#the rest of the characters are all royals or from the very top of the nobility (sans Lucas? and Diana)

[ultramarine-spirit]

I was reading the novel and this time something caught my attention that I don't know why I had overlooked it before, and that is how Athy talks about her life in the orphanage. Athy says that the children in the orphanage knew things that the children should not know, that she had to fight for what she wanted and that when she left that place she felt a kind of freedom.

To me, that screams abuse.

It bothers me that the fandom so overlooked the fact that Athy was abused not only in her first life (neglect) but also in her second life and I'm sure it must have been hell. I wish the manhwa had put more emphasis on this because many fans overlook Athy's trauma when she is literally the character who suffered the most.

Yes, to me it's canon that Athy was heavily abused in her second life. Adding to what you said, I remember her mentioning having to literally fight for food (a bowl of rice), or how they got a single sad birthday celebration per month. That's also where her initial fixiations with candy, money and her genuine love for studying come from, as Athy herself admits, she never had those kinds of luxuries (she mentions having to eat expired food in a "haha funny" way, but if you think about it for two seconds, it's just tragic. Like, she died from overdosing on sleeping pills to deal with the cold). I know a thing or two about how orphanages operate from my field of work and acquaintances, and kids in those institutions suffer from abuse in all sorts of ways while being completely ignored by society. I'm not from Korea, but going by what Plutus wrote and reading about the subject, the situation seems to be similar or even worse.

If I want to get overanalytical, part of her depression while living alone could be a consequence of the treatment she received at the orphanage. It's super common for kids in those situations to end up with depression, PTSD, having issues forming emotional connections, facing prejudice, etc. It's also canon that she was verbally and physically abused at her workplace. Athy treats her death as an accident, but in my opinion it's implied that it was a suicide, perhaps not in an "active way", but her behavior was edging the line. Which is again, common for people with that background. I think this plot point is interesting, as to my knowledge suicide is a taboo subject in East Asia. Most manhwas don't have their FL reincarnate after that.

I get what you mean, that part of Athy's trauma is often overlooked, but it probably has to do with most people not reading the novel and with Athy herself not really acknowledging it. She mentions her life as Lee Jihye at the beginning of the story, and then very rarely brings it up. But if anything, that's pretty consistent with how Athy deals with her trauma and negative emotions, refusing to acknowledge they exist until their weight is too heavy for her to endure. I like this piece of characterization a lot, but it leaves us with many questions that are hard to answer when Athy herself doesn't remember or actively tries to forget the trauma from her past lives. You could draw some parallels with Lucas and Claude's respective ways of dealing with trauma, loss and trying to forget (but Athy's mindset is more healthy and not so self-destructive lol).

Also yes, to me Athy is the character that has suffered the most by far. Not like this is a competition, but *gestures at LP* and the fact that she was a working class woman in Korea while the other characters (sans Lucas and Diana, I guess) are and always have been rich aristocrats in pseudo-France says enough /hj.

[girlygguk]

FIRST CLASS | JJK

SUMMARY in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

𓍯𓂃

PAIRING rich student!jk x (f)rich student!reader

WORDCOUNT 25k+

RATING 18+ MINORS DNI

GENRE smut, fluff, angst. university au, f2l

CONTENT childhood best friends, nepo baby!reader, nepo baby!jk, tae sister!reader, heavy pining, heavy cursing, a bit of crack throughout, (soft?) fuckboy!jk, whipped!jk, simp!jk, kinda emotionally constipated!reader, lack of & miscommunication, the most dramatic fic you’ll ever read, jk has his tats & shorter hair (ref in banner pic), jk is a tits guy and reader has big tiddies, jk & reader are very touchy and lovey friends, reader is kind of a bitch to those she doesn't care about, reader is rich but jk is richer 😩, arguments between mcs, jealousy, bottled up feelings, toxic/unhealthy friendship if u were to really think about it, jk & reader have active sex lives beforehand, reader is in a fwb situation beforehand, there is an explicit scene between reader & a side character (but no sex), punch up/fight scene/blood, potential/near-miss car accident, 2 scenes where characters get badly physically injured, alcohol consumption, use of a few male idol names (mingyu, jaehyun, felix), the rest of bangtan are side characters, the last like 9k(?) is literally just smut helppp, happy ending.

18+ WARNINGS kissing, making out, grinding, dry humping, fingering (f rec.), oral (both rec.), slight exhibition?..you'll see, pet names during sex, dirty talk, use of the word slut in praise, so much praising, biting, jk likes the pain ok, body worship, tiddy sucking, mentions of tiddy fucking, ball play, nipple play, multiple orgasms, bigg dick jk, soft dom!jungkook, subby!reader, unprotected sex, ocs a pro dick riderr 🙂‍↕️, creampie, sweet aftercare

author's note thank you all so much for the love on the teaser! it truly motivated me to finish this quicker than i ever expected. however, proofing such a long piece was a veryyy different experience to what i'm used to, so if u see any inaccuracies or timeline inconsistencies... no u don't <3

first class ; noun /ˌfəːs(t) ˈklɑːs/ a set of people or things grouped together as the best.

The biting cold of the winter evening settles over Yonsei University's lacrosse field, floodlights casting long shadows on the frosted grass. You pull your mink coat tighter around yourself, the chill seeping through despite your layers. Sitting on the bleachers with Park Jimin and his twin sister, Park Minji, you watch the game unfold.

The match is in full swing: Yonsei versus Hanyang, another top South Korean university. The excitement is palpable as the outdoor stadium fills with spectators, creating a sea of blue and green—the colors of the respective teams they are rooting for. Jimin wears a blue puffer jacket in support, while your roommate Minji is swimming in a blue long-sleeve sports jersey that definitely does not belong to her, you think with a smirk.

You initially weren't going to attend tonight due to other plans, which is why you aren't sporting anything blue. But, after a whiny 20-minute call from your insufferable best friend, you canceled on Mingyu last minute and tagged along with the Parks. Not that you would've dressed in all royal blue anyway… you're not fucking crazy. But maybe you would've added a blue ribbon to your hair or something.

Taehyung and Jungkook, co-captains of the Yonsei team, are in their element, dominating the field with effortless skill. You watch as your brother and Jungkook easily clear the opposing team, their movements synchronized and precise.

Jimin nudges you with a gloved hand, his breath visible in the frigid air. "Your brother and Kook are killing it out there," he says, his eyes following the action on the field.

You nod, cheeks flushed from the cold. Giving him a hum in agreement, you glance over at Minji. Her focused gaze keeps drifting back to Number 12, almost subconsciously, before realizing and snapping back to the middle of the field.

You look away in amusement, focusing on the game again and watching as Number 12, Kim Namjoon, swiftly catches the ball flying through the air with his racket before bolting through an opening in Hanyang's layout.

As the game progresses, the Hanyang team rallies, their determination pushing them closer and closer to Yonsei's lead. The crowd tenses as the score tightens, but you remain composed. You've seen this scenario play out countless times before.

There are 20 seconds left in the match, and Yonsei is down by two points. The twins have matching pouts on their lips, beginning to come to terms with your school receiving their first defeat of the season.

You watch as Hanyang makes the pitiful mistake of trying to make a risky pass by Number 1.

In the blink of an eye, Number 1's racket shoots out and intercepts the catch, and with a final burst of speed, Jungkook breaks right through the opposing defense. His eyes lock on the goal, and with a powerful swing, he sends the ball soaring into the net.

The crowd erupts, cheers reverberating across the field as the final buzzer blares, signaling the end of the game. You can't help but smile at Jungkook's skill.

The Yonsei team quickly swarms around Jungkook, their cheers morphing into a sea of bodies that envelop him, eventually toppling him to the ground in a dogpile. As they begin to disperse, Taehyung leans down to his co-captain with a proud grin.

Jungkook takes Taehyung's hand with a chuckle, the elder hoisting him to his feet before draping an arm around his shoulder. Jungkook pulls off his helmet, shaking out his damp curls, which cling stubbornly to his forehead. His eyes then drift towards the bleachers, where he suddenly loses his train of thought.

There you are, in all your glory—wrapped in a long, expensive chocolate mink coat, cheeks flushed pink from the cold air.

Your smooth legs, sheathed in sheer stockings, disappear into boots that likely cost as much as a teenager's first car. He wonders about the color of your skirt hidden beneath your coat—is it brown to match, or black to complement your boots? The color, he isn't certain, but he does know it is either a skirt or a dress. You would never be caught dead in trousers and even avoid jeans if you can. Personally, Jungkook thinks you look spectacular in jeans.

Your hair hangs loose, styled pin-straight but tousled slightly by the breeze, and his fingers itch to tuck the stray strands behind your ear. You are engrossed in conversation with Jimin and Minji as the three of you descend the bleacher seats, now heading towards him and your brother. Your brother, who is now holding his helmet under his right arm, uses his left to tug his best friend out of his trance and towards their friends.

You and the Park siblings weave through the amped-up crowd before finally reaching where the co-captains are peeling off their gloves.

Jimin clasps Taehyung's hand, pulling him into a warm, brotherly hug. "That was a fucking game, Tae!" He exclaims, a wide grin spreading across his face before giving the same greeting to Jungkook.

Minji follows suit, hugging Taehyung quickly before turning to Jungkook with a playful smirk. “You had us scared for a second, Kook,” she teases, “thought you weren’t gonna make that last shot.”

Jungkook chuckles, returning Minji's hug before leaning back and chucking his helmet on the ground, waiting for you to finish congratulating your brother.

"All part of the show," he replies to the twin with a wink before you pull away from Tae and float to him like second nature.

Nobody bats an eye as your arms slink around his shoulders, linking behind his neck. His taller frame leans down slightly on instinct, and his arms wrap around your waist. His face buries gently into your neck, pulling you a little closer. Your perfume renders Jungkook dazed, and he knows that he is a sweaty mess and smells like one too, but even if you notice, you don't mention it.

"Hi," he mumbles, his breath tickling your skin, causing you to smile and pull away slightly.

"Hi," you echo sweetly, noticing his eyes flicker down to where your coat has parted and your black Hermès mini-skirt peeks through.

You are about to ask him if he likes it because you just bought it yesterday, but he is quick to draw your coat tighter around you, probably not wanting the cold air to nip at you any longer.

He picks up his helmet and gloves, his tattooed arm slipping comfortably over your shoulder as the five of you head towards the locker rooms.

Your head rests against the side of his chest while you walk, and your friends are still beaming about Yonsei's fourth consecutive win of the season. Jungkook slows his steps slightly, letting the rest of your group pull slightly ahead.

"Glad you came," he says softly, his skin tingling as your nails lightly scratch against his shirt where your hand rests around his waist.

"Yeah, you better be," you hum teasingly, "Mingyu was not happy."

Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat before forcing out a laugh, "Tell him I'll make it up to him. Take him out on a date myself."

Your giggle soothes the ache in his chest before it returns tenfold at your response, "wasn't a date. Was just going to see him."

"Ohhaahah," his attempt at a laugh comes out more strained than he intends, and you snort, amused by his discomfort.

Before he can protest, you interlock his hand with yours and lead him towards the locker room, his steps quickening to match yours. He follows behind you like a puppy dog, as if this was your locker room and you were showing it to him for the first time.

A chaotic mix of celebration and exhaustion echoes throughout the building as you walk through the door that Tae holds open. The smell of sweaty lacrosse players all but hits you in the face, and Jungkook watches in amusement as your nose scrunches slightly. The warm air is welcoming though, and you let out a sigh as it works to defrost your frozen skin.

The changing room is packed to the brim with sweaty college boys high-fiving, recounting the game's highlights, and shedding off their gear. Jungkook lets go of your hand when you and Minji go over to say hi to Namjoon.

Taehyung is caught up in conversation with the coach, who is commending the team's performance and already running through some things they can work on in preparation for next month's match.

"Jaykayyyyyy!!"

"Let's fucking gooo, Jeon!"

"Good shit tonight, JK!"

You release Namjoon from the hug and turn towards the sudden commotion coming from the other side of the locker room.

Your best friend is at the center of the group, his teammates slapping his back and tousling his hair while showering him with praise. You notice his bunny-like teeth peeking out as he grins. No matter how confidently he carries himself throughout the day, he still flushes at compliments, which makes you roll your eyes amusedly.

Jungkook breaks away from the group and heads to his locker to check his phone while you return your attention to Namjoon and Minji, who are now caught in a quiet conversation.

You head over to Jimin, who looks to be passionately explaining something to Hobi and Yoongi, judging by his broad and exaggerated hand movements. He is a drama major though, so you can never be too sure.

A vibrating noise cuts your journey short. You fish your phone from your coat pocket and begrudgingly slip out of the locker room back into the cold air before answering. "Hey, Gyu."

"Hey, Y/N." Mingyu's tone is low and strained, like he’s in pain almost.

You tuck the strands of hair that were getting picked up by the wind behind your ear. "How can I help you?" you ask.

"Y/N," he grunts out a pained laugh, and you click.

You hear shuffling on the other side of the line while he sits up against his headboard.

"Yes? What do you need?" You're not going to do the work for him, and he knew that. He felt pathetic even making the call in the first place.

He goes quiet for a moment, and you pull your phone from your ear to glance at the time. "It's only 8 pm, and you sound like you're already in bed."

Mingyu nods as if you could see him, "I am. I have been for a while," he admits before asking you how the game was. You know he didn't actually give a shit about the game, but you still entertain him and answer

He drags out the conversation for a few minutes, running his hand through his hair at your voice. He doesn't want to hear it through the phone; he wants to hear it in person. He wants you to be in his room right now, like you said you would be.

Mingyu hates how disinterested you sound. Mingyu also hates how that very disinterested tone makes his cock throb in his sweatpants. You couldn't care less about him, whereas all he's been doing since you canceled on him three hours ago is lay in bed and fucking think about you. He sighs before biting the bullet, "Are you still coming over?"

Your brows furrow slightly, "Oh, I thought I told you that I was—"

"Can you still come over?" He rephrases his question, "please?"

Your lips purse as you consider it for a second. You don't have any classes tomorrow, so you guess you could head to his later tonight.

You're about to respond when the sound of the door opening behind you causes you to turn around.

You watch as the wealthiest student in the entire university approaches you, now dressed in a plain black hoodie and a pair of joggers, running a towel through his wet hair. It no longer looks sweaty wet but instead shampooed wet, so you assume he had a quick shower. "Hey, you okay? Why are you out here in the cold?"

"One second," you say into the phone before lowering it and moving closer to Jungkook. He closes your fur coat tightly around you again as it comes open from the strong wind while he waits for your response.

"Came out here to take a call. Too loud in there."

He nods, throwing the towel over his shoulder. "'K. We're going to Hanji's to eat. Did you want to ride with me?"

You're about to agree without even thinking when you remember the boy waiting on the other end of the call.

"Ah," you mutter, lifting the phone back to your ear. "I'll come over at like 11?" you say to Mingyu, not catching the frown that coats Jungkook's lips.

Mingyu almost protests but knows that 11 is better than nothing and stops himself. "Sweet. Just text me if you need me to pick you up."

You thank him before saying your goodbyes and ending the call. You look up at your best friend, his gaze unfocused. "Can I?" you ask.

"Hmm?" he hums, blinking a few times before focusing on your face.

"Ride with you?"

"Yeah," he smiles down at you, letting you link your arm with his as he leads you back into the warm locker room.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

Hanji's is loud. The clamor of sizzling grills and busy cooks no match for the chatter of students and customers that fill the room. You sip on an iced tea as your friends laugh and chat, still basking in tonight's victory.

Snug between your brother and Jungkook, you rest your head on the latter's shoulder, sipping your drink through a paper straw. His arm drapes over the back of the booth's chair, allowing you to settle comfortably as he chats with the swim team captain, Jin, who sits on the opposite side of the booth.

Your coat is folded on Jungkook's lap now that you're surrounded by the warm air of the diner, and his tattooed fingers play absentmindedly with the spaghetti strap of your top.

Taehyung leans over and snatches a dumpling from your untouched plate with his chopsticks, causing you to glance at him in faux annoyance. Your brother knows you don't actually care and flashes you a big, toothy grin which you can’t help but return.

You push the plate toward him, wordlessly telling him to have it all and his eyes light up for a split second before his brows furrow. "Why aren't you eating?" he asks concernedly, his words slightly muffled by a mouthful of food.

"Ate just before the game, I'm full," you reply, nodding when he asks if you're sure and watching him grab another dumpling.

Liar. Jungkook thinks as he watches Jin's mouth move but is unfocused on the words he's actually saying.

You don't eat before a link, a habit of yours Jungkook is very aware of, having asked you not to do it countless times before.

It's not that deep, you always tell him; you just don't enjoy sex much with a full stomach, it makes you feel sorta sick. And food always tastes better after sex anyway.

He glances down at you for a second, and you're already looking his way, your pretty eyes boring into his as if daring him to mention anything to your brother. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he turns away, attempting to hide his smile at your attitude.

Jin cracks a joke and glances at you for a reaction, prompting you to roll your eyes and laugh. He pumps his fist in the air triumphantly, earning a playful smack from his girlfriend.

Your friends are always like that—acting as if making you laugh is some monumental achievement. You're not a masochist; you don't avoid laughing on purpose. But you're rich, intelligent, and pretty... It takes a lot to impress you. Jungkook makes you laugh a lot though.

Seated next to Jin is his gorgeous high-school sweetheart, Mia, and next to her is your ever-so pouty housemate, Minji. You quietly observe Minji's gaze as it frequently drifts to the booth adjacent to yours, where Yoongi, his boyfriend Hobi, Jimin, and, most importantly, Namjoon are seated.

Minji sighs softly, snapping out of her daze as she looks down at her cider. Taehyung is laughing at something Jin said, leaning forward in front of you slightly to engage in conversation with the swimmer on the other side of the table. You take this moment to check on your friend.

Your head lifts off Jungkook's shoulder, and he resists the urge to turn and ask why, trying to stay focused on the story his Hyung is telling. You catch Minji's eye, offering her a small, questioning smile. She returns it as best she can before her expression morphs back into a troubled pout, and she shakes her head slightly.

You nod in understanding, tapping Jungkook's thigh as a signal that you'll be right back and ask Taehyung to let you out of the booth. Your brother stands, allowing you to shuffle out, and you grasp Minji's hand, tugging her along to the restroom.

Jungkook glances over, watching you usher Minji away from the table, and from the corner of his eye, he notices Namjoon looking over too.

Fifteen minutes go by, and you're reapplying Minji's mascara, which she cried off during her tearful spiel about her situationship.

"It's like h-he—" she pauses to hiccup, and you move the wand away to let her breathe, "—he just likes to mess with my fucking head! Every time we hook up he's all like 'Minjiiiiyahhh,'" you snicker at her imitation of his voice.

"’I can't get enough of you! I wanna do this forever!' but then when we're with everyone, it's like he's scared to even stand next to me! God, is he like, embarrassed of me or something?" She seethes, shaking her head in frustration.

You lift a tissue to her lash line, dabbing at the fresh tears brewing and scoff. "Embarrassed of you? Don't be ridiculous," you say, capping the mascara and sliding it back into her clutch, giving up on the rescue mission as the tears just keep coming.

"You are gorgeous," you turn your body to lean against the basin with her, linking her arm in yours. "Smart," you continue, resting your head on her shoulder. "Funny... sometimes," you tease, and she lets out a tearful giggle, her trembly hands curling around your arm as she snuggles into you in gratitude.

"God, I'm literally wearing his jersey. How pathetic." She laughs at herself, and your brows furrow slightly.

"How is that pathetic? I'm sure he wanted you to wear it, didn't he?"

"Well yeah... He was actually really cute when he asked if I would. He was all shy and shit. Fuck sakes," she groans in frustration, "it makes everything even more confusing!"

"Maybe he's just shy about showing affection in front of people? I mean, he is literally a computer science major..." You trail off and smile when she whines and wacks the arm of yours that she's leaning on.

"Seriously, though, don't cry over a guy, Min. And especially don't question your worth because of him." The bathroom falls silent except for her soft sniffles at your words.

You hand her the tissue that you're holding before adding, "You need to talk and set things straight with him, or you're just going to continue hurting." You internally scoff at the hypocrisy of your own words, but your roommate is none the wiser, nodding at you in agreement.

After a moment, she speaks quietly, "I wish I could be more like you."

"How so?" you ask, though you already have an inkling.

"You never get attached to the guys you hang with. I wish I could do that. It seems so much more freeing."

You hum half-heartedly in response, watching her dab at her eyes one last time before turning to wash her hands. Her words linger, echoing in your mind longer than they should. No, you don't get attached. Because you already know firsthand just how much it fucking sucks when the feelings aren't mutual.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

It's 11:12 pm. The scent of your Chanel No. 5 lingers in the air, blending with Jungkook's soft hums to his car radio. The warm air from the heater makes your eyes droop slightly.

"You have a nice voice," you murmur, toying with the tattooed fingers resting on your stocking-clad thigh.

He glances at you briefly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You always say that," he replies, eyes returning to the road as he stops at a red light.

"Because it's true," you state simply. "Do you disagree?"

He laughs softly at your bluntness, a familiar flush creeping up his neck. "Maybe."

"Hm," you roll your eyes, lifting one of his fingers and letting it drop before repeating the motion with the others. "Whatever, golden boy."

"Ya," he chuckles, squeezing your thigh gently, "don't call me that."

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "You let everyone else call you that."

His lips purse into a slight pout. "Not you."

You blink at him, the corner of your lips twitching into a smile at his big, boba eyes. He just keeps staring at you, letting you fiddle with his hand. After a few long moments, you giggle at his dazed-out expression. "Light's green, Gukkie."

He snaps out of it instantly, facing back toward the road, and his foot hits the gas pedal a little quicker than intended. That's better, he thinks.

A few minutes later, he turns into the familiar entrance of Yonsei University, steering the car down the path that leads to the Delta Sigma Phi fraternity house. As he pulls into a parking spot in front of the building, you're halfway through sending a text, so he waits for you to finish before cutting off the heater.

You lock your phone and glance up just as he extracts the keys from the ignition. He pats your thigh gently before climbing out of the car. You follow suit, rounding the vehicle to meet him by the driver's side.

Instinctively, he reaches for your hand, fingers entwining, and you rest your head against his arm as you both ascend the front steps to the frat.

The foyer is dark as Jungkook leads you inside. He maneuvers through the hall effortlessly, even without his sight. He guides you up the stairs to the second floor, your hands still locked together, and he turns to face you when you reach the door to his bedroom.

You look up at him with a dumb smile, and he leans down to bury his face in your neck before he says something dumber. His back presses against the door, and as you lean into him, the scent of his clean, linen hoodie fills your senses.

Jungkook's love language is physical touch, and you let him have his moment, keening slightly when he nudges the side of your neck with his pretty nose. YYour phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it, wanting to spend five more minutes with your best friend.

"Do you have class tomorrow?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to be heard by his housemates.

He doesn't say anything, just shakes his head wordlessly, his curls tickling your skin as he does.

"Movie tomorrow then?" you suggest softly, letting him lean back slightly to look at you.

The moment you see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, you know his response before he even forms the words. His pouty lips part, ready to offer an excuse when you squint your eyes and lean away from him.

"Jesus, Jeongguk." You groan, still keeping your voice low, but he can hear the annoyance loud and clear. "Why do you get all pouty and sad when you have other plans? It's okay."

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow. He edges forward, trying to maintain some form of physical contact, but you just shrug him off. "I already agreed to it last night. I'm sorry, Y/N."

You let out a frustrated sigh and roll your eyes. "Why are you fucking apologizing?" Your words have bite, but he doesn't react, simply leaning closer to you even though you continue to distance yourself.

You know you're overreacting in a sense, but every time he has plans with a girl, he always apologizes with that stupid fucking pout and those stupid fucking puppy dog eyes. And it's only when it's with another girl.

You weren't upset; you were well aware of his active sex life. It's like he expects you to burst into tears whenever he tells you he's seeing someone. Why the fuck would you care?

Jungkook reaches out to you in a last attempt to grab your hand, and you just stare at it, not making any move to accept the gesture. He sighs, letting his hand fall to his side while he looks at your pissed-off expression.

"Why?" You try again.

Jungkook's shoulders slump, and he looks down, avoiding your gaze. "I don't know," he responds softly. He barely catches the annoyance on your face fading, soon replaced with something that tugs at his heart even more—boredom.

"Okay then, Gukkie. Sleep well, we'll talk later," you say, nodding as you step closer to him. Your arms wrap around him in a quick hug, and before he can even react, you're walking down to the other end of the hall.

Jungkook's eyes stay focused on the ground, listening to your footsteps getting further away.

It's not until he hears a soft knock on his frat-mate's bedroom door and a fucked-out, "Shitttt, look at you," come from Mingyu that he scoffs, turning into his room and slamming the door behind him.

Thirty minutes pass, then an hour, then two, as Jungkook lies grumpily on his bed, glaring at his bedroom ceiling.

There was an unmistakable bang of a headboard against the wall down the hall at minute forty-five, followed quickly by your hushed voice telling Mingyu to keep it down. Jungkook hasn't been able to close his eyes since.

"Why are you fucking apologizing?"

Your words ring in his head as he tosses under his blanket uncomfortably, giving up before ripping it off his body a bit too aggressively, causing it to fall to the ground.

"I don't know."

Dirty fucking liar, his subconscious snickers.

Of course he knew. He's always fucking known. It's subconscious; the way he can't stop the apology from spewing from his lips every time.

He wants you to be upset. He wants you to get angry at him for sleeping with other girls. He wants you to ask him not to go.

But you don't. You never do. If anything, you encourage it. And there he is, apologizing like a fucking idiot for something that you don't even care about. Every time he sees that disinterested look in your eyes, it feels like a sour punch to the gut.

Jungkook's mind races as he tries to figure out why he keeps doing this to himself. Why he keeps hoping for a reaction that never comes. He thinks about the way you hugged him earlier, the fleeting moment of closeness before you walked away without a second thought. You're so good at that.

He rolls onto his side, trying for the nth time to close his eyes, the sounds of your muffled laughter and Mingyu's low murmurs mocking him through the thin walls.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, the frustration gnawing at him, a constant reminder of what he can't have. He wants to move on, to stop letting you have this power over him. He laughs at the thought.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

Two days later, you're sitting in your afternoon Linguistics class, sandwiched between Jimin and Aerum. Why Jimin didn’t take the spot in the middle if he was going to let her sit near you guys, you’re un-fucking-sure.

Aerum isn't part of your inner circle, but she likes hanging around. You know her type—fake and a gossip. She attempts to make small talk with you throughout the class, but your answers are curt and disinterested.

"—even surprised? As if Jeongguk hasn't slept his way through half the campus already." Aerum giggles, twirling a strand of her hair. That gets your attention.

You don't even look up from your notebook, continuing to jot down what the professor says. "Don't talk about him like that," you say, your tone flat, causing Aerum to falter for a second.

She nervously chuckles, "It's not a secret he gets around, Y/N. You know that..."

Unamused, you finish off your notes, letting her brew for a second, before finally lifting your gaze. You lean in a little, and Aerum shuffles closer as if you were about to let her in on some juicy tea.

"I don't care if he took your mother over the kitchen counter and made you watch." Aerum's lips part at your words, leaning back slightly in shock. "Don't talk about him like that. Matter of fact, don't talk about him at all."

She malfunctions for a second before nodding dazedly, quickly turning to face the front of the class for the first time today. You return to your notebook uninterestedly as Jimin lets out a loud snort, leaning over to hide his face in your shoulder.

The class continues without further interruptions, and when the professor finally wraps it up, you begin putting your things away. Jimin holds your bag for you like he always does as you make your way out of the classroom. Aerum follows behind like a kicked puppy.

With no more classes for the day, you and Jimin had planned to go to the campus café for a study date. Much to your dismay, Jimin had invited Aerum when she overheard you talking about it at the beginning of Linguistics. Jimin is kind to everyone, a trait of his that you somewhat admire, but in this case, it just made you want to slam his laptop shut over his fingers.

Once you reach the café, you find an empty table at the back while Jimin goes to the counter to order your usual drinks, Aerum trailing behind him quietly.

As you set your things down, you notice your phone at the top of your bag. You pick it up, deciding to text Jungkook because you haven't seen him in a couple of days, and you miss him. Maybe he can come study.

It's as if the universe heard your thoughts because suddenly, you feel a pair of sturdy arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a broad chest. You smile when his familiar cologne reaches your nose and quickly spin around to pull him down into a proper hug.

"I was literally just about to text you," you tell him as he snuggles into your neck.

"You studying?" he murmurs into your skin, his warm breath tickling you slightly.

"Mhm, with Jiminie and Aerum," you reply, leaning back slightly. He scrunches his nose in protest when you pull away but lets you go.

"Cool, I could use a break," he says, his eyes twinkling as he takes a seat next to you, casually slinging his arm over the back of your chair.

"Where were you heading?" you ask as you both settle down, and he helps you spread out your supplies.

"Just dropping some gear off to coach on campus. Saw you through the window," his gaze flickers over your outfit before he smiles softly. "You look pretty."

You smile cutely at the compliment, and his heart skips a beat.

Jungkook suppresses a sigh. You look so sweet in your white cashmere sweater and creamy plaid Burberry skirt, but the way your body fills it out is anything but. Not a single hair out of place, you look sinfully and irrevocably perfect.

Jimin returns with the drinks and almost gets a fright from the lacrosse captain. "Hey, Kook," he says with a grin, handing you your iced coffee.

Aerum, holding her drink, looks slightly flustered but tries to mask it with a smile. "Hi, Jungkook," she says, her voice a little too sweet.

Jungkook nods at her politely before turning his attention back to you. "What subject?" He leans over to grab your textbook, and before you can answer, Aerum takes a seat and chimes in.

"Linguistics," she smiles, and Jungkook nods while flipping through the textbook.

You're logging into Jimin's laptop while he licks the whipped cream from the top of his frappe like a cat. You snort at the blonde before opening the shared doc that he and you have. You're begin to scroll through the pages, trying to find where you left off last time, but the sound of Aerum's continuous pestering distracts you.

"—again tonight or something?" You only catch the end of her sentence, but by the flirty tone she's only just now using, you assume she's speaking to Jungkook.

"Aish, Aerum…" Jungkook laughs awkwardly, flicking through the pages of your textbook as if it would somehow teleport him away from the situation.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you don't do round 2's. Make an exception? For me?" She pouts cutely, and even Jimin can't resist the urge to cringe into his cup.

Jungkook looks over at you for a moment; whether it's for help or a reaction, he doesn't know, but he's not surprised when you don't even look up from the laptop. Just continuing to scroll through your document.

He can't even stop the words from coming out before he says them, "Yeah, okay."

Jimin's brows furrow in surprise. You keep scrolling.

"Yeah?" Aerum can't hide the surprise in her own voice, giddy nonetheless.

"Yeah." He nods at her, looking down at your textbook, wishing it would telepathically lift up and knock him out cold.

An hour flies by, during which you and Jimin make significant progress on the paper, having already completed a quarter of it.

Aerum, however, proves to be an absolute dead weight, giving weak half-assed responses whenever Jimin tries to involve her in the research. Her focus is solely on flirting with Jungkook.

If she even thinks of attempting to slip her greasy little name on this project once you and Jimin are done, you'll take great satisfaction in bringing her back down to reality.

You finish typing a sentence on Jimin's laptop before locking it and giving him a look. He understands immediately and stands up to pack his things wordlessly.

You're beyond irritated—not because Jungkook and Aerum are practically on the verge of fucking right on top of the café table, but because they're doing it while you're trying to work. Frustrated and disgusted, you uncharacteristically bite your tongue and sling your bag over your shoulder.

"You're leaving?" Jungkook's head snaps to you the moment he notices you standing up, and he follows suit, Aerum tagging along behind him.

"Yep," you nod, grabbing Jimin's arm when he extends it to you and heading for the café exit.

"Are you—shit," Jungkook stutters, jogging slightly to catch up to you, Aerum trailing behind him. "Are you guys doing anything tonight?"

You almost roll your fucking eyes, but Jimin responds with a neutral expression, "Yeah, Kook… the DSP gather? We planned it last week?"

"Fuck," Jungkook coughs out, "Yeah, no, I remember."

You continue walking back towards the main campus where Jimin's car is parked, with Jungkook and Aerum not far behind. When you reach Jimin's Audi, you detach from his arm and head for the passenger seat, Jungkook meeting you at the door.

"Did you still want me to pick you up?" he asks softly, watching you adjust your bag strap over your shoulder in boredom while you wait for Jimin to unlock the car.

“No, that’s okay, Guk. I'll come over with Minji. She's on a drinking cleanse after the Feb blackout, so she can drive," you smile, leaning up to give him a quick goodbye hug.

He leans into it, but you don't let him linger, pulling away as soon as you hear the sound of the car unlocking. You go to open the door and climb in, but he gently puts his hand against it to stop you.

"Are you okay? Can you talk to me, please?" he lowers his voice so no one can hear.

Jimin takes the hint and awkwardly gets into the car, telling Aerum to hop in the back and he'll drop her home. She looks at Jungkook for a long moment before reluctantly getting in.

Jungkook's big, worried, boba eyes make you want to both scoff and run your hand over his face until they ease up.

"What do you mean, Gukkie? Just don't want you to go out of your way. You live there, so there's no point in you driving to get me."

Huh? He's picked you up for every single frat party they hold. He doesn't mind. He insists on driving you. He loves driving you! What the fuck?

Jungkook lets his hand fall from the door in resignation, and his heart clenches at the speed in which you pull the handle to open it, like you couldn't wait to get away from him. He somberly takes a step back from the car to let you get in.

You sigh when you glance back at his scrunched eyebrows and pouty lips. You place your bag on the seat and shut the door with a groan before walking back to your sulky best friend.

His response is immediate. His arms link around your waist when you lean into him, his head nestling into your neck where it belongs. Your nails lightly scratch against his polo, and he squeezes you a little tighter.

"I want to pick you up," he says softly. You run your hands down his arms, grabbing them where they link behind your waist. You give them a squeeze as you gently untangle yourself from him.

"I'm riding with Minji. I'll see you tonight, Gukkie." He watches you walk back to Jimin's car and finally get in.

Aerum's eyes are on Jungkook as Jimin pulls out of the campus parking lot. Jungkook's are on you.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

You weren't always as unbothered as you are today at the age of 21.

Maybe it was maturing, maybe it was the pilates sessions you take twice a week, or maybe it was because a particular situation made you vow to yourself you'd never go through that pain again. Well, whatever it was that made you so emotionally detached, you're grateful for it. You're young, gorgeous, and you have a fruitful and prosperous life on the horizon.

Fun is good. Feelings are not.

You shake your head to get yourself out of your thoughts—the thoughts you don't know why are suddenly floating around in your messy little brain—and yell out to your roommate for a favor.

Park Minji and you share a two-bedroom penthouse on the top floor of Kim Marriott, the Seodaemun-gu branch of your parents' luxury 5-star hotel chain.

Taehyung was supposed to move in with you during your first year, but when he was appointed Frat President, he chose to stay on-site at Delta Sigma Phi. What a humble boy… you couldn't think of anything worse.

He dragged Jungkook along with him, and you dragged Minji along with you, so everything worked out great. Minji is a lot tidier than your brother, anyway.

You're rummaging through your closet for the shoes you swore you had stored there after your last shopping trip when Minji waltzes into your room, holding the box you've been hunting for.

"These ones, right? They were on the kitchen counter, among all your other unopened packages..." She rolls her eyes teasingly.

"Oh yes! Fuck, I love you," you cry, walking up to the blonde and pulling the heels from the box she holds open for you.

"They're so pretty," she compliments before closing the box and tossing it in the living room to throw away later. She looks back at you as you head to your full-length mirror, slipping on the shoes.

"Jesus, Y/N." Minji groans, and you hum in question, eyeing her through the mirror.

"You look so good, what the fuck..." she whines, walking closer to you and standing side by side in the mirror to check on her outfit as well.

The white bodycon mini-dress hugs your body nicely, its low neckline no match for your bigger-than-average tits as the fabric clings to them for dear life. The white-gold Cartier necklace Jungkook gifted you rests prettily on your chest, just like it always has ever since the night he clasped it around your neck.

2 years prior—circa. your 19th birthday

"Get fucked, Jeongguk." The words rip from your throat, venomous and sharp as they slap your best friend's face into a furrowed, exasperated expression.

You yank the jacket tighter around your shoulders as the cold night air whips at your skin, storming down the sidewalk. The urge to rip the jacket—his jacket—off your body is strong, but it's so fucking cold. You may be petty and possibly overreacting a little right now... but you're not stupid.

Jungkook's heavy footsteps trail after you, his calls of your name only pushing you to walk faster. He catches up in no time, your hurried steps no match for his long strides. He tries to gently grab your arm, but you shrug off his touch angrily, spinning around to glare at him. You're about to tell him to fuck off again when he speaks first.

"Come back inside. It's like a fucking blizzard out here; you're going to freeze to death," he says evenly, though frustration laces his words.

"Oh, please," you laugh humorlessly, shaking your head in disbelief. "As if you give a shit if I freeze."

"Don't fucking say—"

"I'm going home. You can tell everyone I'm sick and had to leave. Or don't, I don't fucking care." You turn away and start walking again, his footsteps immediately following.

"You're walking home?" You ignore his question, causing him to huff and run a hand through his hair. "Let me drive you home, please."

You ignore him again, knowing that if there's something Jungkook can't stand more than you yelling at him, it's you not speaking to him.

"Stop doing this. It's your birthday; don't let it end like this—"

"Yes, Jeongguk, it's my birthday," you seethe, whipping back around. "And you brought a random chick none of us even know to my birthday dinner. And you didn't even bother to get me a gift. On. My fucking. Birthday."

"Y/N—"

"Limited edition PlayStation, imported Swedish lacrosse stick, custom painted iPad from your favorite local fucking artist," you list the gifts you've gotten him for his birthday over the years angrily. Jungkook shakes his head, trying to step closer to you, but you hold up your hand to keep the distance.

"Do you even know how much effort I put into the things I get and do for you? And for you to sit there with that... that stupid fucking look on your—God, Jeongguk!" Your voice is on the cusp of being a whine, but you don't care. "Oh, but I'm sure you spent a decent chunk of Daddy's money on Winnie tonight, huh?" You don't care that the Daddy's money statement is also very applicable to you… you're pissed.

Jungkook's jaw clenches at your words, and he steps forward, slipping his hand into the pocket of the jacket you're wearing. Before you can snap at him again, he pulls out a small velvet box and holds it out to you.

"What is that?" you demand, your voice still trembling with annoyance.

"Your gift," he says softly, opening the box to reveal a white-gold Cartier diamond necklace. "I was planning to give it to you when we were in private."

You stare at the necklace, your anger momentarily overshadowed by surprise. The diamonds of the pendant sparkle under the streetlights, and you almost let out a moan. Diamonds are your weakness.

"You motherfucker," you groan under your breath, glaring at the necklace in hopes it will dissipate into thin air so you can continue being annoyed at him.

Jungkook steps closer, his voice a whisper. "Everyone was coming with their partners, Y/N. I couldn't come alone."

You sigh, knowing that. Your comment was a cheap shot, considering Jungkook doesn't hang with a girl more than once, so it would be impossible for him to bring someone you already knew. But Winnie was getting on your last nerve, and you saw an opportunity to sneak in a jab, so you took it.

Not only was his date clearing glass after glass of the expensive wine your friends had ordered as if it were water, but she was also not shy about ordering the priciest dishes on the menu. Judging by her tiny red Zara mini-dress, you highly doubt she'll be reaching for her purse at the end of the night.

Your gaze is still locked on the necklace as you take a moment to think. Jungkook hasn't moved either, continuing to hold the box open for you while he scans your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

"It's, um, engraved and shit," he mumbles, his hand not holding the box lifting to run over his jaw nervously. "And I got a chain one… for me too."

Your eyes snap to his, and he swears his heart stops beating. God, you think it's stupid. You hate it. That's okay. He'll just wait until you turn around so he can sprint to the nearest homeless guy and give him the stupid neckl—

"Like matching?" Your eyes soften, and he slowly feels the blood flooding into his heart.

"Yeah, only if you like, want to," he shrugs cutely, and you can't stop the grin from spreading across your lips.

You're close enough to slide your arms around his torso but still not near enough for Jungkook as he tugs you closer, melting into the hug. "Thank you, Gukkie. I love it," you murmur into his chest, and he feels his muscles relax at you finally using his nickname again.

You lift your head from his black fitted Givenchy dress shirt, which smells a little too good, to look up at him. "But why did you say you didn't have anything when everyone gave me their gifts?"

He looks down at the slight pout on your lips, his fingers twitching with the urge to wipe it off your mouth. Instead, he flicks the box closed with a thumb and holds it out to you. "Don't think Jaehyun would've been too thrilled with me giving you this," he chuckles. "The dude hates me."

You frown up at him, about to chime in and say that isn't true, but his lips tug into a smirk as if to say he couldn't care less about what your boyfriend thought of him. And honestly, if he were Jaehyun, he'd hate him too.

Jungkook had the necklaces made a little over two months ago, and you and Jaehyun have only been official for one. So, Jungkook's intentions behind the gift weren't malicious, he swears…

If you just so happen to wear the necklace and your boyfriend notices his matching one, which then causes a rift in your relationship, resulting in the two of you breaking up… well, that would just be a nice little coincidence.

"Jae knows you and I are close," you explain with a crease in your brow that he wants to massage until it goes away. "I made it very clear to him when he wanted to get serious, and he understood."

Jungkook nods along to your words even if he doesn't fully believe them. Either Jaehyun is a really good and secure guy, or he's full of grade-A horse shit. If you were his and another dude tried to come along and buy you an eleven-thousand-dollar necklace? Fuck, he'd knock the guy out cold.

You untangle yourself from your best friend and lift the lid of the velvet box still in his grasp. You coo at the pretty diamonds before turning to face away from Jungkook.

You gather your hair before swiping it over your shoulder and letting his jacket fall slightly to bare your neck. Jungkook reacts immediately, picking up the necklace before shoving the box in his pocket. His cold fingers brush against you as he carefully fastens the jewelry around your neck.

When he pulls away, you let your hair fall back into place and turn around to face him again. Your smile is soft, eyes twinkling as you look down at the necklace. "It's so pretty, Gukkie. I love it."

You're so pretty. I love you, he thinks.

With a sigh, you glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in one of the most casual party outfits you've worn in a while—well, to your standards, at least. For some reason, you just don't feel entirely up for it tonight. Something feels off in your stomach. Or your head. You're not sure. You're probably just getting sick or something.

After slipping into the heels, you stand up straight and smush a kiss on the girl's cheek, smiling at the mark your lip gloss leaves on her face. "Ya, I just did my makeup," she gasps, leaning closer to your mirror to dab off the glossy residue.

You pat her bum gently. "You look gorgeous, Min. Gonna have Joon in tears tonight."

"If he even looks at me," she rolls her eyes, adjusting the strap of her Miu Miu dress in the mirror.

"You haven't talked to him yet?" You ask as you apply your perfume, and she turns to look at you with guilty eyes.

"No," she sighs, "I will tonight."

"Good," you smile, resting the perfume bottle back on your dresser before grabbing your phone and holding your hand out to her.

She interlocks her fingers with yours as you both leave the suite, the sinking feeling in your stomach never fading.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

Welp, there goes your ride home.

You watch in amusement as your roommate throws back her fourth jello shot of the night, washing it down with a gulp of beer.

You don't blame Minji for breaking her sobriety, especially after the first thing you both saw upon walking through the doors of Delta Sigma Phi was Namjoon leaning against the foyer wall with another girl in his arms. While they weren't official official, Minji loves really hard. And you think Namjoon knew that.

Needless to say, Minji instantly grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the kitchen, where mountains of various alcohol bottles covered the counter.

Minji's not an alcoholic by any means, but she, just like her twin brother, are quick to take it down and even quicker to bring it back up.

A few months ago, during the Autumn fraternity vs. sorority fundraiser, she got so drunk that she blacked out going down the soapy slip-and-slide.

You and Jungkook—well, mostly Jungkook—carried her all the way to his car. Since he was a sober monitor for Delta Sigma Phi, he drove you both home. He ended up staying at your place for the rest of the night while you slowly sipped on strawberry soju and watched Netflix, checking on Minji every so often.

She hasn't had a drink since that night, so her tolerance is probably super low. But that doesn't stop her from handing you a raspberry jello shot before grabbing another from the table and sucking it down like someone might take it from her.

You giggle, gently wiping away the pink droplet of liquid trailing down the corner of her lip with your thumb. She offers you a dazed smile, her eyes hooded, the effects of the alcohol clearly weaving through her system.

"You okay, Min?"

She beams back at you, a little spark lighting up her glossy eyes, "Mhm. Just wanna have fun tonight."

"Okay," you respond softly, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

Her head suddenly snaps to the living room. "Oooh, they're playing spin the bottle! Let's go playyy!" Minji gasps, tapping your arm excitedly.

You glance at the game that caught her attention and scan the players. There are a few of your friends, mixed with other people from school whose names you couldn't remember if someone held a gun to your head.

You pat Minji's hand, which was still tapping your arm, telling her to go play and stay close to Yoongi and Hobi. She nods, rushing over to the game with a big smile and plopping down between your friends.

You look down at the jello shot you're still yet to ingest and put it back on the table. Grabbing a solo cup, you pour some cranberry juice into it, glancing at the types of vodkas on display. Your nose scrunches at the cheap brands, your manicured nail tapping the side of the cup in thought before you remember something.

Cup in hand, you make your way to the cupboard below the kitchen sink and pull it open, smiling in triumph as you spot the object of your desire at the back of the cabinet. Bending down, you reach for the bottle quickly before anyone notices you.

"That's off limits."

The familiar smell of his cologne floods your senses before you process his words. You straighten up with a small smile, resting your cup on the counter and turning to face the boy with the pricey bottle of vodka in your hands.

"Even to me?" Your lips pull into a knowing pout, and Jungkook has to force his gaze away from them. Instead, his eyes trail over your outfit, which, in hindsight, was an even dumber idea.

His breath hitches in his fucking throat at the sight of your dress, doing nothing to support your boobs that threaten to spill from the pretty little white fabric. The knot in the noose, though, is the necklace he gifted you on your nineteenth birthday, resting innocently between the valley of your anything-but-innocent tits.

He shakes his head, the corner of his lips tugging upwards slightly as he steps closer to you. You fiddle with the bottle cap while he closes the distance, giving you a moment to drink in how effortlessly his arms fill out his white box-tee.

"No," he says softly, almost laughing at the thought of ever denying you something. "Not you." He takes his bottle of Belvedere from your grasp and unscrews the cap.

You rest against the kitchen sink as your best friend, now less than an inch from your body, reaches around you to grab your cup from the counter. He doesn't say anything as he pours the vodka into the cup, using his familiarity with your favorite drink to know when to stop. Your finger lightly traces over the tattoos spilling from his right sleeve absentmindedly, and he should tell you to stop, or he might drop the cup. But he doesn't.

Once he deems there's enough alcohol in the mix, he lifts the cup to his lips to take a sip. You wait patiently, letting him do his little lip purse before splashing a bit more vodka into the cup and holding it out to you. You take it with a grateful smile, bringing the drink to your lips to taste it as he leans over to get a solo cup of his own. You almost groan when the vodka cranberry hits your tongue. Obviously, it's perfect. He’s annoying like that.

Once Jungkook finishes mixing his drink, he takes a mouthful before returning to you. He catches the way your gaze is fixed on the ground, distraction clouding your eyes, cup resting against your lips as you get lost in your head.

You snap out of it almost instantly when he gets closer to you, putting the cup down next to you so you can slink your arms around his neck when he leans down. But before he allows the feeling of you against his body to make him forget every thought inside his brain, he speaks.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs into the skin of your neck, blindly putting his cup on the counter behind you so he can slip his hands around your waist.

You're quiet for a moment, and if it wasn't for the slight stutter in your fingers playing with the clasp of his Cartier chain, he would think you didn't hear him. He doesn't repeat his question, though, knowing you will answer him in your own time. And even if you don't, that's okay too. But he just won't leave your side the entire night if you're feeling vulnerable.

Yeah, nice excuse for not wanting to leave her alone; his subconscious laughs viciously at him. Jungkook ignores it by burying his face into your neck further.

Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck while you take a deep breath, the calming scent of him grounding you. "I don't know," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tightens his hold on you, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. "Are you getting sick?"

"Yeah, probably. I've just had this weird feel—"

"Kookie, there you are! I thought you got lost getting my drink—oh, hi, Y/N!"

Jungkook stiffens before he lifts himself from you slightly at the sound of Aerum's voice.

You untangle your hand from his hair, poking your head around the side of his large frame to look at the girl strutting into the kitchen. She's pretty, you think as you give her outfit a once-over. If only she wasn't such an insufferable phony, maybe you'd be a little warmer towards her. Maybe.

"Hey, Aerum," you greet uninterestedly, leaning away from Jungkook and ignoring the way he tries to keep you near him.

Lost in his own house? You internally roll your eyes. Why even bother saying something so stupid—

"Is it this one?" she smiles once she reaches you both, grabbing your cup from the counter and taking a sip. "Oh wow, Kookie, it's so good! Is it vodka? Shit, what brand is this?" Aerum squeaks as she takes another sip of your drink.

Jungkook's lips part as he's about to say something about the drink, but you reply with a bored expression, "Belvedere."

Aerum lets out a confused hum as you name the $300 bottle of alcohol. "Huh. I've never heard of it."

You nod, grabbing a bottle of cheap beer as you brush past her to leave the kitchen. "Exactly."

Jungkook and Aerum's hushed conversation fades into the background as you move further away. You reach the living room, where Minji is giggling between Hobi and Yoongi. She grins widely when she sees you enter the room. "Jagi! Come and play!"

You laugh at your roommate, who now has two more empty Jello shot cups and a bottle of cider beside her, which explains the affectionate nickname.

Once you reach the circle, Yoongi and Hobi lean up to give you a hug in greeting before you smush a kiss on Minji's forehead. "Maybe later, jagi. Have you seen our brothers?”

“Mhm! They went outside for a smoke!” She replies distractedly as she’s staring intently at the bottle spinning in the middle of the circle.

You run a hand gently over her hair before turning to Yoongi. Since he’s sober D for his boyfriend tonight, you ask if he can keep an eye on her while they finish their game and if she needs to go home or gets too much to handle, to come and tell you.

Yoongi nods at you with a smile, and you return it before spotting a familiar head of black hair peeking over the back of the couch on the other side of the room.

Approaching the couch quietly, you softly put your beer on the ground before leaning over and covering his eyes with your hands. Mingyu flinches at the unexpected contact, his phone falling from his hands to his lap, but then relaxes as if something clicks.

His warm hands come up to yours, removing them from his eyes before he turns to you with a stunned smile. He takes you in for a second before shaking his head and leaning up on the couch.

You're about to give him a hug but he suddenly wraps his arms around your body, easily pulling you over the couch and laying you down beneath him. You squeal loudly in surprise before it's replaced by soft giggles as Mingyu attacks your neck with kisses, peppering them over every inch of skin he can find.

You draw a breath when there's a slight break in his assault and gesture to your heels digging uncomfortably into the couch. He leans back immediately and pulls them off your feet, placing them on the coffee table with haste that makes you laugh.

Turning back, he lowers his frame to you, your legs subconsciously separating to let him press closer, and he resumes his work on your neck. His kisses move lower, and you let out a sigh at the feeling before he reaches the exposed skin of side-boob peeking from your dress. You let out a quick gasp, grabbing his face with your hands and pulling him up to your face.

He grins at you cheekily, knowing he wouldn't get far but can't find it in himself to regret the action. "Was wondering when you'd get here," he says softly, his voice filled with affection. Your pouty fucking lips covered in that pretty fucking lip gloss distracts him for a moment, and he breathes a dazed sigh, leaning down to rest his face on your chest.

You blame it on the alcohol when the sick feeling in your stomach suddenly returns at the touch of Mingyu's skin on yours.

You blame it on the alcohol when all you can think about as you run your fingers through Mingyu's hair is how it's not as soft as Jungkook's.

You blame it on the alcohol when you let Mingyu snuggle closer into your neck in hopes that you'll feel the same warm sensation as when Jungkook does it.

The nausea, the thoughts of your best friend while you have a gorgeous man on top of you, the pounding in your head as his lips get closer and closer to your necklace. You blame all of it on the alcohol.

The one single sip of fucking alcohol you've consumed tonight.

"Can you pass me my beer, please?" You choke out as his lips are a millimeter away from reaching the skin where your necklace sits.

Mingyu pulls back with a smile, and you almost want to frown at the sweet boy. He deserves so much better. "It's just on the ground over there," you point to the back of the couch, and he nods, leaning over and grabbing your drink.

You release a heavy breath while you play with the hem of his dress shirt when something catches your attention from the corner of your eye. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric.

There, leaning with his back against the living room wall, is your best friend with Aerum's lips attached to his neck like a blowfish. Jungkook's brows are furrowed, most likely in pleasure, and his eyes are squeezed shut.

Another wave of the sick feeling washes over you, and you almost let out a frustrated grunt. What the actual fuck is going on with you?

Mingyu leans back on the couch, now with your beer in his hand. Before he can open the cap for you, you snatch it from his hand and toss it to the carpet carelessly. He looks at you curiously, about to ask you what's wrong, but you sit up and swing your leg over his thigh, effectively lodging the words in his throat.

His brows shoot up in surprise before he catches on, his hands finding your waist when you don't waste time pressing your lips to his. Mingyu groans into your mouth when you suckle on his tongue lightly, starting to move against him. Your dress begins to ride up with your movements and deepen the kiss while simultaneously grinding harder into his lap. You can feel him getting harder through the fabric of his jeans, and you zone in on it.

Squeezing your eyes closed tighter to focus, you drag yourself over his covered cock, letting the zipper of his pants graze against your panties. Mingyu detaches from your lips at the sensation, his head throwing back onto the couch as his breathing picks up.

Your hands rest against his chest as you swivel your hips quicker, trying everything you can to spark something in you. Mingyu chokes out a strained fuck when you find the outline of his shaft and let the lips of your covered pussy drag along it.

