#that he's a young man from across the sea

[pugh-bug]

Marooned

Art Donaldson x ex wife reader

Part: 1 of 2

Word count: 2,488

This was supposed to just be a one shot but I got carried away! If you want to be added to my permanent taglist for all Art Donaldson x reader works please let me know 🫶🏻

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A seagull flew over your head, narrowly missing your ear with its wing as it passed. What were you doing here out at sea alone? It was reckless and you hadn’t done reckless for quite some time. You thought a boat ride alone might clear your head after the argument. He meant well, your boyfriend, but he could be a naively hurtful prick when the mood was ripe for it.

The engine moaned and groaned as you got further out to sea, the waves rising and falling gracelessly. Night had fallen and you had no signal and no way of knowing the way back to shore. It hadn’t seemed so far away moments ago but now every edge of the world seemed to be filled in with ocean. You tried to steady your heart rate as a large wave approached your modest boat and the engine whirred and creaked with fear. Just as you braced yourself for the wave a loud horn announced itself nearby. When you opened your eyes you were looking at his.

——————————————————————

‘Art?’ Your voice was hoarse as you looked up at the man pulling you up. The wooden, glossy floorboards told you you were no longer on your own boat. The man tried to explain to you what had happened and where you were but all you could focus on was the icy water dripping down your skin.

‘Let’s get you inside Y/N.’

You followed him into a lavishly decorated, wood panelled room. If it weren’t for the rocking beneath you you’d swear you were on land in some hotel. The lamps were Tiffany and the tables were mahogany, as expected your ex husband had done disgustingly well for himself. Even the scent in the air was rich.

Art fetched you a wool blanket and a towel before guiding you to sit on the inviting leather armchair opposite him. You shivered as he poured you both what appeared to be whisky, no doubt some 100 year old stuff no one had access to but him.

‘Do you need anything else?’ He asked as he sat down, his voice steady. You could hardly believe your eyes, 10 years it had been since Art Donaldson had been in your presence. 10 years since the divorce. Life had been kind to him, he looked older yes but he still had a youthfulness to his face. He was still handsome, still no doubt the tennis player most young female fans had posters of in their bedrooms.

‘I’m okay,’ you breathe, gathering yourself. ‘Thanks for pulling me out.’ In truth your memory of the night was already hazy and cloudy, almost in black and white. You remembered the gurgling of your engine dying and the size of the wave coming for you but nothing more. A familiar voice?

‘I couldn’t believe it was you when I saw your face. What the fuck were you doing in that out here on your own?’

Art was equally appalled as he was amused. Perhaps he was impressed with your attempt at independence and bravery, something he hadn’t got to see much of throughout your marriage.

‘To clear my head.’ It came out as more of a question. You needed alcohol to settle your nerves, a few more drinks would satisfy.

——————————————————————

‘Are you still writing?’

‘About tennis?’

Art pulled a face to say about anything, as if he didn’t believe you had the guts to write at all anymore. He wasn’t wrong.

‘No, didn’t have much opportunity after the divorce.’

Art raised an eyebrow at your comment, and the casual way you sipped your whisky afterwards. He watched you fade from view, metaphorically of course as you were in fact only inches away from him, as you remembered something. A memory from long ago that you’d tried to forget but couldn’t. It lived in the line between your eyebrows, the downturned smile you gave when you were concealing a lingering sadness and the constant sipping of your drink.

‘That day,’ you suddenly weren’t looking at Art across from you, you were looking at the memory of him ten years younger. ‘I was waiting for a call before you came home from Aidan - my agent - about the new book,’ Art nodded, remembering the man in the Prada suit who insisted on interrupting his time alone with you with phone calls about blurbs and font sizes. ‘And he picked up, must have rang him twelve times before he did, but when he did he told me he didn’t want me as a client - that my writing was average and he wanted better representation.’

‘Isn’t that supposed to be your line?’

You shrugged, still looking through your ex husband not at him, and sipped once again. ‘He got angry when I asked him why, started ripping apart my last articles and my last book. I think the word that came up,’ you pursed your lips at the memory. ‘The most was disappointing.’ As the boat bobbed, you pictured your old desk in yours and Art’s home where you’d received that call and you pictured Art arriving quite suddenly finding you staring at it.

After a long pause Art sighed a simple: ‘I never knew.’ because he didn’t. Of course he didn’t, why should he? That day had been painful enough without your failures as a writer coming into play. ‘Well, it’s not what stands out the most from that day anyway.’ You smiled, your down turned smile, at Art’s pensive face.

‘No, I think the toaster you smashed still wins.’ Art chuckled and you let yourself laugh at the absurdity. How were you on his boat? You didn’t believe in fate, it was all too simple an idea for you to take seriously, but something about it being almost ten years exactly since that day was alarming. Perhaps satisfying too, if you’d admit it to yourself.

Art stood up to fetch himself his jumper. ‘For what it’s worth, I always liked your writing.’ This you had to hear.

‘Really?’ It had come out even drier than you’d intended. ‘Because I seem to remember you selling any copies I gave you.’ That was only partially true. Twelve years ago Art had been spotted outside a hotel the two of you had been staying at by a desperately excited kid. Art had had nothing on him to give the poor fan but a copy of your latest book he’d planned to read in bed that night. Being the sweetheart he pretends not to be Art gave it away - only for the kid to pass him his last note and hightail it down the street smiling. Maybe sold wasn’t the right word afterall.

Art sat back down. ‘Adrian was a miserable agent and clearly stupid to have fired you.’ The whisky had started to have an affect because his words warmed your heart more than they had the right to.

‘You just never liked him because he didn’t find you funny.’ A playful smile edged itself onto your face, mirroring Art’s. He placed his glass down on the mahogany table, his eyes gleaming and not leaving your own, before scoffing. ‘He was alone in thinking that.’ Arrogant bastard.

‘I think, if you refreshed your memory you’d remember that I was the funny one.’ You couldn’t pass up the opportunity to swill your glass like a Bond villain to add some flourish to your comment. The atmosphere on the boat had shifted completely. You were starting to feel ten years younger and if it weren’t for logic you’d swear Art was looking ten years younger too.

‘You looked pretty funny flailing around in the ocean.’ Art quipped, enjoying himself a bit too much. You had to disagree. ‘You’d have felt bad if I’d have drowned!’ A giggle threatened to escape your chest.

He considered that for a moment, how bad he would feel if his ex wife was nothing more than a memory. Would he be allowed at the funeral? He didn’t know how badly the divorce had affected your scathing parents. The only thing your Mother had said to him on the day of the wedding was ‘Take care of her’ and that had felt more akin to a threat than advice. ‘Not sure your parents would have forgiven me.’

You scoffed, taking another rather large sip of whisky. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, my Mother thought a lot of you. She’d probably bail you out of prison.’

‘I didn’t mean her.’

The insecurity and guilt was evident on your ex husbands face, even through the slight haziness of your whisky lenses. You knew what he was remembering and it wasn’t just the offhand snide comments your Father would make at family meals or New Year’s parties, no. He was remembering that day.

‘Well…it doesn’t really matter now does it.’

Art adjusted in his seat, not ignoring your frown. He wanted to ask you something while he had you to himself for the first time in a decade. He might regret it. He might wish not to hear the answer, if you’d even be gracious enough to allow him one, but he had to know.

‘Can I ask you something?’

You shot him a just go ahead look.

‘I was always confused about - I mean about why you married me.’

‘Hmm.’

It took you a moment to figure out the write answer, an answer that was a mix of honesty and restraint. You’d already had a shitty, stressful day but something about him even daring to ask that after such a long time of no contact made you curious. Perhaps you needed closure for the ending and he needed closure for the beginning. You had to allow him that, he had saved your life after all.

‘We were twenty two I mean, doesnt everything seem like a good idea at that age?’ But giving closure was harder than you thought as that was a bullshit answer and you both knew it. You didn’t think you’d ever see Art again, let alone be trapped on a boat with him in the middle of the ocean discussing your marriage. All of your feelings, strong as they were, had been buried with the divorce papers and the box of his stuff he’d never come back for.

You had another sip, a nervous one, feeling Art’s eyes on you growing increasingly frustrated. He wasn’t going to let you change the subject that much was clear. If you were staying the night on his boat you were going to have to open up about this.

‘Okay,’ you sighed. ‘When I first met you you were the only boy who even tried to understand me, in any capacity. You didn’t want me to be your cheerleader and you didn’t treat me like a sexual exploit. I actually,’ this was harder than you thought. ‘Laughed harder around you than any of my friends. You made me feel great pretty much all the time and you listened to me. I didn’t have to fake anything with you. When you asked me to marry you I didn’t have any doubts.’ You looked at his eyes pointedly. ‘Did you?’

Art was stunned but he knew he believed you. He’d never forget your face when he proposed, not if he lived a thousand lifetimes. ‘No.’ Without question the answer was no.

‘Then-‘

‘Then why’d I do it?’

You’d never asked so he’d never told. He wasn’t sure he had a proper answer. No answer would rid him of the decade long guilt that festered its way through his veins like a cancer.

‘It was only once, I know that. Just tell me why.’ You kept your voice calm but the hurt revealed itself anyway. Even after all the promises, all the if I ever see him agains here you were showing your decade long pain to the man responsible for it.

‘I think the ‘forever’ part of marriage had started to feel like pressure. More pressure I couldn’t fucking handle.’

He’d lost the U.S Open the week he went to her flat behind your back. While you were watching the results on tv in the family room, shedding tears for your beloved husband and all the work he’d put in, he was with her.

‘It just sort of happened when-‘

You raised your hand, almost like a lawyer. You suddenly didn’t want to know, didn’t want to picture that woman - that girl really - writhing while she road your husband into the bed.

‘I’m good.’

Art was relieved at your gesture. He didn’t want to relive that life changing mistake. The mistake that lost him you.

After a long and cold silence, you let Art off the hook with a quip about her. About if they were still together - which of course they weren’t and you knew anyway. As much as you’d tried to avoid Art like any other ex, Art was no ordinary ex. His face was plastered on magazines, your television and your phone. You’d know if he sneezed, what time and whom he was with.

‘No,’ Art smiled at you knowingly. ‘We didn’t really gel as it happens.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘She wasn’t-‘

‘Tennis?’ You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing the only real threat your marriage had been sport not another woman.

‘You.’

He let you sit with that for a moment, looking pensive as he drank more. You took a large swig of your whisky yourself, as a way to fill time more than anything else. Art’s eyes were fixated on your face and on your features, comparing and contrasting them with your younger self you imagined.

‘You haven’t changed much.’

‘Is that a compliment or an insult?’

In your marriage it had gotten increasingly difficult to decipher the two. When he referred to you as ‘Mrs Donaldson’ it was once clear that he found you particularly alluring that day but the honorific had become sour. Patronising on occasion towards the end.

‘Compliment.’

…and yet you missed being Mrs Donaldson.

‘Is this where I tell you whether I’m single or not?’ You sat back in your chair, analysing his reaction. Wanting information. Wanting him to give a shit who was with you, touching you - holding you at night. Art’s eyes flickered at the subject you’d brought into question, feeling your daring nature come into play.

‘Are you?’

‘No.’

His jaw clenched as you smiled sweetly, as if you’d just informed him you were now a nun and only had eyes for the Lord. ‘Why wasn’t he with you on that boat?’ Art questioned, leaning forward slightly.

‘Argument.’

‘Who won?’

‘We never finished it.’

That seemed to amuse Art even more.

‘We always finished ours didn’t we?’

You smiled at his wistfulness and the strange pride he seemed to take in that fact. Suddenly you felt very far from your boyfriend and new life indeed.

‘I won almost all of them.’

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Taglist: @amorisxx

Masterlist

[sorcerer-felix]

I hear you can help me. I want to be older to be out of my college years. I'm nerdy, so beefing up wouldn't hurt either. I'm just tired of the jocks always messing with me.

The salty breeze whipped around you as you perched on the stone wall overlooking the Mediterranean. The boat ride earlier had been unbearable, the jocks tossing around crude jokes like beach balls while you fiddled with your engineering gear, feeling like a fish out of water. The raucous laughter of the jocks echoed in the distance, each burst of sound like a sharp jab to your chest. You closed your eyes, allowing the rhythmic crashing of waves below to wash away the day's frustration. You were 21, but every time you glanced in the mirror, the reflection of your slender frame and youthful face felt like a cruel joke.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back, staring up at the fading sunset, the brilliant oranges and pinks bleeding into the deepening blue of the sea. You were lost in thought when a figure caught your eye. Strolling along the path, a young man dressed in white silk shorts and a matching gilet glided into view. His blonde fade cut shimmered in the light, and those piercing blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief. You blinked, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage.

He walked with an effortless grace, and you can’t help but stare. Could he be…? “Hey!” you called out, your voice rising above the sound of the sea. “Are you… Felix?” He paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “I am. And you are…?” “Just a confused engineering student,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Mind if I join you?” he replied, plopping down beside you. “What’s got you looking so glum?” You chuckled bitterly, your heart racing just being near him. “It’s these oceanography students. They’re all surfers and jocks, and they think it’s funny to pick on me. I can’t wait for this study trip to end.” “Jocks?” Felix raised an eyebrow, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “Sounds like a rough crowd.” “Rough doesn’t begin to cover it,” you sighed, your shoulders slumping. Felix laughed, a rich, musical sound. “Well, I have my struggles too. Helping a friend with his new hotel resort, and now I’m stuck doing his gardener’s work because the guy quit unexpectedly.” You couldn’t help but smile, “You? In a garden?” “Hey!” he laughed again, his eyes bright. “I’m more than just a pretty face! It’s exhausting work, though. I’m covered in dirt half the time.” He brushed a hand through his hair, and you caught a glimpse of something different in his expression. “But it’s nice to get away from the usual.” “Yeah, I could do with a break,” you said, leaning back and gazing at the sunset. “I wish I could just skip campus forever. I’d give anything to be older—maybe a bit more…beefy, too.” You laughed at the absurdity of it, but Felix tilted his head, considering your words. “That is manageable, but there’s no free lunch!” His grin widened, and you felt a shiver of excitement mixed with apprehension. “What do you mean?” you asked, half-expecting him to suggest something ridiculous—like some creepy ritual involving animal sacrifices. He leaned closer, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “You could help me with the garden work for a week. In return, I can help you out with that… beefiness and age you’re longing for.” Relief washed over you. “Seriously? That’s it? I thought you were going to ask for something insane.” Felix shrugged, unfazed. “Nah. Just some hard work. What do you say?” “I’m in!” you replied, eager to escape the jocks for a while.

Felix raised his hands, and a blue sphere of shimmering magic coalesced between them. Your awe quickly turned to thrill. “Wait, I don’t have to work first?” “Not at all,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face. “You wanted to bulk up, right? Well, this is how we start.” As the sphere pulsed in the air, you felt warmth radiate through your body. Your muscles began to swell, filling out your limbs until they felt taut and powerful. A grin spread across your face; it was exhilarating. Then, without warning, a deep rumble erupted from your throat. “Moo?” you responded, bewildered at the sound that escaped your lips. Felix chuckled, his laughter ringing like the distant bells of a coastal town. “Don’t worry! It’s all part of the process. First, we bring a bit of meat to your bones.” He paused, waving the sphere again, and the energy swirled around you, engulfing you in its light. “Later on, you’ll become a little older.” You tried to speak, to voice your concerns, but instead, another discontented “Moo!” tumbled out. Panic began to claw at your insides as you looked down at your body, realizing the transformation was more than just muscle. “Why am I turning into a bull?” you thought, your heart racing.

Felix placed a calming hand on your shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just trust the process, Rodrigo. After a week of helping me in the hotel park, you’ll be back to human. Think of it as a vacation from the jocks!” “Rodrigo?” The name felt strange, foreign on your tongue—or rather, in your mind, since it didn’t seem you could speak at all. You mooed again, this time in protest, shaking your head as if that could change your fate. “Exactly! A fitting name for a bull, don’t you think?” Felix grinned, clearly enjoying this. “Now, let’s get started!”

Over the next few days, you toiled in the resort's park, digging, lifting, and hauling under Felix's watchful eye. The work is exhausting, and you find yourself too tired to resist his commands.

Obedience became your default, and you accepted your fate for the week. You, now a bull named Rodrigo, had no choice but to follow his lead; the exhaustion from the hard labor has left you too weary to resist. "Good boy, Rodrigo," Felix praised, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. "We'll make a fine team by the end of the week." You can only moo softly in response, a mixture of acceptance and resignation. As the days passed, Felix's training became more intense. He teached you obedience, and you find yourself surprisingly compliant, rationalizing that it's only for a short while. "Just a few more days," you thoughed, "and then I'll be free."

Then, on an ordinary afternoon, your world shifted. A farmer drove his herd past the resort, and as the cows ambled by, something primal stired within you. You felt a surge of power, and your bull form responded instinctively. Your cock, thick and heavy, pushed out from its sheath, causing Felix to approach with a mixture of caution and intrigue. "Easy, Rodrigo," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. "I suggest you restrain yourself. Breed the cow if you must, but we can't predict what that might trigger." He gestured to a phantom cow, a mechanical contraption designed for bull breeding. "Use that if you're horny," Felix instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We don't want any accidents." You snorted, a defiant huff of air. But you've heard the tales of men losing their sanity after experiencing the raw, animalistic pleasure of mating in beast form. Determined not to fall victim to such a fate, you chose to endure the torment of your lust, ignoring even the phantom cow. But the following days were a constant battle. Every little stimulus—a gentle breeze, the scent of fresh grass, or the mere thought of a cow—would cause your cock, now a powerful bull's pride, to spring forth, glistening with anticipation. As the week drew to a close, you were desperate for the transformation back to human form, your lust burning like an unquenchable fire.

Finally, Felix approached you, his hands raised, the blue sphere of magic dancing between his palms. The air crackled with energy as the spell took hold, and you felt the magic course through your body. Your muscles shifted, changing, and you stood tall, no longer a bull, but a man—a muscular, rugged stud in his prime. The transformation left you breathless, and you stared at your new reflection in awe. A stubble graced your masculine face, and your body was chiseled, every inch a testament to power.

But the awe quickly turned to frustration as you realized your lust had not diminished; it had intensified. Your gaze locked onto Felix, and you lusted after him, this handsome boy, with a newfound intensity. Driven by desire, you strode towards Felix, your steps confident, almost predatory. "Felix, let's take our collaboration to the bedroom," you purred, your voice deep and commanding. Felix's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing across his face. But his expression quickly turned stern, and he raised a single eyebrow, his voice firm. "Don't you dare, Rodrigo. You will address me as Master from now on." His words shocked you, but the obedience training from your time as a bull took hold. "Yes, Master," you heard yourself say, your voice hoarse with submission.

Without another word, you turned and fled to the nearest hotel room, your body throbbing with need. Inside the room, you tore at your clothes, exposing your muscular frame. Your cock, hard as steel, demanded attention. You grasped it, stroking furiously, seeking release. Moans escaped your lips as you imagined Felix, his pale skin, and those captivating eyes watching you. "Oh, Master..." you whispered, your voice hoarse as you climaxed, but the release provided only temporary solace.

Still breathless, you sought out Felix, determined to understand this persistent desire. "There's something wrong, Master," you pleaded. "I'm still so aroused, even after..." Felix's grin was mischievous, his eyes sparkling with knowledge. "I told you to use the phantom cow, Rodrigo. Your state of arousal upon transformation is key. It determines your permanent desire." Confusion mingled within you. "But I can't function like this!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with frustration. "I need my mind sharp, especially as an engineer." Felix let out a booming laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. "An engineer? You? Look at yourself, Rodrigo. You're in your thirties now, and your wish has come true—you'll never set foot on campus again. What job did you expect?"

The realization hit you like a wave, and you felt your world tilt. You are no longer a student; you are an adult, magically barred from your studies. Panic rose within you, and you struggled to find your footing. You're trapped, not just in this new body but in a future you never imagined. "But... but I..." Your words trailed off, unable to form a coherent protest. "Don't fret, my friend," Felix said, his voice softening. "I know, and I've taken care of it. With your engineering knowledge and new physique, you'll be an excellent addition to the resort staff. The guests will be more than happy to have your... personal services, all without charging them a penny extra." "Personal services?" You repeated, your voice cracking. The idea of becoming a servant, let alone a sexual servant, was never part of your plan. You glanced around, noticing the hungry stares of a mature woman and a young man, their eyes locked on you with unspoken desires. Your cock twitched, responding to their gaze, and you understood what Felix meant. "But I..." Your protest died on your lips as Felix placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm yet reassuring. "Go on, Rodrigo. It's time to embrace your new life. The guests are waiting."

And so, your journey took an unexpected turn. By day, you tended to the hotel's needs, fixing leaks, and repairing broken furniture. But as the sun set, you transformed into the hotel's secret weapon, satisfying the guests' desires with your insatiable lust. Farewells were brief as Felix departed, leaving you to your new life. The guests' moans and whispered thanks became the soundtrack to your nights, and you found yourself embracing the pleasure you gave and received. Little did you know, this was just the beginning of your journey as the hotel's resident stud, and the Mediterranean nights would forever be marked by your passionate encounters.

[yerimsdreams]

Letters of Intent

author's note: chapter 3 is here! sorry for the wait, I was busy with resit exams and my new semester has also started :((

cregan stark x oc (she/her pronouns)

warnings: mention of death (both human and dragons). making threats. crying. anger. swearing. spoilers for fire&blood.

The dungeons beneath the Red Keep were a labyrinth of despair, a place where even the bravest souls found their resolve tested. As Visenya descended the stairs, the air grew colder and more oppressive, the distant sounds of the keep above fading into nothingness. The stone walls were slick with moisture, the air heavy with the stench of rot and neglect, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the corridors like the ticking of some unseen clock. 

At the third level, the narrow stairway gave way to a series of rough-hewn tunnels. Here, the true darkness began. The flickering torchlight carried by the northern guards did little to push back the shadows that clung to the walls, as if the darkness itself were alive, waiting to swallow them whole.

The Black Cells. 

The passage narrowed further, the stone walls pressing in on either side, until at last, they reached a row of heavy wooden doors, their surfaces scarred and battered from years of use. The wood was thick and dark, soaking up the light, so that the cells beyond were cloaked in absolute darkness. There were no windows, no cracks in the walls through which even the smallest sliver of light could pass. Once the door was closed, the black cells became a tomb of night, where time ceased to exist and prisoners were left alone with nothing but their thoughts - and their fears. 

When one of Cregan's men opened the door to Corlys' cell, the light from the torch spilled into the space, revealing a small, cramped chamber. The walls were close and suffocating, built to crush a man's spirit as much as his body. 

His figure sat slumped against the cold wall. The Sea Snake, once a man of legend and renown, had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, his silver hair matted and his eyes sunken from more than a week spent in blackness. As the torchlight reached him, he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. 

''Visenya?'' His voice was rough, as if he had not spoken in days.

She stepped forward, her presence commanding even in the oppressive gloom. The torchlight played across her silver hair and pale skin, casting sharp shadows that made her seem more dragon than woman. She regarded him with a cool gaze, her expression betraying nothing. ''Your time in this darkness is at an end, my lord.'' 

Corlys struggled to his feet, the chains around his wrists clinking with the movement. He winced, his body stiff from confinement, but his gaze never left the young princess. ''What have you done?'' 

Visenya ignored his question, her eyes flicking to the northern men standing at attention beside her. ''Release him,'' she commanded, her tone brooking no argument, ''and escort him to his new apartment in Maegor's Holdfast.'' 

The men moved forward, unlocking the chains that bound Corlys. The heavy shackles fell away with a clatter, the sound echoing through the narrow, suffocating cell. 

For a moment, Corlys simply stood there, rubbing his raw wrists, his gaze fixed on Visenya. He wanted to demand answers, to know the cost of this sudden reprieve, but the steel in her eyes held him back from speaking to her as he had done in the years before. 

''Princess,'' he sighed, breaking the thick silence, ''what happened?'' 

The words were heavy with exhaustion and the remnants of pride, a plea wrapped in the dignity of a man who had been brought low. 

Visenya's gaze did not waver. For a long moment, she simply looked at him, as if weighing how much to reveal, how much to keep hidden. 

''You were able to save my nephew,'' she said softly, the authoritative tone in which she had commanded the guards gone, ''but I was not able to save your son.'' 

Corlys inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat as the impact of her words struck him. He staggered slightly, catching himself against the cold stone wall, his hand trembling. 

''Addam,'' He whispered, the name escaping his lips like a prayer, a lament for the son he had claimed as his own. 

She weakly nodded, the guilt of his death still filling her body each time she thought of the young Velaryon man she had taught to become a dragonrider their rightful Queen could depend on. She had watched him grow, had seen the fire in his eyes as he bonded with Seasmoke, and had placed her trust in his loyalty.

Unfortunately, after the death of her third son and the betrayal of Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White, Rhaenyra had succumbed to paranoia, her once-steady mind fracturing under the relentless pressure of loss and betrayal. She had seen enemies everywhere, even among those who had once been closest to her. It was in this fevered state that she had commanded the arrest of Addam, convinced that he, too, would turn on her, as so many others had. She had seen treachery in every shadow, and in her desperation to cling to her crumbling power, she had condemned a loyal dragonrider. 

But Corlys had known better. He had seen the fear in his queen's eyes and the madness that clouded her judgement. It had been he who warned his bastard son, who had sent him away with Seasmoke to flee from King's Landing before the Queen’s guards could reach him. But in the end, the war had taken him as it had taken so many others. 

There was nothing she could say that would ease his or her grief, no explanation that would justify the tragedy that had befallen Addam at Tumbleton. 

She could still see it in her mind: the horror of that battle, the moment she and Sōnax had arrived too late to save him. The sight of Vermithor tearing into Seasmoke, the sound of Addam's last cry lost in the roar of the flames. It haunted her, and she knew it would haunt her forever. 

''He was brave,'' she smiled, the memory of Addam descending upon Raventree Hall ingrained in her mind, ''and loyal.'' 

Corlys closed his eyes for a moment, as if drawing strength from her words. ''Thank you.'' He murmured, though the words were heavy with sorrow. He did not look at her, not directly. 

Visenya nodded. She knew it was more than his gratitude for getting the stubborn Lord Cregan Stark to change his mind, but to speak so highly of his son, whom many believed was still a traitor as the other two dragonseeds had been. 

''Let us leave this place,'' she said, her voice firmer now, ''your granddaughters will be delighted to see you again.'' 

With a slow nod and a faint smile at the mention of Rhaena and Baela, Corlys turned to follow her and the two northern men, who'd watched their interaction in silence. 

As they emerged into the light of the Red Keep, the heavy, oppressive air of the dungeons seemed to lift slightly. Cregan's men prepared to escort Corlys to his chambers, but Visenya, however, raised a hand to halt them. She stepped closer to the Sea Snake, her gaze steady and resolute. 

''Before you go,'' she began, stern but not unkind, ''Aegon will restore you to your rightful offices and honours. You will have a place on the small council, where your experience and wisdom will be invaluable.'' 

The sailor nodded in acknowledgment. He turned to follow the guards, but Visenya's next words made him pause once more. 

''Wait,'' she said, signalling for the northerners to step back, giving them some privacy. She took a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing slightly, ''there is one more thing you need to hear.'' 

Corlys turned back to her, his expression curious but cautious as well. ''Yes, Princess?'' 

''Guide Aegon well,'' she advised, her voice low but intense, ''he is in his minority and his reign is fragile. Do not make me regret my decision to intervene. If you falter in your duties or act against the realm's best interests, know that I will see to it personally that the sentence originally decreed by Lord Stark will be executed. And it will not be by his sword - it will be fulfilled with the fire of my dragon.'' 

Her gaze was unflinching, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. There was no room for error, no chance for betrayal. The stakes were high, and he understood the consequences of failing her or the young king. 

Visenya motioned for the guards to resume their duty, leading him to his chambers. As they moved away, the corridors of the Red Keep seemed to close in, the weight of her warning hanging in the air. 

The days following the release of Lord Corlys passed in a blur. The Red Keep, ever a hive of intrigue, had settled into a tense quiet as the last of the executions and sentences were carried out. True to his word, Cregan had wielded Ice with the grim resolve expected of a man from the North, but as soon as the blood was washed from the stones, he had tendered his resignation as Hand of the King. ''The snows are falling in the North,'' he had declared to Aegon, ''and my place is at Winterfell.'' 

Yet, he had not yet departed the capital, lingering in King’s Landing for reasons known only to him.

Now, a different kind of tension filled the council chamber. The noble women and men seated around the large oak table were not here to discuss war or executions but something far more delicate: the marriage of Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera. 

''They are children, Tyland!'' Visenya's voice cut through the chamber, resolute and sharp, leaving little room for argument. ''Aegon is only one-and-ten, and Jaehaera is even younger. This marriage, while needed, should not be rushed. Let them grow before you make them say words they cannot comprehend.'' 

The room fell into a tense silence, her words echoing off the stone walls. Ser Tyland Lannister, a former Green, leaned forward, his golden hair catching the dim light of the chamber. ''Princess, I understand your concern for your nephew and niece, but this marriage is not just about them. We need stability, and this union will provide that. The sooner the better.'' 

She narrowed her eyes at the man, making Tyland lean back again. ''Stability bought with the innocence of children is no stability at all.'' She spat back. 

Making the marriage of the young children part of the peace pact had not been Visenya's idea, but at the time she had understood it was necessary. Aegon the Elder's death was fresh in the mind of the realm, and Corlys wanted immediate peace, or in his words, the madness needed to end. 

Corlys, sitting to Tyland's right, clasped his hands in front of him. ''Visenya, the realm needs this marriage to happen. We cannot afford to wait.'' 

She clenched her jaw as she listened to the Sea Snake speak, a man she had saved not long ago, and yet here he was, aligned with those who would rush her nephew and niece into a union neither was ready for. 

''They are children,'' she repeated, her voice softer but no less firm, ''I am not asking to delay until their nameday, but let them have a respite from this war. They have both watched their family die, one by one. Let them heal before thrusting them into something they have no say in.'' 

''The Princess speaks wisely,'' Lady Jeyne spoke up, ''but wisdom is often lost on those who seek quick fixes.'' The Maiden of the Vale glanced towards Corlys and Tyland, her disdain barely concealed.

The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by the shifting of chairs and the occasional clearing of throats. Jeyne's words hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to dismiss Visenya's concerns outright. 

Lord Ryce Caron, father of Lady Elenda Baratheon, raised his voice for the first time, his deep voice rumbling through the room. ''This marriage is a symbol, a promise that the bloodshed is over. We cannot wait for them to grow.'' 

Others around the table murmured in agreement, their voices mingling in a chorus of urgency. Visenya felt the pressure mounting, the weight of their collective will pushing against her resolve. 

''Besides, many of the great houses in Westeros are already on their way to King's Landing for the occasion,'' Corlys added, ''the wheels are in motion, Princess. To delay now would send the wrong message, one of uncertainty and hesitation when we need to project strength.'' 

Visenya's hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure. She knew that Corlys was right, at least in a political sense. However, the thought of forcing the young ones into a marriage they were not ready for felt like a betrayal of her silent promise to Rhaenyra to protect her legacy, meaning Aegon. 

After a long pause, Tyland Lannister sighed, breaking the silence. ''Princess, your concerns are valid, and no one here wishes to see the children harmed. But we must also be realistic. The realm needs this union, and it needs it now. The Prince and the Princess will be married, and his coronation will follow subsequently. He'll be the Third of his Name, others will rule in his minority, you included,'' he inclined his head, trying to swoon her of some sorts, ''and peace will be restored.'' 

Her gaze hardened, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at Tyland's attempts to placate her with empty promises. She could see through the facade of his words, the subtle manipulation intended to sway her. But she also knew there was little more she could do. The council's decision had been made, and while she had voiced her objections, the momentum was against her. 

''Very well,'' she said finally, the words leaving her lips with a heavy resignation. She could feel the collective relief in the room as she yielded. The tension seemed to dissipate, the lords relaxing ever so slightly, ''but I will take no part in the preparations. You wish to have a wedding and a coronation now, you will plan it amongst yourselves.'' 

She stood up from her chair, her movements deliberate and controlled. The rest of the table quickly followed suit, rising in a show of respect as the Princess made her exit. Her presence was still intimidating, and though they had overruled her, they were not foolish enough to forget the power she held. 

Without another word, she turned and left the chamber, making her way toward the gardens. The tension in the chamber had been stifling, and the cool air outside was a welcome relief, though it did little to soothe the frustration boiling within her. She needed space, a moment to breathe and collect herself away from the prying eyes of the court.

As she walked, the sound of footsteps following her grew louder. The steady, deliberate pace was unmistakable, and she did not need to turn around to know who was behind her. 

She reached the entrance to the gardens, the familiar scent of blooming flowers greeting her as she stepped onto the cobblestone path. 

Cregan caught up to her, falling into step beside her. ''Visenya,'' He spoke her name, a hint of concern laced in his voice. 

She stopped, her back still turned to him, her hands still clenched into fists at her sides. For a moment, she said nothing, letting his presence wash over her like a wave of calm. The anger and frustration she had been holding onto so tightly began to loosen its grip, though it did not disappear entirely.

Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes blazing with the remnants of her earlier fury. ''They are blithering idiots!'' She burst out, her voice sharp with anger. ''They sit at that table, so sure of themselves, like they cannot be touched. That Lannister cunt gets to walk around freely while a mere moon ago, he was kissing the Usurper's ass and now he gets to make decisions on my nephew's future, on my sister's son's future? Pathetic.'' 

She began to pace, her movements agitated, as if the energy of her anger needed an outlet. ''How dare they? I am a Princess of the Crown, a Princess of the Realm. While I was out there fighting a war that despicable men like them started, they were simply sitting in their castles, doing nothing.'' 

Cregan listened in silence as Visenya vented her frustration, his gaze steady and unwavering as he watched her pace back and forth like a caged lioness.

Her voice rose with each word, the injustice of it all fueling the fire within her. ''I bled for my sister, sacrificed for her, and now they think they can sit there, in their comfortable chairs, and dictate the future of my blood? They presume to make decisions for Aegon and Jaehaera as if they have earned that right - as if they understand the cost of the peace they so desperately seek.'' 

''Where were they when my sister got her birthright stolen? Where were they when they had to honour their oaths? They were nowhere! They were hiding, waiting to see who would emerge victorious, so they could crawl back into power like the cowards they are.'' Her pacing quickened, her steps echoing on the cobblestones as she continued. 

Visenya stopped suddenly, turning to face Cregan with a fierce intensity. ''And now they want to make these children spew vows they do not understand.'' 

