worry for both the Queen and her older brother, Gwayne, who would be competing in the tourney.

Lia crumpled the parchment between her fingers, stowing it up her sleeve as she leaned forward, looking out across their elevated position on the stands, eager for a distraction.

“Who is that?” she asked, nodding towards a young man she did not recognise.

“The Tarly squire?” Rhaenyra responded, clearly as keen to focus on something else as she was.

“Mmhmm,” Lia affirmed, glancing back at her.

“Lord Massey’s son, I think. He is promised to Elinor Stokeworth, they are to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”

“Best get on with it,” Alicent chimed in, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Lia and Rhaenyra gasped, the three of them quickly falling into fits of giggles, though she was pulled out of her mirth when she felt a firm hand upon her shoulder. Looking back, she saw Otto seated directly behind her. He leaned in close enough that both his breath and his beard tickled softly at the shell of her ear as he spoke quietly, isolating her from the huddle of her two friends.

“I thought you might offer your favour to Gwayne.”

She pulled back, regarding him impassively, before speaking much louder than he had to her. “Actually, I intend to offer my favour to Prince Daemon,” she said with an amused smirk, “I have not yet had the pleasure to welcome him back to the capital.”

Otto’s nostrils flared in obvious annoyance, his gaze unblinking as he exhaled heavily, sitting back against his seat beside the King, though his focus remained upon her. His eyes raked carefully over the delicate manner in which she had pinned up her ringlets, revealing the slender slope of her neck. Lia suppressed a laugh as she turned back towards Rhaenyra and Alicent, pleased with her efforts, and the three of them continued to share gossip about those participating in the lists.

She eyed the knights carefully, wondering to herself if any of them would be a suitable match for her. There was no denying that Daemon cut every bit the imposing and extravagant figure, the plume of his dragon shaped helmet blood red and striking against the grey of the stone walls. It was a pity he was already wed, albeit unhappily, to Lady Rhea Royce. Daemon’s presence within King’s Landing had always been so sporadic, coupled with Lia’s being too young to appreciate what a handsome man he was, that she supposed he was never destined to be a suitor for her anyway. A pity, but it would not stop her from expressing interest, if only to incite the look of irritation on Otto’s face that she had grown to enjoy so much.

So engrossed in what was going on, she did not notice when King Viserys slipped away from his seat. Daemon rode towards the stands, a cocky grin upon his face as her, Rhaenyra and Alicent rushed to the railing to greet him.

“Lady Lia,” he drawled with a courteous nod, “a fine young woman you are growing into.”

She felt her skin flush at the compliment, glad of the fact she had opted to wear her house colours for the occasion; she knew that the gold and black of the gown complimented her complexion. It was an effort to resist the urge to both giggle and look behind her for Otto’s reaction.

“You flatter me, my prince,” she responded sweetly, “I wish you luck, though I am not sure you will need it.”

“I am confident that I can best my opponent, but I would ask for the favour of the Lady Alicent Hightower to ensure my victory.”

Lia’s face fell, her heart sinking in disappointment. She watched Alicent move sheepishly back towards their seats, meeting her father’s eye as she took the intricately woven band of flowers and ribbon. She knew from Otto’s sour expression that it was merely a ploy from Daemon to further upset the King’s Hand, having already beaten his son spectacularly in the lists. However, the rejection stung all the same. She wanted it to be her favour that Daemon had asked for.

As she took her seat again, she grasped her own hoop of feathers and twine, half turning to toss it haphazardly into Otto’s lap. “Here, you might as well have it,” she muttered sullenly, “I have no one else to give it to.”

Misery clung to Lia like a black shroud as she leaned back in her seat, visibly sulking and crossing her arms, as she watched the tourney, but did not really see it. She had hoped that the day would prosper a potential match for her, though, with Alicent’s favour already given away, Rhaenyra was her only rival. There was no way she could compete with a princess.

Her lips twitched with smug satisfaction when the mystery knight with the red and black spotted shield bested Daemon; a small retribution in Lia’s eyes for having snubbed her favour for Alicent’s. She did not bother to join her friends when they rushed back to the railing, both eager to greet the man who managed to unhorse The Rogue Prince, not even swayed by Alicent’s gasp of “he’s Dornish.” What was the point? She saw the way his dark eyes glittered with interest, but it was not interest directed at her; no, they glittered only for Rhaenyra.

Lia knew that she could be the most comely of maidens in all of the Seven Kingdoms and it would do little to sway a suitor when presented with a Targaryen Princess. She could not help the jealousy that swirled like a maelstrom inside of her as she watched Rhaenyra throw her favour down towards him.

The smile that graced the princess’ fair features as she returned to her seat only faltered as Otto touched her delicately on the shoulder, the colour draining from her face as he whispered to her. As the news spread throughout the royal box, Lia’s eyes remained fixated upon the floor of the stands where her favour now lay, trampled under foot as people rushed back towards the Red Keep. It was crushed, and with it her hopes for the day.

Queen Aemma was dead.

The wind whipped Lia’s dark curls around her face as she stood upon the clifftop, the bite of the icy sea breeze nipping at her cheeks. The wrapped bodies of both Aemma and her short lived son, Baelon, laid prone upon the pyre that stood before the modest crowd gathered for the funeral. Syrax looked over them from her perch, awaiting Rhaenyra’s command, her neck undulating with discomfort under the feeling of her rider’s grief.

She could not imagine a more brutal death; cut open like livestock in the birthing bed, and for naught. The babe that had been tugged from the Queen’s womb had lived but for a few hours after her passing. Her heart ached for Rhaenyra, who choked on the command of “drakarys!”, the word faltering with unshed tears as she ordered her dragon to engulf her deceased mother and brother in flames.

Lia knew she felt pity for Rhaenyra, but was she truly sad that Aemma was dead? She did not know. She knew it was proper to express condolences, but she did not think she was experiencing grief. Would she feel sadness at her own mother’s passing? She was as much an acquaintance to her as the Queen had been, considering how many years had passed since she had last seen home. It was a disquieting thought, and one she was eager to push from her mind.

She desperately wished she had a hand to hold, to squeeze for comfort, and could not help but notice the way that Alicent gripped her father’s with such intensity that her knuckles were white. Stood to the other side of him, Otto had ensured that Lia’s arm linked through his, a gesture which she found oddly mature in comparison to the childlike manner in which Alicent’s fingers entwined with his. Perhaps it is just because she is not family, she pondered, though memories of the intimacy with which he had held her hand to his chest just a few days prior linger at the back of her mind. She was being treated as though she was a lady, when she had never craved more to be comforted as though she was a little girl.

A cavernous void opened between Lia, Alicent, and Rhaenyra in the weeks that followed, filled only by loss. Lia spent much of her time alone, not knowing how to comfort Rhaenyra in her grief, for it had made her angry. Her tone was curt whenever Lia attempted to engage her in conversation and she had withdrawn so far into herself that she did not know how to coax her back out. Deep down she knew that her friend was justified in her bitterness towards her father, for he had killed her mother in his desperate attempt for an heir, an heir that barely lived long enough to draw his first breath.

Lia wondered what her own expression of such grief would look like, had the circumstances befallen her.

Otto had become more protective of Alicent. He sought Lia’s company less often, instead looming over his only daughter like a shadow, summoning her to his quarters to speak to her of things that Alicent would not allow Lia to be privy to. In all of her years in King’s Landing, despite missing her family, she had never felt lonely. Now it was a feeling that overwhelmed her with such potency that she had picked up a quill more than a dozen times, hurriedly scrawling a plea to her father to allow her to return home. Each time she had thought better of it and tossed the balled up parchment into the fireplace. She had yet to find her purpose within King’s Landing, but she knew in her heart that her fate was not to run away like a mewling child, simply because her friends were preoccupied.

Deciding she could bear her own company no longer, Lia emerged from her quarters, seeking the comfort of a familiar face. She found it in Alicent, but as she was about to call out to her, she faltered, thinking better of it. There was something strange about the way her friend carried herself, her gaze downcast, trepidation in her step. Lia slipped into an alcove, peering out discreetly from behind the wall. Alicent was not dressed as she usually was, the royal blue gown she now wore was much too grown up. She narrowed her eyes as she studied the fabric. It was a dress that had belonged to Alyrie.

Curious to see why Alicent had suddenly taken to wearing her late mother’s clothes, Lia quietly followed behind her, mindful to keep her steps light and maintain her distance, so as not to get caught. She froze as she saw Alicent slip through the door of the king’s apartments, a feeling of dread forming a pit in her stomach. Rhaenyra had not spoken to her father properly since the passing of the queen, so what possible reason could Alicent have for keeping such close company with him?

It was with this question in mind that she stormed into Otto’s quarters the next day, a seething and lingering anger bolstering her. She did not knock, though her intrusion was met with only the slightest raise of an eyebrow by the king’s Hand as he looked up from his writing desk.

“Lia, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked, his tone friendlier than she had been anticipating, causing her courage to waiver as her outrage quelled slightly.

She opened her mouth to speak, stammering over her words as she struggled to get them out. Why on earth was he not annoyed by her just bursting in? She had been prepared to be met with resistance, and it completely unraveled what she had planned to say. Closing her eyes and exhaling heavily, she shook her head as if to clear her mind and tried again.

“Alicent has been visiting the king.”

Otto pursed his lips, carefully placing his quill back into the ink pot, before he leaned back against his chair. “She has,” he said matter of factly, “the king is alone in his grief. Alicent has been of great comfort to him.”

Lia blinked rapidly, a wave of nausea churning her stomach, as she realised that this was not only information that the king’s Hand was already privy to, and he did not have an issue with it, but he was also the one that has arranged these visits in the first place. She narrowed her eyes as her shock and disgust turned to sudden anger, simmering hot beneath the surface of her skin.

“So it would not be an issue were I to offer him comfort also?” Lia asked, her jaw jutting out defiantly.

Finally, a flicker of annoyance passed across Otto’s face, his brow furrowing as he clasped his hands upon the desk. “You shall do no such thing. And you will speak of Alicent’s visits to no one.”

“Or what?”

“Or,” he began, rising from his seat, suddenly towering over her, “the pleas to return to the Whispering Sound that you crumple into the fireplace may just find their way to your father.”

Her blood ran icy cold as, simultaneously, her cheeks blazed with heat. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. Tears of humiliation pricked her eyes. He knew. Of course he knew; the Hand had spies everywhere, she had acted as one herself on many occasions.

Otto’s expression softened as he took in her look of upset, and he sat heavily back in his seat with a sigh. “There is no need for tears, you—”

“Why am I even here? You may as well return me home,” she interrupted, her voice thick with emotion.

His features remained gentle and impassive as he regarded her silently for a moment. He then reached into a drawer of his writing desk, pulling out her favour and holding it out for her to take. Each feather and intricate loop of twine was undamaged, in seemingly pristine condition. She examined it in wide eyed wonder as she accepted it from him. It was as good as the day she had made it, no longer crushed as it had been when she had last laid her eyes upon it.

“How? Why?” She whispered, disbelief and confusion causing her brow to furrow.

“You may have need of it yet. Your time here is far from over. Now run along, I have important matters to attend to.”

She wanted to protest, to press him for further answers, but instead the authority in his tone had her obediently turning and leaving with more questions than she had initially arrived with.

The late afternoon sunshine beat down upon Lia as she sat on a stone bench in the gardens, the soft rays warming her skin, casting the last of its amber brilliance in the hours before dusk. She held her favour delicately, fearful that too tight a touch might cause it to break apart again, as she studied it for imperfections, wondering how it could have been so expertly mended, and why.

“I would have thought you would have given that away at the tourney.”

Lia startled slightly, lifting her head at the sudden sound of Rhaenyra’s voice. A playful smile graced the princess’ lips as Lia watched as she came to sit beside her. Rhaenyra reached out a delicate finger to stroke across one of the favour’s feathers.

Lia returned her smile, though it did not meet her eyes. “I found no one I liked enough to give it to.” It was a half truth, but admitting that Otto had it repaired and returned to her would have raised questions that she is unable to answer.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgement, before facing forwards, her eyes fixed upon the row of rose bushes planted into the flower beds in front of them. The two girls sat in uncomfortable silence, until Lia could bear it no longer.

“I am sorry I have not been there for you, it is not an easy thing to lose your mother,” she said softly, glancing sideways at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra shook her head, turning to face Lia, gripping her hand in one of hers. “It is me that should be sorry. I have not made it easy for you, for anyone, to comfort me. I was just so, so…”

“...angry?” Lia offered, intertwining their fingers. The warmth was soothing, and she had not realised until this moment just how dearly she had missed her.

“Hmmm. Did you know that Father sent Daemon away?”

Lia’s eyes widened, though it was no surprise that Daemon, prone to coming and going as he pleased, was no longer in the capital. Tt was a shock to her, however, that this time his absence was at the command of his own brother. “What for?”

Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, averting her gaze. “My father would not say, but I have heard whispers. He made a jest about my brother to a crowd in a pleasure house, apparently.”

“And your father banished him?”

“I am sure there is more to it than that, especially considering that Daemon has been removed as my father’s heir.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, her lips parting slightly as she struggled to take in the information. It appeared she had missed an awful lot in the weeks that she and Rhaenyra had not spoken. “So, who will be his heir now?”

“He has asked me to be.” Rhaenyra appeared less sure of herself than usual as she said this, her voice quiet and uncertain, as though she felt simultaneously crushed by the weight of the responsibility, but also terrified it would be taken away from her again.

Lia smiled at that, a gesture of both gentle comfort and genuine happiness, though she could not help the pang of envy she felt at both her friends having secured their futures. Alicent’s own advancement under the watchful eye of Otto, and now Rhaenyra’s succession to the Iron Throne.

“You will make a fine queen.”

Rhaenyra gave Lia’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “So, where is Alicent?”

‘With your father, most likely.’

Lia knew she should not say; it would have devastating consequences for their friendship, and Otto would be furious. Yet she could not help the pang of guilt she felt at withholding such information from Rhaenyra.

“I am unsure. Does she not know yet?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I had hoped to find the two of you together. I will need you both to help ready me for my proclamation. I feel too nervous to allow my lady’s maids to do it.” She paused, her fingers tightening once more, twisting their hands together further. “Lia, I need you, I need my friends.”

Lia’s heart ached for her, and she leaned in, resting her forehead softly against Rhaenyra’s in silent assent. The two girls remained like that, the void between them bridged by a desperate need to cling to the other for support.

Lia stood on a wooden step stool to the side of Rhaenyra, the tips of her fingers sore from the sheer number of pins she had had to press into the princess’ intricately braided hair, simply to keep her headdress in place. She pulled back to admire her work, a small smile pulling at her mouth. The intricate gold and black halo was positioned perfectly upon Rhaenyra’s head. Satisfied, she stepped down to move towards the bureau to fetch the jewelry.

Alicent stood behind her, helping to drape the heavy black cloak around Rhaenyra’s shoulders, beaded gold and red dragons adorning the lapels. It was not until Lia moved back towards them that she noticed Rhaenyra’s sombre expression in the looking glass.

She stood rooted in place, running her fingers over the smooth gold of the earrings, not quite knowing what to do.

‘We could run away from all of this.’

‘Let us cross the narrow sea on dragonback and eat only cake.’

It appeared that Alicent had also noticed Rhaenyra’s sadness, as her hands had stilled upon her shoulders, her gaze soft and sympathetic as it met the rincess’ in the reflective surface.

Wordlessly, Rhaenyra tugged Lia towards her and the three girls embraced, as much a gesture of comfort for them as it was for her. A silent reassurance of ‘I am okay. I must do this.’

Lia clung tighter, part of her wanting to reassure her friend, another simply wanting to smother the voice in her mind that raged in jealousy over the fact that Rhaenyra would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet somehow had the audacity to feel sad about it.

As Lia entered her own chambers to ready herself for the ceremony, her eye was immediately drawn to the emerald green fabric that lay across her bedspread. As she drew nearer, she saw that it was a gown, long sleeved with a plunging neckline, and intricate golden thread in the seams. She ran her fingers over the material. The brocade felt expensive to the touch, far grander than anything she had worn before. There was a note sealed with wax resting atop it.

“A trinket, and a gesture of generosity - O.H”

Lia did not need to peer into a looking glass to know her cheeks had turned scarlet. A gift from Otto, and with the timing of when it was delivered to her, she knew he would be expecting her to wear it to the proclamation.

She felt far too grown up, the dress accentuating dips and curves upon her body she was unaware she even had until she had put it on. Yet another step away from girlhood, but towards what she had no idea.

Lia had never felt self conscious before, but she was certain that, as she walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, she shone like a beacon, a lurid invitation for all that she passed to stare at her. She longed to run back to her quarters, to tear off the dress and change into something more unassuming, but knew that a refusal of such an extravagant gift from Otto was a line that even she dared not cross.

As the lords of the Seven Kingdoms gathered in the Great Hall of the Red Keep to swear fealty to Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, she looked every bit the future queen in her Targaryen finery, and it was not until Lia saw this that she understood the significance of Otto’s gift.

Her friends were ascending towards womanhood, and she must too.

Lia watched on, with Otto stood between her and Alicent. She wanted to feel pride for her friend.However, it was hopelessness and uncertainty over her own future that held her firmly in their grasp. She stood in the presence of two future monarchs, but what was to become of her?

“You look lovely,” Otto leaned down to murmur in her ear, his breath ghosting across her neck.

And as she felt the warmth and weight of his hand come to rest upon the small of her back, it seemed as though the walls of the castle closed in around her as tightly as the bodice of her gown.

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catsteeth · 22 hours

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The Bird & The Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

FINALE +:✿ Chapter - 20 ✿:+ Gone Is The Cage

Previous Chapter | Chapter Index

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it.

CW: MDNI, smut, spanking, chocking, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (fem rec), hair pulling, mask wearing, VIOLENCE, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, misogyny, protectiveness, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mention of prostitution.

Word Count: 13K

As the days went by in Winterfell. Sandor was all the more protective. Like a sneering dog whenever anyone got too close to you or your babes. If you weren’t sleeping, feeding your babes, or having Sandor feed you, you were more than likely apologizing for Sandor snapping at some poor midwife who was a new face. But after a fortnight, you were soon well enough to travel.

As the time for you and your new family to leave Winterfell, your chambers were overrun with handmaidens packing away your belongings.