Nothing. You feel nothing. What the fucking fuck.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is losing himself. His head is still thrown back in pleasure, and you take the opportunity to lean forward and latch your lips to his neck. Your teeth nibble at the skin below his jaw, and he shivers at the action, his hands losing grip on your waist and falling to the swell of your ass. Your movements still haven't relented, grinding against him like you're the only two in the room, and Mingyu doesn't want to admit just how fucking close he is.

He's about to suggest that you guys take it to his room when he feels one of your hands trail down from his chest. His head lifts up to see what you're going to do next, and god, he wishes he didn't, because when you cover the hand of his that's loosely resting on your left asscheek and squeeze? He almost cums in his fucking pants like a teenage boy that just discovered the wonders of third base.

Mingyu does as you wish, grabbing a greedy handful of the flesh with his left hand and uses his right to slide up the back of your neck, returning your mouth to his. You fall into the kiss willingly, letting him lick into your mouth. Letting him take whatever he wants. Mingyu has always been a good kisser. Not even a week ago, he had you dripping from a 10-minute make-out session on his bed. But right now, something inside you tells you that even if you went at it for an hour, it still wouldn't be enough.

You push the sadistic thoughts from your brain and tangle your hands in his hair, nodding against his lips when his hand on your neck drops to your other asscheek and squeezes tightly.

Yes, you think. Touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. Something is bound to—

"What the fuck?"

Your lips immediately detach from Mingyu's at the sound of the familiar voice booming behind you. You adjust the front of your clothes, which have twisted out of place, and quickly climb off Mingyu's lap. Pulling down the hem of the dress that also rode up a few minutes ago, you blink guiltily at the man staring at you with a disturbed look.

"On my couch? That's disgusting. Take it upstairs or take it to your place, Y/N." Taehyung grits, shaking his head as if it would somehow rid the image of you mounting his frat-mate from his memory.

"Sorry, Tae," you reply to your brother with a purse of your lips before getting over it and looking around for your phone that fell from the pocket of your cover-up.

Mingyu is speechless, gawking at his frat president in horror, not knowing what to say or do. He watches as you finally find the phone wedged between the couch cushions before you lean back onto his chest and scroll through your notifications, un-fucking-concerned.

Mingyu chokes on air, gently lifting you off him and sitting you back up on the seat properly. You give him a confused look, and he returns your gaze with a panicked expression, glancing between you and your brother, who is still standing there glaring at him.

You roll your eyes, lifting Mingyu's arm and throwing it over your shoulder, returning to your previous position. "Don't take him seriously, Gyu. I can't even recall how many times I've accidentally walked in on him and my own friends from high school. And they were doing a lot more than dry humping."

The fact that you aren't bothered helps Mingyu to calm down a bit, but he's still on edge with your brother staring him down.

You glance up at Mingyu when his chest remains stiff beneath your head, and you sigh before turning to your brother. "Tae, you're scaring him. We won't do anything else on your couch, okay? Now shoo, please." You wave him off with your hand.

Your brother just rolls his eyes, looking a little too much like you for your liking, before he nods and says he'll return to patrol the room in 30 minutes.

You watch Taehyung disappear behind the door frame as he heads into another room, and you turn to Mingyu with a teasing grin. "30 minutes? We could be done twice in that time…"

His eyes widen, and he gives another pathetic attempt at suggesting you go upstairs, but when you press your lips to his, the words fizzle out on his tongue as you entwine it with your own.

Jungkook is fucking fuming.

He's absolutely clocked out of the make-out session with Aerum, and she can probably tell that his mind is elsewhere, but he can't bring himself to care, and she makes no move to pull away either.

He feels her getting angsty, desperately wanting to escalate the situation from the way she's pressing harder against him, but Jungkook keeps the pace steady.

He needs to stay in the living room to keep an eye on you because you're obviously not in the right state of mind right now. You're not drunk; he knows what you look like when you've been drinking, and you're basically stone-cold fucking sober. But yet, there you are, one layer away from riding his housemate's cock on his very own fucking couch.

Jungkook would have intervened a long time ago, had he not seen with his own eyes that you were the one initiating every part of the act.

With every swivel of your hips, Jungkook’s heart pounded furiously against his chest. It clenched with every firm squeeze Mingyu placed on your ass, and it shattered completely as you nuzzled into Mingyu’s neck, kissing and nipping at it, just like you did to him in his dreams most nights.

He can’t tear his gaze away. He’s tried—oh, how he’s fucking tried.

He attempted to focus on the pretty girl currently whimpering into his mouth, begging him to touch her, to take her right there in the middle of the room if he so desired. But he couldn’t. His eyes were uncontrollably drawn back to you, to the way Mingyu’s hips lifted to meet yours, each movement a sharp twist to the knife lodged in his pathetic heart.

"Shit," Mingyu groans when the curve of his cock straining against his jeans meets your covered core. "We needa go upstairs, or I'm gonna take you right here on the couch, Y/N."

Your laugh comes out breathy from the frantic movements of your hips as you ignore him, and you lean up so his face can nuzzle between your tits. Your boobs are very sensitive, and that usually does the trick to turn you on.

Why. Isn't. It. Turning. You. On.

You let out a frustrated groan that Mingyu mistakes as a moan of pleasure as he leaves wet kisses against the exposed skin of your tits before he reaches the necklace that's wedged between them. "Fuck, I love this. It's so pretty but looks so dirty on you."

Your skin suddenly fires up at his words, and you feel your hips stutter slightly. "Yeah?" you question in a rush, grinding harder against him to chase the feeling.

"Mhm," he nods, brushing his nose over the pendant.

"Bite it."

He looks up at you, his gaze locking with yours filled with a hunger that hadn't been present all night.

"Bite it?" he repeats, his voice a mix of confusion and intrigue, hips meeting yours halfway as your movements become sloppier, more desperate.

Your head tilts as you nod desperately, "Please bite it."

Mingyu's eyes flicker down to your chest, and he leans in, his lips grazing the skin near your necklace. Your breath catches as he nears the pendant with its two little conjoined rings. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, suppressing the whine that threatens to escape.

He plants a lingering kiss on the surrounding flesh before finally catching the pendant between his teeth. You can't hold back the loud moan that escapes your lips—

It happens in the blink of an eye.

You tumble onto the couch cushions as Mingyu is abruptly yanked away and thrown to the living room floor.

You watch in shock as Jungkook pounces on him instantly, Mingyu barely having a moment to react before Jungkook's fist comes crashing down. It connects with Mingyu's jaw with a sickening crunch that reverberates through the room, drawing the attention of a few partygoers.

Mingyu attempts a recovery, throwing a jab that snaps Jungkook's head to the side, but Jungkook quickly regains his focus. He reels his fist back and hammers another brutal punch into Mingyu's face, then another, then another, then another.

Jungkook doesn't know how many punches he's thrown, or how long he's been on top of his housemate, or whose arms grab him from behind to pull him off Mingyu.

His breathing comes in ragged gasps, his knuckles sting with a throbbing pain, and a fierce rage burns through his veins, consuming him entirely. Adrenaline surges through him as he watches Yoongi and Hobi lift a bloodied, struggling Mingyu off the ground.

"What the fuck, Kook?" Taehyung's voice snaps him out of his daze as he and Jimin drag him to his feet.

You remain frozen on the couch, not shifting an inch. Your gaze is fixed on Mingyu as a cluster of people surround him. One person carefully presses a damp rag against his bloodied face while he leans heavily against the wall, another extends a bottle of water towards his shaking hands.

From the grasp of your brother, Jungkook's eyes follow you as you rise and weave through the crowd around Mingyu.

His heart clenches as he watches the pained expression on your face, the saddest he's ever seen. He watches as you whisper something to Mingyu, who shakes his head weakly and reaches out to pull you closer. Instead, you gently grasp his hand, stroking his knuckles with your thumb as tears start to pool in your eyes.

He sees the moment you utter one final word to Mingyu before you let his hand drop softly to his side and walk away

You return to the coffee table, grabbing your shoes and phone before immediately heading for the exit. You spot Minji, who has tears flowing down her cheeks, and she breaks from Yoongi's hold before pulling you into the tightest hug she can muster.

"Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay? What the fuck was that?!" she cries into your shoulder. You almost smile, knowing her emotions always spill over when she's been drinking, but you couldn't muster one even if you tried. Gently pulling away, you dab at the tears under her eyes before turning your attention to Yoongi.

"Can you take her home, please? I'm going to catch an Uber and I feel like being alone for a bit," you half-lie. You're going to walk home, but he doesn't need to know that. He wouldn't let you walk alone at this time.

"Y/N," Yoongi sighs. He didn't miss the way you dodged her question. He wants to urge you to let him drive you home as well, but the resolve in your eyes tells him you won't budge. "Yeah, I'll make sure she gets home safe."

"Thank you," your voice cracks slightly at the end as you squeeze his hand and leave the room before he can stop you.

You can hear footsteps trailing behind you as you reach the door, and you abandon the mission of slipping into your heels, quickly slipping out the door and slamming it behind you.

The cold concrete bites at your bare feet as you hurry down the steps of the frat house, but you barely notice. The sound of the door swinging open behind you only quickens your pace.

"Please, Y/N. Wait. Please."

The tears you've held back since the moment he climbed on top of Mingyu suddenly fall without your permission, and you scoff, wiping them away furiously.

You don't say anything as you reach the path out of the university and continue your trek to your penthouse. It's dark, the sparse lights of the school providing little guidance, but you don't care. You just keep walking.

When Jungkook catches up to you and tries to take your hand, something inside you explodes. You snatch your arm away furiously, your heels and phone dropping from your hands as you turn to face him. Before you know what you're doing, you push against his chest, shoving him away from you. He barely moves and that makes you even angrier. “Fuck you, Jeongguk!” You shove him again, "Fuck you," again, "Fuck you," again, "Fuck you."

Your voice trembles on the last words, and you can't stop the sob from wracking your body. He reacts instantly, stepping forward to pull you into his arms as you break down.

His hands cradle the back of your head as you shake against his chest, his heart clenching at the sound of your cries. "I'm so sorr—"

You pull away from him, running your sleeve over your face to wipe at the tears. "What about your future, Jeongguk? What if he presses charges? If this gets back to your parents? Affects your student record?" You shake your head in utter disbelief, your hands running through your hair in an attempt to ground yourself. "Mingyu is such a good guy, how could you even—fuck." Mingyu.

Your heart clenches at the memory of him trying to keep you close even after he had the shit beaten out of him. You brought him into this mess. That was all fucking you.

"You can't do shit like that, Jeongguk! You c-can't," you stammer, batting his hand away as your voice cracks again, "You had no right to do that."

"I know, Y/N!" His voice rises, and you see tears welling in his own eyes. "I fucking know! I know I didn't have any right to do that. And I fucking hate it!"

You're speechless, but Jungkook isn't finished, "I had no right to punch Lee Seo-jun when he gave you your first kiss, so I didn't. I had no right to punch Kang Doyun when you told me he felt you up for the first time, so I didn't. I had no right to punch Jeong Jaehyun every time I watched him have you like I wanted to have you, so I fucking didn't!"

Tears stream down your face unchecked as Jungkook's hands gently cup your face, his thumbs trembling as they try to wipe your tears away. "I had no right to punch Mingyu because he has everything I want. But I did. And I know you don't want to hear it, but I don't fucking regret—"

"I hate you."

Jungkook doesn't know what to do when he hears you say those words. He stumbles back slightly, his throat tightening, and his heart slams against his chest so hard he thinks it's about to crack through his skin.

A trembly shake of his head, "No—"

Your tears stop as abruptly as they came, your gaze hollow and resigned. "We need some space. This is unhealth—"

"No, please," the tips of his ears turn red as he chokes back a sob, "I fucked up, baby, I know. I'm gonna fix it. Let me fix it. I don't want space, I-I can't have space," his words tumble out desperately, completely unaware of the nickname that slips out. But it doesn't matter; nothing does, if you leave him.

You pull your face from his grasp and take a small step backward. The weak light posts give you just enough vision to see his bloodshot eyes and broken expression. Your hand twitches, yearning to brush his hair away from his face and wipe his tears—the tears he's crying for you.

Don’t be fucking stupid, your subconscious snarls.

Those tears aren't for you. They're for the idea of you.

If he doesn't have you, who's he going to cuddle up to at night when he's bored and doesn't have a pussy appointment to get to?

Who will pass on his Instagram handle to their classmates when they rave about his insane dick game and want to try it for themselves?

Who will drag him to mandatory family gatherings, knowing his dad would slash his trust fund for missing yet another one?

Not Kim Bora, his first kiss, a week before your own with Lee Seo-jun.

Not Park Soojin, the first girl he felt up under the shirt, three days before you let Kang Doyun do the same to you.

Not Cho Eunji, the only girl he ever took on a second date, the night that you made things official with Jeong Jaehyun.

You spent countless nights crying over a boy who saw you merely as a friend. The little sister that tagged along to playdates because her brother wasn’t allowed to have fun without her. The spoiled daughter of his father���s closest friend, who he was obligated to protect at school because she never hesitated to voice her blunt opinions, especially to those she thought sucked.

The same girl who saved the most sacred part of herself for her best friend. The girl who, without hesitation, turned down every single guy who promised they'd cherish such a precious gift. The girl who prayed to a God she didn't even believe in, hoping Jungkook would realize that the person who loved and cared for him most was right before his eyes all along.

All for that very boy to carelessly give his innocence to some random chick at a high school party, not even bothering to call her the next day.

That was the moment your perception of love shifted. That was the moment you stopped looking for what his words and touches could mean, and started seeing them for what they were. Friendly. Insincere. Meaningless.

You thought the day Jungkook confessed his feelings would be the happiest of your life. You imagined it would erase all the pain, all the tears, as if they were nothing more than a pathetic nightmare.

But you don't feel happy. You feel angry. Angry that the words you've longed to hear don't make you want to fall into his arms and never leave. Instead, they make you want to run and never come back.

So you do exactly that.

You ignore your phone and shoes lying on the pavement. You ignore your best friend's croaky shout of your name. You ignore that the stony road leading away from the University grounds only grows darker and darker the further you go. You ignore the sharp ache in your feet from the rocks beneath your bare soles. And you run.

You run faster than you ever have in your entire life. You run until your legs burn, unused to anything but your two weekly low-impact fucking pilate sessions. You run until Jungkook's yelling fades into the distance behind you.

You run until you can almost see the lights of the main street. You run until you hear his footsteps gaining on you, the stupid lacrosse captain clearing the distance twice as fast as you ever could. You run until the thumping of your heart drowns out the pain of the sticks and rubble digging into your feet.

You run until the light gets brighter. You run until the light gets closer. You run until you realize they aren't streetlights. You run until you realize it's the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. You run until you can't stop yourself quickly enough. You run until you hear the scream of your best friend behind you. You run until you don't feel the impact of the hit. You run until the world around you fades to black.

Your head hits the pavement hard, bouncing slightly.

Jungkook's arms are around you in an instant, cradling you close as he sobs, "No, no, no, baby, please."

The driver of the car, a college kid who looks just as shaken, gets out to check on you, his face pale and stricken.

"Go to the frat house and get Taehyung. Now." Jungkook barks at the boy, though his eyes never leave your face.

The kid nods frantically, dashing back towards campus, stumbling in his haste. Jungkook pays him no attention, his tears falling onto your face as he holds you tighter.

"Hold on, baby. It's okay. It's okay," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over his sobs. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

You lay limp in his embrace, your breathing shallow. His tears mix with the dirt and blood on your face as he presses his forehead against yours, his entire body shaking with sobs. He holds you tighter, rocking back and forth as he brushes the hair away from your face.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he sat there in the dark, the cold night air wrapping around you both. What was realistically no more than two minutes felt like two hours. The distant sounds of the campus were muffled, the world shrinking down to just the two of you. Jungkook's tears didn't stop, his heart breaking more and more with each passing second of your silence.

"Ow, fuck." You groan weakly.

Jungkook's grip tightens as he lifts his head. "Y/N," he chokes softly, his hand supporting your head as you try to sit up. "D-Don't try to move too much. We're gonna—we're gonna get you to the hospital, okay?"

You looked at him, your eyes filled with confusion and pain. "Did I really just get hit by a fucking car?"

He shook his head with a teary laugh, his fingers gently caressing your hair. "No," he sniffled. "I managed to tackle you b-before... But you hit your head when we fell. I'm so sorry."

You nodded slowly, your hand resting on his head when he rested it on your chest, and you couldn't help but run your fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry."

His breathing stops, and he looks at you with the most saddened expression you've ever seen. "W-why the fuck would you say that? Don't apologize. None of this is your fault," Jungkook shook his head, his tears falling anew.

"I'm sorry for saying I hate you," you said softly, your hand resting on the side of his neck as he trembled. "If anything’s going to teach me of all people a lesson, it’s a near-death experience...” You let out a pained laugh, “Would hate if that was the last thing I ever said to you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. "Y/N, you don't know how much I l—"

The sound of frantic footsteps interrupts him. Taehyung's voice calls out in panic, and within moments, he’s kneeling beside you, his face a mix of fear and relief.

"Oh fuck, Y/N," he said, his voice shaking as he quickly assesses your condition. "C'mon, we need to get you to a hospital," he says through teary eyes.

With Jungkook's help, you managed to get to your feet, leaning heavily on him for support. Taehyung saw you struggling to keep your balance and quickly scooped you into his arms, jogging over to his car he left running. He gently placed you in the backseat, and Jungkook was on the other side in an instant, getting you comfortable while your brother rushed to the driver's seat.

As you drove to the hospital, Jungkook didn’t let go of your hand.

Not as he forced you to drink from the water bottle Taehyung passed back to you. Not as he leaned your head on his chest, gently inspecting your scalp for any severe cuts or bleeding. Not as you grunted at him when he jiggled you slightly every time you closed your eyes for a second too long, worried that you were losing consciousness.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

"You've got a mild concussion," Dr. Choi said with a reassuring smile, her voice calm and professional. "You were fortunate. Your head hit the ground hard, but thankfully, there are no signs of severe trauma or bleeding."

Beside you, Jungkook's grip on your hand tightened. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his gaze fixed anxiously on the doctor. "So, she's going to be okay?"

In the cushioned armchair next to your hospital bed, your brother shifted slightly in his sleep. You reached over to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, careful not to wake him.

Lately, his roles as frat president, lacrosse captain, and his involvement in the family business had worn him thin. The exhaustion had overwhelmed him, and he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he settled into the chair. This really is the last thing he needs to be doing, and so with a final look of guilt, you let your brother rest and turned back to Dr. Choi.

Dr. Choi responded to Jungkook with a nod. "Yes, she'll be fine," she assured him. "Concussions can cause symptoms like dizziness, headache, nausea, and fatigue. She might feel drowsy and out of sorts for a few days, but with rest and avoiding any strenuous activities, she should recover fully within a week."

You blinked, your head still throbbing but feeling a bit more relieved. "So, I can go home?"

"Yes," the doctor confirmed, writing some notes on your chart. "I'm going to release you shortly. Make sure you rest, avoid any physical exertion, and stay hydrated. If you experience any worsening symptoms—like severe headache, vomiting, or confusion—come back immediately, okay?"

Jungkook gave the doctor a firm nod. "We will."

Dr. Choi smiled at him, a soft expression on her face. "Good. And make sure she avoids screens for a bit—no phones, no computers, no TV. Just rest."

You groan while Jungkook just signals his understanding.

As the doctor turned to leave the room and finalize your discharge papers, she glanced back with a knowing smile. "And maybe a break from the drama for a little while too?"

Jungkook's head hung low as he continued to gently caress the back of your hand with his thumb.

"No more boys and no more running into traffic, got it. Thanks, doc." You nodded at the middle-aged woman, who gave you one last amused look before leaving the room.

That was six days ago.

The throbbing ache and, more importantly, the big ugly bump that was once on your forehead have now almost completely faded. If it hadn't, and you were stuck with a permanent scar on your face, you would've hunted down the kid who nearly hit you with his car and told him to finish the job.

Speaking of that kid, he tried to reach out to you quite a few times since you've been absent from classes. He couldn't get in direct contact with you since Jungkook had confiscated all of your devices, but he was persistent. He bugged almost every person he knew to be a close friend of yours until finally, on the second to last day of your 'quarantine', being the chronic people-pleaser that he is, Jimin cracked and brought him to your penthouse.

You were lounging on the sofa, your head resting in Jungkook’s lap as he read aloud to you, when Jimin ushered him in. You felt Jungkook stiffen instantly, and it took your sitting up and pressing down on his thigh to keep him from lunging at the poor boy.

His name is Lee Yongbok, an exchange student from Australia. He's a freshman, 19 years old, and his Korean dialect is fucking adorable.

Yongbok’s eyes were brimming with tears when he saw you, apologies tumbling from his lips for what felt like an eternity before you gently cut him off.

You first asked him if he was crying at your appearance and he just shook his head with a wobbly lip and said he’s just really happy to see you. Thank god. You were worried there was another bump somewhere that Jungkook hadn’t told you about.

You told him it was okay, that it wasn't his fault. That you were the crazy lady who ran in front of his car. That he did nothing wrong.

He dropped to his knees at your kindness, something nobody had ever done before. In fact, "kind" was probably the last word anyone would ever use to describe you.

He offered to pay for any medical bills, any necessities, anything you might need or couldn't afford. You giggled at the thought.

You thanked him for coming to see you. You told him not to lose any sleep over it, that you're okay and he's okay. You gave him your number and told him that when your grouchy caregiver returns your phone, you'd send him a text.

When he was about to depart, he asked if he could give you a hug. You nodded, telling him to come closer because Jungkook's hand was not letting go of your waist.

Yongbok happily pulled you and Jungkook into a joint hug since he refused to move. Jungkook reluctantly participated, giving the kid a pat on the back while he snuggled you both and you couldn't stop the loud laugh that escaped your lips.

Yongbok thanked you one last time before he left with Jimin and Minji, telling you to please let him know if you think of anything you may need. What a sweet boy.

Aside from making amends with Yongbok, and your close friends visiting your penthouse throughout the week to bring your schoolwork and random gifts, you haven’t had much interaction with the outside world.

You haven’t seen Mingyu since that night.

In person, at least. You've been texting frequently and even FaceTimed a few times. His eye was healing well, for which you’re very grateful.

The night Jungkook brought you home after the hospital, you found several missed calls from Mingyu on your phone that Yoongi delivered when he saw it on the ground outside whilst taking Minji home.

Your device ban hadn’t started yet, so you called him back immediately and spent over two hours talking and crying. You apologized for everything you had dragged him into, and he insisted you had nothing to be sorry for.

Mingyu truly is the kindest and most gentle soul, and you’ll always regret hurting him the way you did.

During that conversation, he told you he loved you.

Even though it took a messed-up situation to realize it, you knew you had love for Mingyu too. He had always been there for you whenever you needed someone, whether the nights you spent together were fueled by lust and sexual frustration or not, they were meaningful and amazing. He made it so easy to love him, even if your feelings couldn’t match the depth of his.

Mingyu had undoubtedly gotten the short end of the stick in your relationship, always giving more than he received. In your newfound friendship, you are determined to make it up to him. And you will.

Jungkook, too, had been deeply affected by the night’s events. After you finished up with Mingyu, Jungkook took your phone when you handed it to him and disappeared for an hour.

As far as you know, Jungkook apologized and they talked it out. Neither of them like going into much detail with you about it, which is a little frustrating, but you respect their privacy and don’t push further.

Jungkook did come back into your room with red puffy eyes though, and you softly teased him about crying before you snuggled up together and watched a movie.

Jungkook had taken a week off classes to look after you. You rolled your eyes when he first told you, not taking him seriously. But when you woke up the next day, cuddled against his chest while he scrolled through his TikTok feed, you started to believe him.

And when you tried to lean up and see what he was watching, only for him to immediately turn the device away, adhering to the doctor's orders of no screens, you realized just how serious he was.

Over the past six days, you've fallen into a stupid little domestic routine. Now, as you're almost fully recovered and preparing to return to classes tomorrow, a grey cloud looms over you both. The topic you haven't dared to address since that night is getting closer, heavier. You can both feel it.

That's why, as Jungkook slowly packs his clothes into his overnight bag in preparation for tomorrow and you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your nails, the room is enveloped in a heavy silence.

You knew it was a bad idea to let him stay. To ignore everything that should've been sorted the first morning after the incident. But instead you chose to live in blissful ignorance for six days while you play fucking house.

But come on. Having Jungkook dote on you and care for you for an entire week? Please, that's every female student at Yonsei's wet dream. Quite a few guys, too.

You look up from your nails as he zips up his bag, kicking it to the corner of the room before resting the clothes he'll wear tomorrow on your dresser. He looks over at you, walking to the edge of the bed. For the first time in all the years you’ve consciously known him, he hesitates to touch you.

You blink at him, not moving, not saying anything.

Finally, Jungkook breaks the silence, his voice quiet and raspy, "Should we talk?"

You swallowed, nodding slightly. "Okay."

He sits down beside you, close but not touching. "I meant it, you know. Everything I said."

You hesitate, your gaze fixed down on your painted toes. "And what did you say?"

You can feel his eyes on you, but you don't look up. He brushes some hair—that's growing out nicely as you put it—behind his ear before taking a deep breath. He can't fuck this up.

"I've been in love with you since I learned what love was."

The room goes silent. Neither of you dare to even breathe.

"Wha-huh?"

"I've been in love with you ever since I learned what love was," You repeat.

You finally look at him, and he can't decipher the expression on your face. His eyes flicker between yours, searching for any sign that this is a prank, that Minji is about to burst in with a camera and tell him he's on live television.

"Maybe even before that," you continue, "but I just didn't know what it meant."

Jungkook’s heart races, each beat erratic and intense. He feels like he's about to pass the fuck out.

"No," he croaks.

You blink, "No?"

"No," he shakes his head, "you can't. Y-you can't be. That's not—you're n—what—what the fuck?"

You watch, silent, as he struggles with your revelation, the weight of your words clearly unsettling him.

Oh, you think. You've freaked him out by dropping the L word.

Well, you definitely misread the room there.

It’s not like you haven’t said "I love you" before. You tell each other that often enough—when he drops you off somewhere, at the end of your phone calls, when you give each other random gifts that remind you of the other.

But "I'm in love with you"? Yeah, that one’s a bit new…

Your stomach tightens, but you stay quiet, watching as his hand moves desperately through his hair, as if he doesn’t know what to do.

After a few minutes, he stops and turns to you. He didn't plan for it to go this way. He doesn't know what to fucking do.

You sigh, “I know this changes shit. Ruins everything. I thought I had it under control, but I really don't. And I'm not strong enough to keep pretending. So, if you're okay with still being in each other's lives, we need to set some clear boundari—"

"I fucking love you, Y/N." He kneels in front of you, taking one of your hands into both of his larger ones. "I've been obsessed with you since your mom brought you over to my house when we were five, and you told me my eyes looked like boba pearls."

You look into his eyes as he says that. They really do remind you of tapioca pearls…

"I can't remember a single day of my entire life where I haven't been in love with you. There is no me without you. You are all I can see when I think of my past and all I can see when I think of my future. No matter what you are to me, you're there. In every plan I make. In every dream I have. It's you. It's always been you."

You bite the inside of your bottom lip, fighting back tears. You’ve cried more in the last week than you have in your entire adult life.

"We are so fucking stupid." You sniffle, tipping your head back slightly to try and blink the tear up into your duct.

"We are," he agrees, gently tilting your head down and running his thumb under your lash line to catch the tear.

Once your face is dry, Jungkook's thumb travels down and brushes lightly over your bottom lip. He smiles when it feels exactly as he had imagined, another item mentally ticked off his bucket list.

You're about to ask if he's high when he suddenly springs into action, tackling you back onto the bed. You bounce slightly against the mattress as he holds himself up, careful not to squash you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck as you try, and fail, to suppress a smile at the idiot above you.

"It fucking sucked seeing you with other guys," he confesses, the words he’s been holding back for years finally breaking free.

Your fingers dance across his back, tracing idle patterns on the fabric of his shirt as you respond, “It fucking sucked seeing you with other girls.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you, a pout on his lips. "You should've told me, and I would've—"

“You should've told me!” you interject, giving him a playful smack on the chest. His frown deepens for a moment before breaking into a wide, uncontrollable grin.

He buries his head back into your neck, and you can feel him smiling against you. "You're such a loser," you giggle as you feel his teeth on your neck, not in a sexy biting way but because he's literally fucking grinning against you.

Time slips by quietly as your fingers sketch invisible designs across his back. Eventually, he breaks the comfortable silence. “Do you think we knew?” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin.

“Hmm?” you hum, your hand pausing in its motion to thread through his hair.

He shivers slightly under your touch before elaborating, “Do you think we knew that we were in love with each other?”

Your movements resume, alternating between letting his hair slip through your fingers and gentle scalp scratches. “Yeah, I think so."

He nestles closer, the sensation of your nails against his scalp coaxing a suppressed groan from him. "Why do you think we didn't say anything?"

"I don't know," you reply honestly. "Maybe we were too comfortable. Or maybe we were scared of what it would actually mean."

Jungkook lifts his gaze to meet yours, searching your eyes for answers. “What does it mean?” he asks quietly.

You smile, continuing to play with his hair. “You have a lot of questions,” you tease gently.

His nose scrunches at your evasive reply, and you run your finger down the bridge of it. "Such a pretty nose," you hum.

His eyes flutter shut at the touch, then snap open again. “You’re distracting me.”

The corners of your lips tug upwards. "Am I?"

He nods, making no move to stop the traces of your digit along his face. When your finger brushes the edge of his lip, he turns his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of your finger, his actions drawing a gentle smile from you.

"You don't—do you not want to," he starts, hesitating mid-sentence before pushing himself to continue, “be with me?”

You bite your lip thoughtfully, finishing your gentle explorations of his face, your hand settling back onto his back. “I want to be with you more than anything else in the world, Gukkie.”

He lets out a breath of relief at your words, but his face falls slightly when he senses your hesitation. "But?"

"But," you say softly, "I'm scared. I'd rather have you in my life as my best friend than not have you at all if things don't work out."

He shakes his head, his hand cupping your face gently. “I told you. No matter what you are to me, I want you in my life. Isn’t that the same for you?”

"Of course it is, but you can't guarantee we'll feel this way in—"

“You’re such a beautiful,” he interrupts, planting a soft kiss on your jaw, “intelligent,” another on your neck, “incredible,” he continues down to your collarbone, “pessimist.” He finishes with a kiss just above your heart.

He gazes up at you with a mischievous grin as you narrow your eyes at him. "I will always want you in my life, no matter what shit ends up happening. Even if you tell me you hate me, or you like, fuck my dad or something…" He looks at you seriously, and you roll your eyes, unable to stifle your snicker.

"Well, your dad is kind of a DILF—"

“I’ll never willingly leave your life. And I’ll never do anything to make you want me to leave. And I promise you, on everything that is holy,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to a tender spot below your ear, “I’ll want you in mine for the rest of my fucking days.”

“You better,” you tease, his smile pressing into your skin before you grow serious, “because I can’t lose you.”

Jungkook’s sigh warms your skin, his nose nudging your head back as he murmurs, “You really don’t understand just how obsessed I am with you, do you, baby?”

His gaze lingers on your exposed throat, tracing every swallow, every breath. Unable to resist, he leans in, his lips finding the base of your throat, humming in contentment at the little noise you make.

Slowly, he makes his way to the side of your supple neck, his lips never detaching from your skin on his journey. You feel his breath as he hovers over the area for a second in pausing, and you wonder if it's because he can hear your heart slamming against your ribcage.

No strenuous activities.

His lips finally latch onto the skin of your neck and you feel the tiniest flick of his tongue as he suckles at the flesh.

Avoid physical exertion.

You let out the softest, breathiest fucking moan he's ever heard, and he pulls off your neck with a wet pop. His bunny teeth poke out to nibble at the now moist skin as he slowly moves to your collarbone.

Make sure you rest.

His kisses get lower, hotter, wetter, until finally, his face hovers over your thin little sleep shirt that he's considered throwing down the garbage disposal since you put it on. Bra, nowhere in sight, your hardened nipples taunt him through the pathetic excuse of a t-shirt. He glances up at you with eyes darkened with desire.

Fuck it, you've had enough rest.

You slide your hands up the back of his neck and dra him down to you, your lips meeting his with urgency. You swallow the surprised groan that escapes him, his arms framing your face as he looms over you.

Jungkook feels the tension in his muscles melt away as he surrenders to you. When you part your lips slightly, inviting him closer, he doesn't hesitate.

Your body ignites when his tongue slips into your mouth, lapping against yours and exploring as if it had always belonged there. As your back arches towards him instinctively, he slips large hand behind it, pressing you flush against him.

The countless times he's imagined this exact scenario could easily label him a certified stalker, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. He was absolutely fucked.

You're lost in the sensation, the warm air of your bedroom enveloping you blissfully. Nothing but the sounds of your mouths moving against each other's, tongues melting into one. Jungkook swallows the breathy whimper that escapes your lips with pride, his hips shifting forward at the fact that he's the one drawing such a noise from you. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him down, urging him to erase any space left between you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he chokes out, parting from your lips to suck in a deep breath as he feels the warmth between your thighs through his sweatpants.

"I know," you nod dumbly, mind foggy as you grind your hips into his desperately.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "It's never fucking felt like this," he confesses, each word punctuated with a thrust that draws a deeper moan from your lips.

"I know," you whine in agreement, your left arm linking around the back of his neck as you meet his movements, your entire body responding to his every move.

It hasn't felt like this. Ever. You've thought that you've had some pretty good sex in your life, but this is… different. All you’ve done is kiss and grind a little, and yet you can feel those tingles in your fucking toes that people always sing about.

It would be easy to say that it's because it's been eight long days since your last orgasm, but you know that's not the case. It's because it's him.

You've never wanted a cock in you so badly. Especially not after just three measly minutes of dry humping. But god, you're so turned on right now you're pretty sure if he pulled your panties to the side, it would spray at him like a fucking fire hydrant. As you said, it's been eight days; you're a little feral right now…

You feel him stiffening through his sweats, your back arching a little more as you shift and wiggle to try and usher his covered cock through the folds of your covered pussy.

Jungkook's hips stutter when he feels you trying to line him up, and his head jerks up to look at you. He drinks in your blissed-out features; lip between your teeth, head tilted slightly, eyes closed. So pretty.

Your eyes flutter open at the long pause in his movements, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight.

Cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen, eyes hooded.

You almost let a giggle slip when you see the similarities between his horny face and his drunk face.

"Do you want to take a nap?"

You blink at him.

"I'm sorry?"

The pink tinge that coats his cheeks creeps down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. "I just thought—"

"What?" you ask, maaaybe a little offended, "you don't wanna fuck me?"

His brows furrow as he sits up, his heels resting under his butt as he stares at you like you've just kicked a puppy before his very eyes. "First of all, I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you since you made me pop my first boner at your dumb little pool party—"

"Jeongguk," you cringe, "we were like twe—"

"I've never wanted to fuck someone more than I. want. to. fuck. you." You almost laugh at the serious expression on his face but bite it back when you notice the undertone of worry in his gaze.

"I just want it to be perfect," he sighs, his tattooed hand lifting to brush through his hair, one of his nervous tics. "There's so much I want to do... and I want it all to be, like, perfect... god, Y/N, I'm being such a little bitch—"

"No," you cut him off simply, "you're being really fucking hot."

He looks at you with a slight pout as you shoot him a small smile before sitting up and mirroring his position. Your bare knees touch his that are covered by the gray Celine sweatpants you bought him last Christmas as a stocking stuffer. You're a good deal shorter than him, so your head is tilted up slightly, blinking at him slowly through your lashes.

You watch his gaze soften and you internally smirk. There we go.

You've waited far too long for the man sitting in front of you on your queen-sized bed—staring at you with more lust than you know what to do with—to prolong this any longer.

You can have your perfect night when you're not a week into an unplanned celibacy course, and your clit doesn't feel like it's going to shrivel up and snap off if left unattended any longer.

"If you want to wait, we'll wait." You shrug as you look from his left eye to his right, then down to his swollen lips. "But I haven't touched myself in eight days... And it hurts, Gukkie."

Your head hits the pillow as his mouth is back on yours in an instant. You moan in satisfaction, your lips parting eagerly to let him in further. Your legs wrap back around his waist happily, and your foot trails down to rub soft patterns against his hamstring while his tongue plays with yours.

"This is just a practice run," he grunts as he separates from you, kissing his way down your chest before he gets to the valley of your breasts.

"Yeah, yeah, grace period, whatever you want, baby, just keep going," you blurt in a huff, eyes closed in anticipation as his mouth is about to finally do some damage.

You almost scream when he stops.

You snap your eyes open and look down at the son of a bitch breathing hot air onto your already hot skin while he just smiles at you.

"Say that again."

"Say wha—"

"Baby. You called me baby, say it again."

You stare at him for a moment, your idea to tease him diminishing with the last of your patience.

"Baby," you add a shy pout to really sell it and fiddle with the hem of your shirt, "can you suck on them for a little?"

You watch as Jungkook's smile fades and his eyes unfocus, like he just transported into a different state. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he nods once, almost to himself, before he takes the bottom of your shirt that's ridden up to your belly button and lifts it to rest under your chin. Your tits bounce slightly as they spill from the fabric, and he lets out a soft "fuck" before diving in.

His hot mouth latches to your left nipple, groaning when he feels the bud pebble against his tongue. His lips pucker around the nub, sucking it into his mouth desperately, and he lets out a loud moan. This is it. This is heaven, he thinks.

Your legs shakily unlatch from around his waist, and you rest your feet on the mattress, your knees bent and pressing against his sides while he makes out with your tits.

His teeth graze gently over your nipple before he gives it a little nibble, which causes your back to arch. Doing so forces more of your boob into his mouth and he lets out a low muffled groan through a mouthful of your flesh.

"Mmmf've wanted these in my mouth for a long fucking time..." He slurs when he pulls back. His big hands cup your big tits, his gaze concentrated and focused as he jiggles and plays with them, like he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Do you wanna fuck them?"

Jungkook lets out a loud groan at your filthy words, spoken with such an innocent tone his cock is almost confused as it swells like a fucking water balloon in his pants.

His left hand continues to rub soothingly at one of your tender nipples while the other slips down between you. He looks up at the blurry need in your eyes, and his traveling hand almost misses the waistband of his sweats.

"I always knew you were dirty," he breathes out, the words muffled as he plants soft, wet kisses on each of your nipples, sending shivers down your spine. With a strained groan, he frees his painfully hard erection from the confines of his briefs. "But fuck, baby, this is gonna kill me."

God, the way he says baby. Straight to the fucking core.

You tap his bum with your foot and a pretty smile, sitting up on the bed when he lifts his frame to let you slide out. His angry red cock is flush against his stomach, only the top few inches visible from the briefs that rose back up to cover him.

He lets you usher him to sit at the edge of your bed, his feet digging into your fluffy rug as he tries to ground himself while you settle. Your shirt is still being held up on its own because your tits won't let it fucking fall and Jungkook shakes his head in awe at the sight. Fucking unbelievable.

The moment you kneel on the ground, the tops of your feet flat against the carpet as you lean up slightly, your eyes fixate on his throbbing cock like it's a priceless painting. Jungkook loses his mind.

Your eyes slowly lift to his when you hear his heaved, choky breathing. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you fight the urge to smile. "You're so pretty, Gukkie."

"You're prettier, baby," he replies without missing a beat, one hand supporting his weight on the bed while the other gently caresses your face.

A radiant smile spreads across your lips as you turn your face to place a fleeting kiss on his palm. His lips tug upwards at the action before the air is suddenly ripped from his lungs.

Leaning forward, you pull his briefs fully down, unsheathing his entire shaft. You tug the boxers and sweatpants so they rest under his balls, cooing at the way the elastic slightly pushes up his length, making it even angrier as a dribble of liquid gathers at the tip. You lift his shirt absentmindedly to get it out of the way, and he understands, lifting a hand to the back of the neckline and pulling it off his torso.

You barely have a chance to appreciate his tight abs, tiny waist, sinful ink that coats his skin, or the sparkling Cartier chain that dangles from his neck, a mirror of your own.

Your head tilts as you admire the prettiest dick you've ever had in front of you, each vein and ridge perfectly imperfect, complementing each other in a way that would look strange if a single one were to go missing. "Needa..." you hum, entranced, "get it wet first."

"Fuckkkkk," Jungkook moans as you lean down and lick a fat strip from the base of his balls all the way up his shaft, sucking the tip into your mouth.

Your eyes flutter closed on their own, the feeling of his heavy cock weighing your tongue down, making you drowsy and floaty. The scent of your body wash wafts from his skin, igniting a possessive fire in your gut you didn't even know you had as you suckle at the head. The moment he twitches against your tongue, any thought of titty-fucking flies right out your penthouse window. You're not letting him out of your mouth.

"Ohhh-hhh," he stammers as your tongue focuses on the ridge of his tip, lapping at his frenulum like it's your favorite blueberry flavored lollipop.

His hand, which had dropped back to the bed when you took him in your mouth, lifts to run through your hair, brushing it out of your face when it threatens to get in the way of your masterwork. Your eyes blink open in thanks, looking up at him dazedly, and when you catch his own, he throws his head back with a groan.

"Fuck!" He curses as you hum around his shaft, letting your lips part slightly so saliva can drip from your mouth and trail down his cock. His head snaps up to watch as you keep pushing more spit until you deem there enough before your right-hand lifts to clasp around the member.

Jungkook's eyes roll back, the grunts falling from his lips not even registering in his brain as they spew. "Fuck, baby," he huffs out. You wiggle your fingers until you have a good hold on his cock before giving it a few lazy squeezes to get the blood pumping.

"Fucking fuck!" He's absolutely done for, his entire vocabulary vanishing from his mind as you play with his dick like a joystick. Your tongue gives a final flick to lap up the precum spilling from his glan before you inhale deeply through your nose and start to feed the shaft down your throat.

The walls of your throat contract slightly as his thick girth tests your boundaries, but you push through the resistance and force it further until your lips reach your hand gripping the base of his cock.

"Oh my fucking god," Jungkook almost falls backward, but the hand that's not holding your hair out of the way steadies his balance, shaking as it works to keep him upright.

His hips jerk unconsciously when you move your hand from the base, resting it gently against his balls as you inhale through your nose again and finish him off. "Baby! B-fuck!" Jungkook would like to say that it was a manly groan, but it was a pure and outright whine.

His vocality goes straight to your cunt, your clit aching and throbbing against your underwear, screaming at you to let it breathe. You resist the urge to trail a hand down and relieve the pain, instead using it to cup Jungkook's full ballsack and roll it between your fingers. His whines get louder at that, and you almost smile around his cock.

You wait until you feel the familiar sensation of the cockhead tickling the back of your throat, the automatic gag rising through your entire body, making you swallow harshly against his shaft. 

When you swallow, you rid the excess saliva that was in your mouth, so you lift off for a second to gather more. As you do, you look up to your best friend and see him staring down at you like you hung the stars, and the smile finally breaks its way to your lips.

You lean up to give him a kiss, and he meets you halfway, his hand falling from your hair to cup your face as he melts into your mouth. It's short, sweet, and soft, yet it makes your entire body flush with goosebumps.

"I love you so much," Jungkook breathes when you pull away, and you coo at the softy, pressing a gentle kiss against his pretty nose.

"I love you more, my Gukkie," you reply sweetly before returning to the task at hand.

"Not possi—" his words are cut off when you let a stream of saliva drip from your mouth before taking him down in one swift motion.

"Oh," he moans, both hands gathering your hair into a loose ponytail, following the rise and fall of your head as you deepthroat his cock. "Oh, fuck. Yeah, fucking shittt."

You quicken your pace, your right hand like a magnet below your lips, gliding up and down his length as you squeeze it intermittently, picking up on the subtle jerks of his hips. The spit coating his cock squelches with every stroke, the filthy noise echoing in your bedroom, making your hips shift against the heels of your feet. You're so turned on. Why is his dick so fucking pretty?

Your mouth is lethal, dragging all the way until the only thing left in your cave is the tip before gulping all the way back to the base. "Yesss, baby," he chokes, "taking it so well, my baby. So fucking well."

His praise loosens the final screw in your hazy brain, your hand on the base moving to grip his thigh as you gurgle as deep as you can, the tip brushing against your uvula. You gag, hard and loud, spit spilling from your lips as your teary eyes squeeze shut. Your nails dig into his skin, and he lets out the loudest moan of the night, his hips jerking forward roughly, forcing another gag from your throat.

"Mmmmmfh," you moan desperately, squeezing his thigh tightly and running your free hand back to his balls. You roll the sack in your hand, lifting your head up and down his cock with no mercy, sloppily choking on his throbbing length.

His hands tangled in your hair are shaking, his abdomen tensing as he's overwhelmed with pleasure. "God, look at you just taking it all babyy, hhffuckk,” he praises through a grunt, watching the saliva spill out from the corners of your mouth, dripping down to his balls while you fondle them. “Best fucking girl, you know that? Making me feel so fucking good. Just want me to come down your tight little throat, don’t you, my baby?"

Your eyes roll back behind your closed lids as you nod pathetically with a mouthful of his cock. You lift off with a wet pop, your eyes blinking open as you guide your hand from cupping his balls up to his shaft. You jerk him tight and sloppily before leaning down and taking his sac into your mouth. It's big, barely fitting in your mouth, but you force your jaw wider, using your tongue to usher his balls inside.

"Ahhhhffuck," Jungkook whines, his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your tongue laps around his balls ruthlessly as you quicken your tugs on his shaft. When you moan greedily, wiggling your head as the sac pulses and rolls against your tongue, Jungkook feels the familiar sensation flooding his body. It's faster and harder than ever before. He tries to gesture you off him, afraid if he speaks he will lose control, but you don't relent.

"Baby, y-you gotta hop off," he heaves, his ass cheeks clenching together to try and hold off the urge to cum.

"Mm-mm." You hum a no through a mouthful of ballsack, eyes fluttering open to look up at the gorgeous man trying to take away your meal. Your hand, running amok on his cock twists and squeezes, never halting as you blink up at Jungkook through your lashes.

"Ah," he whines with a shake of his head, his hips thrusting into the air, your mouth jolting with the movement as it's attached to his balls. You hum happily, tongue flicking against them. You can't wait to see his cum dripping down his abs—

Your mouth is ripped from his balls, hand unwillingly releasing his cock as he throws you back onto your bed with purpose. "Hey—"

Jungkook swallows your whine with his mouth, cutting off your thoughts at the source when his tongue delves through your lips, lapping at the taste of him lingering on your tongue. He successfully makes you forget what unimportant thing you were going to say as he devours you, your mouths moving together, sloppy and wet.

He pulls your tongue into his mouth and suckles on the muscle while his hand runs gently over your still-exposed nipple before trailing down to your shorts. Jungkook groans around your tongue when he brushes lightly over your heat, feeling the fabric coating your pussy-lips wet to the touch.

With a final suck on your tongue, he lets it slide back into your mouth before parting from your lips. He looks down at the area he's tracing light strokes on, and his cock twitches at the sight.

"Oh, baby..." He coos, his thumb running over the wet patch in awe before looking to you. Your lip is drawn between your teeth as you nibble lightly on the flesh, eyes clouded as you stare at him with a mellow haze. "So wet, pretty... Gukkie didn't give her any attention, and she's all achy now, hmm?"

"Mmhm," you nod softly, the pout on your face still visible even with your lip tugged between your teeth. Jungkook pulls his gaze from his thumb and looks at you, all soft and sweet, just for him.

"Need the ache to go away, don't you, pretty?" He mumbles against your mouth, not applying pressure but just letting your lips rest against each other.

"Yes, please, Gukkie." You respond, voice soft as you stare at his lips patiently, waiting for him to give them to you.

"Good manners, baby," he praises delicately before leaning forward and giving you a slow, gentle kiss. You melt into him, the sound of his pleased sigh making your muscles all mushy.

Jungkook pulls back and then presses three quick, rapid kisses against your lips, making you giggle. That seemed to be his goal when the side of his mouth curved upwards at your laugh as he lifted himself off your frame.

He kicks off his sweatpants the rest of the way, and they fall to the floor next to your bed, but he tucks his still painfully hard cock back into his black briefs to hold it for the time being.

Jungkook looks down at his effortlessly beautiful best friend, lying prettily on her bed, hair sprawled out against the pillow while she waits for him to take her any way he desires. Teenage him would be freaking the fuck out if he could see him right now.

His gaze drags slowly up your body, a lingering moment spent on the meat of your thighs, and he swallows before finally locking onto the space between.

You try to will yourself to be patient despite the aching throb coming from your heat, but your leg betrays you and twitches slightly. Jungkook catches the movement instantly.

"Gonna flip you on your tummy, okay baby?" he says distractedly, eyes never straying from the wet patch on your shorts.

"Oka—"

You don't get to finish your sentence before his hands are on your hips and he flips you as gently as a horny lacrosse captain can. A surprised squeak slips out when your face hits the mattress, and you both giggle, Jungkook leaning down to kiss your shoulder with a soft, sorry pretty.

Jungkook has always been a tits guy. Tried and true. It may have stemmed from growing up with a best friend that he was hopelessly in love with who happened to develop the greatest rack he'd ever seen in his life... But right now, as Jungkook stares at your soft, round asscheeks stuffed into those little cotton sleep shorts, he's beginning to rethink his entire life choices.

He kneels at the edge of the bed, using your ankle to gently pull you further toward him. You slide down the bed without any complaints, trying not to arch your back so you can be even closer to him.

Jungkook continues his ministrations on your curves before trailing up to the waistband of your shorts. He pulls them done, your panties coming with them, and he groans at the way the flesh ripples when released from the fabric. He grabs a greedy handful of each cheek with his big hands and gives them a rough squeeze, relishing in the way you push back into his grip.

"So pretty, my baby," he hums, continuing to knead the flesh as he dips to pepper kisses all over the flushed skin.

You whine, your hips grinding into the bed in an attempt to put some pressure on your ignored clit. He notices your movements and presses one last kiss to your right asscheek before sitting back and pulling your bottoms off fully. They fall into a pile next to his discarded sweatpants, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the freedom from the confines.

When one of Jungkook's hands slips between your belly and the mattress, you can't stop the noise of satisfaction that leaves you when he gently ushers you to your hands and knees. You quickly tug your top the rest of the way off, slinking it over your head and handing it back blindly to Jungkook. He takes it from you instantly, chucking it at the growing pile of clothes next to him.

On instinct, you fall to your forearms, nipples rubbing against your duvet as you arch your back, biting your lip when even the warm air of your bedroom feels cool against your burning cunt.

"Fucking hell..." Jungkook chokes out, the sight of your soaked pussy spread and bearing for him, making his mouth water.

"Ah-fuck!" A high-pitched squeal rips from your throat when he leans down and delivers a long, broad lick up your slit.

He lets out a loud moan into your pussy when you jerk back into him at the feeling. You're so fucking wet from being so worked up, and his cock throbs against his briefs at the taste of your juices leaking onto his tongue. Jungkook's hands slide to the front of your thighs to steady you as he loses himself, his tongue wrapping your clit, sucking the hardening nub messily into his mouth. "Mmmmfh," he sighs contently like he was taking a sip of a well-made café latte instead of feasting on your cunt like a madman.

When he releases your clit, dragging the flat of his tongue from the button all the way to your opening, your knees buckle. "Yes, Gukkie, fuckk yes!" You cry, writhing against his sinful tongue.

Jungkook almost purrs in delight, lapping up the slick between your folds, trying to get every last drop. His tongue finds its way to the entrance of your core, teasingly dipping in and out once, twice, before he loses control and thrusts it as far as it can go. "Uhhh-shhhittt," your head falls forward with a shuddery gasp, your walls clenching around his tongue, pulling a low groan from him.

Jungkook's hands slide up from your thighs to rest on your asscheeks, and before you can process the realization that he hasn't used his fingers on you yet, he's gripping the flesh and pulling you harshly into his face. "Uh!" You moan, your ass flush against his face as he buries himself, nose and tongue, right into your cunt.

"Hhhhhhhhhh," you're not even saying words anymore, just useless, incoherent noises spluttering from your lips as you quiver, grinding your pussy back into his face.

He tries not to focus on your other hole, the tight little puckered fucking one that's basically blinking at him. Taunting him. He closes his eyes as he focuses on losing himself in your pussy. Another day, he thinks.

Jungkook's mouth is covered in your juice, his head shaking from side to side as he drags his tongue furiously around your cunt. The filthy sound of your sopping pussy getting devoured by his tongue resounds around your bedroom, Jungkook's hips rutting into the edge of your bed needily.

"Yes, Gukkie, yes!!! So good babyyyy--ohhh fuckkkk!" You scream, your nails digging into the mattress as you grind your pussy back into his face.

Jungkook's eyes roll back, his moans getting swallowed by your slick folds. Fuck oxygen, he hopes he passes out.

He takes one of the hands resting on your ass and brings a finger to your leaky entrance. He pulls away for a millisecond to suck in a breath before dropping down instantly and enveloping your clit with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth. And with that, he finally pushes his middle finger into your hole.

You try to moan, but with the pressure on your clit and the sensation of finally being filled, the only sound that escapes is a strangled gasp. He lets your clit slip out of his mouth before his tongue quickly darts out to flick against it vigorously, his finger delving deeper into your hole with every jab of his tongue.

Your body shudders as he expertly works his tongue and finger in tandem, each movement driving you closer to the edge. "G-Gukkie, I'm so fucking close," you whimper, your thighs trembling around his head.

Jungkook's free hand tightens on your ass, pulling you even closer as he tries to add a second finger, his eyebrows furrowing at the resistance. "Relax baby, gotta let Gukkie in." He gives a particularly hard tongue of your clit, a pleased hum declared into your pussy when he feels your walls loosen to let his other slip in.

His tongue flicks faster, more determined, as he feels your walls flutter around his digits. He pulls back a hair to mumble against your clit, "You can let go now, my baby. I've got you."