She shook her head, her expression one of disbelief. ''They see this marriage as a neat little package to tie up the war and move on. But they are blind to the damage they are doing. They do not care for those children, only about what they represent. Power. Control. A chance to secure their own positions.'' 

Her breathing was ragged, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, she just stood there, the anger that had fueled her rant giving way to a deep, aching sadness. 

Cregan reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, grounding her in the present moment. ''You are not wrong, Princess,'' he spoke calmly, ''but you are above them, stronger than their petty schemes.'' 

Visenya looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ''I just want Aegon to smile again. I cannot even remember what he looks like while smiling.'' She admitted, her voice trembling. 

His heart ached at the sight of her, the depth of her pain cutting through him like a blade. The fierce, determined woman who had stormed out of the council chamber moments before now stood before him, vulnerable and worn. 

He shuffled a bit closer, his hand squeezing her shoulder with a reassuring firmness. ''He will smile again,'' he murmured encouragingly, ''because he still has your love, your strength.''

She blinked, and a single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, frustrated at her own display of weakness. ''But I'm leaving him, Cregan,'' Visenya whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her fear, ''I am abandoning him when he needs me the most. Just… just like I abandoned Rhaenyra.'' 

Her voice quivered as she spoke, the mention of her sister breaking down the strong facade she had worn since arriving back in King's Landing. The grief she had buried deep within threatened to overwhelm her, the memory of Rhaenyra's loss still fresh, still raw.

Cregan shook his head, his expression easing. ''You did not abandon your sister nor are you abandoning your nephew,'' he began, his voice low and persistent, ''you heeded her commands, as a loyal ally should. Rhaenyra sent you to the Riverlands because she believed in you, in your strength and valour.'' 

Visenya looked away, her gaze distant, her heart heavy. ''Yet I was not by her side when she met her end. I was not there when…'' Her voice caught in her throat, the words too painful to speak aloud. 

The man in front of her reached out, his hand warm and gentle as he cupped her cheek, turning her face back toward him. ''You carried out her will, Visenya. Your sister knew the risks, the dangers. She made her choices, and she entrusted you with a part of her legacy. You honoured her memory by doing as she bade.'' His thumb brushed away the tear that had fallen, his touch tender, almost reverent. 

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch for a moment, drawing strength from his presence. ''I should have defied her commands,'' she shook her head, her voice thick with regret, ''she was a fool to go to Dragonstone with nothing but her son by her side. With Sōnax, I would have burned Aegon alive and she would be sitting on her throne at this moment.'' 

Cregan's expression remained fixed, though his gaze grew more solemn. ''The past is a cruel master,'' he said quietly, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek, ''but you cannot change what has been done. Rhaenyra was a queen who made her own choices, for good or ill. You did as she bade because you are loyal, because you loved her. Do not dishonour her memory by doubting her decisions now.'' 

Visenya opened her eyes, filled with sadness. ''I should have been there,'' she insisted, ''she should not have faced that betrayal alone.'' 

''Rhaenyra knew the dangers, and she faced them as she saw fit. Her end was her own, it is not yours to carry.'' He said firmly, his hand still clinging onto her cheek. 

Cregan could still see the disappointment etched into his betrothed's features, a burden she bore with every breath. Her eyes, though fierce, were clouded with the weight of self-reproach. 

''Visenya,'' he mumbled, his gaze not wavering from hers, ''you have a life ahead of you, one that your sister, your Queen, would want you to live with all the vigour and courage she saw in you. She made her choices, and now, you must make yours. And I shall stand beside you, my Princess.'' 

Her eyes, still filled with disappointment, began to soothe, as though his words had found a place within her heart. Slowly, she found herself believing him, finding comfort in his certainty. 

A faint, tremulous smile touched her lips. ''I thank you, Cregan,'' she whispered, ''for all that you have done, and all that you are.'' 

Cregan's gaze softened further, and he let his hand remain for a heartbeat longer before lowering it. He dipped his head slightly, acknowledging her gratitude with a humility that belied his own strength. 

''You need not thank me, Princess.'' 

Visenya walked with purpose through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, her mind focused on her next task - checking in on Aegon. The tension of the day's council meeting still lingered, but she had little time to dwell on it now. As she rounded a corner, her path was suddenly blocked. 

''Oh, my apologies, Princess.'' The man dipped his head swiftly in respect as he recognized who stood before him, his grand frame shifting aside to clear her path.

Visenya paused, taking in the man before her. He was undeniably Northern, his broad shoulders and simple yet sturdy attire a stark contrast to the more refined courtiers of King's Landing. 

She offered him a slight nod in return. ''Do not fret, uh…'' She searched for a name, almost embarrassed she did not immediately recognize the sigil on his chest. 

''Lord Edrick Cerwyn, Princess. I beg pardon for nearly running into you like a clumsy fool.'' He introduced himself, straightening his posture. 

Her eyes flickered with recognition as the name registered. ''Lord Cerwyn,'' she repeated, her voice carrying a touch of warmth as she spoke, ''there is no need for apologies. The Red Keep can be a labyrinth for even the most practised among us.'' 

Edrick offered a modest smile, his rugged features softened by the gesture. ''Still, it was not my intention to impede your path, Princess. I have heard much of you, though this is our first meeting. I hope I have not left a poor impression.'' 

''You have not,'' she assured him, ''you are a close friend of Lord Stark, are you not?'' 

Visenya had seen the man around the Warden of the North a handful of times. Cregan had mentioned his name once during one of the earlier council meetings, but she hadn't had the chance to actually speak with him. 

''Aye,'' Edrick grinned, his voice filled with a quiet pride, ''Cregan and I have known each other since we were boys.'' 

The young woman nodded thoughtfully. ''It is good to know that Lord Stark surrounds himself with those he trusts deeply. Such bonds are rare, especially in these times.'' 

Visenya couldn't help but notice the easy charm in Edrick's demeanour, a warmth that felt almost disarming compared to Cregan's more stoic nature. She found herself smiling a bit more naturally, her earlier tension easing. 

His grin widened slightly. ''Aye, rare indeed, but those bonds are what keep the North strong.'' 

''I see why Lord Stark counts you among those he holds close.'' She responded, her tone much lighter now. 

Edrick chuckled, the sound rich and genuine. ''Thank you, my Princess. In truth, I am looking forward to your arrival in Winterfell. The North can be a cold place, but I suspect your presence will warm it considerably.'' 

''You flatter me, my Lord.'' She said, smiling more naturally at his kind words, a touch of colour rising to her cheeks.

''Not at all,'' he replied, his tone sincere, ''Cregan, uh, Lord Stark speaks highly of you, Princess, and he is not one to give praise lightly.'' 

Her smile faltered slightly, a hint of surprise crossing her features. ''He has spoken of me?'' 

''Aye, he has,'' Edrick confirmed, ''he holds you in high regard, as he should.'' 

Visenya was silenced for a moment. She hadn’t imagined that Cregan would speak of her to his closest friends. The idea that she had made such an impression on the Warden of the North was unexpected, and it left her feeling both flattered and slightly unsettled. 

''I was not aware.'' She admitted after a pause, her voice quieter. 

He offered a gentle smile, sensing some unease. ''Well, now you are, Princess.'' 

She nodded slowly, her mind still processing. ''It, uh, was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Cerwyn,'' her voice wavered slightly, but she quickly composed herself, ''I hope to see you soon again.'' 

Edrick dipped his head in a respectful bow. ''The pleasure was mine, Princess. I am sure our paths will cross again, whether here or in the North.'' 

Visenya resumed her walk after giving him a final nod, her footsteps carrying her down the familiar stone corridors of the Red Keep. Initially, her destination had been clear, to check on her nephew. But after her conversation with Edrick, her mind buzzed with new thoughts, leading her feet in a different direction. 

She turned down a quieter corridor, where the air felt cooler and the noise of the castle seemed to fade into a distant murmur. Her steps guided her to the private chambers of Lady Melina Massey, one of her ladies-in-waiting and the younger sister of Lady Elinda, who had served her late sister Rhaenyra. 

Visenya and Melina had always had a great relationship, offering a blend of wisdom and warmth that made her an invaluable companion. The woman of House Massey was only a few years older than the Targaryen Princess so it had always felt natural to confide in her when it came to more personal subjects. 

As Visenya approached the door, she took a moment to compose herself. Then, with a gentle knock, she announced her presence. The door opened shortly after, revealing Melina's kind and attentive face. She immediately sensed that something was amiss.

''My Princess,'' Melina greeted her with a slight curtsy, her tone laced with concern, ''is everything well?'' 

Visenya managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ''May I come in? There is something I would like to discuss.'' 

The older woman stepped aside without hesitation. ''Of course, Princess.'' She gestured for Visenya to enter, closing the door behind them to ensure their privacy. 

Inside, the room was cosy and inviting, with warm tapestries adorning the walls and a soft glow emanating from the fire burning in the hearth. Melina gestured for her to settle in one of the chairs by the fire, herself taking the opposite seat. 

''What troubles you, my Princess?'' Melina asked gently. 

Visenya took a deep breath, her gaze flickering to the flames before meeting Melina's eyes. ''I just met Lord Edrick Cerwyn. He is a close friend of Cregan,''

Her lady nodded, showing her full attention was on her. 

''He said that Cregan speaks of me, to him - that he speaks highly of me.'' 

Melina leaned in slightly, her eyes alight with curiosity. ''So, Lord Stark speaks of you to his closest friends? That is rather telling, don't you think?'' She grinned, a teasing tone in her voice. 

Visenya offered a small, somewhat embarrassed smile. ''I cannot say. At times, he seems very reserved. I didn't imagine he would mention me to anyone, at least not in a personal way.'' 

Her friend's grin widened, clearly enjoying this rare moment of Visenya's vulnerability. ''Oh, my Princess. You are to be married. Of course, he would speak of you in such a light. How could he not?'' 

She shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the armrest. ''I suppose you are right,'' she admitted softly, ''I do wonder what he tells Lord Cerwyn.'' 

Melina's eyes sparkled with intrigue as she leaned in closer, her voice lowering as if they were sharing a secret. ''Oh, I can only imagine. I bet he speaks of your wisdom, your intelligence, your resilience, your beauty.'' She teased, her tone light and encouraging. 

Visenya's cheeks warmed at the thought, but she let out a small laugh, her earlier uncertainty fading. ''He is difficult to read, always composed.'' She mused. 

Her companion chuckled softly, her smile warm and knowing. ''Reserved men often speak volumes in the little they do say. And if he’s speaking of you, it’s because you’ve given him something to think about.'' 

The Princess' gaze softened as she considered Melina’s words. ''Perhaps,'' she murmured, a gentle smile tugging at her lips, ''it’s strange, though, to think of him discussing me… us… with his friends.'' 

Melina nodded, her expression filled with understanding. ''It might feel strange, but it is a good sign, Princess.'' 

Visenya tilted her head, her voice thoughtful. ''He is not like the men at court, who are all too eager to boast or flatter,'' she remarked, rolling her eyes, ''with him, every word feels… intentional. After the council meeting today, I was upset and frustrated. Somehow, he found me at the right time and he listened to what I had to say, without asking him to.'' 

''Maybe he could feel it in his bones that his future lady-wife was not feeling well?'' Melina laughed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

The younger woman, unable to suppress a grin, leaned forward and playfully slapped her friend's knee. ''Oh, will you hush!'' Though a faint blush graced her cheeks, the teasing was met with good-natured laughter from both.

But as the laughter subsided, Visenya's expression grew more serious. She glanced toward the fire, the flames reflecting in her violet eyes. ''Melina,'' she began, her tone shifting to something more contemplative, ''there is something I wish to ask you.'' 

Melina straightened in her chair, her attention fully on the Princess. ''Yes?'' 

''In a few moons, when it is time for me to leave for Winterfell, I would ask if you would come with me.'' She was nervous asking such a question, to leave her home. 

Melina's eyes widened slightly in surprise. ''You wish for me to accompany you to the North?'' 

Visenya nodded. ''I believe it could be a new start for the both of us. Winterfell is far from here, and there are a lot of uncertainties. Having a familiar face with me in an unfamiliar place would mean a great deal.'' 

Both women had endured the profound loss of their older sisters - Visenya with Rhaenyra, and Melina with Elinda. The grief they carried had only strengthened their bond, one that went beyond mere duty or friendship. 

Melina reached across the small space between them, taking Visenya's hand in hers. ''It would be an honour. I will go wherever you need me, even to the ends of the earth, Visenya.'' 

The Princess's lips curved into a grateful smile. ''Thank you, Melina. Truly.'' 

Melina squeezed her hand gently, and for a moment, the two friends simply sat in the quiet warmth of the room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. It was a peaceful moment, something they both unconsciously needed. 

The days that followed were filled with significant events that would shape the future of the realm. The wedding of Aegon and Jaehaera was a grand yet poignant affair, held outdoors atop Visenya’s Hill. A deafening cheer erupted from the gathered smallfolk when the marriage was solemnised, the streets thrumming with the sounds of celebration as the royal pair were paraded up to the Red Keep in an open litter. The coronation followed swiftly, with Aegon crowned in a simple circlet of yellow gold, his child bride beside him as he took on the mantle of Aegon III, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. 

But even amidst these grand ceremonies, Cregan's departure was imminent. The portcullis at the castle gates was raised, and the cobblestone courtyard buzzed with activity as the Warden of the North and less than a hundred of his men prepared for their journey back to Winterfell. 

Visenya stood near the entrance of the courtyard, her posture straight and her face carefully composed. The cold wind ruffled her hair, and the weight of her impending role as regent settled heavily on her shoulders. She watched as Cregan, mounted on his powerful horse, oversaw the final preparations of his men, his expression a mask of determined calm.

As the moment of farewell drew closer, she took a deep breath, steeling herself. Cregan finished giving orders, his commanding presence unmistakable even in the midst of the bustling activity. He dismounted his horse, his long coat billowing behind him as he walked toward Visenya. 

They met in the centre of the courtyard, where the noise of the departing men and clattering of hooves seemed to recede into the background. His gaze met hers with an intensity that was unnervingly intimate. 

Visenya took a step forward. ''I wish you a safe journey to the North, my Lord.'' 

He inclined his head slightly, the usual firmness of his features softened but still unwavering. ''Thank you, Princess. I shall take great care.'' His voice was low, almost hushed. 

They fell into a silence, the noise of the courtyard seemed to shrink around them. Cregan's expression was unreadable, his eyes intense as if searching for something in her gaze. There was an unspoken tension between them - not of conflict, but of uncertainty. They were both aware that this parting was different, heavier with the weight of their impending union and the months of separation that loomed ahead. 

Visenya hesitated, her mind racing to find the right words. ''I trust you will find the North in good order when you return.'' The words came out more formal than she intended, and she cringed internally at the stiffness of her tone. 

Cregan's brow furrowed slightly, a faint shadow of confusion passing over his features. ''I will do my best to ensure it.'' 

She forced a smile, cursing herself for the awkwardness she felt. 

The Warden studied her for a moment, sensing the unease in her expression and the stiffness in her tone. He took a small step closer, his voice lowering as if to offer her some comfort. ''I look forward to your arrival in Winterfell, my Princess. The North will look forward to seeing you.'' 

Visenya’s forced smile softened. He had a way of making things feel less daunting, even in the simplest of statements. ''Thank you, my Lord.'' 

''I will write to you in the moons we will be apart, if it pleases you?'' A hint of a smile played at his mouth as he asked, the stern lines of his face easing. 

She visibly eased at his words, her heart warming at the prospect of receiving his letters. ''I would like that very much.'' She replied, feeling much more comfortable now. 

Cregan nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he noticed her growing ease.. ''Then you shall have my letters. I won’t let the distance make us strangers.'' 

''I will write too, though I fear my letters may be more about my complaints of the council than anything else.'' Visenya chuckled. 

Cregan's smile deepened, a rare warmth present. ''I will read them all the same. It will remind me that the South still has its own battles to fight.'' 

''And perhaps I will learn more about the North through your letters than I could from any book.'' She remarked, her voice softer now, a touch more sincere. 

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. ''You’ll find the North is as much about its people as its lands.'' 

Cregan's tone held a hint of pride. The North was a place of harsh winters and fierce loyalty, a land where bonds were forged in the fires of adversity, and he wanted her to know that she would be welcomed not just as a princess, but as one of their own.

''Then I shall look forward to your letters, my Lord. Perhaps they will make this time apart a little easier to bear.'' Visenya said, her words laced with a mix of anticipation and hope. 

His gaze lingered, as if he were committing every detail of her face to memory - the way the light afternoon light caught the silver strands of her hair, the gentle curve of her lips as she smiled, the hint of vulnerability in her violet eyes that she tried so hard to hide. 

In an almost quiet, instinctive gesture, Cregan reached out and gently took her hand in his. His grip was firm, yet careful, as though he were holding something delicate that he could easily break. Without breaking eye-contact, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

He let go, and stepped back, a respectful distance now between them. ''Farewell for now, Visenya,'' he said, with an intimate use of her name, ''may the winds favour your journey when you come North.'' 

''And may they guide you home safely, Cregan.'' She replied, feeling flushed by the manner he spoke her name. 

With a nod, Cregan turned, his fur coat sweeping behind him as he mounted his horse once more. The beast shifted beneath him, sensing the change in its rider's mood, eager to be off. Visenya watched as he took his place at the head of his men. The sound of the hooves striking the ground echoed through the courtyard as the Northern party began their journey. She remained rooted in her place as they moved out of the castle walls. 

With one final look over his shoulder, Cregan met her gaze from a distance. He raised his hand in a final, silent farewell, and Visenya raised hers in return. 

She watched until the last trace of his party disappeared from view, the banners of House Stark swallowed by the winding streets of King's Landing that had never truly welcomed them. Only when they were truly gone did she allow herself to lower her hand. 

The courtyard felt emptier now, physically and figuratively. The last weeks the Wolf in the North had been a constant presence, even when that presence was not always appreciated. He had brought with him the biting winds of his homeland, the uncompromising nature of a man forged in a harsher climate, and though his presence had often been met with wariness, it had also provided an anchor, a grounding force in the midst of chaos. 

It was comical how the Lord of Winterfell had gone back to his frosty mountains and weather, yet it was Visenya who felt cold without him there. She felt his absence keenly now. He had been a fixture in the Red Ked. 

A man out of place, but never out of his depth.

The council chamber was filled with the low murmur of voices as the lords, Lady and Princess debated the finer points of the realm's governance. 

Visenya sat at the long, polished table, her posture straight, betraying none of the fatigue that had settled into her bones. To her left sat Ser Torrhen Manderly, the burly lord of White Harbor. On her right sat Corlys, while Lady Jeyne had taken the seat across from her. The Targaryen woman no longer occupied the chair at the head of the table, now belonging to the new Hand of the King, Ser Tyland Lannister. 

Just as Lord Westerling was making a point about the raids of the Red Kraken on the western coasts, the chamber doors creaked open. The maester, a stooped man with a bald head and a chain heavy with links of various metals, stepped inside. He cleared his throat, cutting through the debate. 

''Princess,'' he said, his voice gravelly with age as he addressed Visenya, his eyes respectfully lowered, ''a raven has arrived from Winterfell.'' 

Several faces turned to Visenya, curiosity and concern etched on their features. She remained outwardly composed, though her heart quickened at the mention of Winterfell. The raven could only mean one thing - Cregan had sent word. 

She nodded calmly at the maester. ''Yes, thank you,'' she then turned to the council, her voice measured, ''my Lady, my lords, if you will excuse me. Feel free to continue the discussion amongst yourselves.'' 

The members of the council exchanged glances but nodded in acquiescence. Tyland gave her a small, acknowledging nod. ''Of course, Princess. We shall carry on in your absence.'' 

Visenya rose gracefully from her seat, her movements fluid, betraying none of the excitement that fluttered within her. The eyes of the council followed her as she exited the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud that left the room in a thoughtful silence. 

Once outside the council chamber, the maester waited for her just beyond the doors, holding out a small, tightly rolled scroll sealed with the direwolf of House Stark. The parchment was thick and slightly weathered from its long journey south. 

''A message from Lord Stark, Princess.'' The old man said, handing her the scroll with both hands. 

Visenya took the scroll from him, the weight of it light in her hand. ''Thank you, Maester.'' 

The maester bowed and stepped away, leaving Visenya in the quiet of the corridor. She turned and walked a few steps further down the hall, seeking a more secluded spot near a window where the light streamed in, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. There, she carefully broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. 

''Princess,'' the letter began, formal yet familiar, ''I trust this finds you well. The North is as cold as ever, but its people await your arrival with great anticipation. The preparations for your journey are underway, and I have ensured that Winterfell will be ready to receive both you and your dragon with all the respect due to your station.'' 

Visenya couldn't help but smile faintly at his mention of her dragon. The thought of Sōnax in the North, among the snow and cold, was almost surreal. 

Cregan continued. ''I also wish to inform you that the Bannermen of House Stark have been notified of your impending arrival, and they have pledged to welcome you with the respect and honour that you deserve. Rest assured, you will find strength in the North, and I will do all in my power to ensure you are welcomed as a Stark in every sense.'' 

There was a pause in the letter, almost as if he had hesitated before writing the next part. ''Until then, I will await your letters with impatience. Do not keep me waiting too long, Visenya. I find myself growing quite curious about how you are managing the regency council. I can only hope they are not giving you too many headaches, though knowing the Southern lords, I fear that might be wishful thinking.'' 

Visenya couldn’t suppress a smile at his playful tone. It was a side of Cregan that he rarely showed in his time in the Red Keep. The image of the stern Warden of the North expressing impatience for her letters, and humorously acknowledging the difficulties of dealing with the council, was endearing. ''Do not delay in writing back, for your words are a comfort in this time apart. Until we meet again, Cregan Stark.''

Taglist: @oxymakestheworldgoround

[tariah23]

It’s always crazy to see black celebs spew this same rhetoric because it’s such a privileged take… like, they’ve been famous for so long and have gotten their money up, moved out of the projects or whatever tf, that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be genuinely feel. It’s impossible for them to connect anymore. As far as the qrt, oh wow ☠️.

[pucksandpower]

So Good to Me

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc is the perfect man for you … getting stopped on the street for a random TikTok challenge just serves to prove that even further

The warm Monaco sun beats down on you as you stroll leisurely along the bustling sidewalk, a canvas tote bag filled with fresh produce and flowers from the local farmer’s market hanging from your shoulder. The salty sea breeze wafts across your face, carrying with it the excited chatter and laughter of tourists admiring the luxurious yachts bobbing in Port Hercules.

You smile to yourself, relishing this perfect Mediterranean afternoon. Just a quick stop at home to drop off your purchases, and then maybe you’ll take a dip in the infinity pool on the terrace to cool off before Charles is done with-

“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle!” A young man’s voice breaks through your daydreaming. You glance over to see a twenty-something guy with a neatly trimmed beard, expensive-looking sunglasses, and a black t-shirt emblazoned with HUSTLE in white block letters. He’s holding a mini microphone and has his iPhone pointed at you, clearly filming.

A TikToker.

You sigh internally but force a polite smile.

“Oui, puis-je vous aider?” You reply in French.

“Ah sorry, I don’t speak much French! Do you speak English?” The TikToker asks eagerly in a British accent.

“Yes, I do. Can I help you with something?” You say, switching to English yourself. You just want to get home but you know these influencer types can be annoyingly persistent.

The TikToker grins. “Brilliant! I’m doing a social experiment for my followers. I was wondering — do you have a significant other? A boyfriend or husband perhaps?”

You raise an eyebrow questioningly but decide to humor him. “Um, yes, I have a boyfriend,” you answer simply.

His eyes light up. “Fantastic! And would you say your boyfriend loves you very much?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the boldness of this stranger’s line of questioning. “Yes, I would definitely say that. He loves me a lot,” you confirm, a soft smile playing on your lips as you think of Charles.

“Perfect! Okay, here’s the challenge,” the TikToker announces dramatically, staring intensely into his camera. “I want you to call up your boyfriend right now and ask him to send you some money. Doesn’t matter how much. But for every €100 he sends, I’ll give you €20 to keep for yourself. Let’s see how much he really loves you, shall we?”

You stare at this guy incredulously for a moment before bursting out laughing. Is he serious? He clearly has no idea who your boyfriend is. An amused smirk spreads across your face as you fish your iPhone out of your designer purse.

“Alright, you’re on,” you say confidently, already unlocking your phone and tapping on Charles’ contact. The TikToker looks surprised but excited that you actually agreed to his silly challenge.

“Put it on speaker phone,” he instructs, zooming his camera in on your phone screen which is now dialing Charles.

After a few rings, the warm, honey-smooth voice you adore comes through. “Allô mon amour, what’s up?” Charles greets you sweetly. “I’m just finishing up some simulator runs but I should be done soon to help with dinner.”

“Hey baby,” you reply, your voice automatically softening. “Sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy. But I’m out right now and I just passed by that little boutique near the casino, you know the one? And I saw the most incredible pair of shoes in the window. I swear they were calling my name.”

Charles laughs affectionately, the sound like music to your ears even through the cell phone speaker. “Oh yeah? The ones that were calling your name last week turned out to be, what was it, €900?” He teases.

You roll your eyes playfully even though he can’t see. “Okay, fair, but you know I hardly ever splurge on myself. I’m usually so frugal!”

“Mmhmm, whatever you need to tell yourself, chérie,” Charles says wryly and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Let me guess, you need to go get these dream shoes right now? Or else they’ll haunt you forever?”

“You know me so well,” you gush dramatically. “I promise I’ll pay you back though! I get paid next week and-”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Charles cuts you off gently. “Mon cœur, you never have to pay me back, you know that. I love being able to treat you and spoil you. You deserve the world. Never forget that.”

You feel yourself melt at his earnest words, momentarily forgetting you have an audience. “I love you so much,” you murmur. “Thank you for always being so good to me.”

“Right back at you, ma belle. Je t’aime,” Charles says tenderly. “There, check your banking app. Let me know if you need any more. And have fun shopping! I’ll see you at home in a bit, okay? À bientôt!”

You glance down at your phone as a notification from your bank pops up on the screen. Your eyes widen slightly when you see the amount Charles sent over, but you recover quickly.

“Thank you, baby. See you soon!” You reply before hanging up. You turn back to the TikToker who is gaping at you in disbelief. Casually, you turn your phone screen towards him and his camera so he can clearly see the notification that €10,000 has just been deposited into your account.

The poor guy looks like he’s about to pass out from shock. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, rendered speechless. You just laugh good-naturedly.

“Well, guess I won your little challenge, huh?” You remark, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Tell you what, why don’t you donate whatever money you were going to give me to a local animal shelter instead? I think it’ll be put to much better use there.”

The TikToker finally manages to pick his jaw up off the floor. He laughs shakily and nods. “Yeah ... yeah I can do that. Wow. Um, thanks for being such a good sport about this. And congrats on, uh, winning, I guess?”

You give him a friendly wink. “Anytime. Have a nice rest of your day!” With that, you turn gracefully on your heel and continue on your way back home, feeling rather smug and deeply appreciative of your wonderfully generous boyfriend.

“Wait!” The TikToker calls out after you. You glance back over your shoulder curiously. He hesitates before asking in an awed voice, “If you don’t mind me asking ... who the hell is your boyfriend?”

An enigmatic smile plays on your lips. “No one special really,” you reply breezily. “Just a guy who loves driving fast cars.”

You leave the gaping TikToker in your wake as you saunter off, already daydreaming about showing your appreciation to Charles later for being the most incredible boyfriend imaginable.

Maybe you really will splurge on those designer shoes after all … and pick up a little something special from the lingerie boutique next door while you’re at it.

Your smile widens. Just as a little thank you to your man, of course. Life is good when you’re in love with Charles Leclerc.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Love After Death

Yandere Skeleton x Fem Reader

I’m obsessed with Kate Bush’s song ‘Army Dreamers.’ So I decided to write a story about a soldier who died during a war, but he came back to life just to fulfill his promise of coming home to his lover…

There was a Great War many years ago between monsters and humans. A war that took countless innocent lives all due to the human’s greed. A war that took the life of your lover, Zered. Your childhood sweetheart.

Zered was a young sorcerer from the magic tower. A prodigy and pioneer of magic with a heart of gold. He was the man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. You wanted to run your fingers through those blonde curls until the two of you were balding and wrinkly. To look into those sea foam eyes until you couldn’t. To press soft kisses against his full lips until your lungs burned. You loved that man more than anything in this world… but the war took him from you.

Zered may have died a hero of the empire, but you couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped its fingers into your heart. Your beloved was no nothing more of a war story. A great sorcerer who was able to take down the dragon enemies to give time for reinforcements to arrive. A war hero. And they couldn’t even bring a single remain of him back to you…

You sighed as you sipped on some homemade ale. Your eyes glanced at the sun’s rays that danced across the hay fields in sorrow. This was the cottage the two of you were going to live in for the rest of your days. The one you’d start a family in that was now cold and empty. It didn’t matter that the sun hit it perfectly each time, Zered wasn’t here.

You rock back and forth in the rocking chair. The birds weren’t singing their melodic tunes like they normally did. Which was odd. Why weren’t the birds singing- you almost screamed when you see a dark figure slink through the meadow towards your cabin. What on earth was an undead doing here?!

You quickly sprang up from your chair and fell over since you were a bit tipsy. Crap. Crap. Crap! You needed to head inside before that creature got to you.

You let out a shrill shriek of terror when the skeleton stood in your porch. Its red eyes stared into your very soul as it tilted its head to the side. Oh god… this was it. This was the end. You were going to be ripped apart by this hideous creature-

You went still when the creature threw itself into your arms as it released weeping noises. The skeleton whined and shook as its arms wrapped around your body in a tight hug.

“H-home. I… home.” The skeleton’s voice was a spin chilling rasp. A small tuft of blonde on its head showed that it was once human.

What did it mean by being home- wait. This cousin possibly be?

“Zered?” You gasped when the skeleton pressed its teeth onto your cheek like it wanted for press a kiss against your cheeks. “Zered, what happened?”

“Home… home.” Zered was barely to rasp out legible words. The skeleton cupped your face in its palms. “Love you… I home.”

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Among Strangers | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: A handsome stranger takes it upon himself to take care of you in a crowded subway as you try to evade a man that had been following you after a night of drinking.

•Pairing: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, stalking, public unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, crowded area, sex with a stranger, biting, possessive chan, brief mentions of bondage and claustrophobia with a surprise ending. (I think that's everything)

an: This was first posted on my Wattpad but it was pretty ass and didn't do well so I fixed it up a little bit (a lot... Like it was so bad lol) and figured maybe it would be better appreciated here.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

After a chill hangout at the bar with some friends from work, you all decide to head home. It's been a chill night with not too much drinking. Since you live close by, walking home seems like a good idea for some fresh air. But as you split from the group, you realize you're not alone. You start to get this eerie feeling like you're being followed. Looking over your shoulder you see a hooded figure and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight up. At every turn there he is, shadowing your every move, sending shivers down your spine.

Nervous about the idea of him following you home, you hop onto the subway thinking you could hide among a sea of people. With the size of the crowd there's no way he could find you. You're confident it'll work as you weave your way through the crowd, tripping over your own feet in a rush to lose him. You aim for the door at the end of the car on the other side just to create some distance between you and him. You steal a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding, checking if the man is still behind you. But in a rush, you accidentally step on someone's foot, sending a jolt of embarrassment through you.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, cheeks reddening. “I'm so sorry.”

When your eyes meet the stranger in front of you, you're met with kind gentle brown eyes belonging to a beautiful man with dimples and perfectly styled hair buzzed slightly on the sides.

“No worries.” He smiles sweetly showing off his perfect dimples while his velvety Australian accent engulfs you and calms down some of the panic in your chest.

Looking over your shoulder again, you catch sight of the man coming into your view. His gaze meets yours, and a smirk plays on his lips before he casually looks away. Panic surges again, your moment of peace gone, sending your heart into overdrive and your eyes to widen in alarm. The handsome stranger in front of you notices your reaction and follows your line of sight to the man in the black hoodie, mirroring your concern.

"Hey, you okay? That guy giving you trouble?" His voice cuts through the chatter of the people around you. His voice, laced with a hint of concern and tinged with something darker, making you snap your attention back to him.

The dim subway lights overhead cast shadows across his young face, highlighting his handsome features more rather than diluting them. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach realizing just how worried for you he is. He glares at the creep and the muscle in his jaw ticks once.

“He’s been following me since I left the bar. I was too afraid to go home so I tried to make a detour to shake him off but he's fucking relentless.” you explain in a quiet hush.

The creep looks over at you again as if to make sure you're still in his eyesight and looks away quickly to not draw attention to his shady acts.

“Maybe he'll back off if he thinks we're together? He looked away pretty quick when he saw me. I'll stay with you for however long you need. Just to be sure that you're safe.” The stranger beside you says sweetly.

You felt fucking lucky to have run into someone willing to help you, to keep you safe. You could've ended up locked in some damp dark basement if not for this man you thought to yourself. You can already feel the mild tipsiness from the alcohol wearing off and you feel more alert and aware of your surroundings.

“Thank you so so much.” You reply and the man holds his hand out for you.

“I'm Chris.” He gives you an award winning smile that lights up his whole face and yours.

You mirror his smile and take his hand. One shake and you gasp at the sudden static shock that you feel spread throughout your whole body rather than just your fingertips. His hand is soft and warm and your body suddenly feels hot all over as if you drank a lot more than you really did.

“Y/N.” You introduce yourself timidly and he gives a small nod of his head.

The train rattles to a stop and opens the doors behind you and Chris, letting on more people eager to get home after work. It becomes increasingly crowded and you're forced even closer to Chris. So much closer that you have to take a couple of steps back in an attempt to have some space, only for your back to hit the glass window of the other doors. Another stop and more people push in, bringing the creep closer to you and forcing Chris's chest to push into yours. He apologizes, placing gentle hands on my arms.

“If you get uncomfortable let me know. I'll try and make space.” He tells you, placing a hand above your head as the train rumbles along.

“Y-yeah okay.” You mutter, feeling the hard muscles underneath the white button up shirt he's wearing.

With the alcohol completely gone from your system now, you realize that the situation you're in is beyond embarrassing. Your breasts are rubbing against his chest with every rock and shake of the train in an almost lewd way. Granted you are thankful that he's keeping you away from being pressed up against some weirdo or worse the guy following you but still, It's awkward. There's no way he can't feel your heart beating so rapidly. The train makes a sudden bump and your bodies are pushed together even more.

“Sorry.” You whisper when your hands instinctively go around his middle. He chuckles and you feel it vibrate through your chest, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter awake.

“It's okay y/n. You give great hugs.” He says, the butterflies go mad and your face grows warm.