As Sandor entered your chambers, he was disappointed that he was not greeted by you. Instead your midwife, Eira who was examining your daughter, “How's the girl?” Sandor asked in a gruff tone, his gentle eyes landing on his daughter.

As he approached the babe he placed his large hand on top of her head. Caressing it gently, hardly touching her at all. Though she had grown and gained weight, he still did not trust himself with her.

“Growing well, M’Lord. Her mothers kept her well fed.” Eira said as she snapped her fingers near the babe's ear, testing her alertness to sounds. “She is a healthy one. Well enough for the journey.” Eira said with glee.

A smile tugged at the corner of Sandor’s mouth and was accompanied by a small sigh of relief. Your daughter seemed to have borne the brunt of such a premature birth. He let the little babe hold onto his finger as he looked around the room with a confused look, “Where’s the afterbirth?” As he asked just as you walked into the chamber holding your son, “Ah there he is.” Sandor rasped.

“I don’t like that name for him.” You said with a smirk, as you approached Sandor and Eira.

“He’ll need to toughen up, eh?” Sandor said with an uncharacteristically playful tone as he looked at the boy in your arms.

“He is not even a year old.” You said as you placed the boy in Sandor’s arms.

“Can’t have him growing into a cunt, now can we?” Sandor said gruffly as he looked at the boy within his arms.

You gently caressed the babes cheek, “Don’t listen to him sweet boy, your fathers a grumpy old mut.” You said softly. You looked up at Sandor, who gave you a very small smile as he placed a hand on the back of your head. You were about to push yourself up onto your tiptoes to kiss him, but a knock fell upon your door. Making Sandor groan in annoyance. “Come in.” You said. “Jon.” You said happily. Relieved to see your cousin was left unscathed by the war. You wrapped your arms around him, physical affection came much easier to you now than it did before the babes.

Sandor would have been jealous if it weren’t your cousin, so for now he simply groaned under his breath.

Surprised at your affection, “Motherhood agrees with you.” Jon remarked at your much happier demeanor

“I should hope so. After the pain it took to get these splendid creatures out.” You said as you let him go from your embrace.

“I hope the labor was easy?” He said awkwardly.

“I believe I told the maester to fuck off.” You said as you smiled.

“I believe it was to ‘Shut the fuck up.’ M’Lady.” Your midwife Eira corrected you as she brought you your daughter.

“Ah yes, thank you, Eira.” You said as she handed you your girl. “My first born, Eira.” You said, presenting your daughter. Though you noticed Jon’s confused demeanor. “She was the reason I made it through the labor. And with such a lovely name it was hard not to name my girl after her.”

Jon nodded, he looked upon the babe then back to you. “Tyrion was right, you and hers likeness is uncanny.”

You shook your head, “She’s too small to know if she truly does.” You were awfully proud of her already.

“She does.” Sandor said as he continued to pack away your things whilst holding your son.

“A beauty.” Jon said, “She shall make a man a fine wife someday.”

Sandor scoffed as he approached Jon, “A wife? She’ll eat men alive.” He too was awfully proud of your daughter already.

“And this…” You said taking your son from Sandor’s arms, presenting him to your cousin, “This is Jon.”

Jon chuckled at the babe bearing the same name as he, “After your father?” He asked, looking upon the child.

“And you.” You said softly, “He should be named after a man who was steadfast.”

He smiled softly looking upon the babe, “He is the spitting image of his father.”

“Let's hope not.” Sandor grumbled from behind you,

“Stop it.” You said without looking at him.

Jon’s gaze left your child and fell onto you, “We’ve one more war to see through.” He said with a heavy tone. It was clear he meant the attack on Kings Landing. “We would hope you’d stand with us once again."

“My men are yours.” You said placing a hand on Jon’s arm.

Jon smiled at you. Looked around at the chamber that had become your own now barren. Stripped of all of your possessions. “This is it then?” Jon sighed.

“I am sure we will meet again.” You spoke softly.

“We will.” He said with conviction. He then turned to your husband who stood protectively behind you, “Clegane.” He acknowledged with a nod of his head.

Sandor nodded back, and Jon left your chambers.

The idea of war hitting Kings Landing tempted Sandor. He would have the opportunity to finally kill his brother, and take the revenge he so desperately wanted. He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind as he continued to pack away your things, though he was unsuccessful.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Before you would leave Winterfell, you insisted on taking one more person along with you.

Eira was not hard to find. She was residing in a small chamber that was attached to the maester’s quarters. As you entered the chamber, you noticed how small it was for a mother of two. A warm room, with a You could smell the smoke of fire licking at the kettle hanging over it. You could see Eira with her back turned tending to her youngest son, no more than a year old.

“Eira,” You said warmly, announcing your presence.

Startled, Eira turned around and stood straight as she faced you “M’Lady!” she gasped.

“I’m sorry to startle you!” You apologized as you approached her.

She breathed a laugh, “No it's quite alright, can I help you?” she asked.

You smiled, “Yes I suppose you can.” You held your own hand tightly, unsure of how to ask what you were about to ask of her, “Do you have a family here?”

She shook her head, “Just my boys.” She said motioning towards the two children behind her. A boy no more than a year of age and the other no more than three.

You smiled at the two children staring at you with shy demeanors. “Handsome young men.” Your eyes then fell back onto Eira, “A father?” you proddied her for information, attempting to see how many people she would want with her.

Eira shifted awkwardly, “No, M’lady.” she stepped closer to you, attempting to conceal her words from her children, “I was sold to a pleasure house, young.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You are young.”

She shook her head, “I was much younger then. I ran off with my eldest, when I found out I was pregnant with my youngest.” She looked at the boys with love, “I couldn’t raise them there.”

You felt a sting of empathy for the girl, how could you not? She was a girl no more than ten and five, already experienced such horrors. “Would you like to leave the North, live with your children in the Eyrie?” You asked with confidence. Knowing now more than ever that she deserved a new beginning.

Eira’s eyes went wide, her lips parted. She did not know what to say, it took her a moment before she eventually blurted out, “M’Lady?”

“I mislike male healers and maesters.” You said much more calmly, “Now that I am Lady of the Vale, I would like for you to learn from the maester and healers of the Vale. Until you’re ready to be the Eyrie’s maester.”

She stammered for a moment, “Women cannot be maesters-“

“By tradition. Fuck tradition.” You stepped closer to her, “Your boys would be taught well under maesters of great experience, and trained in swordsmanship by the best knights of the Vale. Live in rooms of their own, as will you.”

“You’re offering a new life, for me and my boys. It’s too generous-“ The girl could not bring herself to feel worthy of the offer you presented to her.

You took her hand, “I want you to take it, if you want it.” You said firmly.

“Course I want it.” She said with a sharp exhale, in disbelief.

“Take it then.” You said with a gentle smile as you squeezed her hand gently.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As you walked to board the carriage that would carry you, and your babes. Sandor was busy loading your belongings into the other carriages, and barking at the men to be sure the carriage would be safe for you and his children.

You rolled your eyes at Sandor’s barking as you heard a familiar voice call out. “Cousin.”

You turned around to see it was… “Sansa.” You said with a relieved sigh. You were worried you’d not see her before you parted.

“I do not wish for you to leave.” She said as she grabbed hold of your hand.

You smiled somberly, “I do not wish to part from you. But my place is not here. It is in the Eyrie.” You leaned in closer, “Where I shall take Littlefinger's head for what he’s done to us.” You whispered for her ears only.

She smirked, “You’ve always been a strong one.”

“We’ve done some wondrous things together.” You said smiling, “Fed men to dogs.” You jested.

She shook her head, “I’d not been able to do it without you. You’d always been like an older sister to me, when I needed it.”

“I wasn’t always there.” You said with melancholy eyes. You felt guilt for not being able to protect her for so long. “But we’re women now. We can look after ourselves.”

“I’m not sure how much you’ll need to look after yourself.” She said as she looked over towards Sandor, she looked back at you “Once this war is finished you must come visit.”

You smiled at her softly, “I’d like that.”

She tightened her grip on your hand, then let go. “Go safely, cousin.” With that Sansa finished. Turning around to leave you to your travels.

As you walked closer to the carriage, a young and handsome northern guard approached you, “My Lady, if I may-” He began extending his hand towards you to help you into the carriage.

However Sandor interrupted this. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife.” He grumbled, scaring off the man quickly. He gave you his forearm to help you into the carriage.

You sighed, “Sandor.” wishing he would not bark so much. Though he was much more protective now than he ever was.

“The babes, M’lady, M’lord.” She said as she handed you and your husband two baskets. Each holding one of your children, wrapped in comfortable blankets, ready for the journey.

You poked your head out of the window of the cabin, “Thank you, Eira. You and your boy's carriage is the one ahead of ours.” You said pointing towards the carriage they would be taking.

Eira smiled widely, giddy with excitement “Thank you, M’lady.” she said with a quick nod as she went to retrieve her own two boys.

Sandor gently placed your babes within the carriage. He turned towards the driver of the carriage, “Ride smoothly, or I’ll break both your hands.” He said, warning the man. He’d not have his wife or his children disturbed by a rocky carriage ride.

Sandor then reluctantly climbed into the carriage as well. He preferred to ride on his own horse. It was more comfortable for his large stature. He also felt silly being placed in a carriage, a man like him. But he needed to have his eyes on you and his babes on such a long journey.

You sighed, “Sandor the man cannot control the road's stability.” You said as you tucked your son into his blanket a bit tighter.

He watched you tend to your son with love in his eyes, “He’d better try.”

You smirked, “You show affection in a strange way.” You said as the carriage began to move, rocking gently which soothed your babes, “What will people think of our family?” you sighed.

He leaned forward, “That you have a man for a husband.” he said, and you smiled at his protectiveness though you tried to conceal it. He leaned back into his seat, biting the cork of his wineskin and pulling it off. “Fuck what they think anyway. I protect my own, thats that, and too fucking bad if you don’t like how I do it.” He grumbled as he took a swig of his wine.

You smirked and breathed a small laugh, “I love you, you fool.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Your arrival at the Eyrie was warm, and cheerful. The smallfolk threw small flower petals onto your carriage at it past the Bloody Gate. Your knights cheered as you stepped out of your carriage. And the maids and servants within the Eyrie rejoiced in your return. The whole thing was horribly uncomfortable for Sandor. A man who hated any attention by large groups of people, especially positive attention.

As you placed your children within their bassinets in their nursery, you smiled. You felt warm, your home was now your own again. Not only that but your home was filled with your family once again.

You leaned down, leaning over your babes bassinets, “This is your home.” You whispered softly to them as they drifted into sleep.

“I thought it would be colder.” Sandor remarked as he looked around the elegant room.

You stood and approached Sandor, “It normally is.”

That was true, normally the Eyrie was. But perhaps it was the love that was brought with you and your children.

“Hm.” He hummed,

You looked back towards your babes sleeping in their cradles, “Strange to think we made them.” Sandor looked towards them as well, “So beautiful.” You said gently,

“They got it from you.” He rasped. “Beautiful.” You looked up at him, “But you know it.” He shrugged.

“I do?” You scoffed.

“You should.” He said as he cupped your cheek.

You looked at him with love. “I want another child.” you blurted out.

His eyes went a bit wide, and his eyebrows narrowed, “But you said-“

“I want a litter of them.” You said partially as a jest, but also somewhat serious. You thought of your aunt Cat and envied how many children she bore. You couldn’t imagine how much love and joy would be filled within this palace with your children.

“A litter?” He questioned,

“Mhm.” You said as you held onto his chest and pressed his lips to your own as you stood on your tiptoes.

As your lips parted, he rasped “It’ll take a lot of fucking to get that many.”

You nodded, “Mmhmmm.” You kissed him once more before letting go, “Do you wish for more?” you asked earnestly.

He smirked, “What man wouldn’t want a dozen babes birthed by you?”

Just as he was about to kiss you once more a handmaiden entered the chamber, “My Lady?” she said cautiously.

“Hm?” You hummed with a slight smile, all too happy.

The handmaiden held onto her own hand as she approached you, “A Lannister guard delivered a chest.” She spoke with concern.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

The chest was brought to the High Hall.

You began to approach it but Sandor placed a hand in front of you, “Don’t come near it.”

You huffed in frustration but nodded for him to look into it.

Sandor approached the chest, and opened it cautiously with one hand on the hilt of his sword. But soon as it was open he released his grip on the handle just looking at whatever was in the chest for a moment.

“Well?” You asked, antsy, to know what it was.

He waved you over, as you approached it you saw what laid in the chest. Within it was the Hound's helmet. A large helmet in the shape of a snarling dog. And in its mouth was a silver necklace with a pendant of a woman with falcon wings, holding a tear shaped pearl. “What is this?” Sandor asked as he took the necklace in his hand.

“A necklace Tyrion had made for me. An engagement gift.” It was a valerian steel necklace. A generous gift he presented to you in an attempt to compensate you for your hand in marriage.

His hand closed into a fist around the necklace, “That fucking imp sent this?” He asked with anger than began to boil

“No.” You said confidently, Tyrion had no reason to provoke you or Sandor. Nor would he want to. “Cersei did.” You said, piecing together what this all meant. “It’s a threat if she should win the war.”

Sandor groaned under his breath, “Lannister cunts.” He did not like the fact someone would be so bold as to threaten his wife.

“She won’t win.” You said, attempting to calm him, “She doesn’t have a dragon.”

“But if she does?” He asked lowly.

You shook your head, “The Eyrie is impregnable.”

“We fucking impregnated it.” His temper began to slip.

“Only because Littlefinger was a fool. We won’t be so stupid.” You said as your attention was diverted to your breasts began to ache, “I need to feed the babes.” You said, as you walked out of the High Hall.

The idea of war lingered in Sandors mind. He wanted to fight against the Lannisters, fight against Cersei for sending you a threat. But he could not push the desire to pursue revenge out of his mind. He wanted to hunt Gregor down. But he knew you’d not allow it.

You never liked him fighting, and now you despised the idea now that you and he had children. Before you’d no power to stop him, but now you did. If you commanded the knights of the Vale to not allow him passage through the Bloody Gate, he would be trapped.

So, for now he would need to push his fantasies of revenge out of his mind,

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor entered your chambers for the first time. He looked upon the room with narrow eyes. He looked at your possessions new and old. How he wished he had found you earlier, perhaps none of what happened to you would have. He felt out of place in such an extravagant castle, but he felt more at home here. It felt like you.

He threw the helmet down in the corner of the room, as he sat on your bed and removed his leather overcoat.

A maid entered the chambers holding a number of your gowns that you’d brought with you from Winterfell. She was somewhat surprised to see Sandor in your chambers, “My Lord?” She asked cautiously.

Sandor looked over his shoulder, “What?” He asked with narrowed brows. Confused as to why someone would be bothering him.

She stammered before spitting out, “Shall I fetch the Lady?”

Sandor raised his brow, “Why?” he questioned, concerned something was wrong with you.

“Well- my Lord you are in the Lady’s chamber.” Though it was true after a Lady and Lord were married for some time, and had children, they would often sleep separately. Only sleeping together for the purposes of creating more children. Sandor rolled his eyes at the girls assumption, “Your chamber is down the-“

Sandor turned back around as he grumbled, “Me and my wife share a bed.”

“But-“ She attempted to continue,

“Fuck off.” He grumbled under his breath. Not knowing that you had just entered the chamber as well.

You sighed, “Never mind him.” You smiled at the girl as you took the gowns in her hand. You nodded to her signaling she was dismissed. As the girl closed the door you turned to Sandor. “Must you snap at everyone?” You sighed.

“Don’t like cunts sticking their noses where they don’t belong.” He rasped as he continued to remove bits of his other clothing, he looked behind him at you, noticing you did not have your babes. “Where’s the children?” he questioned.

You smiled, you appreciated how invested he was. “With Eira. She said I needed rest.” You said as you began to hang your gowns in your wardrobe. As you did, you noticed a white gown, simple and plain. It was the one you wore on your wedding, as you looked at it you thought about your wedding. “Could you imagine if we’d had a traditional wedding?”

“Didn’t we?” Sandor huffed.

You shrugged, “Traditional of noble houses, I suppose. You’ve been to many as a guard.” You said turning to look at him, “I remember Loras wanted a large and extravagant one with a tournament.” Sandor looked at you with jealous eyes, “You cannot be jealous of an engagement made out of survival with a man who would never touch me.” You sighed.

“I know. I saved him for you didn’t I?” Sandor did not understand your friendship with Loras, but he knew it was important to you and that was enough for him to care.

You thought about Loras, and then of Sandor, “You and he were quite different.”

“Aye, he sucked co-”

“Alright.” You said waving your hand at him to stop speaking.

As you continued to riffle through your dresses, the thought did not leave you. What if you did have such a public and traditional wedding. You thought of you in a much more grand gown, one of ivory silk and a veil made of a sheer and glimmering fabric. But the thought of Sandor being put on such a public display. The thought made you snicker,

“What?” Sandor asked as he threw off his boots.

“Just,” You tried to hold in your laughter but could not, “The thought of you at an extravagant wedding-wearing the finest silks-” You could not help but laugh openly.

“Are you laughing at me?” Sandor asked with a furrowed brow. He hid his own smile with his signature scowl, happy just to see you laughing.

You closed your wardrobe as you continued, “Oh and our dance! How gracefully you would dance about the banquet halls!” You continued to laugh.

“Keep mocking me, woman, see where it lands you.”

“Where?” You asked with a mischievous grin and a raised eyebrow.

“On your knees.” He groaned, his temptation growing.

“Oh, you’re moving onto the bedding ceremony?” You said in a teasing tone as you walked over towards him with your eyes trailing over his body. It had been so long since you’d felt desirable. Sandor was more affectionate than ever. Holding you as you slept, being sure you held onto his arm as you walked anywhere no matter how close. He made sure you ate well, and he made certain your babes were never far. However you wanted to feel desired.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, helping him pull his tunic over his head “You think I’d allow for a fucking bedding ceramony?” You teased. Sandor grabbed you by your waist, manhandling you as he threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you.

You giggled and squirmed a bit but were pinned in place by Sandors weight, “Where is your respect for tradition?” You teased with a smirk on your face feeling him tense above you.

“In the seventh hell.” He rasped his face just inches from yours, “I’d kill any cock sucking rat who even thought of it.” His voice was deep and dark. Violent.

“My brave and loyal husband.” You said in a whisper as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Hmmmm…” He groaned under your touch, he could feel his length hardening. Though he tried his best to ignore it. You needed to recover after giving him two children. And he would not give into his temptation and risk harming you.