With a harsh flick of his tongue and a curl of his fingers, you tense up. "Oh my fuck, Gukkie, yes!" You cry out, your body convulsing as he pounds against your g-spot with his thick fingers. Your eyes roll back, a final scream ripping from your throat as you shatter, your orgasm ripping you apart from the inside out.

Jungkook doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers relentless as they pull every last drop of pleasure from your shaky core. The hand of his that is still gripping your ass slips up to gently rub against your back when you collapse into the mattress.

Tears well in your eyes as Jungkook delivers a final drag of his tongue from your bud to your hole, swallowing every last drop of juice leaking from your cunt. He withdraws his fingers carefully, replacing them with soft, soothing strokes along your inner thighs.

It takes you a solid minute to come down from your high, your limbs still tingling from the hardest orgasm you've had in, well, ever. Jungkook continues his soft strokes against your thighs while you catch your breath, his head spinning and mouth still coated in your remnants.

"I get it now." Your voice is muffled by the comforter you face planted into, and you currently don't have the strength to get up.

"Hm?" Jungkook hums amusedly, his hand still tracing gently over your skin.

"Why girls always want your dick so bad. I get it now. If your tongue is that good, fucking hell..."

Jungkook snorts, leaning down to press a kiss on your lower back before flopping down to lay next to you. You finally lift your head from the blanket to look at your best friend, who's already smiling down at you, his tattooed arm tucked behind his head while he rests against the headboard.

His brow raises when you giggle suddenly and sit up. He doesn't have time to admire your bare tits almost in his face when your hand lifts up to his mouth. You're still giggling as you wipe at the shiny substance that coats his lips. A shocked gasp leaves Jungkook's lips, and he grabs your hand in a flash, his eyes holding clouds of pure betrayal.

"Why would you do that?" He's genuinely upset!

It's your turn to snort this time, lifting a leg over his lap so you're straddling him. "I'm sorry, Gukkie." You entertain him with an amused eye roll, leaning in to plant a sweet kiss against his lips.

Jungkook dissolves into the kiss, about to deepen it when you pull away. His eyes snap open, ready to protest, when suddenly your tongue flicks out, dragging flat across his lips to gather your slick that coats his mouth.

"Mm," you hum, making sure to get every bit around the corner of his lips and even the speck of gloss you see on the tip of his nose.

Jungkook is frozen. His cock thrashes against his briefs as he stares at you in complete awe, your tongue sliding back into your mouth to swallow the juices—your juices—that you just lapped up from his fucking lips.

Your lip darts between your teeth as you try not to laugh at his darkened expression. Looking down at the source of the throbbing against your bare pussy, you let out a teasing coo. "That looks really sore, Gukkie..."

Jungkook swallows. He needs to calm down or he's going to pin you into the mattress and fuck you open, raw.

"It is." He manages to choke out.

You pout, lifting your gaze back to him. "Don't want you to be sore."

"You don't?" He returns softly, dragging his hand over your bare thigh.

You shake your head so cutely that he almost shivers. You lean closer, gaze flickering from his pretty nose and then back to his eyes. "I could make the pain go away if you want..."

"Yeah? You wanna make Gukkie feel better, pretty?"

You nod, the hazy feeling taking over again as he runs his hands gently up your hips, resting gently on the swell of your ass.

You lift off him slightly, his hands moving with you as they're glued to your bum. Jungkook bites his lip at the wet patch you left on his boxers, and he thanks God he did because it muffles the pitchy groan that escapes him when your hand slithers beneath his waistband.

His eyes flutter shut when you give his painfully red cock a few gentle strokes, his head dropping back to hit the headboard.

"Baby," you giggle, "you're so fucking hard."

He lifts his head to give you a deadpanned fucking obviously look, and you just snicker, leaning forward to kiss his pouty lips.

"Oh no. Fuck."

He jerks forward slightly at your serious tone, his hands moving from your butt to cup the one of yours that froze around his dick worriedly. "Huh? What's wrong?"

Your eyes soften as you don't respond verbally, a devastated look clouding your gaze. He sits up seriously now. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I don't have any condoms." Your brows are pulled together so tightly, which Jungkook still doesn't like, but he releases a breath at your words.

"Fuck, Y/N. Don't do that. You scared me, I thought you were hurt or something." His head falls back to rest against your headboard in relief instead of pleasure this time.

You frown. "Why aren't you upset? Oh, did you bring some?" Jungkook almost laughs at the thought, lifting his head to watch as you release his dick to glance behind you at his overnight bag.

"What-no, baby. Of course I didn't bring condoms. This is probably the last thing I ever expected to happen."

Your pout is in full swing now, turning back to Jungkook with a very unhappy look. He just shakes his head at your pretty face, planting his hands on the mattress beside him and pushing up to press your lips to his.

When you pull away, Jungkook is about to ask if you want to grind on him over his briefs because he would be finished in approximately thirty seconds—

"I'm on the pill." You say softly.

He swallows. "I know."

"Do you-are you clean?"

"Yeah," he chokes out, "haven't ever not used a condom. And tested after that scare the other week with...uh..."

"Did you really forget her name?" You squint, shaking your head incredulously at his genuine look of confusion.

"I-uh, yeah I don't know... All I remember is that it kinda burned when I peed—"

You roll your eyes. "Her name," you press a quick kiss to his lips, "was Yejin."

"Ohh, yeah—"

"You also did that stupid 10-packet spicy ramen challenge that day." Another quick kiss to his lips.

"Hey, that was for a fundraiser—"

"And I'm clean... Tested with Mingyu."

"Oh." Jungkook's heartbeat picks up. Not at the Mingyu part, okay maybe a little, but mostly at the fact that you're hinting at him taking you fucking raw right now.

Your lips purse, his response suddenly making you feel stupid for asking. Jungkook picks up on the look instantly, his hands cradling your face when you try to look away.

"Baby," you're about to apologize when he continues, "it's your choice. I'd fuck you wrapped in a garbage bag if you asked me to."

Your lips wiggle as you try not to smile, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes. "You're really cute, Gukkie."

"Oh?" He hums, "I thought I was a pussy eating God... but cute works too I guess."

You snicker, falling into his lips and he swallows your soft giggles with his tongue. "So humble," you whisper against his lips when you break away.

Jungkook's about to tease further, but you don't give him the chance, your hand slipping back down to wrap around his shaft. A soft shudder leaves him, his hands falling from your face to grip your ass again, squeezing it firmly.

You're still a bit sensitive, but nothing you can't handle, and you shift forward a little so the lips of your pussy press against his length.

"Oh-fuck." He moans at the feeling of a bare pussy on his cock. And it's your pussy. Holy fuck.

You place both your hands on his thick thighs, leaning back to get the right angle before you slide your hips up and down, dragging his length through your wet slit. Jungkook's hands sprawl over your back when you lean back, cradling you almost, and he keens at the sloppy, squishy sounds that fill the room.

Your clit is alive again, thumping against his cock every time it drags through your lips, and you heave out a strained moan at the fresh wave of arousal that washes over you.

Your hand pushes against Jungkook's chest gently as you sit up, determined. He lets himself fall back against the headboard, face flushed, neck vein visible, while he watches intently. Your knees press into the mattress on either side of his thighs as you lean forward, your hand reaching behind you blindly to grip his shaft before you line it up with your entrance.

Your brows furrow, and you bite your bottom lip hard as you try to press the bulbous head in. Your opening does its best to stretch around the intruder and you let out a relieved whine when it finally gets sucked in.

"Fuck." Jungkook whimpers, his head slamming back hard against the headboard. Your walls burn as you struggle to accommodate his huge length, and he can fucking feel it.

You let the tingles flooding up your spine settle for a second. Then, you take a big breath, and drop.

"Mother fuckkkkk." Jungkook groans, his hands squeezing your ass tightly in shock as you take his entire length in one go.

Your eyes are closed, head thrown back in pleasure as you bask in the feeling for a moment. Every inch of you is filled with his thick girth. You've never felt so full and so fucking good.

You're so wet. So warm. So tight. Jungkook is grateful for the pause in your movements because he thinks he actually would've fucking come if you—

Your hips lift up until all that's remaining in you is his fat cockhead before you sink back down and take it all in one swoop.

Lewd noises spew from his lips as he forces his eyes to stay open, watching you swallow his cock over and over and over.

"So fucking good at that, baby, shit..." Jungkook grunts.

Your nails dig into his thighs at the praise, your head lifting back up to look at him as you increase your pace.

You begin to move faster, riding him with an increasing intensity that makes the bed creak beneath you. The friction and fullness send waves of pleasure through your body, making you gasp and moan. Your hands find his shoulders, using them as leverage as you bounce on his length harder.

"Godssooo fucking good," you pant, your voice a breathless slur. "So deep, Gukkie. C-can feel it in my tummy."

Jungkook's hands slide up your back with a growl, pulling you closer until your chests are pressed together. He captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongues tangling as the rhythm of your hips grows more frantic. The slick sounds of your bodies slamming together fills the room, enveloping you both in desire.

Breaking the kiss, Jungkook's lips trail down your neck, sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin. "Taking it so good, my baby," he worships against your collarbone. "So fucking perfect."

The praise spurs you on, your movements becoming pathetically desperate as you chase your release. You can feel the burning tension coiling in your core, ready to snap, when suddenly his feet move to plant themselves into your mattress and he begins to thrust up into you.

"Oh fuck yes, fuck!" You gasp, your knees trembling as he plows relentlessly into you from below.

"Shittttt," he groans, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you up and down on his cock, balls slapping against your ass as he pistons furiously into your pussy. "So good at riding cock, baby, taking it all like a proper fucking slut."

You cry loudly at his words, your nails digging into his shoulder slightly as you writhe against his thrusts. "It's the pilates," you choke out, "developed good core strength. Great for riding dick."

Jungkook lets out a loud laugh, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck while his thrusts get even deeper. He feels your walls tighten around him sorely, and he heaves a shaky breath before slipping a tattoed hand between you two, thumb attaching to your clit. Your fucked-out uh-uh-uh’s echoes in his ears with every plunge of his cock, fueling him to go harder.

The sloppy bud twitches under his touch, his thumb slipping from how soaked you are, but he doesn't back down. He chases the hard nub and flicks it in time with his thrusts, cock jittering as you let out your loudest moan of the night.

"I'm gonna come, Gukkie. I-I'm gonna fucking come! Oh my goddddd!" you're bouncing on him wildly, your walls clenching furiously with no pattern, completely run with pleasure that you can't control it.

"Come on, baby," he whines through a thrust, his balls squeezing as you get impossibly tighter, begging to let them release their fluids, "Ohh-h-ffuck, can I come too, baby? Can I come in you? Oh fuck, fuck."

You don't even get to answer as you completely shatter, your orgasm taking control over your whole body that you swear you see the light. You cry out his name as best you can, your body convulsing, shaking around his length.

You can't possibly speak as you collapse against his chest but as you fall, you see the pained look in his eyes as he tries not to come. You want it so bad. More than you've ever wanted anything in your life. Before you know what you're doing, your thighs tighten around his legs, your mouth moves to the nape of his neck, and you bite. Hard.

Jungkook spasms, the deepest growl of a moan rips through his throat as he throws his head back and cums, deep and hot, right into your cunt. You whimper around the chunk of flesh captured between your teeth, his thick load tickling your walls as it fills your hole.

You feel complete.

Jungkook's hands gently stroke your back, grounding you as you come down from your high. Nothing but the sound of both your heavy breathing fills your ears before Jungkook breaks the silence. "You did so well, baby."

Your tongue laps and licks softly at the skin of his neck to soothe the subtle teeth marks you left, and he lets out a pleased noise through a shiver. Your head lifts to look into his eyes, a hazy smile spreading across your face when you take in his blissed-out features. "I didn't know sex could feel like that."

Jungkook's eyes flutter open at your words, his stomach clenching in pure joy that his softening cock still tucked up inside of you even lets out a shudder. "Yeah?" He asks softly, a hand lifting to tuck some of your messy hair behind your ear.

"Yeah," you nod with a flutter of your eyes at his gentle touches, "the fact it was you was probably the main factor," you mumble dreamily against his neck when you rest your head on his shoulder, "but that was still the best dick I've ever had."

His heart swells infinitely. You were by far the best pussy he's ever had, but he didn’t think you would share such a thought. He should've known by now that if you are many things, predictable is not one of them.

You wrap your legs around his waist, nuzzling into his neck happily as his cock stays plugged inside of you, keeping his load intact and secure.

Jungkook's arms slink under your arms gently so he can pull you even closer, wrapping you around his chest (and his length) like a koala.

"This has been the greatest night of my entire life, Y/N." He whispers honestly against your cheek before pressing a soft kiss into the skin. "Thank you."

You hum contently, tilting your head up slightly to look at him with a pretty smile. "I love you, Gukkie."

"I love you, pretty." He replies, peppering your lips with another three quick kisses, smiling in satisfaction when another you give him another giggle.

You let the comfortable silence wrap you for a moment before breaking it. "Do we have any pasta left from dinner?"

The mention of dinner makes him think for a moment. He cooked pasta for the two of you, which you ate not long before coming into your room. You ate before sex. And you don’t look like you feel sick.

He gazes down at you, his smile broadening, heart fluttering. "'Course, I made heaps. Are you hungry?"

"Mhm."

"C'mon then," he says, giving your bum a gentle pat, ready to lift you off him and clean you up before feeding you.

"'nna minute..." You mumble sleepily against his neck, and he stops his movements, hands settling back to rub soothing strokes on your bum.

"You want me to carry you, don’t you?" he teases, suppressing a smirk as he feels you clench around him absentmindedly at him reading your thoughts.

"Noo...." your voice trails off, not even trying to conceal your lie. Jungkook chuckles softly, feeling your smile against his skin.

He makes sure he has a tight grip on you, and you him, before he carefully lifts both of you from the bed. He leads you into your ensuite, his long arm reaching out to snatch some toilet paper and a clean hand towel from your shelf as he gently places you on the sink counter.

Jungkook captures the liquid that seeps from your core with the paper as he slowly withdraws. He gives you a chuckly sorry when you wince a little, the thick head of his cock tugging at your walls as he retreats. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips to distract you and slips out with a final tug.

After discarding the used toilet paper, he dampens the towel with warm water and tenderly runs it over your core gently, pulling a pleased sigh from your lips.

Watching your best friend in awe through half-lidded eyes, he makes sure to thoroughly clean up the mess on and in your pussy before he half-heartedly uses the towel to wipe at his wet length.

He chucks the rag into the laundry hamper on the other side of the large bathroom. It lands directly in the basket from his athletic skills, and he turns to you with a cocky smirk.

You shake your head in amusement, "you're a loser."

"Don't talk to me like that, gonna get me hard again."

Your eyes widen in mock shock, before you giggle into his chest. "Knew you'd be into shit like degradation... Just had this feeling."

"Only with you though." It's cliché, but he means it.

You lift your head from his chest. "Only for me, huh?"

Jungkook nods, still standing between your legs as you look up at him from your bathroom counter. His gaze turns a little more serious. "Only yours."

Your head tilts as you blink up at the most gorgeous boy you've ever seen in your life. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jungkook responds instantly and certainly. His thumbs tremble nervously against your thighs while he waits for your response, and they pull to a halt when you lean up to rest your mouth against his.

"Good," you murmur softly against his pouty lips, "because I'm all fucking yours."

END.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

thank you so much for reading. let me know what you think? love you <3

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 011 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. 18+.modern royal au. infidelity. angst. reader is confused with her feelings. toxic characters. toxic relationships. smut. unedited. implied dub-con. smoking. getting drunk. physical violence.

notes. @sunasbabie bullied me into updating so here it is. alsoo the start of suna’s downfall arc???

wc. 11.8k

series masterlist 

[ ELEVEN ] I care, I care, I care like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin’, hidden in plain sight. ooh I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life. I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear

Rintaro had known from a very young age he was different.

He had brothers, quite a number of them, and yet even when everyone had their own maids and butlers, Rintaro stuck out like a sore thumb. For one, they were strictly not allowed to call him by his name. He was never Rintaro – always His Highness or Crown Prince. He was never allowed to play with his brothers, either, despite being close in age to most of them. Instead, he stood watching from the windows of his study as they frolicked and lived like normal boys. They attended school, played sports, made friends – the normal way of living, even for Princes. But Rintaro wasn’t like that. Her Majesty had different expectations for him. That because he was the only son of the King and Queen, he simply had to be better than the rest.

No, he had to be the best, and he believed it at some point.

Until Her Majesty announced it was about time he learned some ‘proper socializing’ into society. She’d enrolled him in the same private academy as his brothers, got chauffeured to and fro, and was expected to give nothing but the best of grades when he returned. It sounded simple enough – study, excel, and prepare himself for the throne.

No one had warned him that high school came with other unexpected surprises, one that came in the form of a brown eyed beauty he’d been eyeing since his first day.

Her name was Iris – top of the class, all long, lean legs, and a mop of long, wavy hair. It was hard not to notice her. She was popular, in the way that everyone asked her for her notes, and you could trust her to whisper the correct answer when you’d been called to recite in the middle of the class. An academic overachiever, a teacher’s pet – they all had some sort of name for her. A stickler for the rules, too, always appropriately dressed and speaking in polite, clipped tones. She spoke in a manner elders would love, and Rintaro found that fact rather endearing. He wasn’t a great reader of people, but he could tell one thing: Iris was not her true self.

Her smile might be respectful, but something about the way her lips twitched when being told what to do gave him an idea that perhaps she wasn’t as obedient as she made herself to be. And she was always helping others, putting others before herself, but she never did it looking satisfied.

Rather, it seemed that her actions always stemmed from one thing: obligation.

Iris was not who she is because it was her, down to her nature, but because she felt she had to be. It was such a quality Rintaro resonated with. To deny oneself, and to put duty and order first. They both walked with stiffness in their shoulders, with the weight of the world on their heads. They were simply too young to be caring about such. And Rintaro found it unfair – how they’d been deprived of their right to normalcy and had a future they never even wanted shoved down their throats. He couldn’t speak entirely for her, of course.

They had entirely different backgrounds – with Iris as a foreign scholar, who had to work twice as hard to prove she was worthy as any local, and then there was Rintaro, who couldn’t really tell which parts of him were himself, or fabricated by the throne.

They were both young people who lied to themselves. And strangely enough, he found comfort in that. He found comfort in her. He felt less alone when she was around, and she’d definitely made her presence known. Whether it be slipping notes into his desk and walking away without a word, or sharing her milkbread with him during lunch – which he found hilarious, yet cute – or when she simply made the effort to get to know him.

Not the Crown Prince, but Rintaro.

She began to ask things about himself that he’d never thought of before. Like what his favorite food was – he blanked out, because he wasn’t supposed to be picky with food, so he just ate anything. Or what his favorite game was, and sometimes, she’d even asked him to teach her, even if bringing cell phones in class were prohibited.

She made him feel like a real person. She didn’t treat him specially; she didn’t swoon or fall to her feet when he entered a room. She spoke to him normally, treated him like a friend when no one would dare call him as such.

To her, he was just Rintaro. He could just be. And before he’d realized it, he began to look for her – in the hallways, watching her talk to her friends, or being curious on what snacks she brought so he could buy some for her next time, or intentionally trying to get partnered with her on any project.

But he hadn’t fallen for her.

Not until that day they’d rain poured over them unexpectedly, and they retreated under the nearest tree. Class had long been dismissed, and pretty much everyone had left – save for the two of them due to a late tutoring session. Rintaro struggled with English, but Iris was great at everything. And it was also a good excuse to spend more time together.

“You know, you’re different from what I expected,” Iris spoke, tilting her head up to catch some raindrops falling from the leaves with the tip of her finger. “When they said the Crown Prince was going to attend class, I figured you would be more… uptight. Strict. Or, you know, perhaps more arrogant than your brother.”

Rintaro fought the urge what she thought of him now. He’d become curious about it lately, unhealthily so. He wanted her to like him, to think positively of him – to be more than just ‘handsome’ or ‘charming’ or ‘regal.’ Because he most definitely wasn’t regal around her. He could be more himself, which is why he slouched, learned to smoke, longed for a tattoo, and even learned how to curse. Because he wasn’t Crown Prince Rintaro. He was just a normal high school student, Rin. Rin who stood under a tree while rain poured heavily against the pavement, next to a pretty girl who wore strawberry flavored chapstick and introduced him to a world he never imagined he could be part of.

If she had said he was regal, and well-mannered, he would’ve taken offense. But he didn’t ask, turning his gaze away from the way Iris leaned back against the damp tree and pulled out a cigarette. Even the way she smoked had him fascinated because it meant as a sign of trust to him.

The good, perfect student Iris was no longer perfect around him. She trusted him enough to let her guard down, and reveal her flaws. She had no need to impress him. In return, it made him want to impress her by mimicking her habits – even if he would’ve never dared doing them before.

“I have a lot of arrogant brothers. Which one are you talking about?”

“The ridiculously tall and talkative brunette in our year.”

“Tooru,” he said, gladly accepting when she offered him a stick. He didn’t light it though, because he was on his way home and didn’t want to reek of smoke. Well, if he was to be completely honest, he hated smoking. He didn’t like the way it burned his throat and made it itchy. But Iris smoked often, and she revealed more about herself each time she did, so he joined her. Everything he did was for her.

“Iris, why do you speak so casually to me?”

She shrugged and puffed out a smoky breath. “You just looked lonely. And everyone treats you like you’re fragile – always stumbling over their words or being excessively polite. I can tell it makes you uncomfortable, so… But if you truly mind, I can stick to the formalities. I just thought you might want someone to treat you like a normal person.”

“No, I-I don’t mind,” he reassured, “I like that you speak to me normally.”

“So, friends?”

He chuckled at that, and he didn’t stop her when she took out her lighter and lit her cigarette for him. He supposed one couldn’t hurt. “We have been friends for months now.”

“I know,” she beamed, “I’m just waiting to be invited over to your fancy Palace for tea parties.”

“I don’t even like tea.”

“Shame. I would’ve killed for some expensive drinks.”

And so their unexpected friendship began until they were practically attached to the hip. Wherever Iris went, Rintaro followed. She’d started calling him ‘Rin’ too, and Rin had to hide how much he liked it. He blushed madly each time he did, and it didn’t help that Iris had become more physically comfortable with him – locking arms together when they walked in the hallway, absentmindedly brushing his bangs back during their tutoring sessions, or laying on his lap when she had a book to read as they hid in the corner of the library. Each touch of her skin against his sent heat to his groin. It embarrassed him, because he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about his ‘friend’ like that, but could you blame him? He was a growing teenager. He wasn’t immune to a pretty girl’s subtle touches.

“You know, you can make it less obvious that you’re staring at the scholar.”

Glancing away from Iris playing volleyball with her friends, Rintaro glared at his brother. He shared classes with Tooru, but otherwise barely spoke to him. Tooru was too loud and confident; a little flashy for his liking. He also basked in the attention he received from the girls, shamelessly flirting with them and getting their hopes up.

Rintaro thought he was an ass.

“Shut up.”

“Well, well, can you believe that? I believe the Crown Prince just uttered a vulgar phrase that would surely displease Her Majesty. I wonder if she’ll ground you tonight for being such a naughty Prince.”

Rintaro glared at him, gesturing to Tooru’s childhood friend lurking in the corner. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Like reject that poor girl showering you with gifts again?”

Tooru sighed, and upon seeing Maiko’s face light up when he looked her way, he bid his farewell. “Don’t remind me.”

His brother suddenly disappeared. He almost felt bad for Maiko, the heiress from the Rai Clan. She grew up having multiple play dates with Tooru, and they’d been close all the way to middle school when she grew a crush on him – a crush nearly bordering on obsession. When she invited him over to play with her new puppy around the ninth grade, Tooru was met with a ten feet portrait of him in her bedroom. Tooru hadn’t spoken to her ever since. But the poor girl was too innocent to understand his rejections, and she kept following him like a lost puppy.

Not that Rintaro was concerned. Neither was his brother concerned with him, anyway, so they stayed out of each other’s way until they graduated.

Sometimes, Rintaro still wished he never graduated at all. Maybe Iris wouldn’t have disappeared, then. She didn’t have a phone, so they couldn’t keep in contact, but even if she did have a phone, Rintaro wouldn’t be allowed to be casually conversing with ‘commoners.’ Her Majesty would hate it. And he wasn’t certain where she went. Perhaps university, but last he’d heard, Iris was occupied with dealing with some family matters, and Rintaro stopped prying. Her family was one of the things Iris never spoke of. But from what little he knew, she only had a loving mother who did her very best to raise her alone.

Rintaro would’ve never expected that when they saw each other again, they would run into one another at the Palace, of all places. “Iris?” he couldn’t believe his eyes. Had he missed her so much he was beginning to hallucinate? “I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

Iris looked like a deer caught in headlights.

He almost couldn’t recognize her. It’d been years since he last saw her and spoke with her, but she seemed entirely different now. She’d gone back to speaking in those forced, clipped tones, her posture perfect, and her smile a little stiff for it to be genuine. She’d been lying again to herself and to the world, but he couldn’t understand why. Rintaro still found it hard to believe that she stood in front of him, draped in lace dresses with the Royal emblem pinned to her right breast in the way royals did.

In the way he did.

“Your Highness,” she said, her tone sweet and airy, as she curtsied. Rintaro felt his stomach twist. This wasn’t the Iris he’d liked for so long. Iris didn’t speak sweetly, or said her words like she treaded on air and had that breathy, ridiculously feminine laugh. Iris’ voice was raspy from constant smoking, and when she spoke, it was always carefree. She never called him by his official title before, so why was she doing it now?

Rintaro couldn’t shake the feeling he was being betrayed.

“You mustn’t have been informed. I’m…”

“Do you serve the crown now?”

“No, no! Not quite in that way,” she smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It was then he noticed the ring sitting on her finger. “I was married to your brother last night, my Prince.”

“Which brother?”

“Prince Kiyoomi.”

He felt like his world had been crushed.

He was never a hopeless romantic, but he was learning. She’d taught him what girls liked. And he… he thought she liked him, too. She must have, right? If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be staring at his lips when he talked. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t hold his hand and rub circles along his knuckles when they were alone together in the library. Or had he just fooled himself all this time? Was he really nothing but a friend to her?

Rintaro felt foolish all over again.

He felt like he was seven years old once more, holding back his tears while Her Majesty lashed at the backs of his thighs because he wasn’t able to memorize a clause from the Royal Acts and Commands. He heard the word ‘stupid, idiotic, slow,’ and ‘foolish’ resonating at the study room again, while his tutor shook his head in disappointment. Taking a step back, Rintaro released a shuddering breath. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Surely, she wouldn’t befriend him just to make a fool out of him, but if she did… she would pay. He was the Crown Prince. He would become King. He would punish her, humiliate her and put her in her place if she treated him cruelly – but nothing could have prepared him for Iris stepping forwards, eyes drooping with sultriness as her palms flattened against his chest.

Stepping on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his.

“But I wish it had been you.”

When she kissed him for the first time, Rintaro knew one thing for certain – she had ruined him for anyone else.

Rintaro isn’t a man quick to anger, but he was getting there.

To leave him for a trip with another man was one thing, but to completely leave him on radio silence was another. A whole week you’ve been gone and not once had you texted. No calls, no voicemails, not even an e-mail. He felt like he had no wife, and quite frankly, your determination to pretend he didn’t exist was getting on his nerves. What had he done wrong, anyway? Hadn’t he been sweet to you before you left? He wasn’t going to deny he made mistakes, but he was putting effort into making it all better. He hadn’t spoken to Iris when you were around. He ignored her, and avoided her even when you weren’t in the same room. And he fucking hated it – because why did you make him feel like he was a cheater when he loved her first?

And now, you were messing with his head. He was certain you were.

Apart from some photographs the paparazzi took of you shopping with Kanami, or sharing lunch with her or having coffee dates, he hadn’t seen you with Kiyoomi. He hadn’t the smallest clue what you were doing. Were you sleeping well? Better without him, maybe? Did you miss him, too, or were you just glad to finally be away from him?

He was going insane with every passing second you didn’t speak to him.

“You’ve been unusually quiet.”

Iris’ voice flittering through the loud noise of the music snapped him back to the present. Right. He was at a party attended by celebrities and models, with liquor in red cups and suspicious leaves and powder being passed to one another – the type of parties a Crown Prince shouldn’t be seen at. But the twins had insisted, claiming he should enjoy himself and ‘do whatever the fuck he wants’ since he didn’t have a wife around to criticize him. He thought it was stupid. He didn’t want to do anything to upset you, but Iris wanted to come along out of boredom – Kiyoomi was away fulfilling their duties for them as mediator between two countries, so she had nothing better to do. Besides, Rintaro figured Iris had been itching for these environments. She’d played the docile and agreeable Princess role for several years now. She must be tired of it, and as soon as she saw the opportunity to let loose and be her true self, she wouldn’t dare let it pass.

And maybe his brothers were right. There was nothing wrong with just taking some time for himself. If you could do it, why couldn’t he?

However, he couldn’t convince himself he enjoyed this party he was in. People were making out at dark corners of the hall, and he was pretty sure there were illegal activities happening tonight. Iris didn’t bat an eye on it. The twins, too, seemed to be enjoying themselves as they flirted with a model he’d seen before, but couldn’t care enough to remember the name of.

“Sorry,” Rintaro said, “I just have a lot on my mind these days.”

“Is it her? You can’t stop looking at your phone.”

Grimacing, he offered her an apologetic smile. Iris didn’t look jealous, but then again, it was hard to tell under the dim lights, and not when she was hugging her fifth cup of whatever foul-smelling liquor she seemed to indulge in. But neither did he want to offend her by lying, so he slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and feigned disinterest. “She hasn’t texted or called since she left. I have no idea how she’s doing at all,” he glanced at her, “Has Kiyoomi texted you?”

“As if that would happen,” she chugged her drink and gestured to the doors. “Let’s go. I need some fresh air.”

They exited and walked all the way to the balcony. On their way there, Iris hugged his bicep and leant against him, causing the passing by hotel staff to eye them warily. But Iris couldn’t care less, and Rintaro leveled the staff with a warning glare. They should know better than to say anything. Tonight, the world was theirs. Iris was in his arms, as free as they could be, as free as he always hoped, and he swore he wasn’t going to think about you.

With the fresh air kissing his exposed skin, Rintaro immediately felt better. He wasn’t surrounded by the stench of alcohol anymore. He could breathe better here. Leaning against the railings, he and Iris overlooked the Kingdom of Inarizaki laying beneath their feet.

At one point in time, he promised to give all of this to the woman beside him. They’d talked about having children and raising them in the Palace. How they would make great monarchs, and they could finally be powerful while still being free. With them on top of the world, no one could tell them what to do. They could simply be themselves. But just a hundred times better, because Iris would be beside him and sharing the burden of the Crown.

At least, until Rintaro realized none of that felt right.

You were his wife. He didn’t want to share this Kingdom with anyone else but you, although there was a more worrisome voice whispering at the back of his head – Rintaro didn’t want to share you with this world. He wanted to hide you and keep you for himself. He didn’t want you anywhere Kiyoomi, or Tooru. You were his. He was yours. He’s your husband, and you his wife.

You should be the one here with him, and he should be there with you.

Did you feel the same way, too?

Iris lit up a cigarette. Before he could think better of it, he snatched one from her and she lit it up for him, just like she did when they were younger. Her brows rose at his sudden eagerness, “You haven’t smoked since you met her.”

“I didn’t want her to think I smelled.”

“What’s the change?” she teased, “No longer worried she’ll think you reek because you’re married?”

“I just need the distraction.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I’m just worried.” He gritted his teeth, not liking how all of this just felt… wrong. Iris smelled too much of the old perfume she wore when they were teenagers, and it made him nostalgic in the worst kind of possible. Like recalling a childhood memory you thought was great at the time, but growing up completely changes your perspective on it. Rintaro hated it – how he tasted bitterness at something he once craved so much. Worse, he couldn’t keep lying to himself. He didn’t know where his heart was at yet, but something was different.

He desperately wanted to see you.

“I feel like… I feel like she’s going to leave me, Iris. Something’s changed.”

“You’ve changed, Rin,” she snapped, throwing her cigarette on the ground and stomping at it. Rintaro frowned; he’d seen her do it before when they were kids, but seeing her still do it now confirmed his theory: Iris still had her mean temper. She could never hide it even under silk dresses and velvet gloves. “You haven’t been the same since the honeymoon. I feel like we left behind the old you, and the one that came back is someone I barely know.”

Rintaro couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. She was right. He’d changed. He didn’t know why, or how, but maybe he was falling in love. Could he be? No… maybe he just missed you. Maybe he just hated the way you seemed so resigned and distant when you left.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could tell her, because Rintaro was too lost.

“Are you changing your mind about me?”

“No, no. Gods, I would never. I just – I’m confused, okay? She’s mad at me, and she just left. What if she never speaks to me again?”

“She will. She’s your wife.”

“You don’t even speak to your husband,” Rintaro argued, and Iris rolled her eyes. Once, he would’ve found her irritation appealing. But directed at him? He just felt like he was being looked down on.

“That’s different. You know, Rin, if you’ve changed your mind about me, it’s okay. I already knew before this most likely wouldn’t work out, and even if you did become King and legalized divorces, what would happen, then? I’ll be your concubine,” she sneered, as if the mere thought sickened her. “People would reduce me into nothing but a whore. I don’t want to be hated just because I wanted you.”

Rintaro pursed his lips. Sure, the title ‘concubine’ didn’t come with many good meanings. But it was all he could give her. He couldn’t imagine making her his wife. Iris had too much of a temper for that, and with all the pretending and acts she puts on, he didn’t trust her enough to treat his people right when she wielded enough power.

She wasn’t kind like you.

She wasn’t like you.

He knew all of this, had realized it just now, yet he couldn’t bring himself to just go back. Running his hands through his hair, he sighed in defeat. “I’ve already gone this far. It’s a little too late to tell me to change my mind, you know?”

“I’m just reminding you this was your choice, not mine. And don’t forget if you do legalize divorces, and Kiyoomi and I did separate, does that mean you’ll divorce her, too?”

He threw his hands up in the air, frustrated. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I’m not a whore, Rin. I’ve changed my mind. I no longer want to be just your sidepiece, your secret lover. I have been here with you before people even acknowledged your existence. I was here first. Don’t you think it’s unfair she gets to have you in all your glory and I can only have you in secret? Like what we feel for each other is something to be ashamed of,” tears pricked at her eyes, and Iris angrily wiped them away. Rintaro was frozen to his spot. He didn’t even feel like reaching to wipe them for her – his mind was just in a different place entirely. His exhaustion ran bone deep.

“If you want me to divorce Kiyoomi when you become King, you should divorce her too.”

“That wasn’t the plan. You said you were fine being a concubine–”

“It’s either me or her, Rin. Choose. Who will be your wife? Me or her?”

“You. It’s always going to be you.”

“Do you promise?”

“It’s just you!” he barked, surprising both himself and Iris. He’d never raised his tone with her before, yet there was no denying it – he was changing. Iris knew this, too, and Rintaro could tell by the wicked glint in her eye that she would use this against him.

Rintaro didn’t think twice before he slammed his lips to hers.

If she couldn’t be convinced with words, he would convince her with their bodies. It was how they communicated anyway – all arguments would always be resolved in the bedroom. They stumbled together back to his hotel room, lips only leaving one another’s for a brief moment to breathe, before they were clawing at each other’s clothes. She let out her rage on him by pushing him back to the bed, with her on top and ripping his shirt, uncaring of the remnants. When she kissed him, it was everything but sweet. He tasted nothing but hatred and pure anger as she shoved her tongue down his throat, and he choked, tightening his grip on her hips while she bounced.

They did not make love.

They simply shared their bodies for a lack of better things to say. He bruised her and fucked her hard enough the headboard slammed against the wall because he couldn’t say he missed you. She marked his skin with hickeys and claw marks down his back because she didn’t want to hear him say he missed you.

At talking, Rintaro and Iris lacked at.

But they spoke well enough with the violence of their bodies that by the end of the night, they both knew – Rintaro’s heart was no longer in the same room as them.

You took it with you from a thousand miles away.

Rintaro couldn’t sleep the entire night. Iris had passed out as soon as she’d satisfied herself, and after hogging the sheets all to herself, he’d given up on trying to sleep. It felt wrong to share the same bed with her, anyway. So he got up, showered, and scrolled on the latest news to look for you again. Still nothing – but apparently Itachiyama’s citizens were looking forward to you and Kiyoomi attending a movie’s premiere night.

He clutched his phone hard enough it shut off. Sighing, he leaned back against his seat on the couch, an arm draped around his arm. He’d gone past the borders of being pathetic. Now, he was just eager to see his wife again, but he had no way of communicating with you. So like the pathetic fool he was, he couldn’t stop himself from scrolling for hours when a rapid knocking banged down on his door. Frowning, he opened it, and was met with a shirtless Atsumu wrapped in nothing but a towel – his eyes bloodshot red, though he suspected, not from crying.

“‘Tsumu, what the fuck?” His brother reeked of alcohol and sex. Pinching his nose, he scanned the hallway for witnesses before opening his door wider. Atsumu scurried in without a word and plopped down on the seat, his knees bouncing repeatedly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I… I fucked up.”

“Yeah? What’s new about that?”

“No, I mean, I really fucked up,” he groaned, his head falling to his hands. Rintaro immediately felt bad about him, Walking forwards, he crossed his arm against his chest, encouraging his brother to continue. “Listen, the party was going great, and Yuki just looked even better in person. And she was fucking funny and so perfect, man.  I couldn’t help myself. But she was flirting with ‘Samu more and I got jealous so–”

“What did you do?”

Atsumu’s Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed. He couldn’t look Rintaro in the eye, and the latter was growing more nervous by the second. “I may have made her drink more than she can handle… and pretended to be Osamu. So she’d sleep with me.”

“You are screwed.”

“I know, I know, but she’s going to wake up soon, and I don’t know what to do. I left the room, and–”

“Okay, calm down. Where’s ‘Samu?”

“Downstairs, eating breakfast.”

“You stay right here.”

Iris chose the wrong time to wake up. She must’ve heard Atsumu’s frantic ramblings and sat up from the bed, clutching the blanket to her naked chest. Upon seeing an equally nude Atsumu, she screeched, throwing the nearest pillow at him. “‘Tsumu, get out!” Atsumu fought back by throwing a smaller pillow her way. They began bickering like small children, and it was too early for any of this. He could feel a pounding at the back of his head already.

Tired. He was just tired.

“Iris, please, just – just stay here, the both of you, okay? I’ll be back.”

At least Rintaro had Atsumu’s mess to thank. He finally had a good enough excuse to not spend another moment in that suffocating room with her – or any of them. He’d wanted to leave hours before, but Iris wouldn’t have taken it well if she woke up without him. For now, though, Rintaro had to take on the role of a responsible older brother; something he’d never done before. Taking quick strides, he swung the door open when Atsumu called out for him.

“Wait. Rin!” Rintaro paused, raising a brow at his brother, whose face had been drained of color. “I’m sorry… I just… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

Rintaro himself wasn’t convinced by his words. Sure, it wasn’t unheard of before that the Princes got their sexual needs satisfied without having been married. Save for a few like Wakatoshi, Keiji, Kita, and Tobio who all wanted to wait for marriage, he was a hundred percent certain his brothers had been with women before. This normally wasn’t a cause for concern. But Hiroda Yuki wasn’t just anyone. She was a model currently rising to fame, and not only was she inebriated during the act, but she’d been led to believe the man she took to bed with someone else. If she were to found out the truth, and decided to turn to the media to ruin his brothers, it’d be another issue for the throne. It didn’t affect Rintaro directly, but times were changing – people were growing restless the longer the crown sat without its King.

It was high time they chose a King, but a very few number of Princes hardly seemed eligible.

As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Ushijima was the best choice to be King. He was fair, disciplined, and followed the rules to a tee. He also had a happy, stable marriage with a respectable noble woman, and they already have a healthy son. There weren’t any arguments that Rintaro paled in comparison to him.

But that didn’t mean he would give up so easily.

He wanted the throne. He wanted everything.

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he headed for the lobby in search of the darker haired twin. He’d think about the Crown another time. Ducking his head to hide his face, he nodded at any passing staff and hid behind corners. It was only a matter of time before Yuki woke up. That presented another problem – should they hide the truth from her and keep Atsumu safe, or tell her what had really happened and risk having Atsumu be kicked out of the Palace?

Fuck. Rintaro didn’t know what to do, but maybe Osamu would.

His brother sat at the hotel’s dining area, happily digging into his meal without a care in the world. Oh, how lucky he was to be so ignorant. Out of the twins, Osamu was the more mild-mannered one and got into less trouble, but it didn’t change the fact Osamu was often the instigator, and Atsumu the willing victim who played into his hands. The situation felt more complicated now because Rintaro was unsure. Had Osamu planned this all along? Had he known that Atsumu wanted to sleep with Yuki and left them to themselves just when the both were drunk out of their asses?

Too many questions, and he struggled to form a coherent thought. But if he were Kita, he’d have this resolved within a second.

If he were Kita, but he wasn’t. He was just plain Rintaro, who wasn’t particularly great at anything, yet had unfortunately been branded with an extravagant title he never deserved.

Pulling out a seat before him, he narrowed his eyes at his brother. It was still early in the morning, so they had enough privacy with only very few people having breakfast. No one paid them any attention as Rintaro leaned forward, his voice low and hushed.

“Where were you last night?”

“Good morning to you, too, dear brother,” quipped Osamu through a mouthful of waffles, “Lovely set of breakfast they serve here. You should try some.”

“‘Samu, I’m serious. Did you stay at the party last night?”

Osamu, the little ass, took his sweet time chewing and swallowing before he spoke. “No, I went home after ‘Tsumu went out with the model. I just came back to pick him up. I figured he’d be too drunk to drive home.”

Rintaro wanted to ask for more details. There had to be more to the story. The twins were both cunning when they wanted to be, although he doubted Osamu would do anything to intentionally harm his twin. It seemed possible, but he couldn’t be too careful. None of them could afford any defamation lest the people decided for themselves how uncontrollable and unruly the Princes are. Their father had already broken the people’s trust by having multiple sons with different women. They treaded on eggshells, even more so when Rintaro opened his mouth to speak, and was cut off by the crowd whispering around them.

He and Osamu froze. They could barely make out the words from their mumbling at this distance, but they were no fools. They could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on them. With their phones pulled out, they whispered amongst themselves and sent looks of disbelief towards the Princes. Rintaro’s heart raced as he made eye contact with his brother.

They both pulled out their phones and checked the latest news.

An article published just a few hours ago trended worldwide at number one. A photograph of Rin and Iris making love could be seen through a window, with the headline implying that they were secretly lovers all along. His heart dropped. He scrolled down to the comments, his fist turning white at the knuckles as he read them.

That’s disgusting! Wasn’t Prince Rintaro recently married? It seems like being a cheater runs in the blood, after all. He’s just like his daddy To think they did this while their spouses were away for official duty… unbelievable. Disappointed, but not surprised. Princess Iris always seemed like a skank. Never liked her. She came to give aid when there was a storm in our village once, and she kept complaining she was tired. Now she’s going around sleeping with other people’s husbands *laughing sticker* lol she sounds like a bitch Is this real?????????? This has to be fake. The Crown Prince loves his wife! Delete this post now! You’re in trouble once the Palace sees this!

Rintaro pocketed his phone. “We need to leave.”

He dragged Osamu by the arm, ignoring his brother’s complaints that he hadn’t eaten his berries yet. One glare shut him up. They had bigger things to worry about than some stupid fucking berries.

“Call Shinsuke. We need help.”

All four of them hid in Rintaro’s room until Kita arrived. It hadn’t been long, maybe less than an hour, but the wait was nerve-wracking. Thankfully, he’d brought a security team with them. The Princes were escorted out through the back doors and into their cars, although it was too late. Reporters and journalists were already swarming outside the hotel. Kita had stayed back to tell the hotel staff they were not allowed to speak of what they saw or heard during last night’s party under no circumstances. The Princes’ safety were their utmost priority. Everything would be dealt with accordingly. Just as they pulled out of the hotel’s parking, Atsumu informed Kita about Yuki, and the situation he left her in.

Shinsuke’s lips thinned. Already, he looked bone tired. Waving a hand, he dismissed his brothers and promised he’d take care of her once she woke up. For now, they had to stay low and keep out of the public’s eye until the situation died down.

“You all best behave when you get back,” Shinsuke warned, “Her Majesty is furious.”

Of that, he had no doubt. Her Majesty had been eerily quiet since everyone’s return from the honeymoon. But Suna knew his mother better than anyone; she wasn’t letting things pass by, she was only watching from the sidelines, waiting to see who would drop the ball first. And to no one’s surprise, it would be Rintaro.

Her Majesty was right. He couldn’t keep this secret affair with Iris forever.

One way or another, the truth would be revealed, and the truth itself would be his damnation.

None of them uttered a word as they sat next to each other in the car. Atsumu’s still bouncing his leg, causing the seat to shake, but Osamu could care less. He simply gazed out the window. Iris, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped crying, her shoulders shaking silently. Mascara ran down her face in streaks, her lipstick smudged and her torn dress doing very little to hide the love marks on her skin. Gods. Rintaro’s headache worsened. If they got out of the car and the paparazzi took even one photo of Iris in her post-sex state, they were done for.

Rintaro could kiss his precious Crown goodbye.

Walking back to the Palace was akin to walking to your own death.

The lobby was torn upside down. Calling it a mess would be an understatement. The Queen stood in the middle of the furniture she’d flipped and thrown, shards of broken glass all around them as she heaved. The pure image of rage – and he had been the cause. “Fools! Idiotic fools, all of you!” she screamed, stomping through the glass as she reached up to fist Iris’ hair.

“Ow, Your Majesty–”

Her Majesty scrunched her nose at the scent of smoke and alcohol coming off from her, further fuelling her anger. “And you! By the Gods, I knew marrying you into this family was a grave mistake, but you just keep making me regret I ever laid eyes on you, don’t you? You lowly, good-for-nothing whore.”

“Mother!”

“You do not get to speak!” she turned to him and harshly let go of Iris, causing her to stumble and fall onto the broken glass. Panicked, Rintaro reached out for her, but the Queen had caught his arm, reared hers back and landed a slap on his cheek. Rintaro was stunned – she’d been harsh and cruel, but she never laid a hand on him. “Do you have any idea what you did? The throne is all in shambles because of you! The Cabinet hasn’t stopped bugging me ever since that article came out, and I have all our lines busy with people demanding for answers! And you dare raise your voice at me? I told you, multiple times, that you need to stop with your trysts. How will you be King now that you’ve lost the people’s trust?”

“He will not become King,” announced a deep voice they knew all too-well. Like a demon that only showed up in your worst nightmares, Ushijima strutted inside the room, an air of authority and finality surrounding him. “I should be the King. Help me have the throne, and I will resolve all of this,” he studied them all – Atsumu with his guilt, Osamu who was too scared of the Queen to move a single muscle, Iris clutching her bloodied arm, and Suna with disappointment written all over his features. “Clearly, he is not fit to lead this country. He is still but a foolish, young man.”

Foolish.

Stupid.

Reckless.

He’s just like his father.

He’d be a failure as King – just. Like. His. Father.

So that was who he was then. A failure. He’d become the one thing he swore not to be. How would you look at him now? You always gazed upon him with stars in your eyes, like he was the best thing to ever happen in your life. No one had ever looked at him that way before – not his mother, not even Iris. In Iris’ eyes, he was simply… a boy. A boy with no knowledge and experience in this world, a boy who she felt she had to teach because he knew so little. Only you looked at him with adoration, and even that had been taken away. Or, no, he ruined it. Just as he was the reason you used to smile, he’d also become your greatest pain. And maybe, once you’d returned him and seen how the entire country and his whole family had hated him, you would see him for who he is too – nothing but a failure.

The good for nothing Prince.

He should have known. The Palace was no place for the likes of him. He should have just stopped trying so hard to be King. He should have never used Iris as an excuse to quell his insecurity. But was it truly a crime to want to feel like he was needed?

He didn’t know anymore. The only thing he knows now was that he needed to leave, and without another word, stepped out of the room.

“Rintaro! Where are you going?!”

He ignored his mother calling for him. Perhaps he should stop calling her that, too. She’d barely been a mother. She was more of a Queen, bending and breaking her back to His Majesty’s will. She loved the crown and the power it gave her more than anything, that she willingly sacrificed her dignity to keep her position. For many nights, Rintaro watched his mother leave their quarters crying, battered and bruised. It was confusing for a young boy like him. Weren’t mommies and daddies supposed to love one another? But the Queen would scold him for being awake past midnight, and rush him back to bed while she limped on her way. She never loved the King, and because he was his son, she never loved him, too.

Rintaro was nothing but another tool for Her Majesty to stay in power.

She could never become King and hold the Kingdom for herself, but he could. Wasn’t that why she kept him locked away for years and groomed him to take in his Father’s steps?

I kind of did, he thought sarcastically, I’m a horrible husband just like him.

When you arrived in Inarizaki, the country was in chaos. People flocked you from left and right when you and Kiyoomi left the plane, causing the older Prince to break his silence and scold the nosy reporters. Flabbergasted at his sudden outburst that seemed out of character; they lowered their cameras and gave you enough breathing space. The peace, however, did not last long. Her Majesty was furious beyond what one can imagine – akin to a dragon breathing fire down to anyone who dared come near her tower. The twins, who apparently started this fire and caused Rintaro to be the fuel, had been shut away in their rooms in fear of angering her. Iris, from what little you heard about her, was being ruthlessly flamed by the media. They’d called her all sorts of unkind things you would’ve never dared say out loud.

But for some reason, seeing their downfall did not give you any satisfaction.

Because at the end of the day, they were the people you and Kiyoomi returned to. You may walk down the same hallways in the Palace, but he would always be in Belleview Manor to look for her. And you were well on your way to search for the Crown Prince who walked out on his mother.

The guards took some time to find his location, but once they did, they did not hesitate in informing you. Everyone believed you were the only person he’d want to speak to right now. So you drove up to the mountains, where it was barren and cold, and you had to use a truck to survive the rocky terrain. Seriously, out of all the places he could be, he chose to wallow in misery at the top of the world – in the pouring rain, no less.

Boots muddied from the storm, you hopped out of your truck and opened an umbrella, clutching your coat tighter as you watched your husband from afar.

This mountain served as a border between Inarizaki and Itachiyama. From where you stood, you could see the two countries – Itachiyama with its rich nature, and Inarizaki with its towering Castles and bustling cities. Once a united nation, now split into two – all because of love. A tragic story, yet a realistic one. It only goes to show how powerful, and dangerous, love could be. You knew better than anyone that whatever made you happiest could also be your greatest demise.

And there was the said demise – crouching as he picked up pebbles and threw it off the mountain wall. He wore the same shirt as from the photograph; wrinkled and stained with lipstick. Even from this distance, you could smell her on him, and you wanted to laugh. Perhaps Kiyoomi was right – maybe they never loved each other. Maybe they were just lonely.

Extending the umbrella until your husband was shielded from the rain, you softened. Rintaro visibly froze when the rain stopped pelting against him. His wet hair stuck to his face, his shirt plastered on his skin.

A myriad of emotions flickered through his devastatingly handsome face: relief, worry, surprise.

You broke the silence first and crouched down next to him. When Rintaro stiffened, you smiled, showing him you were not here to be his enemy. “My Prince. You are a difficult man to find.”

“Princess,” he breathed out, and you realized the poor Prince was shivering. His face broke into that of despair upon seeing you. “I didn’t know you would be home so early.”

“I had some matters to attend to.”

“You saw the article,” he guessed, and you nodded. Rintaro then stood to his full height, and you followed, causing his head to bump into the umbrella since he was taller. For a moment, he crouched to fit in under the small space. But it was uncomfortable, and soon, he was gently taking the umbrella and holding it for the both of you – more for you, though, since rain still trailed down his back. “I’m sorry.”

“It was bound to happen,” shrugging, you gestured for him to take a walk with you. It was far from being the most scenic place to have a peaceful walk in, but it would do.

You two were silent for a moment. Rintaro seemed to have a thousand thoughts running through his head when you finally spoke.

“How are you?”

“Tired. And you?”

“I’ve had better days.”

Rintaro stole a cautious glance. “Are you mad at me?”

You chuckled, and the sound of it stupefied him. His eyes widened as if afraid, but truly, there was no need to be. You weren’t in the mood to argue with him. “Not really. I feel like I was mad at you a long time ago, and now I’m just… Numb to it all, I suppose,” you said, absentmindedly spinning the wedding ring you both wore. Such a simple jewelry, yet it symbolized so much more. When you spoke again, the rain had calmed down a little bit, but the cold had already seeped into both of your bones. “Marriage is difficult. You have to stay true to your vows, even when the times are challenging. In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse. ‘Till death do us part,” you glanced up at him, taking in those handsome features you fell in love with – his hazel eyes, his soft lips you loved to kiss, and his face you often cradled in your palms. Even right now, you wanted to kiss him, if only to give comfort, but you had to know first –

“Do you intend on keeping your marriage vows, Your Highness?”

He averted his gaze. “I doubt our marriage is valid anymore. The country thinks I am a horrible husband to you.”

“It’s not like I’ve been the best wife myself,” you admitted, your chest aching as you remembered the Second Prince – his gentle smiles directed only at you, the castle ruins, his large palms holding you tenderly, and the crestfallen look on his face when you told him you had to look for your husband. Such a great man, but the timing couldn’t be worse. And Gods, you couldn’t help it. You cried. You mourned the love you could have had.

You grieved for the life you could have had, the person you could’ve become.

If it had been Kiyoomi, it would be so much easier. He would love you in the way you wanted. He would you close to his arms all night long because he wouldn’t want to let go. He would chase away those stupid chickens for you. He would hide you away from the rest of the world and given you a life of solitude and peace – it would’ve been simple, and it would’ve been perfect.

But Kiyoomi was already married, and so were you.

And you felt horrible because he was great, but then you’d become a horrible wife. You would be exactly like Rintaro if you had given into your desire and kissed him. Kiyoomi wasn’t yours. But was Rintaro? Your heart was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Why couldn’t it all just work out?

Why couldn’t it be him?

Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you forced the thoughts of the curly-haired prince out of your head. “I wish I hated you, Rintaro. I wish… I wish I never met you. I wish you never danced with me at your brother’s ball. I wish you never courted me. I wish you never came into my life and changed everything. It would have been better to never have been loved, than to have loved and been betrayed.”

Rintaro stepped forward, his arm extending to wipe your tears for you but even he could tell you were refused. So he kept his distance, clutching the umbrella tighter as his voice broke. “I’m sorry. I really am. It just… I didn’t want for it happen. You were all I thought about. When you were gone and you didn’t call or texted once, I thought I was losing you. I wanted you back.”

You shook your head. “You cannot have everything you want. You know that.”

His face dropped.

“Are you going to make me choose, too?”

“No. I already know who you would choose,” and you did, yet your heart still ached for him, for your husband, the one thing you couldn’t have. Only you didn’t feel like laughing, not when Rintaro looked at you with just as much confliction. “Is it foolish of me that I still love you even after everything you’ve done?”

His lips curled the slightest bit. “A little, but I am the last man to judge you if you were foolish, which you aren’t.”

You laughed sardonically. “I love you, do you know that?”

“I know,” he mumbled.

Who knew two words alone could puncture one’s heart so much?

Looking away, you both remained silent until Rintaro dropped the question. “What will happen to us now? Divorce is unlikely, but I might be stripped off my titles. I don’t know. But I have a feeling I certainly won’t become King anymore.”

“Do you want to be?”

Rintaro thought about it. “I do. It’s all I’ve ever known to pursue.”

“Then stand tall, my Prince. A future King doesn’t bow down to anyone, not even his Queen, and most especially not when the world is against him. We can fix this. I can fix this. I can restore your glory, but I need you to place your full trust on me.”

The plan you formed in your head would be considered insane. Her Majesty would certainly be furious, but if this was the only way to leave Rintaro, you would do it. You would protect him. You would give him back his power, and once he’s had it all, you’ll remove yourself from his life. He cannot have everything that he wants – but if you could not have love, then you want power. Even for just a brief moment, you were determined.

You were going to ruin her.

The drive back to the Palace was silent. He’d agreed to whatever plan you had, regardless of what the outcome might be. He didn’t even know what you truly had in mind. He just trusted you wholeheartedly like you asked, and told you to do as you pleased. Right now, the Crown Prince was weak. His mind was far too disturbed to process anything correctly. You would take advantage of it, simply because his compliance would be the only thing to ensure your success.

He just needed to remain silent.

Claiming he was exhausted, Rintaro went ahead first. It’d be another night where you’d sleep separately, and you would both definitely be awake the whole time. Just as you rounded the corner, you saw a hunched figure resting against the wall. He looked like he’d been waiting for you for a while. Upon hearing your footsteps, Kiyoomi raised his head – his dark eyes vulnerable, almost if hoping you would be the same as you were yesterday.

You wanted to. Truly, you did.

But the person he’d been with in Itachiyama was someone else entirely. She was someone happier, someone who didn’t have a broken marriage to worry about. She was someone who could have loved him.

Now, you were the same Princess he’d always known – the one who could never choose him.

Kiyoomi nodded to himself. He must have realized everything by now. What happened in Itachiyama stayed in Itachiyama. Pushing his weight off the wall, he strode to you with a blank expression. His eyes had gone cold again.

“We will never speak again, will we?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out, “He needs me right now.”

“I know,” Kiyoomi had never sounded so defeated broke, and it broke your heart. It made you want to run into his arms, to tell him it could’ve been him if you met him first. But that would sound wrong, wouldn’t it? He had been first. He’d been the last dance; the destined lover. The fated one. But man’s willpower could be so strong it battled even destiny itself, and you were both nothing but a fragment of the could’ve been’s.

“Good luck, Princess, in all your endeavors,” and then, just when you thought he would kiss you as he leaned forward, you closed your eyes. Waited with bated breath.

But he never did.

Kiyoomi only kissed your cheek, and then his scent and his warmth disappeared sooner than you would like. When he walked away, you saw all the what if’s you had to let go of.

The dream life with Kiyoomi vanished into thin air.

Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you forced yourself to turn and never look back. Kiyoomi was surely doing the same. He’d come to peace with it eventually, the love he could’ve had, the marriage he should’ve had. Itachiyama was nothing but a fantasy anyway. He wasn’t a real farmer just as you weren’t someone he could call his. It was a story doomed from the beginning.

Numbness spread all throughout your body. You’d been too drained to cry further, too exhausted to regret what you’d just done. The voice in your mind, the one who craved Kiyoomi like man needed air, had been eerily silent, too. It was if she, too, knew there was no point chasing after something that didn’t want to be chased in the first place.

All you could do was close your eyes and push the image of Kiyoomi’s smile out of your head.

He wasn’t yours. He could never be yours.

After what seemed like hours, you finally arrived at your shared quarters. The same room you left your husband in, and quite possibly the same room he slept with his mistress while you were gone.

You sighed. Opening the door, you were met by the sight of Rintaro pouring himself a drink. He’d already changed clothes – ones free of Iris’ lipstick and perfume. He looked fresh, much more composed than when he was a mess hours ago, yet he seemed… distant. Usually, he’d already perk up at you entering the room. But his face was devoid of any emotion as he poured wine into a second glass, deftly picking it up before downing it in one go. Your gaze fixated on the bobbing of his throat. How Iris’ lips kissed the column of his neck, how she’d whispered praises into his skin, how Rintaro allowed it all.

He slammed his empty glass down on the table. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the sides of it, his voice unnaturally low as he spoke. “You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what?”

“Why you weren’t mad after reading the article,” his knuckles turned white from when he tightened his grip. He took slow exhales as if to calm himself, his grip loosening before he snatched another glass.

Back straightened, Rintaro towered over you as he took slow, careful, deliberate steps – akin to a predator sneaking up on its prey. Your heart drummed in your chest, loud enough it could’ve echoed in the spacious chamber, but you stood your ground. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing his effect on you. Then, he stood in front of you – close enough you saw the steady rise and fall of his chest, the tipping of his head to the side as he narrowed his gaze at you. Inquisitively, suspiciously, like peeling away the layers of your skin to reveal your dirtiest secrets.

“Strange, don’t you think? Any sane wife who found out their husband was cheating on them would’ve screamed and kicked already. You didn’t do any of that.”

“I told you already. I’m too tired for any of that.”

“It could be that,” he raised his glass to your face, a portentous smirk dancing on his lips. “Or you could also be directing your affections to someone else.”

“What are you trying to say?”

He rolled his eyes, but otherwise kept his gaze on you as he sipped his drink and taking his sweet sweet time. “I wouldn’t have slept with her if you didn’t leave. You know I despise Kiyoomi, yet you still went. You completely disregarded my feelings when I said I didn’t want you to go,” he grounded his teeth, jaw clenching from the effort of holding himself back. “Is it him, then? Are you choosing him over me?”

He sounded so serious in his accusations you almost believed it yourself. “Don’t be absurd, Rintaro.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I strike a chord?” he said in a sing-song manner, the smile dropping from his face when you kept your lips shut. “So the rumors were right. You went with him to get back at me.”

Your jaw dropped. Yes, you enjoyed the time with Kiyoomi. Yes, you wished you never left, and you were already regretting each minute you spent longer in this damned space with him. Yes, you thought about Kiyoomi in ways you shouldn’t have – and god forbid you nearly asked him to kiss you, but not once did you think about using his brother as a ploy.

You weren’t like him.

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

Rintaro fumed. He flung his empty glass across the room, the shattering sound muted by his yells. “Prove it to me, then!”

“Are you even hearing yourself? I’m not the one who cheated! Don’t you dare turn this around and make it seem like it was my fault.”

“But it was! If you didn’t go around fucking my brother behind my back, I would’ve stayed loyal to you! I would’ve waited until you returned! What, you thought I wouldn’t know what you were doing there with him? Doing fertility dances, sharing dinners with his mother like you’re his wife, lighting stupid fucking lanterns–” swinging your arm back, your palm connected with his cheek, a resounding slap rendering the Prince speechless. He stepped back, clutching his reddened cheeks as he stared at you in disbelief.

“That is enough. Utter one more word, and I will never speak to you again.”

“You aren’t even denying it,” he spat out, “Have you fallen for him?”

You were done. So done. You wouldn’t have any of this anymore. Sidestepping him, you walked past and away from your husband, heading for your bedroom where you planned on slamming the door in his face. You’d cry for hours there if you needed to – anything to have him leave you alone. But your husband was just as stubborn as he was determined, catching up to you with ease before catching your wrist. He spun you to face him, and you froze – he reeked of alcohol, his lips and cheeks painfully red, but his eyes.

You couldn’t tell if he wanted to kill you or keep you.

“Answer me!”

You fought against his grasp. He was stronger than you by all means; you struggled and kicked and pounded your fists on his chest, but Rintaro didn’t budge. He let you hit him however you pleased, demanding repeatedly to tell him he was wrong – how you wouldn’t choose his brother over him, how it’d be him – forever and always.

“I hate you!” you bellowed at his face, falling limp in his arms from all your fighting. “I wish I never married you – it should’ve been him! I should’ve married your brother!”

“That’s a lie!”

“Oh, don’t look so hurt now, Prince. You don’t even feel a sliver of what I do. Need I remind you that you constantly choose her over me, your wife? Why should I be loyal to you when you’re not even mine?”

“I am yours.”

“You’re hers, too,” you reminded him, your eyes glinting with mischief as you recalled Kiyoomi’s words. Just then, cruel laughter bubbled from your lips. Two could play this game, and you would be the winner. He wanted to hurt you? Fine. You could hurt him even more. “You know what’s laughable, Rin? The woman you’re fighting tooth and nail for doesn’t even want you.”

“Shut up!”

You laughed harder, practically shaking in his arms as you did. Taunting him, you nudged your nose with his, forcing him to look at you and feed on your wrath. “I’m right, aren’t I? She doesn’t like you. She’s merely using you for fame and pleasure because her husband isn’t attracted to her–” the breath was slammed out your throat. In mere seconds, Rintaro had shoved you against the wall, his lips crashing down on yours with such ferocity it burned you. Your eyes stung from your tears, the back of your skull beginning to throb. But Rintaro wasn’t done with you yet.

Pinning your wrists above your head, you gasped, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like scotch and smelled faintly of her perfume. It made your stomach churn, and soon, you were groaning into his mouth, desperately trying to win in this battle of dominance. He was angry as you were frustrated, your lips molding against each other’s like swords clashing in a battle. He struck first, his kisses passionately bitter, but his taste addictingly sweet. You fought back against his hold, your breasts sliding down across his chest and you moaned – he groaned – tugging your bottom lip between his teeth until you couldn’t tell who the enemy was anymore. You shouldn’t kiss him, you shouldn’t enjoy it, but his lips were as familiar as a sunny day and you were a woman in need of light in your life.

He’s repulsive, your mind argued.

But he’s mine, your heart decided. He was, and always will be, yours. He could have Iris for as long as he wanted, but it was you who’d taken his name. It was your ring on his finger, your face next to him in the royal portraits. You weren’t the shameful mistress – you were the rightful wife. You could have him as you pleased, ruin him to your delight. Break him into thousands of pieces only to pick him up again because he was yours, yours, yours.

Threading your fingers to his hair, you dragged him closer to you. Breathed him in, pawed at his shirt in a demand for him to take it off. He was more than willing to oblige, the two of you making quick work of his buttons in between messy, breathy kisses. Shirt discarded, he grabbed your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct – the next sequence of events like a movie you’d seen before.

Your clothes on the carpeted floor.

Rintaro on top of you, your fingers intertwined beside your head. His lips on your neck, bruises on your skin and the imprint of his hands on your hips. Your mewls right on his ear. The quivering of your thighs, the stain on the sheets – the day turning into night, from dusk until dawn. He thrusts deep, enough to have you inhaling sharply through your nose. And there it was – the unmistakable scent of a vanilla perfume you’ve never owned. It’s everywhere in the room now that your eyes opened, the hazy cloud of lust ebbing away. Iris’ perfume on your vanity area, a discarded pair of white lacy thongs that wasn’t yours peeking from under the closet, and her scent – her stupidly sweet, innocent scent – blanketing the silk of your sheets.

Slowly, your fingers detached from Suna as you turned to the sides, inhaling the sheets once more because it couldn’t be, right? Maybe you had it wrong. Rintaro wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t be so cruel. You never even shared this bed with him ever since you got married. You’ve never had him hold you close as you fall asleep, never had your head resting on his chest while you both waited for the next day. He was a cruel man, yes, but he wouldn’t dare do this to you. Not while you were gone, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.

Yet there it was, the scent of a floral shampoo you couldn’t recognize on your pillows, and the faint smatters of vanilla and cinnamon lingered behind.

And when the damage is done, and your heart is more confused now than ever – Rintaro momentarily slumps before you, held up only by his arms, he realizes too late the tears stained on your cheeks.

“You brought her here.”

It wasn’t a question, not even an accusation. You spoke nothing but the truth, and Rintaro’s crestfallen face said it all. He’d brought her here, made love with her on your bed. Somehow, finding out that he’d fucked her in the one place you found solace in the Palace hurt more than knowing he fucked her everywhere else.

It was as if he’d stained you. Spat right at your face. Desecrated the one place you wished to hold him in, and rubbed it in your face that he couldn’t make love to you in your bed. But he could with her, because it was always going to be her, wasn’t it?

No matter how hard you tried, it was never going to be you.

Silence dawned on the room. There’s nothing but the rapid beating of your hearts, and the soft sniffles you muffle behind your first. He sees two things on your face that night: one of beauty, and one of regret. He dared himself to be brave, to wipe your tears with the pad of his thumb. The motion was oddly comforting, and for a moment – just a quick moment – you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. Leaning into the warmth of his palm, more tears dampened his skin. You were torn between asking him to stay, to hold you until it hurt less, and asking him to leave and give you a moment for yourself.

But Rintaro had already decided.

With a final kiss to your forehead, your husband crawled out of the bed. He glanced at you one last time before slipping his ring off, setting it on your bedside table, before quietly – and resolutely – leaving you behind.

[ichorai]

balance the scales ; aemond targaryen. (m)

alternatively titled soda. track six of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x strong!f!reader

synopsis ; he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

words ; 40.3k (my longest oneshot!)

themes ; heavy angst, action, smut (minors dni!), mild fluff, enemies to lovers back to enemies trope, slowburn, betrothed au

warnings / includes ; violence/war, several character deaths, descriptions of injury/blood, birth scenes, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, hotd s1 spoilers, reader is fiercely team black, implications of rape (aegon), really really heavy angst, harwin is reader's older brother, helaena is the sweetest ever :( jace and luke are reader's best friends, rhaenyra is practically reader's mother, lots of Emotions in this one, asoiaf politics and references for all of you book nerds

main masterlist. read on ao3!

It was said that you came into the world silent. 

A problem with your lungs, the midwives had solemnly told your father, the Hand of the King, proclaiming you dead not three minutes after. Lyonel Strong was grief-stricken at not only having lost his dear wife to the perilous task of childbirth, but you as well. 

But you were a fighter from the very beginning. At least, that’s what Harwin had told you. Once they’d laid you in your eldest brother’s arms, your airway had miraculously cleared up and you’d let out a hoarse, shrill cry—and the rest was history. 

“I was twenty when you were born, you know,” said Harwin, voice rife with affection, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from your face. “I was so scared that I’d lose you. Now look at you—eight years of age and healthier than ever. Are you excited to meet the new baby?”

“Yes! The babe gets a dragon egg and everything!” 

You beamed up at your eldest brother, batting away his fretful hands and turning to your friends. Though—they’d always felt more like your brothers than merely friends.

Jacaerys and Lucerys, who bore a striking resemblance to Harwin (and you’d keenly noticed that they shared your smile), were playing with a wooden carving of a dragon, blowing raspberries and running around the spacious chamber. The taller of the two, Jace, was only a few moons older than you, whilst Luke was much younger and looked up to you—quite literally and figuratively. The two young boys roped you into their little game as well, screaming with laughter when you began chasing after them with a snarl, arms outstretched. 

With a slight smile, Harwin watched over the three of you, hands comfortably rested against the hilt of his gilded longsword. Even though he was only but your older brother, he always treated you as if you were his own child—after all, you barely saw your father anyway, seeing as he was always busy serving the King as the Hand. The fact that he was a whole two decades older than you only made him all the more protective of his youngest sibling. 

His attention was pulled away from the three kids clambering on top of each other when the doors creaked open. An exhausted Rhaenyra slowly limped in, Laenor Velaryon right behind her, holding a bundle of red and gold fabric. 

“Mother!” exclaimed Jace, getting onto his feet to greet Rhaenyra. “Look!” 

He scuttled away to pull the cover off of the stone incubator, revealing a scaly dragon egg of dark emerald hue. You and Luke were hot on his trail, peering over his shoulder to marvel at the smoking egg. A large part of you was jealous that Jace and Luke and the new babe each got a dragon egg, and you never did, despite having similar physical attributes to the boys. But they were royal Princes, and you were only the youngest child of the Hand, which really meant little to nothing other than fancy titles and polite honorifics.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Luke excitedly told his mother, who leaned against a chaise tiredly.

Harwin offered his arm to Rhaenyra, helping her slowly ease down onto the seat. 

“Ah,” she said, the beginnings of a smile to her lips. “That looks like the perfect one.”

“I let Luke choose!” chirped Jace, squaring his shoulders proudly. “But Luke couldn’t decide, so I asked Y/N.”

The purple of Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with affection when she looked at you, nearly shrouded behind Jace’s taller stature. “Sweet girl,” she hummed, briefly glancing up at Harwin, before returning her gaze to you. “You chose wonderfully. Thank you.”

Luke reached out to graze his fingers over the egg’s ridges, but flinched back from the heat, sticking them into his mouth. You pulled a grimace but laughed anyway, lightly shoving Luke away from the incubator.

“Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” said your brother. “I thought it best to escort the lads. They insisted on Y/N coming along, as well.” 

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” replied Rhaenyra, dipping her head with gratitude. 

Harwin’s eyes locked on the babe in Laenor’s arms. “Another boy, I heard,” he said. 

The Princess nodded once, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly. 

“Might I?” asked the Commander.

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey,” Rhaenyra told her husband, who finally ripped his loving gaze from the babe, and handed him over to Harwin.

With flailing hands, Luke reached out to Harwin, eyes trained on Laenor. “Please, father, may I hold Joffrey?”

“Ah, ah, ah, back to the Dragonpit for you two—before they send out a search party!” ushered Laenor as he led the boys out of the chamber. “Come, Y/N, would you like to join the boys?” he asked kindly, clearly wanting to give Harwin and Rhaenyra some well-earned time alone. 

Excited at the prospect of seeing the boys’ dragons again, you scrambled out the doors after them, squeaking out, “Wait! Wait for me!” 

Once the doors were shut and the kids were gone, Rhaenyra looked upon Harwin bouncing the babe fondly.

“You’re asleep in front of the Commander of the City Watch,” he gently scolded the tiny thing. “Terrible lack of respect.”

“A certain insolence runs in the family, I’m afraid,” commented Rhaenyra, subtly hinting to the baby being of Harwin’s blood, rather than Laenor’s. 

Harwin tried his best to suppress his smile, failing miserably. He looked down at the baby once more, noting with pleased fascination that Joffrey had his nose.

The dungeons of the Dragonpit were dimly lit by sparse, flaming torches hanging by the stone walls. It stank of smoke and ash and stale blood, but you didn’t quite mind the smell. You bounced on the balls of your feet behind Jacaerys, eyes wide with anticipation as the dragonkeepers brought out Vermax.

He was a rather tempestuous beast, snarling at the lot of you as he stalked forward. The pale orange of his wings and the green of his scales warbled beneath the fire’s light. The keepers spoke in their lilting Valyrian tongues to command the dragon—foreign to your ears, but no less interesting. 

Aegon seemed not to share your disposition, however, yawning loudly and rolling his eyes to the side, clearly bored with watching Jacaerys bond with Vermax. Ever since Aegon had won mastery over his own dragon, Sunfyre, his head seemed to swell twice its size and he held no interest in anybody else’s dragon but his own. Both you and Luke glanced up at him with a scowl. The younger of the silver-headed boys kept his gaze trained to the ground, used to his brother’s antics.

You’d always been much more fond of Aemond than Aegon anyway—he was far kinder to you than his brother. Though, compared to Aegon, it was barely a competition. 

Watching on in rapt fascination, you turned your head to see one of the keepers bring out a bleating lamb for Vermax to feast upon.

“Can I say it?” asked Jacaerys, equal parts nervous and excited. He glanced at his uncles, before looking back at you, eyes gleaming. You gave him an encouraging smile. At the keepers’ hum of approval, he turned back to his dragon. “Dracarys, Vermax!” 

With a grateful hiss, Vermax turned and blew a long breath of fire straight at his prey, pupils sharpening. Even from afar, you could feel the heat of the flames kiss your skin.

Vermax happily stalked forward and began biting into the charred flesh of the lamb. The keepers clapped Jacaerys on the shoulder proudly, before heading off to round Vermax further into the darkness of the Dragonpit. 

Just as you were about to tell Jace how amazing that was, Aegon interrupted by cuffing his younger brother on the shoulder.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he glibly said.

The other two boys glanced at each mischievously. You tilted your head, feeling a bit left out. You weren’t aware of any surprises they had planned for the young Prince.

“What is it?” asked Aemond.

“Something very special!” chimed Lucerys, just before he ran off into the darkness.

Clearing his throat, Aegon continued, “You’re the only one of us without a dragon.”

Aemond frowned. “Indeed.”

“And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you!” exclaimed Aegon.

This came as a surprise to you. To your knowledge, none of the dragons had nested as of late, and there were no new eggs for Aemond to take. 

The same skepticism colored Aemond’s tone. “A dragon? How?”

Aegon didn’t even try hiding his snarky smile. “The gods provide, dear brother.”

And out came Luke from the shadows, tugging along a large, oinking pig. Tufts of dried wheat were tied around the pigs back, made to mimic a dragon’s wings. You felt your lips twist into a frown. What a terrible thing to gift Aemond.

The other boys giggled as they announced, “Behold, the Pink Dread!” 

They snickered in amusement at Aemond’s reaction—or lack thereof. 

“Be sure to mount her carefully,” cackled Aegon, prodding his brother’s side. “First flight’s always rough.” He snorted loudly into Aemond’s ear, who stood still and unflinching. 

Jace and Luke followed suit, making obscene pig noises and giggling. They turned to leave the Dragonpit.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go see if they have any lemon cakes for supper!” said Luke, grabbing your hand. 

You kept your gaze trained on Aemond, shaking the younger boy off. “I’ll be right there… just give me a minute.”

Shrugging, Luke scampered off with Jace and Aegon, still laughing between his pig-reminiscent oinks.

Uncertain, you stood a couple feet away from Aemond, toying with the fabric of your sleeve. You sympathized with him, really. All your life, you had no dragon of your own, despite always having wanted one. You knew it wasn’t the same because it was his birthright as a Prince to have a dragon—but you could still understand the feeling.

“I’m sorry about them,” you said, moving closer. “That’s a terrible thing to gift you.”

The Prince was silent for a few moments, before rotating on his feet to fix his glare on you. You shuffled back a step.

An amalgamation of anger and embarrassment etching crystal clear across his face, he spat out, “Go away! You’re not even of royal Targaryen blood—you don’t belong here!”

It was clear that he was merely projecting his frustrations onto you—after all, he himself was of Targaryen blood and yet he always felt like an outcast in his own family. 

But you were only eight, and such complicated matters were lost to you. 

Lips twisting in a frown, you blinked at the Prince, hands curling into fists by your side. “I just wanted to help,” you quietly mumbled beneath your breath, before promptly turning on your heel and marching out of the Dragonpit.

Aemond had heard your final words before your departure, feeling a twinge of guilt coil within his stomach. But after casting another look at the pig, his thoughts about you disappeared, replaced only with hot fury. 

With a determined set of his jaw, Aemond trudged on further into the darkness of the Dragonpit. 

“Your feet,” said Harwin, tapping the edge of his sword onto your scuffed boots. “Don’t stand like a pin needle. Keep them apart—steady your stance.”

You did as he told, and he nodded in approval. With your dull, wooden practice lance, you dove forward and struck the hay sewn dummy with quick strikes.

“Good,” your older brother commended, patting your shoulder. “Just remember to move with your feet, alright? Come now, drop the sword.”

“What?” you asked, allowing the wood to go limp in your hand. “Why?”

Kneeling down before you, Harwin brushed your sweaty, damp hair away from your burning skin. “Because this world doesn’t give little girls swords when they need it. They must only rely on their wit and their hands if the situation arises. Drop the sword, darling.”

Frowning, you relinquished your hold, waiting for further instructions.

You’d been doing this with Harwin for a long while now. Every other night for the past three years, he’d been teaching you how to fight, and how to defend yourself. 

“Now, I’m going to pretend to hit you, and you have to do everything in your power to stop me. Do anything you must—hit back, bite, kick, run… just don’t give up. You promise?”

“Okay,” you told him, steeling your nerves. 

He began slowly, motioning to strike your stomach and your sides. You managed to evade those easily, moving back or rolling out of his way. The faster he got, however, the more sloppy you were. One particular jab to your shoulder made you bite back a cry of pain, and you glared up at him.

“Must you be so rough?” you growled, to which Harwin only nodded, face stoic.

“In a fight—a real and true one—do you think they’d go easy on you? No. You must be prepared for it, Y/N. I will not always be there to protect you.” 

His words made you pause. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you be there?” 

“I’ll always be there for you, little sister,” he said, large hand patting your head. “But if there comes such a time where I won’t be, for some reason unbeknownst to me, you must be ready.”

With a reluctant bob of your head, he commanded you to get into a fighting stance again. 

“Thumb outside the fist,” he gently reminded you. “Feet wider apart, knees bent—yes, that’s it.”

And without warning, he darted forward, using his foot to sweep across your legs, making you stumble back onto your arse, all the breath in your lungs rushing out.

“Harwin!” you yelled out, now fed up with him. “That’s not fair! You’re using your feet!”

“I never said I wasn’t going to use my feet. You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair,” he said, unable to help the small chuckle falling from his lips. “Up you get.”

Rubbing at your sore bottom, you mumbled out, “Why don’t I get to spar with Jace and Luke and Aemond and Aegon? I want to spar with them.” Though, as soon as the words left you, you realized that you’d really rather not spar with Aemond and Aegon. Especially not after that whole pig situation.

Surprised at your question, Harwin halted to lower himself down to your height once again. “Sweet sister… it is safer for me to train you in secret. In a fair and just world, you’d be able to train with whomever you wanted. But you are a young girl, and they are the royal Princes. The court would not find it proper if you were to spar with them.”

Tears welled up in your widened eyes. “But… that’s not fair…”

Harwin thumbed away the wetness on your cheek. “Come now, don’t cry. How about, next time the boys train, you get to watch—and I can teach you the same things they learn later in the evening? How does that sound?”

“O-Okay,” you hiccupped. “Can I have my sword back?”

With a faint smile, Harwin nodded, handing you the wooden stick. 

From the shadows where neither of you could see, Criston Cole watched, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted.

Harwin was a man of his word.

The very next day, you had shot out of your bed like someone had lit a fire beneath you, hurriedly dressing and washing yourself, much to your handmaid's shock, and scampered out to the training yard.

“There you are,” greeted your brother, ruffling your already sleep-mussed hair. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you replied, bouncing on your toes.

Harwin could only grin down at you, before returning his gaze to the four boys dully smacking their wooden practice swords against the dummies.

Aegon twisted and turned and hit with speed rather than precision, grunts of exertion falling from his lips. Lucerys was clumsy and slow, but for the most part, he hit the targeted regions accurately. Jacaerys was nearly the same as his youngest brother, only a tad faster and more agile on his feet. 

Ser Criston Cole was scrutinizing Aemond, despite him seeming to be doing the best out of the four. Fast, accurate, and strong strokes of his wooden blade thudded repeatedly against the hay.

“Soften your knees,” gruffed Criston, face betraying no expression. “Feet light. Light, Aemond.”

Training with the Dornish man seemed much different than training with your older brother. With your brother, as hard as he was on you sometimes, he was still kind and knew your limits. Cole was cold and rigidly strict, and seemed to care naught for the boys’ boundaries.

You glanced up at your brother, who watched on with a mildly distasteful expression.

Observing from the walkways above, you spotted your father with the King. Lyonel eyed you with a questionable gaze, wondering what on earth his youngest daughter was doing on the training grounds, rather than playing with Princess Helaena, whom you’d grown to be rather fond of, or entertaining Rhaenyra and the new babe, Joffrey. 

You tilted your head when Aegon grew bored of smacking his own dummy, wandering over to Jace and knocking the younger Prince’s sword out of his hands. To none of your surprise, Criston chose to turn a blind eye to the eldest boy.

You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair, you could hear your brother’s words echo in your head. Perhaps he was right. Nonetheless, you could feel anger simmer within your stomach.

“Don’t stand too upright, my Prince, you’ll get knocked down,” commanded Cole.

Aegon halted in his terrorizing as two handmaids passed by, openly gawking at the poor girls as they hurried off with baskets of soiled laundry. Only after they were long gone, did Aegon catch sight of you, tilting his head curiously, as if trying to remember your face.

“Aegon,” Criston called out, pulling Aegon’s attention away from you.

“I’ve won my first bout, Ser Criston,” boasted the white-haired Prince. “My opponent sues for mercy.”

A ghost of a smirk graced Criston’s lips. “Then you shall have a new opponent, then. Let’s see if you can touch me. You and your brother.”

With dejected expressions, Luke and Jace slunk off to the side, watching Aemond and Aegon battle against Criston. It was only then that the two boys took notice of you. Luke waved excitedly, and Jace nodded his head with a smile. You grinned back at them, clasping your hands behind your back, itching to have a practice sword gripped between them.

Criston seemed to make a fool of the Princes, easily parrying away their strikes and sending them sprawling onto the ground several times. 

“Weapons up, boys,” Harwin quietly advised Luke and Jace. “Give your enemies no quarter.”

It seemed as though his words were not quiet enough—Criston certainly overheard what he was saying, and didn’t look too pleased with it.

Your brother narrowed his eyes. “It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston.”

Jaw squared, Cole bit out, “You question my method of instruction, Ser?”

“I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils,” said Harwin. 

“My pupils? And not… your pupil?” 

This made your brother blanche uneasily. 

“Lady Y/N. Come. I want to see what Ser Harwin has taught you.”

Shocked, you looked up at your brother, lips falling open and shut, unsure of what to say or do. 

Not wanting to disobey the tall, scary man, you timidly stepped forward. From above, your father seemed to want to end this nonsense, shifting his weight from foot to foot—but as the King trusted Ser Criston Cole, he had little he could say to put a stop to this.

“Aemond. You shall spar with the Lady Strong.”

The Prince seemed to want to do anything other than that, but reluctantly ambled forward anyway. Criston roughly shoved a wooden sword against your chest, which lacked any armor whatsoever in comparison to Aemond’s full chestplate and protective metal gloves. 

“Engage.”

Desperately trying to recall what your brother had taught you, you spread your feet further apart and bent your knees, leveling your weight in preparation to move around.

Aemond was the first to attack, diving forward to strike your sides. He got one hit in at first, pain blossoming by your ribs. You winced, staggering back slightly.

By the second strike, you were prepared. Though he was half a foot taller than you, you used that to your advantage. It was little effort to duck away from his arc when he was about to repeat the very same maneuver, smacking the flat of your stick to the back of his left knee, sending him buckling forward. In the short time you had to watch him, you’d noticed that he favored his right side, and often left the other side unguarded. 

The Prince was quick to recover, scrambling back up on his feet and glaring at you with the strength of a thousand suns. This time, he was smarter, waiting for you to attack next. You feigned a jab to his neck, forcing him to parry high up, before you used your feet to kick out against his exposed stomach. It was a dirty move—not a proper one in the least, but it was as your brother said the other night—life was not fair.

Aemond fell back with a muffled oomf, expression suspended into one of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he’d just been bested by a girl. Teeth clenched, you placed the tip of your sword against his chest, locking eyes with him. He stared at you with nothing but pure hatred within the deep purple of his irises. After a second, you moved it away, holding out your hand to help him up. You were willing to overlook what happened down at the Dragonpit the other day—after all, you still sympathized with him and didn't hate him in the very least. Especially not compared to his wretched older brother. 

The Prince didn’t take your hand. He shoved it away with a grumble, standing up on his own and slinking off to the side. It was embarrassing. More than that—he was angry at himself, at you, at Cole. Tears pricked the corner of Aemond’s eyes, but he willfully staved them away.

Frowning, you made your way back to Harwin, who fondly cupped your face with one large palm, patting your cheek thrice. “Well done, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You smiled wearily, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Criston’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, clearly unhappy with Harwin’s pupil beating his own. His gaze flitted downward to lock with yours for a brief moment, before looking at the crown Prince. “Alright. Jacaerys. You spar with Aegon. Eldest son against eldest son.”

Giving the boy no warning, Cole seized the front of Jace’s armor and all but dragged him to the center of the training yard. Helplessly, Jace looked to you and Harwin.

This was by no means a fair fight, but you had to remind yourself—life is not always fair.

As if reading your thoughts, Harwin called out, “It’s hardly a fair match.”

“I know you’ve never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect.” Criston’s seething words made you shift uncomfortably. How dare he speak to your brother like that?

You glanced back up at your father and the King, still watching over. You wondered if he could hear what Criston was saying. If he cared.

“Engage,” said Cole.

And with that, Aegon roared, raining down attack after attack upon Jace. He shoved him down onto the ground, dried leaves fluttering upwards with his fall. Satisfied with himself, Aegon turned his back to Jace, bowing to you with a smirk and chuckling at his early win.

Jacaerys, however, was quick to get on his feet and charged forward with a snarl, wildly arcing the practice sword at his uncle.

In an attempt to get him to stop, Aegon shoved a dummy onto Jace, which prompted Harwin to step forward and say, “Foul play!”

“I’ll deal with him,” barked Criston, before stepping towards Aegon. “Plant your feet. You have a height advantage. Use it!”

It was becoming more and more clear that this spar was no longer an eldest son against an eldest son. It was between your brother, Commander of the City Watch, and the Queen’s kingsguard.

Whilst Criston roughly barked instructions to Aegon, Harwin moved to Jace, gripping the young boy’s chin in his palm and gently gave him advice and words of encouragement—not unsimilar to what he did with you during your training.

Once they were done, Aegon furiously stormed back to Jacaerys. “You!” he screamed, red-faced and furious at his nephew for having embarrassed him in such a way. The Prince was not at all used to not winning.

“Close with him!” yelled Criston when Aegon surged forward and hit him repeatedly. “Press him backward! Stay on the attack! Use your feet!” 

With that, Aegon placed his heel squarely against Jace’s chestplate, kicking him back onto the dirt. 

“Don’t let him get up. Stay on the attack!” 

You watched on in concern as Aegon whacked the wooden sword over and over onto Jace—to the point where you panicked and frantically tugged on Harwin’s armor, afraid he was going to do some serious damage on your friend. 

Deciding to put an end to this once and for all, Harwin finally stepped forward and ripped Aegon away from Jace. 

“Enough!” he bellowed, so loud that his voice seemed to echo back against the stone walls. 

This seemed to enrage Aegon all the more as he screeched out, “You dare put your hands on me?”

“Aegon!” yelled the King from above.

Nobody listened. 

“You forget yourself, Strong,” said Cole, voice dripping with venom. It didn’t slip by your notice that he’d dropped the honorifics with your brother. “That is the Prince.”

“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?” seethed Harwin. 

Tone eerily level, Cole glibly commented, “Your interest in the princeling’s training is quite unusual, Commander. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin… or a brother… or a son.”

With that, Harwin surged forward and planted a clean punch against Criston’s face. 

Criston made no attempts to fight back. Not with the second hit, or the third, or the fourth. By the fifth, he was bleeding from the side of his temple, and red ran down a stream from his split lips.

Your hands had flown over your mouth, and you staggered back, against Jace. Luke’s small hand curled into the fabric of your tunic. A son… Criston had said. And it all made sense to you now—why Harwin loved the boys so dearly, why they looked so much like your brother, why you shared the same smile as them. 

They were your nephews. 

This only had you protectively stepping in front of them, shielding them from the sight of their true father beating up a knight.

Over and over and over again, your eldest brother struck Cole, until his own knuckles glimmered with dark ichor—belonging to both him and the man beneath him. Two gold cloaks had to rush forward and haul Harwin away from Criston.

“Say it again!” bellowed Harwin. “Say it again!”

Despite the beating he’d just undertook, Criston laughed through his blood-saturated spittle. “Thought as much,” he choked out, turning to his side to hack out a wad of red onto the dirt. 

Your father was furious. 

At you, yes, but the anger he felt towards Harwin a thousand times moreso. So much so that he had ordered Harwin be stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch, and taken back home to Harrenhal as his heir. Though, it wasn’t a home to you, seeing as you’d never even stepped foot in the place.

Your father had also tried to resign as Hand to the King, feeling immense pressure and shame from the court. But the King insisted he stay, and to your relief, that meant that you could stay, as well.

However, that also entailed that you had to say goodbye to your beloved brother. 

When he first told you, you scoffed and retorted, “A funny joke, Harwin, but I’m not in the laughing mood.” And when his expression remained solemnly unchanged, you could feel your heart sinking to your stomach. “No… no, you can’t be serious. Harwin, you can’t leave! No! What am I to do here without you? What of our training?”

The following hour consisted of you crying your little eyes out, sobbing into Harwin’s armor, begging him not to leave. He had little to say, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d join you in your crying. But he stroked your hair and assured you that he’d write as often as he could to you.

Father was to be joining him to drop him off at Harrenhal and ensure everything was going smoothly for the first fortnight, before he was due to return to King's Landing. You wouldn’t be missing him too much—at least he was coming back. You hadn’t a clue when the next time you’d see your brother might be.

And there was the other unspoken elephant in the room—Rhaenyra’s sons. Your best friends—and, as you’d recently found out, your nephews.

“Be good to your mother, lads,” said Harwin, kneeling by Luke. “I’ll visit when I can. But that may be some time.”

He turned to Jace, who stood tall beside his mother, rocking Joffrey back and forth in his arms. 

“I will return,” your brother told his eldest son, lifting his chin up with the tips of his fingers. “I promise.”

Harwin and Rhaenyra locked eyes for a brief moment. Hers watered. Harwin’s softened. He bent down to press a loving kiss to the babe’s forehead. 

“I will be a stranger when we meet again,” he whispered to Joffrey, but a part of it was directed to Rhaenyra herself.

You awaited by the door for him, wiping your tears furiously with the back of your hand. 

Harwin’s final goodbye was saved for you. So much to say, with so little time. He cupped your face and kissed your forehead, nose slotted against your hairline. His first and final tear fell from his misty eyes.

“Remember what I told you. I’ll always be there for you, sweet sister. Always. Maybe not physically here,” he said, before pressing a thumb just above your duly beating heart. “But in here.” 

Much to your frustration, you began to cry again, chest thundering with sobs. 

“Goodbye, brother,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh, no, don’t cry over me, darling. I want you to keep your head high, hm? By the time I see you again, you might be even stronger than me.” 

Harwin pressed another kiss to your cheek, before swiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, and stood up again. 

You watched as he pushed the door open and strode down the hall, disappearing from your sight. Jacaerys came to your side, threading his hand with yours in an effort to comfort you. You squeezed gratefully, releasing a shuddering breath.

“We will exchange letters by raven,” placated Rhaenyra, trying her best to alleviate both of your sorrows. “Won’t that be fun?”

Bluntly, Jace turned to look at his mother and asked, “Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?”

Shock colored Rhaenyra’s expression. 

“You are a Targaryen,” she affirmed after recovering from her initial surprise, stroking Jace’s hair away from his face. “That’s all that matters.”

She hadn’t answered his question, but both you and Jace knew the truth.

News of your brother and father’s death spread like wildfire. It was said to be an accident—a tragic product of Harrenhal’s Curse. There were rumors flying around, however, that it was no accident.

Rumors of Daemon Targaryen wanting to rid his niece of her lover. Rumors of Corlys Velaryon exacting revenge for Harwin cuckolding his son. Rumors of your last remaining brother, Larys Strong, murdering his own blood to claim his inheritance.

You paid no mind to the rumors. It was an accident, and that was that.

Life is not fair, you could hear your brother’s voice say to you. He was right—nothing was fair. 

After their deaths, you spent days weeping in your chambers. Jacaerys and Lucerys often dropped by to check in on you, offering to take you down to the Dragonpits in hopes of cheering you up. You’d sniffled and shook your head, curling up in the center of your bed. Rhaenyra, who saw you more like a daughter than anything, took the liberty of bringing food to your chambers, urging you to eat something.

“It’s okay to cry, sweet girl,” she told you, sitting by the edge of your bed and stroking the hair away from your face. When you began to quietly sob, she wound her arms around your small frame, and held you close to her chest.

The fortnight after their deaths, everyone treated you as if you were hewn from glass. They spoke slowly and cautiously, treading on eggshells around you. Even Jace and Luke seemed hesitant to play with you anymore, afraid you’d burst into hysterical tears any second.

What made it worse was when Rhaenyra announced that she was leaving King’s Landing with her children for Dragonstone. It was devastating news—for she and her sons were the closest thing you had left to a family. 

Jace hugged you goodbye, eyes teary and nose red. Little Luke clung to your legs and begged you to come with them. Even Rhaenyra had offered you a place on the ship to join them on their journey, her voice kind but so very tired.

“You will always have a place with us, sweet girl,” she had told you, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. The Princess considered you the daughter she never had—always fiercely protective of you. With Harwin gone, that feeling only increased thricefold. You were practically her family by now.

But you couldn’t leave King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and the boys. Not with Larys Strong anchoring you to the Red Keep—and certainly not with Alicent breathing down both of your necks.

And so you watched them sail away, face drenched with your tears and hands clenched into fists by your side.

You abhorred it all, wishing everything could just go back to how they were before.

Out of all the other children at court, Princess Helaena was the only one who treated you the same as she did before, all misty-eyed and odd-of-tongue. Because of this, you found yourself glued to her side, desperate for a sense of normalcy, which you ironically found in the strangest of girls. She was a fascinating person, far more intelligent than first meets the eye—with a peculiar interest in critters and insects lurking in the shadows.

She was rather fond of you as well, though not at all used to having friends, much less other girls who took her fixations seriously and didn’t think her gross for it. Queen Alicent was mortified at having a Strong girl befriend her daughter, and yet was simultaneously relieved that she finally had someone to call a friend. Besides, having you on her side was more of an advantage than anything—especially with Larys Strong backed in her corner, as well.

“The butterfly has two large, black spots on the bottom of its wings,” said Helaena as she crouched down beside you, holding her palms up to brandish the small insect. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.”

You smiled at her, raising a finger to touch the little insect, only for it to flutter away before you could get too close, hurrying back to the gardens. 

“They’re beautiful,” you said, watching it disappear amongst the flowers. “Masters of trickery, though.”

“Yes,” surmised Helaena, though her gaze was fixed on you. “Beautiful. Deceitful. Both equally true.”

It had been three weeks since your brother and father passed.

And yet, here you were, at someone else’s funeral in Driftmark. Laena Velaryon—the late wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

You’d pleaded with Larys, begged him to allow you to go back to Harrenhal to mourn your family—but he only supplied you with a crooked smile and told you that you belonged in King’s Landing. With Larys being your only kin left standing, adamant with his refusal to return home to properly grieve over Harwin and Lyonel, it seemed that you were stuck with him.

You were never very fond of Larys to begin with.

At Laena’s funeral, you made it your job to avoid him as much as you could, following behind Jacaerys and Lucerys. It was strange and pleasant under the worst circumstances seeing them again so soon after such an emotional farewell.

Rhaenyra wove through the crowd, bowing her head to you with soft eyes, before fixing her gaze on her eldest son.

“Your little cousins have lost their mother,” she said. “They could use a kind word.”

Jacaerys looked to you, then back up to his mother. “We have an equal claim to sympathy.”

Brows furrowing, Rhaenyra looked around to make sure none of the lords and ladies were listening in. “Jace—”

“We should be at Harrenhal, mourning Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin. It is not fair to Y/N,” he stressed, jaw clenched. Tears warbled over your irises, but you quickly blinked them away.

“You’re right—it’s not fair. But it would not be appropriate. The Velaryons are our kin and the Strongs are not. Look at me, Jace. Do you understand?”

Bearing a sour face, Jacaerys nodded, before trudging off to give his condolences to his little cousins. 

You watched him go, looking up at Rhaenyra with wide eyes. “Nothing in life is fair.”

The silver-haired Princess shot you a questioning look, but you turned and made your way into the shadows, where you knew her half-sister, Helaena was playing.

“Hand turns loom, spool of green, spool of black, dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread,” she chimed, repeating the words over and over again, cradling a spider in her palms. 

When she caught sight of you, she didn’t stop her mantra, but dipped her head in greeting. She offered you the spider, but you shook your head with a kind smile, allowing her to keep playing around with the spindly arachnid. 

From about a meter away, Aemond and Aegon watched the two of you.

“We have nothing in common,” the elder of the two bemoaned, slurping wine from a golden chalice. He was referring to the fact that he was betrothed to his sister now, something that neither of them seemed particularly pleased about.

Aemond pursed his lips. “She’s our sister.”

“You marry her, then,” Aegon shot back.

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” He watched curiously as you tossed your head back with a laugh when Helaena whispered something about collecting spider webs in a jar. Come to think of it, Aemond couldn’t remember ever hearing you laugh before. Memories of you besting him in combat flashed before his eyes. 

“If only,” snorted Aegon.

“It would strengthen the family. Keep our Valyrian blood pure.” 

Pulling a disgusted face, Aegon looked to his brother. “She’s an idiot!”

“She’s your future queen,” spat Aemond.

“I’d rather take the one beside her,” said Aegon, eyes glued to you. “She is growing to be a fine girl… considering how she beat your arse to the ground.”

Aemond supplied him with no answer. He was no stranger to Aegon’s lustful ramblings.

“Actually, we do have one thing in common—we both fancy creatures with long legs!” chortled the older prince, before sauntering away, off to hunt down a maid for another cup of wine. “Wench! Another!”

This left Aemond to shake his head with revolt, observing his brother go. 

He spotted his nephew, Jacaerys, not too far. A part of him wanted to say something, offer his sympathies or apologies—but when Jace lifted his head and stared straight at him, Aemond could feel the words lodging in his throat, and he turned to walk away.

You observed the interaction from afar. Aemond caught your eye, merely for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity.

And, much to your surprise, he made his way to you.

“I offer my condolences, Lady Strong,” he said, rigidly formal. “It is tragic what happened to your brother and father.”

You bowed your head, lips trembling. Though the two of you have certainly had your differences, Aemond was not heartless. He knew you were suffering a great loss.

“Thank you, my Prince,” you croaked. 

The two of you stood in silence.

“I… I’m sorry. For snapping at you in the Dragonpit.”

Your head shot up in surprise. There was little you could think of saying, so you gave him a small smile—one that he mirrored after a moment’s hesitation.

Somewhere in the distance, the pained roar of Vhagar echoed over the seas.

It was the dead of night.

You were already sound asleep when Luke burst into your chambers, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you awake.

“Y/N, wake up, wake up!” he whisper-yelled.

Groaning, you peered open an eye and sat up. “What?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Someone stole Vhagar!” he said, tugging you off the bed and ushering your bleary form along. Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena were already rushing out to see who had taken the old beast of a dragon.

Not at all sleepy anymore, your eyes widened upon seeing Aemond clamber off the dragon.

“It’s him!” gasped Baela.

Aemond cocked his head. “It’s me.”

Face contorting with rage, Baela gritted out, “Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother’s dead,” said Aemond. Briefly, his gaze flicked to you, before looking back at the two Targaryen girls. “Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena gruffed.

“Then you should’ve claimed her,” retorted Aemond. “Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

A soft gasp lodged in your throat when Rhaena strode forward with a growl, aiming a loose punch at Aemond’s face. He easily dodged, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her off to the side. Baela rushed towards him next, landing a good punch to his face. He yelled out and struck her back, a bilious crack of his fist against her skin ringing out against the stone walls.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” threatened Aemond. 

His words made Jace yell out and jump forward, driving Luke to attack, as well. Aemond made quick work of the boys, kicking Jace back and punching Luke so hard in the face that his nose cracked beneath the pressure.

You were hesitant to fight Aemond, you really were—especially when the two of you seemed to have just gotten over your grievances with one another. 

But he’d hurt your friends, and you wouldn’t stand for that. Harwin certainly wouldn’t have.

“Stop this!” you told him, protectively standing between Luke and Aemond. When he only set his jaw, you gave him a hard shove back. The conflict that danced within the purple of his irises was tangible—you could see it.

He didn’t want to fight you.

Your push took him by surprise, sending him sprawling onto the hard ground. Baela, Rhaena, and Jace took advantage of this, jumping forward to rain punch after hit after kick on the young Prince. He was bleeding now—red leaking from his nose, his lips, his fists.

“Stop! Stop!” you screamed at them, grabbing at Rhaena’s hand and trying to pull her back, to no avail. “Jace, stop!”

Luke pushed away from you to join the skirmish. 

To your horror, Aemond grabbed a large rock that had come loose from the cobblestone walls, curling his bloodied fingers around it. The other hand shot out to wrap around Lucerys’ throat.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did! Bastards!” spat Aemond into Luke’s face. The words seemed to have fallen from his lips without thought, as if completely forgetting that you were there.

But what he said had struck a chord within you. How dare he speak of your brother in such a way? You wished to move, to hit Aemond until he was nothing but a bloodied pile of flesh and bone—but he still held Luke in his grasp, and the looming threat of the rock in his other hand. 

Confused, little Luke choked out, “My father’s still alive!”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Aemond looked to Jace then to you, then back to Jace. “Lord Strong?”

Furious, Jace unsheathed a small dagger. 

No. 

No, if Jace were to kill Aemond… it would only make matters all the worse.

“Jace, no—!” you began, but your warning fell upon deaf ears.

Jacaerys dove forward with the dagger, but Aemond knocked him down with the rock thudding against his cheek, the blade flying. to the other side of the corridor. Aemond let go of the younger Velaryon in his haste. 

This was a mistake.

Luke crawled about in the sand, grabbing the hilt of the dagger Jace had dropped. Working in tandem, the elder brother threw sand in Aemond’s eyes, momentarily blinding him, and Luke stood up, slashing the sharp metal straight across the side of Aemond’s face with a sickening squelch. Blade slicing flesh.

Blood splattered everywhere. All over Luke’s hands, over the dagger, over the sand.

A scream erupted from Aemond’s lungs as he clutched his maimed face with his hands, falling to his knees.

Drip, drip, drip. The blood dripped through the cracks between his fingers.

You rushed forward to the Prince out of pure instinct, grabbing his shoulders and cupping the uninjured side of his face, your breathing staggered and rapid. All the hatred you’d felt for him—all the anger, the rage, the frustration—flew right out the window at the sight of him hurt so badly.

“Aemond!” you cried. The blood was too much—pouring down his tunic, onto your own sleepwear, staining your skin.

“Cease this at once!” bellowed a voice from behind you. “Get away!” 

Criston Cole ripped you away from Aemond, under the impression that you were the one that was hurting him, kneeling beside the Prince.

You began to hyperventilate, scrambling back until you hit the wall. Blood on your hands, under your nails, dampening your clothes—

Someone, you weren’t quite sure who, hauled you up, dragging you through the castle, Jace and Luke in tow.

Everyone was gathered into a large room. A maester was stitching up Aemond’s wound by the fireplace, Alicent knelt by her beloved son’s side. You stood by Jace and Luke, trembling viciously and eyes warbling with unshed tears.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” King Viserys asked the guards, voice cross and brows furrowed.

“The princes were supposed to be abed. Prince Aemond was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” replied Criston.

With a snarl, Viserys hobbled onto his feet, leaning his weight onto a cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” 

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes—” began Criston.

“That is no answer!” yelled the King.

Worriedly, Alicent asked, “It will heal, will it not, maester?”

Hesitant, the maester pursed his lips. “The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression seemed to fall at his words. She rounded to her eldest son, who stood behind her, not caring nearly enough for his brother who’d just lost his eye.

“And where were you?” screeched Alicent, rising to her feet.

“Me?” said Aegon, flabbergasted at the attention suddenly being on him.

A smack rang loud and true throughout the room as Alicent struck him across the face. 

Crying out, Aegon shrunk away from his mother. “Ow! What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she hissed. 

Just then, the doors swung open, and Corlys Velaryon strode into the room, his wife Rhaenys just behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, voice booming. 

“Baela, Rhaena!” gasped Rhaenys. “What happened?”

The girls rushed to their grandmother.

Rhaenyra hastily came through a different set of doors, Daemon hot on her heels. Upon seeing her sons, she hurried towards them, immediately kneeling down beside Luke.

“Show me,” she told him, gently prying his hand away from his nose to inspect the damage.

A tear slipped down your cheek. The Velaryon girls had their grandparents. Jace and Luke had their mother. Aemond had his mother, as well as his siblings.

You… who did you have to comfort you? Harwin was gone. Your mother was gone. Your father was gone.

Your lips trembled. Never before had you wished to just disappear from the face of the world. 

“Who did this?” barked Rhaenyra. 

“They attacked me!” said Aemond.

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!”

The kids all began throwing accusations, their combined voices drowning each other out. Your head began to throb with their volume. You glanced at your dear friend Helaena, who put her hands over her ears to block out the noise.

“Enough,” ordered the King.

Nobody listened.

“He was gonna kill Jace!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Enough!” said the King.

Again, nobody listened.

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent yelled.

“He was choking me!”

“He called us—!”

“SILENCE!” bellowed Viserys, knocking his cane against the ground repeatedly. The crowd fell into a lulled murmur. “Aemond. I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

Brows furrowed, Alicent shook her head, auburn curls flying every which way. “What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “It was a regrettable accident.”

“Accident?” scoffed Alicent. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son!”