He's so sweet and so good looking there's no way he was flirting with me just now. No way, he's just a really sweet guy. Yeah… he's just being nice.

As the train continues to go on you feel eyes on you, burning a hole straight into your skull. Looking around Chris's muscular frame you see the creep, staring, lewdly licking his lips and undressing you with his eyes, no doubt. You squirm to try and get out of eye sight but Chris's strong hand holds you still.

“What's wrong?” He whispers. His voice makes you shiver against him and his fingers tighten on your arms briefly.

“That creep is staring at me.” It makes you feel disgusted. Your skin crawls the way his eyes slide over your face.

Chris curses under his breath and pauses. “I'll push up to give you enough space to turn around so he can't see your face. Maybe once these doors open we can quickly get off and lose him then.”

You nod at his idea and he pushes on the door, putting an inch between you two. It's not a lot of space to move but you try your best, turning around facing away from Chris and the creep. Now, at least like this, your breasts aren't crushed into him. Only now, your ass is pressing against his front. From one awkward situation to another…. This is what I get for going out after work on a Wednesday. You think to yourself. I should've gone straight home or at least changed.

The skirt you decided to wear to the office today is now hitched up just barely covering your ass. If you can just keep still maybe he won't notice and the situation doesn't get any more embarrassing than it is.

“So uh what do you do for work y/n?” Chris asks and clears his throat. You can feel every word against your back.

“Uh, I work at CBO. I'm an editor over there.” You feel him nod behind you slowly.

“I heard they're supposed to get a new CEO. Some big shot is what the news is saying.” He responds but you shrug. You haven't heard much about the new CEO except for that he's the son of the previous CEO as well as the new owner now that his father is retiring.

“I'm sure he'll be a great boss. I actually haven't met him yet. I don't even know what he looks like” You utter softly sounding uncertain. Would he be a great boss? Would he take care of you? Who knows he could change everything with just one hand.

══════════════•✦•✦•══════════════

The train enters a tunnel and you watch the lights outside in the darkness flick and zip past in a blur before noticing Chris's reflection. His eyes are on you, studying your face in the glass of the door. Your eyes meet in the all the air gets sucked out of your lungs like a sudden punch to the gut. His gaze is smoldering, far too hot to be on the receiving end of such intensity. No one says a word although his lips slowly form a sexy coquettish smile.

“Do you need me to stay with you when we get off while you call your boyfriend?.” He whispers.

You shake your head no, eyes still on his reflection. “Don't have one of those but I can call a friend to pick me up.”

As you're about to open your mouth again to thank him for the hundredth time, the train comes to a screeching stop and the lights in the car go out. Men and women grumble and some even scream. The force causes Chris to slam into you and your skirt bunches up further about midway up your ass. In a panic you tell him and he curses under his breath.

“I'll try to fix it but I have to touch you, y/n. Is that okay?” Him asking for consent to touch you makes him that much more attractive.

“Yes, please.” You say, just as a voice is heard over the speaker.

“Passengers, please be patient there seems to be some debris on the tracks that is blocking our route. They're already taking care to remove it. We'll be moving on shortly.” The voice is replaced with calming elevator music playing loudly.

That's a smart way to keep everyone calm so that no one panics. Only one panicking right now however is you. The feel of Chris's fingertips against your bare thighs is driving you insane. His touch is hot but you shiver like his fingers are made of ice. Why is it turning me on so much when he's just trying to fix my skirt?. The move is too slow to be legal that's why. His movements feel so sensual.

“Sorry, I'm trying not to draw attention.” He explains as if he can hear your thoughts.

Shit you want to stop him. To say never mind and to leave it as is and pray that the train will be stopping soon to let some people off… but you don't. Instead you hold your breath and squeeze your legs together. Your arousal grows to an unbearable high. It's just a simple touch. Why is it driving you crazy? You aren't inexperienced at your age by any means. You've had lovers before but this man's fingers, they burn wherever he touches.

“The material of your skirt seems to be stuck on my fly.” He says and the urge to crawl into a hole is strong. “I can fix it but I'll have to lower my zipper. Tell me what you're comfortable with y/n.” He whispers leaning closer to your ear.

Loose tendrils of your ponytail flutter around your ear from his breath and you mentally remind yourself to breathe. Would it be selfish to ask him to lower it? What if he's uncomfortable with that? This isn't just about you now.

“I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

He places his palm flat against your thigh comfortingly. “Whatever you decide, I won't be uncomfortable. As long as you're comfortable y/n, then so am I.” The conviction in his voice calms you and you give him a curt nod once.

“Lower it please.” You whisper, your voice sounding small with embarrassment.

His hand moves again from your thigh to your ass and you bite your lip hard. His knuckles graze the bareness and you unexpectedly feel him stir from inside his black slacks. Seems like I'm not the only one turned on by the other. Slowly and agonizingly, he lowers his zipper to not be heard over the piano and violin playing through the speakers.

“There. Are you okay?” You don't feel okay. You feel like you’re on the verge of dying from embarrassment and horniness. You can feel the opening of his pants against you and his growing erection pressing into your ass.

“I'm okay.” You lie. “Thank you Chris.”

Out of habit whenever you're riddled with anxiety, you shift your footing which only makes your ass rub against his erection more. “Shit. I'm sorry, I move around when I'm in an embarrassing situation and this takes the cake for me.”

He chuckles softly. “It's okay. I uh, I can't really control it unfortunately. Not when I've got such a beautiful woman like you in my arms. You make it… difficult to say the least.”

You rest your forehead onto the cold glass feeling the blush take over your whole face and he chuckles again.

“If I knew my evening would be like this I wouldn't have gone to happy hour with my co-workers.” Your sad confession fogs up the glass and you close your eyes.

He places a comforting hand on your hip. You're so packed he can't seem to stand the way he was before. His arms are restricted from raising any further than your hips now.

“It's okay y/n it's not all bad. We got to meet after all.” He says, making you smile.

“That's true. I don't know what would've happened if I didn't run into you.” His hands linger and you get so used to the heat that when he finally does move them away you feel cold and shiver under him. He groans softly, sending something like an electric current to the space between your thighs. That sound… you want to hear it more. Biting your lip you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Y/n…” Chris quietly says, sounding amused. “What are you doing?”

You shake your head feigning innocence. “My feet. It's these heels, I'm sorry.”

Why did I do that? I've seriously lost my mind but why do I want to do it again? The feel of him hard against your ass must be making you certifiably insane. This isn't right. Your better judgment screams at you. It's just your hormones getting out of hand.

When he places both hands on your hips and leans in, you expect for him to call you out on that blatant lie but instead he whispers, “Do it again.” All while slowly playing with the hem of your skirt.

You stifle a silent gasp, jaw dropping in disbelief, yet you obediently follow his instructions moving your hips just slightly. When you do, his left hand grips onto your hip tight and he sighs. His erection, that's fighting itself to stay inside the confines of his briefs, jerks forward against the fabric. Before you can shift again, his right arm wraps around you and his fingers find the wetness of your panties.

“So I'm not the only one fighting temptation I see.” His warm sweet breath fans across your cheek and your body sags a little in his arms when his fingers begin to dance.

Focusing on your breathing is all you can do so you don't faint from his touch. And trying to stay quiet now becomes a struggle the more his fingers move.

“Is this okay y/n?” You can only nod, too afraid of accidentally moaning and embarrassing yourself anymore today. He just chuckles and stops the torturous tango that his fingers were doing. “Use your words baby girl. Tell me if it's okay or not.” he instructs.

“Yes. It's okay, more please.” You hoarsely whisper, voice thick with lust.

Chris doesn't move, doesn't make a sound for what feels like minutes rather than seconds. Afraid that he might not have heard you, you open your mouth to repeat yourself when his fingers slip under the satin of your thong and into your slick folds.

“Good girl.” He says, his voice dripping with sex.

You lay your head back onto his shoulder as he works you just barely over the edge. Long fingers slipping in and out, massaging your thoroughly drenched cunt with ease. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and everything around you begins to blur. Lust, that primal urge, it ignites like a flame inside you, pulsating with an insatiable hunger that courses through every fiber of your being. You're so close to cumming around Chris's fingers, soaking his hand with your desire. You want to tell him just how close you are but if you let up on the hold your teeth have on your bottom lip you won't be able to control the sounds you'll make.

The lights come on just as you're about to come undone and he quickly removes his fingers just as quickly as he inserted them. The train begins to move again and you squint at the sudden light overhead that blinds you, breathing heavily. Before your eyes can adjust to the light and before your core begins to crave Chris's touch, you feel him fumbling behind you freeing his cock and distracting you from the frustration of your denied orgasm.

“Is there anything I should know?” He inquires, sounding like he's in a business meeting.

You don't need to ask what he's referring to. The real question though is do you really want to do this here, with someone you just met? What if you get caught? You both could get arrested. You could get fired. But there's no room in your mind for logic right now with the thrill and your need to cum clouding you. Fuck it.

“No nothing, I'm good. This is what I want.” You see his reflection smile.

“Good. Now, keep your eyes on me y/n.”

You feel the tip of him, covered in precum pressed firmly on your ass and his hands slide under your navy skirt pushing it up further. He hooks his thumb under the string of your thong and pulls it to the side. Your eyes never leave his face.

“No noise.” He warns, situating himself behind you, lining his cock up just right.

His cock feels thick and hot slipping between your thighs. You're so wet that there's little to no resistance as he pushes further and further until he's fully inside you. You let out a shuddering breath and your eyelids flutter close, feeling his warmth.

“No noise, remember? Look at me y/n. I want to see you when you cum on dick.” He tells you quietly, his voice more quiet than a whisper.

Your eyes fly open and stare at his reflection in awe of how gorgeous and composed he looks. He looks calm, like he's doing nothing other than waiting for his stop but his hands tell you otherwise. You feel it in the way he's gripping you to steal himself and to keep from bucking his hips into you at full force like he wants to. Like you want him to.

Instead he has to go at such an aching delicious slow pace so that the people behind him or next to you both aren't aware of what's going on. Your fingers long to hold onto him, to anything really. You're stuck standing still with your palms flat against the glass in front of you. Your breathing begins to fog the glass but you keep your focus on Chris and notice how his eyes go half lidded.

The brown seems to have gotten darker than the warm milk chocolate from earlier. One of his arms snakes around you and he presses his hand flat on your belly giving him more leverage. When he starts to move just a tad faster your heart rate skyrockets. The fear, adrenaline and lust mixing together creates an intoxicating concoction. Every glance, every touch, becomes charged with an energy that enthralls you. Your pulse echoes in your ears, drowning out all rational thought.

Chris's thrusts are covered up by the rocking of the train as it speeds down the rails. Your orgasm isn't far at this rate. Like a slow burn you feel it building up. A simmering that starts deep within your core, radiating up and outward. You're struggling to stay standing, to stay quiet now.

Your breathing comes out in ragged pants and your knees threaten to buckle the closer he brings you to ecstasy. You aren't the only one struggling, Chris's breathing is just as shaky and primal as yours and you hear him whisper something in another language before he murmurs “Fuck.” Into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. When your walls tighten around him he curses again and his gaze looks wild.

“Why do you feel so good around my cock y/n?” He asks but you don't dare respond. He smirks, grinding himself into you. “You take directions s-so well. So… obedient.” He whispers.

You can hear how he's losing his control. His composure has melted away and he no longer looks calm and collected. He looks like a man high on sex and chasing the release that's within reach.

“Y/n… fuck. Tell me, can I cum inside you? Will you let me fill you? Use your words beautiful.” He nips your neck just below your ear and you tremble.

“Yes. You can,” You bite your lip again to hold back what would've been a loud gasp when the train jerks Chris forward causing his cock to slam into your sensitive cunt. “You can cum inside. I'm so close Chris.”

“Then cum baby. Fucking cream on it y/n. Shit, so good.

Hearing him lose himself like that is your undoing and you're falling apart around him. The air becomes heavy with the heady scent of arousal, thick and intoxicating, swirling around you and Chris like a seductive veil. Each breath is laced with the taste of pleasure. Time seems to stand still as you stare at him. Eyes wide as you breathe through your nose squeezing your lips shut tight desperate to make no sound at all. Your cunt convulses around his cock begging to milk it of every drop.

The aftershocks of your orgasm shoot through you as he continues to thrust deeper and deeper. His own orgasm right at the edge. His arm tightens around you, hugging you closer to him. his breath becomes shallow and erratic as he reaches his climax.

“Fuck, fuck.” He whispers and he bites down hard on your neck over your fast pulsating pulse, sucking your flesh to keep himself from telling you how you belong to him now.

He bites you to keep the grunts and praises from tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably. Because something about you makes him lose control. He doesn't do shit like this. He's careful, always planning and thinking things out. He just doesn't do spontaneity. He didn't plan this, it just happened. You just bulldozed into his life and he can’t get enough. What is it about you that makes him desire this cunt he's currently filling to the brim that he craves to make sore and swollen with his cock until the sun rises? Whatever it is, he's already addicted. He needs you in his own space, tied up nice and pretty like a gift only for him to unwrap. Fuck. He's already thinking of all the positions he'd have you in if you were at his place.

You watch in awe at how intense and irresistible he looks while he spills himself inside of you. His eyes hold so much power over you. You feel the weight of his possessiveness in his unwavering stare and it excites you immensely. You find yourself thinking of asking him to come back to your place where you'd be free to move around, cry his name out without anyone around. You're curious how sex with Chris would be in a more relaxed setting. If this orgasm was intense you can't imagine how it would feel when he isn't holding back.

He slowly pulls out of you, fixing himself as best as he can and then fixes your skirt back in place. He places a sweet kiss to the back of your head, chest still rapidly rising and falling. When you blush he chuckles.

“You're a cutie y/n. After all that, you blush from a kiss. So adorable.” He murmurs and you shift your feet. “If we don't get off soon I'll end up going for another round if you keep that up.”

You giggle and look back at him, “Sorry, I'll behave.” You sweetly say.

“What if I don't want you to?” He says instantly.

You blink at him, your face reflecting shock in the glass, and he chuckles. “To be honest with you y/n, I'd love to see you again if you'd let me.”

“Me? Seriously?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Of course. Preferably somewhere less crowded. I think after today I'll be just a little claustrophobic.”

You laugh and even after what just happened you can't believe how incredible of a guy he is. He wraps his arms around you, hugging you while you laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful laugh y/n?” He whispers and you shake your head. “Why does something as simple as hearing you laugh make me so hard? What have you done to me?”

A shiver of pleasure runs through your body and he exhales quietly.

“I'd fuck you again right now if we weren't about to stop.” He tells you followed by the robotic female voice informing everyone to wait until the train comes to a complete stop and the doors open.

As the subway doors slide open, Chris grabs your hand and pulls you through them, dodging the rush of commuters that are eager to go home. With ease he leads you away from the hooded creep that's desperate to find you, vanishing into the shadows behind a massive pillar. You peek out from behind Chris who scans the area cautiously. When the man doesn't see you he hops back on the train, disappointment evident on his face but relief floods over you. Glad that's over.

"Thank you Chris." you say, sending a quick text to your best friend for a ride. “For saving me I mean.”

"It was my pleasure, y/n." he replies smoothly, grinning at you, his gaze lingering on your lips. His thumb brushes your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "Anytime you need saving, or anything really just give me a shout, yeah?" He hands you a sleek black business card with fancy gold letters.

Maybe you will call him, because you really can't imagine that you'll get the memory of how he felt inside of you out of your mind. Besides, he made it very clear he wanted to see you again and how could you turn a man like Chris down?

After saying goodbye when your bestie arrives, you watch Chris walk away in the side mirror as the car eases into traffic. Glancing at the card in your hand, you see it reads "Chris Bang, CEO and Co-owner of CBO," and you feel a wave of shock and mortification wash over you.

“Who was that hottie?” Your friend asks bobbing her head along to the radio when she stops at a red light.

“My new boss…” You say, still feeling his warm cum still inside of you.

“Also... what the hell happened to your neck?”

[leftoverpages]

Starlit Sands

Pairing 𓅪 Knight!Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x Targaryen!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, angst, fluff-ish, no war AU, reader uses she/her but no physical description, she’s Rhaenyra’s daughter (no mention of the father)

Notes: spent all day writing for this man so you’re going to be fed for the next few days <3

Wordcount 𓅪 1.1k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's chambers in the Red Keep were a sanctuary of silk and velvet, where whispered secrets echoed in the tapestries and the scent of jasmine lingered in the air. From her window, Y/N watched the city of King's Landing bustle and buzz with life below, the setting sun casting a fiery glow over the rooftops. It was here, amidst the opulence of her mother's court, that she felt most trapped.

Tonight, however, a restlessness stirred within her heart, a yearning for something beyond the gilded confines of the castle. With nimble fingers, she unlatched the window and slipped out into the twilight, her silken gown billowing softly in the evening breeze. Moonlight bathed her in its gentle embrace as she made her way through deserted corridors and shadowed alcoves, guided by the distant murmur of the sea.

Unbeknownst to her, Ser Benjicot Blackwood stood vigilant outside her door, his silver armor gleaming in the flickering torchlight. His duty as a knight of the Kingsguard demanded unwavering vigilance, yet tonight, his thoughts strayed to the young princess whose safety was his charge. As the hours wore on, a sense of unease gnawed at him, prompting him to check on her.

When Lady Rhaenyra arrived at her daughter's chambers, her brow furrowed with concern. "Where is Y/N?" she demanded of the guards stationed outside, her voice edged with urgency.

"She was here, Your Grace," one of the guards stammered, his eyes darting nervously. "But we haven't seen her leave."

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened with worry. "Find her," she ordered sharply, her tone brooking no argument. "Now."

Meanwhile, Y/N reached the deserted beach at the edge of the Blackwater Rush, her bare feet sinking into the cool, damp sand. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery path upon the water's surface as waves whispered secrets to the shore. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide beckoned to her, offering solace amidst the tumult of her thoughts.

She paused at the water's edge, her gaze drawn to the horizon where the last remnants of daylight clung stubbornly to the sky. Stars began to twinkle overhead, painting the heavens with their ancient light. In that moment, Y/N felt a profound sense of peace, as if the weight of her responsibilities had been momentarily lifted.

Ser Benjicot, racing against time and worry, finally caught sight of Y/N's figure silhouetted against the waves. Relief flooded through him as he quickened his pace, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. "Y/N!" he called out, his voice echoing across the deserted beach.

Startled, Y/N turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of guilt. "Ser Benjicot," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves. "I... I needed..."

Her words faltered, caught between explanation and apology, as Ser Benjicot approached her with measured steps. "My lady," he began, his tone a mixture of reproach and concern. "You cannot simply wander off like this. Your safety..."

Y/N met his gaze, her expression a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "I needed to escape," she confessed softly, her voice tinged with melancholy. "To breathe, to feel... alive."

Ser Benjicot's stern countenance softened as he regarded her with a depth of understanding that belied his knightly demeanor. "Your safety is paramount," he insisted, his voice tinged with anguish. "I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Y/N reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against his armored sleeve. "I know," she replied softly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But sometimes, I need to remind myself that there's beauty beyond these walls."

Their gazes locked in a silent exchange fraught with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. Ser Benjicot's heart raced with conflicting emotions, torn between duty and the undeniable pull of his feelings for the young princess under his protection.

"Y/N," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I am bound by oath, by duty..."

Before he could finish, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of longing and forbidden passion. In that fleeting moment, time stood still as they shared a stolen embrace, their hearts beating in unison beneath the starlit sky.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the salt-tinged air, Ser Benjicot's resolve wavered under the weight of their unspoken truth. "I cannot," he whispered hoarsely, his voice betraying the turmoil within. "I should not..."

Y/N silenced him with a gentle touch to his lips, her eyes shimmering with determination. "Sometimes, Ser Benjicot," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet resolve, "love cannot be bound by duty alone."

With a heavy heart and a lingering touch, Y/N turned towards the Red Keep, leaving Ser Benjicot alone with the echo of their forbidden kiss and the weight of their unspoken yearning.

But instead of leaving, Y/N hesitated, feeling the pull of the serene beach and the quiet company of the knight who watched over her. She turned back to Ser Benjicot, whose expression mirrored her inner turmoil.

"Let’s stay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle rush of the waves. "Just for a moment."

Ser Benjicot hesitated, torn between his duty and the undeniable bond that had formed between them. But in the end, his heart won over his sense of duty, and he sank down beside her on the soft sand, his armor creaking softly with the movement.

They sat in silence, watching as the last vestiges of daylight faded from the sky, giving way to a tapestry of stars that glittered like diamonds overhead. Y/N leaned against Ser Benjicot, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

"This is beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder as she traced the outline of a constellation with her finger.

Ser Benjicot glanced down at her, his gaze softening as he looked upon the young princess who had captured his heart. "Yes," he agreed quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "But not as beautiful as you."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know we cannot be together," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But in this moment, let us forget about duty and honor."

Ser Benjicot's hand found hers, intertwining their fingers together in a silent promise. "Just for tonight," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Let us be together."

They sat together in the tranquil embrace of the night, their hearts entwined amidst the stars and the whispering waves. For in that fleeting moment, duty and love coexisted harmoniously, bound by the silent oath of their hearts.

And as the moon sailed high overhead, casting its silvery light upon the world below, Y/N and Ser Benjicot watched the sunset fade into memory, cherishing the fragile yet enduring bond they had forged amidst the serenity of the beach, knowing their love was a secret whispered between the stars.

[cassandraclare]

Those of you who get my newsletter will already have seen this but here's a snippet from the Matthew novella A Sea Change (some spoilers) — and Matthew on one of the endpapers for the novella book! Doesn't he look grownup?

 

It was a beautiful night.    The promenade deck wended its way around the entirely of the Majestic like a necklace of polished wood and brass fittings. There were few out walking like Matthew, perhaps because it was cool and windy, but Shadowhunters were used to the cold. Besides, the wind blew the clouds away, exposing a sky so full of stars it looked as if a jeweler had hastily stuffed a drawer with handfuls of loose-cut diamonds.    A year ago, Matthew would not have been able to enjoy the path the moonlight made across the water, or the sky afire with white flame. He would have been thinking about his last drink, or where he would find his next one. A frantic circle of pain and shame and longing: one he’d had to trudge invisibly, keeping his secrets from his friends, his family.    Now the weight was off him. He felt light, and sometimes strangely at rest, like a windmill on a windless night. He no longer despised himself, but he did not know his purpose, either. If, he mused, one had to have a purpose at all. Was it not enough to be a Shadowhunter — one among many, but each sworn to protect humanity against demons? To keep peace among mundanes and Downworlders — warlocks, werewolves, the Fair Folk, and vampires?    A year ago, he wasn’t sure he would have so quickly identified Miss Gwendolyn as a vampire, either. But then Matthew spent more time with Downworlders than most Shadowhunters did. Some he was friendly with, but he did not trick himself into thinking that meant they were not dangerous. And a vampire hiding out among humans was cause for concern.    He’d noted the way Gwendolyn hadn’t eaten, and had drunk sparingly of the wine. The translucence of her fingernails. Her pallor, even under a layer of makeup. The veins at her temples — if those were visible, she was hungry. And there had been the odd behavior of Orville Cole. The way he’d stared at her worshipfully. Humans often fell under the spell of vampires, finding them impossible to resist. It was not the same as a thrall relationship, where the vampire fed from the human and in return promised them eternal life, but it was a use of vampire glamour forbidden by the Accords.    Though Gwendolyn had seemed, if anything, annoyed at Cole’s attentions. Perhaps she’d enchanted him without meaning to and wished nothing more than to be rid of him. It was hard to say; Matthew did not get the sense she’d been a vampire very long.    At that moment, lost in thought, Matthew collided with something solid.     “Pardonnez-moi — oh. It’s you.” The young man from dinner, Sylvain Allard, had evolved out of the shadows. He wore a dark summer suit which blended with the night.

[madamabelladonna]

𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jealousy & Criston 'Rice Krispy' Cole 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Ser Ryak led you through the dim corridors of the Red Keep, his heavy boots scuffing against the cold, uneven stones. The predawn air hung thick with a damp chill, a sea mist that clung to your skin and settled like dew on your hair. It was a still, quiet hour, that mysterious time when the castle seemed to breathe in its sleep, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs the only indication that the world outside was still alive.

The mist wrapped around the castle like a shroud, casting a ghostly pallor over everything. The torches along the walls had burned down to embers, and their dim, flickering light barely held back the shadows. The wind from the bay swept through the open passages, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint, sharp scent of the cold morning air.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, clutching the wooden bucket of carrots close to your chest. “My lady, are you quite certain you don’t require assistance?” Ser Ryak’s voice broke the silence, low and cautious, his eyes darting to the heavy pail in your grip. He was a tall man, with a lined face and sharp blue eyes that always seemed to watch you more closely than you would like.

“I can manage,” you replied, a touch of firmness in your tone, your fingers gripping the rough wood even tighter. You would not be seen as weak, not today. Merek had made it clear that Whisper was your responsibility now, and you would not allow yourself to fail. If it meant waking before dawn and trudging through the cold with a bucket of carrots, so be it. You had taken it upon yourself, and you would see it through.

The stables loomed ahead, their thatched roof barely visible against the gray sky. As you neared, the smell of hay and manure grew stronger, mingling with the scent of damp earth. The doors were ajar, a faint glow spilling out into the mist like a buoy. You could hear the muffled sounds of the horses shifting restlessly in their stalls, the soft clinking of metal against wood as they moved.

Inside, the stables were dark, save for a single lantern hanging from a beam. Its light flickered and danced across the walls, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe like living things. The smell was stronger here, a pungent mix of straw, sweat, and the earthy scent of the horses.

The floor was covered in fresh hay, the sound of your footsteps muffled as you made your way towards Whisper’s stall. Whisper lay on her side in a bed of straw, her coat a dappled gray that seemed almost silver in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her sides rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Her head was tucked close to her chest, her eyes closed in sleep. You paused for a moment, watching her, a small smile tugging at your lips. There was something calming about the sight, something that eased the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“Whisper,” you called softly, careful not to startle her.

Her ears twitched at the sound of your voice, and her eyes fluttered open, dark and deep, like pools of ink. She lifted her head, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of the carrots. Slowly, she rose, her muscles rippling beneath her skin as she stretched out her long neck towards you, her eyes bright with curiosity.

You stepped closer, holding the bucket just out of her reach, a playful smile on your lips. “Not so fast, girl,” you teased, your voice barely more than a whisper in the cool air. Whisper snorted softly, a sound of mild impatience, and nudged your chest with her muzzle, her breath warm against your skin.

Her large eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could almost swear she understood you, understood the game you played. You laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet of the stable. “Alright, alright,” you relented, holding out your palm with a few carrots.

Whisper took them eagerly, crunching them between her teeth, her ears flicking back and forth in contentment. You watched her, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of satisfaction that had little to do with the task at hand.

You moved closer, reaching out to stroke her neck, your fingers tangling in her silvery mane. Whisper leaned into your touch, her body warm and solid against the chill of the morning air. She had begun to recognize you now, to see you not as a stranger but as something more—a friend, perhaps, or at least a familiar presence.

She nuzzled your shoulder, her breath hot against your ear, and you closed your eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. The stable seemed to hold its breath, the world outside fading to a distant hum.

You could hear the soft sounds of the other horses, the rustle of straw, the creak of wood settling in the cold. It was a small, enclosed space, but for a moment, it felt like the center of the universe, a place where nothing else mattered.

“Whisper,” you murmured again, almost to yourself. She flicked her ears, as if listening, her dark eyes watching you with an almost unnerving intensity. You wondered, not for the first time, if she could truly understand you, if there was some deeper connection between you and this horse that went beyond mere words.

The silence was broken by the sound of Ser Ryak clearing his throat. “The sun will be rising soon, my lady,” he warned, his voice low and respectful. “We should return before anyone notices your absence.”

You sighed, a small, reluctant sound, and gave Whisper’s neck a final pat. “I will return soon,” you promised her, though you doubted she understood. She nickered softly, as if in response, and you turned away, your heart feeling strangely heavy.

Ser Ryak waited by the door, his expression unreadable. You followed him out, glancing back over your shoulder one last time. Whisper was watching you, her eyes dark and unreadable, her ears pricked forward. You smiled, a small, private smile, and then turned back, stepping out into the cold morning air.

The sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon, painting the mist in shades of pink and gold. The wind had picked up, tugging at your cloak, and you pulled it tighter around you, feeling the chill seep through the fabric. You moved quickly, your footsteps light and swift on the cobblestones, Ser Ryak close behind.

The castle was waking around you, the sounds of servants beginning their morning chores, the clatter of pots in the kitchens, the low murmur of voices in the halls. You kept your head down, moving with haste, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was questions about why you were up so early, why you had been in the stables.

Your chambers were blessedly empty when you returned, the fire in the hearth burned down to embers, the room cold and still. You tossed your cloak beneath the bed and kicked off your boots, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

You fell onto your bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and closed your eyes, a tired but satisfied smile playing on your lips. You still had a few hours before Isla would come, and you intended to make the most of them.

But even as you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on Whisper, the feel of her warm breath against your skin, the sound of her soft nicker in your ear.

The air was warm that day, the kind of warmth that felt like a soft embrace, gentle yet firm, coaxing the skin into a subtle sheen of sweat. The sweet aroma of rooibos tea mingled with the delicate perfume of the garden blooms—roses, daisies, lavender—all blended together to form a picture of scents.

Birds sang in the Keep’s gardens, their cheerful notes rising like prayers to the gods, as the sun hung high in the sky, a blazing orb that ruled over Kingslanding with a relentless glare.

You sat with Princess Rhaenyra, the two of you alone at a small wooden table. The chairs creaked as you settled into them, savoring the quiet and each other’s company, finding solace in the rare stillness of the afternoon.

A tray of cakes and fruit lay between you, untouched save for a few crumbs—plum cakes drizzled with honey, slices of apple, and grapes, their skins bursting with juice. 

You waited for Jacaerys, who had gone off to the Dragonpit to see Vermax, his beloved dragon. You found solace in the calm, feeling the gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the laughter of children playing somewhere nearby. 

In the moons since your arrival, you had grown close to Princess Rhaenyra and her family, finding a place here that surprised even you. You and Jacaerys had become inseparable, roaming the Red Keep like shadows of one another, your laughter echoing through the stone corridors. Even your brother, Merek, seemed to have eased his worries. 

The godswood incident had faded into distant memory, like a bad dream half-forgotten upon waking. Merek had taken to sparring with Ser Harwin Strong, the “Breakbones” they called him, a man of muscle and might who moved like a dancer despite his size.

The training yard had become his sanctuary, the clash of steel his new rhythm, finding purpose in the routine. Kingslanding, with its stench and squalor and intrigue, had become almost like home to the two Daynes, much to your surprise.

"I must say," Rhaenyra began, setting down her teacup with a gentle clink that seemed almost too loud in the stillness.

She leaned forward, resting her chin upon her hands, her violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. "Luke has grown under your guidance. You have become quite the teacher, despite your young years."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, ducking your head in a bid to hide the blush. "Thank you, Your Highness," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Prince Lucerys is a fast learner. I fear he will surpass me before he reaches my age." A soft laugh escaped your lips, an attempt to deflect the praise with humor. But Rhaenyra did not laugh.

Instead, she tilted her head, her expression one of quiet contemplation. "Oh, we can’t have that now, can we?" she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. For a moment, a flicker of worry crossed your face.

Would she bring in a new tutor, someone older, wiser, more accomplished, to replace you? You had grown to cherish your time with Lucerys and Jacaerys and feared losing it more than you cared to admit.

As if sensing your anxiety, Rhaenyra chuckled—a rich, warm sound that felt like sunlight breaking through a cloud. "No need to fret, dear one. I have no intention of separating you from my boys." Her words were a balm, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension ebbing away like the tide.

She gestured to her handmaiden, Elinda, who stepped forward, carrying a scroll bound with red silk, the seal of House Targaryen gleaming in the sunlight.

Rhaenyra took the scroll, her fingers deftly untying the ribbon. "I have spoken to the King of your goodwill," she began, her voice light with excitement, "and he wishes to reward you for your efforts with his grandson." She opened the scroll, her eyes scanning the words written there, a smile playing at her lips as if she were savoring some sweet secret.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, frantic beat. "P-pardon?" you stammered, unsure of what to expect, caught between hope and dread.

“The King has granted you access to the Royal Family’s Library,” Rhaenyra announced, holding the scroll out to you. “You may come and go as you please.”

For a moment, you could hardly breathe. At just seven summers, you had been given a privilege reserved for only the most trusted and learned in the realm. "Thank you, Your Highness. This is an honor," you managed to say, though your voice trembled like a leaf caught in the wind.

You took the scroll with hands that felt too heavy, as if it were made of gold and not parchment. "I… I don’t know what to say."

Rhaenyra's smile widened, her lips curling like the edges of a rose in bloom. "Say nothing at all, dear one. You have earned it." Her voice was as warm and soft as the breeze that stirred the petals of the garden flowers.

As you looked down at the slip of parchment in your hand, your own smile grew, blossoming like the flowers that surrounded you. The thrill that bubbled within you was almost too much to contain, the urge to race to Merek and show him the gift you had been granted nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was at the training yard, and you would have to wait. And you knew why.

One name lingered in your thoughts like a shadow.

Criston Cole.

The Queen Consort’s sworn sword, dark and brooding as a storm cloud on a summer's day. Of him, you knew little more than the stories whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, tales of dishonor and betrayal, of his contemptuous treatment of Princess Rhaenyra and her children.

Merek had called him a "pompous prick" more than once, a slight grin twisting his lips whenever he spoke the words. And more often than not, Ser Criston would challenge your brother to sparring matches, a ceaseless endeavor to test if Merek was truly worthy of bearing Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne.

You’d often catch Ser Criston’s cold, appraising eyes upon you and Jacaerys whenever you passed him in the corridors of the Keep, his gaze as sharp and unforgiving as a blade. For a Dornishman, he was strangely rigid, his sense of honor sharper than any steel. Sometimes, you worried that life at court might turn you into something equally stern and unyielding, as if the castle’s cold stone walls were creeping into your very soul.

His arrogance was boundless, like the vastness of the Narrow Sea—frowning upon the heir to the Iron Throne was one thing, but questioning your brother’s worthiness to wield Dawn? Unforgivable.

No, you did not like that man. Not at all.

Then there was “Crispin Cole,” as Lucerys liked to call him, despite your many efforts to correct the boy. Jacaerys would often encourage his little brother’s jests, his laughter a bright, lively sound that seemed to fill every corner of a room with its light.

Your relationship with the young princes had flourished in your time here, a bond forged in the fires of shared glances, whispered secrets, and childhood mischief. With Jacaerys especially, you had grown close.