You however, felt like teasing him, “You don’t like the idea? Tens of men grabbing me, ripping my clothes off, calling out vulgarities-” You said with a smirk, knowing your words would only heat his blood.

“You want me angry?” He interrupted you, as he asked you with a furrowed brow. Unsure of what it was you were trying to accomplish with such a question. Especially to him, the one man who’d kill another man for wanting you.

You ran your hand down his neck, “You fuck harder angry.” You said as your legs came to lock around his waist, and your lips found his neck. But as soon as you began he pulled away, throwing himself off the bed and stomping off to the other side of the room. You propped yourself up by your elbows. “Husband?”

“Fucking hells-You can’t look at me like that-touch me like that.” He groaned in frustration.

“Why not, is there another woman?” You said in a jest. Though in truth you were somewhat concerned about your new body and how he would think of it.

He shook his head, “You’ll drive a man mad.” He said out of breath, “I’m already going mad. I can’t fuck you-can’t even taste you.” He said as though the words were pent up. He’d been wishing to say them for so long now.

You began to undo your dresses ties, allowing the fabric to sag around your shoulders, “I want you to fuck me, to taste me-“

“I can’t.” He interrupted you and turned away from you, knowing your words would only tempt him. “I won’t hurt you.” He rasped.

“Sandor.” You called out to him in a sultry tone.

“Shit-“ He hissed, “Woman don’t call my name like that.” He felt his cock straining against his breeches, “I can’t hurt you. I’d rather die.” He said with his fists tightening.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Would you listen to your wife? The maester said I’m well enough now to perform my ‘duties’.” Sandor turned back around to look at you, his eyes were nearly black, “So did Eira.” You further supported your claim.

“You mean it?” He rasped, his voice low and deep. You nodded in return, making Sandor march over towards you whilst he discarded his tunic over his head, “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.” He said pushing you back down onto the bed. He climbed on top of you, his hands ravaged your body.

You wrapped your legs around his waist once again. And his mouth found its place on your neck, and soon your sternum. Whilst his hands gripped hold of whatever they could through your dress.

“Fuck.” You moaned, “I missed your hands on me so terribly.” You said with closed eyes as your words were drawing out slowly. Your nails gripped onto his strong back.

Suddenly he pulled his mouth from your neck, loosened his grip. He pushed himself off of you, his eyes wide. He pulled you off the bed, making you stand in front of him before he laid back onto it. Propping himself up on his elbows to watch you, “Strip for me.” He commanded, his voice was deep and husky.

You stood there, somewhat uncomfortable. You felt red heat slash across your cheeks, “Sandor-“

“Never mind any of that shit you think about your body.” He groaned, pulling his breeches and small clothes down with one swift movement, you didn’t hide your gaze as you looked at his hard thick cock. Red and already glisting with precum, “Fuck, I’ve been going mad without it.” You were unable to move as you felt heat begin to pool in your core, “Do you want me to beg is that it?” Sandor groaned, “Please,” He said as he gripped onto his cock stroking it slowly, “Please… I’m going fucking mad..” He groaned almost pathetically.

You wanted to feel desired, and Sandor more than satisfied that want.

Your gown was hanging around your shoulders, the laces were halfway done already. You began to undo them slowly. You turned away from him and looked at him over your shoulder as you slipped the gown lower and lower. He groaned in pleasure watching you. As your gown dropped, fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you in a shift. You turned back to him as you pulled the shift over your head. Leaving you in your thigh stockings.

Sandor continued to groan as you stepped towards him, now both of you naked and wanting. You placed your foot on his inner thigh, making his hiss. Then you pulled the ribbon from around your thigh, then rolling your stocking down your legs. “Seven fucking hells, woman.” He groaned as you continued to do the same with your other stocking.

You grabbed hold of his wrist, making him release his grip on his cock, “Hands off what's mine.” You commanded him, and though surprised by your sudden confidence, he felt his cock twitch under your authority. He smirked up at you as you straddled him.

“Do not be gentle with me.” You commanded firmly, pulling his hair back, making him look up at you.

“Don’t know if I could be.” He nearly panted, cunt struck and in awe of you.

One of his hands wrapped around your throat, and the other gripped roughly onto your hip. In one swift movement he flipped you onto your back, his hand still around your throat. “Open your mouth.” He rasped, his voice heavy with lust.

You did as he asked, sticking your tongue out as you looked up at him with an equally lustful gaze. His grip on your throat tightened as he spit into your mouth. It felt filthy and degraded, and you loved it.

“Swallow it.” He rasped, and once again you obeyed happily. He groaned at the sight, his grip on your throat tightened for just a moment making you gasp. “I’m going to take my time with you.” His thumb rubbed up and down your throat roughly. “Been denied of what I need for too long.”

He hesitated for a moment. As if he were waiting for your say so. You nodded slowly, your eyes fixated on his face. His mind was overtaken by his lust and his face gave it away. His eyes were nearly black and he couldn’t stop biting his lip. “I want it.” You whined.

And with that, Sandor pushed you back against the mattress. He pinned your hips down by locking his around them. The hot air of his breath hit your bare cunt, making you shutter. It has been so long since you’d felt it, you instinctively closed your thighs but Sandor only needed one hand to pry them open with ease.

“I told you-” He rasped as he bit your inner thigh making you squeal “I’m going to take my time.” He finished as he spit on your cunt making you jump. He wasted no time lapping at your folds as if he were starved.

He pushed his face as closely to your cunt as he could, hardly able to breathe. His tongue spent so much time on your clit. Sucking on it and watching your reaction to it. Sandor then bit down on it, not hard, but enough to make you gasp and grab ahold of his hair roughly. You looked down at him with shock,

“Again.” You commanded and he happily obeyed. Sucking on your clit, soothing it before he bit down again, a cycle he repeated until he felt your release coming. The sounds of your moans hit the stone walls of your chamber in a way that made Sandor’s cock harden.

Your moans only encouraged him. He began to fuck you with his tongue, letting his nose do the work on your clit. He wanted- no he needed to take your release in his mouth. He needed it.

He let out a moan as he felt it reach his tongue. He drank you in with the hunger of a starved man.

He continued to lick you through your climax, but soon you realized he did not stop. You felt yourself becoming more and more sensitive as his attention went back to your clit. Perhaps he did not know you finished? He always knew when you were finished, he knew your body and its language better than you did. But perhaps he did not know. “I finished-” You whined, pulling on his hair.

“I’m not.” He groaned into your cunt. The vibration of his voice made you arch your back and push yourself further into his mouth.

“Sandor!” You moaned out, “I-I-I” You stammered, unable to speak. You were so sensitive, so overstimulated, you could not think, it was blissful.

He couldn’t help himself. He missed your taste more than he missed anything. It was as if you tasted of the finest and rarest of wines. “You can take it, fuck, give me another.” He moaned as he sucked on your clit again. His eyes not leaving your face as you began to shake and shutter. So sensitive and beautiful. It was not long before he was drinking in another release of your own. As you laid panting on the mattress he finally lifted his face from between your legs. “Gods, you’re fucking perfect.” He said with a kiss to your lower stomach.

“Come here.” You whined breathlessly, as you raised a weak arm towards him. He obeyed his lovely wife. Climbing above you. You kissed him, tasting yourself so clearly on his tongue. You pulled him off of your mouth by pulling his hair, he groaned at its absence, “Not nice to keep me waiting, after I have been aching for you for so long.” you said as you panted.

He chuckled lowly, “That’s cause I’m not nice, girl.”

You looked into his eyes, “You are nice to me.” He pulled himself down despite your grip on his hair. Crashing his mouth into yours again.

He felt you beginning to grind yourself into his hardened length. And your hands began to weakly paw at his back. He pressed his forehead against your own, “Don’t you worry, I’m going to fuck your cunt. Can’t let it forget who it belongs to.” He began to slide his cock against your wet cunt. Covered in your release and his own spite. He let out a groan at the feeling.

You placed a hand against his shoulder, “I might not feel the same.” You said worried he’d not enjoy you the same as he did before.

“Don’t care.” He said as he bit your neck, making you moan.

Your eyes fell upon the metal helmet in the room. You remembered how you’d watch Sandor fight in tourneys and battles, wearing the helmet. You had imagined him fucking you in it countless times, and now you’d the chance.

“Wear the helmet.” You whispered.

Sandor’s face abandoned your neck, and he looked at you confused, “What?”

You brushed his hair behind his ear as you explained softly, “In King's Landing. I watched you fight in that helmet, tourney after tourney. I watched you swing steel in metal armor. I couldn’t help but squeeze my thighs together as I sat watching you exhibit your strength.” You smirked at your own defiant behavior, “I would go to my chambers, and dig my fingers into my cunt. Thinking of how I wanted you to rip my skirts and fuck me good and hard. Wearing your helmet.”

Sandor stared at you for a moment before a smirk appeared on his face. “Filthy fucking thing you are.” He said lowly.

“You like it.” You said stubbornly. It drove him wild.

“I love it.” He gave your cheek a sloppy kiss as he pushed himself off of you and walked towards the helmet that laid on the ground. He looked at it for a moment. Thinking of the times he’d worn it before. But as he looked at you sprawled naked on your bed smiling at him with flushed cheeks, he eagerly placed it onto his head.

He approached you, the Hound. You sat up, looking up at him. You could hear his breathing through the helmet. He grabbed you by your jaw, and presented his hand towards your mouth, “Spit.” he commanded gruffly. You did as he asked, spitting into his hand. He used your spit to stroke his cock, the sight made you bite your lip and moan. “On your hands and knees.” He commanded as his hand went to your hip, flipping you onto your stomach. It made your cheeks even redder.

He landed a hard spank onto your ass, making you hiss and whine. Fuck you loved it. You pushed yourself up on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He landed another few good hard spanks before he began to position his cock against your slick entrance.

You looked back at him, fuck the sight was something you’d fantasized of for so long. It was enough to make you clench. “Please, Ser.” You whined, it made Sandor’s cock throb harder than it did before. He wasted no time, he plunged into you.

You moaned loudly and buried your face into the mattress below you, gripping onto the blankets roughly.

“Fucking-” Sandor hissed, his thrusts did not relent. He was fucking you as if he would never fuck you again, “Gods, you fe-feel so fucking good“ He gripped onto your hips so tightly, you knew you’d be bruised by the time he finished. He grabbed hold of the nape of your neck and pulled you flush against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your throat tightly. You held his bicep that tightly held your throat. Whilst the other wrapped across your body, keeping you still. You nails dug into his bicep as it chokes you ever so gently, he’d flex his muscles to make the choke harder when he wanted your cunt to clench around him. His moans intertwined with your own, “Missed this cunt so fucking much.” He groaned as he continued to rut into you like an animal. “Ah!” He hissed, your cunt was spasming and clenching, sucking his cock further and further inside. “Greedy cunt keeps pulling me in-” He moaned, he hadn’t felt this ecstasy in so long. “Gonna fucking fill this greedy cunt til it’s spilling out of you.” The thought made him behind spirt small bits of his release no matter how hard he tried to wait and hold it in. “Give you another child?” His voice was softer. You looked up at him with surprise as you pulled the helmet off of him, now desperate to see his face. He did not have a face of lust now but of love. You nodded, as you felt your cunt creaming around his cock, he felt it too. “Yeah?” He groaned as he felt the ring you were leaving around his cock form.

That was what done him in. He pulsed in you and you felt the heat spread throughout your core. It must have been more than he’d ever released before you thought. It was already spilling out of you and down his cock as he slowly rutted in you and rode out both of your highs.

Once he was done, his grip on you loosened and you laid yourself onto your bed. You dropped your weight onto it. Making your hair fall into your face as you panted.

“You alright?” He asked as he brushed the hair from your face.

You smiled up at him, “I’m perfect.” you said breathlessly.

He chuckled lowly, and nodded “Aye, you are.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─

As you were laid in your bed, naked and spent. You watched your husband with loving eyes as he drank from a leather wine bottle. He noticed your lascivious gaze on him as he handed you the bottle. You took a swig only to be met with a bitter and ugly taste. Your face scrunched up as you handed it back to him.

Sandor chuckled lowly, amused at your reaction, “It’s shit huh?”

“I like my wine sweet is all.” You said attempting to remain polite. But Sandor gave you a knowing gaze, “Yes it’s shit.” You admitted. “I had always wondered about the taverns in the city. when in Kings Landing- I sometimes wondered on disguising myself and walking the streets to see the city.”

“That’s because you never been to the streets of silk.” He said as he placed his bottle of wine on table by his bedside.

“Should I venture into it?” You asked in a teasing tone, and a slight smirk.

“It’s no place for you.” He said, just the thought of you there made his heart beat faster. You being that close to such vile characters. “Men fuck whores in the streets like dogs.”

You listened to his words carefully, “Funny how there is not such a vulgar word for such men. They are just men. But perhaps men are vulgar enough.”

“You’re a strange kind of woman.” Sandor said with a slight grin.

“You’ve only now realized that?” You asked him with a raised brow,

He chuckled lowly, “No, always knew it.” His arms came around you, pulling you in close into his side. You rested your head into the crook of his neck as your hand roamed his broad and hairy chest.

You thought about his words for a moment, “Men fuck women in the streets like dogs you say?”

“Aye?” He rasped, confused as to what you were going to say.

“Have you?” You asked, your curiosity getting the better of you, “Fucked another woman?”

“I’d never betray you-“ He began gruffly,

“Before me I mean.” You interrupted, “It’s a foolish thing to ask. Of course you’ve laid with other women. You don’t fuck like you’d never fucked a woman. You never striked me as a man who valued his chastity.” You clarified as your fingers still ran across his chest.

He thought for a moment about refusing to answer you, but he couldn’t. His arm held you closer to him, his hand rubbing your back gently. “Aye.” He rasped, not proud that he’d paid whores during his time in King's Landing.

“What were they like?” You asked, devoid of any jealousy. You simply wanted to know how he was with them, was he the same to you as them? What was it about them that he liked?

Sandor shook his head, not knowing really what to say. “A means to an end.” He grumbled, “There weren’t many. Did it from behind, quickly. Threw the coin on the table and left. That was all.” He said quickly. Not wanting to think of those times. Before you there was no love, no real desire. It mattered not. He took your chin and made you look at him, “Then you came. And all that changed.”

You rested your chin on his chest, “When Baelish kissed me,” You could feel Sandors anger rise as he shifted uncomfortably and groaned, rumbling in his chest. “I thought of you.” You said earnestly, running your hand over his broad chest, “Of how you’d kill him for it. But I also thought of how different it was. I hated it. How even though lips are only lips, it did not feel the same. I never want to be without your kiss.” You said softly as you ran your thumb over his lips.

“We’re going to fucking kill him.” He rasped as he took hold of your jaw.

“Mhmm.” You hummed into his mouth, as you pulled away you locked eyes with him. “But first-I’m hungry again.” You whined as you rubbed the tip of your nose against his. Your hand running down his hairy chest and stomach. Your fingertips gently traced circled on his pelvis. Making his breath hitch. “In this bed there are no trials to commence and no wars to be fought. Just us.” You whispered into his lips as your hand traveled lower, you gripped a hold of his cock, still wet from your slick mixed with his own release. He groaned lowly and you felt his cock twitch in your hand. “Feels like you’ve a bit left in you.” You said with a mischievous grin. Making Sandor groan as his mouth took yours.

So much for rest.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Though sadly you could not stay hidden in your chambers with your husband’s cock buried inside of you. You had other matters to attend to.

You walked with your husband and the cell keeper as you made your way to the sky cell that held Littlefinger. Sandor was the first to open the cell, smirking at the sight of the dissolved and dirty Baelish, “Ah, the dog.” Baelish remarked seeing Sandor.

His eyes then moved towards you as you stepped into the doorway, “I am Lady Paramount of all Houses within the Vale. You will address the Lord Paramount consort with respect.” You nearly hissed as you spoke to him with narrowed eyes.

Baelish grinned at your anger, “Twins I hear. A boy and a girl.” He said feigning glee, until his facade of joy dropped, “However shall you choose will inherit after you?” He said in an attempt to mock you.

“My daughter was born first. She is the heir.” You answered quickly, without wavering.

He scoffed at your answer, “Do you think your son will bend a knee to her? When he is of age, as big as the hound himself.” He said as he looked at your husband behind you.

“Talk about my children again and I’ll rip your throat out.” Sandor growled.

Baelish smirked and snickered to himself.

“Your trial will be held tonight. If I were you, I would throw myself from this cell.” You said apathetically.

He shook his head, “That is a coward's way out.”

“Yes it is.” You responded quickly. Sandor lowly chuckled at your insult as he closed the cell.

As you and he walked back through the cells, Sandor felt the need to advise you. “He’ll deny the charges.”

You shook your head, “I’ve a witness.” You said confidently. “Someone who is witness to all.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You had long anticipated this moment. As you ascended the stairs up to the throne of the Eyrie. A throne carved of weirwood, a throne you always pictured yourself sitting on. As you sat on the throne, you gripped the chair tightly as if it were a dream that would slip away.

Sandor stood by your side as your sworn shield. You sat wearing a grayish blue gown, the sleeves were long and draped like wings. And you wore silver rings that sat around your fingertips and over your nails. They were sharp and resembled talons. You sat the throne, not just the Lady of the Vale, but the Falcon.

You nodded to your knights who pulled Baelish into the room in a manner that could be described as anything but gentle. As Baelish stood in front of the open moon doors, he looked up at you with anger. “You stand accused of murder, you stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges?” You questioned with hard eyes.

“Innocent.” He proclaimed loudly.

“Innocent of a crime I witnessed? You murdered our aunt, Lysa Arryn. Pushing her through that Moon Door as you stood right there as you are now. And watched her fall. Do you deny it?” You questioned devoid of any emotion.

“I did it to protect you.” He huffed.

“You did it to gain control of me. Gain ultimate control within the Vale.” You said rebuking his claim, “You aided in the murder of my father, Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa Tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny this?” Your voice was slightly deeper.

He shook his head, “Whatever Lysa spoke to you, in a heated moment of anger… She was a troubled woman. Imagining enemies everywhere, even imagining you as one of them.”

You ignored his shallow attempt of a rebuttal. “You had Lysa send a letter to the Lord and Lady Stark claiming it was the Lannisters that killed my father. You began the rift between the North and the Crown. Do you deny it?” You continued to press.