Voice raising, Rhaenyra defended, “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them!” 

Viserys tilted his head. “What insults?”

A beat of silence. 

Rhaenyra gripped Luke’s hand in hers. “The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys said.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra told her father. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Alicent’s fists clenched by her side. “Over an insult? My son has lost an eye.”

Viserys leaned down closer to Aemond. “You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?” 

Desperate to place the blame away from her son, Alicent cut in, “The insult was training yard bluster, nothing more—”

“Aemond,” Viserys sharply said, ignoring his wife. “I asked you a question.”

Aemond remained silent.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father?” asked Alicent. “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw twitched with muted anger. “I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

Alicent huffed. “Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

Criston cracked an amused smile at her words.

“Aemond,” said Viserys. “Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

The young Prince swallowed heavily. “It was Aegon,” he reluctantly said.

“Me?” parroted Aegon.

“Where did you hear such calumnies?” snarled Viserys to his eldest son. When Aegon refused to answer, he yelled out loud enough for you to flinch, “AEGON! Tell me the truth of it!”

The silver-haired prince refused to meet the King’s eyes. 

“We know, father,” he said. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

A tense silence folded over the crowd, only stifled by the flames of the hearth crackling. You shifted uncomfortably, stuck in the middle between Rhaenyra’s side—the side that you grew up with, the side you loved so dearly—and Alicent’s side—the side of the sweet Princess Helaena, and the Prince Aemond who’d just lost his eye. The side of your only brother left, Larys Strong. You felt stretched thin—uncertain of what to think of yourself.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” bellowed Viserys. “All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to each other. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” 

Thinking the matter over and done with, Viserys began to hobble away.

Alicent’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“That is insufficient,” she said. A thin film of tears reflected the golden light of the torches hanging on the walls. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. Good will cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys placated, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken!”

Viserys shook his head. “What would you have me do?”

Alicent casted her gaze to Rhaenyra. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.” 

Gasps murmured through the crowd. You drew in a shaky breath, shuffling closer to Rhaenyra and her sons, until you practically stood in front of Luke. He was your friend—your kin—and you would be damned if you were to let anyone touch him.

“My dear wife…” began Viserys.

“He is your son, Viserys!” Alicent pleaded, her voice thick with emotion. “Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgement,” he warned. 

Frustrated beyond relief, Alicent gnashed her teeth together and said, “If the King will not see justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Scared, Luke grabbed onto the back of your sleeping shift, looking up at his mother with frightened eyes.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son!” she gritted out.

“You will do no such thing!” hissed Rhaenyra.

Turning to Criston, Viserys ordered, “Stay your hand!”

“No, you are sworn to me!” asserted Alicent. 

Cole’s eyes darted from the Queen, to the King, to Rhaenyra. “As your protector, My Queen,” he softly said.

“Alicent, this matter is finished,” Viserys said, voice heavy with finality. “Do you understand?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s cold eyes. 

“Let it be known,” the King began, addressing the entire crowd this time, “anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Blowing out a relieved exhale, Rhaenyra dipped her head. “Thank you, father.”

With sudden movements, Alicent unsheathed Viserys’ dagger from his belt and marched towards Rhaenyra and her sons.

Instinctively, you grabbed Luke and dragged him further back, shielding his body with your own. Luke began screaming out of fear when Alicent brought down the blade onto his mother, only barely held back by Rhaenyra’s hand wrapping around her wrist. 

The crowd erupted in pandemonium, with guards frantically pushing each other back, not knowing who to defend. The king’s wife, or the king’s daughter and heir? Daemon came forward to stop Criston in his tracks. You tightly held onto Luke, eyes wide and heart beating frantically.

“You’ve gone too far!” Rhaenyra told the Queen.

“I?” Alicent’s voice trembled. The blade was held between them, shaking and glowing with the reflections of the hearth’s fire. “What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law! While you flout all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!” commanded Viserys.

They both ignored him. 

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” cried Alicent. “It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!”

For the first time since everyone was gathered, her father, Otto Hightower, the new King’s Hand, said, “Release the blade, Alicent.”

“And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!” said Alicent.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” replied Rhaenyra. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness! But now they see you as you are.” 

With a yell, Alicent brought down her blade and staggered back. Its sharp edge had cut through the fabric of Rhaenyra’s sleeve, carving a deep gash across the inside of her forearm.

Blood. Dripping. Thick. Red.

Luke gripped your hand tightly. The dagger in Alicent’s palm fell to the ground.

Rising from the chair, you got a good look at Aemond's wound for the first time since you entered.

It was swollen and red, the stitches extending from the top of his forehead to the side of his ear. Your heart ached—whether it was for Aemond, for Jace and Luke, or for Rhaenyra, you couldn’t at all tell.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” said Aemond. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon.”

Viserys blew out a shaking breath. He was tired, and his body grew weary. “This proceeding is at an end.”

With that, the crowd began to disperse. You let Luke go, and he went rushing forth to his mother. 

You watched as Aemond leaned his head on his mother’s chest. 

A guard began ushering you out of the room and back to your chambers before you had the chance to tell him that you were sorry.

Barely a moon after Laena Velaryon’s funeral, Aegon and Helaena were getting married. It was held in haste, most likely to distract the court from the incident at Driftmark—give them something else to talk about for a change.

You sat in Helaena’s chambers as her ladies fussed over her, pulling the strings of her ivory dress, tying her hair into intricate knots, and applying rouge to her cheeks and lips. It was a much more elaborate process than what your own lady-in-waiting had done to you—all you had was a simple, ocean-hued dress with intricate patterns of deep green running down the length of the fabric. Your hair was pinned away from your face and a chain of silver pearls rested against your sternum. Though it was nice to wear such pretty things, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were just playing dress up—as if these clothes didn’t actually belong to you, like you were donning a charade for the night.

Whilst you were only nine, your name day having passed quietly a few moons ago, Helaena was at the ripe age of ten-and-three—she was barely of age to be married off—to her vile older brother, no less, but Alicent had insisted.

The young Princess’ eyes were clouded over, as if her mind was far, far away. She might’ve been here with you physically, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

“Three silver eggs, twisting, twisting, twisting… the blood curdles, the milk dries,” she murmured as the handmaidens finished with their final touches. Once they were done, they bowed their heads and left Helaena’s chambers. 

You moved closer to her, your fingers grazing over her the smooth green-gold cloth on her shoulder. 

“Helaena,” you whispered, heart aching for her. “I’m sorry. I wish I could whisk you away, keep you from the abomination that is your brother. If only I had a large dragon of my own to carry you off onto.”

“You will have a dragon,” she said absentmindedly. It didn’t slip your notice that she had completely disregarded the mention of her wedding, as if pushing it far and distant into the back of her mind. Perhaps if she didn’t think about it, the pain wouldn’t sting as much. 

Helaena was not one to jest, but you waved away her words as if she had.

“If… if you need me to do something—anything, Helaena, I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer. It is not honorable. You deserve someone kind and loving… Aegon is not capable of granting you such luxuries.” It was as if you were pleading with her to say something—to try and stop this accursed union. In truth, you knew that you were powerless against the might of Alicent and her loyal subjects.

You were nobody. You were well aware of that fact.

But as of that very second, you would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for the sweet, cloudy-eyed Princess.

She fixed you with a fond gaze, though still far away. 

“A dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can,” she whispered.

The corner of your eyes pricked with tears. “Princess, please—”

Before you could continue, the door to Helaena’s chambers swung open, and Alicent swiftly hurried in. You stepped away from your friend to give the Queen space to fuss over her. 

It was time for the wedding.

The ceremony started with the septon reciting prayers, so lengthy and repetitive that your eyes drooped with the silent threat of sleep. Aegon stood beside the septon, shoulders slumped and muffling yawns every other minute. 

Once the septon had finally wrapped up, the grand doors of the Sept swung open, and King Viserys walked in with Helaena on his left side. He parted with a gentle kiss to his second daughter’s forehead. It was no secret that Viserys very obviously favored his eldest child, Rhaenyra, but out of the four others, he had a certain muted soft spot for Helaena and her strange mysticism. You would’ve been surprised if he even remembered Aemond and Daeron’s names.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The septon’s voice rang clear and true, echoing loudly in your head.

Looking none too pleased, Aegon all but threw the cloak over Helaena’s smaller frame, the Targaryen sigil seeming distorted from where you were standing.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Now and forever.

Your heart fell lower to your stomach.

The septon tied a knot with red ribbon around their joined hands—Aegon angrily holding onto her palm while hers was limp in his grasp.  

“Let it be known that Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, and Helaena Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

With one tug, the red ribbon between them unraveled. 

The Princess bore no emotion as she began to speak in unison with Aegon, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

A lie. Aegon would never be Helaena’s.

You let your gaze travel to Alicent at the side, wiping a tear from her eyes. Anger bubbled within your chest. Right beside her was Aemond, a leather eyepatch fixed over his injury. His face betrayed no expression.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aegon said emotionlessly, as if he were reading from an invisible script. He held Helaena’s face and planted a quick kiss on her lips. The two turned to the audience, who burst into raucous applause.

You did not clap.

The wedding feast following the ceremony was, expectedly, large and extravagant. Lords and ladies from all over the realm milled about as they ate and chattered and danced to the music. 

Helaena sat beside Aegon on the longtable, refusing to eat any of her pigeon pie, repeatedly poking holes through the chunks of meat with the prongs of the fork. Her brother—now husband—had refused to lead the first dance with her, instead choosing to crossly slump into his chair and knock back chalice after chalice of spiced wine. 

With little appetite to eat, you had taken to ghost around the expansive room, head abuzz with thoughts of Rhaenyra, Jace and Luke. A few lords had halted you in your tracks, asking for a dance, but you’d politely declined them all. You hardly paid attention during dancing lessons with the Septa and you were sure you’d trip over your own feet and make a fool of yourself. That, and you were in no mood to dance with lords thrice your age.

During your fourth cycle around the large room, bored out of your mind, you felt someone’s stare burning a hole into the back of your neck.

Aemond Targaryen. 

He was looking straight at you, unabashedly.

Memories of his blood on your hands flashed through your mind. You ripped your gaze away. 

Suddenly feeling sick, you hurriedly wove through the packed room, murmuring apologies when you accidentally trod over a few unsuspecting feet, and rushed out of the hall, just about fleeing to your chambers.

As soon as you shut the doors behind you, you began to sob uncontrollably, sliding down the wood and burying your tearful face between your knees.

The next morning, you felt terrible for leaving the feast early, and consequently, Helaena alone, as she suffered through the trauma of the bedding ceremony. The ladies of the court gossipped between bouts of laughter as they recounted Helaena’s fearful face when men began tearing at her clothes and carrying her off to Aegon’s chambers.

It was said that Helaena’s pained cries could be heard echoing across the Keep for the first few minutes, until she fell utterly silent. The creaking of the bed, however, didn’t cease for the rest of the night.

The gardens smelled of fresh morning dew and sweet clementines. You walked alongside Helaena, her hand softly resting in the crook of your arm as she dreamily chattered about how she once found a ladybug with no spots eating a small spider in under five minutes. It’d been nearly two weeks since she was wed, and she often hastily changed the subject to something else whenever you tried to bring the matter up.

“The poor spider,” you said, stopping to admire a bush of white roses. “But I suppose a ladybug must eat.”

“Yes,” Helaena hummed in agreement. 

The rest of your walk was comfortably silent when you led her to a shaded spot beneath the fruit trees, where you had a blanket laid out beforehand. 

A small millipede crawled out from the grass onto the blanket, and Helaena smiled at the critter, holding her hands out to let it climb onto her awaiting palms. The princess watched it snake along her skin with her earnest purple eyes.

“People often confuse millipedes with centipedes,” she explained. “Centipedes have one pair of legs for each body segment. Millipedes have two.”

The millipede scuttled down her fingers as she set it back down on the ground.

You blew out a pleased sigh, turning your head up to the sky and shutting your eyes, letting yourself bask in the warmth of the late morning sun. 

“You are a fascinating person indeed, Helaena,” you told her, a laugh to your tone. “No other in the entirety of Westeros can speak of bug legs and make it interesting.”

The princess smiled, all wide and toothy. It fell the next moment when she began speaking again.

“I am with child, I think,” she whispered.

Startled at the sudden confession, you snapped your head her way, eyes wide, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But again, Helaena was never one to jest.

You gathered her hands between yours. “Are you certain, my Princess?”

Grey seemed to cloud over her vision. “Quite. I saw it in my dreams. Two pairs of legs for each body segment.”

Your brows furrowed. Was she speaking of babies or of millipedes?

Blinking in confusion, you shook your head, allowing for a small, fond smile to replace your miffed expression. “You will make a wonderful mother, Helaena. I’m sure of it. I will be there for you every step of the way.” 

Wary that she wasn’t too keen on prolonged physical touch, you loosely tugged her into an embrace. She smelled of honey cakes and rich soil. Her cheek rested against your shoulder and she shut her eyes, grateful for your friendship. 

“Two pairs of legs for each body segment,” she mumbled again, voice low. “A millipede regrows limbs that are cut off. A dragon cannot.”

Training without Harwin proved to be a challenge on its own—but you were nothing if not determined. 

You often snuck out to a secluded part of the yard when the pale moon was high in the sky and the sun had hours until it was due to rise. At first, you weren’t entirely sure how to go about teaching yourself how to fight. But you worked on honing the same skills Harwin had taught you for three years. Speed, agility, accuracy, strength—all were important. Though, not as important as keeping a sharp mind. 

You frequented the library often, reading voluminous tomes on the history of blades and the art of battle. The faded words on the parchment told you secrets to fighting that you had a feeling not even the most seasoned of knights knew. One that had certainly caught your attention was the fact that there were certain points in a man’s body you could strike that would render them temporarily paralyzed. You wished you had an excess of detestable men lying around to practice your newfound knowledge on.

As Aegon and Aemond continued their sparring with Ser Criston Cole, you watched from the shadows, observing their technique and creating mental notes on their habitual weaknesses. Ever since Aemond had lost his eye, he worked twice as hard to better himself. He wasn’t going to let the loss of an eye hinder him from becoming a warrior.

But that didn’t make him invincible. Aemond was still greatly disadvantaged with such a large part of his peripheral vision gone.

It wasn’t until a few moons later, when you were ten and Aemond was twelve, did he confront you again. 

You were testing the accuracy of your knife-throwing, two small blades you had nicked from the armory gripped in your hands. Pulling your hand back, you narrowed your eyes at the target, and let it fly forward. It sank into the ringed wood with a dull thud, but had veered slightly off course when you released, resulting in a less-than-satisfactory result. 

With a frustrated huff, you tried again, this time changing the way you had thrown it. 

The blade whistled as it carved through the air, but strayed even farther from the center. 

Before you could react to your disappointing performance, a voice resounded from right beside you, making you let out a small shriek and flinch away with surprise.

It was the Prince. 

“You’re holding the knife wrong,” he said, voice not unkind, single eye observing your defensive stance. In three strides, he tugged the blades out of the wood, making his way back to you. “You use your thumb to neutralize the blade’s rotation. Like this.”

He demonstrated, and you watched in silence. 

When he returned the blades back to you, you attempted to mimic what he had shown, glancing up at him for approval.

“Move your grip lower,” he said, lifting his hands to gently shift the knife in your palm. His touch was cold, but you didn’t quite mind. 

“Thank you, my Prince.” Your voice was but a hoarse whisper. Aemond nodded once, stepping back to give you space to try again.

This time, when you flung it to the target, it was far closer to the center, only barely grazing the white marker of the inner circle.

You grinned, proud of the drastic improvement. 

“I’ve seen you sneak out to train nearly every night by now. Why?” the silver-haired boy asked, almost suspiciously. He didn’t forget the way you had shoved him just before he lost his eye. 

The memory of Harwin telling you that you had to be prepared for a real fight briefly flashed in the back of your mind. You swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“I want to be ready,” you replied, pointedly avoiding his burning stare. You thought back to Helaena’s wedding, when he hadn’t taken his gaze off of you the entire night. 

“What are you readying yourself for?”

Squaring your jaw and straightening your posture, you quietly told the one-eyed prince, “Life is unfair, Aemond. I am merely preparing to balance the scales.”

Before he could think of a response to your cryptic words, a rivulet of electrifying pain struck his empty eye socket behind the patch, ricocheting into waves throughout the rest of his skull. Aemond let out a soft cry as he doubled over in agony, hands flying to his face. It reminded you eerily of when Luke had first slashed the eye out, a memory that haunted your nightmares far more often than it should have. 

Panicked, you shuffled closer to him, one of your hands grazing his back, unsure of what to do.

“Aemond! Are you alright? Should I summon the maester?” you hurriedly queried, feet already moving away, getting ready to dash off as you waited for his answer. 

“No,” he gritted out through the pain, glancing up at you with his features twisted with misery. It was humiliating—Aemond felt ashamed of himself for showing his pain, for revealing a crack through his usually stoic demeanor. He felt ugly. He felt vile. He felt weak. 

A restless protest was on the tip of your tongue. “My Prince, you’re clearly hurting, please—”

“No!” he repeated himself, a sharp edge of finality to his tone. “They’ll just give me more milk of the poppy—!” 

Again, he doubled over, a muted roar rumbling within his chest. Not knowing what else to do, you clutched his shoulders, eyes frantically searching his single one. 

After a second, Aemond seemed to snap back into his senses, flinching from your touch and just about ripping himself away from you. Mortification flooded his quickly-paling features. He turned on his heel and ran off without another word.

Plumes of dust flew up from the covers of the heavy book when you set it down on a table. Grimacing and waving a hand in front of your face, you flipped the tome open. It was an old, lengthy volume on medicinal alchemy—a genre that you seldom read and knew little to nothing about. 

But for Aemond, you supposed you’d give it a shot.

The chapter you began to read was on remedies for severe wounds, such as fallen limbs or shattered bones. You were learning far too much about the grotesque nature of the human body than you had initially bargained for. Illustrations of cauterizations, sanitizations, and all sorts of diagrams of nude men filled the large pages. For your young eyes, you couldn’t quite comprehend most of what you were seeing. 

However, once you fell upon the optics chapter, you perked up, reading through the small text word by word. You were hoping that by reading more about problems with the eye, you’d be able to help Aemond out with his pain in some way. If there even was a way.

And as you read on, you found a small section on the near-magical works of a plant native to Dorne—a Sabar root. It was said to be all-curing and was often used to heal outer wounds. The footnote even detailed historical accounts of the root’s juices restoring the vision of those born blind. Though you doubted that to be true, you couldn’t help but hold onto the hope that it could help Aemond with the pain, even just a little bit.

You scampered out of the library with the thick book clutched to your chest, hurrying down the Red Keep’s stairs, scrambling towards the rookery, where they kept the messenger ravens. Beneath the rookery was where the Grand Maester resided.

You were but a small thing compared to the large wooden slab of a door. Knocking thrice, the door creaked open not two seconds later, revealing Maester Mellos, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Lady Strong…? What are you doing here? The hour is late, child, you should be in bed!” he scolded, fixing you with a narrowed gaze.

You shoved the book up into his face, a pleading expression on your face. “Maester Mellos, I have found something that might help Aemond’s condition!”

“Condition…?” he began, looking startled. It was late at night, and a ten year old was at his doorstep proposing a remedy to an issue he hadn’t even known existed. To his knowledge, Prince Aemond was healing just fine and had little to no complications since he had taken the stitches out. “Forgive me, my Lady, but I am rather busy at the moment and would really prefer to have this conversation with you when the sun rises. Sleep well, Lady Strong.”

Before you could get another word in, the large door croaked shut in your face, and you were left staring at the dark wood. With a dejected huff, you turned and marched straight back into the Keep. Up the stairs you climbed, arms growing weary with how long you’d been lugging around the heavy tome. 

You came to a stop in front of Aemond’s chambers, right beside Princess Helaena’s old bedroom from before she was married to Aegon. A room you used to frequent to visit your dear friend, which resulted in several awkward, and silent passes with the Prince.

It didn’t occur to you just how improper this was—knocking on the door of the Prince in the dead of night when you should’ve been in your own chambers, fast asleep. But this was important, and you needed to let Aemond know since the Maester wouldn’t listen to a word you said.

The door barely opened, revealing only a small sliver of space, where Aemond peered through to check who it was. In his hand was a dagger he kept beneath his pillow in case of emergencies. His grip slackened when he saw you behind the door, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes fiery with determination. He opened the door slightly wider, both curious and confused as to what you were doing in front of his chambers at such a late time.

“Prince Aemond,” you breathlessly said. His gaze drew down to the large book you held, nearly larger than your small, ten-year-old form. “I found something that might help your pain. It’s a plant root that only grows in Dorne, you see, but I’m sure they can have some imported to King’s Landing upon your request. I believe it can be used to relieve you of your suffering.”

Shock dawned upon his features. You’d done all this research… for him? For an issue that he never spoke of to anyone? Even after he had rudely scampered away from you with his tail between his legs like a wounded hound? 

He struggled to find the right words. Should he thank you? Tell you he was sorry?

Instead, Aemond found himself saying, “Why are you doing this?”

A moment of silence. Outside the Keep, the winds howled with the threat of a coming storm.

“I told you,” you whispered to the Prince, features softening. “I’m balancing the scales.”

The months passed by in a blur. You corresponded with Jace and Luke in the form of letters via raven quite often, always visiting the rookery with a bright smile and an excited bounce to your step at the prospect of learning about the boys’ stay at Dragonstone. It seemed that Jacaerys was struggling with learning Valyrian, and little Luke was growing like a beanstalk. Princess Rhaenyra had already birthed two new sons on Dragonstone with her uncle-husband, Daemon—respectively named Aegon the Younger and Viserys, after the King. In his writings, Luke took care to detail that both babes had silver hair and purple eyes, traits that he and his elder brother both lacked. It was his way of saying that he knew you were his kin—his true blood.

They always signed off with a promise of visiting soon. 

Soon truly couldn’t come soon enough.

Your training continued as normal, and more often than not, Aemond would be there with you, offering tips and gentle words of advice. He was not strict in the way that Criston Cole was, leaving you the choice of whether to listen or not, taking no offense if you decided to forgo his teachings. The two of you sparsely spoke outside of that, but you sometimes caught his eye during mealtimes, in which you’d offer him a small, grateful smile. He didn’t return them, but would dip his head in acknowledgement instead.

Helaena’s belly grew large—larger than most pregnancies—and the maesters had concluded that she was bearing twins. It was shocking news, one that elated Alicent and Helaena to no end. This only sent you into a spiral of worry, however, knowing that births were but the gods’ dangerous gambles. Having twins only doubled the risk of complications during the labor.

Thankfully, when the time came around for Helaena to give birth, everything had gone smoothly with very few bumps in the road. She had begged you to stay by her side the entire time, and you were more than happy to comply. It filled you with a sense of pride that she asked you to be there with her over her own Queen mother. 

The first twin to come out was a screaming boy with tufts of silvery hair and large purple eyes. He was the spitting image of his father, and you could only pray that he wouldn’t turn out like him in the future. More interestingly, however, the little boy had six toes on each foot and six fingers on his left hand. The midwives had shrieked in partial-surprise, partial-disgust upon their discovery, but you had swept the boy into your awaiting arms, gently rocking him up and down with a wide grin. 

The second twin, a girl, came out mute. Your heart lurched in your chest—you had come out silent when you were a babe, as well. She was noticeably much smaller, and bore the same hair and eye color as her twin. Her features, however, matched that of Helaena’s, to your delight. The small girl was eased into Helaena’s arms, seeming perfectly healthy, other than the fact that she was strangely quiet. 

“You did so well, Helaena,” you told her, kneeling down by the birthing bed to show her her son. Your dear friend grinned tiredly, murmuring a quiet hello to her eldest child. “They’re beautiful.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their names were. You could already feel a protective love blossom inside of you, swearing to guard them with every fiber of your being. It occurred to you that this was what Harwin must’ve felt when you were born, though you were far younger than he had been.

The thought only had you clutching the wailing babe closer to your chest.

Helaena’s children grew at an exponential rate. The twins had quickly become your favorite part of the day—it was a rare sight to see you without one of the children clinging to your legs, or you without the Princess by your side. 

Little Jaehaerys was loud and boisterous, being the first to crawl, to speak, and to run. He was a strong little boy, but often cried when not given what he wanted. His sister, on the other hand, was always quiet and much less active. She often took to staring aimlessly at random points of the chambers instead of playing with her brother, purple eyes scarcely blinking. You loved both of them despite their drastically different personalities.

You were well into your eighteenth year when the babes had their eighth nameday. During the later half of those eight years, Helaena had fallen pregnant again, and had a third child—a son named Maelor. He was a large baby, with a head of pale white hair and eyes a darker shade of mauve than his older siblings.

“Jaehaerys, don’t be so rough with your brother!” you lightly scolded when the boy began yanking at his baby brother’s cheeks with no restrain. A laugh slipped past your lips as you held Maelor out of his reach, which made Jaehaerys whine, as if you had taken away his most favorite playtoy. Helaena, sitting on the chaise on the other side of the room, glanced away from her embroidery to smile at her children, before returning her gaze back down to the needle and thread. Jaehaera sat beside her mother, staring into the fire with her lips parted.

Both you and Jaehaerys began playing a game of chase, where he was a fierce and mighty dragon whilst you enacted the role of a helpless knight. You had set down Maelor into his crib, where he suckled on a milk-soaked cloth.

The little boy roared, his face scrunching up with the action, before sprinting after you with outstretched hands. You were fast on your feet as you scampered away from him, but decided to slow down and let the little boy catch up to you, knowing he’d burst into tears if the game had gone on for too long without him winning. You shrieked in surprise when he grabbed at the ends of your tunic, yanking hard and yelling, “Dracarys, dracarys! I got you!”

“Indeed, you have,” you told the little boy, bending down to sweep him up into your arms with a grin.

From afar, Aemond lurked in the shadows, watching you play with his sister’s children. He watched the way you smiled with them, the way you laughed, the way you pressed chaste kisses into their chubby cheeks. It surprised him to find an inkling of jealousy for his nephews—how they had so freely enraptured your affections, whilst he was offered very little of them. No bother—all things came with due time. Besides, Aemond was not yet ready to admit his growing feelings with you.

The two of you had become considerably close over the past few years. You often frequented the library with him, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as you read together. You trained together, dined together, and took walks together. Hardly a day ever passed by without you spending some time with the young prince.

Aemond would scarcely speak when he was with you, preferring to listen to you instead. The times he did speak, it was quiet and thoughtful and rife with endearment. It was no secret that Aemond was growing quite fond of the youngest Strong. 

A tourney was held in honor of the twins’ eighth nameday.

You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you—you’d much rather be reading, or writing to Luke and Jace, or playing with the twins. To your other side was Prince Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You couldn’t help but notice his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk. 

Round after round of jousting went by, until Harley Piper—a young, handsome lord with soft ginger curls and bright green eyes and freckled, sun-kissed skin, urged his horse closer to the platform, gaze trained on you. Draped over his armor were the colors of House Piper—gentle pink and silken white against a striking shade of blue.

“Might I be honored with your favor, my lady?” he asked, voice sweet and mellifluous.

At first, you’d thought that he had been speaking to Princess Helaena, finding it rather odd for him to ask a married woman for her favor. But when she made no move to hand him a favor, it dawned on you that he was asking you. Flustered, having never really received any sort of romantic attention before, you rose to your feet and dropped a crown of woven flowers down his long jousting lance.

You noted with muted curiosity that Aemond’s tapping fingers had curled into a tight fist.

Off Harley Piper went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You found yourself holding your breath as his joust began against another knight you couldn’t care to know the name of, eyes intently following his movements. 

The crowd burst into raucous applause when the nameless knight easily unseated the young man—Harley flew off his horse with a grunt. They proceeded into hand-to-hand combat, where the larger knight leapt off his horse, grabbed a mace and swung it straight at Harley. A gasp lodged in your throat when the young man was struck cleanly in the back with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the ground.

“I yield!” relented Harley, raising a hand.

From beside you, a ghost of a leering smile appeared on Aemond’s lips.

It disappeared when Harley struggled back onto his feet, clapping his opponent on the shoulder good-naturedly, and began limping back to your direction. You subconsciously straightened your spine, which made Helaena hide a knowing grin behind her hand.

“I’ve dishonored you, my lady,” winced the man with a head of flames. “A beauty such as yours deserves much better than I.”

“Nonsense, Lord Piper,” you replied, finding his humility rather endearing. “You are more than enough.”

Aemond’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched at your words. You didn’t spare him a glance.

Harley Piper beamed, as bright as the sun, bowing his head before you. “I shall take my leave, Lady Strong. Perhaps I’ll see you at supper?”

Before you could reply, Aemond coldly spat out, “I’m afraid Lady Strong will be dining with me tonight, Lord Piper. Take your leave.”

Shocked at his sudden hostility, you swung an incredulous, confused glare at the prince. Harley, equally bewildered, glanced between the two of you with narrowed lids, before bowing his head and striding away. 

“Aemond, what the seven hells was that about?” you hissed, hand reaching out to grasp his forearm. His one eye darted between your touch and your furious expression—how you managed to become even more beautiful whilst angry was beyond him. “I liked him.”

The prince scoffed. “You have poor taste.”

“I thought he was sweet!”

“He lost his joust in a matter of minutes.”

“Losing a joust is nothing but a temporary blemish to one’s ego. Perhaps you could do with losing something, for a change,” you retorted, nose wrinkling at him.

The purple of his eye seemed to darken. “Mind your tongue, Strong,” he murmured, voice low. It didn’t slip your notice when he briefly glanced at your lips, parted and raw-bitten.

“Or what?” you shot back, leaning closer to him until your nose was but a hair’s breadth from his. “Will you take it from me? Will you take my tongue, My Prince?”

Before he could reply, Helaena cleared her throat, announcing that she would like to retire to her chambers. The noise was starting to get overwhelming for her. You practically ripped yourself out of your chair, eager to put some well-needed distance between yourself and the one-eyed prince. The skin on your cheeks and neck burned with heat—whether it was from Harley’s unadulterated attention, or from Aemond’s prickly behavior, you couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into the back of your head as you left the arena to return into the Red Keep.

Larys Strong’s cane knocked against the uneven stone floor with each lurching step he took. The Master of Whisperers hobbled up to the Queen’s side, where she stood in front of the Weirwood tree, reminiscing her now long-ago childhood with Rhaenyra.

Hearing the echoing stamps of his cane, Alicent dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Lord Strong. Any word of Rhaenyra?”

There was an eerie smile to Larys’ face that didn’t quite reach his dark irises. “My sources tell me she has fallen pregnant again. Her third child with Daemon.”

A scowl flitted across Alicent’s wary features. “Certainly hasn’t wasted any time, I see.”

Larys spared her no response, merely humming thoughtfully.

The Queen gave him a sidelong glance, hastily deciding to change the subject. “Word has it your sister has taken an interest in the young Piper boy during a tourney.”

This time, it was Larys’ turn to frown. “Y/N is young and impressionable. She will take a liking to anyone who spares her an inkling of attention.”

Alicent tilted her head. “My children are rather fond of her—for reasons unbeknownst to me.”

“Hm. Indeed.” The Queen’s words seemed to get the cogs in Larys’ brain churning. “I am the Lord of Harrenhal—and I will sire no children. Harrenhal will go to Y/N once I have passed. Marriages are of political currency, these days, Your Grace.”

Eyebrows cinched, Alicent turned to fully face the man. “What is it you are speaking of, Larys?”

“I am suggesting… a marriage of alliance. Between my young sister and your second son, Aemond. They are already quite fond of each other, as you have mentioned before. This will do good for not only them, but the both of us and our houses, as well. Once I pass, Harrenhal will go to Y/N and Aemond and any of their children they have together. If a civil war breaks out… Harrenhal would be sworn to Aemond—and thereby you, as well, Your Grace. Not Rhaenyra.”

Shock colored the Queen’s expression. For years, she had been trying to figure out the entire picture behind Larys Strong, and his true intentions. He hated Rhaenyra so much for dishonoring his house that he had murdered his own family for it to gain inheritance of Harrenhal. And now he was willing to bargain away his young sister, practically Rhaenyra’s daughter, to Alicent’s son.

A sick feeling twisted within Alicent’s gut.

She considered the thought of Aemond marrying you. The two of you were together more often than not, anyway, and you were her daughter’s best and only friend. Not only that, but the political advantage of having Harrenhal truly backed to her family’s side was something she just couldn’t pass up, no matter how vile it made her feel.

“That is a splendid proposal, Lord Strong. I shall inform the King and my son with haste,” she told him, lips pursed.

A twisted grin etched into the corner of his mouth. “And I will break the wonderful news to my sweet sister. Good night, My Queen. I shall see you on the morrow.”

Alicent watched as Larys began limping away. It was only until his figure disappeared into the Keep’s walls that she buried her tired face into her hands.

When you were younger, Larys was but a scarce figure in your life. You practically only knew of him by word of mouth—he was only your family in blood and name—he certainly didn’t feel like your brother. Not in the same way that Harwin did, at least. 

As you grew older, however, you began to notice Larys always lurking in the shadows, watching your every move like a vulture would a rotting carcass. Your second brother bore no love for you, that was glaringly obvious. Instead, he saw you as a pawn in his little game of thrones—a piece of the board he owned and was free to move around as he wished.

The Clubfoot leaned his weight on his cane as he studied you reshelving around half a dozen books you had borrowed from the library.

“Sweet sister,” he crooned, roping your attention away from the fraying spines of the tomes.

A disgusted shiver spidered down your form.

“What is it, Larys?” you sighed, already wanting the conversation to be over and done with. Later that night, you had planned to take the twins stargazing from the Keep's highest tower with Helaena, and you were hoping to squeeze in a quick bath before doing so. “I’m busy.”

“As you often are,” your older brother glibly murmured. “Forgive me for being so brazen… I couldn’t help but notice how close you and the young Prince Aemond have become.”

You blinked, the sudden mention of Aemond taking you by surprise. A pregnant silence fell over the both of you, heavy and tense. You were stiff as you waited for him to continue, but Larys was as relaxed as ever, a coy grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“You are ten-and-eight years old. Prince Aemond is twenty. Both of you have been of age to marry for quite some time. I have arranged a betrothal for you, Y/N.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, taking half a step back. “Larys… what did you do?”

The shelves seemed too close together, and you found the air within your throat thinning away. You fixed your brother with an incredulous glare, heated with the fire of a thousand summers. 

“The Queen has agreed to this—you will be wed to Aemond Targaryen. The Strong bloodline will continue on through you and the Prince.”

“No…” you whispered, a sharp, betrayed edge to your tone. “How dare you? How dare you do this to me?” 

The calm, nonchalant expression on your brother’s features remained unchanged. “I am helping you, dear sister. You are fond of Aemond—you cannot deny this, for it would be a plain lie. He is a prince—this is the best sort of marriage you can possibly get.”

“I am no sister of yours,” you spat, lurching forward to shove him back, caught up in a fit of rage. All you could see was red. Larys stumbled into a bookshelf, yet still appeared unfazed. “You took away my choice to marry whomever I wished. My freedom. When I asked—no, I begged—to return to Harrenhal to mourn Harwin and father, you simply brushed me to the side as if I were dirt on your shoe! All these years, and you’ve hardly acknowledged me as a person, much less your family! And now you… you use me for your political gain—to appease the Queen you are so desperate for, to further drive me away from Rhaenyra… you are vile, Larys. You are everything Harwin is not. Your very existence is a filthy stain on the memory of our family… of House Strong!”

The space between the two of you crackled as you stared at him, chest rising and falling in staggered motions from your anger-fueled tirade. 

“Aemond will treat you well,” was all Larys said, completely disregarding your harsh words with not a care in the world. “The Queen has informed him of the arrangement… along with the King. There is no going back now, sister-mine.”

Rage clawed through your chest, scratching down your ribs and twisting within your lungs. With not another word, you stormed past him, your shoulder roughly knocking into his on your way out of the library.

You had been so angry that night, you completely forgot about your promise to Helaena and the twins, and they were left waiting in the towers for you for hours on end. Little Jaehaerys didn’t mind, occupying his time by chasing a moth and tripping over the edges of carpets, with his little sister staring at him with her large, unblinking gaze. 

The sky was starless that night.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

You spun around the hay-sewn dummy, driving your sword into its motionless form over and over again in rapid succession, until the dried wheat began to cave in beneath the force of your hits. The poor dummy was taking the brunt of your frustrations—with Larys, with the arranged marriage, with Aemond. Grunts of exertion rumbled from your lungs and cold beads of sweat dotted your hairline.

Sure, it could be worse, you had initially thought, trying your best to see the silver linings. But the more you thought about it—the idea of being tied down against your will to a Prince, almost permanently anchoring you to your wretched brother’s side…

That was no future for you. You deserved better than that.

Just as you lifted your sword to strike the dummy again, you could feel a familiar, infuriating stare burn into your skin. With precise movements, you pivoted on your heel and swung your sword around, slanting the sharp blade right up against Aemond’s throat. The cold metal kissed his skin, but didn’t press deep enough to draw blood. It was a threat of sorts. You’d been training for more than a decade of your life by now—and you were more than capable of knocking him onto his arse, just as you had all those years ago during your first spar with him.

The silver-haired prince cocked his head, single purple eye blazing with an unreadable intensity you couldn’t exactly place. Ever so slow, he raised both hands. 

A beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.

You lowered your sword. 

“Go away, Aemond,” you spat, tone heavy with betrayal.

Sensing this, he stayed rooted to his spot. “It is not I who arranged the marriage,” he whispered, in an almost conciliating manner. It hadn’t yet occurred to you that Aemond might’ve been just as upset as you were—after all, the choice had been taken away from him, as well.

You spared him no response, turning your back to him and raising your sword to stab the dummy once more.

His next words made you freeze. “I know not why you are so upset about this. Am I that detestable, Lady Strong? Or is it because you’ve already fallen in love with that oaf from House Piper? You do know that their sigil is one of a naked maiden, do you not? It is no wonder he lost his tourney so quickly.” 

With a choked yell, you rounded to face him again, lifting your sword and bringing it down with staggering speed. Aemond, however, had anticipated this, easily rolling to the side and grabbing a discarded sword from the yard’s ground, parrying away with ease. Unrelenting, you pulled back to land another blow on him. His sword met yours halfway, the blades singing against one another. You gritted your teeth, practically snarling at your betrothed. 

The hostility was quick to wane away the longer you stared at him. He was your friend—the boy you had grown so fond of over the course of the last half a decade. Your vision began to blur with unshed tears as you started to physically shake. A hot droplet meandered down your cheek. You let the sword fall limp in your grasp. 

Furious with yourself and embarrassed beyond relief, you swiped away the tears with the back of your palm, lifting your gaze to meet Aemond’s.

Something had changed within his features. It had softened considerably, pale and glowing beneath the moonlight. His lips were parted, as if deliberating between words and action.

He chose action.

With no warning, Prince Aemond surged forward, sword clattering to his feet as his hands came forth to cradle your face within his palms. His fingers were cold against the sweltering skin of your face, but neither of you cared. His nose bumped against yours, foreheads knocking into one another. Your eyes locked with his, intense and tumultuous and molten with yearning. His lips were but a hair’s breadth from yours—tantalizingly close. 

When you made no move to pull away, he kissed you. 

It was a desperate embrace, needy and clawing and furious. It made your heart lurch within your chest, your breath crystallized to the sides of your throat, your eyes wrenching shut. Aemond stepped even closer, chest pressed up against yours, his knee slotting between your legs in a way that made your neck flush with heat. The grip he had on your face tightened, as if he were ensuring that you were real.

This was real.

You just about melted into his touch, one of your hands lifting to hold onto his bicep, the other still clutching onto your sword, not daring to let go. 

It was only when his lips left yours for a second of air, did your eyes snap open, and the trance you had so easily fallen into began to thin away. 

You placed both palms on his chest and shoved the prince away, breathing heavily and eyes wild. Frustrated and so very conflicted about how you felt for him, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and shot him an offended look, before storming away angrily.

The sword clattered to the ground with your departure. Aemond found himself staring at his own warped reflection within the blade. He loathed what stared back at him—a taunting of his own tarnished image, and wrenched his gaze away.

He would talk to you on the morrow, he decided. For now, he would let you go, knowing full and well that he would not be able to find you even if he tried.

After all, a dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can.

Aemond didn’t talk to you the next day, or the day after that. The two of you didn’t speak to one another for weeks on end. You were quite good at hiding from him, always turning the corner and hurrying away when you could feel his attentive stare begin to blaze into you, or relocating your training to the darkest nooks and crannies of the Keep just so he wouldn’t be able to find you. Even Helaena and her three lovely children you adored so much had barely seen you as of late, because you knew that being around her would make it easier for Aemond to come and speak to you.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him for this long, you really hadn’t. By now, you’d expected the two of you to talk things out, clear the air between you, and return back to how the way things were before. But the more you waited, the more conflicted you became about the kiss and your own feelings for him, thus prolonging your inevitable confrontation with the Prince. 

The two of you had keenly noticed that the longer this game of silence had drawn out, the less it became one of true avoidance, and the more it grew to be like a round of cat-and-mouse. Sometimes, you’d even find yourself waiting in places you knew the prince would pass by, only to scurry away just as soon as he came. Aemond himself was enjoying watching you dance away from his grasp, just as much as he was frustrated with it. He’d get you eventually, he oft told himself. You’d come around.

Alicent had pushed back anything related to their wedding the sicker King Viserys grew—wanting to prioritize her husband’s health first and foremost above all else. It was yet another example of Aemond being pushed to the side in favor of another. 

Around you, however, he never felt second. Sure, you also loved Helaena and her children, but he did not feel as if they were competition for your affections. It was why he enjoyed drawing out this game of chase with you so much—having your attention constantly devoted entirely to him made his pride swell and a fire kindle within his lower abdomen. He wanted you more than ever before.

It was why the news of his nephews and his half-sister returning to King’s Landing to rebuttal the challenge to the heir of Driftmark soured his mood so badly. 

Upon their arrival, your game of chase had come to an end—effectively stealing away any and all of your addictive attention. He saw you far more often than before, but you hardly ever paid any mind to him, instead focusing on the plain-featured boys. 

It’d been nearly a decade since you last saw them. 

You were the only one to greet them when they arrived at King's Landing. It was a rather sad affair, with no one to welcome Rhaenyra and her sons but a young Strong—practically a nobody in a den of dragons. It was an insult on Alicent’s part—as if she were indirectly saying she had more important matters to attend to than Rhaenyra.

You didn’t quite care for their little rivalry—all you really wanted was to see your nephews. 

The boys had grown so big. It startled you to see that Jace was practically a man grown now, with a sharp face and eyes exactly the same as your late older brother, brown hair straight and neatly groomed. Luke, on the other hand, had softer features like that of Rhaenyra, but bore his true father’s nose and mouth, with a head of dark, messy curls. 

You ran forward to greet them, excitedly shouting their names with a permanent smile etched over your lips. Little Luke—you made a mental note not to call him that anymore, seeing as he was no longer little—was the first to embrace you, yelling your name and barreling forward to squeeze you into a hug so tight that all the air was pushed from your lungs. Jace was gentler with his approach, but you gripped onto him tightly all the same, pressing kisses to both of your nephew’s foreheads. Then, you kneeled down and took little Joffrey’s hand within yours, kissing his palm, and his chubby little cheeks. The little boy looked mildly confused as to who you were, since they’d left for Dragonstone when he was only but a tiny little baby. You stood back up to face the three of them.

“My, how you’ve grown,” you told the boys, patting Jace and Luke’s cheeks affectionately. “Feels like just yesterday we were little children together. I haven’t seen you since…”

Since Aemond lost his eye.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” commented Luke, a wide smile to his face. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. We’ve missed you dearly on Dragonstone. Exchanging letters just isn’t the same.”

“It really isn’t,” you hummed in agreement. “But you’re here now—and I couldn’t be more happy.”

It was then that Rhaenyra and Daemon joined you, each holding a white-haired babe in their arms. They must’ve been Aegon and Viserys. Lips parting, you dipped your head in greeting, a bright, watery smile painting your complexion golden.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you said.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she murmured, shaking her head and using her free hand to rope you into an embrace. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to watch you flourish into one.” Tears welled up in your eyes when she leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “Your brother Harwin would be so very proud of you.”

Your breath caught within your throat. “Thank you,” you told her, voice cracking with emotion. The purple of her eyes gleamed with gentle affection. You glanced, down eyes widening upon seeing her swollen belly. “Congratulations, Your Grace. Let’s hope the next one is a girl. You’ve had enough sons as it is.”

Your words made Rhaenyra huff out an amused laugh. “Yes, a daughter would be lovely. Though, you’ve filled that position for long enough, I would be happy with yet another son.”

A bright beam pulled your lips impossibly wider. After a few more minutes of exchanging pleasantries and catching up, you said hello to little Aegon and Viserys, before urging them into the Keep, not wanting to keep them waiting after such a long journey. Luke had talked your ear off about how he had puked thrice over the side of the ship from his relentless seasickness. 

The entire time, you pointedly avoided making any mention of your betrothal to Aemond, wanting to remain in blissful ignorance for just a bit longer.

The Red Keep was almost unrecognizable to the young boys. As the years passed without Rhaenyra there to watch over the kingdom in Viserys’ stead, the Targaryen heraldry was taken down, slowly replaced by symbols of the Seven in the form of erected stone statues and carvings of seven-pointed stars. The change had been so gradual that you’d barely noticed, but to Jace and Luke, it was a shock to see their home completely different to how it used to be.

You took them on a guide throughout the expansive castle, exchanging stories of their times throughout the years. They asked you how you’ve fared here, and you hesitated to tell them about everything going on with Larys, with Harley Piper, with… with Aemond…

Instead, you chirped on about Helaena and her children, and how they were always the brightest part of your day. 

“Have you still been training on your own?” Jacaerys asked just as you rounded the corner to lead them to the training yard. 

You paused, thinking back to all the late nights you spent clashing swords with Aemond.

“Yes,” you replied cautiously. “My brother Harwin would’ve wanted me to keep honing my skills, even after he’s passed.”

A grim look passed over the two boys’ faces.

Once they began descending the stone stairwell to the yard, Luke’s nose wrinkled in disdain. The court was full of training men, a cacophony of steel against steel, of thuds against dummies, and exerted grunts all echoing across the expansive grounds.

“It’s much smaller than I remember,” said Luke.

You spared the younger Velaryon a sweet smile. “Perhaps that’s only because you’ve grown much larger since last you were here.”

“It looks exactly the same to me,” Jace said, bounding down the last few steps to hurry to the rack of weapons. “Come on!” 

Though Jace was willfully oblivious to the stares of the guards and the handmaids and all the rest that were in the yard, keeping his head held up high, Luke was aware of everybody’s eyes on him. Glaring, judging, and piercing every which way. He shifted uncomfortably beside you.

Jacaerys patted one of the large dents in a while, a wide grin to his handsome features. “See? I told you this would still be here! And you thought you could swing Criston’s morningstar. You almost took your own head off!”

Luke gave him a half-hearted grin, but it was quick to melt away when he whispered beneath his breath, “Everyone’s staring at us.”

The older brother pulled a sword from the rack and playfully lowered down into an attack position, Lucerys’ words largely going ignored.

“Of course they’re staring,” you stated matter-of-factly. “You are the Princess’ sons.”

Luke shook his head, dark curls flying about his forehead. “That is not why they’re staring, and you know it. No one would question me being heir to Driftmark if… if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Jacaerys hung his head. “It doesn’t matter what they think, little brother,” he asserted. 

You watched as Luke turned to you, as if silently asking you to back him. “Oh, Luke,” you murmured, unsure of what to say. “As I said before, you are Rhaenyra’s son, first and foremost—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a crowd from across the yard burst into raucous applause. Curious, Jace grabbed your hand, dragging you along to see what was going on.

It was Aemond—sparring against Criston.

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You hadn’t prepared yourself nearly enough to face him just yet.

At the sight of their uncle, Luke and Jace visibly tensed beside you.

He was beautiful—spinning around with ease and grace. Criston swung his morningstar at the prince, only for Aemond to duck, blocking the heavy weapon with a wooden shield. It splintered beneath the force, and he shirked it away to the side. Aemond used his speed to his advantage, dancing away from each of Criston’s swings, tactfully tiring him out. Seeing his opportunity when Criston’s arm dropped for but a millisecond, Aemond skidded around the ball-and-chain, pointing the tip of his sword right at his mentor’s throat.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slowly slipped from your lungs just as the audience began clapping again. 

“Well done, my Prince,” said Criston, setting down his weapon to yield. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye blazed as he turned his head away from Cole to face you. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he murmured, taking great pleasure in the way you physically stepped back. “Lady Strong, my sweet betrothed… have you come to train?”

Heat snaked up the skin of your neck and seeped into your cheeks at his words. My sweet betrothed. Jace and Luke both sent you deeply puzzled, almost affronted looks.

“Aemond, no, I—” you began, but he strode forward in no more than three steps, grabbing your forearm and pulling you to the center of the circle, much to Jace and Luke’s dismay.

The Prince paid no mind to your protests. “Criston. Give her a sword.”

The knight, none too fond of you ever since the first incident when you were only a child, thrusted a dull blade into your arms. 

With your jaw set, you huffed out a curse beneath your breath, and stabilized yourself into a defensive position. If a fight was what Aemond wanted, then a fight was what he was going to get.

He struck first, darting forward to arc his sword into your side. You took half a step back and parried, guiding his arm up over your head and ducking beneath his swing. Using this to your advantage, you kicked at the back of his knee, sending him buckling down to the ground. A growl rumbled within his chest. Aemond was quick to react, twisting around to sweep his sword between your legs, knocking you back as well.

Winded and caught off guard, you desperately parried away his continuous strikes, the tip of his sword getting closer and closer and closer to your face. You scrambled to get back up on your feet, but Aemond was unrelenting, pressing on with no restraint. Aemond was practically on top of you at this point, his knee pressing nearly painfully into your thigh. 

“Yield,” he hissed, breath hot against your ear.

You glared up at him. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to slip past Aemond, to the two young boys behind him, worryingly watching you.

Humiliated, you huffed out a shaking breath, wishing to just end this here and now. “I yield.”

The crowd began clapping for Aemond again, though, this time much more hesitant and sparse. Scandalous murmurs rippled through the audience. From the side, Criston smirked at your defeat.

Satisfied, Aemond stepped back, offering you his hand. You let him help you up, dusting your trousers off with a huff. 

He briefly let go of your hand to wind his arm about your waist, tugging you closer. An internal part of you screamed in embarrassment, not wanting him to behave in such a way when Jace and Luke were right there—watching the two of you with bewilderment. He smelled of smoke and steel and leather, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to push away. “You are skilled, Lady Strong—but your arrogance betrays you.”

“Arrogance?” you whispered back, eyes roaming over his expressionless features, your brows knitting together. “I let you win. Release me, Aemond. People are watching.”

The prince’s eye momentarily flitted down to your parted lips, then back up to meet your tumultuous gaze. He hummed in thought, before relinquishing his hold on you completely, swiftly turning to Jace and Luke.

“Nephews… have you come to train, as well?” he asked them, straightening himself, practically oozing with intimidation.

Jace’s mouth parted, still stupefied. 

Before anyone could utter another word, a guard bellowed out, “Open the gates!”

The large metal gratings groaned as they were pulled open. Velaryon banners filled the training yard—and in the center of all of them, stood Vaemond Velaryon. Corlys’ brother, and, according to him, the rightful heir to Driftmark.

You swallowed down the bile that rose in your throat.

Fear splattered clear as day over Luke’s features. Aemond only grinned at that.

The gardens were much more intimidating in the nighttime. Large statues of the Seven hid behind the rose bushes in a menacing fashion, and the fountain bore a seven-pointed star in the center that looked sharp enough to cut. You never frequented the place after sunset, deliberately taking Helaena and the children out on walks when it was still light out.

Nonetheless, it was one of the only few quiet places in the Keep where you could be sure curious ears wouldn’t be able to hear your whispers over the gushing of the water fountain. Though, you couldn’t be too certain that your brother wasn’t lurking somewhere in the shadows. 

Jace and Luke were standing across from you, both of their arms crossed expectedly.

The older of the two seemed disappointed, as if he’d expected better from you. Luke, on the other hand, looked crestfallen, feeling as if you’d betrayed him.

“I’m sorry for not telling the two of you earlier,” you quietly said. “I couldn’t find a way to break the news.” 

The silence stretched thin between the three of you.

“I don’t want it,” you said, wringing your hands nervously. “My brother, Larys, and the Queen are forcing this upon me. I had no choice in the matter. Aemond is my friend, as much as I know you two mislike him… he’s my friend. He had no say in the matter, either. I don’t know—perhaps I should just be grateful I’m betrothed to him rather than a pure stranger. He would not hurt me, I’m sure of it.”

Jacaerys’ expression seemed to soften upon your confession. It was no wonder you were so afraid to tell them. You must’ve been so confused and scared. Silent, the taller boy reached out to pull you into a hug, gently patting your back. Tears of relief began to well in your eyes—you’d truly been expecting them to turn their back on you.

“I… I feel as though my control of my own life is slipping right through the cracks between my fingers,” you whispered, voice crumbling with emotion. 

You began to softly cry into Jacaerys’ shoulder. Luke joined in the embrace, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

The three of you stood in the eerie garden, each of you equally upset and uncertain for the future to come.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds…” Otto Hightower began, descending an instantaneous hush upon the throng of lords and ladies in front of the Iron Throne, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice in this—and all other matters.”

Otto’s last sentence made bile climb up your throat. Not too long ago, your own father held the position as Hand, and held it in a just, and unbiased manner. You were afraid you couldn’t say the same for Otto Hightower.

You stood a couple steps away from Rhaenyra and her sons, hands tightly clasped behind your back. To the right of the Iron Throne was Alicent and her children—Aegon with rumpled hair as if he had just rolled out of bed, Aemond with his gaze flickering back and forth between his nephew and his betrothed, and Helaena, who was staring at the warbling light of the torches on the wall. All you wanted to do was get this over and done with—the succession of Driftmark was not a subject you cared for, seeing as you strongly believed it should go to Luke. Bastard or not, it mattered little to you—he was Laenor’s son regardless of blood and deserved his own inheritance. 