The two of you would often take walks along the beach, the sea air tangling your hair, or wander through the gardens where flowers of every hue and fragrance bloomed in wild abundance. It had become a comforting routine—waiting for him after his lessons, seeing his familiar form approaching with a grin, Lucerys trailing behind, his smile just as wide.

But speaking of Jacaerys, you were pulled from your thoughts by the soft sound of Rhaenyra's amused cough. She seemed to see through you, catching the spark of excitement dancing in your eyes, the rabbit hole of contemplation you had wandered into. "I do believe Jacaerys should be back from visiting Vermax soon," she remarked with a knowing smile, her violet eyes twinkling with unspoken mirth.

"Why not head over to the library and find something to read while you wait?" She leaned in a little closer, the conspiratorial light in her gaze almost playful, and gave you a wink.

You nodded eagerly, unable to suppress your delight. “Thank you, your highness,” you replied, offering a quick curtsey. “I will not disappoint.” Rhaenyra waved a hand, dismissing you, her lips curling in a smile that was both fond and faintly amused, as if she could see into the future from now. 

You shuffled into the Royal Library, excitement thrumming through your veins. The air was thick with the crisp, leathery scent of old books, and you breathed it in deeply, savoring the smell of history and knowledge that stretched far beyond your years.

This place was everything you imagined it would be—a sanctuary of knowledge and wisdom, a vault of secrets. Jacaerys would return soon, so you figured it best to start with something small. 

You wandered from shelf to shelf, fingers grazing the spines of the ancient tomes. The choices were overwhelming, each title seeming more intriguing than the last. Finally, you decided to let fate decide for you.

Closing your eyes, you continued to meander around the shelves, oblivious to the watchful gaze fixed on you from a distance. 

Eventually, you stopped and reached out, your hand landing on a random book. “The Tongue of the Horse Lords,” you murmured to yourself, turning it over in your hands. Cracking it open, you quickly realized it was a beginner's guide to learning the Dothraki language. A smile tugged at your lips. You’d always wanted to learn another language besides the common tongue.

High Valyrian would have been your first choice, of course—it was the mother tongue of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and even the Celtigars. But many high-born lords and ladies knew it, so it wasn’t exactly a rare skill. Dothraki, though… now that would be something different. A good read, you decided, tucking the book under your arm.

A glint of silver caught your eye, a flicker in the corner of your vision.

You turned quickly, but whatever it was had vanished. The sensation of being watched settled over you like a cold mist. You hesitated, glancing around the room, but there was no one—at least, no one you could see.

“Hmm… Strange…” you muttered, half-hoping for a reply. But the only answer was the faint whisper of a draft brushing through the room. You shook your head, deciding it was just a trick of the light. Clutching the book tighter to your chest, you headed for the door.

The open halls of the Keep greeted you with a breeze, tugging at your hair. “I promised Jace I’d meet him at the godswood,” you reminded yourself. The godswood had become your place, the spot where you’d meet after his lessons or your tutoring sessions with Lucerys. It was a peaceful corner of the Red Keep, a slice of greenery amidst the stone and mortar.

Your mauve dress swished around your ankles as you made your way to the godswood, your thoughts still lingering on the strange flicker of silver in the library. You glanced over your shoulder once, twice, but nothing was behind you except the quiet shadows of the early morning.

Brushing the odd feeling away like a speck of dust, you slipped through the arched entryway and into the godswood. The air was cool here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. The soft rustling of branches overhead was the only sound, mingling with the distant murmur of the castle beyond the wall of trees.

Here, the world seemed hushed, the canopy casting dappled shadows across the ground. The heart tree, with its pale bark and carved face, loomed in the center of the grove, its red leaves rustling like whispers of an old song.

You made your way to the base of the weirwood, the ancient tree towering above you, its carved eyes seeming to watch you as you moved. Settling against its thick trunk, you shifted into a comfortable position, feeling the rough bark press against your back. The weirwood's roots twisted like old bones around you, giving you the sensation of being both sheltered and observed, held in the embrace of something far older than the Red Keep itself.

Opening the book, you began to read, tracing the unfamiliar letters with your fingertips. The first few pages were simple enough—basic phrases in Dothraki, the language of the horse lords across the Narrow Sea.

You sounded the words out softly, your breath clouding in the cool morning air. “M’athchomaroon,” you whispered, your tongue stumbling over the guttural sounds. "Respect to you." It was strange to shape your mouth around the words, but oddly satisfying. You repeated the phrase again, more slowly, letting the syllables sink into your memory.

You made a mental note to ask Merek to find a proper tutor for you—someone who could help you with pronunciation and grammar, someone who knew more than just the basics this book offered. This wasn't for any formal education, just a pursuit born of personal curiosity. To learn a language so different from your own, to understand the people who spoke it—there was something thrilling in that thought.

The godswood was silent except for the whisper of leaves and the occasional caw of a distant crow. You found comfort in that stillness, letting it envelop you as you continued to read, sounding out the phrases with careful deliberation. "Thira anni," you murmured.

"My sun and stars." It was a phrase that spoke of deep affection, a fondness as fierce as the riders who spoke it. You couldn't help but wonder if the Dothraki felt their words as deeply as they sounded.

Leaning back against the weirwood, you took a deep breath, feeling the cool, rough bark press against your spine. You allowed yourself to imagine, just for a moment, what it might be like to stand on the vast grasslands of Essos, to ride across the open plains with nothing but the wind in your hair and a language on your lips that no one else in the Red Keep could speak. It made you feel bold, different—a small spark of adventure kindling within your chest. 

As you repeated the words again, slower this time, you felt the weirwood’s presence—ancient and steady—watching over you like an old friend, the red leaves above stirring softly as if whispering their approval.

A rustle in the leaves caught your attention, and a smile touched your lips as you lifted your head toward the approaching footsteps. "Took you long enough," you began, ready to chide Jacaerys for his tardiness. "I was waiting for y—" The words died on your lips when you realized it wasn’t Jacaerys standing before you. 

The boy who appeared was older than you by a few years, though not by many. His hair was a shade of silver so bright it almost seemed to glow in the dappled light of the godswood, and his eyes—a deep, vivid violet—marked him unmistakably as a Targaryen.

He stood half-hidden by a bush, his expression wary, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He wore a tunic of deep green, the color of House Hightower. Too young to be Prince Aegon, you quickly realized this must be Prince Aemond, the second son of Queen Alicent.

Aemond’s gaze flitted nervously from you to the ground and back again. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with uncertainty, clearly unaccustomed to these sorts of encounters. He had been in the Royal Library, practicing his High Valyrian, when he noticed you.

His days usually consisted of lessons, reading, and dreaming of dragons, often alone. He would have been at the Dragonpit if he had a dragon to visit—if only his egg had hatched instead of turning cold and dead like stone in his cradle. His birthright felt like a broken promise, a void he was desperate to fill. 

He had heard the door to the library open and close and dismissed it as a maester's passing, only to look up and see you wandering among the shelves, a small figure lost in a sea of ancient tomes. He was surprised to see another child there, especially one so intent on the books. His nephews were far too busy bonding with their dragons to bury themselves in reading, and his brother Aegon had no love for such pursuits. 

"I—I saw you in the library," Aemond stammered, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure you’d want to hear him. He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Up close, he could see you more clearly: the way the light fell on your face, the way your eyes scanned the pages of your book.

You seemed at home here, calm and sure in a way he envied. "I… I thought you looked… interesting," he added, though his voice caught on the last word, as if he weren't quite sure it was the right thing to say. 

He shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do with his hands. "You were reading… Dothraki," he murmured, glancing at the book in your lap. "It’s… not a language many choose to learn." Aemond spoke quietly, as if he feared his voice might shatter the tranquility of the godswood.

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He had been drawn to you without quite understanding why, as if the godswood itself had pulled him here. 

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “It interested me,” you replied simply, lifting the book to show the cover. “And it seemed like no one else would bother.” You smiled gently, noticing how his shoulders relaxed, just a little. "What were you reading?" you asked, trying to draw him out of his shell.

“High Valyrian,” he answered, a flicker of pride in his voice. “It’s… It’s our tongue, our true tongue.” There was a brief, almost imperceptible glint of hope in his eyes, as if he were reaching out, yearning for something—a connection, perhaps, or just understanding. 

You nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could teach me a word or two,” you offered, and for the first time, you saw Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

A start.

“Wren!”

You turned at the familiar call of your nickname, a name Jacaerys had chosen for you on a whim, saying it suited you. You never asked why, but you didn't mind—it made you think of the little bird, quick and curious, flitting about the gardens. 

Jacaerys approached, his dark curls bouncing slightly as he moved with purpose. You didn’t notice the way Aemond’s fist tightened at the sight of his nephew, but you felt the sudden tension in the air. Jacaerys’s gaze landed on Aemond, his expression hardening slightly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice. 

To Jacaerys, Aemond was always just… there. Always standing in some corner, always watching, always so quiet. It was unnerving, but Jacaerys hadn’t given him much thought—until now. Something about seeing Aemond standing there with you didn’t sit well with him. 

Jacaerys strode forward, his eyes locked on Aemond’s, his hand outstretched to help you up. He never broke his gaze, sizing Aemond up as if trying to decide whether he was a threat. Aemond stared back, unblinking, his face an unreadable mask. 

Aemond tolerated his half-sister's sons at best. His mother, Queen Alicent, had made it her mission to keep her children away from Rhaenyra’s, whispering in their ears all sorts of things about their half-sister and her sons, things that shaped Aemond’s view even if he never voiced them aloud.

He knew better than to openly question the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's sons, especially not in front of King Viserys. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think it. 

Jacaerys pulled you to your feet, his hand firm in yours, then shifted, stepping in front of you, as if to shield you from Aemond. He placed himself between you and his uncle, his stance protective, his chin lifted in silent defiance. Aemond’s eyes flicked to your face, and then back to Jacaerys, his jaw clenched tight, the tension crackling in the space between them.

Aemond’s mouth opened slightly as if he were about to speak, but then he hesitated. You watched him, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in his violet eyes. He looked young then, younger than you expected—a boy caught between pride and some silent longing. The same look he’d worn in the library, staring at the books he could read but didn’t seem to love.

“I only wanted to see what she was reading.” Aemond finally said, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid it might break if he spoke too loudly. He turned his gaze to you again, something softer in his eyes.

Jacaerys didn’t relax. He kept his posture tense, his shoulders squared. “She doesn’t need you watching over her,” he replied coolly, still keeping himself between you and Aemond. You could feel the heat in his words, the simmering edge of protectiveness. This had been the first you have seen of it, “Jace…” You held his hand, “Be kind.” whispering a plea in his ear.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked as if he might say more, but then, instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze moving past you and Jacaerys, to the Weirwood tree looming above, its red leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

He had always been fascinated by the godswood, though he’d never say so aloud. There was something ancient about it, something unspoken and holy, and he felt that whenever he stood beneath those blood-red leaves.

“Doesn’t matter,” Aemond muttered, his gaze returning to you, just for a moment. “I’ll leave you to your… study.” His voice was tight, controlled, as he turned to leave, his green tunic blending into the shadows of the trees. But before he took a step, he paused, hesitating again. “You… You shouldn’t be alone here. Not without someone who knows this place,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

Jacaerys scoffed. “I know this place well enough. And she has me,” he said firmly, his tone dismissive. “Go back to your lessons, Uncle.”

Aemond’s eyes flashed at the word, ‘Uncle,’ a reminder of his status, his place. “As you say,” he murmured. His face went cold, the expressionless mask sliding back into place. He turned away, his steps light and quick, almost too quick, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

You watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of emotions—pity, perhaps, for the boy without a dragon, the one who seemed so lonely despite being surrounded by people. But you also felt a warmth blooming in your chest at Jacaerys’s side, his presence like a solid, reassuring wall against the world’s uncertainties.

Jacaerys let out a breath he’d been holding and turned to you, his face softening into a smile. “Come on, Wren,” he said, his voice gentler now, his hand still resting on your arm. He guided you away from the godswood, his steps light and quick as if eager to leave the encounter with Aemond behind.

You followed, but a frown creased your forehead. “You didn’t have to be so rude back there, Jace,” you said, your voice holding a hint of reproach. Aemond didn’t seem to mean any harm. He was just… awkward, for lack of better words.

Jacaerys shrugged, his shoulders rising slightly as if to brush off your concern. “It’s not that I don’t like him,” he said, his tone dismissive. “It’s just… he’s different. And he’s always got this way of standing in the corner, watching us. It’s unsettling.”

You bit your lip, glancing back toward the godswood where Aemond had disappeared into the shadows. “But you have to admit, it’s not entirely his fault,” you said softly. “He’s always been on the fringes, hasn’t he? With the way things are at court, I imagine he feels isolated.”

Jacaerys’s expression softened, though he remained guarded. “Maybe,” he conceded. You could understand Jacaery’s reproach to a certain degree. Given that House Targaryen has been divided into two factions, Black and Green, the bad blood between Jacaerys and Aemond, both their mother’s sons, comes as no surprise.

As you walked together, the cool post-meridiem air brushed against your cheeks, and the sky above was turning shades of deep blue and gold. The quiet of the Red Keep settled around you, the hum of the city distant but ever-present.

Jacaerys guided you to the dining hall, where the warm glow of lanterns cast a comforting light. “Come on,” he said, his tone brightening. “Let’s forget about the godswood and enjoy the evening. I promised you a story, remember?”

You smiled, letting the conversation drift to lighter topics as you entered the hall. The evening stretched ahead, full of promise, and you felt a sense of contentment as you settled into the comfort of Jacaerys’s company. The troubles of the day seemed to melt away, if only for a while, as the warmth and laughter of the dining hall embraced you both.“I brought you something.”

He stopped in the middle of the hall. “I brought you something.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth.  “For you,” he said, his eyes bright with anticipation.

You took the bundle, unwrapping it carefully, to find a small, carved wooden bird—a wren, its delicate wings outstretched as if in mid-flight. It was finely crafted, and the wood was smooth under your fingers.

Your heart swelled at the sight, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You made this?” you asked, touched by the gesture. He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I thought… well, I thought it could keep you company,” he admitted, looking almost shy. “When you read.”

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of affection for him. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, holding the small bird close to your chest. “It’s perfect.” He grinned, his face lighting up, and for a moment, the tension that had hung in the air seemed to melt away.

The godswood was quiet again, the only sound the soft rustling of the leaves and the distant call of a raven somewhere high above. Jacaerys sat down beside you at the base of the Weirwood, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Now, what were you reading?” he asked, peering at the book in your lap.

“The Tongue of the Horse Lords?” He chuckled, “Dothraki? Why would you want to learn that?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “Perhaps I’m planning a trip across the Narrow Sea. Or maybe I want to surprise everyone when I curse them in a language they can’t understand.”

Jacaerys laughed, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “I’d like to see that,” he said, his voice warm. “And if you do decide to go to Essos, you know I’d go with you.”

You leaned into him slightly, “Do you think Vermax will grow large enough to carry two riders?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur. Your eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, but your thoughts were with the dragon.

Vermax was still young, his scales the color of deep green sea glass, his eyes like embers. But you wondered now if he would grow big enough, strong enough, to bear the weight of two, to carry you and Jacaerys both across the sky, far from this place with its whispered rivalries and bitter feuds.

Jacaerys’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. "Perhaps,” he replied, a hint of laughter in his tone. “Vermax is still growing, and who knows what size he’ll reach? Dragons are unpredictable creatures.” There was a glimmer in his eyes, one of mischief and wonder. “But I think he could bear us both if I asked him to. Dragons know when they are needed. They sense it… like we do.”

You slipped your arms around Jacaerys’s arm, pulling him a little closer as the two of you continued to walk through the godswood, your steps crunching softly on the fallen leaves underfoot. “I can’t wait!” you exclaimed, your voice bubbling with excitement.

The thought of you and Jacaerys, riding Vermax together, flying across the skies to far-off places, seeing lands you had only ever heard about in songs and stories— it was a dream that sparkled in your mind, bright and vivid. The idea of traveling together, especially at your young age, filled you with a sense of adventure that made your heart race.

Jacaerys chuckled, a warm sound that matched the smile on his lips. “Where should we go first, do you think?” he asked, looking down at you with an eager glint in his dark eyes. “Maybe the Free Cities? Or the Summer Isles?” He spoke as if the whole world was open to you both, as if no walls or rules could ever hold you back.

The mention of distant lands filled your head with images of bright markets, exotic spices, and strange, beautiful places where no one knew your name. But another thought soon surfaced, one that brought you back to the present.

“Your eighth name day is coming soon,” you reminded him with a grin, watching as his expression shifted to one of surprise and then a touch of delight. “A grand feast, a tourney… I imagine King Viserys will make quite a celebration for his first grandchild.”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes playfully. “Another tourney, more knights prancing about,” he said, though you could see the hint of pride that flickered in his gaze. He was growing into his princely role, even if he liked to pretend otherwise. He was a boy who was slowly learning the weight of the crown that might one day rest upon his head.

Resting your chin lightly on his shoulder, you leaned in closer, feeling the comforting solidity of him beside you. “Do you want anything special for your name day?” you asked, voice soft with genuine curiosity. “A sword? A new cloak, perhaps? A book on dragons?” You tilted your head slightly, the question hanging in the air like the last leaves of autumn, waiting to fall.

Jacaerys looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing slightly, his eyes narrowing as he pondered. “A gift?” He seemed to savor the word for a moment, as if tasting its possibilities. “I don’t need anything grand… but perhaps…” he said softly, a rare, almost wistful tone in his voice.

“A dance?”

Your face contorted into an exaggerated expression of contemplation, your eyes narrowing just slightly before you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “I think I can manage that,” you whispered.

Jacaerys’s eyes remained fixed on yours, his expression softening. He turned his head just enough that his dark curls brushed against your cheek, the brief contact sending a shiver through you. His gaze was earnest, the kind that spoke of trust placed in something precious.

“Good,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the leaves around you. “I look forward to it, Wren..” The nickname made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through you like a small, secret joy.

You had always liked that he called you that, a name that felt light and free, like the bird itself, flitting from branch to branch, never staying in one place too long. It was a name that suited you, in this moment and in his company, where everything felt a little less heavy and the world seemed a little more open.

It had not gone unnoticed in the halls of the Red Keep that young Lady Dayne had earned a place of prominence within the Royal Family. Though new to the court, the Dornish girl had quickly caught the attention of many, not least of all the Crown Princess Rhaenyra and her sons, who seemed particularly fond of her.

The courtiers whispered about it with raised eyebrows and knowing looks, their voices hushed but insistent in the shadowed alcoves and echoing corridors. But what set tongues wagging most was the unmistakable closeness between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's eldest and the heir to Dragonstone.

They spoke of how the boy, usually so reserved in the presence of strangers, seemed to soften when Lady Dayne was near. He laughed more freely, his dark eyes alight with an unguarded joy that seemed rare in a young man who bore the weight of such high expectations.

He was often seen walking with her in the godswood or lingering overlong at her side during lessons in the library, his attention more on her than on any maester’s teachings. There was speculation, of course. Lady Dayne had become a favorite subject of idle talk, her every movement watched with keen interest by those who thrived on court intrigue.

The courtiers noted her bright laughter, her easy manner, and how she moved through the palace as if she had been born to its halls, despite her Dornish blood. Some wondered if there was a purpose behind the Princess's fondness for the girl; others questioned if the girl herself had ambitions beyond what seemed so innocent and childlike on the surface.

And yet, whatever schemes or machinations the courtiers imagined, none could deny that there was a genuine affection between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys. It was there in the way his gaze sought hers across crowded rooms, how he seemed to lean into her words as if she spoke with a wisdom beyond her years.

It was there in the way she seemed to calm him with just a touch, a quieting presence amid the storm that often surrounded him. It was a bond that seemed to defy the usual coldness of court alliances, a friendship that bloomed against the backdrop of political tension and whispered accusations.

Even the Queen, Alicent Hightower, had taken note, her green eyes watching the pair with a mix of curiosity and something darker, something guarded. She did not miss the way Jacaerys’s gaze lingered on Lady Dayne or how his smile widened in her presence.

If Lady Dayne was aware of the scrutiny, she gave no sign. She moved through the court with an easy grace, her expression open, her laughter free. She seemed untouched by the whispers, unbothered by the endless eyes that followed her, as if she had grown used to such attention or cared little for the judgments of those who hid their secrets behind courtly masks.

Yet the murmurings persisted.

Some wondered if a betrothal might be in the making, a match that would strengthen Princess Rhaenyra's claims by tying her house to the ancient and noble blood of Starfall. Others thought it impossible—that the realm would never accept a union between a Targaryen prince and a girl of Dornish descent, no matter how favored she was by the Princess.

For now, the court could only watch, and wait, and wonder at what lay beneath the surface of this growing friendship—and whether it might change the course of the realm in ways that no one could yet foresee.

So it did not come as a surprise to the court when you were invited by Princess Rhaenyra to sit in the Royal Box for the tourney in celebration of Prince Jacaerys’ name day. The Royal Box, a place of high honor, was traditionally reserved for the royal family, the Velaryons, and members of the Small Council.

To be granted a seat there was to be acknowledged as more than just another highborn guest; it was to be included in the inner circle of power, to be seen by the realm itself as favored by the future Queen. You reclined on the plush loveseat, the delicate fabric cool against your skin, as Lucerys settled with a contented sigh, his head resting on your lap.

The tent around you was a sanctuary from the bustling energy of the tourney grounds, where the roars of the crowd and the rhythmic beat of drums created a distant but persistent backdrop. Outside, the noise of the tourney was a cacophony of excitement and tension, but within the tent, a comforting calm reigned.

Lucerys, eyes half-closed, let out a soft yawn, his breath warm and steady against your legs. His sleep-rumpled hair and the faint smile on his lips spoke of a sleepy contentment, even as he mumbled incoherent words, drifting between dreams and wakefulness.

The ungodly hour of the morning had come far too early for all of you, dragging you from the warmth of your beds and into the chill of dawn. The carriage ride through the crisp air outside Kingslanding had been a blur, and now, here in the tent, time seemed to stretch in its own lazy rhythm.

“Why is Jacaerys taking so long?” Lucerys grumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of your gown. Impatience edged his tone, the frustration of being late mounting with every passing minute. The tourney had been set to start in the morning, and as the moments ticked away, the spectacle outside waited for no one.

You absently smoothed Lucerys’s hair, offering a soothing touch to help him stay calm. “I’m sure he’ll be out soon,” you said softly, trying to ease his growing impatience. Your own excitement was tempered by the worry of being late, and you couldn’t help but glance toward the screen where he was getting dressed, hoping for a glimpse of Jacaerys.

The tent itself was a haven of rich textures and colors—a stark contrast to the grittiness of the tourney grounds outside. Silk banners in deep crimson and gold adorned the walls, their luxurious fabric shimmering softly in the filtered light.

The scent of cedar and fresh straw lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roast meat and spiced wine that hinted at the feast to come. It was a far cry from the raw energy of the tournament field, where knights clashed and lances shattered in a display of strength and skill.

As you waited, you could hear the distant sounds of the tourney's beginning—an occasional cheer from the crowd, the sharp crack of a lance meeting its target. The excitement outside was almost tangible, seeping through the tent walls and stirring a restlessness in your own heart. You glanced again at the entrance, the flutter of fabric heralding the arrival of Jacaerys.

The screen finally parted, and Jacaerys stepped out, his cheeks flushed with the combined exertion of dressing and the thrill of the day. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt, buttoned up neatly, with a vibrant red vest emblazoned with intricately embroidered golden dragons. His eyes sparkled with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as he took in the sight of you and Lucerys.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jacaerys said, his voice carrying a hint of apology and a touch of playful exasperation. He moved toward you with an easy grace, his attire swishing with each step. His presence seemed to light up the room, dispelling the lingering tension.

Lucerys’s face brightened at the sight of his elder brother. He scrambled off your lap and bounded toward Jacaerys, his earlier irritation melting away in the warmth of family affection. “Finally!” Lucerys exclaimed, his tone a mix of relief and impatience.

You rose from the loveseat, smoothing out the folds of your gown and offering Jacaerys a reassuring smile. “You look splendid, Jace,” you said, your tone light and encouraging. “Now let’s not keep the entire tourney waiting.”

Jacaerys took your hand in his, guiding you confidently through the tents that were also set up for other noble houses. You clutched Lucerys’ hand tightly with your other, careful to keep him close as the three of you made your way toward the arena. The ground was soft and uneven, and you lifted the hem of your gown to avoid the risk of mud splashing up.

“I’ve got your back,” Lucerys piped up from behind you, his small hands reaching out to lift the back of your skirt, ensuring it wouldn’t drag through the muck. His gesture was both earnest and endearing, a show of his determination to help despite his young age.

You turned to him with a grateful smile, your eyes reflecting your appreciation. “Thanks, Luke,” you said, the warmth of your gratitude evident in your tone. The three of you quickened your pace, Jacaerys leading the way.

As you hurried through the shifting crowds and past the scattered tents, the sounds of the tourney grew louder—cheers and the clash of armor creating a symphony of excitement. Each step quickening with elation as you approached the arena.

However, that excitement was abruptly dimmed by the sight of a certain knight striding past. Ser Criston Cole, clad in his polished armor, was preparing for his own participation in the event.

Jacaerys stopped abruptly, his expression darkening as he fixed his gaze on the knight. Criston Cole’s eyes swept over the three of you with a look of disdain, his posture radiating an arrogance that was as palpable as the clamor of the approaching tourney.

“Young Prince, should you not already be in the Royal Box?” he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. The tone was unmistakable—an attempt to belittle Jacaerys under the guise of polite inquiry.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the audacity of the knight. It was well-known that Criston Cole had ingratiated himself with Queen Alicent, and his inflated sense of self-importance had become a tiresome fixture at court. His haughty demeanor was as grating as it was predictable.

Not wanting to be anymore later than you already were, “And don’t you have a tourney to get ready for, Ser Crispin?” you retorted, your voice carrying a touch of sharpness. The nickname was a deliberate slight, a way to remind him that his favored status did not entitle him to look down on others. The words hung in the air between you, a challenge to his presumed superiority.

Jacaerys shot you a grateful glance, though his own gaze remained fixed on Ser Criston. The knight’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing further, his expression a mix of irritation and calculation. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving the three of you to resume your hurried path toward the arena.

You three reached the Royal Box, a grand structure elevated above the arena, offering an unrivaled view of the proceedings below. The box was an opulent display of House Targaryen’s heraldry, its banners fluttering with a regal grace. The three-headed dragon, embroidered in red on a field of black, rippled in the breeze, a constant reminder of the Targaryen legacy that presided over the event.

As you entered the Royal Box, a hush fell over the assembled guests, their murmurs ebbing into a sea of quiet anticipation. The space was a grand display of Targaryen opulence, with banners of the three-headed dragon fluttering above, casting their shadow over the esteemed company within.

King Viserys occupied the central position, his regal presence augmented by the grandeur of the box. His face, lined with the weight of many years and decisions, was nonetheless softened by a subtle smile as he surveyed the festivities below. Beside him, Queen Alicent maintained an air of grace despite the snobbish wring on her face.

Her gown, a masterpiece of intricate embroidery, matched her poised demeanor. Her children were scattered nearby: Aegon, already showing the effects of too much Arbor Red, slouched with a vacant stare; Helaena, fiddling nervously with her fingers, lost in her own world; and Aemond, who sat apart from the rest, his expression a mask of quiet contemplation.

Princess Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, was ensconced in a seat of prominence. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, took in the scene with a mixture of pride and critical appraisal. By her side was her husband, the formidable Corlys Velaryon, his presence as commanding as his reputation. His gaze swept over the assembly with an air of both authority and quiet anticipation.

The Small Council members were present as well, their faces a study in formality tinged with restrained eagerness. They whispered amongst themselves, casting occasional glances towards the arena below, their expressions reflecting the gravity of their positions.

Completing the distinguished lineup were Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband, Laenor Velaryon. Rhaenyra’s posture was straight and proud, her eyes alight with the excitement and weight of the day’s significance. Laenor, ever the supportive consort, stood by her side, his demeanor a blend of reserved elegance.

You, Jacaerys, and Lucerys shuffled to your seats amidst the curious eyes of the assembled nobility. Lucerys settled on Jacaerys' left, his youthful face bright with the thrill of the day’s events, while you took the seat to Jacaerys' right, your presence creating a subtle stir.

The whispers of the court grew louder, a low hum of speculation and intrigue weaving through the Royal Box. As you settled into your seat, the murmurs of the crowd seemed to acknowledge the significance of your place among the royal family.

To many, it appeared as though you were already being groomed for a more prominent role, a sign of your growing importance within Princess Rhaenyra’s inner circle. The eyes of the court lingered on you, reflecting a mixture of curiosity and speculation about the young lady who had captured the Princess's favor.

As the heralds called for the first joust to begin, you felt the eyes of the court upon you—Lady Redwyne whispering behind her fan, Lord Beesbury nodding thoughtfully, and even Queen Alicent herself casting a quick, measuring glance your way.

To some, your presence in the Royal Box might be an audacity, an unexpected elevation of a girl from Dorne; to others, it was a sign of favor, a new piece in the game that was ever unfolding in the halls of the Red Keep.

From your seat, you could see the bright colors of the tourney ground, the lords and knights resplendent in their armor, their horses prancing and snorting with eagerness. The trumpets blared, and the crowd's roar rose like a wave as the first pair of riders charged toward each other, lances poised. 

Jacaerys leaned closer, his dark curls brushing your cheek as he whispered, "I don’t see your brother." His gaze swept over the line of knights preparing for the tourney, searching for a familiar face. You followed Jacaerys' gaze, sweeping over the bustling field and crowded stands until your eyes found the familiar lavender banner of House Dayne.

There, in a separate box, sat Merek, looking every bit the noble he was. He was dressed not in armor but in ceremonial attire—a deep indigo tunic adorned with the silver star of Starfall, chosen to mirror your own gown, which shimmered in a shade of tropical indigo. A goblet of wine rested casually in his hand, his posture relaxed, his expression serene as he observed the unfolding spectacle.

A flicker of guilt pricked at your conscience. Though Merek had insisted you sit with the royals, it felt somehow wrong to leave him alone, even if he did not seem to mind. You and Merek had always been close; his presence had been your shield and your strength.

But he had offered you his usual playful grin earlier, urging you to enjoy the festivities with your friends. Still, the pang of regret lingered, a quiet ache of longing to be at his side, sharing in the day’s excitement.

As the Sword of the Morning, Merek could have easily joined the ranks of the knights below, his skill with a blade and reputation for honor were more than enough to secure him a place among the competitors. Yet, such theatrics were beneath him.

House Dayne valued honor and loyalty above all else, just as the Starks did in the North. In many ways, the Daynes were seen as the Starks of Dorne—both houses with a proud heritage dating back to the First Men, their values shaped by the same ancient traditions of integrity and duty.

“Merek doesn’t participate in tourneys,” you whispered to Jacaerys, your voice low, intimate, meant for his ears alone. “He sees them as a waste of time and honor. He prefers the real battlefield over one made of painted lances and staged glory.”

Jacaerys glanced again toward Merek’s box, where your brother now raised his goblet in a quiet salute, catching your gaze from across the field. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you lifted your hand in response, a silent promise that you would find time to join him later.

The crowd's noise swelled, and the heralds’ trumpets cut through the air like a knife, announcing the commencement of the tourney. The knights on their steeds began to line up, their armor glinting under the pale autumn sun. You could feel the anticipation rising like a tide, filling the air with an almost palpable energy. Lucerys shifted restlessly in his seat, excitement sparking in his bright young eyes.

Jacaerys leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, a light, reassuring touch amidst the growing frenzy of the crowd. “Mother says I should cheer for Ser Harwin, but I think I’ll cheer for Ser Erryk instead,” he whispered, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I’ve heard he’s the better rider.”

You chuckled softly. “Why not cheer for both? Or better yet, place a bet and see which of them proves you wrong.”

His grin widened. “A bet? With you?” He feigned shock. “Let me guess, the loser will have to forfeit their lemon cakes for a moon.” You leaned in closer, your voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I promise not to take all of them… just a few.”

Jacaerys laughed, and for a moment, the weight of his name and all that it bore seemed to lift. He looked every bit the boy he still was, his youthful face bright with mirth. You felt a warmth spread through you, glad to see him at ease, even if only for a short while.

From across the box, you could feel the sharp gaze of Queen Alicent upon you, her eyes flicking between you and her sons. Aegon was already half-slumped in his chair, flushed with wine, while Aemond sat with a stoic expression, his singular focus on the field below. Helaena seemed lost in her own world, whispering to herself, her hands weaving through the air in some intricate pattern only she understood.

Aemond's sharp gaze found yours, his expression neutral at first, his lips thinning slightly as if deciding whether to acknowledge you. But when you offered a small wave, a subtle, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He returned the gesture with a discreet wave, his movements careful, quick, so as not to draw too much attention.

His smile faded as he turned back to the tourney, his posture straightening under the ever-watchful eye of his mother, Queen Alicent. You could sense the tension in him—the weight of expectations and the constant scrutiny from those around him. You’d seen that guarded look in his eyes before, a mixture of judgment and restraint, the way he seemed to always be preparing himself for the next challenge or judgment.

You turned your attention back to the field, the knights now charging at full speed, lances aimed and armor clashing in a vivid display of strength and skill. 

King Viserys rose from his seat, his hand resting heavily on the arm of his chair as he steadied himself. The crowd hushed, their voices falling silent in anticipation. He stood tall, his golden crown catching the sunlight, reflecting a brilliant gleam that danced over his worn features.

Despite the lines etched into his face and the signs of age weighing on his shoulders, his eyes still held the spark of authority, a sovereign who had seen much and ruled through even more. He lifted a hand, signaling for the crowd's full attention.

His voice, though not as strong as it once was, carried across the tourney grounds with a commanding presence. “Lords and ladies, knights and squires, good people of Kingslanding,” he began, his voice a deep rumble that reached every corner of the arena. “Today, we celebrate the eighth name day of my beloved grandson, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. In his honor, we gather to witness the valor and might of the realm's finest knights.”

A cheer erupted from the stands, a wave of excitement and anticipation rippling through the crowd. Viserys allowed a smile, nodding in approval at the response. He continued, “This tourney shall not only be a test of strength and skill but a testament to the bonds that hold our great houses together. Let us remember that even in competition, there is unity, and in our unity, there is strength.”

His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, lingering for a moment on Queen Alicent, whose expression remained unreadable, and then on Princess Rhaenyra, who met his eyes with a look of quiet pride.