“I know of no such letter.”

“You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray my uncle, Ned Stark. Resulting in his imprisonment and later his execution. Do you deny it?”

“I deny it! None of you were there to see what happened. None of you know the truth.”

“You held a knife to his throat.” A voice beckoned from the back of the room. Littlefinger was shocked as he saw your cousin, Bran. Accompanied by your cousin Arya. “You said, “I did warn you not to trust me.” Bran said stoically.

Arya presented the knife used to attack Bran when he was a child, “You told our mother this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister.” She sheathed the knife, “But that was another lie. It was yours.”

Knowing he was not going to leave that room by denying claims that were confirmed by so many witnesses. Baelish got on his knees, making Sandor smirk. “Lady Arryn, I have known you since you were a girl. I throw myself to your mercy. The mercy of a mother, a woman with a gentle heart.” He begged.

You contemplated it for a moment. “Confess your crimes and you shall not fall from the moon doors alive.” You said sternly, and he nodded. “Did you conspire to poison Jon Arryn?”

“I did.” He said looking down in shame.

“Did you throw Lysa Arryn into the moon doors?” your voice raised and hardened.

“I did.”

“Did you influence Lysa into sending the Starks false allegations against the Lannisters. And conspired the execution of Eddard Stark?” Your voice filled with venom.

“I did.”

Your eyes narrowed, “I cannot balance the scales of suffering. Eyes for eyes, teeth for teeth, Father for a Father, A brother for a brother. You cannot make right what you’ve taken.”

He shook his head “I have nothing, I want for nothing.” You looked upon him with annoyance, “You crawled out of so many pits that should have been your graves. Not for hope, not because you had faith in yourself. But because you had hatred in your heart. I am the reason you sit the throne as you do now.” He was truly grasping at anything he could. Attempting to gain any favor he could.

You looked upon him with no sympathy of any kind, “No, I am the reason.”

He got onto his knees, “I beg of you-”

“Stop talking. I have heard enough of your words.” You announced as if you were bored. You sat up straighter in your throne, looking down on the man on his knees. “You usurped my birthright and were met with no challenge because I am a woman.” Your statement sucked the air from the room. It was true, none of the Lords or Ladies there raised any challenge to the taking of your throne. “My daughter, Eira. Will inherit after me. If I allow mercy towards this crime I set forth an example that may cost my daughter her place on this throne, perhaps her life.” You leaned forward, your eyes narrowed, “I won’t have that. So I shan't grant you mercy. Not that I would consider it otherwise.” You leaned back, “You visited acts of cruelty towards the Houses of the Vale, and its smallfolk. Deliberate starvation.” Murmurs raised in the room, Lords and Ladies outraged by his actions. Though the room fell silent as you spoke again, “There is only one answer for the crimes visited upon your neighbors, and upon the realm.” You stood from your throne, “I, Lady Arryn, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, I sentence you to die.” Baelish began to whimper and beg once again to which you spoke, “I believe I made my terms quite clear before our battle, and let it be known I am not a Lady who does not fulfill her promises. I’ll have your head.” Your proud husband by your side held a sheathed sword towards you. You took the handle and pulled it out, “By my own hand.”

You held the sword tightly in hand as you made your way down the stairs of your throne. The knights held Baelish in place. Sandor walked closely behind you. Once you reached Baelish, Sandor replaced the two knights that held Baelish down on his knees.

He continued to beg, “I loved your aunt Cat, I loved your mother-”

You held your sword high, “And yet they are dead.”

“I loved you.”

SHING

You felt the sword slice through his neck with ease and you felt the heat of his blood as bits of it splattered your gown and your skin. And with that, you fulfilled your promise. Little Fingers head rolled, falling through the Moon Doors.

You huffed, and handed Sandor the sword. He looked at you with sympathetic eyes. He knew how long you had wanted this. He looked at you as you stared down at the bloody sight before you with apathy. He hoped you felt the relief you so desperately reached for. “Throw the rest of him through the doors.” You commanded your men.

A knight, hesitated, “My Lady, you said if he confessed-”

“He’d not fall alive.” You said, finally looking away from Littlefinger's decapitated body, “Does he look alive?” You questioned as you walked away.

Sandor stepped closer towards the Knight, “Do as your Lady commands.” he rasped before he followed after you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night, Sandor couldn’t sleep. He knew that the war was approaching. He knew this might be the only chance he would have to take his revenge.

He watched you as you slept in your warm bed. Taking in the features of your face. As if it might be the last time he’d ever see you. Sandor laid a soft kiss upon your temple and left your chambers.

He walked the dark halls of the Eyrie. Contemplating whether or not he should go against his better judgment and flee in the night to join in the war. He knew it would hurt you, but he couldn’t push his desire for revenge away.

As he paced the halls, he ran into a familiar girl. Arya. The girl was dressed and holding the hilt of her sword tightly.

“Fuck are you doing?” Sandor grumbled, feigning annoyance by the girl's presence.

“What are you doing?” She questioned back.

“Asked you first.”

She hesitated for a moment before she began, “I’m leaving for Kings Landing.”

He chuckled lowly, “A lotta names on your little list there.”

She did not share his amusement. “One that's on yours is there.” She said stoically.

Sandors smile faded fast. “Aye.” he grumbled.

Arya’s expression turned to one of sadness, “I couldn’t tell her.” he understood, because neither could you. She looked at Sandor, “Do you want to come with me?”

Sandor thought of it for a moment, before he rasped “Let me see to my children.”

She nodded, “Meet me in the High Hall.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

You woke to an empty bed. It was very late, or perhaps very early, you could not tell. You rubbed your eyes, not able to make yourself fall back asleep with Sandor, you pushed yourself out of bed. As you walked the halls, you came upon your babes nursery. You noticed the door was left open. Concerned, you rushed towards your room, but you heard a familiar voice. You peered into the room to see your husband kneeling by your son's cradle.

Sandor's voice was gentle and soft, “Be a better man than your father, your uncle, your grandfather. And be good to your mother-”

You stepped into the room, “What are you doing?” you asked with narrowed eyes.

Sandor stood, looking at you with pity that made you want to vomit. “I’ll be back.” He rasped.

You knew what he meant, you stepped towards him, “My men will fight this war. My man will not.”

“I will.” He asserted.

You scoffed, “What do you care of this war?”

“My brother is there.” His voice was darker.

“And he shall fall with the rest of them.” Your anger rose in your chest as you realized he was planning on leaving you without speaking to you.

He leaned into you, “I want to be the one to do it.”

You looked up at him with angry eyes, “No.” you asserted firmly.

“Damn it woman.” He hissed, though trying to keep his voice low on account of your sleeping children.

You looked at him with anger, a look he was not accustomed to. “You have insisted I stay away from battles, stayed away from my own enemies. And I did. Because I remembered the pain you felt when we were separated. Dead to one another. I did not want that for you. And yet you are blinded by your own selfish desires of revenge.”

“And you did not pursue your own?” He spat his words at you.

You knew he was right. But that was before you’d children, before your life was of consequence. But you shifted your argument, “I have seen you and he fight. When you fought for Loras.” You shook your head, “It is too even. The fight would take you both and you know it!” You whispered a shout.

His eyes were wide, he was frustrated by your inability to understand, “The things he’s done- Murdering babes! Raping women and girls!”

“And pressed an innocent child’s cheek into a fire over a discarded toy.” You looked at him with sympathy, “I can see what motivates you. It will not heal you-“

“It’ll feel good.” He rasped lowly.

“It would.” You said with a nod, “But that is all. A moment of happiness. But the pain stays. It stays all the same.” You rolled up your sleeve, “Look,” you presented the scar on your forearm. “My scars have not faded. My family is still gone. Your scar will not fade and your father, mother, and siblings will not return to you. But Sandor we’ve made our own family.” You said, attempting to smile, and point his attention towards the babes in their cradle.

He shook his head, “He won’t be able to kill again. Rape again.” He looked up at you, “I could kill him.”

You placed your hands on his chest, as if you were pleading with him, “You are the strongest man in the seven kingdoms. But even still, it is too great of a risk.” You furrowed your brows, “If I could take the pain from you I would. If I could hold Gregor in chains and hold in your hand a sword to do as you wish I would grant you that. But my love, I cannot.” You felt yourself on the verge of tears, a sight Sandor hated. “Drinking, eating, and fucking. Peace. That’s how you said you wished to live out our days here. That is what you said you wanted.”

“I do.” He said softly.

“You swore to protect us.” Your tears finally came.

“I will.” He insisted softly.

You shook your head, “You won’t.” You looked towards your son, “When I look at that boy, I think of you. I think of you as a little boy, young and kind. Who does not yet see the world with such disdain. One who needs his father to be better than his grandfather. Who needs his father here.” You looked back to him, he spoke no words. You felt so betrayed, you scoffed with tears falling from your cheeks, “Go then.”

You heard the sounds of your son fussing in his crib, you turned from Sandor and approached the babe.

Sandor stood there, watching you from the corner of his eye. He did not think of himself as a good man, and he did not take pride in himself. But in that moment, he never felt such hatred for himself.

He looked over at you. You sang quietly and sweetly to the babe in your arms as you rocked him. He thought of how in Kings Landing he used to fantasize of having you in a wooden house, with a babe in your arms just as you did now. He thought of all the things Gregor took from him. His face, his innocence, his faith, his belief in good, his belief in chivalry, but now he threatened to take this sight before him. Gregor threatened to take away his ability to see his children grow. Threatened to take his life with you.

Sandor approached you, but you only looked at him with teary and angry eyes. “Alright.” he rasped as he dropped to his knees, “I’m sorry.” His hands took place on your hips as he practically begged you. “I’m sorry.” He said into your skirts.

You only held your son tighter. Refusing to look at him.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

However, Sandor did meet Arya in the High Hall.

He took Arya by the shoulder, “When you find my brother. I want his head.” He said before finally leaving the High Hall.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Days passed, though your anger subsided for what Sandor had attempted to do. You had been cold and distant from him. It was not something Sandor was familiar with when it came to you. He did not enjoy it at all.

He spent his days attempting to make it up to you. His attempts however were rebuffed. You did not allow him to do more than kiss you. You couldn’t help it really. You wanted to forgive him but felt as though you couldn’t.

As you read a book within your chambers, Sandor parallel to you. He simply stared at you, as if he were trying to solve a riddle before him. You noticed it but did not want to give it any attention. Sandor's frustration grew as he could not tell what he needed to do to make you favor him again. But he would be interrupted by Eira entering the chamber with a parchment.

“A raven from Lord Tyrion.” She said as she handed you the letter.

Sandor groaned in annoyance, “Fucking hells, even up here he wants your ear.”

Your stoic expression broke, as you read the news. The crime that Jon Snow had committed. “Seven hells.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

In the old dragon pit, you and the other highest Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms were gathered. You sat beside Sandor who you still were holding to a cold shoulder as a member of the Dragon queens unsullied known as Greyworm brought forth Tyrion Lannister in chains. He explained what had happened, and expressed his intentions of killing Jon Snow for his crimes.

“Jon Snow cannot go free.” Greyworm announced.

“It is not for you to decide.” Lord Tyrion.

“You are not here to speak! We are tired of your words.” Greyworm spoke angrily.

Tyrion nodded, shamefully. “You are right. But it is not for you to decide. His fate is to be decided by our king… or queen.”

“We don’t have a king or queen.” some Lord said, you didn’t know his name or his face nor did you care to.

Tyrion scoffed a laugh, “You are the most powerful people in Westeros. Choose one.”

“I suppose you want it.” Ser Davos remarked.

Tyrion's eyes went wide, “Me? The Imp? Half the people hate me for serving Daenerys, the other half hates me for betraying her. Can't think of a worse choice.” Tyrion said, shaking his head.

“Who, then?” Sansa asked,

“This realm needs unity. It is not an easy thing to unite people.” Tyrion said in contemplation, then as his mind landed on the person he believed in. He began, “Who among us has united North, the Riverlands, and East. A girl who was orphaned in the den of lions, a girl who escaped every trap set in her way, a girl who with no money gained her own army, a girl who fought in war, a girl who conquered the Eyrie, a girl who sought justice by her own hand when the realm did not offer it. A girl like that would be steadfast, and wise beyond her years. She’d be kind, and thoughtful of her people to inspire such loyalty. Well then she should be the woman who sits on the throne.” His eyes fell onto you.

Sandor looked at you, unsure of what you would say.

You narrowed your brows, “I don’t want it.”

“No one does.” Tyrion scoffed a laugh.

“I won’t take it.” You shook your head, “I want no power greater than what I have been given by birth. I no longer care for myself, care of any desire or ambitions that once drove me. I only care for my children. I only care for my husband. I only care for my family.” You spoke confidently.

Sandor was in disbelief. You were offered power and wealth beyond anything you’d ever had. And yet you so quickly refused it.

With a nod, Tyrion spoke again, “What of the three eyed raven? He is our memory, the keeper of all our stories. The wars, weddings, births, massacres, families. He crossed beyond the wall a crippled boy, and came back the three eyed raven. He knows our past better than anyone. He could lead us into the future.”

And with that Bran the Broken was instilled at the new King of the Six Kingdoms, and Sansa became Queen of the North.

“You refused the crown?” Sandor asked as he leaned towards you. Unsure as to why you had done it.

You looked at him with your cold eyes, “I meant what I said. I have no desires or ambitions beyond my children.” It was a slight at his attempt to leave your children to pursue revenge. A slight that he understood and one that he knew he deserved.

As you continued on he watched you walk on as he heard that familiar voice again,

“Sandor.” Arya said as she approached him. Sandor hummed at her, “The tower fell before I could reach Cersei, or Gregor.” She shook her head, upset with her failed attempt, “Couldn’t get his head, but I got this.” She said as she presented Gregor's helmet covered in blood.

Sandor looked at it, he found little joy in it, and little relief. He shook his head, “Get rid of it.” He rasped as he turned to return to your side.

Arya looked at him as he walked away in confusion.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As you laid in a steaming bath, your handmaidens washed your body. One cleaning your nails and another cleaning your hair. You normally would have insisted on doing it yourself, but after your travels back from Kings Landing you were simply too exhausted to do it.

Suddenly however, the door to your bathing chamber swung open. Your ladies attempted to use their own bodies to shield the view of your naked form. However they relaxed once they saw the man who hunched down to get through the doorway was in fact the lord consort, Sandor.

“Out…” Sandor commanded, and all the ladies wasted no time in dropping their scrubbing clothes into the water as they fled the room.

You stared at Sandor with an expression of annoyance. A look he was becoming increasingly difficult to take from you.

With a defeated sigh he kneeled by the tub, reaching in to retrieve a scrubbing cloth one of the maids had dropped into the water. Sandor gently took your hand, and began to clean your fingernails as the other maid was doing.

You looked at him with confusion, “What are you doing?” you questioned softly with narrowed eyes.

He snorted a laugh, not looking at you continuing to clean you, “The fuck does it look like?” he grumbled.

You raised a brow at him, unsure of what he was attempting to do. “The ladies would do that.”

“Would if I let them.” Sandor rasped, continuing to clean the rest of your arm.

“You won’t even allow women to see my body? Or perhaps you feel guilty.”

“Just shut up about it.” He snapped at you. Though he was a tamed dog, he still did not like it when such trivial things such as guilt over hurting the one thing of value he had loomed over his mind and heart. Especially when his guilty consciousness was so easily seen.

“You shut up about it.” You snapped back at him as you splashed water at him.

As the water splashed against Sandor, a silence fell upon you both. He hung his head in shame. And you looked away in frustration. Sandor’s eyes then fell upon you, much softer now. “He is dead,” he said calmly and gently.

Your gaze swiftly shifted back to Sandor. Your eyes were no longer annoyed or frustrated. But sympathetic, and mournful. Not for Gregor, but for what Sandor gave up. What Sandor gave to you but what you could not give to him. “Do you feel relief?” You asked, your voice was gentler.

Sandor shrugged, his eyes still fixated on the ground. “Some.”

“I’ve been cold towards you.” You said softly, sinking deeper into the water.

“I know.” He grumbled, looking down like a child who’d been caught misbehaving.

You moved to the edge of the tub, placing a hand on Sandor’s cheek. “I am sorry, I prevented you from what might have offered you relief from that pain in you. But if you should try to leave me or our children again. You leave us at your peril.” You offered an apology, as well as a warning. Your words soft and gentle though heavy and hard.

Sandor shook his head, placing a hand on yours that caressed his scared flesh. “I could not leave you, or our girl, our boy.” He shook his head again, “Gregor-” He looked away, the name alone caused anger to rise like bile in his throat. He closed his eyes, shaking him away from his mind, “I couldn’t let him take that too.” He said finally looking back at you.

You looked into his eyes deeply, “Say the words.” you commanded. Though your voice was soft and gentle. Hardly above a whisper.

Sandor did not hesitate, “I love you.” His voice was bold and clear.

With that, you stood from the bath. Water spilling into the tub as it rushed off of your body. Sandor's sad, brown puppy-like eyes followed you as you stepped out. You grabbed a robe, and wrapped it around yourself, still wet soaking wet. Your hair soaking the thin fabric that draped around your neck. “Stand.” You said looking back at Sandor, who was still kneeling. As if he were at your mercy. Sandor stood, and you allowed his arms to wrap around you as they were longing to for so long. You held him back. It was not often that Sandor would allow himself to be so vulnerable. You pulled yourself away from his chest, and placed your hands on either side of his face forcing his gaze onto you. “You are no longer a hound, a dog. You are a man, a husband, a father.” You said with a soft smile wanting him to rejoice in his freedom and all he had done with his new found agency.

“I do not deserve you. I’m a killer.” He said, still sulking with his sad eyes.

“Am I not?” You said defiantly. It made him crack a small smile. “You’ve been an honest man. A loyal man, to those who deserve it.” You rubbed his check gently with your thumb before running your hands along his shoulders. “Though you may refuse it, you've protected the innocent. You’re a fierce warrior.” You then embraced him once more. “My husbands a killer and I’d have it no other way.” You said softly as your face was nuzzled into his chest.

He took your face into his hands now, “Look at me,” he said as he directed your gaze to look into his, “your eyes.” his voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke softer. “Same ones that looked at me while you ate dinner with those Lannister cunts.” He remembered the first time you and he saw one another. He could never get the thought of you out of his head from that moment forth. You had bewitched him body and soul no matter how hard he attempted to deflect its hold on him. “No fear in them. I should know I’ve seen it a lot.” He said as he admired your soft gaze as it was now, “No disgust, ‘ve seen that too.” He said with a small smirk.