“The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

The man stepped forward, head held high. 

“My Queen. My Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies… House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin—his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Tongue as sharp as ever, Rhaenyra interjected, “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No—you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

Looking down at the Princess, Alicent raised her brows. “You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

From the side, Aegon hid a snicker behind his palm.

Vaemond turned to Rhaenyra. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you—and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” Luke took a small shuffle back when Vaemond rounded his scalding glare on the younger boy. “My Queen, Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood. Not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above it all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor—the Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

Satisfied, Otto nodded once. “Thank you, Ser Vaemond.”

Smug and confident he had swayed the decision in his favor, Vaemond stepped back to his respective side.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The white-haired woman took three steps to the center, one hand holding her large, pregnant belly. 

“If I am to grace this farce with some sort of answer,” she began, already exhausted of the entire ordeal, “I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—”

Before she could finish, the doors swung open. Everybody turned their heads back. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was King Viserys. 

The last time you’d seen him… was most probably longer than a year ago. 

And how the tall and mighty fall from such grace. He was practically rotting away, skin patched and peeling, teeth gnarled and black, figure fragile and bent. The white of his hair fell in but sparse strands from his scalp where the crown sat, lopsided but gleaming nonetheless. A gilded mask was placed on one half of his face, hiding the decaying flesh on right cheek, and the pulsing cavern where his eye used to be. He hobbled forth on his cane, one of his feet dragging along behind him, not unlike your brother Larys, shoulders heavy with his cloak. He was in a great deal of pain—that was made abundantly clear with his wincing and groaning. But he pushed forth nonetheless, determined to voice his support for his daughter, Rhaenyra.

The guard by the door announced his presence: “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Shock fell upon the court at the sight of the King up and out of his chambers, much less walking on his own. It did not slip past you when Vaemond and Otto exchanged concerned looks. You bowed your head as Viserys passed by, biting down on your tongue. 

The royal family seemed to have different reactions to the King’s presence. Rhaenyra was stunned into silence, which was quick to meld into one of subtle gratitude. Rhaenys turned her head away at the sight of her brother in such a pained state. Helaena smiled faintly, though you weren’t quite sure what she was smiling for. And Alicent appeared the most conflicted out of all.

“I will sit the throne today,” he told his Hand. Otto looked none too pleased, but dipped his head, stepping away to the side for Viserys to pass.

He began to lose his breath as he climbed up the steps, leaning forth on his cane. The crown slid from his head and clattered onto the stone floor. Prince Daemon—his brother—was the one to pick it up for him, and patiently helped him up the rest of the steps to his seat. He gently placed the crown back on Viserys’ head, before stepping back down to stand beside his wife.

“I must… admit… my confusion,” said Viserys, breathless. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes, is the Princess Rhaenys.”

His older sister lifted her head. “Indeed, Your Grace.” With cautious strides, she made her way forward. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Your lips parted in surprise. The two boys… betrothed? Just two minutes ago they were both barely tall enough to reach for supper in the middle of the dining table, and now they were already going to get married? Though, you supposed you were speaking rather hypocritical, as you had just gotten betrothed not too long ago yourself.

Muted frustration befell Alicent’s expression.

“Well… the matter is settled. Again.” The King blew out a sigh. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Clear disdain painted itself green across Vaemond’s face. 

“You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Confused, Viserys’ brows drew together. “Allow it?” he echoed. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Suddenly raising his voice, Vaemond turned and jabbed a finger straight in Luke’s direction. “That is no true Velaryon! And certainly no nephew of mine.”

Desperate to keep the accusations at bay, Rhaenyra pushed Luke behind her. “Go to your chambers, boys. Vaemond, you have said enough!”

Taking great offense to his words, the King said, “Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

The man shook his head. “You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine.”

Gasps rang out across the court. What Vaemond had just said to the King was treason.

Despite this, on Vaemond continued, “My house survived the Doom—and a thousand tribulations more! And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…”

Prince Daemon cocked his head, challenging, “Say it.”

“Her children… are…” said Vaemond. “BASTARDS!”

The audience murmured scandalously. Your brows raised in shock, gaze wildly swinging from Luke to the King.

Vaemond was not yet done, having one final blow to serve. “And she… is… a whore.”

Disgust coiled within your stomach. It made you even angrier to see a smirk toy with the corners of Aemond’s lips.

Viserys angrily limped onto his feet, unsheathing his dagger. “I… will have your tongue for that!”

In a blur of black and red, Daemon swung his sword as quick as a bolt of lightning, cleaving it clean through Vaemond’s head. A sick squelch of flesh and blood and steel rang across the court, quickly blending into the startled shrieks of Lords and Ladies. You had flinched back, hands raising to cover your mouth. 

Helaena had gasped the loudest, her hands flying to rest over her ears and hurriedly turning her face away from the grotesque sight. From all the years you had been her dearest friend, you knew blood was one of the few things she could not handle.

Right beside her, Aemond had stepped back, hand defensively falling to his sword. His purple eye was wide and trained onto the body, but quickly flicked up to look at you, as if ensuring that you were alright. 

Though you couldn’t see Luke’s expression, you could see the way his shoulders flinched and his feet began to panickedly shuffle away.

Vaemond’s body fell to the ground, dark red blood dripping over the stones and meandering into the cracks and crevices. 

Satisfied, Daemon observed the blood begin to graze the bottom of his shoe. “He can keep his tongue,” he commented nonchalantly.

“DISARM HIM!” screamed Otto. Half a dozen guards drew out their swords, pointing it straight at Daemon.

“No need,” said the Prince, cleaning his sword with the bottom of his shirt, uncaring of Vaemond’s blood getting all over him. He sheathed the steel and backed away with a small, victorious grin.

It was then that Viserys collapsed back onto the throne, groaning in pain.

“Call the maesters!” Alicent yelled, rushing up the steps to her husband. “Please, my love, you must take something for the pain!”

“I will not cloud my mind…” said the King. “I must… put things right…”

The King commanded a supper—with all of his family to attend, as this was the first time they were all gathered in the Keep since nearly a decade ago. Seeing as you were now betrothed to his second son, you supposed you were officially considered part of the family now. Though, you had considered yourself one of Rhaenyra’s daughters ever since childhood. 

Your handmaidens had washed you in a tub full of flower petals, the warm water heaven to your tense muscles. They scrubbed you with soap that smelled of honey and milk, a sweet scent that pleasantly burrowed beneath your skin. 

Afterwards, they laid out a dress for you. It was a beautiful, dark green garment with golden linings, no doubt a gift from Queen Alicent. The dress fit you perfectly, falling over your form like a stream of water over a stony bank. The collar was modest enough, but dipped down just beneath your clavicle bone, where a necklace of gleaming silver pearls rested against your sternum. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice that the dress looked nearly black in certain lighting.

It was strange to be so dressed up—you weren’t quite fond of skirts and dresses in the first place, finding it much easier and practical to don trousers for everyday use, uncaring of its impropriety. People of the court often joked that House Strong no longer had a Lady, as you were often seen doing traditionally male activities, such as sparring and educating yourself. You paid them no mind—fighting and reading made you no less of a Lady than all the other women in court. 

There was a knock to your door just as the handmaidens finished with pinning up your hair. They rushed to swing it open, Princess Helaena stepping in with a mild grin to her lips, though it was not enough to mask the sadness in her face.

“Helaena,” you said, surprised at her sudden visit, grasping her hands within yours. “It’s lovely to see you. It feels as if we’ve hardly spoken as of late.”

The memory of Vaemond’s blood and Helaena’s distraught flashed at the forefront of your mind. If only you had the chance to speak with her afterwards—but Alicent was adamant on sending her daughter straight to her chambers that instant.

“Are you… are you alright?” you gently asked, not wanting to pry. “After all that happened earlier today… I know how much you mislike blood.”

“I’ll be fine,” the Princess wispily replied, carefully sidestepping the subject that made her queasy. “I miss you. The children miss you.”

A lump formed in your throat. “Oh, how are the little terrors? I promise to take them out on a promenade soon.”

“They are well. Jaehaerys never ceases asking about you,” she replied, before allowing her gaze to roam over your attire. “You look wonderful, Y/N. It is surely a rare sight to see you so dressed up.”

A laugh bubbled in your throat. “Well, I’ve certainly never had to go to a supper as important as this one. I’ve hardly ever had a reason to dress up in such a way before. Thank you, though. You’re looking radiant as ever, as well.”

Helaena smiled at you, wide and genuine. It disappeared after a brief moment, and her plum-hued eyes seemed to mist over.

“A storm is on the horizon,” she murmured. “A dance of dragons. They will keep dancing, even once the music has stopped. They care naught for when their feet begin to bleed.”

The Princess’ strange words echoed in your head for the next few hours. What had she meant by that? Before you had the chance to ask her what she was talking about, Helaena had excused herself to go check on the kids before dinnertime, floating out of your room as if she hadn’t just spoken the most mystifying words to you.

Overwhelmed and desperate for fresh air, you made your way back out into the gardens. The sun was just barely beginning to set, spilling soft clementine and dark tangerine hues across the canvas of the sky. 

You stood in front of the water fountain, watching the clear water burble over the stone and fall into the pool below. 

It was not long until your betrothed came to join you, his hands neatly clasped behind his back. 

“Lady Strong,” he greeted with a dip of his head. “You are more beautiful than ever before, which says much as you were already beguiling enough to begin with.”

Firmly, you shook your head. You were still angry at him for humiliating you in front of Jace and Luke earlier that day. “Stop it, Aemond. Do not speak your sweet lies to me. I have no taste for your saccharine words.”

“Tis not a lie, Y/N,” he whispered your name, all soft and heavenly on his tongue. “You are beautiful.”

You blew out a frustrated breath. The two of you stood in a precarious silence for a moment longer.

The muttering of your question shattered the quiet between you. “Are you not upset, Aemond? About the betrothal?”

The Prince hummed, and took a few seconds to consider what you were asking. Finally, he replied, keeping his eye trained on the fountain. “I’m glad it’s you,” he simply said.

Your breath hitched within your throat.

Rotating on his heel, Aemond was now fully facing you, lifting his hands up. Cold fingers grazed over your jaw, before he cradled your face in its entirety, the pads of his thumbs smoothing over your flushed cheekbones. It was not unlike the first time he had kissed you—but there was something softer about this atmosphere.

Acceptance. Affection. Yearning.

His purple iris darkened, the orange light of the setting sun bathing him in a warm glow. Shadows arched over his face, only highlighting his most handsome, sharp features. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his lips, curled with fondness, lax with temptation.

Aemond could see the conflict dance about your visage. 

He dipped forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lips grazing against your hairline. 

“I shall see you at supper,” he whispered into your skin.

With that, he stepped back, dipping his head respectfully, and left you in the garden, completely alone with only your tumultuous thoughts to accompany you.

Candles were lit everywhere, the flames warbling in the air, melted wax dripping down the sides. The servants were still placing down dozens upon dozens of dishes—ranging from grilled cod, to seared mutton chops, to creamed potatoes, to various platters of fresh fruits and cheeses. Chalices of wine and honeyed cider were passed around, all full to the brim.

You were seated with Helaena to your right, and Aemond to your left, at the end of the table. From across the room, Rhaenyra had flickered her gaze from you to your betrothed. She had only received the news from her sons moments ago, and was still processing the shock of it all.

From the center of the expansive feast, Viserys began to speak. “How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.”

“Prayer before we begin?” asked Alicent, ever the religious figure.

Viserys agreed, nodding his head weakly.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon rolled his eyes in exasperation at the Queen’s last sentence. You clasped your hands together as she prayed, but kept your eyes open. Luke mirrored you, shooting you a look as if to say, “Do you do this every day?” 

With small movements you shook your head, and the younger boy could only suppress a smile in response. Aemond kept his head down and his eyes closed as he listened to his mother’s prayers. He’d always been the more devoted out of the two of you.

Once Alicent was done, Viserys said, “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons… Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena. The daughter of my former Hand, Y/N Strong… will marry my second son, Aemond. These marriages will further strengthen the bond between our great houses. A toast to the young princes… and their betrothed.”

Chalices raised, everybody took a sip. You exchanged a look with Aemond, offering him a small smile as you drank from your cup. Tentative, you reached beneath the table to take his hand—a truce of sorts. It was your silent way of telling him that you were willing to move forth with the marriage—that you were glad it was him, as well. Aemond showed little reaction, other than a small twitch of the corner of his lips, nearly reminiscent to that of a grin. 

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” said Aegon to the dark-haired prince, somehow already quite drunk. Jacaerys set his jaw but paid him no mind other than that.

Again, King Viserys spoke, “Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys. The future Lord of the Tides.”

Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, clinked her cup against his. “You’ll be great,” she told him kindly, eyes gleaming with warmth.

Unrelenting, Aegon bent to the side to lean closer to Jacaerys. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that…”

With a sharp tongue, Baela whispered, “Let it be, cousin.”

Jace scowled. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, grabbing another cup of wine and knocking it back in no less than a few seconds. “Aemond is well versed in the art of bedding—are you not, brother?” Before giving him a chance to respond, Aegon continued on with his rambling. “I took him to the Streets of Silk when he came of age. Didn’t even see him come out! Must have been enjoying himself. At least Y/N will be in good hands… though I am always willing to show him the ropes lest he forgets how to man the ship.”

The eldest prince’s words made your skin flare with heat. Aemond’s grip grew tighter around his own cup, but he remained silent as ever. You were only grateful that the adults at the other side of the table were too busy chattering amongst themselves to hear the obscenities the children were speaking of.

With great difficulty, Viserys made to stand up. He nearly buckled under his own weight, but a gnarled hand shot out to rest against the table, steadying himself before he could fall forward into a bowl of soup. The mask that was tied to the rotten side of his face gleamed with the warped reflections of the candlelight.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” With trembling fingers, the King began to untie his mask, revealing the decaying flesh in all its glory for everyone to see. His empty eye socket was sunken and dry. “My own face… is no longer a handsome one—if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a King, but your father. Your brother. Your husband. And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer amongst you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.”

Tired, the King settled back down into his seat with the help of his wife. Alicent’s eyes were pained and misted over with unshed tears.

With pursed lips, Rhaenyra suddenly stood up, holding her chalice up high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

As if wounded, Alicent reared back slightly and blinked away her tears. She refused to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Surprising you, Alicent stood up, holding her goblet in her hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

The rest of you drank to the toasts, an amicable atmosphere settling over the family. 

Always one to ruin the mood, Aegon stood up, making his way over to Baela, pouring himself another glass of wine. He leaned down close to her, murmuring, “I, uhm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

At his limit, Jacaerys slammed his fists against the table, rising to his feet and glaring at Aegon. The white-haired Prince slunk back to his seat, a salacious grin toying at his mouth. Startled by the sudden noise, Alicent and Rhaenyra looked to Jace, who was now awkwardly standing up. 

It surprised you when Aemond let go of your hand to stand up himself, as if challenging Jace, his single eye blazing with an unreadable expression. Your gaze bounced back and forth between the two, unsure of what was going to transpire between them.

Jacaerys pursed his lips, patting Aegon on the shoulder, with a bit more force than necessary. “To Princes Aegon and Aemond, and the Lady Strong. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To my uncles, as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” 

Aegon cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the formalities thrust upon him. “To you as well,” he begrudgingly grunted out once his mother shot him a warning glare.

Reluctant, Aemond sat back down, and reached underneath the table to take your hand once again. He sought your touch to console the bitter green wildfire that roared within his chest. 

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” muttered Helaena as she fidgeted with a wooden carving of a cockroach. Suddenly, the Princess stood up, a dazed glimmer to her expression. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad… mostly, he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” With a sweet smile, she sank back down into her seat. The rest of the table glanced at each other awkwardly, whilst Aegon just pulled at his face in exasperation.

In an effort to save the atmosphere, you stood up with your chalice in hand. “There have been many toasts this evening,” you murmured, a bit intimidated. It suddenly occurred to you that this was the first time you had the King’s undivided attention. “But I’d like to direct one to Princesses Rhaenyra and Helaena. The former, I owe the deepest of my gratitudes for treating me with kindness throughout my childhood, and taking me in as if I were her own. The latter, sweet Helaena, for being my dearest friend for years, and hopefully for many more to come. As I am to be married to Aemond soon, I look forward to being both of your sister-by-laws.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you kindly, raising her glass to drink to your toast. Helaena did the same, beaming into the rim of her chalice. The Queen, however, was far more reluctant to touch her goblet at your toast—which had pointedly avoided any mention of her. 

“Good,” said the King, weakly nodding at you. “Let us have some music. Please, eat, everyone.”

A soft symphony of strings and bells and drums began chiming away, and you contentedly began digging into your food, nearly ravenous after all that waiting.

A few minutes into the feast, Jacaerys bent towards his betrothed, murmuring a polite, “Excuse me.”

He then made his way around Aegon, to Helaena, offering his hand for a dance. Surprised, the Princess took his arm and Jace led her away to the dance floor. You watched with a warm smile gracing your expression, happy that your friends from opposite sides seemed to be mending bridges together. 

The table began engaging in amicable chatter—Luke and Rhaena were excitedly speaking about dragons and their eating habits, Rhaenyra and her husband began quietly laughing at how he already managed to splatter crab sauce all over his tunic, and Alicent spoke with her father about the gradual changes in weather. 

“You and my brother will make a fine pair,” slurred Aegon, his eyes fixed on you as he lounged back on his chair. “He’s had his gaze set on you ever since childhood.”

“Is that so?” you responded, casting a fond gaze to Aemond, who only shook his head with amusement. “I can’t say I wasn’t the same. After all, how could I take my eyes off the handsome Prince who rode the largest dragon in the world?” 

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s face. He was never one to take compliments well—for they were sparsely ever given to him.

Aegon, always one to spoil the mood, quipped, “I heard rumors that red-headed Piper idiot stole your maidenhood.”

Aemond’s head snapped towards his brother. You gritted your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. “Lord Harley Piper was a friend. There was no romance between us, sexual or otherwise,” you hissed, lowering your voice to a whisper.

“Really? And here I thought my brother was marrying a whore,” snorted Aegon. 

Before either you or Aemond could react, Helaena flounced back to the table with a joyful beam, taking your arm. “Come dance with us, Y/N!” she exclaimed, breathless and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Jace stood behind her, grin equally wide and hands clasped behind his back.

You shot a look at Aemond, as if telling him not to lash out at his brother during such an important supper, and stood up to join Helaena and Jace in their dance.

None of you were really that good—you hadn’t danced in years—but it was great fun, nonetheless. You twirled Helaena in your arms until she grew delightfully dizzy, and Jacaerys accidentally trod on your feet thrice, but you only laughed harder each time, cuffing his shoulder affectionately.

Amidst your dance, Alicent called for the guards to take the King away, for he was tired and aching. He departed the room with one last look to his family—all united, together as one. 

It was surely a beautiful, rare sight to behold.

One that was destined not to last.

The dance came to an abrupt halt when Aemond suddenly slammed his fists against the table, so hard that the platters of food clattered with the sudden force. The music suddenly stopped, and all the conversations ceased. You turned your head away from your dance partners to see what was going on.

Oh. 

In front of Aemond was a roasted pig, still sizzling with oil. And all the way across the table, Luke was not-so-discreetly hiding a laugh behind his palm.

Oh, no.

“Final tribute,” said your betrothed, lifting his glass. There was a dangerous fire to his eye. “To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

No, Aemond, you silently begged. The Prince kept his gaze trained on Luke, refusing to meet your desperate stare.

“... Strong,” he finished, after an extensive pause.

“Aemond—” Alicent began.

“Come,” her son quickly said, cutting her off. “Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

From right next to you, Jace gnashed his teeth together. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” asked Aemond, feigning innocence, pushing away from the table to step closer to Jace. “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

A gasp lodged in your throat when Jacaerys dove forward, landing a punch right into Aemond’s face. 

“Jace!” yelled Rhaenyra.

It did little effect on the taller man, and Aemond’s head merely snapped to the side but his body remained rooted to the same position. A smug smile etched across his features. Simultaneously, Aegon rose to his feet and grabbed Luke by the scruff of his collar, shoving his face straight into a searing hot platter of fish. 

“A gift for the new Lord of the Tides!” Aegon cackled with glee, indulging in the chaos.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” commanded Alicent to her sons, but neither of them listened to her.

Scrambling forward, you tried to stop Aemond from retaliating, but he shoved Jace so hard the younger boy went sprawling against the dance floor. Jace was quick to get back up on his feet, an angry growl erupting from his throat. Before he could reach Aemond, two guards sprung forward and held him back, another pulling Luke away from Aegon as well.

You found yourself torn between the two sides, resulting in an indecisive dance between Jace and Luke struggling against the guards, and your betrothed smiling into his cups.

Queen Alicent got to him before you could, grabbing her son’s arms roughly. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” she hissed.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother. Mmh, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs. It wounds me so, seeing as my sweet betrothed is soon to be my family, as well,” said Aemond, ripping his hand away from Alicent. 

Breaking free of the guard’s hold, Jace made a charge at Aemond again.

“Wait,” Daemon ordered his stepson, striding in between the two boys before they could bash heads with one another once again. Jacaerys immediately halted in his motions, though not without great restraint. 

Stern, Rhaenyra turned to her sons. “Go to your quarters. All of you, go. Now.”

The two boys were reluctantly led away by the guards, shoulders drooping with both embarrassment and anger.

Daemon released a sigh, fixing his gaze upon Aemond. They stared at each other for a moment longer, before Aemond huffed out a small, discontented hum, and began walking away.

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra,” you told the Princess, so very tired of the ceaseless fighting and the constant torn feeling within you. 

The stern expression she held softened when she looked at you. Her hand came away from her pregnant belly to rest gentle upon your cheek. “It is not your fault, sweet girl. Go on… get some rest. I shall have the servants send up food to your chambers since you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

With a grateful bow of your head, you took your leave, bidding Helaena and the Queen a quiet good night, before hastening out of the dining hall, and up the stairs to your chambers.

Your feet ached and your head pounded with stress. What a day it’s been.

Imagine your utter shock when you gently opened the doors to your bedroom, and slowly shut them behind you—only to turn and see your betrothed standing by your desk, scattered with quills and stained bottles of charcoal ink and stacks upon stacks of unopened letters you had yet to read or send off.

“Aemond,” you whispered, brows furrowing. “What are you doing here?” 

The Prince remained silent, watching you keenly as you strode forward, until you were nearly nose-to-nose with him.

“What is wrong with you?” you murmured. Just moments ago, you were ready to forgive him, move on with all your grievances and accept your betrothal with not another thought. And he went and ruined it—all because his hatred for Jace and Luke were greater than his affections for you. “Are Rhaenyra’s sons that much of a bane that you must go out of your way to insult them?”

“And why do you care so much for them? For two little boys that you knew a lifetime ago? It is I who stayed by your side your entire life. It is my sister Helaena who never strayed from you. They have done nothing but leave you in their dust, retreating to Dragonstone with their tails tucked between their legs at the first sign of danger,” murmured Aemond, hands coming forth to grip your forearms, drawing you nearer to him. 

“Because they are family,” you choked out. “And I love them. They are like brothers to me.”

A tantalizing hum fell from Aemond’s lips. He dipped forward, running the tip of his nose along the curve of your exposed neck, inhaling the addictive honey-lavender scent wafting from your skin. “Oh, but they are not your brothers, are they? Say it, my love. They are not only my nephews… they are yours, as well.”

“No…” you said, breathless when he began laying kisses along your heated skin. You couldn’t resist his deliberately light touches, melting against him for more. It was humiliating, how easily you caved for him. “What you are saying is treason, my Prince. Please, just think about what you—”

“There is no one else in the room but us,” he murmured, gently biting into the junction between your shoulder and neck. “Just us, jorrāelagon. You need not hide your true thoughts from me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head. “I can’t. I just can’t. Aemond, please… put this to rest. They are Rhaenyra’s sons, without question. That is all that matters.” You lifted a hand to grip his chin, forcing him to look straight at you. “If you have but a shred of affection for me… you will stop this relentless fighting. Do it for me, Aemond. It pains me that the most important people in my life are constantly at odds with one another.”

A beat of silence stretched thin between you. He dipped his head once more.

“Yes, my love,” he whispered, leaning forward until his nose was slotted against yours. “For you.”

For that moment, you let yourself believe him. And you allowed yourself to love him, unconditionally and without restraint—for it was only you and him in your chambers, and no other was there to waver your opinion.

You released your hold on his chin to wind your arms around his neck instead, tugging him close and melding his lips over yours. A soft sigh fell from your lungs. He tasted of fresh fruit and earthy smoke, something you wished to drown yourself into. 

You began blindly walking in the general direction of your bed with Aemond’s guidance, falling against the feather-stuffed mattress once it hit the back of your knees. The entire time, you refused to separate from his kiss, willing to suffocate from lack of air if it meant you got to continue kissing him.

It briefly occurred to you how improper this was—you were not yet married to Aemond, after all. But you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, and neither did Aemond. He wanted you now—and judging by the look in your eye, he knew you craved him equally so.

He began reaching behind you, unlacing your dress and yanking the dark green fabric off your shoulders, shoving it down your chest and abdomen and hips, kicking the nuisance material away once it bunched to the bottom of your legs. As he began to expertly undo your shift beneath it, you hurriedly tugged his tunic off, a button ripping loose in your haste. Aemond could only smile at your desperation. You swallowed heavily upon seeing his toned chest, seasoned with training.

“It is a shame,” he gruffed once he finally got your thin shift off, admiring you in all of your nude glory, shamelessly allowing his eyes to roam over your breasts and arched back. “The dress looks so much prettier on your floor.”

You groaned at his words, yanking him back down to meet him for another kiss. It grew more frantic as more time lapsed—all tongue and teeth and bites and moans. A throbbing ache flowered between your legs—not a foreign sensation, but certainly the first time it was to be vanquished by something other than your own hand.

“Aemond, please,” you pleaded, unsure of what you were asking for. “I need you, please.”

“My sweet betrothed,” said the Prince, hands wandering up and down your sides, occasionally moving to squeeze your breasts and pinch your stiffened nipples, before moving further down, purposefully avoiding the sensitive parts between your thighs. “I’ll give you everything.”

With one final kiss to your lips, Aemond shifted himself further down your body, trailing his hot tongue along your skin in his wake. He met your gaze once he gently pried your legs open, his pretty hands gripping your thighs tightly. 

The sight he was met with made his cock twitch angrily within his briefs. Your cunt was drenched and glistening with your arousal—and it was all for him. A greedy sense of possessiveness consumed him whole. You were his, and his alone.

He blew a stream of cold air right against your clit, which made you suck in a sharp breath, unconsciously bucking your hips closer to his face in a desperate seek for relief.

A pleasured cry—verging on a sob—tumbled from your lungs when Aemond surged forward, lips wrapping around your sensitive button, his tongue curling in the most devilish of ways over the bundle of nerves. Wailing his name, you fisted the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do with yourself. Aemond just about moaned into you, one hand letting go of your thigh to prod your slick hole, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“Oh, please—Aemond!” you groaned, simultaneously trying to pull away from his touch and pushing yourself closer to his face. 

“My good girl,” he praised, the vibrations of his words against your cunt making you keen with undulated pleasure, as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you. “You taste heavenly, jorrāelagon.”

A gasp hitched within your throat once Aemond yanked your hips closer, practically burying himself within your thighs. 

“Aemond, my darling,” you sobbed, one hand falling into his hair, tugging at the long, pale strands, and the other squeezing your breast. “I’m going to…”

“Cum for me,” your betrothed said, unrelenting as he circled his wicked tongue along your clit.

And who were you to disobey the Prince?

With a breathy shout, you were pushed over the edge, clenching viciously around his still-thrusting fingers. Your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave, leaving you winded with green stars dancing about your vision. 

“That’s it,” murmured Aemond, gently pulling away once you came down from your high, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. He crawled back up your form, shirking his trousers off, leaving him just as nude as you, save for his leather eyepatch still fixed over his scar. His cock—long and hard and angrily weeping with pearly beads of precum, slapped against his lower abdomen.

You pulled him down again, kissing him with wild abandon, sighing when you realized that you were tasting yourself on his tongue.

He flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. Despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. You whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. Aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

He was a monster—and no amount of sweet talk would be able to change his mind from such a cemented fact. Not even from you, whose opinion he valued the most in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered, nose brushing down your jaw, still appreciative of your efforts nonetheless. “You are my everything. My heart, my soul, my life. I only wish for nothing but your happiness.”

You wrapped your legs around him, his throbbing cock pressed right against your fluttering cunt, clenching around nothing in anticipation. Lowering your voice to a whisper, you gently bit at the outer shell of his ear. “And I love you, my darling Aemond. All I wish for right now… is your cock inside me.”

Your lewd words made his length throb impossibly harder. “Your wish is my command,” he softly replied.

And with that, he eased himself inside of you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, a shuddering groan choked out from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to rock into you. 

With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself murmuring his name like a mantra, pressing sloppy kisses to his bare shoulder. One particularly hard thrust had you scratching angry red lines down the expanse of his back. Aemond didn’t seem to mind—in fact, this only seemed to spur him on further, as he growled an obscenity, grabbing your ankle to throw over his shoulder and slamming his length back into you with no abandon.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head once he snaked one of hands down to thumb at your clit, eliciting a lewd moan from your kiss-swollen lips.

“So good, Aemond,” you cried, cunt spasming around his cock once the beginnings of your second orgasm began creeping up on you. “Cum inside… oh—make me yours, darling, please!”

A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest and he began to pound his cock deeper into you, the thought of you growing round with his child filling his thoughts as he desperately sought his own release. You tightened around him one last time when your orgasm surged forth, so hard that it had Aemond’s quick rhythm faltering. With a broken groan and a mutter of your name, he spilled his seed into you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.

A content hum danced between you once you kissed him again, easing into a wince when he slowly pulled out of your overstimulated cunt. He drew back to watch his seed drip out of you, hot and thick and so very arousing, it nearly made his cock hard all over again.

“You did so well for me,” Aemond murmured into your sweaty skin, freckling kisses over the bridge of your nose and over your eyelids, hooded with exhaust. “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” you replied, smiling at him kindly. “I suppose Aegon was right. I certainly am in good hands.”

The Prince hung his head, shaking it fondly, mildly embarrassed by your praise. “Do not speak of my brother while we are in bed, dear betrothed. It is unseemly,” he said, though his words lacked any true bite.

“Forgive me, Aemond. I seem to forget my manners when I am with you,” you said, a laugh dancing alongside your words. “You make for a grand distraction.”

“Mmh, do I, now? I am glad to be of service.” Your betrothed gathered you in his arms, easing you down amongst your pillows and brushing away loose strands of hair that stuck to your damp skin. “Rest, my love.”

You let yourself acquiesce to his words, sinking into the comfort of your bed. 

“Stay,” you whispered sleepily, pressing a light kiss to the back of his palm. “Stay with me.”

And Aemond did so, with little protest. His eye was soft and his touch was loving as he laid down beside you, holding you close to his chest, nose buried within your hair.

You fell asleep hopeful that night. Hopeful that your soon-to-be husband loved you more than he hated your nephews. Hopeful that perhaps marrying Aemond was the best thing for you. Hopeful that things would be alright, eventually.

Hopeful that a war was not on the horizon.

There was a cold stillness to the air the next day. Jace and Luke left early in the morning back to Dragonstone before the sun had a chance to rise, with solemn goodbyes and grim faces. You knew not when you were going to see them again.

It weighed heavy on your shoulders as you sat beside Helaena, sharpening one of your daggers with a small whetstone. There was a certain uncomfortable feeling twisting about your stomach—but you couldn’t quite tell what was wrong.

You had tried distracting yourself by playing with the twins, gifting them new wooden dragons you had bought from a carver in town, but it was not enough to take your mind off of the unsettled feeling within you. When the twins hadn’t worked, you thought about Aemond, and the time you shared last night… along with the early morning following, with his touch sweltering and his voice gruff from slumber.

It still didn’t work. Perhaps you were just having an off day.

“It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another,” said Helaena, working on her embroidery of a spindly black spider with a red abdomen, seeming impervious to your nervous state. “If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.”

“Balancing the scales,” you murmured. The princess hummed in agreement. 

All of a sudden, Alicent burst into the room, strides quick and fists clenched into the fabric of her emerald-hued dress. Otto was hot on her heels, though his expression did not betray nearly as much as that of his daughter’s. 

“Where is Aegon?” she asked, eyes wild. 

The two of you exchanged worried, yet curious glances. Lifting her shoulders, Helaena stoically replied, “Not here.”

“He’s not in his room?” clarified Otto, as if angry at the two of you for not having kept an eye on the Prince.

You had to fight the scowl threatening to make an appearance across your face. Helaena dipped her head to avoid eye contact with her grandfather, but you held his gaze with a squared jaw. 

Gnashing his teeth together, Otto turned on his heel and marched right out of the room. 

“Father—” Alicent said, but he was already long gone.

The Queen glanced at the twins—Jaehaerys, babbling his father’s name and clapping his hands together, whilst Jaehaera only tightened her small grip around the wooden dragon you gave her. 

“What has happened?” whispered Helaena, addressing her mother directly, something she sparsely ever did.

A morose expression folded over her features. Alicent sat beside Helaena, a film of tears misting over her eyes.

“Your father…”

Helaena’s usually calm features twisted into one of anger. Viserys was hardly a father to her. “There is a beast beneath the boards,” she hissed, repeating her whispered words from yesterday’s dinner. 

Alicent’s conflicted eyes searched her daughter’s distraught form. “Oh, my dearest love…” She reached out to hold Helaena, but the Princess frantically flinched closer to you, smacking the Queen’s palms away.

“No, no,” she whispered, crossing her arms across her chest, as if to shield herself from her mother. 

Crestfallen, the Queen shifted her stare onto you, her fists clenching even harder around her dress. It did not escape your notice when her pupils darted down to glance at the freshly-sharpened dagger in your lap.

“What has happened to the King, Your Grace?” you asked, tone cautious and wary not to overstep any bounds.

Before she could reply, Aemond stepped from the shadows out of seemingly nowhere, a jaded, nearly haunted look of realization befalling his features.

The King was dead.

Aemond’s hand tightly clasped yours as you sat in front of the crackling fire pit. The dagger you had sharpened was clutched in your other palm, having not left your side for even a second. These were dangerous times—the scales had never been this lopsided before.

Alicent paced in front of the chairs a few feet away, murmuring incoherently under her breath at the puzzling disappearance of her eldest son.

Not too long after, Ser Criston Cole made his way into the chambers, shutting the door behind him. “Prince Aegon is not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace. Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him.”

The Queen hung her head. “Ser Erryk knows Aegon… he has the advantage.”

Both your and Aemond’s heads turned at her words. There were treasonous schemes brewing within the Keep, that was made abundantly clear. If Alicent was not the one who sent Erryk after Aegon… it must’ve been Otto Hightower. Known to show little remorse, you could only guess that the Hand wanted his own grandson on the Iron Throne rather than Princess Rhaenyra. A sinking feeling twisted your guts upon realizing that he not only intended to usurp Rhaenyra with Aegon, but to be rid of her entirely, knowing full and well the Princess would never bend the knee to her younger brother. 

Criston glanced at you with an obvious disdainful suspicion painted crystal clear over his face. For once, however, you were on Alicent’s side on finding Aegon before Ser Erryk did. You would rather Aegon be crowned King than Rhaenyra be executed.

“I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it.” She stepped closer to the knight, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Everything you feel for me… as your Queen.” 

The Dornish man bowed his head. “I will not fail you.”

Surprising you, Aemond declared, “We shall come with you.”

Head snapping towards the two of you, Alicent strode away from Criston to her son. Aemond’s hand fell away from yours to hold his mother’s forearms in a placating fashion. 

“That would not be my desire, Aemond. If anything has happened—”

“Cole needs us, Mother. Ser Erryk isn’t the only one who knows Aegon’s doings. Y/N has spent many a night prowling the streets outside the Keep. She knows much about the nooks and crannies Aegon might be hiding within.”

It was no secret that you often used to sneak out of the castle during your childhood, eager to see King’s Landing outside of the Red Keep. The habit continued on during your teenage years, where you would often explore trade markets and smithies. By now, you knew the town as if it were the back of your hand. 

Though reluctant, Criston bobbed his head in agreement. A quiet sigh slipped past Alicent’s lips, and she let go of her son. You brushed past her, following after your betrothed straight out the door.

You may have hated Aegon, but you’d do anything to keep him away from Otto and his treasonous hands. 

As Helaena had mystically informed you yesterday—a storm was on the horizon. A dance of dragons.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth name day,” said the Prince, dark grey cowl pulled over his long, silver hair. You and Criston both had matching cloaks draped over your shoulders. The cobbled steps of King’s Landing were uneven and often damp with an unknown substance. People milled about, chattering loudly and without care. None of them had a clue that war was upon them. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that’s what I understood him to mean.”

“How pleasant,” you replied, voice dripping with contempt for his older brother, and your soon to be brother-in-law.

“I don’t follow,” Criston said, brows furrowing.

The Prince leaned forward. “He said, time to get it wet.”

Criston recoiled ever so slightly in disgust. “Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.”

You scoffed at that, rolling your eyes to the side. 

Humming, Aemond tilted his head. “He paid half a dozen whores and thrust them upon me, then left the room. Two of the girls there were younger than I, barely ten years of age and trembling like leaves… never before had I been more revolted by my brother. I crawled out of the window and ran back to the Keep.”

You glanced appreciatively to your betrothed, finding yourself once again glad that it was him you were to be married to. 

Leading the two men in front of a wooden door, you gestured for them to knock, stepping back to give them space. It was a pleasure house—one of the most popular in all of King’s Landing. Aemond’s single eye roamed the building, a spark of recognition dancing within the mauve of his iris. This was where Aegon had taken him all those years ago.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman draped in a sheer assortment of yellow silks and dozens upon dozens of golden jewelry littered across her skin. She narrowed her kohl-lined eyes at Ser Criston, glancing at you and Aemond right behind him.

“Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion,” said the knight. “Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”

“Describe him,” replied the woman, bracelets clinking loudly against one another with every small movement. 

Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot, before quieting his voice to a mere whisper, nearly lost to the crowd. “That is… a delicate matter. You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.”

The woman let out an amused chuckle. “The Prince is not here,” she told him. 

“Has he been here as of late?” you asked.

Curious, she laid her eyes upon you, roaming over your cloaked form. “Not as of late. Years ago, yes.”

“But more recently?” pressed Criston.

She shook her head. “He does not frequent the Street of Silk any longer. His tastes are known to be… less discriminating.”

“Meaning what?” Criston queried.

The woman smiled, wisely keeping her cards close to her chest. “I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend.” She swiveled her intense gaze to Aemond, who had bowed his head. “How you’ve grown,” she told him.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. With a hum, he took your hand, and began leading you away from the whorehouse, Criston in tow.

“It seems you were mistaken to Aegon’s habits,” said the knight. 

“He could be in the hands of mercenaries, on a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead, for all we know,” Aemond replied, nonchalantly speaking of his brother’s death as if he were discussing tomorrow’s dinner. 

You allowed a hollow, humorless laugh to bubble within your throat. “It would be a cause for celebration, would it not?”

Criston sent you a sharp glare. “Let us hope, for your Queen mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

On you strode, twisting and turning through the narrow streets. The further into King’s Landing you walked, the dirtier the roads became, and the more poor, homeless folk were seen scrounging through trash for food and drinking out of barrels of muddy water. The air was humid and stank of rotten flesh. 

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” spat Aemond, growing frustrated at the fruitless search for his wretched brother. “‘Tis I, the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, and I who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be…”

Aemond bit down on the inside of his cheek, effectively stopping himself from continuing his sentence. 

It upset you that he was behaving this way—just yesterday he had whispered his promise into your ear that he would halt his treacherous tongue. Had his words meant nothing to him? The death of his father had surely spun his mind into one of frantic chaos, despite his calm outer demeanor.

Pursing your lips, you could only gently reply, “There is no doubt that you are the better brother, Aemond. It does not deter the fact that we have to find him—lest your half-sister, Princess Rhaenyra, be murdered by his command under the influence of the Hand.” 

Your betrothed parted his lips, as if he wanted to say something, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself. 

“I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given,” Criston told Aemond, stepping closer to the younger man.

Aemond quietly grunted in frustration. “We can’t find him, Cole. You are a decent man with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own, and he’s welcome to them. I’m next in line to the throne—should they come looking for me… I intend to be found.”

Your lips trembled as you staved away the burning within your nose, threatening tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It seemed that Aemond was truly far gone in his thirst for revenge, for power—you were a fool to believe his promise, even for a short second. 

It was growing more and more dangerous for you to stay in King’s Landing, surrounded by venomous Greens. You had to hold your Black-biased tongue, for it could now result in treason of the highest orders, and, consequently, your death. You were to pose as a Green now, for the sake of your own safety.

Helaena’s words from all those years ago rang in your head. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.” Masters of trickery—beautiful and deceitful, both equally true.

The Prince could feel the slightest of regrets once you pulled away from him, surging several feet ahead with angry steps. Your loyalty to Rhaenyra and her sons knew no bounds, and Aemond was well aware that if it came down to it, you would've chosen them over him. He loved you, truly, more than anything in the world—but his deep-rooted hatred for the Blacks had festered strong for the majority of his life. That was something that not even you could remedy, no matter how much you tried.

It was by pure luck the three of you happened upon Sers Erryk and Arryk, along with Otto Hightower, speaking to the infamous White Worm by a spice market. You followed the twins in front of a great Sept—where Mysaria had hidden away Aegon for safekeeping. 

Not five minutes later, a familiar voice began shouting out obscenities and colorful curses to his captor, Ser Arryk. Criston brandished his sword, and you unsheathed your dagger beneath the protection of your cloak.

“I do regret this, friend,” said Cole, blocking their path. 

Seeing this as a chance to flee, Aegon kicked at Arryk’s foot and sprinted away, down the Sept’s wide stairwell. Criston engaged Arryk in combat while you and Aemond darted away to chase after Aegon.

Quick on your feet, you were the first to tackle Aegon to the ground, shoving the Prince’s face into the uneven stone of the ground. He choked out a yell, flailing about beneath you like a fish out of water. 

“No! Stop, you wretched woman! Stop!” he cried once you grabbed his arm to yank him up. Aemond came to the other side of his brother, helping you drag him up. The older Prince began to laugh maniacally when he punched you across the face, sending you reeling back with stars dancing about your vision.

A growl caught in Aemond’s throat and he grabbed at the lapels of his brother’s tunic, hauling him closer. “I was hoping you disappeared,” he said, voice dripping with venom.

Purple eyes gleaming, Aegon asked, “Is our father truly dead?”

“Yes,” replied Aemond, “and they’re going to make you King.”

A sick feeling twisted within your stomach. 

Equally angry at his brother’s words, Aegon spat a thick glob of saliva right into Aemond’s only eye, trying his best to escape the two of you, to no avail.

“Let me go!” he screamed when the both of you grabbed his arms. “Let me go! Brother! I have no wish to rule! No taste for duty—I’m not suited!”

Aemond barked out a dry laugh. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

With surprising strength, Aegon shoved you away, gripping his brother’s face in his filthy hands. “You let me go—and I will find a ship and sail away.”

His proposal was most certainly a tempting one—even Aemond had given pause to his words, freezing in place. If Aegon were to be presumed dead… he would be crowned King, and you would be his Queen.

“The Queen awaits,” said Criston, pulling Aegon away from Aemond, having bested Ser Arryk in combat. 

You let out a soft sigh of relief. At least, with Aegon by his mother’s side, there was no way he would order the execution of Rhaenyra. The battle has been won, but the war was still lost. 

Aegon was still to be crowned King.

Once you returned to the Keep, you had locked yourself in your chambers, refusing supper. You had little appetite, and hadn’t the heart to face any of the Greens. Aemond had stopped by to check on you, knocking on your door.

You opened it reluctantly, face streaked with reflective tear tracks and eyes red-rimmed. 

“Aemond, my love,” you whispered, allowing him to step into your chambers. “I fear I am no longer safe in King’s Landing.”

It broke your heart when your betrothed had no words of comfort to spare you—for you were right to worry. As a supporter of Rhaenyra, you weren’t safe here. 

The Prince remained silent, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And though the two of you were enemies on rival sides of the war—you still loved him for the man underneath all that. And Aemond would never stop loving you, no matter how much he hated his nephews, and his half-sister.

For just a couple hours, the two of you allowed yourselves to be free of thought. No Blacks and Greens, no Princes and Ladies, no violence and hatred. 

Only you and him.

The butterfly and the dragon.

Aegon’s crowning was witnessed by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people. You were forced into a bright green dress by Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting, your hair done up and silver jewelry pinned around your neck, and to your ears. You stood beside Aemond, playing your role as the faithful wife-to-be. On your other side was Helaena, in a dress of sweet blue, and her watering eyes trained to the ground. In front of you was Alicent, in a dark dress of viridescent hue, a golden seven-pointed star resting on her chest, her face grim.

“People of King’s Landing!” announced Otto Hightower. “Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved King, Viserys the Peaceful… is dead.”

The crowd murmured in surprise upon the announcement.

“But it is also the most joyous of days! For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

Shock spread across the audience. After a few moments, they began to cheer and clap. Your insides roiled with disgust at their blatant disregard for Princess—now rightfully Queen Rhaenyra.

Not too long after, trumpets were sounding, and Aegon began walking down a pathway cleared for him by Goldcloaks. His silver-white hair shone, standing out starkly from the crowd. His expression was stony, and the corners of his eyes were red with unshed tears.

“It is your good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this! A new day for this city—a new day for our realm! A new King to lead us!” announced Otto.

Queen Alicent pressed a kiss to her eldest child’s head and led him forward to the Septon. Aegon knelt down before him. Helaena stared at her brother-husband, purple eyes misting over.

“May the Warrior give him courage. May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom.” With each sentence, the Septon dipped his thumb in blessed water and dragged the finger across Aegon’s brow.

The crown was then given to Ser Criston Cole, to place upon Aegon’s head.

“The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations,” he proclaimed, resting the heavy silver ring against Aegon’s silver locks. “Let the Seven bear witness: Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

Aegon rose to his feet. Criston and Alicent bowed their heads before their new King. Helaena set her jaw, looking none too pleased that her monster of a husband was now the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but bowed slightly nonetheless. You were next, dipping your head ever so slightly—a deceitful butterfly. 

“All hail his Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” said the Septon.

“Aegon the King!” bellowed Criston.

The crowd burst into raucous applause.

The newly crowned Targaryen let his eyes roam over the audience. They were all cheering… for him. All his life he’d been searching for praise, for validation, and now they were all giving to him on a silver platter. 

“Aegon the King!” they all screamed. “Long live Aegon!”

He unsheathed his Valyrian steel longsword, Blackfyre, and held it up with a victorious smile. The crowd cheered loudly with every thrust of his sword into the air, and he spread his arms out, feeling powerful for once in his life. A ghost of a smile crossed Alicent’s lips. Helaena shut her eyes tightly.

A beast beneath the boards.

The ground shook as the stone of the floor gave way. Plumes of dust and smoke filled the air. Screams of terror erupted from the throng of common folk and they scattered every which way.

The shrill roar of a dragon echoed loud and true. It was Meleys, the Red Queen of dragons, her scarlet scales rippling with each movement, having burst out from the Dragonpit below. Dozens of onlookers were trampled beneath her large copper-hued claws as she snarled out an ear-splitting screech. 

Out of pure instinct, Aemond had grabbed your arm, pushing you behind him protectively, placing himself in between you and the large dragon. You gripped his shoulder tightly.

Once the smoke and debris had vaguely settled, you could start to make out her rider—Rhaenys Targaryen. The Queen who never was.

Alicent grabbed her eldest son, standing in front of him, terror painted across her features. She shoved Criston towards Helaena, ordering him to protect her.

The large dragon growled as she prowled closer to the royal family—smoke falling from behind her bared teeth and golden eyes blazing. Rhaenys watched you from above, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she caught your stare, bowing her head ever so slightly in your direction. 

It was as if she were offering you a way out. She was well aware of your strong allegiance to Rhaenyra, and your fondness for her granddaughters’ betrotheds.

You glanced at Helaena, then to Aemond, and swallowed the lump in your throat. How could you find it in yourself to leave them both?

The Princess met your eyes, her purple ones softening ever so slightly. “Go,” she mouthed silently, nodding once. Tears blurred your gaze.

Ever so slow and trembling slightly, you stepped out from behind Aemond, much to the rest of the family’s shock. Aemond held onto your wrist, unwilling to let you go—how could he? How could he let go of you, the person he was meant to marry? The woman he loved with the entirety of his being? 

You turned to your betrothed just as a hot tear slipped down your cheek.

“Goodbye, my love,” you murmured, voice cracking with emotion as your free hand lifted to cradle his cheek. You surged forward to kiss him, one last time, uncaring of the onlookers. It was quick and chaste and you could only wish for it to last longer. Raw despair and anguish and muted fury flickered across his pale visage all at once. “Let me go, Aemond. I love you, darling, please, let me go.”

Not so long ago, you were begging him to stay. And now you were asking him to let you go.

You were the only thing he had left to himself—for everything else in his life was not truly his. The two of you belonged to each other, Aemond knew this to be true… and yet you were still leaving. He refused to cry, but could feel his throat burning with restraint. If he didn’t let you go, he feared the dragon would burn his entire family alive. His wretched brother, he would’ve been alright with, but his sweet sister and mother deserved a better fate. Aemond set his jaw, and loosened his grip on you.

You rotated away just as the second tear fell, and strode towards the terrifying creature that was Meleys. The rest of the Greens remained rooted in their spots, deathly afraid of the beast in front of them. She lowered herself for you to climb on behind Rhaenys—your green dress ripped loudly in your haste. The dragon’s scales were warm, nearly burning to the touch.

Alicent shut her eyes, accepting what she thought to be her fiery death.

No dracarys ever came.

Instead, the dragon only planted her feet and bellowed out another loud, ear-splitting shriek—a warning of sorts. 

With that, Rhaenys urged her dragon to turn and fly over the terrified citizens, away from King’s Landing. Cold wind blew against your face, drying your tears, and undid the intricate hairstyle your ladies-in-waiting had worked so hard on. The two of you were going to Dragonstone, where Rhaenys was to inform Princess Rhaenyra that her father passed away and her half-brother had just been crowned King. 

A clashing symphony of sorrow and relief buried deep within your chest.

You craned your head back as Meleys soared away, hoping to look upon Aemond and Helaena one last time—but they were too small to see, growing into blurred figures in the distance.

Lucerys could not take his eyes off of the map of Westeros, intricately carved into stone. His hand reached out to graze over that of Driftmark—which was to be his, when Lord Corlys Velaryon passed away. It felt as if there was a heavy stone sinking within his stomach.

“There you are,” said his mother, which made Luke’s gaze snap upwards.

Rhaenyra strode towards her son, both her hands rested on her pregnant belly.

“The Sea Snake is going to die, isn’t he?” asked Luke.

Shocked at his sudden words, Rhaenyra began to say, “Luke—”

“I can’t be Lord of the Tides! Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbor! I’ll just ruin everything, mother. I don’t want Driftmark. It should’ve passed on to Ser Vaemond,” the young boy said, brows furrowed.

Rhaenyra shook her head, long silver hair swaying over her shoulder. “We don’t choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us.”

“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir. You told us so, Mother. Grant me the same mercy—I do not want Driftmark.”

Her features softened, understanding her son’s turmoil. 

“Do you want to know the truth of it?” she asked, voice quieter. “I was frightened. I was four-and-ten… same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms—but it was my duty nonetheless. And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance.”

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat, casting his gaze to the side. “I’m not like you,” he murmured.

His mother tilted her head. “In what way, sweet boy?”

“I’m not so… perfect.” 

Rhaenyra could only smile at that, stepping closer to her second son and cupping his face, kissing the skin right beside his dark brown eyes. “I am anything but,” she whispered. “My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”

A small, accepting smile danced over Lucerys’ expression. He nodded, before noticing the guard approaching the two of them from behind.

“Good morrow, Princess,” said the guard, making his mother turn to face him. “Princess Rhaenys has just arrived on dragonback, with Lady Y/N Strong accompanying her. She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon.”

Shock flashed across Luke and Rhaenyra’s features. They hadn’t received any news of either of your plans to visit. Though he had just seen you a few days ago, Luke was excited to see you once again—you had never been to Dragonstone before.

“She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon,” the guard added. 

Luke’s shoulders slumped. It seemed he’d have to wait a bit longer before he could greet you.

Your legs were sore from the long ride, and wobbled as you began walking into the large castle, hot on Rhaenys’ heels. It was not long until the guards led you into a large, expansive room, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited the two of you.

“Princess Rhaenys. Might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?” she acknowledged as soon as she spotted the older woman, with not a clue about her father’s passing. Her purple eyes lit up when she saw you, but her expression quickly melded into one of unfiltered concern. You were a mess—dress ripped, cheeks still-damp with tears, lips bleeding with how hard you’ve bitten them in the midst of your anxiety. “Y/N, sweet girl, what is the matter? Are you alright—?”

Princess Rhaenys’ sharp words cut Rhaenyra off, loud and echoing. “Viserys is dead.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Daemon turned upon the unexpected news, eyes wide.

“I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin… your father, possessed a kind heart.”

Rhaenyra’s expression faltered.

“There is more,” continued Rhaenys. “Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

A sudden jolt of pain struck within Rhaenyra’s belly. “They crowned him?” she murmured, eyes darting between you and Rhaenys in disbelief. The green dress you were wearing finally made sense.

“How did Viserys die?” asked Daemon, heartbroken over his lost brother.

“I could not say,” said Rhaenys. You remained silent, hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

Pain lacing her tone, Rhaenyra asked, “How long ago?”

“A day ago, perhaps two,” said the older woman. “I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations. Y/N tracked down Aegon in an effort to keep him away from Otto Hightower, so as to not order your execution.”

If it were under any other circumstance, Rhaenyra would have smiled at you gratefully. But she couldn’t, doubling over in agony as more rivulets of pain struck her stomach.