“May the Seven watch over each of you, may the best among you prove your worth in honor and courage, and may the gods grant us a day of sport to remember.” He paused for a heartbeat, his face softening with a touch of affection as he glanced toward Jacaerys, who stood beside you with a small, eager smile on his lips.

“And to my grandson,” Viserys added, “May your name day bring you joy and may your future be as bright as the flames of your ancestors.”

A louder cheer rose from the stands, the crowd clapping and shouting their approval. The sound of drums began again, a steady beat that quickened the pulse of those in attendance. Viserys lifted his cup of wine, a gesture mirrored by the lords and ladies around him. “Let the tourney begin!” he declared with finality, his voice strong and resolute.

At his command, a flourish of horns erupted, signaling the start of the event. Knights on their steeds trotted to their positions, banners flying, lances in hand, ready to charge down the lists. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and excitement that hung over the field like a storm about to break.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

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[giuseppe-yuki]

feathers

alex albon x cockatiel shapeshifter! reader

w.c.: 1.2k

warnings: one suggestive comment

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: you annoy alex; ft. james vowles

picture credits from pinterest :)

the parc ferme was packed with people as you fluttered around alex’s head, feathers swaying in the wind. he wasn’t hard to follow, considering his tall 6’1 figure and unmistakable forest green aa23 hoodie. the crowds parted like moses and the red sea as he crossed, recognizing him as 1 of the 20 drivers on the grid. from your birds-eye view, you were pretty sure you saw zak efron five meters away from you next to the red bull garage and scotty james hovering around daniel’s blue vcarb next door.

nobody batted an eye at your presence- they all assumed you were just one of the many albon pets. 

chittering, you land on alex’s shoulder and give him a few hard pecks with your beak, ripping out a few strands of his bleached hair. you giggle internally- he was so easy to annoy when you were in cockatiel form. 

“hey!” he protests, stopping in his tracks front of the aston martin garage. he raises his hand, about to forcefully push you off his shoulder for being mean. before alex is able to, he spots two young fans, sporting fernando alonso caps, looking at him. not wanting to be labeled as “alex albon the bird assaulter,” he slowly lowers his hand, and instead converts it to an awkward wave. to avoid another awkward situation, he takes off running towards his original destination, the williams garage, but not before shooting a glare at you. 

when you arrive at the williams garage, you find logan standing in front as well. alex waves his hand in greeting and you chirp in a greeting.

“took you long enough,” logan quips, smiling. “james called for you a while ago!” 

“well, i would have gotten here quicker if this cockatiel would stop being irritating!” alex says, gesturing towards you. turning his head towards you, he places a kiss on top of your feathery little head. “you’re kinda lucky that i love you, or else i would probably have donated you to the zoo!” he jokes. 

for the second time that evening, you give peck his head, hard.

logan laughs at the interaction in front of him. “if you’d like, i know a hawk that can act as ‘animal control’ for you! she’s back at home in miami right now, though.”

the gall of this man! you know logan is joking, but still, you hop off of alex’s shoulder and purposely fly at logan’s face, flapping your feathers in the direction of his eyes. 

“okay, okay, okay,” logan laughs, trying to cover his face, “tell your girlfriend to stop attacking me or else i’m sending my girlfriend after her when you guys come to the states!”

ten minutes later, when you enter the air-conditioned williams motorhome, you are dressed in a flowy white pants and a williams blue silk halter top. you loop your arm through alex’s as he asks his race strategist the whereabouts of his team principal. 

 when he finishes with his conversation, he leads you towards his driver’s room 

“i thought you came here to meet james,” you question, looking up at alex.

“yeah, i did,” he responds, “but apparently he had to have a quick meeting with the engineers and will find me later, so i guess we have a little time to rest in my driver’s room before the race.” a flashes a devilish smile and little wink at you.

a flash of shock runs across your face, and you shoot him a dirty glare. “we are NOT doing that in your drivers room.” 

“what do you mean?” he replies innocently, “ when i said rest, i meant that we could maybe chill on the couch and watch a little bit of high school musical- i saw you looking at zac efron in parc ferme earlier.”

you groan exasperatedly, but follow him into the small room. 

when you first started dating alex, he was always ever the gentleman, complimenting you and whispering sweet things into your ear when you were with him. you trusted him with all your heart, and instead of freaking out when you told him that you could shapeshift into a cockatiel, he immediately started researching info about cockatiels and began carrying sunflower seeds around for you. as time passed, your relationship evolved into a loop of you bullying alex in bird form and him teasing you nonstop in public. (he obviously still knew your limit though, and was always the sweetest behind closed doors)

you hop on the couch as alex navigates to disney+ on the tv and starts the movie. he places his arm around your shoulder and leans his head against yours. you curl up into him, breathing in the smell of him. to your disappointment, within in the first twenty minutes, alex is dead asleep on the couch. you frown, lifting his arm off of you. you were about the shake him awake when you came up with a brilliant idea. 

turning back into your cockatiel form, you shake off your loose feathers onto the couch. you smile to yourself. alex hated when you left your feathers everywhere. you pick up a feather or two with your beak, and place it strategically on the floor. one on the couch hand rest, three on alex’s head, two behind the couch (when you placed those, you found a giant glossy picture of george russell behind the couch?? you’ll have to talk to him about that later). after arranging the finishing touches, you nudge alex’s cheek with your feathery head to wake him up. as soon as he opens his sleepy eyes, he immediately sees the absolute mess you made everywhere. but before he could say a word, a knock sounds from the door. 

“alex, it’s james,” says the voice outside the door.

alex’s eyes widen, and (screw his ultra-quick reflexes) proceeds to quickly snatch you off of his lap and unceremoniously shoves you inside a nearby drawer. he slides it shut, except for a little crack so you could breathe.

oh you were gonna kill him.

you hear the door open, and footsteps into the room. 

“hey, says james, “so i was gonna come here to talk to you about a chassis problem, but i think that it would be better if we could talk about it as a team in a meeting after the race. i was going to send you an email about it, but since i was passing by your drivers room, i just wanted to pop in in-person to let you know.” 

you hop towards the crack and raise an eye to see through. alex is standing awkwardly, half in front of the coach with his hands next to his sides, pointedly trying to block the mess of feathers on the couch. 

“err.. yeah! of course!” your boyfriend says. 

as if just noticing the feathers all over the couch, james raises an eyebrow. “did you kill a bird in here or are you making an art project?” he asks, looking at alex with an incredulous look. 

“art project,” alex responds, almost immediately.

“okay.” james says, in a tone that suggested he didn’t really believe alex. he turns to leave, hand on the handle. but before he does, he turns around. “wait a second, i could have sworn logan said that you were in here with your girlfriend?”

a/n: second installment of the series! ( i wrote this at 3am) if you didn't get the george russell picture reference, here's a link to a video that i watched: link

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso

[thedivineden]

Bunny

pairing: Katuski Bakugo x Hybrid!reader

genre: smut (fluff if you squint)

words: 3.4k

notes: bunny hybrid reader, breeding, covert intentions, pet/owner dynamic

Taking you in was no problem for the young bustling hero. He didn’t have a girlfriend and only hung out with his friend. Whenever he wasn’t at work or with his friends, he’s at home with you.

“Katsukii~, can you help me please?”

If anyone were to ask, he would take being at home with you over any of that any day. Maybe it’s because he secretly wants something to take care of. Katuski rolls out of the bed happily putting his slippers on. You can hear him shuffle down the hall and you’re soon met with an half-naked Katsuki with an annoyed look etched across his face.

“Why the fuck are you on the counter?” and there you were, cotton tail peaking out of your booty shorts slightly with each twitch. Your floppy brown ears are sticking out of one of your many custom made bonnets Katsuki had to order for you.

“The better question is why the fu-fuck is everything so high up? I’ve been here for months and I still need your help to get a plate” He finds your attempts to adopt his cussing habits adorable “watch it bunny, you still need my help plus why wouldnt you want me doing everything for you? Stay in a pets place.” As he’s saying all this he’s lifting you off the counter and commanding you to wrap your legs around his waist — naturally you obey. The feeling of your silky legs and arms draped around his large body makes him warm inside. “I’m not your pet..” he can hear you mumble this slightly resting your head on his shoulder.

Katsuki scoffs and uses his free hand to grab a plate for you. “You’re such a brat, you were just on my lap yesterday eating carrots out of my hands.” He can see your tail twitch quickly up and down then stand straight up. “I am not a brat nor a pet! You’re so mean” Even when you try to unlatch your legs, his other arm is still firm around your waist. “Why don’t I finish up in here and we’ll have breakfast in bed” you dangle for a moment then shake your head yes in response prompting the young man to place you on the ground gently.

Just like that he can see your body relax again, grabbing his hand you pull him down planting a wet kiss on his cheek. You walk back to the room tail twitching happily behind. You can hear him laugh as you climb back into bed waiting for your master. An hour later, he’s coming in toting a tray full of pancakes, carrots, juice, and bacon. You two enjoy breakfast together with Katsuki hand feeding you damn near everything and smacking your hand away every time you attempt to feed yourself. Per usual, after any meal, you were fast asleep giving Katsuki enough time to get ready for work.

The moment katsuki buckles his garter you were up asking him where he is going. He could hear the sad tone in your voice and turns around to see your famous pout that makes him weak.

“I was called in bunny, I have to go.” Grabbing the now empty tray off the nightstand katsuki exits the room setting the tray on the counter to wash the dishes. You round the corner with the same pout and sad tone “Do you have to leave? Can’t you stay just this once?” he can see the tears threatening to spill and this is when he knew he had to go before you pity your way to him staying. You follow him all the way to the front door where his boots lay.

“I have to go, I promise I’ll be back early tonight” he slips on heavy boots and places a kiss on your forehead when he is done. Upon arriving to his hero agency he spots an all familiar red and yellow combo standing in front of his building catering to the many employees who’ve gathered around them. “What the fuck are you two doing here?” The moment they hear the booming blondes voice they’re parting through the sea of employees who now seem to be scrambling away from their ferocious boss.

“Oh come on kacchan! You gotta admit you’re a bit excited to be working with us” Katsuki couldn’t admit to enjoying the presence of his friends but he definitely didn’t protest having the young men by his side. Todays assignment is simple just patrolling the city where civilians seem to become wary of their hero’s. “We went earlier while waiting for you but they won’t even talk to us” Eijiro says following being his friend.

“We’re just going to interview some citizens today, outside of our uniforms” Katsuki immediately turns around already disapproving of this decision. ”Why would we do that?” His friends look at eachother as if they were trying to telepathically speak to eachother about who is going to tell him the obvious. ”Katsuki..bud..youre not the most..inviting person. Being outside of your uniform is less..threatening to the citizens” he eyes the young blonde. Katsuki scoffs at his statement and replies, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Upon patrolling Katsuki noticed how skittish or disgusted the town folks were towards them. “It’s kinda nice” Eijiro says, “Not being bombarded by fans or interviewers that is..not the fact that they practically run away from us whenever we get too close.” Katsuki gives him a stern look prompting him to laugh and walk ahead to talk to a woman approaching with what seems to be her boyfriend or husband. Denki and Katsuki stay behind watching the red head engage with the two pedestrians. The conversation seems to be going well, the woman is happily conversing with Eijiro while the her boyfriend stands off to the side. Katsuki notices the way her boyfriend is visibly upset, his fist are balled, face frowned, and his stance is directly adjacent to Eijiro.

That’s when he notices a crowd slowly forming around them. He doesn’t understand how the pedestrians who were at first minding their business and practically running from the bustling hero’s are now creeping up slowly and almost inconspicuously. “We need to leave. NOW.” The volume of Katsuki voice seems to activate the creeping citizens. Before they knew it hundreds of pedestrians were coming out of alleyways and on top of buildings brandishing their powers and weapons catching the men by surprise. Eijiro is quick to join his friends again “where the fuck did all these people come from?” Katsuki doesn’t even answer he’s too busy silently cursing at himself and the men who dragged him on this suicide mission.

“I thought not wearing our hero suits would help!” Denki states as he lightly releases bolts to push the groups back. “You dumbass, uniforms or not they were going to attack regardless.” Katsuki doesn’t give them a chance to touch him and he doesn’t hesitate to blast them back. This ordeal lasted 4 hours, Denki and Eijiro especially had a hard time due to trying to ‘talk it out and explain’ with citizens who had no plans on discussing anything with them.

It seems like everything is pissing Katsuki off today from taking this busted ass assignment to Kaminari nearly getting fried to death. He just needs some solace and that’s exactly what you were at the moment. “Bunny, come here. Let’s play” he could see your tail twitch behind you excitedly as you happily run over to him. The only thing he could focus on is your breast and your fat brown nipples peeking through your white top.

“What are we going to play today?” you say excitedly standing in front of him. He couldn’t get enough of you. Your luminous brown skin paired with your fluffy white shorts and a tank top that is definitely too small for you now but hugs your tits just right. Katsuki can feel the blood start to flow below making his dick jump and twitch just at the sight of you in front of him. “Katsukiii~ what are we going to play?” You sit in his lap shuffling to put your legs on opposing sides placing you face to face with your owner.

“You’ve been spacing out since you’ve been home, why?” Your cotton tail is still swinging behind you causing a bit of friction between you two below. “I just had a bad day sweetie, let’s play.” His fingers glide along your side masking the heinous intentions he has in place. See Katsuki has a slight obsession with tickling you, your first week there Katsuki tickled you so much you peed on him a little. To this day he teases you about ‘pissing on his thigh’ “Why are you running from me already? I haven’t said start yet so you know what that means” you shake your head alarm bells start to ring in your head. Attempting to shake out his embrace you say “Katsuki I don’t want to play! You’re trying to tickle me!“

The young man rolls his eyes at you and says “Let’s change locations, I don’t want to be on this shitty couch anymore” you turn your head at his statement because he was the one pitching a fit about the couch being from a specific brand. Before you could answer there he is lifting you off the couch throwing you over his shoulder striding to the bedroom. “You know I can walk by myself-“ he interrupts your talking with a hard slap on your ass. Your tail starts to shake in his face aggressively and the kicks you were delivering to his abdominal made him laugh. “Alright alright! I’m sorry!”

Upon reaching the room Katsuki is quick to throw you on the bed and trap you under him so you don’t try to run. “I’ll be quick bunny, I swear” he starts kneading at your sides softly maintaining his piercing gaze which definitely contrast the mood he’s trying to set with you. “Fineee, but when I say stop, you have to stop! I don’t want to pee again!” he gives you a star winning grin feeling his fingers trail up your sides slowly then quickly attacks them. You burst in a fit of laughter immediately feeling his fingers trail up to your armpit. Instinctively locking your arms scrambling to get away from your handsy attacker. “Alright Katsuki !!! I can- I cant!”

He lets go of the hold he has on you smiling at the way you snort and cringe under him. He loves watching you. “Round two sweetie?” He doesn’t even let you answer as he starts attacking your sides and armpits again. The tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you shuffle under him noticing something poking and prodding you below. In between your laughter you say “Katsuki!! You’re poking me!!” He can feel the wave of embarrassment wash over him but god the way you were grinding under him felt heavenly. “Let’s try something else bunny” His fingers ghost down your torso slightly, you’re anticipating a tickle attack but instead they slip under your shorts.

You’re wide eyed at this point grabbing his wrist from traveling any further. “What are you doing?” he uses his free hand to cup your chunky cheeks and with sincerity in his eyes he says “I just need your help with something bunny but let me help you first”. You shyly nod at him, releasing the grip you had on him in order to let his fingers explore you.

Towering over you his eyes don’t leave yours, it’s as if he’s trying to record this moment to memory. Katsuki uses his middle and ring fingers to tease your slit and stops at your now sensitive bud to gently massage circles into it. A new sensation starts to take over you — your ears are hot and for once seem to irritate you as they stick to your now hot body. “I’m hot suki~” your whiny tone paired with you saying the cute as nickname you gave him, makes the front of his boxers tight. He didn’t hesitate to remove his hand to lift your heavy bottom to take off your shorts.

“Do you want to take your top off too?” His voice is so sweet and soft in a different way which seems to go straight below causing an uncomfortable headache like experience. “Yes please” Instead of being normal he decides to rip your top down the middle so you don’t have to sit up. “Sukiii why would you do that?” He shrugs in response you notice his attention is on your naked form and for once you realize the difference between you two. You jump up scooting away from Katsuki in order to cover yourself with one of the many pillows behind you. “I-I don’t want to be the only one naked..” he laughs at your omission, steps out of bed slipping out of his only piece of clothing. Springing out is his beautiful shaft, long and thick just like the carrots he feeds you. “Staring is rude. if you want to lick c’mere” you crawl over to the end of bed where he is standing proudly as his member twitches in front of your face. You sit on your knees looking up at him nervously prompting him to massage your ears past your curls. Anytime he does this you turn into putty. You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft making his dick jump in response, intrigued you move closer lolling your tongue out to lick his red mushroom tip.

Katsuki is struggling to let you explore on your own the little licks you were doing just wasn’t enough. “Open your mouth bunny and suck your cheeks in” you obey his command instantly “yeah just like that” his hands slide to the back of your head lacing his fingers through your curls. “Breathe through your nose.” He doesn’t expect a response just obedience. He starts by pushing you all the way down his shaft slowly groaning at how warm and wet your mouth is. Most importantly, he is loving how easy this is coming to you his hands have abandoned the back of your head and have now found a grip on your ears again.

He could see you shuffling almost humping the bed as you bob your head faster. The louder he became the more your body reacted. “Mmmm deeper bunny~” you hum in response causing his hips to buck in response pushing the rest of his shaft in. Katsuki takes over after this, he’s using your ears to bob your head faster on his cock. You inhale sharply to keep up with the brutal pace as spit bubbles start to form in the corners of your mouth. You can feel his member throbbing in your mouth and a low long groan escape his lips then you felt a warm liquid squirts down your throat. “Shit! I’m sorry- I meant to pull out” he lets go of your ears allowing you to finally pull away from him coughing up whatever didn’t go down your esophagus.

His dick is still point at you but now covered in saliva and cum. You were still shuffling on the bed disgusted by the wetness that has soaked the spot where you sit. “Tell me what you feel bunny, so suki~ can help” he says his nickname as you would when trying to be sweet. “It hurts suki” tears fall from your eyes and he’s by your side instantly “Hey, hey, it’s okay! You’re okay, I’ll make you feel better” he prompts you to the top of the bed and lay on your back.

You listen to the young man and he centers himself between your legs making sure to soothe any anxiety you had about the predicament. “It’ll be okay bunny, It’ll hurt at first but I promise you’ll feel good” he angels his hips with yours feeling his now-throbbing member glide along your drenched folds making the headache below more intense. “Suki please~” your body feels like it’s on fire and it seems like every slow agonizing hump is going to send you over the edge.

He finally lines up with your hole after grinding two more times. “Tell me if it hurts, okay ?” You shake your head in response and he pulls away. You start to whine and reach your arms out to catch him but you were too slow. “I need you to say it bunny” you look up at him and say “I promise Katsuki, can you please hurry!” He laughs at your eagerness placing one of his arms on the side of your head to hold himself up while he lines his tip to your soaking hole. Slowly he pushes in trying to judge whether you were enjoying this.

Your nose is twitching feverishly and he can feel you uncomfortably shift under him. “Does it hurt?” Katsuki is breathless above you which you’ve only seen him like this after a workout or a long day. It feels nice to make him like this. “Only a little but I’m fine! I swear!” He eyes you cautiously but continues to push the rest of his shaft inside. He isn’t sure how long it’s been since he’s been with someone but he knows they will never compare to you after this. The way you’re inviting him in should be illegal.

Katsuki could feel the stress of today melt away looking down at you in your most natural state. Once your moan falls onto his ears he’s on you caging you under him, arms on both sides of your head. “I see you’re used to it now” every word he speaks sounds breathy and desperate you wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer and deeper soliciting a whiny cry from you. “Don’t worry babe, I got you” his pace is slow at first gradually picking up speed with every moan and grunt that fills the room. The pressure that was building below hasn’t stopped but it’s no longer painful. Your moans were soon muffled by a passionate and sweet kiss paired with the restless pace he adopted is making you drunk.

Katsuki wants to swallow and suck every moan and bit of pleasure he can from you. His hands are no longer holding him up but sliding up the back of your thighs stopping behind your knees. “Let me see that cotton tail” he pushes your legs forward spreading them to each side of your head “wait suk-“ he doesn’t hesitate to push his member back into your sticky walls groaning at the feeling. He’s a lot deeper than he was before your legs and tail twitch at the pressure that is building in your womb. He tries to give you time to become accustomed to this new position but every thrust threatens his composure and his impending release. “Yo- You’re such a good girl” and thats what sends you over, you can feel the tension below burst as a wave of pleasure washes over you. “Suki~ faster..please!”

How could he every say no to you? He doesnt answer letting his hips slam into you at a brutal pace. His eyelids were heavy and paired with the sound of your moans he cant control himself. “M’gonna fill you up. You’re such a good bunny, squeezing my dick like this. M’gonna give you what you want”.

The grip he had on you is shaky and his dick convulses uncontrollably inside of you before filling you with warmth. This is the first time you’ve ever seen Katsuki lose his composure and it is beautiful. He doesnt pull out immediately instead he lets your legs go, falling on each side of him, he leans down and places a passionate kiss on your lips. “I didn’t mean to be rough, I’m sorry bunny.” Yo

Your nose twitches and you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him in for another kiss. He pulls out of you prompting you to wince in response and just like that he’s at your lying at your side. “I love you” he pulls you close wrapping you in his muscular arms “I love you too Suki.” cuddling up next to him you can feel the activities from tonight wearing you out. Soon you two were asleep holding one another.

[pucksandpower]

Lost in Translation

Lando Norris x Reader + Carlos Sainz x Reader + Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: in which Lando doesn’t speak a word of Spanish, Carlos turns out to be the world’s worst translator, and Fernando is an opportunist

Warnings: manipulation

The bass thumps through the walls as you make your way through the crowded club, dancing bodies packed together under pulsing lights. You’re exhausted after a long day of photoshoots, but your agent insisted you make an appearance at this exclusive afterparty following the Spanish Grand Prix. Being seen is part of the job when you’re an up and coming model.

You spot an open stool at the far end of the bar and gratefully sink onto it, kicking off your heels under the counter. The bartender appears through the chaos, shouting something in English you don’t understand over the music. You shake your head apologetically and order in Spanish.

“One glass of red wine, please.”

As you wait, you glance around the club. Famous faces from the world of Formula 1 mix with socialites and celebrities. You recognize a few drivers and team bosses, fresh from the race.

Your gaze lands on a young man seated a few stools down, wearing a McLaren team jacket. His curly brown hair falls softly over his forehead as he leans against the bar, engrossed in his phone. Something about him looks familiar.

“Here you go.” The bartender sets your drink down. You smile your thanks and take a long sip, letting the bright aged flavors wash over your tongue. The alcohol warms your limbs, relaxing away the strains of the day.

You’re debating whether to stay for another drink or head back to your hotel when you feel the stool next to you shift. The young man in the McLaren jacket takes a seat, flashing you a charming grin.

“Hi there,” he says, his English words foreign to your ears. Up close he’s even more handsome, with lively color changing eyes and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. You don’t understand what he’s saying, but his body language is obvious.

You give him a coy smile in return. “Hello.”

He seems unfazed by the language barrier, launching into a lively stream of English as he signals the bartender for two drinks. You watch his lips form around the exotic words, catching a name here and there.

Lando. McLaren. Spain.

Each syllable musical and indecipherable.

When the fresh drinks arrive, you clink glasses together. The liquor slides down easily, warming your cheeks. You can’t understand Lando, but the spark in his eyes needs no translation. He’s flirting. And you’re enjoying the attention after a long day on your feet.

As the night wears on, you drift closer together, thighs brushing on the stools, hands slyly grazing. The pulsing music and alcohol blur the edges of your thoughts into a pleasant haze. All that matters are Lando’s eyes locked on yours, and the building tension that thrums under his touch.

Eventually he stands, holding out a hand with that charming grin. You don’t hesitate, letting him lead you through the sea of bodies toward the exit, the noise fading behind you.

The cool night air hits your skin as you step outside. Lando hails a cab, and you slide across the backseat, thighs pressed together. His hand comes to rest on your knee and you lace your fingers through his, exchanging coy glances in the darkness.

When the cab stops at your hotel, Lando insists on walking you to your room. As you step into the lobby, the bright lights feel harsh after the dimness of the club. Lando’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, guiding you towards the elevators.

In the mirrored walls of the elevator, you catch sight of your smudged makeup and tousled hair. Lando stands close behind you, eyes trailing over your figure in the reflection. You feel a flush rising on your cheeks that has nothing to do with the wine.

The walk down the plush hotel hallway feels endless, heightened by anticipation. Your hands brush and you exchange coy glances, the flirtatious tension building. At last you stop outside your door. Hands fumbling, you slide the key card into the lock while Lando waits eagerly beside you.

As soon as the door clicks open, his mouth is on yours. You melt into the kiss, the taste of liquor sweet on his lips. Stumbling backwards, you lead him into the room, fingers tangled in his soft curls.

You come up for air long enough to kick off your heels. Lando’s eyes blaze with desire as he shrugs off his jacket and reaches for you again. You meet him halfway, lips fused together, hands roaming. The backs of your legs hit the bed and you tumble backwards, pulling him down on top of you.

You lose yourself in the feeling of his body against yours, hard muscle under smooth skin. Gasps and moans fill the air as clothes are discarded piece by piece onto the plush carpet. The rest of the world fades away until all that’s left is skin on skin, racing heartbeats, the slide of sweat-slick limbs.

After, you lie tangled together as your breathing slows, floating back down to earth. Lando traces lazy patterns on your arm as you drift towards sleep, spent and sated.

The morning sun streaming through the curtains wakes you. For a moment you’re disoriented, then the memories of last night come flooding back. You stretch and roll over, expecting to find Lando, but the other side of the bed is empty.

You sit up, holding the sheet around you, and spot him standing by the window on his phone. He glances over at you with a sheepish smile. “Good morning,” he says.

You return the greeting in Spanish, then pause, realization dawning. Now, in the harsh light of day without the haze of alcohol, the language barrier stretches wide between you.

Lando seems to have come to the same conclusion. He looks at you helplessly and says something in English you don’t understand. You shake your head and respond in rapid Spanish, trying to explain that you don’t speak his language. But your words have no more meaning to him than his do to you.

You both stare at each other in bewilderment. Last night things had seemed so simple, but now you have no way to communicate. Lando runs a hand through his hair in frustration. You wish you could bridge the gap between you, but Spanish and English remain foreign tongues.

After a few more failed attempts at conversation, Lando pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his contacts, then seems to find what he’s looking for. Putting the phone to his ear, he says clearly, “Carlos, mate, I need your help.”

***

Lando lowers the phone from his ear just as a knock sounds at the door.

“That was fast,” he says with a relieved grin, crossing the room to open it.

You quickly pull on a hotel robe and smooth your tangled hair as much as possible. From the bed, you watch as Lando ushers another man into the room. He’s tall and handsome, with warm brown eyes and an easy smile. Something about him seems instantly familiar and trustworthy.

“Carlos, this is ...” Lando pauses and glances back at you with an apologetic look, realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“My name is Y/N,” you offer, giving the newcomer a small wave.

His face lights up in recognition. “Y/N Y/L/N! The Spanish model!”

You flush, surprised and flattered that he knows who you are. Before you can respond, Carlos turns to Lando and launches into rapid English. Though you don’t understand the words, his tone sounds polite yet teasing, making Lando blush faintly.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Lando mutters, running a hand through his curls. “Just tell her I’m happy to meet her and I had a great time last night.”

Carlos nods and looks at you with a hint of mischief in his warm brown eyes. “He says you are very boring and he regrets last night, but wants to let you down gently.”

You frown in confusion. That didn’t sound like a compliment at all. Lando is watching you expectantly, oblivious.

“Tell him I don’t understand why,” you say carefully.

Carlos turns back to Lando. “She says you’re an arrogant prick and she wants you to leave.”

“What?” Lando looks taken aback. “Where did that come from? Tell her I’d love to get to know her better over breakfast or something.”

“He says it was nice of you to help scratch his itch last night but he has better options,” Carlos tells you bluntly.

You fold your arms across your chest, irritation flaring. The flirtatious spark between you and Lando last night seems to have vanished in the light of day, replaced by this stilted miscommunication.

Lando’s brows knit together as he tries again. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended her in some way. Let her know I’d like the chance to make it up to her before I go.”

Carlos’ expression softens as he turns to you. “He says you aren’t bad to look at and you not being able to speak English is a bonus because that means he doesn’t have to listen to you talk.”

You nod slowly as anger takes over. “Tell him I want him gone now.”

“She says you’re the stupid one for thinking she wanted anything from you other than your money,” Carlos tells Lando.

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets, looking disappointed. “I-I thought we had a good connection.”

A hint of steel enters Carlos’ eyes. “He says that if he wanted a gold-digger, he would at least choose someone who looks good on his arm.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. Why would he say such a terrible thing? Anger replaces any lingering attraction you felt for Lando. You turn away, fists clenched, humiliation burning in your cheeks.

Lando looks utterly confused. “What … I don’t … Carlos, what is going on?” He stammers helplessly.

But Carlos is already at your side, murmuring comfortingly in Spanish as he guides you toward the door. “Don’t pay attention to him, he’s not worth it. Come with me.”

You let Carlos wrap a supportive arm around your shoulders, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. With one last glare at a dumbfounded Lando, you sweep out of the hotel room.

As Carlos leads you down the hall, you lean into his side, reassured by his solid presence. “Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “I just don’t know why he was so mean ...”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says with a wink. Whatever just happened between you and Lando, you’re grateful to have found a quick friend in Carlos.

And judging by the sparks you felt when he first said your name, perhaps he could be something more. For now, you push that thought aside, the day has already had enough drama.

***

The weeks following the awkward encounter with Lando fly by in a whirlwind of model castings, photoshoots, and fashion shows. But you find your thoughts continually drifting back to Carlos and his warm brown eyes.

When he calls you up and invites you to the upcoming Austrian Grand Prix as his guest, you happily accept. The chance to get to know him better away from the drama with Lando is too tempting to pass up.

The paddock thrums with excitement on race day. You smooth down the skirt of your flowy sundress and take Carlos’ arm as he guides you through the bustling team garages toward the pit lane. Your heels click sharply on the pavement, echoing the anticipation building in your chest.

Mechanics and engineers pause in their work to glance your way appreciatively. You flush under their gazes but keep your chin high. On Carlos’ arm, you feel like you belong.

As you near the bright papaya of the McLaren garage, Carlos casually steers you down a side path to avoid walking right by. You feel a twinge of relief not to chance running into Lando. That awkward morning is firmly in the past.

But as you round a corner, you find yourselves face to face with him. Lando stops short, eyes widening. For a moment, the three of you stand frozen. Then Lando breaks into a tentative smile.

“Y/N! I didn’t realize you’d be here. You look lovely.” His English words sound friendly enough, but you cling tighter to Carlos’ arm, waiting for the translation.

Carlos’ expression remains neutral. “He says your dress is too tight and it’s not a flattering look.”

You gasp, stung by the insult. All your insecurities about your body that you constantly fight to overcome as a model come flooding back at his cruel words.

Lando’s brows furrow in confusion, clearly sensing Carlos’ interpretation was off. “No, I just said she looks nice ...” He turns his attention to you, eyes pleading. “Y/N, I’m so sorry about what happened last time. I’d love the chance to take you out properly while we’re both here this weekend.”

Suppressing a smug smile, Carlos translates for you. “He says that while you’re not his first choice, you are easy in bed and he would like for you to come to his suite this evening.”

Tears of humiliation spring to your eyes. You stare at Lando in shock, feeling betrayed. Attraction turns to disgust in a heartbeat. How could you have ever felt a connection with someone who views you as nothing but an object for pleasure?

Lando is shaking his head frantically, obviously bewildered by your reaction. “I don’t know what you’re telling her, but this is not what I said!” He reaches out imploringly but you recoil from his touch.

He steps towards you but is cut off as your stiletto slams down hard onto his foot. He yelps in pain, hopping back. The slap of your palm across his cheek echoes through the empty side path.

“You are a disgusting pig!” You spit at him in your native Spanish. With a dramatic flip of your hair, you spin on your heel and storm away, fuming. Behind you, Carlos scrambles to catch up.

“Y/N! Wait!” Hearing his familiar voice, your rage melts. You pause, sniffling, and let Carlos pull you into a comforting hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, gently stroking your hair. “Lando is an idiot.”

You nod against his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut to hold back tears. Carlos’ steady presence soothes you. As your breathing finally calms, a voice speaks up from behind.

“Such dramatics!”

You turn to see Fernando Alonso striding towards you, an amused smile on his handsome face. He nods at your foot.

“That was quite the stomp you gave Lando back there,” he remarks with a chuckle. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, hermosa.”

You can’t help but smile back shyly. Of all the people to witness your outburst, it had to be your longtime idol in Formula 1.

“I’m sorry, I thought he said something rude about me,” you explain with an embarrassed wince.

Fernando waves his hand dismissively. “No need to apologize. I could tell something was getting lost in translation between the three of you.”

He shoots Carlos a pointed look. Carlos shrinks back and avoids Fernando’s gaze, shuffling his feet.

“Those younger drivers are still boys when it comes to women,” Fernando continues, turning his attention back to you. “You deserve better than to be caught in the middle of their silly games.”

His worldly confidence and flattering words make you flush. Glancing between Fernando and Carlos, you start to question the latter’s intentions. Did he mistranslate on purpose back in Spain to drive a wedge between you and Lando?

Fernando seems to read your uncertainty. He extends a hand to help you to your feet.

“Why don’t you walk with me instead of these children? I can show you what a real man looks like.” The challenge in his daring smile quickens your pulse.

You let him pull you up, feeling your anger over Lando’s remarks transforming into starstruck awe.

As he starts to lead you off, Carlos finds his voice again. “Wait, Y/N, please ...” he calls after you, distraught. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I care about you!”

But Fernando silences him with a scornful glare. “Don’t waste your breath. You had your chance.” With that, he guides you away, leaving a crestfallen Carlos behind.

Adrenaline courses through you at the unexpected turn of events. The paddock seems to part around you as Fernando walks with you, head held high. His hand on your back feels possessive in a thrilling way.

When curious eyes drift your way, Fernando pulls you tighter to his side in a clear message — she’s with me. Your heart pounds at the public claim over you.

As you walk, Fernando points out details of the garage and pit activities, answering your stream of awed questions. His deep knowledge amazes you as he describes complex race strategy like reading a storybook.