You did not share his amusement, you never found Sandor disgusting. And you pitied those who did, for they’d truly know how beauty transcends through skin. When you first saw his scared flesh it reminded you of ribbons of silk. You shook your head. “I’d never seen anything like you. You were beautiful.” You said as your eyes trailed over his features. Your words were earnest and the warmth of your gaze filled Sandor with purpose.

He shook his head, in disbelief of your existence even still, “I’d die for you.” He rasped.

“I want you to live for me.”

His lips pressed against yours the kiss was gentle though firm as his hand gripped the back of your head and pressed your kiss deeper. It was as if it were a vow. His hands wrapped around your waist tightly pressing you close to his chest. Sandor cared not if you were still soaking wet, he simply wanted to be as close to you as possible. Now that you were allowing his touch and offering your own in return. With his passions rising he lifted you off of the ground with ease. He began to carry you to your bed.

Your kiss did not release. No, your lips stayed together as long as you’d allow it. Only parting to meet again. He placed you onto your bed gently as if he were trying not to break you. He pressed his weight down on you, not all the way, no that would have smothered you. It was just enough for you to feel warmth and safety from his body. You must have laid there on top of one another kissing and embracing one another bodies for an hour.

Sometimes he would part from your lips to look into your eyes and pet your hair away from your face. As did so, his hand gently running through your hair, you looked upon him and his swollen lips.

“I have something for you.” You nearly whispered. Sandor looked at you with confusion, as you rolled out from underneath him. “I’d it made some time ago, but I was too cross with you to allow myself to give it.” Sandor watched from the bed as you retrieved a black leather box from your wardrobe. “Do you remember that necklace, the one Tyrion gave me?” Sandor Nodded, though not pleased with the thought of your previous engagement. You looked down at the box, trailing your finger tip along the edge of the box, “I thought that necklace was a thoughtful gift. Made in an attempt to gladden my heart by someone who desperately wanted it.” You stepped closer to Sandor. “But it was a collar. Just as all that golden jewelry was a symbol of my taking.” Your voice was much darker now, “So I had it thrown in a fire. Melted down.” You opened the box, presenting a dagger. It was not fancy, nor extravagant. Simple and effective. “You always said you wanted Valyrian steel, and I’d lost your other dagger-” You were interrupted by Sandor suddenly standing from your bed. He marched over towards the dog shaped helmet in the room. “What are you-” You couldn’t finish that either before Sandor was marching out the room with it.

You threw on a much thicker robe before following him out of your chambers.

You had to make an effort to keep up with him, his legs were much longer than yours. And when he was set on something he was determined to do it.

You followed him all the way to the High Hall, where he opened the Moon Doors. You instinctively pulled him away from them, though your strength held little influence against his stature. You held onto his forearm as he held up the helmet. “The King had it made to show that I was his dog.” He scoffed. “Fuck the King.” Looking upon the helmet for a moment more before dropping it through the moon door. “I’m my own dog now.”

Sandor turned towards you only to notice that your eyes were watery like at Robin's funeral. Only now you were smiling. You let out a sigh of relief as a tear fell from your cheek. The Hound was dead, and Sandor lived. Lived to be beside you.

His large hand came to your cheek and wiped the tear away. He did not understand the bliss you were feeling. He was about to apologize for whatever it was that made you cry. But the sounds of a maid called out, “My Lady!”

It startled you greatly, “Yes?” you beckoned back as the girl entered the room.

The girl approached you with haste, “It’s your daughter-”

You approached her with haste as well, “What’s happened?” you loudly beckoned with great concern and Sandor followed behind you.

“No my Lady, tis happy news! The little ones began to crawl.” She announced with glee.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

You and Sandor stood looking upon the small babe, crawling. Though she struggled, she still continued, prevailing. A stubborn thing just as her mother. Sandor would of course pretend as though this sight did not fill him with such immense pride but it did. The girl was born early, underweight, and yet she beat her brother who was born of a healthy weight to crawling. Such a small movement but such a large accomplishment.

You looked at Sandor, and you knew he’d never speak his praises. He’d find no use of it. You could see in his eyes he was proud. You could see the tender love he held for this little thing so deeply.

You smiled as you looked at him, “Sandor?”

“Hm?” He hummed as he watched the babe crawl.

“I love you.” You said earnestly and softly.

Sandor looked at you, he sighed, “I love you.” He said as his hand tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Sandor?” You asked again.

“Hm?” He hummed once more.

You smiled,

“I’m with child.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: This is so bitter sweet. I am so so so grateful to all of you who have engaged with this story and engaged with my posts. This is not the end of this story! I will be doing small updates here and there. But the main series is officially at an end. K love you, xoxo

Bambi

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muiitoloko · 2 days

Note

I looooved the daddy severus fanfic aaaaghhhh ❤️ but now can we have what he needed to do to have the baby lol

Breeding kink severus PLEASE!!! Xx

Title: A Second Chance

Summary: Surviving the war was only the beginning for Severus Snape. With your love, he learns to embrace life, finding comfort in the thought of a future that includes a family of his own.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I'm so glad you loved the Daddy Severus fanfic! ❤️ And I couldn't resist your request, so I went ahead with the breeding kink idea—but decided to keep it light and wrote a completely new one-shot instead. Don't worry, it's more on the sweet side, nothing too kinky 😅. Hope you enjoy this one just as much! xx

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never imagined he would survive the war, let alone find himself married years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. In truth, he hadn't even expected to live past the moment Nagini's fangs had torn into his throat. The pain had been excruciating, but it was fleeting—quickly overtaken by the cold, creeping numbness of death. He had welcomed it, that final escape from a life filled with darkness and deceit. Everything had gone black, and he thought that was the end.

But death had not come for Severus Snape that day. Instead, he had awoken to the sterile smell of potions and the clinical brightness of the Hogwarts infirmary, with Madam Pomfrey's stern face hovering above him, muttering incantations and administering salves to his ravaged neck. She had told him that the war was over, that Voldemort was defeated, and in those first few moments of lucidity, Snape had wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness. He had nothing left to live for, after all. But fate, as it often did, had other plans.

Snape had been in a coma for two long years—two years during which the wizarding world had moved on without him, during which he had been declared a hero by none other than Harry Potter, the boy he had once loathed. Potter, in his infinite idiocy, had come forward with memories—his memories—evidence that Snape had been working as a double agent, risking everything to protect the son of the woman he had loved more than life itself. It was Potter’s testimony that had spared Snape from Azkaban, and it was Potter who had ensured that he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and hailed as a hero in the aftermath of the war.

Snape thought bitterly of that fool of a boy now, sitting in the grand sitting room of one of the Prince family’s old mansions. The house had been passed down to him as the last living heir of the Prince family, a lineage he had long since stopped caring about. His mother’s bloodline had never brought him anything but misery, and yet here he was, a reluctant beneficiary of the wealth and status he had once despised. He rubbed the large scar on his neck, the mark left by Nagini’s fangs a constant reminder of how close he had come to death. It barely allowed him to speak without pain, a daily torment that was only mitigated by the potions and treatments he had to endure.

And that was where you came in.

You had been sent by St. Mungo’s on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, assigned to take care of Snape’s throat, which often swelled and caused him intense pain at random times. The venom of Nagini had remained in his bloodstream, a sinister reminder of the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. Snape hadn’t wanted you there. In those first few days, he had made every effort to drive you away, using every tactic at his disposal—scathing remarks, icy glares, and, when words failed him, the sheer force of his silent, menacing presence. But you hadn’t been intimidated. You had insisted on staying, refusing to leave despite his best efforts to scare you off. You were patient, determined, and unfailingly kind—qualities that Snape found both infuriating and, inexplicably, disarming.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things began to change between the two of you. Perhaps it was the day he had tried to intimidate you with a particularly venomous glare, only to find that you met his gaze with calm resolve, refusing to back down. He had pressed you against the wall in a fit of frustration, intending to finally break through that maddening composure, but instead, he had found himself kissing you—fiercely, desperately, as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. That kiss had quickly turned into something more—something that left you both breathless and shaken, your bodies entwined in a feverish, almost primal need.

Months had passed since that first heated encounter, and somehow, through a series of events that still seemed surreal to him, Snape had found himself married to you. He looked down at the simple, yet elegant ring on his finger, a symbol of a life he had never imagined for himself. The ring was one he had chosen himself, purchased with the money he had saved over the years as a professor—years of putting up with those insufferable, brainless children. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Severus Snape, the cold, unyielding Potions Master, now had a wife, a home, and a life that was, in many ways, far more normal than he had ever thought possible.

He had thought he would hate it—the domesticity, the mundanity of it all. But as he sat in the quiet of the old manor, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, he realized that he didn’t hate it. Not at all. In fact, he found a strange sort of peace in it—a peace he hadn’t known in decades, if ever. It was a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, he had somehow found a place in this world—a place with you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see you entering the room, a soft smile on your face as you made your way over to him. You were dressed simply, yet elegantly, your presence filling the room with a warmth that he still wasn’t quite used to, but which he had come to cherish nonetheless.

“Severus,” you greeted him, your voice soft and soothing as you approached. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged slightly, the familiar discomfort in his throat a dull throb that he had long since learned to ignore. “As well as can be expected,” he replied, his voice low and rough, a result of the lingering effects of the venom.

You nodded, your expression one of understanding and quiet concern as you reached out to gently touch his hand, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of his wedding ring. “I’m glad,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his chest tighten. “You know, you don’t have to bear this burden alone. I’m here, Severus. I’ll always be here.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in, filling the empty spaces in his heart that he had long thought would remain void. He had spent so many years alone, so many years building walls around himself to keep others out, that it still felt strange—unnatural, even—to have someone who cared about him, who wanted to share in his burdens.

But you were here, in his life, in his home, and he had somehow, against all odds, found himself falling for you in a way he hadn’t believed was possible. You had been a light in the darkness, a beacon that had guided him back to the land of the living when all he had wanted was to fade into oblivion.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked down at your hand in his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else could. “And I’m… grateful.”

You smiled at that, a soft, genuine smile that lit up your entire face, and for a moment, Snape felt something stir within him—something that had been dormant for far too long. It was a warmth, a flicker of hope, of love, that he had thought he would never feel again.

Without another word, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with all the affection and tenderness that you had brought into his life. Snape closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation, to savor the moment, the connection between you.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with a quiet intensity, your eyes searching his as if you were trying to understand the depth of what he was feeling. And in that moment, Snape realized that you did understand—that you knew him better than anyone ever had, perhaps even better than he knew himself.

“I love you, Sev,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “I always will.”

But Severus Snape had never been one for grand declarations, especially when it came to matters of the heart. The words I love you felt foreign on his tongue, weighed down by the years of pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was today. Instead, he preferred to convey his feelings through subtle gestures, through actions that spoke louder than words ever could.

And tonight, he intended to show you just how much you meant to him.

Without a word, Snape leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss, one that was slow and deliberate, full of a restrained passion that he had kept buried for far too long. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, as if he was savoring every moment, every sensation. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his long, slender fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him.

You responded eagerly, your body leaning into his as the kiss grew more heated, more urgent. Snape’s other hand found its way to your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he guided you onto his lap, your dress rustling softly as you straddled him. The fabric of his dark robes brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body.

When he finally broke the kiss, his breathing was slightly uneven, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that you had rarely seen before. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, his gaze piercing through you as if he was trying to convey all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Without breaking eye contact, Snape’s hands moved to the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing the soft fabric as he slowly pushed it up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs. He let out a low, almost inaudible groan as he felt the warmth of your body against his, the sight of you on his lap stirring something primal within him.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper as he traced the outline of your hips with his hands, his touch possessive yet reverent. It wasn’t quite I love you, but it carried the same weight, the same depth of emotion. It was his way of claiming you, of letting you know that you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

You shivered at his touch, your own hands moving to his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth fabric of his robes. His grip on you tightened slightly as he pulled you even closer, pressing your body against his as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, a clear indication of just how much he wanted you.

“Severus…” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of anticipation and desire as you felt his lips ghosting over your throat, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses in their wake.

Snape didn’t respond with words. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hands slipping beneath your dress, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine before moving lower, cupping your ass and giving it a possessive squeeze. His lips found their way back to yours, capturing them in another deep, fervent kiss as he shifted beneath you, positioning himself so that his cock was perfectly aligned with your entrance, the heat of your arousal palpable through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Snape’s gaze was intense, his dark eyes boring into yours as he uttered a single, hoarse word: “Bedroom.” The command was rough, almost strangled, a reminder of the ever-present pain that laced his throat. You could see the discomfort etched into the lines of his face, a sharp pang of concern shooting through you. Was he okay? Was the pain too much for him? But before you could voice your worries, Snape dismissed them with a hard, determined look. He wasn’t going to let anything interrupt this moment.

In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as you clung to him. His strength surprised you, the lean muscles beneath his robes belying the quiet power he possessed. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, straining through the fabric of his impeccably tailored trousers. The sensation sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, igniting a fire in your belly.

He moved with purpose, carrying you down the dimly lit hallway of the old manor, his long robes billowing around him like shadows. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken desires that had been building between you for months. Snape’s grip on you was firm, possessive, his hands settling on the curve of your ass as he held you close. The tension in the air was palpable, the only sounds were the soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

When he finally reached the bedroom, Snape pushed the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot, striding inside without hesitation. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. The bed—a grand, four-poster affair draped in rich, dark fabrics—stood at the center of the room, an inviting haven amidst the darkness.

Without breaking his stride, Snape crossed the room and laid you down on the bed, his movements careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped under your weight as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. He stood at the edge of the bed, his tall, lean figure imposing and commanding, his dark robes making him look every bit the cold, enigmatic man you had first met. But now, there was something more in his eyes—a burning need, a primal desire that he could no longer suppress.

Snape’s hands moved to the clasp of his robes, his fingers deftly undoing it before he shrugged off the heavy fabric, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. He remained silent, his gaze never leaving yours as he began to unbutton his shirt, each movement slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The pale, angular planes of his chest were revealed inch by inch, the faint scars and the dark trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers only adding to his rugged appeal.

Your mouth went dry as you watched him, your pulse quickening with each piece of clothing he shed. By the time he reached the waistband of his trousers, you were practically trembling with anticipation, your body aching with the need to feel him against you.

Snape didn’t rush. Instead, he paused, his fingers lingering on the waistband of his trousers as he looked down at you, his gaze dark and hungry. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, roughened by both his desire and the ever-present pain in his throat.

“I’m going to fill you,” he rasped, the words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. His expression was one of pure, unbridled lust, his eyes locked on yours as he added, “I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

The raw, primal promise in his words left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as heat pooled between your thighs. You could feel the wetness gathering there, your body responding to his words in a way that was utterly instinctive. Snape’s eyes flickered with satisfaction as he noticed your reaction, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your ankle, pulling you toward the edge of the bed with a firm, steady grip. You let out a soft gasp as your back arched, your dress riding up higher, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. Snape’s hand slid up your calf, his touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through you as he pushed your dress up, revealing the lacy fabric of your underwear.

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but commanding, a dark edge to his tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed without hesitation, your hands trembling slightly as you reached down to slip the dress over your head. The fabric pooled on the floor beside the bed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Snape’s gaze raked over your body, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word almost lost in the roughness of his voice. His hand moved to your hip, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear before slipping beneath the fabric. The feel of his hand against your bare skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as he caressed you with slow, deliberate strokes.

You moaned softly as his fingers found your wetness, your body arching into his touch. Snape’s gaze was fixed on yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved his fingers with a practiced precision, teasing you with light, feathering touches that left you gasping for more.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as you looked up at him. “Yes, Severus, please.”

Snape’s smirk widened at your desperate plea, his hand leaving your core to grip your thigh, spreading your legs wider. He moved between them, his trousers slipping down to reveal his throbbing erection, the sight of it making your mouth water with desire.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip brushing against your wet folds as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. The sensation was electric, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, possessive hunger that left you dizzy. You could feel the tension coiling within him, the barely restrained need that pulsed through every inch of his body.

With a low growl, Snape pushed inside you, the thick length of him stretching you to the brink as he buried himself to the hilt. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it as he filled you completely. You could feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the raw power in the way he moved.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, his thrusts deep and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Snape’s gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on yours as he claimed you with every thrust, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he drove into you with a primal, almost savage need. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill…mine to breed.”

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as you let out a low, breathy moan. Snape’s hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you against him with each thrust, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the intensity of the moment.

You could feel the heat building within you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Snape’s name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge.

Snape's breath was ragged as he buried himself inside you, his trousers bunched up around his ankles, trapped by the boots he hadn't bothered to remove. It didn’t matter to him—nothing mattered now except the primal, driving need to fill you, to claim you in the most profound and intimate way. His dark, greasy hair clung to his forehead as he hovered above you, his pale, angular face set in a mask of intense concentration and desire.

His thrusts were deep, deliberate, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge, to ensure that every inch of him was felt within you. His normally stoic expression was marred only slightly by the flicker of pain that crossed his features when he dared to speak. The venomous scars on his neck, the constant reminder of his near brush with death, flared in protest with every word. But his voice—deep, roughened by the damage to his throat—slipped out when he could no longer contain the twisted fantasies that had consumed him.

“Mine,” he rasped, the single word filled with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours as his hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place as he thrust into you again, harder this time, his need taking over. “You’re mine.”

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the soft crackling of the fire the only other noise breaking the silence. His boots scraped against the floor as he shifted, driving into you with a relentless pace that left no room for doubt about his intentions. The weight of his body pinned you beneath him, the full force of his need pressing down on you.

His mind was filled with images—visions of you swollen with his child, your body heavy with the life he’d put inside you. The thought only spurred him on, fueling the dark hunger that had taken root within him. He could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye—a little girl, with your beauty and his cunning, a powerful witch who would carry on the legacy he had never thought he would pass on.

“You’ll give me a daughter,” he whispered hoarsely, the words a struggle, each one tinged with the pain it caused him to speak. But he had to say it, had to let you know the depths of his desire. His fingers dug into your skin as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You’ll carry her, and she’ll be perfect…just like you.”