“Viserys has been slain,” said Daemon, anger rising within his voice. 

Affronted, Rhaenyra spat out, “Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon?”

“She did. I refused her,” replied Rhaenys.

“And yet you are still alive,” hissed Daemon, gaze suspicious and sharp.

Rhaenys cocked her head. “The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys.”

For the first time you arrived, you spoke, voice hoarse. “There were thousands of people there, all bearing witness to Aegon’s coronation.”

“They crowned him before the masses,” Rhaenyra said, horrified at the news.

Rhaenys nodded. “They will see him as their rightful king.” 

Accusingly, Daemon gritted out, “That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne and you could have burned them all for it.”

Rhaenys stood her ground, remaining endlessly calm and patient. “A war is likely to be fought over this treachery—but that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house. The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once.”

Tears glossed over Rhaenyra’s eyes. She glanced at you, practically her daughter in every way but blood and name—aware that your life was in danger now that you had run away from the Greens. 

Another wave of pain. She cried out, hands splaying out over the table in front of her. With frantic motions, Rhaenyra reached under her dress.

Her hand came out from beneath the fabric bloody.

“The babe is coming.”

Rhaenyra had stripped down to her shift, walking around her chambers with her hands on her hips and breathing irregularly. She was sweating profusely, skin a blistering shade of red and silver hair sticking to her sticky flesh.

The midwives were all murmuring to themselves, unsure of what to do and how to help her, especially when Rhaenyra kept waving them away, telling them, “Just fuck off!”

Even the maester appeared worried, murmuring low beneath his breath to the eldest midwife, “Her term is far from complete… this should not be happening.”

Rhaenyra had stormed up to them, growling out behind gritted teeth, “It is fucking happening!” 

“Keep your head about you, Princess,” the midwife crooned. “We’ve done this five times before—just keep your spirit and the sixth will be no different.”

“Get off, get off, get off me!” Rhaenyra hissed, yanking herself away from the fussing midwives. “Ow, ow, oh…”

Salt pricked the corners of her eyes when she turned her head in a frustrated manner, gaze landing on you. You were in the corner of the room, having been the one who ushered her here, hands shaking and cheeks damp with a constant stream of worried tears. Your mother had died giving birth to you—and you couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Rhaenyra died in front of your eyes, as well.

“Sweet girl, darling, fetch me some water, please,” she gasped, breathless, reaching out to you with a wince. 

With a frantic nod, you scrambled to the bedside table to pour Rhaenyra a cold cup, rushing to the woman who had taken to leaning against a stone pillar, chest heaving. A cry left her throat as she felt another wave of pain overtake her body.

She collapsed into you as she screamed through the pain, and you braced yourself with her weight, clutching her close to your chest.

“Drink, Princess,” you urged her, holding the rim of the cup to her chapped lips. Rhaenyra tipped her head back and swallowed a few mouthfuls to quench her dry throat, nearly choking as agony struck her belly once more.

Ten minutes later, Jacaerys and Lucerys were summoned, descending down the stairs to their mother’s chambers with confused and concerned expressions.

“Mother?” asked Jace, mouth parting upon seeing you by Rhaenyra’s side. 

“Fuck!” groaned Rhaenyra, huffing out a warbling breath. She turned to look at her two boys, both their brows furrowed and worry splayed plainly over both their faces. “Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed.” 

Both the boys straightened at the news, their eyes widening with shock.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned King,” Rhaenyra said, through bouts of intense pain.

Jacaerys’ jaw set. “What is to be done about it?”

“Nothing yet,” she replied. 

“Where is Daemon?” asked her eldest son.

“I don’t know. Gone to madness—gone to plot his war,” she bit out, lips trembling.

Furious that his stepfather wasn’t by his mother’s side, Jacaerys turned and began striding back up the stairs. “Leave Daemon with me,” he said.

“Jace!” called Rhaenyra. “Jacaerys!”

Jace halted in his strides.

“Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command. Do you understand?”

The young man dipped his head in a nod, and he disappeared out of the room.

Her purple eyes landed on Luke, appearing frightened beyond belief. 

“Are you going to be alright, mother?” he whispered.

“Yes, sweet boy,” she replied, the lie falling off her tongue easy. “Go. You mustn’t see this.”

Hesitating once more, Luke caught your eye, and you gestured for him to leave, a reassuring warmth to your gaze. The boy scampered away, leaving you to Rhaenyra once more. 

As soon as her boys left, she bent at the waist and began screaming again, nails digging into her thighs. You were the only one she allowed close to her, barking at the midwives to stay away anytime one of them tried to get near her. But there was little you could do, and so you just pressed a cold, soaked cloth to her head, wiping away her sweat and drew her hair away from her face. 

The seconds blurred into minutes.

Blood stained her shift.

The minutes blurred into hours.

 “Get out, get out!” she screamed at the babe within her, voice breaking, teeth clenched so hard it was a wonder they didn’t crack beneath the pressure.

The hours blurred into half a day.

Her agonized yells rang so loud it echoed across the entirety of Dragonstone. After a long while of strenuous pushing, blood pooled out from beneath her shift—and a minute later, a sick squelch befell the chambers as the stillborn baby came out of her. Its small, undeveloped body fell to the stone floors.

The babe was a girl.

And she was silent. Unmoving.

The midwives all turned away with tears in their eyes. 

With tired, shaking, bloodied hands, Rhaenyra fell to her knees and picked up her baby, wrapping her shift around its tiny form. Red soaked through the fabric, drenching her skin, her hair, her face.

You wanted to cry some more—but you forced the burning urge away, steeling yourself to stay strong for Rhaenyra. And so you sat beside her, with a hand resting upon her shoulder, face stoically set.

The two of you stayed that way for the rest of the day, long after the sun had set, with Rhaenyra rocking her dead daughter in her arms and her other daughter dutifully by her side, swallowing down her tears.

Sparse few attended the funeral.

Visenya, the babe’s name was. Rhaenyra had whispered it to you right before she had gotten up to wrap up her daughter in linens for the burning.

It was a dreary event, the sky covered with grey clouds and the oceans quietly lapping at the shores of Dragonstone. You stood beside Luke, his hand held tightly within yours. Rhaenyra did not cry, for she had done so for hours on end and had no tears left to spare.

A familiar figure passing through the thin crowd made your brows raise in surprise.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” Ser Erryk Cargyll said when two guards drew their swords upon him. The man took off his helmet, kneeling down before Rhaenyra and Daemon. He then pulled out a golden crown from his satchel, presenting it to the two. “I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

It was, by no means, a lavish coronation. After all, it was unexpected and sudden, and took place during the funeral of her stillborn daughter.

But it was better than any amount of gold could ever buy for Aegon.

Daemon took the crown from Erryk and placed it upon Rhaenyra’s head. He was the first to kneel. “My Queen.”

The rest of her people followed suit, bending the knee towards the true Queen.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” announced Daemon, standing at the head of the stone-carved table of Westeros. “Your Grace.”

Rhaena Velaryon offered the Queen wine, and Rhaenyra graciously took the chalice, beckoning for her to come closer to the war table, along with her sister Baela.

You stood beside Jacaerys, staring at the glowing markers on the table, eyes fixed upon King’s Landing—where Helaena and her darling children were. Where Aemond was.

“What is our standing?” asked Rhaenyra.

Swiftly, Daemon replied, “We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch—I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

A maester chimed in, “We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, along with Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace,” said the maester. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” Rhaenyra said. “He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him, should it come to war.”

Seeing as Grover was the head of the overlord house of Harrenhal, you knew much about the man, and were also aware that he was not one to put trust in. Feeling the need to speak up, you cleared your throat. “If I may, Your Grace—Lord Grover is old and sickly. He is bedridden, and far too aged to act with haste. It would do us well to address his grandson and heir, Elmo Tully, instead. Ser Elmo is sensible and loyal to a fault. He would surely support your cause.”

A ghost of a proud smile traced Rhaenyra’s expression. “That would be wise, Lady Strong. Maester, see to it that you do as she says.”

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” asked Ser Erryk.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” said the maester. “With House Stark, the entirety of the North will follow.”

Rhaenyra toyed with the ring about her finger. “We cannot speak to Storm’s End with surety—Lord Borros Baratheon will have to be reminded of his father’s promises first.”

Finally, the Queen turned to face Rhaenys. “What news from Driftmark?”

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” said Rhaenys.

Still ever so suspicious of her, Daemon narrowed his eyes. “To declare for his Queen?”

Rhaenys did not wither beneath his glare. “The Velaryon fleet is in my husband’s yoke. He decides where they sail.”

“We shall pray for both you and your husband’s support, then,” said Rhaenyra, “just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet. What of our enemies?”

Fingers flexing against the hilt of his sword, Daemon replied with a venomous tongue, “We have no friends amongst the Lannisters. Tyland has served Otto Hightower too long to turn against him… and he needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth,” said Rhaenyra.

Daemon huffed out a breath. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

One of the lords began speaking from the other end of the table. “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth slackened. “The Greens have dragons as well—”

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer,” said Daemon, counting off on his fingers.

“Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war,” replied Rhaenyra, tone sharpening. 

Unrelenting, Daemon pressed on, “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” asked Rhaenyra, baffled. 

“It does not matter. A dragon needs no rider to be an asset. We have thirteen to their four. I have another score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. Now, we need a place to gather—a toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” Daemon stepped around the table to place a marker on the map. “Here, at Harrenhal. And Lady Strong is our key to that—she is its rightful heir, after her older brother Larys Strong—and he is not a favorable man. The people there are more likely to bend the knee if they know we have their Lady’s support. We’d cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons, and we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

Surprise filled your expression at the mention of your hometown. Though you’d never been to Harrenhal, you knew Harwin and your father were well-liked. Perhaps they could be swayed in your favor instead of slimy old Larys, as well.

Before anyone could respond to Daemon’s hot tongue, a guard ran up to Rhaenyra. “Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore. A lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Could it possibly be Aemond?

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies,” said Daemon, already making his way out of the room. 

Fully expecting to be sent to your private quarters, you were shocked when Rhaenyra laid a hand on your forearm. “Y/N, my sweet girl, you are of great value in this war. You are quick-witted in the political tongues of battle and a good fighter. You shall come with me.”

You blinked in surprise, before bowing your head. “Yes, My Queen.”

Otto Hightower was most certainly not a sight for sore eyes. His face was set in stone, powerful and commanding and pretentious all at once. This was the most power he’s held in his entire life, and he was relishing in it.

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of his Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms,” he uttered, somehow managing to look down upon Daemon despite him being taller than Otto. “Where is the Princess?”

From the skies, Syrax’s roar rumbled the very clouds with its piercing volume. She descended upon the bridge you were standing on, yellow scales rippling as she lowered herself for Rhaenyra to climb down.

The knights Otto had come with cowered at the sight of the golden beast.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto greeted, not even bothering to bow in the slightest.

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now,” she coldly replied. “And you all are traitors to the realm.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name… in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms.” After a beat of silence, Otto took it as his cue to continue talking, despite Daemon’s restless fiddling with his sword. “Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. Return Lady Y/N Strong to her husband-to-be, the King’s younger brother, Aemond. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be reaffirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be given places of high honor at court—Aegon the Younger as the King’s squire, and Viserys as his cupbearer. Y/N will be treated well and married to Prince Aemond, after which she can choose to live with you on Dragonstone if she so pleases, until it is time for her to collect her inheritance of Harrenhal with Aemond. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Otto Hightower was a clever man, with a sharp tongue of persuasive influence. 

But Daemon saw right through him, scowling deeply. “I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.”

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne,” Otto reaffirmed. “He wears the Conqueror's crown, wields the Conqueror's sword, and has the Conqueror's name. He was anointed by a septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon—houses that have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their King.”

Rhaenyra clasped her hands together. “Stark, Tully, and Baratheon all swore to me, when King Viserys named me his heir. Has that perhaps slipped from your mind, Lord Hightower?”

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess,” reminded Otto. “The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.”

With deliberate steps forward, Rhaenyra marched towards Otto, grabbing the Hand of the King’s pin on the front of his coat, tossing it somewhere over the stone bridge. “You are no more Hand than Aegon is King. Fucking traitor.”

Otto seemed unmoved by this.

“Grand maester,” he said, holding out an awaiting hand.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon muttered under his breath from beside you, fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword.

The maester gave Otto a worn piece of paper—one that Rhaenyra seemed to recognize from her childhood growing up with Alicent.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other,” he said. “No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace. Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.”

“She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father’s mouth, along with his withered cock!” spat Daemon. “Let’s end this mummer’s farce.”

With that, he drew his shield, prompting every knight present to also pull out their swords. You wrapped your hand around the hilt of your dagger, hidden within your cloak, but you made no move to unsheath it just yet.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself,”  growled the white-haired Prince, ever the impulsive hothead. 

A tear slipped down Rhaenyra’s cheek as she stared down at the page. From behind Otto, Syrax gave an outraged growl upon seeing her rider upset.

“No,” Rhaenyra said, glancing back at her husband with a warning stare. Daemon put his sword down and hung his head with a sigh, deeply frustrated he was denied the pleasure of cutting off Otto’s head. “King’s Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” 

With that, Rhaenyra turned to leave. Daemon followed close behind.

“Lord Hightower,” you said, drawing his attention to you. “Tell Prince Aemond he is on the wrong end of the scales. Tell him I will be forced to balance them, whether or not he is on my side. He will understand what this means.”

With not another word further, you turned on your heel, striding away from the former Hand, hurrying to catch up to Rhaenyra.

The next morning was much busier than last night. More lords had keener insight to offer, and plans were starting to roll into place. 

“The Lord of the Tides,” announced Erryk Cargyll, “and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You paused in your conversation with Jacaerys to watch the Velaryons descend the staircase. Baela came to Jacaerys’ side, the two of them nodding at each other stoutly. Rhaena strode over to Luke, a bright smile to her face, which was equally mirrored by the young boy.

Corlys’ cane echoed loudly as it stamped against the floor. There was a slight limp to his step, but there seemed to be nothing else dire in terms of his condition. 

“Lord Corlys,” greeted Rhaenyra. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

The Sea Snake leveled her with a calculating gaze. “I’m very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.” He hobbled closer to the stone-carved map. “Your declared allies?” he asked, glancing at the markers strewn across the table.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said.

“Too few to win a war for the throne,” surmised Corlys.

Rhaenyra hesitated, before saying, “Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope is the fools’ ally,” the Sea Snake said.

The Queen drew herself to her full height. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

Corlys cocked his head. “As did House Hightower, if I can recall correctly.”

Tone sharp, Rhaenyra responded, “As did you, Lord Corlys.”

The Lord of the Tides found himself at an impasse for a reply. He glanced back at his grandchildren—Jace and Baela, along with Luke and Rhaena. 

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor,” said Corlys. “Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and house, Your Grace.” He bowed his head low to his Queen.

Gratitude shone through Rhaenyra’s expression. “You honor me, Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys. But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it shall not be by my hand.”

Surprised, Corlys’ brows shot up. “You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast,” said Rhaenyra. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Allowing yourself to play the fool for once, hope clutched at your ribcage. Rhaenyra would make for a good Queen.

“The consequence of my near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory, this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already,” Corlys told Rhaenyra with a firm nod. “The triarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

Stepping forward, Rhaenys offered, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.”

You studied the positions of the Blacks on the map before voicing your input, “With the Narrow Sea obstructed by the Velaryon fleet, King’s Landing can be easily surrounded, and a bloodless siege could be levied onto the Red Keep. It is a strong castle, but more than vulnerable, given the right number of knights and extensive knowledge of the inside. I know the castle like it’s the back of my hand—along with the secret tunnels to smuggle people in and out unseen. Once the Keep is impregnated, the Greens’ would be forced to surrender.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you, perhaps the first time she’s genuinely smiled since the death of her daughter. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

The maester bowed his head. “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

From beside you, Jacaerys spoke, “We should bear those messages. Dragons can fly faster than ravens—and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Corlys regarded his grandson with an impressed look. “The Prince is right, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head once after a moment of thought. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north—first to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End to treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. Lady Y/N will go with you, Luke. She is quick-of-tongue, has been trained in the art of combat, can bargain against Lord Borros’ temper if need be, and is around the same age as his four daughters. Hopefully that will make for some common interest.”

Surprise rippled around the room, but you determinedly bobbed your head once.

“I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” you said, earning you a warm dip of her head.

“We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore,” Rhaenyra proclaimed. “And… the cost of breaking them.”

The waters lapped voraciously against the tall, stony cliffs, the sea’s waves crashing loudly against them. You turned your gaze up to the sky, watching the dark, heavy clouds slowly shift with the whistling winds. 

There was a storm on the horizon.

And it’d be your second time mounting a dragon.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” Rhaenyra said to her sons. “And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms… we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers—not as warriors.”

Luke sent a worried gaze to his brother and then to you. He was frightened and terribly nervous, of course he was—this was the first time he’s been sent off for something this high of importance—but he was immensely relieved that you were to go with him. He knew you were a formidable fighter, even if they were avoiding violence, it was comforting to know that he wasn’t going to be alone.

“You must take no part in any fighting,” Rhaenyra told them, expression solemn. “Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

“I swear it,” said Luke without hesitation.

Jacaerys took a moment longer to follow after his brother. “I swear it,” he parroted.

“You as well, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, turning her dark purple gaze to you. “I need this ordeal to be bloodless.”

“I swear it, Your Grace,” you whispered, bowing your head. “I’m honored you trust me with such a task.”

A smile traced Rhaenyra’s lips. The rolled up pieces of parchment in her hands shifted as she held one out to Jace. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than is mine. I would hope that as young men, the two of you can take a mutual liking to one another.”

Jacaerys nodded determinedly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra regarded her eldest son fondly, before turning to the younger boy. She noted the unadulterated worry in his eyes.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here. You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And… Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm—and his dragon. I expect the both of you will receive a very warm welcome.” The Queen smoothed down his cloak, and brushed his curls away from his face. 

“Yes, Mother. I mean, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, an affection glint to her eyes. Her sweet boy… grown far too quickly.

Finally, she turned to you, handing you the parchment. “Lord Borros is a temperamental man, but you are smart—smarter than most your age—I have faith you will easily persuade him for support. Let us hope he will see his daughters within you… you and his eldest, Cassandra, are of the same age.”

“I will not fail you, Your Grace,” you said.

Rhaenyra cupped your face, dipping forward to slant a chaste kiss upon your temples. “I will see you soon, daughter. Get to it, then.”

A warm smile brushed across your features. You pulled away, bidding Jacaerys a warm goodbye, before walking away with Luke.

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

The two of you grinned at each other, nervous.

You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before he could mount his pearlescent dragon, Arrax. “Luke… everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The younger boy rolled his eyes. “I should be the one saying that to you—I’m the one with a dragon.”

With that, he mounted the small beast, commanding Arrax to bend down so you could climb on, as well. The dragon seemed to purr contentedly when you stroked his pale scales.

And to the dark skies the both of you took, the howling warnings of the wind falling upon deaf ears.

Storm’s End was cold and dreary and grey all over. Pinpricks of frigid rain stung your skin.

The flight was short but uncomfortable, as the winds made for a difficult journey and the saddle was really only made for one person, since Arrax was still a young dragon. Nonetheless, Luke helped you down, and the two of you made for the castle. 

A shrill roar in the distance made the two of you flinch, looking west to see Vhagar in the distance, shrouded with cold fog and smoke, more than five times the size of Arrax. The two of you exchanged worried glances.

Aemond was here.

Fear clutched at your chest.

Determined, Luke stepped forward to the guards manning the castle doors.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, turning to lead him through the massive stone archway.

Thunder rumbled angrily through the sky, rivulets of white lightning carving pathways between clouds.

Somehow colder inside than out, you drew your blue cloak closer to you, sticking close behind Luke.

The guards brought the two of you into the castle’s great hall, where Lord Borros was seated upon a stone throne. He was a burly man, with a mane of black curls and a thick beard shadowing his jaw. To his left were his four daughters, each tall and dark-haired and fair of skin.

To his right was your betrothed.

He was calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, foot tapping rhythmically against the ground. His purple eye was fixed on you, expression unreadable. You could feel your heart stutter within your chest—despite everything, you missed him terribly.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon, son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” announced the guard. “Lady Y/N, of House Strong.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably at the sight of his uncle.

“Lord Borros,” he started, voice trembling. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

The Baratheon lord showed little interest in the young princeling. “Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He began laughing to himself, loud and hollow, bouncing off the cold stone walls of the castle. “What’s your mother’s message?”

With your head held up high, you stepped forward to hand the Lord the bound scroll. He eyed you with disdain, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Where’s the bloody maester?!” he yelled, his patience growing thin. Borros was not a man of words, and could not read for himself.

Aemond’s stare pierced into Luke, nearly scalding. Subconsciously, Luke rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The maester stepped forward to read for him, before bending down to whisper the message into Borros’ ear.

Fury painted itself golden across his grizzled features.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” he echoed, voice booming with anger. “King Aegon at least came with an offer! My swords and banners in exchange for a marriage pact!”

Your eyes widened, and you chanced a glance to Aemond. Had he offered his hand to one of the Baratheon girls? Had he already cast you to the side as if you were nothing?

“Aegon’s youngest brother, Daeron, is to wed one of my daughters. Prince Aemond was just negotiating dates and dowries,” said Borros in a boastful manner.

A strange sense of relief befell you, one that you didn’t quite understand.

“If I do as your mother bids… which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Voice quaking, Luke shook his head. “My lord… I am not free to marry. I’m already betrothed.”

“So you come with empty hands,” said Borros, an incredulous scoff following his words.

A slight smile crossed Aemond’s features. You gritted your teeth.

“My Lord, if I may,” you began, holding the Baratheon’s graze strongly. “It matters not what we offer. This is a warning to you, from the Queen. The might of the Velaryon fleet has already sworn fealty to Queen Rhaenyra’s cause. Winterfell has never forgotten their oaths and will support Her claim, along with the entirety of the North. The Tullys and the Arryns and dozens more great houses are also to be loyal to the Queen’s cause. Will you be willing to risk your own noble house against the strength of the Blacks if war is to come?”

Borros Baratheon was stunned into silence. He wasn’t a man easily swayed, stubborn to a fault—but your words had struck a chord within him. The threat of the entirety of the North was not one he could hold defense against, not to mention the Velaryon fleet, the Vale, and the Riverlands.

A grumble resounded in his chest. Borros was not one to back down. “Rhaenyra has taken House Baratheon for granted far too long. A son—a male heir—is of higher order than a daughter. Aegon is the true King.”

You pressed forth, “Lord Borros, I beg you to think about the future of your house—”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU!” he shouted, effectively cutting you off, thick brows drawing together. You fell silent, angrily biting down on your tongue. The burly man drew out a heavy sigh, addressing Prince Lucerys once more. “Go home, pup. Tell your bitch of a mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not a dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

The both of you stiffened at his blatant disrespect.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord,” said Luke.

The two of you turned to take your leave of the blasted place. 

“Wait.”

You froze in place, turning only your head to see Aemond staring straight at his nephew.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm with my dear betrothed… trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he said, words as sharp as knives. 

Luke straightened himself, remembering what he swore to his mother. “I will not fight you,” he told his uncle. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” said the one-eyed prince. You protectively moved to stand in front of Luke. Aemond hummed at this, regarding you with a heated stare. He reached behind his head to pull off his leather eyepatch—where a gleaming sapphire was placed within the scarred socket. Memories of when he had bared himself to you fully and wholly that one fateful night flashed across the forefront of your mind. You yearned for that time back. “No… I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine. Just one will serve. I would not blind you. Hm… I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

With that, he reached down into his coat, brandishing a curved dagger. He tossed it down to the ground in between you, the blade glowing with the light of the torches lining the walls.

Revenge was consuming him. He was angry—infuriated that the Blacks had stolen his wife-to-be, and now they were parading about the realm, falsely claiming Rhaenyra to be the rightful Queen.

“Aemond, stop this madness,” you hissed, stepping closer to him, your hand resting over your own dagger hidden within your cloak. “He will do no such thing.”

“Mmh, then he is craven as well as a traitor,” said Aemond.

“Not here!” bellowed Borros.

The prince paid him no mind, surging forward with quick steps. “Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” 

You met him halfway, just as he scooped up the dagger he had tossed. One of your hands found his chest and you shoved him back, the other coming forth to slant your dagger right against Aemond’s stomach. The prince met your eyes briefly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw regret dancing amongst the mauve of his iris. But it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Touch my nephew and I will cut you open from head to toe,” you threatened in a hushed whisper, lips grazing his ear.

Aemond found himself chuckling lowly at your slip up. “So you finally admit it, my love. He is a Strong, just as you are, hm? Look at this sad creature, my sweet betrothed… little Luke Strong, the bastard. He is drenched. Is it raining outside or has he pissed himself in fear?”

With a growl, you shoved at him again, which only barely made him take a step back.

Luke had drawn his sword, hands trembling around the hilt.

“NOT IN MY HALL!” yelled Borros. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof! Escort Prince Lucerys and Lady Y/N back to his dragon. Now.”

Luke sheathed his sword, and Aemond twirled the dagger in his grasp, before doing the same. You were the last to put your weapon away, glaring at your betrothed with the might of a thousand suns.

“For what it’s worth, Aemond,” you told him as a lump formed in your throat, “I’ve missed you. Or, at least—I miss the man you used to be.”

You did not wait to see his reaction. 

Instead, you turned to tell Lucerys, “Go, Luke. I will stay and try to barter with Lord Borros. With time, I think I can convince him.”

The princeling shook his head, wet curls flying. “No, Y/N, you must come home with me. We can tell mother together!”

You brushed his damp hair away from his face. “I can do this, Luke. Go. I will see you at Dragonstone—I shall take a ship back.”

Reluctant, Luke nodded once, before rotating on his heel and heading out the door. 

When you looked back, Aemond was already gone. Unease settled within your chest.

The storm seemed to have worsened—the rains were far heavier and the gusts of wind were stronger. You made your way out of the castle to watch Luke go on his young dragon.

Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

Your eyes widened. Aemond must have already taken her to the skies—no doubt to torment his nephew further.

Or… or worse than torment…

You ran out into the muddy clearing, screaming Luke’s name. Your voice was lost to the storm. Frantic, you made your way out of Storm End’s walls, desperately trying to see through the thick fog.

“LUKE!” you screamed. “AEMOND! No, no, no…”

Vhagar’s rumbling roars echoed loud and true over the stormy seas of Shipbreaker’s Bay. 

Raw terror sank its dark hands around your ribcage, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing—

In the faint distance, you could see parts of a pale dragon streak from the sky.

A fluttering wing membrane.

A spined tail.

A gnarled talon.

A dragon head.

And along with it, the corpse of your nephew, falling down, down, down, into the waters below…

You screamed your throat bloody until your voice gave out. 

In three days' time, you would find yourself back in Dragonstone, and be the one to tell Rhaenyra that her son was dead. You were weathered and broken, and had to write the words out for your own voice had failed you.

Daemon was enraged upon hearing the news.

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son,” he had said. “Lucerys shall be avenged.”

[viviennevermillion]

*slides into your inbox because HSR requests are open*

Hey Vi! I was wondering if I could request some heacanons for Sampo, Blade, and your boy Luocha with a reader who likes to play with/run their hands through the boys hair? They all have such pretty hair and I want to play with it!

Anyway take your time of course, and I hope you're doing well! Please remember to take care of yourself!

playing with their hair

✧ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: ryker, yayyy, thank you for sending in a request! you made me think about sampo and realize that he's the funniest fucking character in the entire game and so much fun to write for. i had a blast with his banner too, the song fits him so well 💀🩵

btw requests are open and if you guys would like to read more of my works, check my masterlist!

✧ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: carried me with you — brandi carlile

✧ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: sampo, blade, luocha

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: very slight angst in blade's (i'm so sorry, i'm trying, i promise)

Sampo loves when you play with his hair. He'd be 100% down for you trying ridiculous hairstyles on him but on a good day he'll put a pillow in your lap and puts his hands behind his head, sinking into the soft fabric. He closes his eyes when your fingertips start carding through his blue strands of hair. "This is the good life", he sighs and winks at you, "now all you'd need to do would be feeding me grapes like they do in the movies and things would be perfect." "Wait until I throw you off the couch", you shoot him a warning glare. "Hey, hey, I jest", he puts his hands up defensively and laughs.

"You know I'm lucky to have you", he takes your free hand into his and presses a kiss to your knuckles, "this is like we're straight out of a romantic piece of literature, don't you think?" You raised an eyebrow at him: "You're not exactly what I'd consider a romance novel protagonist."

He sighs. "True. I'm more like, the court jester who fell in love with the pretty royal heir", he reaches up to cup your cheek, caressing it gently with his fingertips. "And I love you for it", you laugh as he sits up to press a kiss to your lips. You bury your fingers in his hair whilst kissing back.

You take a deep breath and drift off into your own thoughts now that Sampo was quiet for a moment. A rare occurence, really.

As you enjoy this moment with your beloved, you think back to the chaos that was all over Belobog recently. "Hey, what do you think our friends from the Astral Express are doing now?", you wonder and Sampo sinks back into your lap again, resting his cheek against your stomach. "Maybe fighting a giant, strong lady with the help of a dragon, but what do I know?", he shrugs with a satisfied smile on his face. "Isn't it usually the other way around?", you raise an eyebrow. "It is, isn't it?", he puts a finger to his chin and chuckles.

You laugh and ruffle his hair. "You always have such an overactive imagination. You should write a book." "As much as I'd slay as an author, I'm just doomed by the narrative like the rest of us, darling."

Blade enjoys when you run your fingers through his hair. It's a sensation that momentarily distracts him from everything else that is going on in that busy, but tired mind of his; so it's well-appreciated.

He will not let you mess up his hair under any circumstance. Kafka calling him "Bladie", a terrible habit that rubbed off on you, was bad enough. He didn't need her and Silver Wolf to tease him about having a ponytail on top of his head with several braids going off from it, tied together with colorful hair ties.

Thankfully, you were sane enough not to attempt that.

But he does let you do a few nice hairstyles that look good on him; like a simple, long braid. He doesn't care for what he looks like after all these years of being alive but you seemed to find joy in it and it made his daily life easier sometimes to have his hair put together in a braid.

Sometimes when you sit behind him and braid his hair, you press a few teasing kisses to his neck. Unfortunately for his usually so serious demeanor, Blade is the most ticklish person you have ever met, so that's one of the only things that gets a laugh out of him; even if he didn't feel it emotionally. You brush a strand of his hair back, relishing in the sound he made so rarely; a slight tinge of sadness in your heart and a thought you didn't dare voice.

I wish I could see you laugh more... I'd do anything to make you happy.

He also lets you brush his hair every morning if you want to. His hair is so soft, as you have told him many times. He always wonders how something so simple could bring you so much joy; but he's glad that it does.

Luocha always takes good care of his hair; after all a professional appearance was important for a merchant. His hair is very soft and silky and you have a great time brushing and braiding it.

He teaches you how to do his signature hairstyle. It's quite difficult to do on his own so he appreciates that you're happy to help. This pretty much became a routine for the two of you in the morning.

Sometimes he'd try to get up at night to go to the bathroom and find you accidentally laying on his hair. He hisses an "ouch" under his breath, sometimes waking you up in the process. Once he's back in your arms, you massage his scalp and carefully run your fingers through his blond strands to make up for the painful accident.

In the morning, you tend to sit behind him and do his hair, often littering his neck and shoulders in the process. "Is this just an excuse for you to give me kisses?", he chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose you caught me", you sigh with a smile on your face and Luocha turns his head to pull you into a deep kiss that catches you off guard. You quickly melt into the gesture, closing your eyes and noting how pleasant the taste of his lips is. You presume he applies lip balm in the morning before you do his hair but you never actually saw him do it.

When he gets home after a long day, depending on what hairstyle you did for him, his scalp hurts sometimes when you undo his braid so he loves to rest his head in your lap and have you ease brush your fingers through his hair.

[the-fiction-witch]

I Love This Maiden

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - (OC) Ellisa Rating - 18 + Mommy kink / breast play / breast sucking / bread feeding / milk drinking / comfort kink Word Count - 1234

Requested -

AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON!AEGON! AEGON! AEGON!AEGON! AEGON! AEGON!

I AM BEGGING FOR THE OTHER PART OF THE BREASTFEEDING AEGON PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEE

I submitted a request/idea like this to another writer but I will not keep this like head canon idea type thing to myself........ Aegon is 100% the type to love his girl breastfeeding him... him being all stressed and angry or sad from the council not listening to him and Alicent being cruel and everything and he just wants to lay his head in her lap and latch his mouth onto her nipple and drink in her sweet milk... it makes him feel at peace... makes him feel wanted and loved and special

Aegon had already been drinking before the night had even come to pass, the wine had been warming his stomach since breakfast with his wife. But now that night had fallen over Kings Landing, he had gathered his regular companions and gone down the usual route. Stopping by, a few inns and taverns all graciously serving the king before, of course, ending the night in one of the brothels down the street of silk. Aegon almost always went to this brothel, he liked the owner's prices and he liked the many sorts of girls who worked there.

One more than others,

Ellisa sat on her bed lounging in the candlelight, dressed in her sheet blue gown with two high slits for her legs, the top of the dress wrapped around the choker at her neck, her long hair cascading down her back.

Laughter erupted from outside in the hallway and the curtain was pulled open revealing Aegon and his companions arm in arm and falling over each other drunk,

“Ah!” Aegon smiled raising his glass, “Ellisa, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” he stumbled over falling to his knees on her bed,

“I’ve been here,” She shrugged, “as I always am,”

“Indeed,” he cooed, moving closer and rubbing the tip of his nose against hers,

“You’re grace, are you sure you do not wish for me to find you-” One of his companion boys came closer,

Aegon wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder and tapped his hand against the boy's tender cheek, “Fuck off Marcello,” He chuckled,

“Yes your grace,” Marcello nodded leaving the room and taking the other of Aegon’s companions with him leaving Aegon and Ellisa alone,

“... Gods know how I have missed you,” He cooed, a tone of clarity even though his drunkenness,

“As have I you, your grace,” She smiled,

He grimaced, “No…” he shook his head, “Not here, not with you.”

“Of course, Forgive me.”

“You always are.” He smiled kissing her cheek,

She nodded, “Come here then my sweet boy,” She cooed opening her arms,

He happily moved closer and curled up in her arms, his legs over her lap, his head resting against her shoulder, a soft and gentle smile across his lips as she wrapped her arms around him in a gentle and caring embrace,

“So tell me, what has my sweet boy been up to these last few days?” she cooed,

“Well, I attended my royal coronation,” He sighed,

“I saw, you were very handsome,” she smiled stroking his back,

“I was?” he looked up with hope in his eyes,

“Very handsome,” she nodded, “I was very proud of you,”

His tears began to well up in his eyes, “Proud of me…” he muttered,

“I’m always proud of you sweet boy,” she smiled,

“...Thank you, Mommy,” He whispered,

“You’re welcome,” She cooed, “Now, what else have you been up to?”

“Humm… been attending a whole bunch of small council meetings,”

“Ohh, council meetings,”

“It’s all just preparations and precautions with my half-sister and all.” he sighed running his fingers gently through her hair,

“Yes, of course, very important matters to attend to,” she nodded, “Still all very big business for such a sweet boy,” she smiled kissing his forehead,

“You take such good care of me,” He cooed, “My sweet mommy,”

“I know what will cheer you up,” she smiled, “How about… we get you nice and relaxed? Would you like that my sweet boy?” She softly stroked his cheek,

He nodded,

“Use your words, you're a big boy now Aegon.”

“Yes please Mommy,” He nodded,

“Perfect,” She cooed, giving his cheek a little pinch before she moved her hands away and untied the dress from around her choker, the dress slowly fell to her waist revealing her skin in the warmth of the candlelight, her large bare breasts exposed to the air,

“Which side may I mommy?”

“The left today, sweet boy,”

He nodded and softly prepared gentle kisses down her neck, leaving tender bites against her throat, slowly he moved down her chest before reaching the nipple of her left breast, he softly kissed it a few times, pressing kisses around the nipple. He gently and slowly flicked his tounge against her nipple to harden it before finally he locked his lips around the nipple and began his gentle and slow sucks,

“Not too quickly now, we don’t want you to get hiccups.” She reminds,

But he didn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut as he gently sucked until he let out a soft groan as he tasted her milk, he quickly swallowed and began to suck harder.

“Such a sweet boy, being so soft and gentle for Mommy,” she cooed stroking his cheek,

He nodded as he continued to suckle, his hands around her waist playing with her hair looping and knotting it around his fingers as he drank,

Ellisa only smiled wrapping her arms around him and gently rocking them both back and forth like you would a newborn as they feed, and softly she began to sing,

“I loved a maid as sweet as spring, with flowers in her hair. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair. I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair. I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair.”

Aegon softly pulled away from her nipple and rested his head against her chest smiling up at her, “But I love this maiden most of all, for she is as sweet as springtime flowers. As far as the summer sun. She is better than a sunset sea and of Moonglow Moore. I love this maiden in my arms, and I shall until I fall.” he softly sang, “And I do… I do truly love you Ellisa,”

“As I you, Aegon,” she cooed giving his lips a soft and tender kiss, “You should get back to the keep sweet boy, they will wonder where you are.”

He sighed but nodded, slowly sitting up and fixing his clothes a little. “I wish I could keep you in my arms for all time, you are far kinder to me than you have any need to be. Even my own mother is not as kind to me as you,”

“Well, I’m always here if you need me, no matter what.”

“I need you.” He said taking her hand, “I need you always.”

“You must go your grace,” she reminds,

“I must…” he sighed, “I will be back to visit again soon,”

“I look forward to it,” she smiled squeezing his hand before he got to his feet,

But he turned back before their hands broke apart, “If anything is coming, anything is to happen. I will send word as soon as I know, I will send men and they will protect you. Take you far from danger. I swear this to you Ellisa.” He said falling to his knees at her bedside,

“Sweet boy,” She cooed stroking his cheek, “My place is here, with you. And I will stay here by your side until the long night claims us all,”

“You mean it?”

“I do,” she nodded,

“You have… alot of faith in me.”

“Of course I do sweet boy,” she smiled kissing his forehead, “I have nothing but faith in you.”

He smiled and softly kissed her hand before kissing her lips once more, “I’ll see you soon,”

“I’ll see you soon,” she nodded,

Before Aegon sighed, got to his feet and left to head back to the Keep. 

[allastoredeer]

THAT MOMENT YOU REALIZE ALASTOR IS ACTUALLY WAY SCARIER THAN WE GIVE HIM CREDIT FOR

So, in the throes of doing world-building for my Hazbin fics and analyzing characters and how they fit into Pentagram's political system, I realized not only how powerful Alastor actually is, but how fucking scary.

Now, yes, in the grand scheme of things, Alastor is far from the most powerful person in Hell. Far from it. The Royal Family (Lucifer, Lilith, and Charlie), and the Goetia are way above the Overlords. Our twinky, angsty, galaxy bird, Stolas, could 100% body Alastor. I'm sorry, Al. I love you, babe. But in terms of the hierarchal system, you and the other Overlords aren't influential to the rest of Hell, at all.

But, it's an entirely different story if we stick exclusively to the Pride Ring.

I'm not trying to do a big, essay-length analysis, that's a lot of work and I'm tired, so I'll try to make it as brief as possible.

We know three crucial things: 1) sinners aren't allowed to leave the Pride Ring, 2) they've built a semi-functional society for themselves that is exclusive to their specific ring (with a political system that they've molded just for them), and 3) sinners can't kill other sinners.

So, what we have here is a big piece of land stuffed with people who can't leave it, in a society they've built specifically for themselves, with an amassing population that is constantly growing because they have no way of dying/or killing each other. (Honestly, it's like Heaven was setting them up for an Exterminations - THOUGH I'VE ACTUALLY COME UP WITH A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, COMPLETELY FANON BASED THEORY/WORLD BUILDING IDEA ABOUT HOW HELL HAD KEPT THE POPULATION DENSISTY CONTROLLED FOR THE MILLENIA OF COLLECTING HUMAN SOULS, HOW THE POPLUATION STILL GOT TOO LARGE AND THUS RESULTED IN THE EXTERMINATIONS, AND HOW IT WAS ROSIE WHO HAD A HUGE HAND IN IT ALL.

Anyway, back on topic, so the Overlords essentially control this Ring. We know Stolas lives in the Pride Ring (judging by the red sky we see when he's at his house), so its possible more Goetia live there too (and imps, and succubi; the Pride Ring is known for being the most diverse of the Rings), but we haven't seen any evidence of the Goetia, or any of the other Hellborn, interact or influencE Pentragram City in a political way--outside of the Goetia being above the Overlords in the hierarchal system). I headcanon that they do have some involvement in Pentagram City, as they do live there, but for the most part, the Pride Ring is left completely to the sinners and how they run things.

Lillith got involved, obviously (but she's been missing for years in the beginning of the show), Lucifer hasn't been involved for who knows how long, and Charlie obviously doesn't have a lot of sway, nor did she have any previous influence given how she's treated by the very people she rules over. Her status is known, but there's no actual respect for her or her title as the literal Princess of Hell.

The royal family may the the strongest beings in all of the 7 Rings, but outside of Lillith, it seems they had very little involvement (in Charlie's case) or interest (in Lucifer's case) in ingratiating themselves into Pentagram City.

The entire Ring is being run by the Overlords. They cannot leave it. The Pride Ring is their domain. This is their new home. This is their world.

And in this world, the Overlords are the top dogs.

So, Alastor is powerful just in the sense that he is one of the Overlords. Like them, he is essentially one of the rulers of their personal, caged-off little world. He has power and political sway. He joined the other Overlords for Carmilla's meeting, where they were going to discuss the aftermath of the Extermination and what they can do about the loss in the population (and thus, their power, given that owning souls is how they get it).

It's implied that this isn't the first time they've had meetings like this, and if they get together to discuss the best ways to recover from the Exterminations and make up for their mutual losses (literally working together when they could've all just been rivals trying to undermine the others to get more souls), who knows what else they've discussed in their efforts to keep Pentagram City running (especially considering that the best way to maintain their power IS by maintaining the city, it's people, and keeping it from falling apart at the seams. Taking care of the city is in their best interests - I use "taking care of" very, very loosely, considering this is still Hell and it's hardly the gold standard of utopia's). They're essentially a Board of Leadership with mutually shared power.

The Overlords have all the power. All the sway. In their established world, THEY are at the top of the food chain.

BUT then, you take into account that sinners can't kill each other (a rule that extends even to the Overlords), and that's when things get interesting.

In episode 4, "Masquerade" Valentino told Angel that he's "killed people for less" during the scene in the dressing room. But, in episode 2, after Valentino had torn apart one of Velvette's models, she wasn't upset in the way an Overlord would be if they lost someone under contract, especially considering that owning souls is what gives them power (and I assume that they own the souls of most, if not all, of the people they employ). She said that she can't sit and wait for "that bitch to pull herself back together," so, yeah, the implication is that sinners can literally be torn apart (even by the Overlords, who are the strongest among them) but won't die is immense. No matter what you do, a sinner will reform, or heal, or whatever, but they will come back.

So, consider, that there is only one person who's been able to kill sinners, permanently, and that person is Alastor.

Not only that, he killed Overlords.

In a realm where death is impossible, Alastor had cheated the system. And as far as we know, he's the only one who's been able to do it.

The only person I can think of who has something similar is Carmilla, but that's because she'd integrated angelic steel into her apparel. (Though, there's something to be said about her selling angelic weapons to the masses, as she is a manufacturer and distributor of them not only in Pentagram city, but all of the 7 Rings, (as Stryker had gotten his hands on a "Carmine blessing tipped rifle" to kill off Stolas, who's a Goetia), thus, sinners killing other sinners can still be possible, but that's only if they get you're hands on a weapon with angelic steel, or they're wealthy enough to buy onr, and I imagine Carmilla doesn't sell those cheap.

But Alastor didn't use angelic steel. He found a way to tear souls apart, where otherwise they were only able to be owned. Considering how terrified Husk (who is one of the most calm and collected people in the Hazbin crew; who had once been an Overlord, himself) was when AIastor threatened to do they same to him, like, that goes to show just how serious it is. He was literally full-body shaking. Ears-pinned back. Flight-fight-or freeze. Pressing himself down into the carpet.

We've never seen him like that at any other time during the show, even during the Extermination when they were all about to die.

Alastor's threat had scared him more than literally getting killed my an army of Exorcist's.

And like, yeah???? I get it????

That shit has to be terrifying. Not only for those that Alastor threatens, but for every single sinner in Pentagram City.

This random guy cheated the system, killed without any outside means, and if he can topple Overlords (the strongest and most powerful of them) almost over night, there's no saying what he can do to regular sinners. (Or what they think he can do, I have more thoughts surrounding whether Alastor would be able to tear apart a soul that is owned by someone else, but this is already getting long).

And, presumably, the only reason he stopped is because he decided to.

Like???? Do you guys understand what I'm saying???? For someone to have that kind of power??? In a system where that power SHOULD NOT be possible??? A power that gives him this massive advantage over everyone else???? That no one else can do???? And the only reason he doesn't use it is because he decides not to????

It's no wonder Alastor was so feared. Why he still is feared (by those who know of him at least LOL he has been gone for 7 years). And, like, yeah we see him be all creepy and scary during the show. We see him use his magic and grow into his demon form, and he is intimidating in that right, but I think the true horror of his character comes from this ability to kill the unkillable in a system where it never should've been possible in the first place.

That's where the true terror of the Radio Demon lies. That's where the visceral fear comes from. And it's why he's someone you wouldn't want to mess with, even for the other Overlords (especially for the other Overlords).

Like, it makes sense why he has such a massive ego. Why he thinks he can take on anyone. It's because he has. He's powerful, even by Overlord standards, and he knows it. And it makes further sense why him now being on a leash is making him unravel at the seams.

Am I making sense??? Is this all just meaningless rambling to you guys??? Idk! Idk. It's just been tumbling through my head, and it made me realize just how scary Alastor is, especially from an outside perspective.

I have SO many headcanons T.T I've done so much world-building, and I am have so much fucking fun. I feel like a kid in a sandbox. My brain hasn't stopped buzzing since this show came out.

Anyway, I'm off to outline more wips and work on the fics I'm writing. Happy Hazbin-ing to the rest of you.

[xreaderanonaccount]

hello hello I have a genshin request!! genshin men Xiao, Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Wriothesley, (sperate) x y/n??

It's nothing special but hearing y/n sing for the first time?? She's very quiet and closed about her life but they go looking for them and hear them singing!!

(also shes singing Doria mermaid song!! I would suggest searching that up and listening to it first!! Have fun!!)

-🦇🎀

Characters: Xiao, Neuvillette, Alhaitham, & Wriothesley

Xiao was exhausted, dragging his feet back to the Wangshu inn; the day has been tiring on his body. He was finally spotted at Wangshu Inn from a distance. Which is enough distance to where he could teleport back without being noticed. Landing softly on the roof so as to not wake any of the guests staying in the inn. He rolled his shoulders, tired of all the work he did today. He needs to finish up so he can get to you.

Xiao glanced around the balcony making sure no one was around, as he finished his patrol he paused when he spotted someone leaning over the railing. On closer inspection he realized it was you leaning over the railing. Xiao was about to call out your name but paused when he heard your soft singing. He had never heard you sing before. Although you mentioned it once you never actually sang for him once. So hearing your voice gave him pause. He quietly kneeled down, trying to not distract you from your singing. A soft smile plastered on his face as he listened, your singing ease all the pain and worry that Xiao had. He gave a deep sigh letting the weight lift off his shoulder. Slipping down the roof with a soft thud he slowly approaches you. He stopped a couple of feet away from you, worried that his karmic debt might affect you in any way. 

“You… have a nice singing voice.” Xiao finally spoke up, scaring your poor soul as you whipped around. Your face started to redden a bit as you shuffled around a bit.

“Thanks… oh your back early!” You smiled as you approached Xiao, he took a couple steps back putting his hands up. You looked up at him in confusion, but your gaze softened when seeing Xiao's mixed reaction.

“I… was working a lot and have karmic debt. I- don’t want you to be affected.” Xiao said, you gave a soft smile as you shook your head. You still approached him even after his protest and gave him a tight hug.

“I’m just happy to have you home.” You smiled into his chest, Xiao hesitantly wrapped his arms around you resting his head on top of yours. 

“Will you sing that song again?” Xiao asked, pulling you a little closer to his chest.

“That child song? It’s… embarrassing.” You muttered burying your face into his chest. 

“But I liked it. So could you sing it, just for me?”

After a tiring day in the court Neuvillette is just happy to be going home. The welcome sight of his home gave him so much relief. A small smile formed on his face as he walked through the door. As he entered the foyer he called out your name. But he heard no response. 

“Mon cœur?” His voice echoed in the quiet home. Curious, he walked through the hallways looking at the living room. Nothing, not even on the plush couch where you like to read. He headed to your shared bedroom, still nothing. Curious, the only place he could only think of is the drawing room. You don’t tend to frequent the drawing room, normally Furina is there and her extravagant personality makes you nervous. Approaching the drawing room he paused for a second. He could hear singing coming from the drawing room. Strange, he didn’t invite a singer over? Slowly approaching the drawing room he spots the doors slightly ajar. The singing became louder and louder as he approached. Peaking through the cracked doors he spots you sitting on the plush royal blue couch singing a soft lullaby. He quietly slips into the drawing room having one of the softest smiles Neuvillette can muster. 

“What a wonderful song Mon cœur” You yelped in shock, startled by Neuvillette’s sudden appearance. Neuvillette smiled as he leaned in capturing your lips, soft and tender as he smiled in the kiss. 

“Hard day?” You softly asked scooting over for Neuvillette to sit down next to you. Neuvillette sighed as he rested on the blue plush couch. Almost all his stress evaporates just to be in your presence. But there was still some lingering stress on his shoulder, and you can clearly tell. You smiled as you tried to run your hand through Neuvillette’s hair but stopped when he glanced at you.

“S-sorry, I… was just trying to help.” Your voice immediately dies down at the very end of the sentence. 

“It’s fine Mon cœur, help me in any way you can.” He smiled as he watched you guide his head toward your lap. Now it was a little awkward at first but it soon disappeared when you started to comb your hand through his hair. As you comb through his hair Neuvillette had one simple request,

“May you sing that song you were just singing?” 

“You… heard that?” You pause your movements, your face pales a bit before Neuvillette reaches up cupping your face.

“You have a wonderful voice Mon cœur. I would be honored to hear it again.” The words made your face flush as you embarrassingly started singing. Neuvillette closed his eyes, a soft smile formed on his face as he hummed along to the song you were singing. Neuvillette felt his tense body fully relax with your touch and voice. This is nice, he does hope you two do this more.

Alhaitham was having an idle stroll around the Grand Bazaar, work was becoming a little too overwhelming for him so he decided some fresh air would help. The Grand Bazaar was buzzing with life, the smell of various spices, children laughing and playing with each other, and the music that filled the underground bazaar. Alhaitham found this peaceful, this is what he fought for, the Akademiya would not harm these people ever again. Not when he’s the acting grand scholar for now. After strolling around he decided to head back to the Akademiya to finish some paperwork before heading home. As he was about to leave he paused when he heard soft singing. That voice sounded familiar… walking towards the stage he slowly approached the steps. The voice getting louder and louder, climbing up the steps he could spot Nilou who was there smiling clapping her hand in a rhythmic pattern. But who he saw singing made him pause. There you are singing a little children song clapping along with Nilou while a group of children play around you guys. The giggles and laughs of all of you made Alhaitham smile a bit. He had never heard your singing voice before, but if that was the last thing heard in life he would be happy. Alhaitham leaned against the wall watching you sing your heart out, the kids joining in mid-song. 

“Auntie, Auntie come dance!” One of the children beamed pulling you up.

“Me? Oh no I can’t dance.” You exclaimed, but alas your protest fell on deaf ears as the children started to twirl you around. Spinning in a little circle the kids and Nilou continued the song, coming to the climax of the song the children all spin you around. You spun a bit before losing balance, but before you could fall to the ground Alhaitham decided to make his presence known and catch you before you fell. 

“Al-Alhaitham!” You exclaimed, immediately trying to jump out his arms but you were caged in his strong arms. 

“Alhaitham, it’s nice to see you again!” Nilou smiled, “Children this is Alhaitham the current Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya.”

“Wow ,my dad talks all about you!” One kid chimes, “Mine too!” 

“Your reputation precedes you Alhaitham.” You tried to joke but your flushed face revealed your true feelings. 

“Hmph, I’m just doing my job.” Alhaitham mumbled letting you go. You picked up all your stuff before waving goodbye to Nilou and the Children. You followed Alhaitham as you two exited the Bazaar.

“You didn’t have to leave them for me,” Alhaitham stated, intertwining your hands together.

“Hmm, well I’m a little embarrassed about everything. So I’m gonna go home to decompress.” You mumbled hiding your face behind his flowing cape. 

“Embarrass, why would you be? You have a beautiful singing voice.” Alhaitham questioned, clearly teasing you. 

“I… well…” You tried to protest but every thought and argument you had died down immediately. Alhaitham suddenly stopped his movements turning to you. You kept your gaze to the ground trying your best to not make eye contact. Alhaitham gently tilt your chin up making you make eye contact with him.

“In my opinion I believe you have a wonderful voice.”

He had heard whispers around the Fortress of Meropide about your singing. Yet in the whole time you two were dating he had never heard you sing. Sigewinne stated that you had the voice of an angel, others said a voice of Siren. He had yearned to hear you sing but everytime he brought it up you suddenly went red and got really embarrassed about it. You tend to avoid questions like these. So he swore one day, just one day he’ll hear that beautiful singing that everyone kept talking about.