The command he wields here is clear. And by sticking close, some of that power transfers to you. Other women eye you enviously as you pass. For the first time, instead of feeling exposed in their judging looks, you feel empowered.

With Fernando, you have nothing to prove. He sees you, not as a dumb model or conquest, but an equal worthy of respect. When you hesitantly voice that thought, he smiles.

“Too few of the idiots here appreciate women for their minds,” he agrees. “But I enjoy a sharp intellect as much as beauty.”

You practically glow at the validation. Any lingering hurt or anger melts away, replaced with lightness.

Maybe things will work out just as they should after all.

***

The rest of the season and off-season flies by in a whirlwind of excitement and new experiences with Fernando. When he asks you to accompany him to the 2025 season opener in Australia, you eagerly accept.

In the months since that dramatic Austrian weekend, your bond has only grown stronger. Fernando makes you feel treasured and respected. Under his wing, you’ve blossomed in confidence.

And that extends to English. Fernando gently encouraged you to start lessons so you could navigate the international world of Formula 1. You dove in headfirst, determined to prove yourself.

Now, as you and Fernando arrive at the bustling Melbourne paddock hand in hand, you can’t wait to show off your progress. Fernando smiles proudly at your enthusiasm.

“Ready to give your English a try, hermosa?” He asks, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

You take a deep breath and nod. The words still feel clumsy on your tongue, but Fernando’s steadying presence emboldens you.

As you approach the row of motorhomes, your strides slow. The last time you saw Carlos and Lando still stings. But with Fernando beside you, you have nothing to fear.

Right on cue, the two young drivers come around the corner. They stop short at the sight of you, eyes widening. An awkward beat passes before Lando breaks the tension.

“Y/N … you look well,” he says carefully. Carlos shifts on his feet but stays silent.

Fernando gives them a curt nod. “Lando. Carlos.” His voice carries a note of warning — don’t try anything.

You lift your chin. Time to take control of this narrative. “Hello Lando. Carlos,” you respond in slow, deliberate English. “I am good. And you?”

They gape at you in surprise. “You’re speaking English now?” Carlos asks. “That’s great!”

You resist the urge to fall back on your native Spanish. Fernando believes in you.

“Yes, I learn,” you tell Carlos. “Fernando helps me … how you say … empower?” You glance at Fernando to confirm you have the right word. His approving smile emboldens you.

Lando looks bemused. “Er, that’s great. Your English is really coming along.”

You frown. The subtle condescension in his tone irks you. Your skills may be basic still, but you deserve respect.

“Do not patronize me,” you say sharply, the unfamiliar words feeling powerful on your tongue. “I am try my best. You just … how you say … celoso?” Again you double check with Fernando.

“Jealous is the word, I believe,” he confirms with a wink.

You grin. “Yes, jealous! You are just jealous of me and Fernando.”

Lando holds up his hands in protest. “No, that’s not it at all, I’m happy for you ...”

But you barrel on, relishing this opportunity to at last be understood. “You think I am just a model, not smart. But Fernando show me I can be smart AND beautiful.”

You take a deep breath before delivering the final blow. “He says I have … potencial. He believes in me. Not like you two boys.”

Crossing your arms, you stare them down defiantly. The speech leaves you feeling bold and powerful, despite the clumsy delivery. Fernando squeezes your shoulder proudly.

“I think that sums it up nicely, querida,” he praises. “Shall we?”

You nod and let him guide you away, confidently walking past a stunned Lando and Carlos. Their widened eyes follow you, seeing you clearly for the first time.

Once out of earshot, Fernando pulls you into a passionate kiss. “I am so proud of you,” he murmurs. “You found your voice today.”

You cling to him, heart soaring. With Fernando, you have grown more in these few months than in years past. He never doubted you could reach higher and fulfill your potential.

Your moment is interrupted by enthusiastic shouts in Spanish. You turn to see your family rushing over, eager for their long awaited reunion.

Laughing, you break from Fernando’s embrace to greet them. As you chat animatedly in your native tongue, you feel Fernando’s admiring gaze on you.

Later, in a quiet moment together, he brushes a strand of hair from your face tenderly. “You contain multitudes, Y/N,” he remarks. “Never let anyone put limits on you.”

You snuggle closer, overflowing with love and gratitude. With Fernando, the possibilities seem endless. He believes in the woman you have always been and the woman you are becoming, and gives you strength.

Whatever the future brings, you know you will soar.

[jeankluv]

But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.01]

Short series

Summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

Tags of the series: +18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n.

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | ch.05 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Note: this is going to be a short series, of around two or three chapters, it’s a way to say thank you for the 300 followers. The tags are in general for the series, in this chapter there are only suggestive language and some misogyny comments and actions, according to the time that is set. Oc and Satoru are +20

words: 4k

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You were on the beach, near the house, you had gone for a walk and read a book by the seashore. The morning was warm and your blue dress moved due to the sea breeze that hit you. Placing a lock of your hair behind your ear, you looked at the immense sea before you.

You had rarely left your place of residence and even less had you crossed the sea. But this was a fervent dream that you had longed for since you had started reading stories from different places in the world.

But your parents were strict and you had a weak body to be able to make that journey. So the only thing left was to long for something that would not happen and immerse yourself in your beloved books.

You turned the page of the book you had brought with you and continued reading. It was a romantic book, one of those that made butterflies flutter in your stomach with just words written on a piece of paper. You had always wondered if it really happened, if when you were in love with someone those butterflies appeared and fluttered.

You had never fallen in love, but you had always longed for it. You knew that when the time came, you would be married to someone, but the mere idea of ​​marrying someone, with whom you could never feel those butterflies or any kind of affection, terrified you.

You were terrified of the idea of ​​ending up like your parents and raising your children in a loveless home, like you had.

“It’s the book good, angel?” A deep voice spoke in front of you.

Resting the book against your chest, you looked up, meeting a face you didn't know. His gaze was sharp and even a little arrogant. You stayed watching him, while his gaze continued to rest on you and you felt like he was somehow undressing you with his eyes. You held the book tighter to your chest and drew your legs up a little.

“Oh don’t be afraid princess. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.” You felt your face heat up at his words.

“Who are you?” You murmured.

“Satoru.” He said, giving a bite to the apple on his hand. “What are you reading angel?” He pointed to the book.

You hesitated, unsure if you should keep talking with that unkown man. “I think I should leave.” You said getting up carefully.

The man whose name was Satoru cleared his throat. "Come on angel, don't tell me that my presence scared you."

“I would rather be alone sir.” You whispered. “Now I will take my leave.” You said turning around and moving fast across the beach.

You could still feel his gaze on you, never leaving you, not until you disappeared from his sight. Walking across the dirt road that connected your house to the beach, you looked back to make sure the man wasn't following you. Your breathing was labored and your heart was beating rapidly when you reached the door. Taking another breath through your nostrils, you straightened your back and put on the best of your smiles as you entered the house.

"My lady." One of the household maids approached you. “Her mother wants to see her.”

"Something happened?" You bowed your head.

“No, miss, I just want to talk to you about the dinner that will be held tonight.”

“Oh, yeah okay.” You nodded.

Still clutching the book to your chest, you walked through the house. You were not the wealthiest in the county, but your father had a good fortune and from time to time he held parties, in a desperate attempt to get one of the rich men to notice his daughter and thus marry her.

That night you would once again have to endure the lustful gazes of men three times your age, while you made excuses not to commit to them. But time was fleeting and his excuses were slowly running out.

You knocked on the door and heard your mother telling you to enter.

“Mother.” You bowed your head. “I heard you called me.”

“Yes.” She said. “Tonight as you know there will be a party in our house.” You nodded. “I want you to stay away from one of our guests.”

“Stay away? Wouldn't that be rude?”

“No. That man is no good news.” She stood up and walked to the window. “It doesn’t matter how wealthy he is, he is no good for our family.” Then she turned around and walked towards you. “So please my beautiful daughter, don’t you dare approach that man.” A shiver ran through your body when you saw your mother's threatening gaze and you nodded with fear.

“May I ask, what’s his name mother?” You said, still frightened.

“It's Duke Satoru Gojo. I heard he is good looking but besides that, there is nothing good about him.”

Satoru

That was the name of that man, wasn’t it?

“Is something wrong?” Your mother asked.

“No, nothing is wrong mother.” You responded feeling the nervousness in your words. “I retire to my room to start getting ready for the party.” Your mother nodded and you left the room.

You walked back to your room, thinking about the man once again. Just thinking about him sent a shiver down your spine. Mother had asked you not to approach him, but you had the feeling that he would be the one to approach you. Remembering your meeting on the beach, you wouldn't have thought he was a lord or anything like that. To tell the truth, you thought that he was one of the villagers in town who wanted to bother you, for the way he was dressed up.

He was wearing a white shirt, with the top buttons unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. With just one glance you could see that he was well toned. A subtle blush appeared on your face as you realized what you were thinking about. You shook your head to get rid of those improper thoughts.

“My lady?” A knock on your door brought you back.

“Rose!” You smiled at your maid.

“I’m here to start your preparations for tonight’s party.” She smiled with a small nod.

“That’s perfect. Let’s begin.”

And before you realized it, you were already putting on the final touches of your makeup and the sun had already set on the horizon of the sea. Rose said goodbye to you when you headed towards the door and with a firm step you headed to the entrance where the guests were waiting and where that man would surely also be.

Going down the stairs, you stood next to your parents, to welcome the guests arriving at the party. The faces of people already familiar and new, passed by one by one. Feeling a relief in your chest when you saw that that man did not appear, you entered the party. There were hardly any people your age or people with whom you could start a conversation that you liked.

“My lady?” You turned to see the face of the man who had called you.

He was a marquis from near the capital, he was approximately 40 years old, you heard that his wife died and now he was looking for a young girl to remarry and thus give him a male heir.

Taking a step back you greeted him. "Sir." You put on the best of your smiles.

“You look absolutely beautiful, my lady.” He flattered you, bringing the glass of wine to his mouth, his face was dyed a soft red so, it was more than evident, that this was not his first glass of wine. “It's a shame no one has courted you yet.” He said taking a step forward, you took one step back.

“The right man hasn’t appeared yet, sir.” You wanted to escape that conversation as soon as possible.

“My lady, how about I invite you to my country side house and let me court you properly?” He raised his hand so you could place yours on top of it.

Your mouth went dry and your hands started to shake. “I…” You wanted to say no, but that would be nonsense and disrespectful.

“I think the lady is not very interested in an insect like you.” A deep voice spoke behind you.

A chill ran down your spine when you heard that voice. It was him.

You raised your face to see him standing behind you, with a frivolous smile looking at the marquis you were conversing with.

”Duke Satoru Gojo, excuse me. How are you? I didn’t expect to see him at this party.” The marquis who seconds ago possessed tremendous confidence was now shaking like a wet puppy.

“Pretty annoyed, because I have to see insects like you believing themselves to be something they're not.” He scratched his head and took a step forward, standing at your height. “Now disappear from my sight.” You trembled as you heard his tone and saw his murderous look.

Who was that man? Your gaze was fixed on him and you did not see the marquis flee the place in terror. When you realized you were both alone and he looked at you with those same hungry eyes with which he had looked at you that morning on the beach.

“Angel, we met each other once again.” He bowed a little. “You look even more beautiful than this morning.” He tangled one of your locks in his finger.

“Duke.” Taking a step back from him, you bowed to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You said without looking at his eyes.

Mother told you to stay away from him, so you needed to escape from there as soon as possible.

“Oh I’m a bit disappointed that you won’t look at me.” You heard him chuckling. “You are scared of me little one?”

“Sorry duke, but I must take my leave.” Trying to move away from him, he held your wrist pressing you against his torso.

“Careful angel.” He whispered into your ear, causing your legs to tremble at his warm breath. “You almost dumped into the waiter.”

And then you noticed, the waiter that was there holding the tray with more drinks. "I’m so sorry." You told the waiter.

The waiter shook his head and smiled at you, leaving your sight. "You have to be more careful angel, you could have hurt yourself." He whispered again against your ear.

“Thank you…” You whispered, releasing you from his grip and separating you from his muscular body.

Being close to him, his warmth and touch had caused a strange feeling in you.

“Angel, are you avoiding me?” His face came dangerously close to yours and your cheeks turned a subtle crimson red.

“No duke, that would be rude.” You looked down to your feet.

“So angel, how about you join me for a walk on this warm summer night.” He extended his hand towards you.

Your heart was beating strongly in your chest, doubting what you should do. Your mind wandered to the conversation with your mother, where she implored you to stay away from that man. But your heart wanted to grab that hand of his and take you for a walk that night. With your hand trembling you grabbed the duke's hand and together you left the house.

The cold of the night hit your body, causing you to shrink subtly, trying not to let your body heat escape. Instinctively you squeezed your hand, causing you to squeeze the duke's hand subtly. Realizing this, you moved your hand away and placed it against your chest, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

The duke looked you up and down and took off his jacket, slinging it over your shoulders. You don't know if it was because of the jacket or because of the gesture, but you felt an intense heat settle on your face.

“Thank you duke.” You murmured holding into his jacket.

The duke just nodded and continued walking. Your gaze focused on his back and your mother's words echoed in your head again. You still had time to return to the party and ignore that you had been with that man there, but as before your heart decided for you and you walked following his step.

“So angel.” He spoke, taking what it looked like a cigarette out of his pocket. “Was the book you were reading good?”

“Yeah… it was.” His voice was making you feel things.

“What was it about?” He put the cigarette on his mouth and smiled at you while lighting up.

“About…” Your words didn’t want to come out of your mouth. “About a girl and boy that fell in love and escaped.”

“Oh… interesting.” He smiled. “You still don’t seem to trust me very much angel. Did someone talk bad about me?”

“No duke, not at all.” You hated to lie but you couldn’t expose your mother or else things could get complicated for your family.

“I don’t like when beautiful girls lie.” You felt his hand under your chin. “Tell me angel. What did they say about me?”

You trembled under his touch. “That… that you are no good news.”

With a crooked smile he spat the cigarette smoke away from you. “And that’s what you think, princess?” He asked you, narrowing his gaze.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to meet the duke, so I can not give an opinion.”

With a smile and with the cigarette between his teeth, he removed his hand from under your chin and walked to a stone seat overlooking the sea and sat there. You looked at his figure, muscular and large, feeling that heat in you again.

“Angel, don’t be shy and sit here with me.” He extended his hand and gestured for you to come closer. “I would like to know more about the beautiful lady of this house.”

You sat down next to him, placing your hands thighly on your knees, still nervous due to his presence.

“Ask me whatever you want, angel. I already told you.” He got near you. “I won’t bite you, unless you ask me to.”

Taking a deep breath, you spoke. “Why do you have a bad reputation?”

“Well…” He chuckled. “People think I killed my brother, to take the title and the power.”

“But those surely are just rumors right?” Your heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second.

“Maybe I did kill him, angel.” You began to feel dizzy, was he for real? “Don’t look at me like that angel, I didn’t kill him. My brother was clumsy and an idiot, he died due to his clumsiness but I loved him, at the end of the day he was my brother.” He threw the cigarette away. “But everyone started to believe that lie and to say I manipulated him because the title, instead of going to his son, it was leave it to me.” He shrugged. “Do you still think I’m bad angel?”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry you have to face those rumors.”

“How sweet of you angel.” He smiled. “That man… he wanted to marry you, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Someone your age would be expected to be already married.” He pointed out.

“Yeah but I have a weak body, so my parents are trying to push it away.” You explained.

“Are they?” You looked at him confused. “Or are you?”

“What do you mean? I would never…”

“Princess it seems to me that you don’t want to marry any of those old insects and that you use the bland excuse of having a poor body to get away with it.” He cockily smiled. “I’m wrong?”

“That’s a gross lie, I would never lie about my body being weak.” You blurted out, embarrassed by his words.

He chuckled softly. “Okay angel, I will try to believe in your words.” He turned to face you. “But honestly, you would need a better match than those suitors your parents want to assign you. A princess like you doesn't deserve to be with those insects.”

You looked down. “I don’t have a say on what my father chooses for me. Once the moment comes, I will marry the person he chooses for me.”

“And that’s what you want, angel?” You felt his breath on your ear. “Or you want one of those love stories?”

You took a deep breath. “Those stories never come true, I’m destined to marry someone I won’t love, but you know.” You smiled looking at him. “Maybe with time love can happen.”

“Or maybe it never happens and you are unhappy for the rest of your life.” He said with those eyes all over you.

“Why are you telling me these things duke? Isn't it a bit rude to be talking like that to a lady?” You said.

“Is it?” He tilted. “I don’t know angel.” He stood up and you followed him with your gaze. “So you say you will marry anyone your father chooses. Interesting.” He smirked and watching that smirk, it made your body tremble.

You watched as he took a pocket watch out of his pocket and how he looked at it. “Duke…” You called him. “Why did you come to the party?” It was a question you have been wanting to ask since your mother informed you he was coming. “I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but the travel from your residence to here is quite long.”

He put the watch back in his pocket and smiled at you. “Just wanted to see with my own eyes how beautiful the lady of the house was or if the rumors were all fake.” He held your hand and brought it to his lips. “And the rumors were not wrong.” He said planting a kiss on your knuckles.

Your legs shook as the duke sank his teeth into the fabric of your gloves and gently began to remove it. But the real weakness came when he ran his tongue between your fingers while his piercing eyes were fixed on you.

An immense heat was established in the lower area of ​​your abdomen and as much as you wanted to remove your hand from its touch, the pleasant sensation it was causing in you, prevented it.

“I will keep this glove with me, angel.” He kissed the glove and put it in his pocket. “We will see each other again soon, angel.”

And you watched him walk away, disappearing in the darkness of the night. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, thinking about what just happened and feeling a new sensation on your body that you could not quite understand.

Standing back up you walked back to the house, getting welcomed by the noise of the people speaking, singing and dancing.

“Where were you?” Your mother appeared. “And whose jacket is that?” She raised your voice.

“I was outside and a…”

“Outside on your own?” She held your arm.

“Mother, you’re hurting me…” You whispered.

“Don’t tell me you were being a slut in our garden?” She asked you.

“What? Mother no, I was just taking fresh air.” You felt how your eyes got wet. “Please mother.”

“Agh.” She let your arm go. “Come with me, your father is going to introduce you to someone.” She turned around and walked.

You followed her in silence and with your head low, still feeling scared for your mother’s tone and angry look on her face. When you looked back up, you saw your father talking with a man, an unknown man for you. He looked the same age as your parents and was laughing with your father while smoking and drinking.

“Oh!” Your father said. “Look Marquis Harrison, this is my one and only daughter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” You bowed your head.

“You have a really beautiful daughter.” The man spoke looking at your father.

“Yeah.” Your father laughed. “And you know Marquis Harrison, she is still unmarried and in the perfect age to to conceive.”

You felt your pulse accelerate and your breathing shorten, while you listened to your father speak. You knew where that conversation was going and you didn't want it to get to that point, you didn't want to marry that man.

You felt like the corset was tightening you more and more and how it was difficult for you to breathe with each passing moment.

Duke Satoru had been right, you had been lying about having a weak body and you had been paying gold coins to your personal doctor to corroborate it. But that excuse would soon be exhausted.

“Oh it’s that right my lady?” The man spoke to you.

You noticed the vein in your neck throbbing strongly, you felt like you would faint at any moment.

“Answer to Marquis Smith.” Your mother, angrily whispered to you.

“I…”

“Angel.” That deep voice again. “I totally forgot about my jacket.” He approached you causing all eyes to fall on him and then on you when he was in front of you.

Your cheeks turned red as you saw his face again, as if something about him had an instant effect on you.

"What does this mean?" Your mother raises her voice.

“Oh ma'am, I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself to the hosts of the party.” He turned to face your parents. “I am Duke Satoru Gojo, thank you for inviting me to this party.” He smiled, bowing slightly and placing her hand on her chest.

“Are you the one who gave the jacket to my daughter?” Your mother asked.

“That's right ma'am, I found her daughter outside getting some air and I lent her my jacket.” He lied.

Your mother took two steps towards you and she grabbed you tightly by the arm, she didn't care that all eyes were on you. “Didn't I tell you to stay away from him, don’t tell me you are a slut who spreads her legs out there?”

“Mother please.” You felt your eyes sting.

Your father shook his head. “Our daughter is a bit poorly raised, Duke, we are sorry if something uncomfortable could have happened.” You felt like crying at that very moment, you wanted someone to get you out of there. You needed someone to do it.

The duke looked at you and then at your father. "I think the only rude people here are the hosts of this party, who dedicate themselves to humiliating their only daughter in front of all the guests, while trying to marry her to the highest bidder." The Duke's words came out like darts from his mouth and his gaze was so extremely sharp, you would swear he could cut the air.

“How dare you…” your father blurted out with his face slightly red.

“I want to marry your daughter.” The duke cut your father.

A loud gasp was heard in the room and you looked at him stunned.

“Stay away from her.” Your mother blurted, still holding your arm thighly.

He completely ignored your mother. “I will be staying in the house, so your daughter and I can meet better.” He sharply looked at your dad. “I hope this is not an impediment or I will have to contact his majesty the King.” He threatened.

"Alright." Your father stammered, looking at the ground. The duke turned and removed your mother's grip on your arm.

He lifted your chin with his hand and smiled. “Now we can see each other more, angel.”

You swallowed dryly, looking into his eyes and feeling that flame light up inside you once again.

[buttercupblu]

God is Fair|The Lore

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Two-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: ever since you were young, you knew you were meant for each other. he came into your life like a storm and grew closer no matter how distant you seemed. he swelled and captured your heart every time he was near. so why did you keep fighting him? w.c: 12.7k (holy f*ck) out of idk yet for part-two the rest (god bless) tags: fem!reader, mostly angsty….pretty much 90% angst for part 1, repressed feelings, jealousy, lingering lips and fingers, a little bit of self-depreciation at the end but pick that crown up love, reader gets a little violent at the end 😳|if i missed anything, pls comment or DM ☺️ angel’s note: this story started as one thing and ended up as another—so goes the way of life. PSA: most of the good, filthy, mack-nasty shyt is in part 2/3, but you’ve gotta wade through the fire first to get it. It’s always worth it|thanks for reading 🖤 earworm 🐛: Chihiro|Billie Eilish

Over time, you became perfectly molded to him.

As did his lips to your tender bud that sank under his sinful tongue.

Slender fingers grip and drown under his raven locks, barely saving you from the shallow breaths you must take to stay alive.

You’re just above water, and he steals your air, spelling poetry with his tongue over your folding petals.

Broken coos spill from your puffy lips—his favorite melody to ever grace his ears.

Whether it was today, tomorrow, yesterday, or forever—you fall—in and in and even deeper into his grasp. Under the waves and trapped in his ocean—he gently pulls you under—your lungs yearning for air, but you never want out.

And the way he dives in, drowning to taste every drop, every sweet, delectable sip of your nectar like he could live the rest of his life without oxygen—tells you that he doesn’t either. 

You learned to love each other’s oceans and came to mix seas. Both treaded rough waters but learned to float with calm bodies.

Now you lie hand in hand, limbs weaved like vines through each other’s arms, as you cuddle. Completely spent from another night in each other’s depths. Grateful. Grateful for his love—his patience.

And wondering how on Earth you thought it’d be possible to exist without someone you swore you despised.

Suguru has always been the best—the best at being good, the best at being kind, the best at being quiet—the best at being better than you. 

When you were eight years old, he made his quiet introduction into your quaint little neighborhood, arriving in a flashy Mercedes-Benz followed by two moving trucks that pulled right into the driveway directly across the street from your humble home. Heels painted with red bottoms adorning stocking-covered legs were the first things you saw as you watched from your bedroom window. 

The sound of movers drew your attention. No one ever came to your city, let alone your cul-de-sac. You felt a shift. A change was coming.

A tall woman, her long, sleek ponytail blowing in the wind, stepped out of the driver’s seat wearing large couture shades that took up most of her face. The overhanging forecast made everything bleak and gray, but the sunglasses stayed. A man exited the passenger seat and came to the woman’s side. He gingerly took her hand and looked around with a small smile, gently rubbing her arm. She slightly grimaced and handed him what looked like one of those small, overpriced designer bags.

They looked so…out of place.

They had to smell like money.

What the heck were they doing here? 

In a city like yours, one of those places where everyone knows everyone and everybody's business, you instantly knew that this couple would be the talk of the town. At least with the adults.  

You blew air into your bangs. You weren’t expecting new neighbors, but they could have at least come with a kid—someone who might actually want you around. 

“Hey, Bug,” your dad called from the garden.

He always left the back door open so he could hear you in case you needed him. He must have heard the rumbling of their heavy trucks now being unloaded with elegant furniture. Would all of that even fit in there? Their house was bigger than yours but not by much. “Sounds like we’ve got new neighbors. Might go by later and say hi if you want to come.”

“No thanks.”

You turned back to the window, resting your head on your arms. Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Richy Rich didn't sound very appealing to you and might only make you feel worse on this already gloomy Spring day.

For once, you wanted to be pleasantly surprised and not just surprised with something you wouldn’t expect, like hitting the jackpot or whatever.

And then you saw him.

Inky black hair drawn into a short ponytail, emerging from the back seat of the fancy car and clutching a book thicker than his torso. His starched white-collar shirt and beige shorts reminded you of school. He kept his chin tucked and looked like the wind just might knock him over if the book wasn’t keeping him upright. 

He and the woman were near twins. Definitely mother and son. She smoothed her hands down her skirt and put on a genuine smile for him. The man draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he took in the neighborhood. Slow and sheepish. You thought his eyes caught yours when he looked behind him and you ducked under the window sill. 

Sh—

“You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time, Bug,” your dad called again. It sounded like he might be wrapping up. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You inched back up to the window and peered over the edge. The boy looked like he was just as lost as to why he was there.

Anxious. Reserved. Kind of boring. 

Not your speed.

You blew a raspberry and turned away. So much for that. You wouldn’t be missing much.

In your neighborhood, all the kids walked freely to each other’s houses to see if anyone was home. This was before everyone had cell phones to save time and figure it out for them. 

You watched it happen with the other kids all the time. They’d visit each other and either stay inside (super rare) or gather the rest of the neighborhood to play in the cul-de-sac or park. 

But you were never quite given a direct invitation.

The few friends you were close with moved away about a year ago, and the thought of making new ones who would eventually do the same kept you emotionally at arm's length. To make it worse, you swore the group you were left with undoubtedly hated you.

Why?

Because you had a history of sucking. 

Everyone else in the neighborhood was naturally good at something. Anything. Everything.

But you?

You had to try.

Mess up. And try again. At almost anything you could name.

Basketball? Trash. 

Tag? You were slow.

Football? Pssssh. As if—like you’d let yourself get hurt? You sat out every time.

So, the kids stopped inviting you or always picked you last. Both were grimy slaps in the face. Because you always knew you could be better. Delulu was the solulu if they’d only give you a chance. Or two. Or a few. But damn, you were trying. 

At least you weren’t the only one being left out. 

It’d been weeks since you saw the new kid on the block—not like you thought about him much after you dismissed him. But slowly, as the sounds of Spring beckoned him outside, he reminded you that the new “rich” neighbors did indeed have a kid.

It started with the curtains in his living room window gently ruffling before he’d peek out, scanning the scene for signs of life. Then eventually upgraded to gracing the neighborhood with his presence to sit outside. For hours, he watched from his front porch as the neighborhood kids dashed past your houses to play in the cul-de-sac. 

It kind of made you jealous—the amount of space and freedom on their porch that his parents clearly weren’t taking advantage of. Only two plastic chairs and a small table occupied the space, and they weren’t nearly as lovely as the things you saw go into the home on move-in day. If it were up to you, you’d string up one of those hammocks big enough for two like you’d seen on TV and just float in the breeze under the overhang. It had been a frequent daydream of yours long before they moved in. 

Instead, a gawking boy with too much time on his hands made it his home. Watching. Fiddling with his fingers and leaning on the rail. Watching. Always seeming too afraid to approach.

He had what you thought was the best house in the neighborhood (and probably the most money), and still, he looked so lonely. 

With the background he seemed to come from, you thought he’d be more ballsy. 

One day, you were, and you walked right up there, took the hand of the wide-eyed kid, and led him to the rest of the kids down at the park. His dad watched the whole thing go down from the kitchen window as he did the dishes, silently laughing as the boy stumbled behind you without saying a word. 

This was your chance. You were so tired of the other kids being better than you. With him being the new kid, you thought he’d at least be somewhat on your level or maybe even a bit worse. Anything was better than being the odd one out. 

You and the boy just a few inches shorter than you crashed the party right before the next game started. You beamed at the group like you had caught a prized fish. 

“Guys, this is um…um…” Then you realize you hadn’t asked his name. And he was still holding your hand. 

You dropped it and nudged him. “Suguru,” he said softly, seeming to avoid eye contact.

Suguru hadn’t seen that many kids in a group like this outside of school. He didn’t mean to look so anxious, but he wasn’t used to being in a neighborhood full of kids his age. He instantly felt like an outsider seeing how comfortable everyone was with each other, apart from you by his side. While soft smiles offered him a glimmer of acceptance, the stares made him self-conscious. He wondered if he could ever fit in.

You repeated his name in case no one heard him. Suguru. It naturally rolled off your tongue. Soft and sweet. Like the boy. He fidgeted with his fingers, but hearing his name felt reassuring. You looked at him and grinned. It was time to see what he’s got.

Tee-ball was the game. One you hated the most. Running was not your sport, and you certainly didn’t have an arm, so it never hurt your feelings too much when you weren’t picked for teams. But you made sure Suguru was. You wanted to see him in action. 

Last summer, you guys found an old traffic cone to use as the tee and placed sticks around the field for bases. 

You didn’t expect much from Suguru when it was time to bat because…look at him. He was so small and timid. The bat borrowed from someone’s dad was almost the same size as him, and you swore you saw his feet lift a few times during his practice swings. Too much of that and he’d be airborne. You prepared to give him a “job well done” pat on the back once he hit the ball a few feet.

Suguru squared up at the tee—on his way to join you at the bottom of the barrel.

And wouldn’t you know it? 

He knocked the ball clear out of the park and didn’t even skim the cone. 

Your mouth fell open before you remembered you were the designated retriever since you weren’t playing the game. You grumbled the whole walk and search for it. 

And then he did it again. And again. And again. 

And surprise, surprise, he excelled at every game he played after. Everyone wanted Suguru on their team. 

You gaped at the feat—so much power, strength, and coordination in such an unassuming body.

And instantly hated him.

Not because he was the best or braggy about it. 

It was the complete opposite. 

He barely seemed to acknowledge it—not in an arrogant, dismissive way, but more like he was just happy to be involved and doing something. He was sheepish with compliments and even seemed nervous to receive them. He’d rub his head and give a little close-eyed smile before returning to the game.

And peer over to you on the sidelines for approval. 

Every swing, every hit, and every game after, his purple eyes would find yours whenever he thought he’d done something worthwhile.

You tried to hide the jealous scowl, returning his shy smile with a nod and told him to keep his head in the game. 

But he noticed.

He saw it. He knew you were unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to help. 

So after that, you kind of mirrored each other. 

The kids always saw you as a try-hard—constantly on repeat, trying to make yourself valid and stand out. You’d grab failure by the throat and wring its neck, determined to make it forget your name. Not because you were attention-seeking; you only wanted to be counted in.

And so the student became the teacher. Suguru began to slip you little nods as if saying he saw you—just like you saw him all those times on his front porch. It’d annoy you at first, what you thought could’ve been pity, but it felt nice to finally be acknowledged by someone. 

And so gradually, you looked to him as a spectator, earning silent yeses and nos until you finally worked up the courage to do what you were afraid of most. Ask him to be a friend. 

To help you perfect your skills, of course. 

But the friendship blossomed like the Spring, and you and Suguru actually grew really close—instantly drawn to each other. Pop-ups to his house were the norm as you had the most advantage out of everyone in the neighborhood by living right across from him. And you both were always brought up by one another’s parents.

Turns out Suguru’s dad was a lot like yours and they got on really well. They’re both funny, kind. But your dad’s a little bit different. He’s got rebellion in his bones, as he often talked about when he told you stories about his youth and take-no-shit hippie days. 

“I’m serious, Bug. So, there we were, strapped to the tree. Shackled, really.” 

He mimicked the story with his arms in between laughs. 

“So, so we’re all chained up, right? And this bulldozer is coming right at our heads, ya? I look over to Stanley,” your even crazier God-father who showered you with gifts every time he visited, “I say, ‘Stanley, toughen up. You look like you’re about to piss yourself.’ And he goes, ‘I’m not scared. I forgot to go before we locked ourselves in.’” 

Your dad roared with laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes like he hadn’t told that story a million times. Like he was going around trying to collect little activists. But Suguru almost fell over, leaning into his every word. He was such a shy laugher, always creasing his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he did. It made your dad feel like the funniest guy alive when Suguru entertained his jokes.

“You were so brave,” and Suguru called your dad by his nickname just like your dad told him to. “I want to be that brave when I’m older.”

Your dad winked at you—you stuck out your tongue. Suguru was a good kid, he thought and reminded him a bit of himself.

Those days, your dad was mostly the same. He didn’t need much and chose to live a quaint and peaceful life. He’d talk your ear off about activism, travel, and stories about your mom who passed when you were born. You never got to “meet” her, but you always felt like you knew exactly who she was. And she was totally different from Suguru’s mom, who you learned was a hard-working corporate baddie. Red bottom heels. Makes sense.

By the end of that first summer, your families were practically joined at the hip. You and Suguru even more so. Outside of house calls and playing games with the rest of the neighborhood, the two of you also made frequent trips to the makeshift pier. Almost everything in your neighborhood and the surrounding area was walkable, including a small, wobbly, probably dangerous dock that sat over the small lake in town. You’d play a little alphabet game you made up on the walk down and constantly challenge him. Only for him to literally beat you at your own game nine times out of ten. 

“Angels shop at—” You skipped down the dirt path.

“Blessed boutiques,” Suguru finished, “Beautiful coats—”

“Can clothe their wings. Dashing dolls—”

“Eat every sweet. Forks will find—”

“Giant…giant,” you thought and thought and thought, “Giant—”

“Geese!”’ Suguru tagged you and ran down the dock, deeming you the loser of that round. You strolled down to meet him near the water reflecting the sunset. A pout took up your face. He patted the deck, motioning for you to sit. “You’re gonna miss the fireflies.”

Watching them pop up one by one and glow on the water as the sun went down became a ritual. And one of your favorite memories of summer.

The following school year, you were even more inseparable. And when the end of fifth grade rolled around the year after, you knew it was fate when you found out you’d be attending the same middle school. 

You were overjoyed. So was Suguru, but for different reasons. To you, now it was on. 