The idea of breeding you, of seeing you swollen with his child, made him almost desperate in his movements. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal precision that left you gasping, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His breathing was labored, the strain of holding back the pain of speaking clear in the way his chest heaved, but he couldn’t stop now. His fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as he watched the effect it had on you, the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled beneath him. It was intoxicating, knowing that he had this power over you, that he could bring you to the brink of ecstasy with just a few well-placed touches.

“You’re going to be so beautiful,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “Round and full…carrying my child. My daughter.” His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as he thrust into you with a newfound urgency. “I’ll protect you…both of you…no one will ever hurt you.”

His words were rough, almost growled out between clenched teeth as the fire within him built to a fever pitch. He was close, so close, and he could feel you tightening around him, the telltale signs of your impending climax pushing him even further.

“Come for me,�� he commanded, his voice low and commanding despite the strain. “I want to feel you…want to feel you fall apart around me.”

You were helpless to resist him, your body obeying his every command as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your climax hit you hard, your entire body tensing as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Snape watched you, his gaze dark and intense, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a final, powerful thrust.

He could feel you convulsing around him, the tight, wet heat of your climax pulling him over the edge with you. He let out a low, guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you, his release flooding you with a heat that seemed to burn through him.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the faint rustle of the sheets as Snape remained still above you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of catching his breath. His dark hair fell forward, obscuring his face as he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips rough and warm against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered one final time, his voice barely more than a breath. “And you’ll give me everything.”

His words hung in the air, a promise, a vow, as he slowly pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness almost jarring after the intensity of what had just passed between you. He laid down beside you, pulling you close to his chest, his long fingers tangling in your hair as he held you tightly, as if afraid to let you go.

In the silence that followed, Snape closed his eyes, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. But even as sleep began to take him, the thought of you carrying his child—his daughter—brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to his lips.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape allowed himself to hope for the future.

After the intensity of your shared moment had begun to settle, you found yourself recovering faster than Severus, whose chest still heaved as he fought to catch his breath. His dark eyes were closed, his pale face flushed with the remnants of passion, and his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. For a brief moment, you simply watched him, your heart swelling with a deep, unspoken affection. It was in these quiet moments, after the storm of his desire had passed, that you felt closest to him—that you saw the man behind the formidable exterior, vulnerable and human.

You moved gently, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the scarred skin of his neck, your lips lingering just above the spot where Nagini's fangs had once pierced him. His eyes fluttered open at the sensation, and he looked down at you with a mixture of exhaustion and something that might have been tenderness, though he would never admit it aloud. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he might protest your ministrations, but you silenced him with a look, your eyes conveying a wordless command.

“Don’t move,” you whispered, your voice soft yet firm as you began to reach down, your hands deftly unfastening the boots that had remained stubbornly on his feet. Snape tried to protest, his brows knitting together in irritation at the thought of you taking care of him, but the protest died on his lips when you fixed him with a pointed stare.

“Be quiet, Severus,” you instructed gently, though there was no mistaking the steel behind your words. “Let me do this.”

For once, he complied, his lips pressing into a thin line as he allowed you to help him. It was an act of trust, a rare thing for him, and you didn’t take it lightly. You removed his boots with care, followed by the trousers that had bunched awkwardly around his ankles, your fingers brushing against his skin as you worked. Despite the lingering heat between you, your touch was tender, almost reverent, as you undressed him, revealing the lean, angular planes of his body that were usually hidden beneath his dark, forbidding robes.

When you were finished, you summoned your wand with a simple flick of your wrist, casting a quiet cleaning charm over the two of you. The warm, tingling sensation of the magic swept away the remnants of your passion, leaving you both feeling refreshed, though the intimate connection between you remained unbroken.

You returned to his side, snuggling against him with a contented sigh, your head resting on his chest as you traced lazy patterns on his skin with your fingertips. Snape’s arm wrapped around you almost instinctively, his long fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that calmed your own.

Lifting your head slightly, you rested your chin on his chest, your eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. “At this rate, we’ll have a baby soon,” you remarked with a teasing smile, your tone light despite the weight of your words. “You’ve practically made love to me every day since I mentioned you’d be a great father.”

A faint flush colored Snape’s cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you couldn’t be sure. His gaze flickered with a mix of emotions—desire, uncertainty, and something deeper, something almost fragile. You knew that the idea of fatherhood had taken root in his mind, had sparked a longing that he hadn’t fully realized until you had voiced it aloud.

“It… seems to have stuck in my head,” he admitted gruffly, his voice low and rough as he avoided your gaze, his fingers still gently tangled in your hair. “The idea of… breeding you, of putting babies inside you… it… it turns me on to no end.”

There was a vulnerability in his admission, a raw honesty that was rare for him, and it made your heart ache with affection for the man who had always kept his true self hidden beneath layers of cold detachment. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over the scar on his neck as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Severus,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “And I’d be honored to carry your child… our child.”

Snape’s breath hitched at your words, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find the truth in them. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. “You… would?”

You nodded, your smile widening as you rested your forehead against his, your heart swelling with love for the man who had once believed himself incapable of it. “Of course. There’s no one else I’d want to share this with… no one else I’d trust with this.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Snape’s lips, and he let out a shaky breath as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive tenderness that spoke volumes. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope—not just for the future, but for a future with you, a future where he could be the man, the husband, and the father he had never believed he could be.

As you lay together in the quiet of the old manor, the fire in the hearth casting a warm glow over your entwined bodies, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, you had found each other. And as Snape’s hand drifted to rest on your abdomen, his fingers splayed over your skin in a gesture that was both protective and tender, you knew that the love you shared would be enough to carry you through whatever came next.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #severus snape x reader #severus snape

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goldennymphh · 2 days

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Sisters BestFriend

Resident Lover! Cassandra Dimitrescu x F! Reader Warnings Before You Read : Secret Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, short story and slightly basic fluff, just two insomniacs who spend most nights together a/n i just wanted to write something for one of my RL favs. Ik its not long and drawn out but i enjoyed writing it. word count; 1.3k

You met her through Bela. Often watching her from afar. You knew how people felt about her. How she'd lead so many woman along like dogs on a leash. Yet you couldn't help but feel drawn to her. To her entire being. But you'd barely get a chance to focus on her before Bela was dragging you along back up the stairs to her room to do whatever she wanted. As you followed your long-time friend up the stairs, you could feel eyes following you. But as soon as you two got up the stairs and into Bela's room, you were practically cornered. Bela's eyes narrowing as you seemed to shrink down at her harsh stare.

"Don't." "Don't what?" "Don't fall for her."

At your friends warning, it was hard to heed it. Not when that night you left Bela's room to go towards the bathroom and practically ran into her. She caught you almost like a damsel and didn't exactly let you go, her eyes taking in the sight of you dipped down in front of her. One of her hands wrapped around your wrist and the other supporting your back like it was nothing. Her dark hair falling down by the sides of her illuminated face by the candles lit in the hallway. "You should watch where you go. You could've hurt yourself."

Her voice was simple and smooth but quiet as to not wake her other two attentive sisters in the household. Well Bela, not Daniela so much. Their mother was probably still awake by now grading papers for tomorrow. But her office and room were halfway across the manor. As she helped you stand to your feet, she didn't let go of your hand just yet. "'m sorry.. do you know where the restroom is?" You asked with a breath. Eyes glancing up at hers. A smirk quirked up at her lips and nodded. She removed her hand from your wrist and instead moved to place her hand on your lower back. Leading you down the hall. You followed next to her with a shaky breath to which she seemed to notice. Her thumb gently rubbing against the fabric of your pajamas. She gave a small smile to you as if comforting you.

As you two walked through the house. She was fairly comforting in the darkness of the premises. Her hand stayed firmly on your lower back. Even the restroom was quite a walk or.. did she lead you to another one? Anyways because a soon as you two go to the restroom, she reluctantly removed her hand. Almost as if she didn't wish to lose your warmth from her hands. Then a question sparked in your mind before you entered the restroom.

"No you didn't. I was already awake." "Oh.. okay."

You nodded your head to this, okay with the answer she gave. Taking in a breath, you moved into the restroom. Closing the door behind you, locking it in place. You took a bit before coming back out after washing you hands. You half expected her to be gone by then, but there she was. Leaning against the side of the wall - waiting patiently for you. She gave a small smile at the sight of you, gently holding her hand out to lead you back to Bela's room. Instead of holding your back this time, she gently let her hand slide into yours. Slightly leading you down the hall, albeit she seemed to be dragging her feet a bit. As if she did not wish to return you just yet. "Do you want to go for a walk?" Your voice spoke up carefully, as to not startle the woman who didn't seem to get enough sleep. She glanced back at you, thinking on your words but then nodded with a slight smile. Her hand gently holding to yours.

. . .

She led you outside into the cold night. A smile on her lips as her family was right inside arguing over lord knows what. Her hands moving to cup your face, leaning in to press her lips to yours softly. Pressing up against the outside of the manor. Your hands moving to gently grasp her jacket. Bela had invited you to stay over for the holidays so that you wouldn't have to fly a plane to go see family you couldn't bother to care about. Yet Bela didn't know that this just gave you a chance to spend more time with the one you wanted. Her hands entangled in your hair as if she was starved, the faint taste of coffee on her lips. Despite not being particular to the cold, she was okay being in it because you were here. And well Bela would flip if she had learned of this.

Days at the Dimitrescu manor were always amusing. They had just gotten more so since Cassandra decided she wished to set her sights on her sisters best friend. It took a bit of convincing and soft words and presents, but eventually you gave in. Because how could you not. She was sweet and adoring despite her reputation. You had tried to bring it up a few times and she never denied it, but she told you that you had nothing to worry about in those regards. Later in the night, after everyone had settled down. Bela had retired to her room and you had told her that you would spend the night in the living room so that she could 'get a night away from your kicking.' She's overdramatic at times, you aren't that bad.

As you laid on the plush couch, cuddled up with a blanket Bela had given you. Your head laid against the soft pillow as you watched the fire in the fireplace roar, keeping the room warm. Thats when you heard it. "Psst." Your head popped up from its spot, looking over to the noise to see Cassandra standing there in a robe. She had a small smirk on her lips as she nodded to upstairs, as if telling you to follow.

So you did, you stood from your warm spot and headed upstairs. Your arms hugging themselves. Once you made your way up to her, she gently held her hand out to you. Biting your bottom lip as a smile spreads on your lips, your own hand reaching out to grab hers. Fingers intertwining as if its always meant to be this way. She started to head down the hall with you quietly. If anyone heard, it'd be Daniela who could honestly care less. She was too much busy obsessing over the latest Hall Mark movie she's found.

Cassandra led you to her bedroom which was large and had a bathroom connected like most of their bedrooms. Rich people. She let go of your hand despite your small noise of disapproval, which she gave a slight smile too. Not many words often needed to be shared between the two of you. She walked up to her vanity, reaching atop it to grab a sage green present with black ribbon wrapped around it. She then made her way back over to you. Holding it out with one hand to which you took it from her, a raised eyebrow. You held it gently incase something could break inside, your hand moving to start undoing the carefully tied ribbon. Eyes looking down, and inside to see a box with a fancy logo on the front.

".. Cass you know I don-" "Shush and just open it."

A breath left you at her quick words. But once you opened it, instead of a necklace or something inside. It was a piece of paper. Well multiple pieces of paper. You gently reached out to pick it up, unfolding it to find a well thought out letter with multiple little drawings here and there. Some were recreations of the times you spent together. A well thought gift. Cassandra gently made her way over to you, her hand moving to your lower back as she gently pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Happy Holidays Dear.."

#resident lover #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil x reader #alcina dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident lover x reader #x reader

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 2 days

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seeing spirit leading the story in the latest chapter was nice, will we learn more about her, backstory wise? afaik, all we know is she was captured by bandits and is repaying reader by helping her, and will eventually see reader as a sister figure. she doesn't speak monkey, so that most likely means she doesn't have a troop right? who did spirit grow up with?

Oho. Now this is fun! Spirit's backstory is mostly a mystery to most people because she is a lone monkey demoness. She does have family, but she never talks to them. (Mostly because she doesn't know most of them)

Spoilers below on her backstory. You know I probably should add these cuts for most questions... eh it's fine.

Spirit is the daughter of a monkey demon and a human woman. They weren't in love, far from it they simply wanted a one night stand (or rather they both got drunk and ended up having a one night stand). So after they were done the demon left and never came back.

The woman Chu Lin gave birth to a single monkey cub, whom she raised with love and care. Being human she had no idea about monkey customs, so she never taught her daughter about it since she didn't know about them. Like at all.

Which results in Spirit, not knowing how to speak monkey, 'properly groom' (she does it instinctively but was never taught so it's not proper) and she was shunned by the village along with her mother.

Because she and her mother were outcasted from their home, Spirit didn't like humans. Except when they traveled she met several who had no problems with her appearances and looks. So she saw people as just that people both good and bad. She knows you can't judge a book by it's cover ever.

Along their travel to find a new home, they came across a forest. One with a very playful six tailed fox demoness named Su. A demoness skilled in fire, lighting, and a few glamours. She lived in the forest for a long while before they traveled through. She played several pranks on the two as they passed through but decided just before they could leave to give Spirit a gift. She taught her how to use glamours, just enough to make her look human.

Because of this, her mother and her were finally able to settle down in a human village for a while. There, her mother met a man that she fell in love with. They got married rather quickly, and Spirit decided that it was then that she should leave. Her mother was safe and taken care of, she was now an adult and could take care of herself too.

She stayed for the wedding of course and got to see them after their honeymoon. After they saw each other one last time once their honey moon was over though, she left. She gave her mother a gift, a small Jade pin in the shape of a monkey and just left. (She did say goodbye and their were tears)

The reason she wanted to leave was to find her father, the man who helped give her life. She needed to learn more about her home and culture. So she set off to learn about her own kind, with a bow and her glamours she was she that she could do this.

However, there was an accident. She ran into a demon who was rather powerful. After fighting for a while, she got knocked out and lost most of her memories. So she doesn't remember anything about her Iife before the fight. All she remembers is that she got into a fight with a golden monkey demon.

She began to travel after she woke up. The demon was long gone by then. It's about two years before she gets ambushed by the bandits, and in that time, she learns several things about life. So that's why she's not running around trying to remember her life because she's already tried and failed. So she wanders the world searching for... something. What was she searching for?

Until she gets ambushed by bandits. She is pissed off by this, of course. They had ambushed her while she was sleeping and stole her bow! So now she has put her mission on hold to help a human. At least she's a very nice human, so she doesn't mind it too much.

Besides, maybe she'll be able to find her memories with the help of this human. After all, she did appear out of nowhere. Though she doesn't get her hopes up with this.

Of course that is until the monkeys cubs get involved. She doesn't mind cubs truly she doesn't. She normally likes them not quite love because she's not good with kids but she likes them. But something about these two... it's just so something... she can't quite put her finger on it. Especially with how they are getting clingyer and clingyer by the day.

She gets annoyed at the two often and at times wants to just toss them aside. Of course, they don't really give her that chance and try their best to hog reader all for themselves. Not that they'll try to do anything to Spirit, she is the provider that gets most of the food for Reader after all.

Eventually, she'll meet her dad (on a certain island) and learn he has a mate, who he got together with after the whole one night stand. And she'll learn that she has two siblings, who are very keen on the idea of a big sister. Her father's mate is even welcoming to her, much to her surprise.

After all if that was her dad, and that was his mate. But his mate isn't her mother than... who is her mother?

I loved this ask! Please send more my way if you want. No pressure it just helps me think on my stories and no I did not just come up with her backstory (I totally did, but I like it so meh!)

Also, if you wanna learn about Su, then send an ask. She's gonna be popping up in the story too later. @sleepingdramaqueen has heard about her before. Hehe~

And yes, I will add more to this backstory, but I just came up with it, so yeah. I'm debating on if I'm gonna mate her ace or give her a love interest. So far, she doesn't have one (if you have any suggestions for one, though send them my way!!)

#lmk oc #lmk fanfic #lmk oc backstory #cursed warlords au #cursed warlords lmk au #lmk oc and reader #asks #phoenixasks #oc and reader #shadowpeach x reader

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lovezbrownies · 15 hours

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I wanna request for the bully, Lauren. How does she react when she discovers that she's pregnant with her darling's child? They're still in the final year of High School.

I mean, she did invite reader to her house (forcefully) and reader made things unintentionally...suggestive.

this was hard oomfie icl >< Lauren is a lil ooc and so is Julie and I'm sleepyy

Happy Accident. (Yandere!Bully x GN!Reader.) Chapter one.

Lauren's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Maybe you two had a bit too much carefree fun, which ended up completely flipping your lives.

Warnings: Pregnancy, suggestive, and pregnancy panic. Also a lil bit of coercion.

Lauren loves you. And you can tell, not just from the way she demands your attention, but from the moments she opens up, even though she’d never admit it out loud. It starts with casual invitations, telling you that her mother isn’t home and there’s an “emergency” she needs your help with. And by emergency, of course, she means she’s just feeling a bit too needy. If that counts as an emergency. You learned quickly that when Lauren called you over, it was rarely about anything serious.

That first time she’d beckoned you to her house, there had been a sense of urgency, of insistence in her voice. “Oh, come on,” she’d said, almost whining, “You’ve got to let go of that stress. I can help.” Her attempts to sound casual were betrayed by the way she stumbled over her words, her face flushed as she avoided looking you in the eye. She hadn’t hesitated, though, to demand things more forcefully, to act like it was your problem to fix her tension, her frustration, all by simply giving in to her advances.

You didn’t really know how to say no, not when she was so insistent. And besides, it wasn’t like the idea was entirely unappealing. Lauren, for all her intensity, was captivating in her own strange way. Her boldness, the way she took control, it was all so different from what you expected. And when you finally gave in—after months of teasing and her pushing every boundary you had—you realized she had been right.

You felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted. You hadn’t even realized how much tension had built up until it was gone. So, what started as a one-time thing became routine. Whenever her mother was too busy with her research or meetings, Lauren would send you a flood of texts, pleading for you to come over. It was almost a game now—her exaggeration, her declarations that she’d “fall into a deep depression” without you were all part of the fun. And honestly, you didn’t mind.

But as casual as it seemed, there was always an underlying intensity. Lauren needed this connection. She reveled in the physicality of it, in how much you depended on her to release your own stress. It gave her a sense of control that she thrived on. And, of course, the marks both of you bore—hickeys, bruises, reminders of what happened behind closed doors—were a testament to the fact that this was more than just a passing fling. Lauren was possessive, fiercely so, and the constant physical reminders on your skin were her way of marking you as hers.

Things had been going so well, at least until recently.

"Hm. Lauren, come to the study, now." Her mother’s voice cut through the house, the speakers embedded in every room amplifying the sound. Julie's calm tone, the kind that always felt more like a command than a request, made the hair on the back of Lauren's neck stand up. Julie, award-winning scientist and notorious for her lack of emotional expression, rarely summoned Lauren unless it was something important.

Lauren felt her stomach twist. Julie had been acting a little strange lately, asking questions about her health that felt invasive, even for her. Lauren hadn’t had her period in two months, something she had tried not to think too much about. Maybe it was just stress—after all, she was juggling school, extracurriculars, and her relationship. But the truth gnawed at the edges of her mind.

Lauren entered the room, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Hey, mo—”

“Are you pregnant, Lauren?” Julie’s question was blunt, cutting through any pretense of a casual conversation.

Lauren’s heart hammered in her chest as she stood frozen in front of her mother, feeling as though the walls of the lab were closing in on her. Julie’s calm demeanor—always so cool and composed—only heightened the tension as Lauren struggled to form coherent thoughts. Pregnancy? It was a word that didn’t fit in her life, her carefully constructed reality. She blinked hard, her lips parting as if to protest, but the words never came. Instead, she stared at the sterile cup in her hand, as though it held the answer to a question she never wanted to ask.

“Mom, I—this is ridiculous!” Lauren snapped, her voice shaking, trying to find some footing in her usual confidence. “I can’t be pregnant. I mean… there’s no way. You’re just overreacting or something, right?” Her fingers gripped the cup tighter, nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold onto the last vestiges of control.

Julie’s eyes, sharp and clinical as always, didn’t waver. “Overreacting? I’ve observed very real signs, Lauren. I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’—I deal in facts. And right now, the facts suggest a possibility we need to eliminate.”

Lauren’s jaw clenched, but her defiance felt weak under her mother’s unrelenting gaze. “Fine,” she muttered, snatching the cup with an eye roll, though the act was more about maintaining her dignity than any real objection. “But this is so humiliating, Mom. Do you even care how weird this is?”

“I care about the truth,” Julie replied simply, folding her arms across her chest in that annoyingly logical way she had. “And I care about your well-being, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

Lauren huffed, stomping off toward the bathroom, her mind spinning. Peeing in a cup for her mother—a scientist—wasn’t exactly on the list of things she thought she’d have to do at 18. As she closed the bathroom door behind her, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her usually flawless appearance seemed… off. Her skin was a bit more flushed, her eyes wider than normal, like a deer caught in headlights. She sighed, placing the cup on the counter.

“This is insane,” she whispered to herself, biting her lip as she started the test. The quiet, sterile bathroom only amplified her fears. Each passing second felt like a countdown to a life-altering moment she wasn’t ready for. She had never planned for this. Sure, you two had been careless, reckless even, but this? This was something else entirely. Something permanent.

A few minutes later, Lauren returned to the lab, placing the cup on the counter next to her mother. Julie, without a word, took it and began her scientific analysis, her movements precise, focused. Lauren couldn’t help but pace nervously, her hands wringing together as her mind raced.

Julie’s gaze was fixed on the small screen as the test results processed. The cold, sterile environment of the lab only amplified the tension in the air. Lauren could feel her palms getting sweaty, her heartbeat thrumming loudly in her ears. Time seemed to stretch infinitely as her mother’s fingers moved with mechanical precision, each click of the mouse a reminder of how this moment could change everything. Lauren tapped her foot anxiously, trying to maintain her composure, but it felt like the walls were closing in.

She didn’t want to admit it, but fear had rooted itself deep inside her, growing with each passing second. The thought of being pregnant—actually, undeniably pregnant—was something that she had shoved to the back of her mind, convinced that it couldn’t happen to her. That wasn’t how her story was supposed to go. Not now. Not when everything in her life was laid out so perfectly.

Suddenly, the printer buzzed, a small slip of paper sliding out with that same mechanical efficiency her mother had. Julie reached for it, holding the printout with her typical calm, almost detached demeanor. Lauren’s eyes were glued to the paper as her mother scanned it, and when Julie’s gaze flicked back to her daughter, Lauren could see it in her eyes—there was no escaping this.

“It’s positive,” Julie stated, her voice as steady and measured as if she were discussing a mundane lab experiment rather than her daughter’s future. “You’re pregnant.”

Lauren felt her knees buckle, her legs suddenly weak beneath her. The word “pregnant” echoed in her mind, over and over again, each repetition louder, more terrifying than the last. She had hoped for a different outcome, prayed that her mother had been wrong, that this was all some huge mistake. But there it was, staring her in the face, undeniable. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No, no, no… this can’t be happening.”

She sank into the nearest chair, her mind spiraling. It felt like everything she had built—her carefully controlled, perfect life—was crumbling in an instant. The confident, fiery Lauren was nowhere to be found. In her place was a panicking teenager who suddenly felt like the ground was slipping out from under her. “Mom, I can’t be pregnant!” she said, her voice rising as panic set in. “I’m still in high school! I have plans! I’m going to college! How am I supposed to do any of that if I’m pregnant?”

Julie watched her for a moment, her expression still neutral, though there was a softness in her eyes that Lauren didn’t often see. She didn’t reach out to embrace her daughter, but she moved closer, standing tall as if trying to offer support through her presence alone. “Lauren,” she began, her tone a mix of sternness and something close to concern, “I won’t lie to you. This will change your life, whether you like it or not. There are consequences to your actions, and those consequences don’t just disappear because you don’t want them to.”

Lauren groaned, burying her face in her hands. Her stomach churned, the weight of her mother’s words sinking deeper and deeper into her bones. She didn’t need a lecture right now, but the worst part was—her mother wasn’t wrong. This was the reality. “What am I supposed to do?” she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands.

Julie exhaled softly, sitting down beside her. “You have decisions to make, Lauren. And none of them will be easy. But before you start thinking about all the what-ifs, let’s talk about what’s happening right now. You’re going to have a child, and that will change every aspect of your life. Teen pregnancy is no small matter, and you know as well as I do that this is going to affect your education, your career… everything.”

Lauren swallowed hard, trying to suppress the growing lump in her throat. Her mother was right, and that made it even worse. Her dreams of heading off to college, of being someone successful, someone who made a difference in the world—how could any of that happen now? She could feel tears welling up, but she blinked them back. Lauren wasn’t the type to cry, not over something like this. She had to stay strong. She had to be the tough, no-nonsense girl she always was.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. “We were careful—at least, I thought we were. This… this isn’t fair.”

Julie raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening just a fraction. “Lauren, being ‘careful’ isn’t foolproof. You’re an adult now, and it’s time you start taking responsibility for the choices you make. Life doesn’t care if it’s fair or not.”

Lauren winced, the words stinging more than she expected. She knew her mother was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Julie wasn’t being mean, but her rational, scientific approach felt colder than ever. “So what, are you going to lecture me the whole time? Tell me I’ve ruined my life?”

Julie’s gaze softened again, and she shook her head. “No, Lauren. I’m not here to lecture you. I’m here to help you understand the reality of your situation. You’ve made a mistake—one that many people make—but it’s not the end of your life. However, you need to face the consequences head-on. Running away from this won’t solve anything.”

Lauren pressed her lips together, her head still spinning. “What am I supposed to tell them?” she asked, her voice small. She wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. The thought of facing you made her stomach churn with anxiety. What if you don’t take it well? What if you freak out? What if you walked away from her completely?

Julie tilted her head slightly, studying her daughter with those sharp, analytical eyes. “You tell them the truth,” she said simply. “There’s no point in hiding this. They deserve to know, and you deserve to have support.”

Lauren groaned, slumping back in her chair. “But what if they freak out? What if they leave me? What if they think this was all some trap or something?”

“You don’t know how they’ll react until you tell them,” Julie replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “But delaying the conversation will only make things worse. The sooner you address this, the sooner you can start figuring out what comes next.”

Lauren sat in silence for a moment, her mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. She felt like she was trapped in a whirlwind of fear, uncertainty, and regret. But even through the panic, there was a small part of her that knew her mother was right. She couldn’t avoid this forever. She couldn’t hide from the reality of what was happening. No matter how much she wanted to.

With a deep breath, she pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she pressed on your contact. The phone rang once, twice, and then your familiar voice answered on the other end, “Uh– Hello?” Hearing your voice immediately sent a wave of comfort but also a wave of guilt both emotions clashing as she tries to bring up the courage to speak.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm. “I… I need to talk to you. Can you come over? Please?”

There was a pause on the other end before you agreed, your voice tinged with exhaustion, “Yea, okay but I don’t–”. Lauren hung up quickly not even trying to let you talk anymore else she’d crumble in fear, her stomach twisting into knots as she set the phone down. This was it. The moment she had been dreading. She glanced over at her mother, who gave her a small nod of approval.

“You’ll get through this, Lauren,” Julie said, her voice softer now, more like a mother than a scientist. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Lauren paced around the room, her nerves frayed to the point where she felt like she might unravel completely. Her mind kept spinning through every possible scenario, from the worst to the best, but no matter how many times she tried to rehearse what she would say, the words just wouldn’t come together. How was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to make you understand? Would you step up? Would you yell at her? Are you finally at your tipping point and is this the last shove to finally break up with her?

The doorbell rang, jolting her from her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she considered not answering. Maybe if she stayed in her room, pretended she wasn’t home, this whole nightmare would just go away. But she knew better than that. Running away wasn’t an option.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, her eyes immediately meeting yours. You looked at her, confused over how sweaty and scared she looked, your brows furrowed as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. “Lauren? What’s going on? You look weird.”

Lauren’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, her mind screaming at her to just say it, but the words stuck in her throat. She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to summon the courage to face this head-on.

“I… I don’t know how to say this,” she began, her voice shaky. She could feel your eyes on her, your concern growing with each passing second. “But I have to tell you because… because you deserve to know.” Lauren swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she finally forced the words out.

“I’m pregnant.”

#x reader #oc x reader #gn reader #yandere oc x reader #tw yandere #gender neutral #yandere x darling #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #female yandere #female yandere x reader #yandere x you #lauren mccanister

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bones4thecats · 11 hours

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Hi, it's me again. Can I request twst with a gn reader where they meet their future child if you could 🫶🏻

➸ Twst! Future Child; Ace Trappola × S/O

Character: Ace Trappola A/N: I've read so many of these that I've wanted to write my own one, so thanks for requesting this 🫶🏻Anon! Disclaimer(s): Nothing

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ace Trappola ═══════════════════════════╝

🪅 Ace hummed as he walked around the campus, his footsteps matching the beats of the song playing in his earbuds. He was ready to go see you at your dorm in Pomefiore

🪅 As he walked around, he noticed Yuu running around with a tiny child following him. This confused Ace, as there were no children that ever came to NRC, especially one that would've known Yuu other than Cheka, and that prince was back home (he thinks)

🪅 He watched as Grim tackled the child, making them fall into the ground. Yuu then walked back and picked up the kid, next thing he knew, Grim was yelling his name and motioning for him to come over as fast as possible

🪅 Ace stepped up and looked at the young girl in Yuu's arms. The little girl was gripping onto his sleeve and messing around with his sleeve as Grim asked him what he thought the child looked like and if she was familiar

🪅 He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head lightly as he observed the child

🪅 She did look slightly like him, and her eyes did remind him of your own. But, you guys had no children so there was no way that she could be yours. Perhaps his brother had a secret love child?

"Dada!" She yelled, making everyone look at her shocked.

"Ace, you have a child?!"

"What? No! If I ever did, you think I'd let her come to this school?!"

"Ace? What's going on?"

🪅 Turning around quickly, everyone looked at you as you walked up. You were dressed up differently than you would, as you weren't wearing your Pomefiore uniform, so Yuu and Grim had to contemplate who you were for a second

"Nothing!"

"Mama!"

"Oh Great Sevens..."

🪅 Looking at the toddler, you smiled and picked her up. She just laughed and you tossed her up and down, a cute, chubby smile being placed on her cute, chubby face. Her cheeks grew a tiny rose-tone as she laughed with you

🪅 Ace flushed slightly as you messed with the baby perfectly. All of a sudden, they could hear the push of magic come through as a portal appeared out of literally nowhere

"Casi! Where are you, sweetheart!"

🪅 Everyone's eyes widened and jaws dropped as a taller and more mature-looking you came through the portal. Your hair was tied up in a messy bun as your long-sleeved yellow turtleneck with overalls popped against the more desolate colors around you all

"Oh, there you are!" Future you said.

🪅 Future! You ran up and grabbed your baby gently, hugging her as you smiled and scolded her for touching her Father's magical pen without permission, resulting in her being sent into the past

"Uhm... who are you? Because you look a lot like my girlfriend." Ace said nervously.

"She's our future wife, and mother to our child." said a taller Ace from the portal's opening.

"Wait- that's Y/N?! And you guys have a child?!" Yuu yelled.

"Yes...? Oh, we're in NRC, which means we just started dating a couple months ago. Sorry for spoiling the future, young us!" Future you said as you giggled.

🪅 You nervously smiled as you buried your face inside of your hoodie's hood, pulling the strings to keep your beyond-flustered face hidden from the surrounding people

"We should get going, Honey. Deuce said he needed us for his lesson at the Academy."

"I swear... Deuce needs to find another person to perform magic tricks. You're busy with work so much." Future you said as you walked away, your baby cooing in your arms as you walked.

🪅 While you and Future Ace walked into the portal and back to your time, baby Casi waved and yelled goodbye to you and the others in the area. And when they disappeared, Ace turned to look at you, only to see you were gone

🪅 He then pulled out his phone as messaged you

Mace-the-Ace❤️: Y'know we can make that future start earlier than intended Thorn-Hearted❤️❤️: Fuck off. Thorn-Hearted❤️❤️: love you... Mace-the-Ace❤️: Love you to! Thorn-Hearted❤️❤️: *Too Mace-the-Ace❤️: Shut up.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Heartslabyul #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST x Reader #Heartslabyul x Reader #S/O! Reader #F! Reader #GN! Reader #Ace Trappola #Ace Trappola x Reader

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hellinistical · 1 day

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fem! reader x rafayel. royal! au. sea horror! au. heavy angst. minor and major character death. slow burn. romance. fluff. explicit smut. trauma. religious themes. gore; hinted torture, cannibalism, decapitation, self-cannibalism. violence. wc: 4796 | status: on-going

masterlist | playlist | taglist | prev. | next.

II: GOLD STRUCK

The wagon wheels were obviously wobbly, the axles needing immediate tightening, not that anyone would care to repair them, though. The rainy season was in full effect, and the roads were the sky’s first victim. A dog chased after a squirrel, it’s barking annoying the merchant nearby. He cursed the dog and his bloodline.

“To hell with Linkon! To hell with this damned town!” His broom thwacked at the wood sign on his stall. “When I catch you, you damned dog, why, you’ll be roasted with your litter!”

“Oh Mr. Heggins, relax! It’s just a dog!” “Just a dog? Why you- you let him out, didn’t you, Caleb? I should get you fired from the mines for this!”

Caleb laughed, crow's feet forming by his eyes as he smiled big. His hands held orchids. He had picked them from his mother's garden earlier that morning, meticulously picking the best ones without her knowing. In his pocket, a small box rested.

Mr. Heggins eyes note the flowers and the small lump in his pocket.

“Today's the day, eh?”

Caleb nodded, his cheeks tinging with red.

“Yes, sir. I plan to ask tonight.”

“Ah, before the king's carriages come? Bad timing, no?”

“No, sir.”

It's quiet for a moment before the old man speaks up.

“And out of everyone you could have, you chose the L/n's daughter.” He lets out a pitiful chuckle. “I won't question it, but to each their own.”

As the old man walked off, Caleb hummed, his hand going to his pocket, patting it affectionately as he walked on through the streets.

He grabbed some pumpkin bread, the honey, and roasted almonds on it making it smell heavenly.

He collected some gifts. A doll, a kite, perfumes, and a watch.

And then he headed off towards Linkon's hill village.

*** Hot water splashed onto the weathered wood floorboards, the basin full to the brim. Sprigs of lavender, rosemary, and orange slices floated on the water, and Mrs. L/n poured fresh milk into the tub.

“Is this really necessary?” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not getting in there- I won’t even be selected.” “Yes, you are. And I’m tired of you not listening to me.” “Mother- owowowowowowow!”

The older woman grabbed her ear, pinching it lightly as she pulled her daughter towards the tub. Y/n held onto the wall, protesting. “I’m not going in there you; put milk in there! It’ll feel weird!” “Take the damn bath, child! Eva! Call your sisters and come here!”

“Coming, Mother!”

In moments, Y/n’s sisters came into the room. Eva smiled cheekily. “Today’s the day~!” “Like hell it is.” She shot back, wriggling in her mother’s grip. “You all act like you want me to get picked! Does Gran even know what you’re doing? Ma?” Her mother looked away, her hands going to the clasp on the back of Y/n’s dress. She undid it quickly, and the fabric pooled at her feet, ignoring her question.

“Strip out of your garments- Gods, you reek- is this wool? Y/n! You messed with the sheep again!” “I did not! I was with the ram- hey!” She placed her hand on the back of her head, the sting from her mother’s popping strong.

Lucy laughed, her chubby hands taking the stripped clothes to the wash.

“You’ve all gone mad. I hope you know that.” It comes out as a grumble, but she goes into the tub. But as soon as she stepped in, she complained. “The water’s freezing!” “That’s what you get for talking so long.” Her mother quipped. Her face sours as an orange slice touches her knee.

Raising her leg, Eva takes it, scrubbing it down as her mother starts to work on her hair. She hisses, her scalp tender as it gets scrubbed as well.

“The weather is lovely, isn’t it?” “Just dandy.”

“What time is it?” “Half after 12, mother.” “Lord! We need to hurry then.” “Did you always have such a strawberry complexion, sister?” Y/n kicks water at her sister. “Quiet, you-”

She’s interrupted by her mother pouring a bucket of water over her head. Her hair gets thrown in her face, and she swallows some soapy, milky water, sputtering and coughing.

“Both of you, quiet. I’ll be damned if our good name is tarnished because you both decide to act like Neanderthals.