Academics was an area where you had a fair shot at flourishing. You were studious, attentive, and almost the perfect student. And while you didn’t have bad grades, you always felt like you could be better. And you know why. Because everything came naturally to Suguru, of course. 

Thank goodness for extracurriculars, though. The two of you didn’t need to do everything together, and you both benefited from the time and separation to do your own thing and discover your own interests. The Newspaper club caught your eye and was more interesting than you thought it would be—the first hobby to make you fall in love with words. 

Suguru took an interest in robotics and, surprisingly, Yearbook. He was pretty crafty with a camera and made sure to snap the best photos of you during your events. 

But the two of you rarely spoke of school or after-school activities. You never wanted him to know if you were struggling or needed help with anything and tried not to rely on him so much those days, so everything with you was always good.

It had to be.

He was still the competition, after all.

And you had to appear just as flawless. 

Instead, you enjoyed late-night phone calls that went way past both of your bedtimes as you grew into middle schoolers. Pretending to be asleep and slipping the phone under your pillow without moving a muscle when your parents checked in was a sport, but it couldn’t be helped. The books you were reading, shows you were watching, and thoughts on what high school would be like were too good not to talk about into the late-night hours—even when your eyelids got too tired to stay open. Falling asleep with your cellphones in hand or occupying a space on your pillows was the norm. 

“What’d ya think about the movie?” 

“I mean, the book is always better, right? But like,” you sighed happily into the phone, “they made their lives look so…amazing.”

The two of you watched The Great Gatsby 1979 version on DVD at Suguru’s house right after school that day before you had to scurry off to help your dad in the garden. Suguru finished the book a few days ago, and after catching him with it during lunch and poking him enough to get him to spill some of the details, you were sold.

A glamorous romance about a life of luxury and passion?

Say less.

And because you couldn’t resist, you told him you’d finish it in less time than he did.

Suguru thought the movie was pretty true to the book, but man, what a sad story. You, however, were in love with the lifestyle.

“What about Daisy?” he asked.

You pondered Daisy’s decision for half a second before deciding she was a one-off. All her life she had been spoiled, something you were a total stranger to but didn’t make a point to say—only dismissed her frivolous ways and called her a coward. “Just the money and parties would be enough for me,” you said in a daydream. “It’d be too happy to be that shallow.” 

Suguru laughed and said that wasn’t the point of the book. “Money can't always buy happiness. She could’ve had love. It was right there.” He sounded so sophisticated when he said it, much too wise and sappy for a 13-year-old. 

You sucked your teeth. “That’s easy for you to say.” And you reminded him that he has a nicer house, clothes, car. “And when are y’all getting the Benz back?”

Lately, you and Suguru had been getting picked up by his dad in a major downgrade of a car. It’d been at least two months, and you were missing the feel of luxury against your skin.

The phone went quiet for a second, and Suguru scratched his head. “Uh, we actually don’t have it anymore.”

Your eyes widened as if he'd just told you someone died. Borderline devastation set in like it was your family losing one of its greatest displays of wealth. But Suguru didn’t sound the least bit sad when he told you that his dad referred to the “new car” as a “cash car” because they needed something quick.

And then it clicked, and you realized why you’d been noticing that furniture and things had also been disappearing in his house when you came over. And why he had to switch to the free lunch program you were also on at school. And why his dad mentioned looking for a second job the other day.

Suguru’s family had been hit by the recession.

And that’s how he became your neighbor.

Most of everything Suguru grew up with in his previous family home was placed in storage when they first moved into your neighborhood. His mom thought their stay would be temporary; she had been demoted at work but didn’t think it was a big deal, and things would quickly be back to normal—maybe even come with a promotion if she worked hard enough.

But it wasn’t her skills that was the problem. The economy was in shambles, and her company was running out of money. After two years of hoping for a miracle, she and over 40% of her company were laid off.

They kept all of this from Suguru until only a few weeks ago. He was much too young to understand what it all meant when it first happened—he was just a kid. But now, he was older, smarter, way less naïve. They couldn’t keep lying to him about why the car was away at the shop or why the family heirloom dining table went missing, among other things. 

When they told him that he’d have to slow down on his growing book collection and only get one gift for his birthday that year, that’s when he started asking questions—not that either of those things meant much to him. He was more than happy to frequent the school library, and you noticed that he’d been spending a lot more time there than usual during breaks.

What bothered Suguru the most was the looks his parents gave him when they told him everything. Like they were delivering the worst news in the world. Like they were so worried that they’d be disappointing him. Like they should be ashamed. 

It hurt him more to know that they felt like they had failed him. 

“My dad just looks so tired all of the time now.”

Mr. Geto, who had been a stay-at-home work-from-home employee since before Suguru was born, had to get a part-time job working overnight to help bridge the widening gap between their old and new lifestyle.

Now, Suguru doesn’t get to see him as much except to make breakfast and kiss Suguru goodbye with a sluggish smile on his face before school.

He really missed his dad. And it made you feel like shit for momentarily being a Daisy.

For the rest of the night, you just listened to Suguru tell stories about back home—what his parents were like, the things they used to do, the trips they would take, and the time they spent together. Little memories from a place you’ve never been but could clearly see as he talked through the night.

Never once did Suguru mention missing the things he used to have or wanted now. The people in his life were what he cared about most. 

“My dad got a new antenna for the TV to surprise my mom with so she can still watch her favorite channels from back home,” he laughed. “It’s so big. I hadn’t seen one before, so it was kinda funny to look at, but I’m glad it’ll make her happy.”

You solemnly smiled and propped up on your arm. “Do you ever miss home? Like being back there?”

He mentioned that he thought about it sometimes: the plush green grass in his front and backyard that he’d lay in for hours, the much sunnier skies compared to the frequently gray and cloudy ones, and humid air here in your rainy city, the few friends and family members he had to leave behind.

But he liked it here better and surprised the hell out of you by saying so. 

Anywhere was better than being here. 

Even though his family was going through a hard time, they still managed to get the nicest house in the neighborhood. You could only imagine what his childhood home looked like compared to the one bedroom and living room your dad made into his own space.

You asked why. What could possibly make this place any better than where he came from?

You could hear him shrug through the phone as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just something about this place.”

You still think about that conversation sometimes.

The end of middle school came in a blaze, and so did puberty. 

Suddenly, you became aware that it was time to start caring about what you looked like.

Some nights, you would call it early with Suguru in favor of spending hours on YouTube watching videos and learning how to wear makeup. You put more thought into how you dressed and tried your best to style the little clothes you had into mostly decent outfits.

Every morning, you’d beam when you entered the kitchen to grab breakfast and say goodbye to your dad. He’d try his best not to cry, watching his little Bug grow up before his eyes. 

Suguru did some growing, too.

The summer of 7th grade, he got a little taller, and when your final year started, you guys were finally neck and neck. He was beginning to be able to see the top of your head when he lifted his chin, and he would make little jokes about it in his prepubescent boy voice that was starting to crack. You’d push the too-big glasses that he got at the start of middle school up the bridge of his nose and tell him not to get too cocky. This was the tallest he would get, you’d tease. He may have been good at everything, but he’d always be a pip-squeak. 

When you weren’t going back and forth with Suguru, you were hanging out with the new gal pals you made at school. Your little trio started spending more time together, window shopping at the mall, attending football games after school, and talking each other’s ears off about anything in between throughout your last year. You couldn’t tell Suguru everything, of course—there are some things that guys will simply never be able to relate to or understand. 

And one day, while the three of you sat at lunch together while Suguru was off with his robotics team, one of your gals leaned over the cafeteria table to poke you with a devious smile and ask the age-old question: who do you like in school?

Your brain had the audacity to picture Suguru first. 

Your friends squealed watching your face blush beet red, but you turned away and never answered the question—only said that you were more focused on school and extracurriculars to help you in college more than anything else. 

But where the hell did that come from? 

Suguru was, debatably, your best friend, but that was it.

Not that you needed to convince anyone else of that. Just…yourself?

Before that day, you never really thought of Suguru in that light. He was this quiet, nerdy, prodigy of a boy who was great at everything and gave you another reason to want to be just as good. You secretly looked up to him, if you wanted to call it that, but you certainly didn’t like him. 

He was just the boy next door. 

The boy next door who was challenging you once again: to push the little hints of affection that had been blossoming aside and dismiss them.

Bury them down, keep your eyes on the prize, and finally be rewarded for your efforts.

To keep up with him, not fall in love with him. 

On a rare sunny Saturday, a month and a half before school let out for the summer, the two of you sat on his beloved front porch with the future on your minds.  

Suguru picked at the grass growing between the wooden boards. “Thinking about trying something new next year?”

You popped another sugary blackberry from your backyard into your mouth while stretched out on Suguru’s favorite quilt. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed you looked, drinking up the warm sunbeams on your skin.

“I don’t know,” your arms folded behind your head as you stared at the ceiling, “I love Newspaper, but…I don’t know. I think I wanna branch out.”

You just weren’t sure how yet. You had done some research on the high school you’d both be attending next year and ran down the list looking for something to jump out at you. Something you could really put yourself into. You still loved writing and expressing yourself, but there was nothing else besides repeating Newspaper or trying Yearbook (Sugu’s territory). The rest of your options weren’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“How about volleyball?”

“Nah.”

“Art club?”

“Mmm-mm.”

He leaned against the wooden railing. “Hmmm, choir?”

You laughed and didn’t even bother to respond to what was clearly a joke. 

He sighed and pensively licked the sugar from his fingers before asking if maybe you’d want to do something together. 

You looked at him and squinted. “What?” he shrugged.

“You know what.” And he shook his head all innocent-like.

Always innocent that Suguru. Effortlessly wrapping everyone around his finger. Your dad, his teachers. Even your trio mentioned him from time to time about how helpful he was. With all the times he went out of his way to make sure you were okay, even you were starting to let your guard down. Watching him now as his ponytail blew softly in the wind, looking so naïve as to what you meant but still wanting to understand, made you blush sick.

Not having much of a reason to actually be so guarded, you made one up. “You tryna go toe to toe with me, Geto?.”

Your brow cocked, and you used his last name because you knew it’d get to him. He was fully aware that you only say it when you’re serious, and it’s mostly blurted when you guys go at it on Mario Kart. 

“Just because I said we should do something together?” 

“Yeah, so you can one-up me.”

If there was a hobby or favorite pastime that you really enjoyed and might actually be better than good at, you knew it was best to keep it out of Suguru’s reach. Academic and recreational competitions needed to remain separate if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Suguru took a breath. If there was one thing he didn’t bother competing with you at, it was arguing. He knew you wouldn't back down if he just sat here and tried to convince you; you’d poke a hole in every counter until he simply gave up.

So, instead, he pandered to your inflated ego, chewing his lip before telling the truth. “C’mon, Twin. I promise I won’t. Do it for me.”

His soft purple gaze landed on you, and you got a funny feeling in your stomach that you hadn’t felt before. 

He was serious. 

He really wanted to be at your side trying something new—exploring together—helping each other find yourselves.

The shy teen who was as quiet as a mouse and yet a beast of a kid wanted to be right there with you. And he wasn’t afraid to say it.

You cleared your throat and averted his gaze. “Fine,” you agreed, but on one condition, “It stays a hobby, no competing.” And it sounded like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But valedictorian? That’s mine.” And you tossed another blackberry into the air and caught it perfectly in your mouth, making Suguru raise his eyebrows.

“That’s a bet,” he said, reaching over to wipe a bit of sugar from the corner of your lips. You swat away his hand and punch his shoulder, but damn him if the gesture didn’t make you feel all weird inside. He faked an “Ow” and rubbed his arm before joining you on the quilt to soak in the sun. You closed your eyes and pretended to float in the breeze whistling through the railing. Even without the hammock, it kind of felt like you were. 

“Sooo, what do you wanna do this summer?” And the possibilities felt endless.

Who knew this core memory of each other’s youth, the moment you finally let his fingers inch across the blanket and softly brush yours without pulling back, would be one of your last? 

Two weeks before break started, after all of your plans for the summer and the following school year had been planned out, it happened. 

To this day, you question the timing of your worst nightmare—just when you thought you were living the dream—coming true.

The Geto’s were moving on up. 

For years, Suguru watched his mom grind in corporate America. It wasn’t new to him; she had one of the hardest work ethics he’d ever seen, but it was on a different level after his family moved to your city.

Something in her had changed—the thought of instability.

She knew Suguru was used to not seeing her due to long hours at work, but when it started to affect her husband, when it began to shift the family’s dynamic, she knew she had to figure something out, and fast.

She could sacrifice her time for the family. She couldn’t sacrifice Suguru’s time with his dad. 

All these years, Suguru’s family pulled themselves up by their bootstraps while Suguru was lost in the bliss of friendship. Mrs. Geto’s hard work paid off, and she got a promotion—on the opposite end of the country. 

The day was bright and sunny when he left, the exact opposite of how you felt watching the beat-up car that had grown on you drive out of the neighborhood.

You looked on from your window because you didn’t want him to see you crying, watching, or caring. 

You had been right from the first time you saw him. 

And were back to square one.

Alone.

You guys tried to stay in touch, you really did, but being in totally different time zones made keeping up with each other a little harder. New apps for your phones, like Snapchat and Instagram, helped a little, but they didn't compare to the late-night phone calls you missed so much. 

At first, Suguru would Snap you about how he was getting on in his new city, neighborhood, and places his family would explore over the summer.

The thought of him being someone’s new boy-next-door made your stomach twist.

When school rolled around, he’d send Snaps and joke about his preppy new uniform that came with a vibrant red tie and over-starched navy pants. His mom got him into a fancy private school because, of course she would, but they were really strict with phones, so you weren't able to talk to him until he got home. By the time he did, the sun had already gone down for you, and you’d be too tired from your own after-school activities to keep your eyes open.

You missed Suguru—even your dad missed him and his family terribly. 

You missed him so much that you began to resent him—his new life, fancy school, and new “friends”. Jealousy reared its ugly head, forcing you to put your walls up again. 

Another friend, gone, moved on to bigger and better things. Leaving you behind once again.

You had finally found a friend, a real friend, who never made you feel bad—someone you could tell almost all of your secrets to.

Who got whisked away.

Who you’d give anything to see again and go back to the way things were. 

Though it’d only been five years, you felt like you’d known him your entire life.

But what you thought was fate, turned out to be folly.

It wasn’t fair.

Sometimes I fall But still, I rise To the skies high above  In the clouds my ego Will go where no one knows

Why I am here

And why I try

To defy what I believe What it means to succeed To be won

To be one

To be “the one”

A smoking gun.

“Thank you.”

The cafe filled with snapping fingers as you walked off the stage, heart pounding and a smile plastered on your ducking head. 

Look at you now. Performing in cafes, libraries, open-mics, wherever you could be that called for an audience. Still a little shy, but letting it motivate you and pour out on the floor to be soaked up by the listeners. It was an adrenaline rush, finally finding something you knew belonged to you and being damned good at it. 

No one was better than you at telling the world how you felt while simultaneously mesmerizing an audience with your soliloquy and speech. Words still had a hold on you; you just figured it was better to say them out loud than keep them written down.

“Good job, Bug.” Your dad handed you a hot cup of tea fresh from the counter with your nickname scribbled in big cursive letters across the cup. 

“Dad, please stop calling me that.”

He frowned. “But you’re my little bug.” He threw an arm around you, almost making you spill the hot liquid. 

You groaned and protested. “I’m not a kid anymore.” And took a sip too soon, burning the tip of your tongue. You held it in and swallowed, looking around to see if anyone else saw the scorned look on your face. 

You thought of 15 as one of your prime years and kept yourself busy to prove it. Just a sophomore in high school, Baby had a new hobby: dominating slam poetry. You had taken over the scene in your city with expansion heavy on your mind.

Though it was hard for your dad to hear, you were right; you weren’t a kid anymore. But you knew he was just proud of you. More than you could ever know. It made him happy to see you had something no one could take from you. 

With a tsk, you leaned into his hug. You should be thanking him more. When the idea of doing slam poetry first crossed your mind, you were a hot mess (surprise, surprise) at being confident (BIG surprise)—your stage presence was lacking, to be specific. 

On the page, your poems were like water in a desert, but opening your mouth and performing it with your whole chest was…different. 

Fixating on your lines and rhythm made you want to pull your hair out. It was hard making sure your words sounded like you and would be understood. You needed to be understood. 

You’d practice your performances in front of your dad until you were blue in the face. A show was put on for anyone who would listen. And secretly, you missed Suguru’s presence because he’d be perfect for it.

But you didn’t need him. You were on your way to competing in your first official local competition. All your practice around the city and long hours at home agonizing over your talent for slam poetry built up to that moment—the time to show the world what you had to offer. 

Nothing felt better than holding the gold 1st place medallion between your fingers afterward. Regionals came next, and nothing could have validated your talent more than the medals you took home on top of the prize money your dad stashed away for college. 

It was time to travel, and Nationals was your next target.

You couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being outside your city. The thought of being beyond the walls of home once felt like a hopeless dream. New cities, new friends, new organizations, and new styles of poetry were within your reach. The exhilarating travel that worried your dad put a thrill in your heart. You wanted to see everything—be heard everywhere. Life was full of opportunity and everything it had to offer. 

“So you’re gonna do the group piece and then an individual one, maybe?” 

You leaned against the cool bus window as you and your teammates winded down the road to your next hotel. Over the summer, you traveled with your state’s top slam poetry organization to compete in regional cities around the coast. All of this was practice for the Nationals coming up that August before school started. The day was coming faster than you could imagine. 

“I don’t know about a solo,” you wondered.

You looked out the window and chewed your bottom lip. Your team lead had been pushing you to do a stand-alone piece for the Nationals for weeks, but you felt far from ready. You were strong in a group, but on your own, looking out into a crowd of people while demanding their attention on an empty stage, the thought made you queasy.

This wasn’t your local library or a small regional contest. Nationals is where you tell the country who you are and why you matter. 

“Hey,” a hand rested on your shoulder, calling you back. “You’ve got this. You deserve this.” 

And you did deserve it. You’d worked too hard and advanced so far in such a short amount of time. You didn’t think you’d get here so fast, but here you were, on a double-decker bus full of others who were just as talented as you, in a place where you belonged. In a place where you didn’t have to try so hard or look for that slight nod of approval to let you know you were seen. 

August was in a hurry to put you on the stage because, before you knew it, it was time to head to California for the Nationals. What better place to begin to live your dreams than in the place where they all come true? Sunny skies, sandy beaches, and the aura of art and performance lingered in the air. It was the complete opposite of where you came from. It felt like home. You could see how Suguru could get easily lost in all. 

You always wanted to visit the West Coast and see how he was living.

It’d be so funny to randomly Snap him after all this time and tell him you were so close, but you decided against it.

Cali was HUGE; there’s no way the competition would just happen to be in his city for you to casually bump into him.

Plus, imagine that awkward reunion after a few years of radio silence.

You two could be completely different people now.

He probably wouldn’t even want to see you.

Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

So many great things happened since his family packed up and left. In fact, without Suguru around, you found yourself excelling more naturally at anything and everything than ever before. Comparisons were a thing of the past, and you knew you had something no one else could take away from you.

Except maybe the competitor going on before you at the Nationals. 

The audience was loud and clearly approving of his killer performance as they ate him up with whistles and snapping fingers.

Who needed a mic when you had a voice like that?

Easily projecting across the entire venue with every rhythmic pop, beat, and enunciation of his words.

You might have met your match or worse.

For the first time in your poetic career, you thought you just might lose your winning streak. 

Anxiety convinced you to head back to the holding area. You just needed to run through the lines of your solo only a few more times.

You’ve got this.

He was nothing.

This was nothing.

You were taking home first place—absolutely positive that success was literally on the tip of your tongue. Until you saw him. 

The boy with the raven hair. 

Unmistakable and stopping you dead in your tracks as you saw him in the flesh for the first time in 2 years, standing long and tall in the venue.

Not in the audience.

Not as a stagehand.

But in another team’s holding room.

As a competitor. 

Your heart plummeted into your ass.

What in the fuck was he doing here???

You swiftly ducked behind the wall leading to your team’s holding area, hand flying to your chest to still the thunderous beating. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths. DEEP B R E A T H S. 

Suddenly, your mouth was desert dry.

The entire summer, you prepared yourself to keep from slipping up—how you would suppress the urge to call him, think about him, or wonder where he would be when you were here.

You covered all of the bases.

But here he was in a place you least expected.

In a place you now knew you’d dread seeing him the most.

The boy you had become a ghost to was haunting you, but somehow, you knew this would happen.

You only got a quick glance at him before you vanished, but it was enough of a glimpse to notice the chances.

And God, were there changes.

As teenagers do, you both had grown out of your prepubescent bodies and into your young adult ones. And while you thought you looked relatively the same with a few upgrades here and there, Suguru had gone through a full-blown glow-up that set yours on fire. 

“Almost ready?” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your teammate followed your line of sight and smirked. “Know him?”

You shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and said you thought he looked familiar but didn’t. “Shame,” she rested her shoulder on the wall with a dreamy gaze. “He looks like a dream.” 

You turned away before you threw up and realized that you were about to be called up next. The frazzled look on your team lead’s face let you know she’d been looking for you, and you took a synced deep breath when she spotted you. Her hands fell on your shoulders before you went up the stairs to the stage. “You’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. . . . You don’t got this. 

Your legs felt like Jell-O walking up the short set of stairs to the black platform in the middle of the stage. You hadn’t been on one this big, in a venue so large, with an audience so vast and eyes in the hundreds. The row of judges sat below you, yet looked so intimidating. Heat engulfed you from the lights above—a literal deer playing the lion in the headlights.

Sight zeroed in on the judges, you avoided the audience. Hoping that he wasn't still there because you knew seeing him WOULD freak you out. 

In the silence Between the shattered and oppressed dreams I found, I tore The roar Of my own voice Reclaiming the night

Your lines flowed out of you more naturally than water, eyes closed, unfocused, or hazy as you transformed your surroundings into the scene of your story—the journey from struggle to empowerment—the story of why you deserved to be here. In that moment, there was no one else—not even the judges—just you, the stage, and the song that belonged to you, even if it mattered to no one else.

But it mattered to him.

And you didn’t see him until near the end of your set.

The familiarity of your voice called him to confirm it for himself. To make sure it was you. He couldn’t believe it. You looked so…powerful. Fully fledged in your adulthood, kicking ass and taking names. Fierce and poetic. The same attitude as the girl he grew up with but in its full realization. 

Your voice cracked a little when you spotted him, completely awe-struck by you, but you played it off like it was part of your set. Damn the boy who had the same gawking eyes that used to watch the neighborhood kids—quiet and longing. You hoped it wasn’t obvious, but Suguru noticed. He knew. He still had some kind of effect on you. He could tell by how quickly you looked away. You still felt a way about him. He wasn’t just a nobody to you. But given the circumstances, he didn’t know whether to love or hate it by the time he took the stage. 

The mic fit snuggly between his fingers. It was rare that someone fully approached it without starting their piece first. You wondered where he was going with this, why he looked a bit tense, why he kept his gaze low—if it could be because of you.

You held your breath and crossed your fingers. Once again, it was time to see him in action under the sweltering stage lights. And in seconds, you saw your gold medal fleeting.

You expected nothing less. 

His voice was lined with melody—a sweet, ethereal flow and a melodious string of vocabulary that wrapped you in an envelope and swaddled you like a baby. He sounded so mature. He sounded so much better…than you. 

The nerdy boy with too-big glasses and cracking voice had been replaced by a young man who towarded over the audience with a long side-bang and gauges in his ears. The red tie around his neck did look absolutely ridiculous like he said, but the rest of his navy blue uniform was tailored to perfection and fit like a glove.

He looked and sounded like where he came from. Money. But he was more than that. You found yourself hanging onto his every word as you watched from out of sight. He couldn’t see that he made your heart thump, but it was begging to fall out of your chest by the second.

This wasn’t about slam poetry anymore.

Suguru had entered your arena.

Shy, reserved, and knocking the ball out of the park. 

Out of over 200 solo acts, you came in 6th. Suguru came in 5th. 

And you couldn’t even feel good about it. Because you knew what this meant.

Regionals took over the remainder of your sophomore academic year, but when summer rolled back around, it was time to look Suguru in the face again at almost every out-of-state competition. The West Coast was once a dream—now you dreaded touring the area because you knew he would be there.

Performing.

Waiting to chew you up and spit you out. 

Over the final two years of high school, you both spent most of your free time hopping around the nation and directly squaring off with each other.

Growing more apart as you did.

Silent hatred brewed and led the way every time you saw him—unmistakably written on your face. 

He chalked it up to the fact that the two of you had changed over the years, and maybe you’d simply outgrown him. But he never thought someone he used to call his best friend could give him a look so cold. With no other choice but to follow your lead, he kept his distance and pretended you weren’t there.

But the way he racked up medal after medal, winning over judges and audiences alike, was loud and clear.

With him, you could only hope for second best. Though out-of-state competitions were just practice, losing to him in any capacity was a constant reminder that what was yours, wasn’t anymore.

If it ever was.

This time, anxiety burned through you instead of helping you. 

During junior year, one of the most pivotal moments of your poetic careers, you met face-to-face again at the Nationals. Both of your organizations fought their way to the semifinals, but as you held your breath waiting for the judges to call his team’s name, silence swept both of you when you realized that neither of you made it to the finals.

Again.

By that summer, you were tired, good and tired of inching closer and closer to third place, then second, but never first in out-of-state competitions where Suguru was in the mix.

He was sucking the life out of you, but you couldn’t show it, especially when on stage where you knew he’d have his eyes glued to you.

Then, in August of your senior year, it finally happened; you returned to the Nationals, your final opportunity to win and go international. This time, it was close to your territory, in Georgia.

All bets were off.

The winner was a toss-up.

And what a slap in the face to finally win….and tie with Suguru. 

You sulked on the inside the whole ride home while your teammates cheered and celebrated around you. To them, you’d just made history with your organization being the first in your state to go to the continental competition and have a shot at the World Poetry Slam Championship. 

To you, your freedom of expression kept escaping you.

You felt yourself starting to mold into something outside of yourself.

Some nights, you lied in bed, unable to sleep hearing Suguru’s rhythmic beats rack through your brain.

Analyzing them.

Judging them.

Mimicking them.

Wanting to be like the best.

Your foundation was shaking.

At least you didn’t have to worry about the continental competition. Winning wasn’t the point; only earning one of the top 10 high scores to be automatically qualified for the WPSC. 

It was a dream come true.

But how come it tasted so sour when you stood on that stage, your teammates going absolutely insane in the crowd at the news of you advancing to the international championship, but once again with a score just shy of Suguru’s? 

The two of you were declared the best in your country…and you were sulking. 

It shouldn’t matter!

You're one of the top 40 poets in the WORLD, babe!

And, for Godsake, a free plane ticket and trip to leave the country was waiting for you with your name on it! Belgian waffles and fountains of chocolate are more than enough reasons to get over yourself and this one-sided beef. 

But your dad still got an earful about it.

Weekly chats with him almost always centered around poetry and Suguru ever since you first saw him sophomore year.

The closer the world championship came, the sadder you sounded.

“What if I-”

Your dad stopped you. “Don’t even finish that sentence. What have I always said?”

You hugged the phone to your ear, rolling your suitcase back and forth between your legs in the airport terminal. “Bug,” your dad said after a moment’s silence.

You groaned. “We don’t say ‘what-ifs’. We say ‘what is’.”

“And what’s going to happen.”

You looked over to your team lead, soundly napping in the corner. It was the butt crack of dawn, and both of you had gotten to the airport way too early for your liking to make sure you didn’t miss your flight. Your first international flight. You actually had a passport, like??? 

So much had gone into getting you here.

Energy. Time. Effort. Trust. Encouragement.

People were rooting for you. They wanted to see you win. You wanted to see you win. 

“I’m gonna do my best.”

“Then you’re already a winner, Bug.”

God, your dad was gushy. And God, you loved him for it.

You didn’t feel so bad by the time you watched the sunrise in full bloom through your airplane window.

Pink, orange, and yellow washed over your face, making you feel so small. It wasn’t your first time in the sky, but definitely the most nervous you’d been.

Local papers, blogs, and newsletters featured your name—people knew you now; they had expectations.

A reputation had been made, and now you were in the fight of your life to keep it.

You sighed into your palm with your dad’s words in mind.

David was determined to take Goliath down.

Belgium.was.cold.

Like you hadn’t packed nearly thick enough coats type of cold.

You felt like an idiot. 

You were a lyrical genius but couldn’t even put ‘Belgium in December’ and ‘it might be freezing’ together. But the lobby of your quaint little hotel with hot chocolate on tap was warm and inviting.

Your team lead handed you a cup, and you found yourself missing your teammates. They would have loved this and cheering you on at the top of their lungs.

The feeling was lonely—nerve-wracking.

You were in the beautiful country of Germany for a competition, not leisure, so you couldn’t even relish in the fact that you were overseas.

At least the food was good. Nervous eating made you binge until you felt sick the night before the competition, but a quick stroll in the brisk morning air made you feel better.

The bus ride to the venue felt like you were about to hop into a boxing ring. And the gloves were off.

Crossing the threshold into a space full of chosen people was like marveling at the diamonds of top-society. And you were one of them. Your team lead walked by and closed your gaping mouth with a smile. “Chin up, dear.” And disappeared into the crowd.

You'd never met a foreigner before and were thrust into a venue full of different skin tones, accents, languages, and ages. It would’ve been even more overwhelming had it not been for the smell of coffee wafting through the air, reminding you of your last safe space for poetry before you went pro. With half an hour left until the competition, you thought exploring a little wouldn’t be a bad idea.  

The venue was dark and moody, perfect for setting the atmosphere and circulating the rising tension in your body. The main stage basked against the background of darkness under a single warm light that cast a circular glow.

Your final destination.

His burial sight. 

Suguru was nowhere to be found, but by the looks of the thick crowd shuffling in to fill their seats, it was easy to get lost. You met back with your team lead to run your rhythms a few more times. 

“Please don’t say it.” And she laughs, giving you a small nod and shoulder squeeze.

You still hear it in your head. You’ve got this.

But man, were these poets giving you a run for your money.

It was exhilarating and terrifying��a glaring reminder of why you were here among the best.

Translations were available on the screens behind the performers as you ping-ponged between their words and their expressions. Both demanded your attention and the crowd’s.

But so did you and Suguru when you both breezed through the semifinals.

For a second, you thought he hadn’t made it to the venue at all when you looked for him during your performance. But he let you and everyone else know he was in the building when he graced that stage. A hush fell over the space, and even you felt your face go soft while watching him.

He more than deserved that advance, but you weren’t done just yet.

After a brief intermission—the DJ wasn’t playing any games—you turned the corner to line up for the final round when you collided at 100mph with Suguru. 

“Fu— oh.” You held your arm as you looked at him—really taking him in.

When he was on stage, you noticed he wasn’t in his usual uniform, but up close, the alternative was definitely a choice. The loose black tee ruffled as he smoothed his bang. 

“Sorry.” 

He rubbed his shoulder and kept his eyes low. His hands stuffed into his black cargos as he looked away, not wanting to upset you. Or see the look of resentment on your face.

You could tell he knew he made you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how different he wished things could have been.

Hurt was written all over the face of your childhood best friend, and you never knew Suguru to be upset about anything. 

You cleared your throat. “Good luck.”

His head drew back like he’d seen a ghost.

His lips parted.

Then he kind of smiled, leaning against the wall—looking at you for a moment.

You were so grown up and had accomplished so much.

Suguru was fully aware that you hated his guts and was so proud of you—even if you didn’t need him anymore. 

He reached out to shake your hand. “Good luck, Twin.” 

Your heart thumped—no one had called you that in 4 years—sweet and low from honeyed lips.

Suguru’s hand lingered in your air for a second before you gingerly took it.

Soft and warm.

Just like you remembered but stronger—firmer.

The gloves were off for him, too.

Things were done a bit differently for the final rounds. Instead of holding deliberations for the end of the rounds after everyone had gone, everyone got their votes front and center from five random audience members.

Paddles would fly in the air, displaying the scores to be tallied up and held until the end.

Thank God you could do quick math. Numbers were racking up—bone-chilling talent was on full display.

You were amazed, laughing, shocked. Every set was different from the last.

The crowd fell into a hush when one guy came on stage and laid straight down. Bareback to ground. Then fired off rhythmic jokes that made you laugh at some and ponder the seriousness of others.

Dark humor often has truth in it. 

Most sets were in a completely different language yet spoken so beautifully that you dug your nails into your palms to keep from crying. Emotion was universal. And you were feeling a lot of them.

Suguru walking onto the stage snapped you out of it as you watched from the other side of it. 

Though you’d just seen him a few minutes ago, this was a completely different light. Something had shifted.

Nice to meet you My name is Suguru Oh really? So is mine! It’s nice to meet you too.

Tell me what you’re like, what do you like to do? Lately, I’m not sure Was hoping for a breakthrough

In a world where masks are sticky and glue I’m lost in a maze with no clear view Doubt will cling like morning dew Caught in the storm of shifting hues

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought Suguru was having a mental breakdown.

Your jaw tightened, clothes fidgeting between your fingers.

It was the most unexpected thing you could’ve imagined. And this was just the beginning of the journey through his paradoxical mind.

His ship was sinking. And he was taking you all down with him.

…I wear many faces each one feels new, But none will fit like I want it to Left with a voice that's small and untrue Burying deep I don't know what to do

In this mirror, I’m searching for clues, But this reflection is oddly askew. You scream through the glass, “Stay real and stay true!” But if you’re me, then…who are you?

You could hear a pin drop.

Suguru stopped breathing.

He couldn’t believe that he actually did it. He had never been so vulnerable.

If you thought you knew him and what he was going through before, you were left stunned and corrected.

A few of his scores floated into the air, and though you couldn’t see them all, the few you did were perfect 10s.

It would’ve been hell to go directly after that—thankfully, you had a few more people before you. 

Time crept closer and closer to your set—nervous sweats and fidgeting fingers kept you company.

So much for keeping a hobby a hobby, you thought, pacing backstage.

This wasn’t fun for you anymore; it was always supposed to be fun, easy, natural.

But this was no longer just about you.

It never was.

It was about proving anyone who ever doubted wrong.  

When the host called your name, you made those 3 minutes on stage feel like your last.

Rain, rain don’t go away, You’re the only one who stays, Cross my heart and hope to die I promise that I will not cry

Build and build and There it goes! All for naught and just for show Hypnotize your guards to grave Leave the trust to fade away

This was your final plea to be heard by the world if you had ever made one.

A letter to those who ever dismissed, ignored, or left you.