Y/n coughed out some more water. “I think calling me a Neanderthal isn’t fair- but Eva on the other hand- Oh my fucki- can you stop getting soap in my eyes?!”

“Language!”

***

Y/n shivers as she steps out of the basin, her arms crossed, knees turned, and locked.

Some of the rosemary was tangled in her hair, but she paid it no mind.

Wrapping a towel around her body, Eva grabbed a comb, getting to work on untangling the knots and rosemary in her hair.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You would still get picked if you were covered in cow shit, so cease your bitching,” her mother shot back, not missing a beat as she scrubbed her daughter’s hair with renewed vigor.

Y/n's mouth dropped open, and she groaned. “You’re impossible!”

But her mother only raised an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are, complaining like always.”

Lucy waddled into the room, her small arms bundled up with a light blue chemise gown, the fabric soft and worn from years of storage. The short sleeves were cuffed, and though the dress had once been elegant, it was now out of date- the gaudy stitching showing the era it was from. Y/n’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what Lucy was holding.

“You can’t seriously expect me to—” Y/n began, her voice rising in protest.

But before she could finish, her mother yanked the towel off her body with practiced efficiency. “Of course not,” Mrs. L/n replied, her tone calm and unwavering. “Not until you’ve been plucked.”

Eva stepped forward, smirking as she handed her mother a razor, her grin mischievous. Y/n stared at it, her lips parting in disbelief. “Oh, come on...”

Mrs. L/n motioned for the sisters to leave. Eva, Lucy, and the others filed out, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they shut the door behind them, leaving the room unusually still. The bright daylight streaming through the window seemed too cheerful for what was about to happen.

Y/n sighed heavily and sat on the small stool, arms wrapped around herself in half-hearted defiance. Her mother wordlessly knelt beside her, taking the razor and beginning the task of smoothing over her skin with slow, deliberate strokes.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the quiet scrape of the blade against her skin, the soft splash of water, and the occasional sigh from Y/n. It was a silence filled with things left unsaid, the weight of what was coming pressing on both of them.

Y/n looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on the towel. "I still don't think this is going to work. They'll want someone else," she murmured, not meeting her mother's eyes.

Her mother didn't respond immediately, her hands steady as she worked. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before. "It’s not about what they want, Y/n. It’s about what you’re worth. Remember, the better you do, the better we all do."

“Why do you want me to get picked so badly?” Y/n asked quietly, her voice trembling despite her attempts to sound nonchalant. “You know I’ll mess up.”

Mrs. L/n paused mid-stroke, her hands hovering for a moment before continuing, the razor gently gliding over her daughter's skin. She didn't meet Y/n’s gaze, but her words were firm.

“I don’t want you to go. What gave you that idea?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the blunt response. Her throat tightened, but she said nothing, the silence suddenly heavy between them.

Her mother’s eyes were fixed on her task, but the strain in her voice betrayed her emotions. “You think I want to see you paraded around like livestock? Gods know I don’t.” She set the razor aside for a moment, finally looking up at Y/n. “But if you’re chosen… at least you’ll be safe.”

Y/n swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. For once, she had no sharp retort.

"...They'll smell the farm on me," Y/n tried to joke, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "And it's not like the town doesn't have a reputation for me."

Mrs. L/n froze, her brow furrowing before she snapped, "Y/n M/n L/n. You will stop talking this instant!" She threw her hands up in exasperation, the razor clattering against the basin. “Ugh, by the Gods, you will jinx yourself, and no amount of rosemary will be able to fix it!”

Y/n bit her lip, stifling a laugh despite the tension in the air. She knew her mother meant well, but the whole situation still felt so surreal—so out of place for someone like her.

There was a knock on the door. Y/n's head snapped toward it, her brows knitting in confusion. Her father’s voice called through the wooden frame, calm and warm as always.

“The boy is here, my loves.”

Y/n frowned. "Caleb? What’s he doing here?"

Mrs. L/n didn’t answer, her focus entirely on finishing the task at hand. She ignored Y/n’s questioning gaze and continued to move the razor carefully, finishing her legs before working up to her cunt.

"Never mind that," her mother finally said, her tone clipped. "We need to finish."

She turned toward the door, calling out in her usual brisk, commanding voice, “There’s a roast in the oven! Check it for me, please!”

“Aye, I will,” her father replied, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall.

Y/n slouched slightly on the stool, still puzzled. “He does know today is the collection, right?” Y/n asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“Perhaps he’s wishing to bid you good luck. But it will have to wait,” her mother replied, still focused on her work.

“Oh.”

Y/n sighed, the thought lingering in her mind. It made sense enough. They had talked about their plans—what they would do if she didn’t get picked. Caleb would take his father’s horse, and they’d ride out of Linkon together. A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the silly memory of him telling her the same thing every year.

But she hadn’t seen him lately; he was always busy with family matters, tending to the farm, or preparing for whatever life awaited him.

Once Y/n was dressed, she stood stiffly, adjusting the light blue gown that felt foreign against her skin. “I can feel every stitch, Mama.”

“It’s because your skin’s bare. It’s a good feeling. A good thing,” her mother replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“I’ll get cold easier.”

“Oh please. You weren’t even furry,” her mother teased.

Y/n let out an unexpected laugh, the tension breaking for just a moment. But then the door swung open, and her father stepped in, whistling a cheerful tune.

“There she is. My darlings!” He kissed his wife and then pressed a warm kiss to Y/n’s cheek. He pauses. “You smell like the farm.”

Y/n shot a look at her mother. “Told you so.”

“He's messing with you,” her mother said, rolling her eyes.

Just then, Caleb ducked his head under the doorframe, a bright smile on his face. “Good evening, Mrs. L/n. I’ve brought gifts.”

“Gifts? You shouldn’t have!” her mother exclaimed, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“I wanted to,” Caleb said, his tone sincere.

“Oh, you sweet boy. Come, let’s go talk.” Mrs. L/n took Caleb’s hand, pulling him out of the washroom.

As their eyes met, Caleb’s purple gaze sparkled with a kind of mischief that made Y/n’s heart race. She felt her cheeks heat up but managed to wave, a shy smile breaking through her earlier worries.

Once they left, Y/n found herself alone with her father in the warm, sunlit room. The air was thick with the lingering scents of lavender and rosemary, remnants of her mother’s frantic preparations. Mr. L/n glanced out the door, ensuring it was securely closed before turning to face her, his expression suddenly serious.

“Are you nervous, child?” he asked, his voice low and steady, a contrast to the bustling energy that had just filled the space.

“Nervous?” Y/n echoed, furrowing her brow in confusion. “About today?”

“Hm... no, can’t say I am.” She crossed her arms, trying to project confidence, but the truth was a tangle of emotions lay beneath her surface.

He studied her for a moment, the lines on his face deepening with concern. “You’re a horrible liar. That’s my fault. Should have taught you better.”

“Papa—”

“Listen. You’re no fool. You’ve got a good head on you,” he said, placing a hand on his chin, his thumb tracing the stubble there as he exhaled slowly, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like a storm cloud.

Y/n felt a knot tighten in her stomach, her heart racing as he continued. “That boy is going to propose. And you need to accept.”

Her eyes widened in shock, disbelief flashing across her face. “Huh?”

“That's how you don’t get picked,” he insisted, his tone firm yet gentle, as if trying to shield her from the harsh realities of their world.

“But—”

“Listen to me, child. You need to accept—today. Before it’s too late. Once you’re engaged, they can’t collect you.”

“To Caleb?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and uncertainty. The idea danced in her mind like a flickering flame, both enticing and frightening. Would it truly save her?

“Yes!” he affirmed, leaning closer, his eyes locking onto hers with a fervent intensity. “You think we have luck when it comes to this sort of thing? We don’t,” Mr. L/n continued, his voice lowering even further as he leaned closer. “We should have married you to him months ago, but there was never an opportunity. We have the papers. You just need to have some witnesses—”

“You cheated the system?!” Y/n whisper-yelled, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and indignation.

“Of course I did!” he replied, a hint of pride breaking through his urgency. “I did it to protect you. You have no idea what they do to the girls they collect. We have to outsmart them.”

“I can’t marry Caleb! Are you crazy? I don’t even want to get married—” Y/n protested, her voice rising in disbelief.

“This isn’t about what you want! You love the boy; he loves you!” Mr. L/n countered, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah, but—” she started, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words.

“Listen to me,” he urged, his voice softening as he stepped closer. “This is about survival. The kingdom doesn’t care about your dreams or desires; they only see you as another name on a list. But if you’re engaged, they can’t touch you.”

Y/n took a deep breath, the reality of her situation weighing heavily on her chest. “What if Caleb doesn’t want this? What if he thinks I’m just using him?”

“Caleb knows—he's been helping orchestrate this!” Mr. L/n interjected, a mix of urgency and relief washing over him.

Y/n’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What do you mean he knows? How could you—?”

“I spoke to him. He understands the situation, Y/n. He’s been looking out for you, and he wants to keep you safe.” Her father’s voice softened, but the intensity of his words remained.

“Caleb is in on this?” she asked, her mind racing. The idea that Caleb had been part of this plan, that he had considered her fate alongside his own, sent her heart racing.

“Yes! He cares for you deeply, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect you,” Mr. L/n explained, a hint of pride- and something else- in his voice.

She closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning Caleb’s kind smile and the playful banter they shared. Could he really be ready for something so serious? The thought of it both terrified and thrilled her.

***

Caleb sat in the dingy dining room of the L/n household, his hand absently resting in his pocket. The scent of roasted meat wafted through the air, mingling with the musty smell of the worn furniture. Truthfully, the L/n farmland was rich and fruitful, bursting with potential, but the home itself felt shabby and neglected.

“Once we’re married, I can fix this place up…” he mumbled to himself, envisioning the changes he could make. The walls painted fresh, new furniture, perhaps even a small garden where Y/n could grow flowers. His heart swelled at the thought.

In the corner of the room, her sisters and mother were clustered together, giggling and gushing over the gifts he had brought—colorful ribbons, handmade trinkets, and sweets. Their excitement filled the air, but Caleb was lost in his own thoughts, barely noticing their chatter.

It wasn’t until Y/n emerged from the washroom, her father beside her, that he realized she was near. His heart skipped a beat as she stepped into the room, her vibrant orange hair catching the light. She looked radiant, even in the simple gown she wore, and a smile spread across his face as their eyes met.

“Good evenin', Y/n,” he greeted, warmth flooding his voice. “You look lovely.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed as she returned his smile, but there was an uncertainty in her gaze that made him wonder what was going through her mind. He wanted to ask about the selection ceremony, about her feelings, but for now, he simply stood there, hoping the moment would allow for the words to come.

“Er, hello, Caleb,” Y/n replied, her voice slightly shaky but warm.

He chuckled, a playful glint in his purple eyes. “You look like a strawberry.”

Eva snorted from the corner, unable to stifle her laughter. Y/n cleared her throat, determined to hold her ground. “Yes, well, thank you. They’re in season.”

“Are they now?” Caleb’s tone was teasing, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile despite the slight embarrassment. Strawberries weren’t in season, but he enjoyed the banter.

“They are,” she insisted, a spark lighting up her eyes.

“Then I trust you know where the ripe one is?” His gaze was warm, his smile contagious.

Y/n felt her cheeks flush deeper, but before she could respond, he gently took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Together, they walked out of the house, the chatter of her family fading behind them.

As they stepped into the sunlit yard, the gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the earthy aromas of the farm. Caleb turned to her, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I’ve been thinking about what’s happening today…”

Y/n’s heart raced. She knew this was the moment to speak up, to share her fears and her father’s plan. But for now, she let the warmth of his hand and the softness of the afternoon settle around them, hoping to find the right words as they moved further from the house and deeper into the lush fields.

“Listen... I wanna marry you—” Caleb began, his tone earnest.

“Yes,” Y/n interrupted, her heart racing.

“What?” His expression shifted, surprise flashing across his face.

“Yes! I’ll marry you,” she declared, her excitement bubbling over.

“Let me finish,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.

Y/n looked at him, confusion evident in her eyes.

Caleb’s smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. “Y/n. Don’t get me wrong. You’re a beautiful woman. And we’re good friends. But really, it’d be more of an exchange. I’ll marry you. But I want your father’s farm.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he pressed, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. “If we’re going to make this work, we need to secure the land. The L/n farm is rich, and with your hand in marriage, I’d have both a partner and a stake in something that could thrive.”

Y/n felt her heart drop. The warmth of the moment had evaporated, replaced by a chill of realization. “You want to marry me for the farm?” she asked, hurt creeping into her voice.

Caleb’s expression hardened, his jaw set. “You thought this wouldn’t have an exchange? Marriage is a contract. I keep you safe, I get the land.”

“I can’t give you what isn’t mine,” Y/n shot back, her voice rising in disbelief.

“Look, you’re inheriting the farm. Your father is old. When I marry you, I inherit the farm instead. You’ll still have your sheep and goats, but I want you to stay in the gardens with the flowers.” He stepped closer, his eyes earnest. “Think about it. I’ll spruce the place up, combine our land. We can make a name for ourselves!”

Y/n stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. “You’re talking about my life as if it’s just an asset, Caleb! What if I don’t want to be tied to the farm? What if I want to travel, to explore beyond Linkon?”

He paused, the intensity in his eyes faltering. “But this is our home! This is where our lives are. We can make it better together.”

Caleb’s expression softened momentarily, but he quickly masked it with determination. “I’m not trying to control you! I just see potential—”

“Potential for what? For you to fulfill your dreams at the expense of mine?” Y/n felt anger bubbling inside her. “You’re reducing our relationship to a business deal!”

“I’m trying to think practically!” he insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. “We live in a harsh world, Y/n. If you get chosen today, it could be the end of everything for us. I just want to protect you!.... I care about you. But this isn’t just about us. It’s about doing what’ll be best.”

Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words and emotions. Y/n looked at him.

...Why did it feel scripted?

She ignores the brief thought, letting it slip just as quickly as it had arrived. “I need time to think,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have time to think,” Caleb said suddenly, pulling a small box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a simple yet elegant ring. “I got the ring. Just wear it.”

“You’re kidding,” Y/n replied, disbelief flooding her voice.

“I’m not,” he insisted, his gaze steady.

“Caleb—” she started, but he interrupted her.

“That farm is precious, and your family doesn’t even see it. Just marry me and let me help you.”

Y/n’s heart raced as she stared at the ring. “You can’t just expect me to decide everything right now! This is my life we’re talking about!”

“I know it is! But we’re out of time. If you don’t make a choice before the selection, you could end up as one of those girls, the ones that don't get anything good!”

The gravity of his words settled in her chest like a stone. She thought of the stories her grandmother had told her, the dark legends woven through the village about the gathering and the sacrifices. The idea of becoming one of those girls made her stomach churn.

“Caleb, this isn’t the way,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to feel like I’m being sold off or bartered for land.”

“But you wouldn’t be! You’d be marrying someone who loves you, who wants to protect you!” He took a step closer, desperation flickering in his eyes. “Please, just wear the ring. We can figure everything else out together.”

Scripted. It felt so scripted. But why?

Y/n felt torn, her heart battling against her mind. The prospect of safety and partnership clashed with her desire for freedom and choice. “I… I need to think about it,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Look, if you’re not gonna marry me, I can wait for Eva. Or I’ll marry Lorraine—”

“Eva? Lorraine? Excuse me? Them of all people?” Y/n shot back, incredulous. The idea felt like a slap. Lorraine was the village gossip, always getting into trouble and never taking anything seriously. And her sister? Absolutely.

Caleb shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m just saying, she wouldn’t mind. If you don’t want me, someone else will step in.”

“Right, because that’s how love works,” Y/n snapped, her frustration boiling over. “You can’t just jump from one sister to another like we’re some kind of game to you!”

“It’s not a game!” he argued, stepping closer, the tension thickening the air between them. “This is about survival, Y/n! Don’t you see? You can either have me fighting for you or risk being taken away, offered to the sea. I don’t want to lose you!”

Y/n’s heart raced as she considered his words again, the weight of the impending selection pressing down on her. The fear of the Dark Sea loomed larger than ever. “But I don’t want to feel trapped,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

Caleb softened, his expression earnest. “You won’t be trapped with me. We can make it work, and build a life together. Just think about it—before it’s too late.”

As she looked into his eyes, Y/n felt a swirl of emotions—fear, anger, and- disgust? But the thought of marrying him out of desperation gnawed at her conscience. “I need more time- stop saying we don't have it."

“Time is the one thing we don’t have,” he replied, frustration creeping back into his voice. “Please, just wear the ring. Show me you’ll consider this. I can’t bear the thought of you being chosen—”

“Y/n! Come on, we’re waiting for you!” Eva’s voice called from the house, pulling her back to reality.

Caleb took her hand, his grip firm but gentle, as he slid the ring onto her finger. “Insurance. Just in case,” he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling around them.

Y/n blinked, her heart racing, but before she could respond, laughter echoed from inside the house. Her family had gathered, and when they saw Caleb placing the ring on her finger, their cheers erupted like a sudden storm.

“Oh, look at that!” her mother exclaimed, beaming. “My darling Y/n is engaged!”

Y/n’s eyes widened in shock. “No! Wait!” But the joyous noise drowned out her protests. Eva clapped her hands, and Lucy jumped up and down, her chubby cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Caleb! You clever boy!” Eva gushed. “We knew you’d come through!”

“But you don’t understand—” Y/n started, but her voice was lost in the commotion.

“Come here, you two!” Mrs. L/n pulled Y/n into a tight embrace, tears of joy glimmering in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, my sweet girl. You’re all grown up!”

Y/n felt the weight of her mother’s affection, but dread settled heavily in her chest. She glanced at Caleb, searching for a flicker of understanding, but he was caught up in the whirlwind of celebration, a victorious grin plastered across his face.

“Now we can start planning the wedding!” her mother continued, clapping her hands together. “This is wonderful news! The whole village will be thrilled!”

Y/n’s heart sank. The idea of a wedding felt like a chain, tightening around her, and the implications of her father’s words crashed over her again. Marrying Caleb was supposed to be a lifeline, a way to escape the selection—but something was off.

“Are you really happy about this?” she whispered to Caleb, who was now being congratulated by her father.

He turned, his expression earnest. “Of course I am. This is our chance. You’ll see.”

But Y/n could only nod, a forced smile on her lips, as the celebration continued around her.

And in the distance, carriages were coming, adorned with the rain clouds.

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