Fire and brimstone poured from the pit of your soul—served up on a plate with the audience in mind but Suguru as the guest of honor. 

You thought he’d be away in the dressing room or at least within earshot, but no. He stood tall and bright, leaning against the door frame that led out to the hall, backlit by the warm lights that framed his figure, watching.

Listening.

Knowing the poem was partially about him.

You hoped it hurt him as much to hear it as it did for you to write it.

Deep breaths kept your voice steady—he wouldn’t hear it crack this time as you powered through your trembles. Bold and brash. Unleashing your truth.

He saw it in your eyes and unconsciously did the only thing he knew to support you, the beginning of your connection—trust that blossomed into turmoil. The small nod of approval. 

Years had passed.

Envy had pushed you to avoid him.

He accepted that you no longer saw him as a friend.

Yet he still wanted to show his support. 

And it pissed you off.

…Lo and behold the savior's light Here to take another flight Take me by my desperate hand Lead me how you only can Fragile like a gentle rose I will follow where you go.

Shadows whisper of the known What I am. I am alone...

You walked off stage before you could see your final scores.

Whatever would be was now out of your hands—the relief felt agonizingly sweet.

Your team lead wrapped you in her arms as you silently cried. You didn’t know how long the tears had been building up, but the release was like a dam burst.

Crying on your first international trip to Belgium.

Nice. 

A final intermission was left, and the scores were tallied. You guzzled down some water and took a few breaths before meeting the rest of the contestants. Finally, finally, you and Suguru stood side by side again on stage. Your entire history had built up to this moment—ready to declare a winner. Ready to determine whether you finally caught up.

His pinky brushed yours, sending sparks to your belly like that day on his porch.

Head down, you waited for a name to be called.

Any name, every name, would be better than—

“Suguru Geto.”

Naturally rolling off their tongue.

Suguru stiffened beside you like he couldn’t believe it himself as they motioned for him to come forward. In your mind, everything went quiet. You couldn’t feel anything but emptiness in the pit of your stomach. Not even anger.

Before he moved a muscle to claim the spotlight, he turned to you, daring to offer his hand again. But it felt less like a “Job well done!” and more like a pitiful “I’m sorry.” And you had had enough of condolences. 

You turned away and left the stage in the midst of the raging applause for Suguru. No one else may have caught the cold shoulder, but to Suguru, it felt like he was trapped in ice. He could leave your life forever now for all you cared.

This was your one, final chance to make things even between you two.

But reality was a bitch.

You couldn’t get away from him quick enough.

Yes, you’ve gotten to travel the country. Yes, you got the opportunity of a lifetime to go overseas just off your hard work alone, but all of that meant nothing if you were only second best. 

It was redundant. 

What was even the point in trying? You would never be good enough to stand on your own. Always under his shadow, drowning in his wake.

It wasn’t.fucking.fair.

You brushed past your team lead, contestants—anyone trying to tell you how amazing you did. You couldn’t stand being bathed in lies and beelined out the back of the venue. 

“Fuck this.” You choked back tears, breath escaping you as you pushed the door open.

The contrast of sharp, cold air whipped your face, making you realize you didn’t grab your jacket, but it was just what you needed to set the gravity of your situation in. 

You were nothing. 

You bawled your fists.

And foolish for trying. 

Hyperventilating.

Look at what you came from. Look at what you get for trying to change that.

Hot, fat tears spilled down your face as you huddled in a corner of the building. You wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to shield the icy winds, but you already felt dead inside. Pathetic and worthless. It was out of your hands to change that.

A voice called after you, belonging to the last person you wanted to see right now. That soft, angelic voice that swooned the world and made your insides boil. Why couldn’t he just get it?? Why couldn’t he stay the fuck away??

You thought you had hidden yourself well by putting a bit of distance between the exit and the corner you tucked into, but he found you in seconds, tears dried on your face, crouching into your knees.

He stood there gaping, completely overwhelmed by the state of you.

For once, he was out of words.

“Well??” It was hoarse and cracking. 

“I-I’m—”

“Oh my God, pLEASE fucking save it!” You shook, burying your head into your arms.

It was enough that he got to bask in your pathetic breakdown with front-row seats. He didn’t need to pretend he didn’t enjoy it.

But Suguru was fed up with your bullshit and came looking to tell you about it. The final straw was leaving his extension of sympathy high and dry as you walked off stage. Giving him the ultimate “fuck you” in his moment of congratulations. 

He never understood why you hated him—the resentment, what happened, what he’d done. But he was about to make you explain yourself. 

“Get up.” Gentleness left his voice.

He came closer and towered over your petite frame, cornering you so you couldn’t run away. “You think I don’t know how much this meant to you?”

When you didn’t answer, he crouched down to your level. 

“Hey.” 

You buried yourself deeper. 

“Hey.”

“Don’t touch me.” You brushed him away, pressing your back into the wall as you stood up, shivering in the wind.

But it felt like you had punched him in the gut.

He had never seen you so bothered before, and the revelation that you were pointing the finger and naming him the culprit made his chest feel tight. It felt worse attempting to bury your heart on your sleeve. But the extent of your scorn was on full display.

After a moment of looking your bitterness in the face, it finally clicked for Suguru.

Why you hated him. Couldn't stand to look at him. Avoided him.

Why you started all of this competitive bullshit in the first place.

The root of it was more painfully obvious to see than the daggers in your eyes. What else could it be?

“You’re jealous.”

And that set you off.

“HA!” It almost hurt to laugh. “Jealous?!”

People could probably hear you inside the venue. But Suguru knew just what to say to get you to talk. 

“This whole time, I thought you were upset because I left, but…you’re just jealous.”

You snorted. “You’ve never worked hard a day in your life.”

“What? You don’t think I earned this?”

“Who knows? Mommy buys you everything.”

“Woah,” he held up a hand and laughed, “Is that what this is about?” 

Your cheeks burned hot, but you had egg on your face and had just spilled the beans. But fire still raged in your chest.

“You could have had anything else. Anything! Anything in the world, but you just had to take this from me!”

“How was I supposed to know??” he cut you off, “You stopped talking to me.” 

You felt a pang and fell silent—flurries of unread texts, unopened Snaps, and missed calls played in both of your minds. 

“How was I supposed to know anything? How was I supposed to have anything without making you feel bad?” 

“Me?” You scoffed. “Without me, you’d probably still be sitting on that dusty ass porch (you loved that porch), watching everyone go and fucking live life.”

“I was like 7.”

“9.” You rubbed the blooming goosebumps on your arms.

“Whatever, you think I owe you or something? You want a ‘thank you’?”

His tone made you shift, but you puffed up your chest.

“No, I don’t need a thank you." Your eyes narrowed. “I’m just not that impressed.”

Oh?

He scoffed, backing away with a smirk, arms swinging as he looked away then back at you. “You’re full of it.”

“You’re not that talented.”

He cocked his head, raising a brow. You were questioning his talent—clearly emotional and spewing lies—but it was a shot at his reputation nonetheless. 

His smirk faltered as he clasped his hands. “You wanna go?” And then he got closer. Your breath caught as he studied your face, his left arm shooting out to frame you, pinning you into the corner.

The heat radiating off his body should have been a comfort in the frosty air, but fuck, you also felt other things that raced your heart and made you hate yourself. 

He leaned over you. “How would you like to eat your words? Fried? Or sautéed?”

His eyes bore into yours, daring you to buck up or back down. But just because he finally had the balls to challenge you and take up space didn't mean you were intimidated.

He was the same little boy he'd always been.

And you were quick to remind him.

“Bite me, Get—”

Instead, he kissed, capturing your lips in a way that shot electricity down your spine and stole the breath and shriek right out of your body.

In an instant, you swore your pupils morphed into hearts. For so long, he's wanted to do that—kiss your sweet, supple lips that ramble nonsense and shut you up—bridge the gap between your broken friendship to ask for more, to make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him.

Knees weak, you nearly staggered, scrambling for the walls to keep you up, but was saved by his hand cradling your hip to hold you. Keep you. Protect you. Your heart burst.

You pulled away, eyes heavy. Leaving a sliver of space between your lips to see your heated breaths mingling in the chilly air as he rested his forehead against yours. Softly, you cradled his face in your hand, feeling waves of longing swell through your body—his had already burst. Then you slapped him.

“How’s that for poetry?” And left. 

extended angel's note: this story took a TOTALLY different turn from what i originally planned (thanks Mac Miller) but omg it's sO much better and kinda fits into all of the sugu angst i have planned (oh how i love to hurt myself so). this story in particular was supposed to be like all smut and no exposition but um…things happen 😅 sO, all of the low-angst, ‘enemies’ to lovers lives in part 1, with a focus on the resolution in part 2: lovers who give in and chose each other arc while remaining focused on my original goal of making a smut that spotlights and actualizes realistic sex. learning each other, listening, patiently growing, and choosing.

[fhrlclln]

I don’t usually do ask but I DESPERATELY need a qimir au smut😭 idk about what but I just know I need it

in the darkness | qimir

SUMMARY -> abandoned by her own family and order due to her curse and having no husband, they leave her on a remote planet surrounded by water and grey clouds, as said in her cruel prophecy that her supposed betrothed awaits for her there to take her. but this husband of hers is no ordinary man as he always wears a mask.

qimir x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> eros & psyche inspired au, unprotected p in v, mutual masturbation & sensory deprivation

WC -> 6.09k

a/n: hope this satisfies your req, anonzz!! sorry it took so long for me to write!!

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

the waves thrash against the rocks as the harsh winds blow across your face.

you clutch your cream scarf tight around you, the grey clouds loom above you menacingly and you can smell a storm coming. you blink wetly, your chest feels heavy and you feel somewhat terrified and betrayed. your father had forced you to wait here, leaving you behind with only a few words of a sorrowful goodbye. you couldn't blame him really... you knew you were cursed, as said by the elders in your order your family is apart of.

"you would never know love with that darkness inside you."

you could not understand what that meant. you were a normal child growing up, always following your family's footsteps and obeying the order. what darkness shrouds inside you? that it would forbid you to love or be loved.

"but someone will want her darkness and they will be waiting for her in a place surrounded by endless water and shores filled with grey sand. her betrothed awaits there, that is her destiny."

you thought for a moment that your supposed prophecy was just a means to make your family usher you to find a husband, for in your age you were supposed to be married by now. all of your sisters were bethroted and you were the only one without any prospect. your mother had been disappointed that you being the eldest was unwedded and you were the shining beautiful daughter she prided in, putting a lot of expectations in you. yet, after the elders had announce your cruel oracle, none of the possible suitors wanted your hand anymore which made your mother's frown deepen.

and you, in-fact, were more displeased in yourself more than anything. you had wished that you were born different... born normal. alas, you couldn't change your life. and here you are, waiting by the grey rocky shores, standing by the waters crawling up to gently touch your sandaled toes. you breathe in the sea air, anxiousness clouding your mind.

who would want you?

or instead... what would want you for you and your darkness?

the anticipation lingers as you watch the sky slowly turn more greyer. was night falling? was that how long you have been waiting on this deserted planet? the hurt inside you grows, and you shiver at the coldness of the weather. your lips tremble, and you curse yourself for being this way instead of living a perfectly normal life in coruscant. you look to the horizon of endless oceans, you had to accept you were either going to die alone on this planet or suffer the loneliness if you will yourself to make this your new home. you now stand up, opting to walk by the shores before the night captures the dull grey sky.

"are you her?" a feminine voice suddenly asks from nowhere. you halt from where you stand at the sudden presence of another person. "are you the wife my master was promised to?"

you turn your head around to be met by a young woman dawning a dark purple cloak and a wool black and grey gown underneath. her hands are clasped in front of her, you look up to her face but you are only met with her eyes that were slightly covered by her hood and her braided hair. the half of her face down is concealed by a bandana similar in color to the clothes she wears. you blink, registering her question and throwing away the curiosity in your mind about how she managed to appear in thin air moments ago.

"...yes." you merely answer with a soft and slightly questioning tone. her eyes do the talking and she seems relieved. you wait, curious to know who is she and what she is to the supposed "betrothed" of yours that she calls her master.

"come, he's waiting for you." she gestures her head to the caves up the island's hills. your gaze follows there, and a chill runs up your spine when you see the dark opening of a cave. someone is watching you. you look back to the strange woman and nod. she walks first and you follow. the gravel is rough underneath your feet in each step you take. you stay quiet, not knowing what to ask of the mysterious woman.

the path to the cave opening was an easy one. You should have noticed a dirt path when you first walked around the shores, and you wonder why you hadn't turned your attention to the rocky hills then. You look beyond the mysterious woman's shoulder and see that you are almost nearing the cave. you let out a tiny sigh of nervousness, and your mind conjures scenarios of what may lie ahead when you meet your husband-to-be.

will he be kind?

would he hurt you?

would he be neglectful?

"my master awaits for you in here." the mysterious woman's voice snaps you back to reality. your breath hitches, and you nod as you look ahead to see only darkness in the cave. she steps aside for you to enter and you step forward. before she could leave you behind, you stop her for a moment.

"I didn't catch your name." you said, and she halted her departure.

"mae, you can call me mae." she answers, her tone light than before. you nod and offer a small smile in response.

"thank you, mae." she nods at you and leaves you alone to face the prophecy of what lies inside. you almost wished that you had asked mae to stay for a while until you entered the vast darkness in front of you.

enough stalling now. your mind scolds you, and you finally take a step in despite the pounding rhythm your heart is doing. The darkness envelops you for a moment, but as you take small steps forward towards the little light at the end, you are met with an unexpected sight of a well-furnished room. the interior walls were of the caves,' but the interior looked like what your home used to look like in coruscant. it felt... nostalgic in a sense. you stand in the middle of the supposed living and dining room, waiting as you look around.

"hello?' your voice echoes throughout the home. you wait for a response, but your eyes catch an unusual object on the wooden dining table. you walk towards it, feeling an unexplained sensation of something pulling you to it. your gaze is attached to the peculiar object and once you near it, your mind is curious to see a saber of all to catch your attention. the saber was like the elders' in your order, similar style, yet somehow this one had a gravitating and oddly weird aura. you lift your hand to touch it, yet a voice scares you.

"you are a curious thing, aren't you?" a deep modulated voice interrupts your curiosity. you jump at the sudden presence of another. you swiftly turn around, clutching your hand around your scarf. you were met with the sight of a masked stranger dressed in black robes. a poncho-like robe concealed most of his stature, but the peek of his arms made you feel relieved that he was human.

this is your betrothed, then.

strange he's wearing a mask.

"forgive m-me." you meekly say and step away from the table. you hear him walk towards you and your heart skips a beat.

"welcome, wife." he greets you, and you look up at him.

"thank you, husband." you nod and your eyes roamed to examine his mask. it was eerily scary seeing how it had multiple lashes, and the design made it seem that it had teeth. but... you can't help but feel more comfort than fear for this mysterious husband of yours. this was entirely different than what you were dreading when you were alone by the shores.

"are you hungry?" he asks, and you shake your head. your fingers fiddle with the hem of your scarf, feeling shy all of a sudden. despite his mask, you could feel a smile creep behind it. he takes a step to you, and you avert his gaze even if you can't see what lies behind the mask.

"do i frighten you?" he cocks his head to the side, curious about your reaction. you momentarily glance at his masked face, wanting to question why he doesn't let you see his face yet you look away, not wanting to offend him.

"no, j-just... nervous." you confessed.

"why?" he asks, and you shrug.

"not to you! i mean, i'm nervous about what lies ahead... about all of this. it's baffling to think i already have a husband that i haven't met or known yet." you sighed at yourself, fearing you have ruined your first impression towards him. "sorry."

"you don't need to apologize. i completely understand your reasons." he assures you, and your shoulders drop at the sudden relief.

"what about you? isn't this prophecy of mine baffle you? that you would want my..." you try not to say that word that has been thrown around on your face.

"it doesn't." he suddenly holds his hand out, and you glance down in curiosity. "i am looking forward to knowing you, wife. whatever the prophecy might say."

you don't have words for that. even though his voice is robotic and you can't tell if it's genuine, you know he speaks the truth, somehow. you slowly raise your hand and place it on his waiting palm, and sparks ignite when the rough callous of his hand touches yours. it felt warm inside that this mysterious person had accepted you despite what was said.

and you feel like this is the start of a life you always wanted now.

・゜゜・．

the days passed since you have been living on the remote planet with your husband. you have grown a tenderness for the mysterious man even though you both barely know each other. he was kind, that was given, caring in a way you never expected, yet he was secretive for the most part. he would always go out, but he would still remind you before he departs, yet he never tells you what he does. in the days that you have been adjusting in his home, there were unwritten rules, or rather what he implies, that you have followed as you got to know him. you two did slept in the same bed, but for the first few days, he gently told you that he'd let you sleep alone for comfort. once you had told him that you were fine and you two were technically married in a sense, he did agree yet he strictly had said the lights had to be turned off.

that was one rule. you never should turn the lights on once he lays with you. and the second was mostly obvious...

you aren't supposed to see his face.

you always wondered why and you did ask him this night as you two readied for bed.

the room was pitch black, you were snuggled in the shared blanket as you felt his body near yours. the sheets shuffled, and you bit your lip if you should ask him the question repeating in your mind. your heart thumps as you hear him let out a relaxed sigh; you wish to see him, yet you know better than to not respect his one wish.

"why do you wear a mask?" you asked, feeling nervous, but eager to hear his voice than the modulated one.

you hear him chuckle; it makes your chest feel tight and how deep and raspy it is. "many reasons."

"can you tell me one?" you ask again, feeling courageous. his voice was beautiful to hear the first time you heard it. and it made you even more curious to see his face that matched his voice.

"why do you ask? are you eager to see me?" he teases you and you pout. he chuckles again, and you wonder if he can see your reaction despite the darkness. you are about to turn your back to him, yet you are surprised when an arm wraps around you, pulling you close to his body. your hands instinctively go to where his chest is, and you are met with the touch of smooth, warm skin. you feel hot all of a sudden as you feel his chest rise.

"for your safety, you can't see me." he merely says, and you blink at that. "i don't wish to put you in any harm."

"why? are you... ashamed of your face?" he laughs at that, a heartful one, and you are pleased to hear it. his hand caresses the side of your waist, and you shiver at the feeling; your legs rub against each other, and you wish to see his smile. the warm feeling of his body against yours, with the shame you can't see his face, is starting to get to you.

"on the contrary, i am not ashamed of my face, wife." his raspy tone makes you squirm for a bit as his hand caresses down to your hip. his touch wasn't foreign to you this moment; he had been respectful the first night when you two slept together, opting for distance. but as the days passed, you two had grown to entangle with each other. you both are technically married, and you knew at some point that this would become normal. but you can't help but mourn the fact that this came with the obstruction of the pitch-black room, even though it brought you comfort still. you loved it, the feel of his body to yours.

"i understand." you say to him as you lay your head on his chest. you sometimes hope you'd catch a glimpse of him in the morning but he always woke up before you. you dismiss the other questions in your mind you want to ask him, you need to show him that you wholeheartedly understand his reasons, no matter how vague they are.

"what do you want to eat for supper tomorrow?" he casually asks and you nuzzle your face against his skin. "will you be cooking?"

"mhmm, can you pick up a couple of cooking herbs? I'm hoping to make a stew for you." you respond, eating times were also a big disappointment for you. you always would eat first, and he would eat after, but you still cook for him, knowing he loved your meals from how he would always if you would cook again.

"alright." you feel his face nuzzle against the top of your head. this affection you two had made was astounding to think that you both were already acting like a married couple in mere days. even if you barely know what he does, you do know small things about him. he often bathes in the lagoon, since he would always smell like the sea. he likes to walk along the shores, and sometimes you'd join; you know that he was like a teacher to mae, saying that she's a student of his. you also know that he apparently is a heavy drinker, judging by the bottles of alcohol you'd see by the counter. and that he's also been living alone on this planet for a long time, and he apparently hates the rain.

"good night, qimir." you yawned, saying his name sleepily. and you also knew his name. the name was unique, and somehow, you felt like you heard it before.

"good night." he whispers softly as sleep takes the both of you.

you wake up suddenly from a strange feeling that's poking against your bum. the darkness still is blinding your sleepy eyes but you squirm at the strange sensation. qimir's chest was pressed against your back, and his arm was lazily draped across your torso. his breath tickled the nape of your neck as you unconsciously push your hips back, wanting to get rid of the object poking your rear. did he forget to take off his belt? you thought as you sleepily sighed, still squirming in his hold.

an elicit groan from him fully awakens you and you freeze in place. qimir's arm tightens around you, his hips suddenly press against your rear, and the poking sensation makes you ponder for a moment if you should wake him up. you close your eyes, still wiggling your bum until a tingling sensation on your neck stops you.

"stop moving." he whispers in your ear, hoarse and... agitated? you're confused for a moment until he softly traces his lip on your neck again. your eyes widen at the realization of the moment, and you suddenly feel embarrassed.

"sorry." you whisper back as you lay your free hand on his arm. "h-have i awoken you?" you try to mask the quiver in your voice of how close he is and the thing of his poking your bum.

"no." he answers, but there's a beat. "...maybe."

you're about to apologize again, but his lips suddenly trace from the nape of your neck to the side wherein he hovers above a particularly sensitive spot.

"you've been moving in your sleep." he says. "bad dreams?"

"not really." you confessed, and he suddenly kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "q-qimir!"

"do you want me to stop?" he hoarsely asks as his hand softly traces the plane of your stomach.

"no." you immediately answer without much thought than to feel more of his lips and his addicting touch. his hand moves downward to where your ache is, the ache that has been pestering you for the past few days since you had been living with him. your mysterious husband, one you desperately want to see his face than his mask. the one that you have been imagining day and night since he welcomed you into his home despite the cruel curse that has been placed upon you.

"i have been holding back from touching you like this out of respect... but it seems like i have deprived you, my wife." you gasped when his hand gripped your nightgown as he scrunched it up to your waist. your grip on his arm tightened as his hand delved down to the center of your thighs slowly. "i did, did i?"

you could only nod slightly as he nipped your soft flesh. "please..."

"you sing so sweetly for me." he groans as his fingers are met with your wetness. your legs open slightly and you could feel him grind his crotch slowly on your rear.

"husband..." you whined when he rubbed soft circles on your pulsing clit. you wondered how he managed to do this in complete darkness. you let go of his arm, wanting to do something for him. he continues his ministrations as his other hand moves to fully embrace you since you were still laid sideways from him. his hand gripped the soft flesh of your breast while the other pleasures your core. your back was flushed against his hard chest whilst he grinds his hard cock against your ass.

you let your one free hand touch him from behind, it was a little uncomfortable that you had to find the prize you were seeking, but once you felt the tent of his crotch touch your fingertips, accompanied by his low groan, you immediately palmed his clothed cock slowly. the darkness of the room was making your senses sharp. even though you mourn not seeing his mouth open in pleasure from the way he is breathily moaning against your ear due to your hand palming his cock, it did make everything feel more heightened. his scent envelops your senses with his warm body heat has you letting out more noise with the way he's rubbing circles on your clit.

"want you inside of me." you moan out as your hand massaging his prick searches for the hem of his wool pants. your hand glides down from his abdomen to be met by the warm flesh of his cock. you grip him, and he bucks his hips toward your hand with a breathy moan. qimir removes his hand from your dripping cunt while you pump his aching cock.

"open your legs." he suddenly says, and you squeal when he suddenly grips the underside of your thigh and lifts it up. you obey him as you spread your legs slightly for him. you remove your hand from his crotch when you feel him shift in his position to lower his pants down. your heart is beating loudly and the anticipation gnaws you. the act of marital duties wasn't unheard of you from your sisters, your mother would always put on a strict lesson for them of what to expect on the night after their marriage.

a prodding sensation touches your wet entrance and you brace yourself, not entirely sure what to expect. you almost expect qimir to fully take you, but you are surprised when he rubs his cock slowly, making you let out a pleasurable sigh.

"you smell so sweet, so pretty, so beautiful..." qimir huffs as he positions the tip of his cock to your entrance. "and all mine."

you let out a moan when you feel him enter you finally. he's gentle and slow in the process, ensuring you were comfortable. he wraps his arms around you tight, as if you were going to leave. you feel your breasts spill out of your top as the cool air hits the skin of your chest. he cups one and pinches your nipple as he fully sheathes in you. you grind back, feeling full. the darkness of the room is a pleasant sensory sensation, you thought you would be disappointed at the aspect of not seeing him. but he made it pleasurable, which makes your heart skip a beat for him.

he thrusts into you at an agonizingly slow pace that has you pushing your hips back to him. he alternates gentle bites and sweet kisses from your neck down to the slope of your shoulders. you close your eyes, wanting to feel all of him as your free hand finds its way to his hair. you want to touch him as well, and you feel satisfied when you interlock your fingers with his soft hair.

both of you don't know how much time has passed. you both were too into the heat of the moment, not wanting to rush things but to just feel each other. your walls clamp around him as qimir's thrust went from being slow to now setting a steady pace. your moans and his groans fill in the void of the room. you could feel his thumping heart from your back and he could feel your heartbeat under his hand.

your mouth hangs open in pleasure. you feel yourself nearing your high as his other hand dives down to rub your clit. you call out to him, and he calls out to you. he fastens his thrusts, cock hitting that spongy spot in you, and you soar high. he lets out a moan of your name when you squeeze him tight with your orgasm. he shakily thrusts into you, and with a loud groan, he follows through, fucking both of your orgasms into completion. his cum spills on your walls, painting you with his seed. your wetness coats his cock entirely and he halts his thrusts, feeling spent like you are.

a moment of silence transpires, heavy breaths are only heard. his cock is snuggled inside you, and you feel exhaustion and sleep taking over. he loosens his arms around you, still holding you close. you hadn't realized that a small smile graces your lips as you feel him kiss your neck, soothing the intense aftershock. you caress the side of his face, and his lips touch your fingertips. nothing else is said other than sweet caresses and kisses on the skin. sleep seems to take both of you as you let exhaustion null you to sleep.

・゜゜・．

you feel like a whole new person waking up after that night. you were only disappointed to see your husband not by your side when you had awoken. but the sweet soreness of your legs and the dampness of your core were enough to rectify your displeasure of him not being beside you in the morning after. you wobbly did your morning routine and dressed yourself in one of the dresses he had gifted you, a black dress that matched his clothes and your own jewelry, and draped your cream scarf around you since it was cold.

once you had properly dressed yourself, feeling a little giddy when you looked in the mirror to see marks on your neck from his doing. you went out of your shared bedroom and were surprised to see mae sitting by the dining table. qimir was by his workbench, wearing his mask as usual but dressed in clothes you knew he would be going somewhere.

"good morning, mae." you smiled at her, and she nodded at you in greeting. her scarf that concealed her face the first time you met her was gone. you could now see her truly, which made you happy. if only your husband would do the same.

"good morning."

"do you want something to eat?" you asked her, going straight to the kitchen to prepare something for yourself.

"no need. i already ate..." she says, yet there's a concern in her voice as she looks at you. "are you alright? you look tired."

your cheeks heat up all of a sudden. "y-yes, i'm alright. why do you ask?"

"you're walking funny." she points out, and you hear your husband let out a robotic chuckle. you feel embarrassed as you shoot a glare at qimir from his workbench. mae stays silent, a little confused, but you change the topic, noting that they both seem dressed for something.

"are you two heading out?' you ask, and mae nods.

"i'm preparing a lesson for mae in euda. it shouldn't take too long as she will need to learn it herself." qimir answers you as walks towards where you stand. you nod in understanding, finishing up your breakfast.

"will you be here before supper?" you ask him, since sometimes he'd be late.

"i will." he promises as he caresses the small of your back, knowing you ache below. mae watches the both of you with subtle curiosity, and qimir seems to sense this. "wait by the ship, mae. we'll leave soon."

mae nods. "yes, master." you wave goodbye to her as she heads out. only the two of you are alone at last. he presses himself against, and it makes your heart beat loudly at what he's doing. you tilt your head to see his masked face, but you can feel his tension.

"come back safely." you softly say to him as you turn around, and his hands drop to your hips. he squeezes them as your hands caress his chest.

"always." he assures you. the way he's touching you makes you want to kiss him. and you suddenly realize you still haven't kissed him yet. you already had him inside you and the thought of you two not sharing a kiss baffles you. before he could leave, you stop him.

"i want to kiss you..." you pout and his grip on your hips tightened. "for luck."

you see his chest rise and you smile at that. his other hand lifts his mask up slightly and you watch in anticipation to see a peek of what he looks like. he holds his mask up and you are met with the sight of his pink lips surrounded by facial hair. you thighs clench, knowing that those lips were the cause of the marks that are on your neck.

"are you just going to stare at me, my beautiful wife?" a grin spreads across his pink lips. you roll your eyes as you tiptoe up, wrapping your arms around his neck to finally kiss him. his lips are soft against yours. you let out a noise when his hand gripping your hips pulls you close, and he deepens the kiss. you moan, almost wanting to pull him inside the bedroom, but you let go, and he seems to chase after your lips, which makes you laugh.

"go, mae's waiting." you could see him pout before he adjusted his mask to cover his entire face. you feel a little disappointed he has to hide again. he lets go of you, and you watch him leave, feeling happy. but the gnawing curiosity of what he looks like still itches you now, even if everything is perfect.

・゜゜・．

in truth, you knew in yourself that the one forbidden rule he had said would come to you. you feel guilty that you are still thinking about it... but how could you not? you lay beside him in the darkness again, your head laid on his naked chest and your body pressed against his. you convinced yourself you can live like this with him, that you can learn to love him even if you would never see him for what he is until you die. qimir made everything perfect despite there being clear flaws. you can't sleep, you feel restless, and the desire to see him is strong, but something else bothered you.

"you would never know love with that darkness inside you."

those were the first words the elder had said to you when she prodded into your mind and future. you were terrified... would you know love with qimir? you haven't spoken to him about what your prophecy truly is. and it frightens you to think that maybe this would all fall apart because of you. your brows furrow and a dark feeling encapsulates your chest as something calls out to you.

you lift your head gently, feeling through the room, careful not to wake your sleeping husband. the strong hum of the force calls out to you, so familiar that you cannot place what it is, but you know where it is. you quietly detach yourself from qimir, trying your best to make as little noise as possible as you guide yourself to stand up and let the force guide you. your feet walk on its own and you are pulled to somewhere in the dark room.

your hand stretches out, and you feel cold sweat envelop your whole body when your hand grips a metal object. you let out a shaky breath, and your fingers grip it as your thumb presses against a button. your eyes widened as a red glow enveloped the pitch-black bedroom. you gasped, you were holding a saber. a lightsaber with its color that was forbidden in your order, for it tells a story of its connection to anger, hatred, vengeance, and all things that were forbidden. you freeze in place, seeing that the hilt of the saber is familiar. it was qimir's-

"my love?" you turn around quickly to hear your husband's voice, still holding the illuminating saber. you watch in horror as the red glow reveals his face.

he's beautiful. his face is chiseled, his skin is smooth, and his messy black hair matches everything. even if red illuminated his face, his dark brown eyes are a wonder to stare at.

and you recognize him.

"qimir-" you were cut off when the saber in your hand suddenly flew out and landed on his outstretched hand. his black hair is messy, and his eyes shine a pain of betrayal towards you. your heart stops, and guilt washes over you for what you have done. he switches the saber off, and the darkness meets you again.

"wait, qimir!" you call out to him as everything happens so fast. In the blink of an eye, the bedroom door opens with light, filling the dark room again. you watch your husband without his helmet leave hastily and the one thing you feared most comes to you.

he's going to leave you.

your eyes water as you rush to follow him. a sudden gush of harsh winds makes you falter when you see that the front door of the cave has been opened. you follow still, desperate to make this right for him. you huff, stepping out to see the blue hour of the day. your eyes scan down to see him walking hastily towards where the lagoon is- to where his ship might be. your chest feels heavy as you quickly ran to get to him before he leaves.

stupid, stupid girl. the cackling noise of one of the elder's taunts you in your mind. always playing with the darkness.

tears stream down your face. how could you do that to him? the one thing he asked for you not to do, and you completely disobeyed him. your feet ache as the gravel wounds your bare soles. you see his figure near your line of sight, you had to make this right. you love him-

"qimir! p-please! i'm sorry." you sob out. he suddenly halts in his steps, his grip on his saber tightens and you fear for the worst. will he kill you? now that you have seen him. you stop in your steps as your chest heaved with utter sadness and guilt.

"you can't see me. you're not supposed to see me- why did you..." the hurt in his voice pains you.

"i'm sorry." you bowed your head, ashamed.

"i-i..." you aren't sure if you should say something. you knew his face back in the order, one of elder vernestra's students in her stead. the one that disappeared one day without any trace. rumors that he went rogue on the order, communing with the dark side of the force. and rumors that the order threw him out. while you were by the sidelines, doing your duty as the eldest daughter, you had seen him around years ago in the temple in coruscant. he was a knight and you remembered when one of your sisters gushed about a handsome knight coming out of the temple. tall, black hair, a charming smile, and a skilled warrior. you never once dallied with your sisters' hushed talks about handsome men. but he made everyone stare at him when he entered a room. it's a shame you can't remember his name back then, but all is pieced together now.

"and now you know where i fleed. you must have a lot of questions." he sighs as he finally turns around to you. your heart still beats loudly, seeing his face now. you stay silent, unsure of what to ask him.

"i don't have any." you decided, and that surprised him. "i'm sorry i did that."

his brows furrow. "that doesn't matter now. don't you understand? i am the one the elders of your order who warned you all about-"

"i don't care. you're my husband." you cut him off as you step towards him. his chest rises when you near him as you shakily place your hand on his where he still grips his saber. "they don't matter anymore, qimir. i haven't been in contact with them since i've been here."

"really? did you know that they threw you away as well. haven't you wondered why they suddenly placed a prophecy upon you?" he asks, and you think about that momentarily. he was trying to let you see the seriousness of it.

"i know..." you nod, deep-down you knew why they carelessly threw you away. maybe your own insecurity had taken over when they had said that to you, and you believed them.

"when i heard about your ridiculous prophecy, i knew they were using you to find me." he confesses, and you frown at that. his other hand lifts up to caress the side of your face. there's a tenderness in his eyes, and you understood why he chose not to let you see his face.

"but it seems like i find myself not caring about that anymore."

he looks deep into your eyes and you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten. "i love you, my beautiful, beautiful wife."

"i love you too." you say to him as you pull him down for a kiss. the morning sun shines between you both, no need for hiding now. qimir happily reciprocates the kiss, dropping his saber to the ground as he scoops you up in his toned arms. the salty breeze of the planet is a nice touch to this tender moment, wherein all are finally coming to peace.

and you were right, this is the life you always wanted now.