One faithful day he was walking around the Fortress trying to find Sigewinne, but couldn't find her anywhere. Confused he asked around but it seemed that no one knew either. Sighing he ran his hand through his hair as he walked around the fortress. His heavy steps echoing around the quiet fortress. He suddenly paused when he spotted you walking around, hoping that you knew something on Sigewinne whereabouts he started to follow you. But being as quiet as possible. Because one time when he caught up to you he scared the living crap out of you with his booming steps. He lightened his steps as he caught up to you, he was going to call your name before he paused .You were humming something, he doesn’t know what but it was charming. It seemed that you didn’t notice him yet as you started to break out into song. It was a Fontaine folk song that he had heard before. Wriothesley paused as he listened to your singing. Everyone was right, you did have a voice of an angel. A voice of a siren, luring him into a trap. He couldn’t help but smile as he leaned against the nearest metal beam. He enjoyed your little performance as you twirl your arms around finishing the song with a little giggle. He couldn’t help but clap at this beautiful performance. You yelped in surprise as you whipped around making eye contact with Wriothesley.

“Wriothesley?” You yelped as you tried to hide behind a metal beam, but was quickly pulled away by his strong forearm, engulfing you in a soft hug. 

“You have a beautiful singing voice, ya know?” He chuckled as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. You tried to hide your face  in his arms, clearly embarrassed. You felt his chest rumble as he pulled you away, gently cupping your face making him look at you. 

“You don’t ever have to hide yourself from me, I’m always here for you.” Wriothesley smiled ruffling your hair a bit. 

“I know that…” You frowned, crossing your arm facing away from him.

“It’s… just embarrassing.” You muttered, Wriothesley laughed as he slink his arm around your waist pulling you down the hallway.

“Well I think it’s lovely, now come help me find Sigewinne. I can’t seem to find her.”

A/N: divider credits: cafekitsune

[abby118]

Some are convinced Loki was the cruel prince who would torture his subjects and servants. But he's bossed around by members of the court (Thor's friends), servants are not careful enough to avoid mocking him right in front of him, and he gets threatened/attacked by multiple court members who never defy Thor the same way and in fact depend on Loki to talk to Thor because they're too scared of approaching Thor.

Loki must have either been a comparatively very chill for all this to happen or just not had the same power to enforce his authority the way the rest of the royals did because the family dynamic where he's lesser than Thor and Odin was imprinted on by the rest of the kingdom. It's often forgotten that Thor's friends are members of the courts. They're not your typical subjects. One of them even has the title of "Lady" attached to her. You know, like "Lord."

I acknowledge that we've seen fairly little of Loki's life before everything went down in T1 (given the fact that he is over a thousand years old when we see him as an adult) and what we do know, came from the characters' retellings of how the events unfolded according to them. However, when you pay attention to the story, itself, it shows you the actual, unbiased, version.

I do think Loki does see the palace's staff as just that, his subjects, because they are. He is a prince and he's grown up raised as one; as someone on the top of their society, as the third (second, would Thor have ascended) most important man in Asgard and the realms' alliance. That means, he does share the same beliefs as the rest of his royal family. I don't think he'd have too much trouble with reminding the people under him of their place, would it be needed according to his judgement. After all, he did mention the flogging when he felt the guard didn't take his orders seriously.

(Though, I'd like to say he was pissed off in that moment because he didn't count with Heimdall letting them pass and was disappointed with not having been taken seriously by his subordinate* again...even if that might've been as simple as the guard not having been able to find Odin, we don't know that, and neither did he. I doubt he'd be giving out sentences in that state, he does know better. Still, it shows that such punishment is a relatively common thing in Asgard...which doesn't surprise me when we know they execute people.)

*That brings me back to this scene: X

@lucianalight & gifs by @winter-seance

That shows us, that he does try to avoid being punishing. Look at the first gif, he is well-capable of subtly reminding people of their place. He doesn't mind Thor's remarks because it's banter and they're brothers; it is normal. However, that boundary was not for the servant to cross. So no, I don't think he was cruel or that he liked to punish people, even if some viewers prefer to interpret him that way. It's not a view I'd share.

Now, why do these people of lower status dare to approach him in this manner?

-It depends on who you look at. In the scene above, the man was obviously playing along with Thor and Loki's relaxed interaction (due to poor judgement) as well as kind of taking a jab at Loki's use of magic (as magic does seem to be predominantly a women's field in Asgard; regardless of the fact he is the master of magic to quote Hogun. The commoners don't understand what that means, they most likely don't realise how dangerous he could be would he wish to. They do not see into the royals' training in the slightest and magic is foreign to them, or at least more foreign than weapons.)

-And about the W3/Sif, I largely attribute their entitled treatment of Loki to their relationship with Thor. Loki is the younger brother and Thor is very friendly with them. Again, they cross a boundary and Thor doesn't realise because they're his friends and he thinks they're Loki's friends as well. When in reality, the most probable option would be that Loki was there because Thor dragged him along and it stuck. The group never really accepted him and they made him the subject of their jokes, which gradually turned into bullying that Thor was too used to at that point. And I suspect, Loki did not want to spoil their "fun" due to having been dragged there against their wishes. He did talk back (thinking of the deleted scene on the Rainbow Bridge) but not in a way that would be of any real importance in the grand scheme of things.

Sticks to himself, but is closest to Thor.

(Thor: Heroes and Villains - Elizabeth Rudnick)

And all of that combined undermined his confidence and self-perception. Especially, with Odin favouring Thor for a then-unknown reason to Loki, regardless of how much he tried to prove himself, of how much he excelled. He was always the odd one out and didn't know why.

All of that led to him essentially doubting his own authority and that did reflect on things. His subjects did sense that.

They didn't respect him (Heimdall completely disregarding his authority and his orders), they felt entitled to explanations of his actions (the W3/Sif basically asking him why he was sitting on the throne... / Heimdall asking him where he'd been when he returned from Jotunheim), they felt like they could command him, and they tried to attack him (Sif) / straight up behead him X.

All of these things relate to each other and have piled up one by one, which did contribute to why he felt so betrayed after he found out about his entire life, down to the kind of species he was, having been a lie.

[harrypoppinss]

How the Dwarfs show PDA

Thorins company x gn!reader

Warnings: an insane amount of fluff, implied smut

Thorin

Being the King of Erebor meant that he had a lot of responsibility on his plate. Even before the Dwarfs defeated Smaug and reclaimed Erebor, he wasn’t overly affectionate publicly; that didn’t change once he re-built his kingdom. Kissing is a no go, but instead he would just always have you hold onto his arm as you walked, or vise versa. But when you’re alone in your shared chambers, its like he can’t get enough of you. Thats when he always makes up for the lack of attention and affection that he can’t openly show like he wants to, but if he sees someone flirting with you then thats thrown out of the window; literally. He will pull you up onto his throne and make-out with you infront of everyone if he wants to… and he has… many times. But most of the time; not very into PDA.

Fíli

Like his Uncle, he has a lot of responsibilities since he’s the heir to the throne. But he doesn’t let that stop him. Once he’s done with his daily duties as the prince of Erebor, he gives you his undivided attention and affection. He always makes sure you’re able to stretch your legs, so he usually like to take late night walks through the mines as you two attempt to not be seen by the guards. One time though you did get caught doing… something. But that’s a story for another day and time. Sometimes he will literally just slip away from the meetings to go and be with you but only if Kíli is there to cover for him. He doesn’t have a problem with showing you how much he adores and loves you, even if that means getting his head chewed off by Thorin for skipping his royal duties.

Kíli

This man is literally the definition of PDA. He doesn’t have as many duties as his brother so he gets to spend his free time with you. He doesn’t care who watches you two as you walk through the halls of Erebor with his arm tucked tight around your shoulders; paired with a proud grin on his face that reads “yeah thats right they’re mine”. He doesn’t care if his Uncle scolds him for it, you’re his one. He tends to pepper kisses all over your face at random times, which inturn makes you incredibly flustered, sometimes his own brother has to pry him off of you. He’s just a lovey-dovey type of boyfriend and he is not afraid to show it to the whole Kingdom of Erebor.

Dwalin

Not a fan of PDA at all. However, if he sense that you’re having an off day, or if he sees someone openly flirting with you…. well then it’s like he’s a whole new person. He’ll pull you into his chest as he rubs circles on your back, giving the person that was attempting to flirt with you a death glare and grinning when he watches them basically shit their pants and scramble away. If its the scenario where you’re having an off day he will find someone to cover for him most of the time with a threat before taking you back to your shared house as he gives you his undivided attention and affection. All in all; this man can quickly become the worlds biggest simp for you.

Bofur

Like Kíli, he’s the definition of PDA. As soon as he gets home from work he’s all over you; literally. He will physically jump on top of you if you’re ignoring him, especially after a long day in the mines. Which usually leads to you forcing him to get up off of you so you can fix him a bath. Even when you’re doing that, his hands are wrapped around your waist as his chin rests on top of your head. In public it doesn’t change, his fingers are laced with yours and he’s constantly finding an excuse to kiss you. You have something on your lips? Kiss. You turn to look at him? Kiss. He wants your attention? Multiple kisses. He just adores showing you how much he loves and cherishes you, even during the journey to reclaim Erebor.

————————————————————

A/N:

Where to request a prompt for a character from LOTR/The Hobbit, Supernatural, The walking dead, FNAF? Here!

The masterlist? Here!

The prompt list? Here!

[whitetulip25]

Thinking about how Aegon and Aemond are jealous of each other and are longing to be in each other's shoes - Aegon wants to be the second son so he can have freedom of action, and Aemond wants to be the firstborn so he can fully embrace his potential as a family protector and fulfill the "duty and sacrifice" thing that Alicent has been so thoroughly hammering into him since he was a child.

What catches my eye this season is that they are straight up mirroring each other. Aegon is an insecure, stiff-necked boy in a man's body, because of how new and fresh it all is for him, he's euphoric from everyone's love and support. He is king, he is on top, everyone obeys/should obey him.  It is on this euphoria that he takes on the royal duties; everything is easy and not that difficult for him so far. He's completely clueless about governance, doesn't know how to deal with the small council members (the same scene with Tyland the pony is cute, but it's pretty damn insensitive to Tyland and everyone else present), disdainfully calls Aemond a hound while drinking with his buddies, etc.  But what is striking is that he is desperate for love and recognition, and therefore tries to earn it with exorbitant generosity. He sincerely tries to please his subjects by distributing the last reserves in the treasury, appoints his friends to the post of royal guards and goes to brothels with them, just to feel like he belongs somewhere and earn the status of the Magnanimous.

With the death of Jaehaerys it is even more difficult for him, he finds himself completely isolated from the rest of the family and lives through his grief by his own, making more and more questionable decisions and undermining his authority in the eyes of others. It is this isolation from his family that exacerbates the situation, since it is successfully exploited by Larys, who's whispering lies about Alicent's and Aemond's plotting against him. Aegon is impulsive and angry, he wants to play by his own rules while being terribly insecure and afraid of making a mistake. The last straw for him is the conversation with Alicent, who with a careless word pushed him into making a fatal mistake so he rushed into battle to do something, release emotional tension, and to prove himself.

Another very interesting detail of his character is his rejection of Targaryenism. He doesn't like Valyrian culture, language, traditions (incest in particular), even rejects the external attributes of typical Targaryen image, e.g. (long hair) and wears an emphasized sloppy hairstyle (yes, I consider it as a protest against the system). Ironically, his closest creature is his dragon, the very symbol of the Targaryens.

Similarly to Aegon, Aemond is also a complex, insecure boy who nevertheless, has managed to build a flawless at first glance image of an unmoving statue. Because of the attitudes instilled in him from childhood, he is very focused on his heritage and very protective of what Aegon despises so much - about Valyrian culture, language, traditions. Who knows, maybe for that the gods rewarded him with Vhagar out of all dragons? Aemond clearly knows what he wants, knows how to present himself and is not afraid of making mistakes, simply because he believes it's impossible for him to make any. Like Aegon, he is crushed by the weight of responsibility (including for the war that was started by his mistake; yes, I think he felt pity not for Luke, but for himself), just like Aegon he is isolated from the rest of the family, he longs for love like Aegon does, but contrary to the latter he rigidly denies himself that need. The only thing he has are the visits to the Madame and milk of the poppy. Soon he denies himself even this, decides not to show his true nature to anyone and to become a lone wolf. He is still as impulsive and angry as his brother, but knows how to twist it all out in cold disdain and sophisticated mockery. He has everything calculated - he will be able to show himself from the best side, to earn recognition and get Alicent's love back. But there's one flaw - when things don't go according to plan, he gets lost and unravels his ire upon everything and everyone he can reach. And in the end, just like Aegon, in Rook's Rest he does what he does to relieve the tension and get something done, regardless of the consequences.

And their whole tragedy lies in just that. They essentially want the same thing, which is their mother's love and validation. They're yin and yang, two forces dependent on each other, destroying each other in the process of self-destruction.

Thinking about how they are so similar and yet so different at the same time, two sides of the same coin, who will never realize it because of their pride and rage.

[dn-838]

In defence of Undertale Yellow, how it can work with Undertale’s canon

So, I have seen a lot of debating recently on Undertale Yellow and whether or not it fits what we know already about the lore in Undertale. Of course Flowey’s presence in the mod is the primary thing that has sparked this debate, with many believing that he can’t have existed at the same time as the Justice Soul and that it is a major hole that breaks the continuity of Undertale. I however, as someone who has spent way too much time with Undertale and has vast knowledge about even the most obscure of details in the game, disagree. I believe that Undertale Yellow fits the original games canon well… maybe a bit too well, and I am here to give my own arguments against the things that I commonly see people say doesn’t fit the original game’s continuity. This may contain a few spoilers for Undertale Yellow, so unless you’ve already seen all 3 routes or for whatever reason don’t care about having the game spoiled, don’t read further until you are done.

Argument 1: all the Souls were already collected by the creation of Flowey and the amalgamates

Okay so this one I don’t really have much to say about. Yes Flowey and the Amalgamates were created using the SOULs of some of the collected humans, however it’s never specified that it was from 6 humans, all that’s made clear is that Asgore did have human SOULs (in plural) that were used in the experiment.

Argument 2: the timeline doesn’t match up

The timeline has always been a confusing topic among the Undertale community. While the most likely estimate of the gap between Chara and Frisk falling is 100 years due to what Sans tells us during his date.

There are a few reasons for us to believe that the gap is much smaller, especially considering the weird nature of the Deltarune timeline and the supposed grudge Chara seems to have against Snowdrake in Genocide (who is stated to only be a teenager).

However, no matter how you view the timeline, unless you have specific dates in mind for things like when Gaster was the Royal Scientist and when the fall of Integrity-Justice happened, or think the gap was REALLY short, Undertale Yellow doesn’t really contradict it too much. The game itself is meant to take place just a year before Undertale, with all the same characters existing in similar positions to how they do by the time of Undertale, however we never encounter them due to being on a completely different path that takes us to very different parts of the underground, being why they don’t behave like they encountered a human before in Undertale.

Integrity is a bit more interesting, because it can vary massively depending on how you view the lifespans of the Ketsukane’s, Starlo (Starlo won’t be important to this, but I mention him since he was childhood friends with Ceroba) and Dalv. It is strongly implied that as a kid, Dalv was best friends with Kanako, and was attacked by the Integrity human some point before the games events. At first you’d assume that this was all not meant to be long before the events of the game, however, Integrity was killed by Axis in UTY, a robot that was being worked on by Chujin back when the Steamworks were still in operation, which we can assume was long before the events of the game due to the state of the Steamworks itself and the fact it is stated to have been used as the source of all power in the underground, which would mean it would likely have shut down around the period that the CORE was first put into operation, so all the way back when Gaster was still the Royal Scientist, whenever you think that was (Axis wasn’t sent to kill the human until after Chujin was fired from his position, however due to the way Axis is locked up and deactivated before we wake up the Steamworks, we can assume he was shut down with the rest of the facility). On top of all this Dalv is shown to be a lot older than he presumably would have been when he was attacked by Integrity, and with him being a Vampire, you could say that he aged that much at a slower rate than a human would, with the Ketsukane’s also aging slow, 2 of them being Boss Monsters and one of them being a 9 tailed fox. We know that some monsters do likely age at very different rates due to monsters like Gerson who lived through the war.

So to give the whole timeline, basically, Chujin worked in the Steamworks and made Axis back before or during Gaster’s time as the royal scientist. After several failed prototypes that eventually got Chujin fired, Axis was sent to chase down and kill Integrity. He managed and Chujin kept the Soul hidden and over the span of years recorded a few tapes for what he had planning, meanwhile Dalv, who was previously attacked by Integrity, went into hiding, locking himself into a mostly dark and unknown part of the ruins. At some point when Alphy’s became the Royal Scientist, Chujin started to mentor Martlet, which led Martlet to enter the True Lab and get some strange serum. Eventually Chujin died around a year or two before UTY, revealing his hidden tapes to Ceroba, which Kanako overheard. This led to Ceroba attempting to inject Kanako with the Integrity soul, leading to Kanako falling and being donated to Alphy’s, and her of course then becoming an amalgamate.

Argument 3: Asgore killed all 6 of the other humans

Okay so this one is interesting, because Undyne does imply that humans before Frisk did make it to Asgore, with her saying that “no human has ever made it PAST Asgore” rather than “no human has ever made it TO Asgore”

The thing is, that other humans reached Asgore is all this really does imply, it doesn’t necessarily mean all humans made it to Asgore. You could argue that most of them died to Asgore, with Integrity and Justice being the only exceptions. If you really want to stretch you could even say that this line was actually just another attempt from Undyne to make Asgore sound like a powerful and threatening force (since she tries to make him out like that quite a bit in her fight, such as by saying that killing us is an act of mercy right after this), although I find this unlikely.

There is another line of dialogue that I sometimes see used to try and prove that Asgore killed all 6, and while it’s not used close to as much, I’ll still just quickly clear it up.

This doesn’t really mean that much, all it’s saying is that all the humans that leave the ruins inevitably die. She likely wouldn’t know any details on their deaths do to her isolation, and even if she had some knowledge she would probably still place the blame on Asgore due to his part in waging war and coming up with the plan to kill 7 humans in the first place.

Argument 4: The introduction of new incredibly powerful characters makes no sense

Okay, so this is a weird one, however the explanation for it is fairly simple. Nobody in UTY compares to the original Undertale cast when it comes to how “powerful” they are. We struggle so much against the opponents we face as Clover because well… Clover is much weaker than Frisk, bosses like Ceroba and Axis pale in comparison to Undyne and Mettaton, they just seem much harder since we are playing as a human with much less determination than Frisk. In Pacifist Clover fights a depressed fox lady, meanwhile Frisk fights a literal god; in Neutral Clover goes through a struggle fighting through Flowey’s mind after having his Soul absorbed, meanwhile Frisk holds on against Flowey with 6 Souls until those Souls rebel; and in Genocide Clover takes some time to finally destroy Axis, the failed prototype that got Chujin fired, meanwhile Frisk atomised Mettaton NEO, The greatest invention of the Scientist who was selected to replace Gaster, in a single blow.

The only Undertale Yellow character that I’d say surpasses any character in Undertale would of course be Zenith Martlet, but even then LV 19 Frisk would mop the floor with her, while LV 19 Clover had to go through a lot of effort to beat her, only ever managing to surpass Flowey in Determination after doing so. At LV 20 both Clover and Frisk have massive boosts from LV 19, however Frisk is far stronger, having awakened Chara and caused the destruction of everything, while Clover just destroys Asgore with a super laser blast directly from their Soul and leaves.

Argument 5: miscellaneous

Just to clear up any further confusion, I’ll give quick explanations for some more minor points that I have encountered

Nobody in the original Undertale apart from Flowey, Toriel and Asgore meets Clover, so the other monsters in Undertale acting like they had never met one makes sense.

Flowey not just stealing Clovers Soul is explained well by the game itself. He plans to, however he doesn’t get the chance in Pacifist; sees that we couldn’t surpass Asgore in Flawed Pacifist; steals our soul but is unsatisfied with the outcome and resets in Neutral, and gets gunned down in Genocide.

Toriel believing that it’s been a long time since a previous human fell when she sees Frisk in Undertale doesn’t mean much, she mostly lives isolated in the Ruins, with the other monsters being too afraid to speak with her, considering this and just generally how much seemed to have happened within that year, time could have felt much slower. Alternatively you could argue that the 6 humans all fell within months of each other, and that a years gap is a long time in comparison to the rate the first 6 fell (or 5, since she says the exact same thing to Clover).

Both Flowey and Clover using file 1 at the end of Genocide doesn’t fit what we know about save files no, however I feel it is a little nit-picky to use it as a definitive reason to discredit how well UTY fits into canon, after all the only thing you’d need to do is change the numbers and this would be fixed.

The Gunsmith having been born a week before the Human Vs Monster war doesn’t go against anything we already know. As stated before, we know that at least some monsters like Gerson do live for a very long time.

Flowey having more determination than Clover also doesn’t break anything. Flowey was injected with DT from 5 human Souls. The thing is that Frisk was special when it came to the amount of determination they had.

Unlike with most of the other cast, nobody in Undertale actually indicates that Flowey never met a human prior to Frisk.

Chujin being a boss Monster doesn’t contradict what we know about Boss Monsters. We know that the Dreemurrs are boss monsters, but nothing tells us that they are the only boss monsters.

Argument 6: the nature of the SAVE files contradicts Undertale Yellow

Here we go, the penultimate argument I shall argue against. Never did I expect for this obscure piece of Undertale lore to be the bane of my existence but here we are. For a short time I thought that this could not be countered, only after I had walked away from a discussion completely defeated did the pieces finally start to come together, and now finally… I have an explanation.

First things first, let’s look at the 10 save files. The files go from file 0 to file 9. We know that File 0 likely belongs to Chara due to it being the one that we save with in Undertale, and that file 9 belongs to Frisk since it works as the games Autosave/Checkpoint system. File 8 would then of course belong to Flowey, not just because it’s the one just before Frisks but because File 8 appears in your files after you beat Omega Flowey to mark your completion of a Neutral run, likely implying that his previous SAVE was of course when he was Omega Flowey. Flowey also uses files 2, 3 and 6 throughout the Omega Flowey battle, and since Toriel implies that other humans who fell were also able to save and reset, we can assume that 2-6 likely belonged to previously fallen humans.

Now the only files that need an explanation are file 1 and file 7, and I’ve seen 2 interesting theories for this. The first is that file 1 belongs to Asriel after he took Chara’s Soul, and the other is that file 7 belongs to Lemon Bread since they know what a SAVE point looks like and tries to trick us with it; but the thing is, which one of these are true? Surely it can’t be both since we know one needs to belong to the 6th… okay I’ll cut that out you already know I’m going to say they are both true.

So for Asriel having file 1, he absorbed Chara’s Soul so should have all of their determination and therefore should also have overtaken their ability to SAVE. Of course it’s unlikely that Asriel would have made anything out of it since the idea of saving and loading was fairly alien to Flowey, however that doesn’t necessarily rule out the possibility that Asriel didn’t SAVE or at least have a file created.

Lemon Bread is a bit more complicated, and we are gonna need to look into the order of events within the True Lab to try and work this out. Firstly, we need to look at some of the true lab entries.

ASGORE asked everyone outside the city for monsters that had "fallen down."

Their bodies came in today.

They're still comatose... And soon, they'll all turn into dust.

But what happens if I inject "determination" into them?

If their SOULS persist after they perish, then...

Freedom might be closer than we all thought.

This is entry 6, when the fallen down monsters are given to Alphy’s and have Determination injected into them.

I've chosen a candidate.

I haven't told ASGORE yet, because I want to surprise him with it...

In the center of his garden, there's something special.

The first golden flower, that grew before all the others.

The flower from the outside world.

It appeared just before the queen left.

I wonder...

What happens when something without a SOUL gains the will to live?

This is entry 8, Alphy’s gets a hold of a golden flower that she injects Determination into.

“One of the bodies opened its eyes.

This is entry 13, when the fallen monsters started to regain consciousness, 7 entries after they were first delivered.

Seems like this research was a dead end...

But at least we got a happy ending out of it...?

I sent the SOULS back to ASGORE, returned the vessel to his garden....

And I called all of the families and told them everyone's alive.

I'll send everyone back tomorrow. :)

This is entry 15, by this point all the monsters that had fallen down were awake, and the still not conscious Golden Flower was still just a Flower, being returned alongside the human Souls.

no No NO NO NO NO NO

This is entry 16, the fallen down monsters started to melt together and create the amalgamates.

the flower's gone.

Finally, we have entry 18, when Alphy’s noticed that the Flower seems to have disappeared from the garden, 10 entries after she first selected it.

So, why are these entries so important? Well we know that to have ever held the ability to SAVE, Lemon Bread would have to had held the right amount of Determination before Flowey first became conscious in the garden, and did they? Yes, yes they did. Flowey could have awakened anywhere in the timeframe between entry 15 when he was returned to entry 18 when Alphy’s noticed him gone, however all the fallen down monsters that were injected with Determination were already awake by this point, and therefore prior to Flowey waking up, they would have been the most determined beings in the underground, perhaps with enough determination that whichever monster happened to have the most was able to SAVE. The time that they would have had with the ability would also have at least been for longer than Asriel had it since Flowey can’t have awoken until after a couple entries later at the bare minimum. Of course since this follows the idea that Lemon Bread had the SAVE ability since they knew what a SAVE point looks like, we can assume that the monster in question would have been Shyren’s sister, since I doubt that the Moldbygg and Aaron that also make up Lemon Bread would hold such a role.

Argument 7: Flowey’s backstory

I really thought I was done with this infuriating Flower, but it appears not. For there is a single hole I need to clear up… Flowey’s Genocide speech. Of course this should be fairly simple to clear up-

Ah… well okay this makes things interesting. If Flowey didn’t know where the Souls were stored then that would make it very hard to believe that Flowey ever encountered a human before Frisk since if that were the case then Flowey would definitely have an opportunity to sneak by and see where they are hiding, however this is not what the dialogue actually means. Flowey knew where the Souls were, he sneaks in to steal them in Neutral while we are talking to a defeated Asgore, his only issue was that he wasn’t able to get them out without Asgore. In repeated Neutral runs he still just waits until we are distracted with Asgore to take the Souls, and in Pacifist he takes them while the main cast are all distracted which again is when the canisters are open and available.

On a last note, here’s some dialogue that actually helps the idea that Flowey encountered another human.

It’s made clear all throughout the underground that humans have far greater Determination than monsters, and while you could argue that Flowey was just overconfident in his abilities, it’s still fairly strange that Flowey would still find a human having the DT to overwrite his abilities something special, unless of course he’d encountered a human previously who wasn’t able to do as much.

Conclusion

So, that’s about all I have to say, honestly I’m just glad to be done with it. This was a lot of work, and I’m excited to see this post which I’ve been working on for 3 days get completely dismantled almost immediately. Anyways, wish everyone reading a good day and goodbye!

[thescarletnargacuga]

THIS IS PROBABLY VERY SELFISH OF ME...

BUT I WANNA SEE WHAT YOU CAN DO

ARE YOU ABLE TO WRITE A LITTLE FIC OF MY KINGDOM AU SHOWTIME? MAYBE LIKE A CONFESSION?

IF YOU DON'T WANNA THAT'S OK 🩷

A/N: I like writing the characters in different universes and environments. It keeps things fresh :3

THE ROYAL GALA

A KINGDOM AU ONESHOT

AU credit: @allisonraeyt @tadk-ask-blog

WARNING: none

~~~

The Royal Gala is a formal annual event hosted by the different royal families around the world. This year was Prince Caine's turn to host. The castle was cleaned extra spotless and decorated to the nines to impress the visiting royals.

The Gala would be a night of music, dancing and live entertainment. All Royals were expected to attend and dance. This was a gesture of good faith and communion between the kingdoms.

The grand ballroom was vibrantly polished. The marble floor reflected the painted ceiling. Banners displayed the royal seals of every kingdom, but the main color scheme was that of Caine's royal colors. Thousands of mystical lights softly lit the room.

As evening fell over the castle, dozens of carriages filed through the castle gates. Prince Caine was ready to welcome his guests, dressed in his full formal Prince attire. He was rather dashing, if he said so himself. As each guest was announced and welcomed, he couldn't help but look to the grand staircase. Princess Pomni should be down any moment. He couldn't miss her arrival.

~

Pomni was still in her room getting ready with the help of her handmaidens, Gangle and Ragatha. Pomni fussed with her dress as Gangle secured a tiara to Pomni's hair. Ragatha finished Pomni's makeup, "There! You look amazing." Ragatha smiled at Pomni in the mirror.

Pomni smiled back. "Thanks. You did such a good job." Pomni moved her head side to side to inspect how well the makeup was done.

Gangle sis her best to move with Pomni but was having a hard time finishing securing the tiara. "Um...Princess-"

Pomni stood, excited to get downstairs. "Thank you so much! I can't wait to show Caine!" She picked up the front of her dress and quickly went out the door.

Gangle frowned. "...I couldn't finish putting the tiara in place."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Royal ballroom dancing isn't that strenuous." Ragatha reassured.

~

"Announcing Kinger and Queenie of the Chess Kingdom!" The Royal barker proclaimed, standing at attention.

Kinger and Queenie followed the red carpet to Prince Caine, who welcomed them with a respectful bow. "Good to see you, Kinger. Lovely as always, Queenie." Prince Caine kissed Queenie's hand.

"Charmed, my liege." Queenie graciously accepted Caine's gesture. "You've outdone yourself. The castle looks stunning."

"The staff worked tirelessly to bring out it's beauty. I'm glad it paid off to impress you." Caine chuckled.

"Announcing Princess Pomni of the Digital Kingdom!"

Caine almost cracked his neck turning so fast. His heart skipped a beat. His eyes dilated to the size of dinner plates. There at the top of the stairs in a beautiful pastel pink dress was Pomni. He didn't take his eyes off of her as he walked towards the stairs, shouldering several people that didn't get out of his way.

He met her half way on the stairs, offering her his arm. All eyes were on them, so he kept his voice low. "You're so beautiful."

Pomni took his arm and went the rest of the way down the stairs with him. She blushes lightly from his comment. "Thank you, you look amazing too."

The dancefloor was alive with music and patrons waltzing around the room. Caine escorted Pomni through the crowd to the very center. To prevent dancing from being an awkward experience due to their significant height difference, Caine used his magic to make Pomni float. Pink sparkles fluttered under her feet and dress as she flew at eye height.

Pomni hadn't been expecting it and held tight to Caine's hand. "Woah!" She giggled. "This is cool! I'm not going to get tired anytime soon if I don't actually have to dance."

"And I won't have to break my back bending over." Caine held Pomni's waist and pulled her close, but kept a socially acceptable distance between them. He smiled, his heart overflowing with soft feelings for her. "Guess that means we can dance the night away."

Pomni held his shoulder, so tempted to touch his face. "Yeah....we could." Caine was incredibly handsome on any given day, but under the mood lighting and music, he was striking. She was transfixed as Caine led her in a waltz in time with the other dancers.

Caine moved a bit stiffly at first, finding it hard to focus on getting the timing right as he was distracted by the gorgeous woman in his arms, but relaxed as the song went on. Soon, he didn't pay any mind to the others. He swung and twirled Pomni around just to make her smile and laugh. It didn't matter to him if it matched the music at all.

At the end of a song, Caine leaned Pomni back in a shallow dip. His heart raced, not just from the exercise, but how close he had to hold her. His throat felt dry when he tried to speak. "Princess-" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Pomni, would you....uh, that is....could I-"

He couldn't get his sentence out fast enough. A new song started and they were separated by new dance partners. He watched Pomni get swept away in the crowd of dancers. While he danced politely with his new partner, he kept his head on a swivel for Pomni.

The spell Caine cast on Pomni kept her afloat as she moved with her new partner. He was some Duke from somewhere she didn't care about. She made eyes with Caine from across the room. She knew she had to do this, but she desperately wanted to get back to Caine.

Caine strategically moved his partner so they wouldn't notice him moving his finger, pointing it at Pomni's partner. The man's shoe came undone and he tripped. Unfortunately, before Caine could dance his way to her, she was taken by a new partner. He huffed with frustration.

Pomni's second partner was less cordial. He danced way too close, making eyes at her that made her uncomfortable. They danced along the outer edge of the dancefloor, and she saw Bubble floating by. "Pixie stick!" She said out loud and Bubble went berserk.

"WHERE!?"

Pomni nodded her head to her dance partner and Bubble swooped in for a bite. The man ran off with Bubble chasing him for a taste. Pomni tries to move on her own, swimming awkwardly through the air in her poofy dress. She got another new partner, but this one she recognized.

Kinger took Pomni's hand with an amused look in his eyes. "Now isn't this convenient. It's not everyday I see you at eye level."

Pomni's small 4'8 stature compared to Kinger's towering 6'10 often made it hard for them to even have a conversation. "Heh, yeah. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Absolutely. Prince Caine knows how to host a proper gala." Kinger danced with Pomni through the remainder of the song. He bowed to her when it was over. "Thank you for the dance, Princess."

Pomni curtsied. "Thank you, your highness." She looked around, but didn't see Caine in the crowd. She didn't want to be taken away by another partner. "Would you help me get a drink? I'm rather parched and it turns out moving around while under a hover spell is rather challenging." She laughed awkwardly.

Kinger held Pomni's hand and guided her to the refreshment table, happy to help. He stayed to have a drink with her and keep anyone from taking her away.

Caine frantically searched for Pomni from the dancefloor, all but ignoring his current dance partner. He spun around quickly, his partner getting terribly dizzy but too polite to say anything. He stopped when he saw Pomni having a drink and smiling with Kinger. It was bad enough that Pomni kept getting taken away by other dance partners but now she's off with KINGER!?

Another dancing couple crashed into Caine and his partner, toppling them to the floor. The other dancing couples went around, trying to ignore the fiasco but many people saw.

Embarrassed, Caine stood quickly and straightened his uniform. The other couple that crashed into him was helping his partner off the floor so he walked away from the situation as quickly as possible. Reputation be damned, he was tired of sharing Pomni all evening.

Pomni laughed at one of Kinger's stories and was about to sip her drink when the magic holding her alot shifted her backwards. "Woah!" She hit Caine back first with a thump. She felt his arm hold around her waist. "Caine??" Her tiara fell forward and she tried to hold it in place.

Caine held eyes with Kinger. "So sorry to interrupt, but Pomni and I have business elsewhere. Good evening." He turned sharply, swinging Pomni around with him and briskly making for a door out on to the veranda.

The outside air was cool and crisp. The veranda overlooked a large lake that reflected the pale moonlight. Cricket and frogs filled the night air with song. Fireflies and moths danced around the mystic lights. No one was outside but Caine and Pomni.

Caine took a deep breath of fresh air. "It's nice to escape the hustle and bustle of society. No drama. No judgement. Just quiet." He didn't let go of Pomni but his grip on her waist relaxed.

"And you dragged me with you because...?" She looked at him with a shy smirk. She could guess, but she wanted to hear him say it.

Caine cleared his voice, knowing he'd been caught. "I apologize for assuming, Princess. I only wished to share the same peace with you. These events can be overwhelming."

"Indeed." Pomni paused for a moment to listen to the night and tried to replace her tiara again. Darn thing kept sliding.

"Allow me." Caine gently took her tiara and placed it on her head, sliding the ends into her hair where it would hold. His hands lingered, brushing down her hair and caressing her cheeks as he slowly pulled away. "There..."

Pomni was flustered by the Prince's attention. "Th-thank...you." she said quietly.

"A princess shouldn't be without her tiara." He stumbled through his sentence, entranced by Pomni's eyes.

"...or her Prince." She said without thinking. "EEP!" She squeaked and tried to hide behind her hands. "I'm SO sorry, I don't know what came over me! I- uh! Um!"

Caine blushed but smiled. He took her hands from her face. "I agree." He said lowly. "Would you honor me with another dance, Princess Pomni?"

Pomni's heart was going mad. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. "Yes..."

They held close, chests touching as they placed their hands in position to dance Caine led her in a slow and steady waltz across the veranda. Fireflies flew around them as their movements disturbed the insects. They moved to their own music, smiling and giggling as the dance gradually crescendoed.

The dance ended with Caine twirling Pomni out away from him and pulling her back in the closest she's ever been. Both of his arms around her middle, her arms around his neck. Their faces were inches apart, both breathing heavily and flushed from their fun.

The hearts in Caine's eyes told all. He couldn't keep it a secret from her anymore. "Princess-....Pomni. There is something I must confess..."

Pomni's heart leapt. "Yes, Caine?"

"Your beauty and grace has captured my heart and refuses to let it go. I find myself drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame, and you are a blaze I could never control. The day you fell from the sky was the first day of the rest of my life. You are truly a gift from the heavens." Caine poured out his heart and bared his soul. Once it was all out in the open, he subtly held his breath awaiting her response.

Pomni's eyes grew wide and teared a little finally hearing the confession she had hoped for for so long. "Caine, you have no idea how happy you've made me. I've been charmed by you since day one. I could only ever hope to one day have your attention the way you've taken mine."

Caine brushed a loose strand of hair out of Pomni's face and tucked it behind her ear. "You have my full and rapt attention. I wish to court you, Pomni. That perhaps one day...we can rule together."

Pomni smile widened. "I would be honored, but I'm afraid you're already ahead of the curve."

Caine arched a brow. "Oh? How so?"

"I'm already compelled to kiss you. No courting necessary."

Caine's heart skipped a beat. His eyes drifted to her lips, but came back to meet her gaze. He smirked. "Far be it from me to deny a Princess what she desires."

They pulled in together, closing eyes and locking lips to teeth. A sliver of pink magic came from Caine's chest, swirled around the two of them and flew off over the lake to explode into a finale of fireworks.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 116th Tilt

James Douglas, Outlaw King (2018) VS. King Richard IV Plantagenet, The Black Adder (1982)

Propaganda

James Douglas, Outlaw King (2018) Portrayed by: Aaron Taylor-Johnson

*Cracks knuckles* *Rolls shoulders* *SCREAMS LIKE A MANIAC* just getting into the spirit of the character. "Mair fell than wes ony devill in hell." That is how poet John Barbour described James, “The Blak Dowglas” as he came to be known to the English. And Aaron Taylor-Johnson matched that energy 200% in this movie. This man is BAT CRAP LOONY TUNES. He’s feral. Berserkers wish they were as berserk as this crazy Scotsman. I personally find using a mail coif as a weapon to be very sexy. He’ll try to seduce your daughter and when you threaten to cut his balls of, he’ll kiss you full on the mouth and then go and flirt with your OTHER daughter. He just wants his family’s lands back, and by God he will get them, and he will be screaming DOUGLAS!!!!!!! all the way home. (Cont. below the cut)

King Richard IV, The Black Adder (1982) Portrayed by: Brian Blessed

"His voice. Omg his voice. It makes me think I could be attracted to men."

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For James Douglas:

"I submit also these choice quotes from this Pajiba article, because Roxana Hadidi put it better than I can. [“In Appreciation of Aaron Taylor Johnson Going Full Beastmode in Outlaw King”]:

… it’s Taylor-Johnson’s feral qualities that add verve to these action scenes; he’s the character the film relies on to clue us into the English’s cruelty. While the rest of the Scottish camp is eating and socializing, he’s practicing sword moves in the woods, preparing himself for whatever threat is coming their way. While Pine has to be the believable kingly figure, Taylor-Johnson is over here attacking dudes with their own chainmail and slitting throats in church on Palm Sunday (it’s so bloody and over the top and great). He takes back his family castle, throws the invading English soldiers down a well, and then invites the castle staff to eat the feast they had been forced to prepare for the invaders—and then he encourages them all to join him in supporting Robert the Bruce before burning his own castle down so the English can’t come back and claim it. […] [He] is the live wire the movie needs, not only to demonstrate how [Robert] sets himself apart while performing his royal role but also because the action scenes are so essential to telling this story effectively, to demonstrating the brutality and the bloodiness of this time.’

For Richard IV:

[drunknillawafer]

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader | part 7

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend, Zuko. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

hi part 7... picking up right where we left off... i think I'm going to post a masterlist & keep it linked on my pinned to make it easier to sift through and find, esp since i do plan on posting other fics once i finished my very first >.< also i want to post the songs i listen to while I'm writing and some visuals hehe... just to make it much more immersive. again i do not own these characters and they are not mine! (except my mc i guess) like comment reblog if ya like... enjoy! about 1785 words

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

We’re standing on a sand-colored platform of a structure currently being renovated or changed to fit Fire Nation standards. The usual for when they occupy lands that don’t belong to them. Aangs in front of me, with Sokka to my left and Katara to my right. We form a triangle and I'm thankful for the partial covering.

I’m thinking of the best way to summarize the threats ahead of us, just in case they try to change the plan. There’s a good chance this will go south.

“Mai, in the center, has good aim with her blades, but it’s Ty Lee, on the left, you should keep an eye out for.” I try to give my friends the run-down on my, I guess, old friends one would say. But we’ve only got so much time before all three of them realize that I’m here.  

They lower King Bumi from the top of the building using a metal crane. They’ve got him in a coffin-shaped cage with only his head showing.

“You brought my brother?” Mai speaks first, breaking the silence between the two groups. She squints at the sight of me, but I’m too far away for her to be sure it’s me.

“He’s here.” Aang solemnly replies. “We’re ready to trade.” In these moments, he’s got the grace of a 112-year-old.

Suddenly, Azula speaks to Mai in a hushed tone we can’t quite hear. Fine is never fine with Azula, nothing is ever the way it should be with her. There’s bound to be some trick up her sleeve that only feeds into her misery.

“I’ll help with the girl on the right, she’s the most vicious,” I warn them. I briefly make eye contact with Sokka. We haven’t talked about what was said and now wasn’t the time, but I couldn’t help but yearn for his gentleness. A reminder that I wasn’t like the enemies in front of us, but someone new. Someone he couldn’t hate.

Then, Mai steps forward. “The deal’s off.” With a lift of her gloved hand, King Bumi is raised once again by the crane.

“Bumi!” Aang cries out for his old friend and starts heading towards him, defying the laws of gravity bestowed upon the rest of us. It’s enchanting to see an air-bender. It’s so different from the rest of the elements. He looks like he’s flying.

As he does so, Azula strikes, and I see her blue flame for the first time. She must’ve perfected her oxygen levels for complete combustion; but if she’s the Azula I’ve always known, I know how to beat her. This time, I won’t go easy. I won’t make that same mistake again for nostalgia.

Aang’s head covering flies away as the air moves around him and his arrow is exposed.

I look down at Azula’s reaction and she’s close enough now to hear.

“The Avatar. My lucky day.” The princess smirks, re-organizing her plans for Omashu in her head.

“Remember, don’t let Ty Lee touch you!” I warn Sokka and Katara and dash toward Azula, offering Aang some support against the crazed fire-bender.

I follow her upward, burning the knot on the pulley to cause the rope to lift.

Azula can see me through the grids as the ropes pull us to the top of the building, and I can see her in real-time realize who I am.

“Well, if it isn’t the Royal traitor. Seems like you and Zuzu still share a brain.” She gloats.

“Leave the Avatar alone, Azula. I mean it!” We break through the ceiling made from wood and reach the roof of the building under construction.

She attacks Aang with a blue blast, causing him to break the metal chain. Aang instantly heads downward with King Bumi. He cushions their fall with an air bubble, and they land on the well-known ramps of Omashu. Azula quickly follows them using a cart, and I’m on her tail. If only I had Sokka’s boomerang right now, it makes so much sense to carry one in these situations.

We catch up to Aang, giving Azula the chance to strike him and Bumi.

I distract her with my own fire-blasts, making sure to lean forward and crash into her cart.

“Out of practice?” She questions.

“Out of patience.” I growl, punctuating my sentence with a blast from my right hand.

As we continue our fight by speeding through the ramps, I see Appa in the distance. Relief washes over me as I conclude Sokka and Katara must have gotten away from Mai and Ty Lee.

Aang attempts to lift Bumi onto Appa’s saddle with his bending, but he miscalculates and Bumi’s off to land on the ground. But his friend won’t let him go on his own. Together, they land on another ramp and head down to ground-level.

Azula’s right behind them, and I’m right behind her.

She attempts another attack, but a rock blocks her offense and bursts her cart into dust. I leap off mine before the impact breaks my cart too and we both land on our feet, an homage to our identical upbringing.

She lets Aang go for a reason I can’t quite put my finger on until she turns around to face me. We're still standing on the ramps.

“The key to never losing is knowing when you’re beat.” She says with her hands in defense, signaling that she’s waving the white flag.

I’m still in fight mode. I’d never let my guard down around her, not now, not ever. “You’ll always be beat as long as I’m here.”

She pauses to truly grasp my presence. It’s been three years since we’ve seen each other, and everything’s changed. We used to be on the same team, never friends but bonded by our birthplace. It’s the first time we no longer owe each other pleasantries. Azula, however, uses sweetness as a weapon. “Where have you been, Y/N? You’re missed at the Royal Palace.”

“I doubt it.” Zuko and his mother haven’t touched that home in years, making it impossible for anyone there to actually miss me.

“Your father misses you.”

“I know you’re lying, Azula.”

“You’ve never trusted me; I’ve never liked you. Now we don’t have to pretend do we?”

“Leave us alone,” I get in my fight stance. “Got it?”

“Fine. Loud and clear.” She dashes away in her infamous run toward the unfinished building, probably to catch up with her friends.

Fine isn’t fine. It’s I’ll get you somehow. I think to myself.

I watch her figure fade into the distance, when it hits me: “Seems like you and Zuzu still share a brain.”

Did Zuko abandon his ship?

Is she lying? She would have no reason to lie about something like that, other than to get to me or Aang. I can’t pinpoint a motive. I still won’t believe her 100 percent, but I’ll keep it in my back pocket.

I slide down the ramp Aang took and find the both of them at the very end, standing on a platform in another unfinished building. Once I’m off and my two feet hit the floor, Bumi bends rock to lift his metal enclosure up the ramp in a fit of laughter.

We both watch him go. “Your friend is very… eccentric.” I tell Aang, as he’s standing with Momo on his shoulders.

“Yeah.” I turn to face him, something’s wrong. He’s disappointed.

“He’s not going to teach you earth-bending?” I assume.

“No, he has to stay here to protect Omashu. I guess I got to find another teacher.” Now, he looks like a twelve-year-old boy with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. There’s no way he’s meant to do this alone. I’d rather be here helping him than with Zuko.

“We’ll find one in no-time.” I reassure him.

“Who were those three girls?” He changes the subject.

“They were old friends too. Azula is Zuko’s sister.”

“Wow.”

“I know.” I sit on the edge of the platform, waiting for our ride with my feet dangling. Aang sits next to me, and for now, we’re just two kids talking, staring at the beautiful Earth Kingdom in front of us.

“What was it like… to grow up with them?”

“It was easy with Zuko. Azula… not so much.” I wince.

Aang’s face contorts, as if he’s remembering a distant memory. “Was Zuko good? Yaknow, back then?”

A smile creeps up on my face. “He was.”

“Do you think he still could be?”

Aang and I stare at each other. We’re choosing to live in the moment before my answer. The moment in which the possibility of Zuko changing his mind, realizing his mistakes, and helping us stop his father exists.  

“I don’t know.”

☆

The heat and the prickly bushes are upsetting him further with each and every single step. Looking for food when you’re used to someone cooking for you is daunting, Zuko realizes. How is he ever supposed to live like this? How did Y/N?

As he’s walking back to let Uncle know he couldn’t find anything edible, he touches the side of his hair. It’s grown back a bit since cutting it, slicing off his ties to the Fire Nation. Trading in the red for green, hoping to camouflage with the land and the Earth Kingdom people.

What a stupid idea, he thought. How could anyone ever confuse him with anyone else with the scar on his left eye?

But it seemed to be working so far. His sister hadn’t found them, and they haven’t been arrested for their crimes against every other nation.

In the humid morning, on his long walk back to where his uncle was staring at a tea leaf, he thought about the Northern Water Tribe.

He wondered if Y/N was okay from his strike. Maybe the water-bender girl could heal her, and she’d be okay again. He didn’t mean to. He’s been this hard and heavy with everyone else for the sole purpose of returning home, he forgot Y/N was his home. He’s been in fighting mode for so long, he’s forgotten to turn it off.

She wasn’t home, though. She was with the Avatar. Defending him and betraying her nation. How did she get there? He wondered. He had so many questions about everything. Zuko’s sure she had just as many questions for him.

Could he find her now that he was labeled a traitor?

Where his mind led made his empty stomach drop.

If he found her, he’d find the Avatar. Then, he could go home. But if Y/N was not there, would he still want to go back? Did his father’s acceptance matter above all else? It didn’t for Y/N, but she was always braver than him.

Zuko wasn’t ready for that thought, so he pushed it away.

It wasn’t hard to do when your stomach was louder than your thoughts.

------------------

tag list <3: @camilleverreault @staygoldsquatchling02

[rockbell1003]

The Qualities For A Husband

Hello! It's been a while, but I come bearing a new fic featuring even newer faces. I'd like to preface that this was written purely because I fell down a Bridgerton/historical manhwa rabbit hole and there is very little historical accuracy happening here. So please take it all with a grain of salt and enjoy my regency delusions 😊

It was her first time at the royal palace. The extravagant ballroom was filled with the newly come-of-age sons and daughters of the kingdom’s nobles. The young ladies who had debuted on the marriage market were gossiping to one another as they eyed the young sons of influential noble houses. This party was nothing more than a means of networking for the parents, by securing political ties through the marriage of their children. Persis sipped sparkling grape juice from a crystalline glass as she watched the marriage-minded mamas shepherd their offspring. She found it mildly comical and a touch depressing at the same time. 

“Ahem.” 

Persis raised a delicate eyebrow as she turned towards her chaperone, her cousin, Theodore. She, too, was meant to mingle and meet a prospective partner for her house’s benefit. However, Persis held no desire to have herself paraded around like a show pony. She may be unable to find a love match but she refused to sacrifice her dignity to secure a husband. “Is something caught in your throat, dear cousin?” she inquired facetiously as her gaze drifted from Theodore back to the rest of the ballroom. 

“I am fine, why aren’t you conversing with the list of potential suitors Father gave to you?” he asked. 

Persis sighed, “If you haven’t noticed, the list Uncle compiled contains boys that have much to be desired,” she tilted her champaign flute in the direction of a young man exuberantly talking at a young girl whose disinterested expression was politely concealed behind a hand fan. “Take him, the son of Count Ingles. Despite being the top candidate to graduate from the Capital’s knight academy with honors, and as his father’s successor, the boy clearly has no education in decorum. That poor girl looks bored out of her mind and he hasn’t even noticed.” 

“It would set Mother and Father’s minds at ease if you would at least participate like every other young noble here, Persis,” he sighed, “please Percy?”

The usage of her childhood nickname. It was a dirty trick and Theodore knew it. Persis turned to her cousin with narrowed eyes, “Fine, but I will not be abiding by Uncle’s list. He is not a good judge of character and you know it.” 

Her cousin nodded curtly, and gently pushed her towards the center of the ballroom. Persis grumbled but resigned herself to her fate. 

The next few minutes were not completely horrible. She managed to escape dancing and instead mingled with a few groups of noble ladies and men. They were shallow conversations filled with only pleasantries, suddenly, however, one conversation took an interesting turn.

“It appears that young Lord Macintire did come to the ball,” Eve the daughter of Count Grenwich said in a hushed tone. Persis followed her gaze to see a handsome young man standing off to the side of the banquet hall. He was engaged in conversation with a few other older gentlemen, “'tis a pity though,” Eve continued her voice trailing off and gaze averted.

Persis glanced back to the lady standing next to her, “I beg your pardon?”

Eve widened her eyes at Persis, “Oh! That’s right you’re new to the Capital,” she gestured towards the gentleman, “That man there is Bastian Macintire, son of the current Duke of Macintire.” 

Persis gave the woman a tight-lipped smile, despite being what the young ladies of the Capital believed to be a country bumpkin, she was in fact aware of the Dukedom of Macintire and the controversy surrounding their future heir. The Duke is the most powerful noble in the kingdom after the King and the current Duke has two sons, both of marriageable age. Perfect prey for lower-ranked nobles hoping to form connections through their daughters. 

“He is the firstborn son of Duke Macintire, yes?” Persis asked, taking another sip from her glass.

“He is but he is not the son set to inherit the title, due to his poor constitution. It has been decided that the second son will inherit the Dukedom.” 

Persis froze, the crystal rim of her glass against her painted lips as she glanced back at the young man. She had heard countless stories about him from Theodore, the two were the same age and both went to the academy together. However, she never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, until tonight. From appearances alone, he did not look sickly, perhaps a bit on the leaner side as he did not have the same strong muscular build as those who dedicated their lives to the sword. As Persis eyed the young lord from the corner of her eye she noticed him quickly turn his head away and into his shoulder. It almost looked as if he flinched not once but three times consecutively, but just as fast as she caught the movement, the young lord regained his composure and continued to converse with the other men. Persis lowered her glass and turned back to Lady Eve, “I am not sure I understand why his presence here is a pity? Surely there are young ladies who desire to be betrothed to him. He certainly doesn’t look sickly, perhaps the title isn’t as set in stone as you say it is.” 

She shook her head, “according to the Duchess, Lord Frederick is sure to become the next Duke.” 

Ah so there it is, Persis thought. It was common knowledge that Bastian was the son of the late Duchess of Macintire, the Duchess Lady Eve was talking about is the Duke’s current wife and mother of Lord Frederick. 

“Many of the ladies do not wish to tie themselves down to a man with no title, let alone a man who is constantly confined to his sickbed.” 

Once again Persis wondered how much of Lady Eve’s gossip held some form of merit and how much was fed to high society from the Duchess. At a young age, Persis had learned to appreciate the knowledge found in gossip but not to assume it was fact. The information she had just learned from Lady Eve did contradict a few things she had learned about Bastian Macintire from her cousin.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind having him as a husband.” 

An audible gasp was heard from the ladies, Persis set her glass down on the nearest table.

“It’s nice to know that I won’t have any competition in winning his favor,” she smiled, “you ladies enjoy the rest of your evening.” Persis walked away, leaving the ladies to gossip amongst themselves.

Despite her bold declaration to vie for Lord Bastain’s hand in marriage to the group of gossiping noble ladies, Persis had found herself retreating to an open balcony with a glass of champagne she managed to swipe from one of the servers. She sighed and took a sip of the alcoholic beverage, closing her eyes to savor its sweet taste. Lord Bastian was the perfect candidate for her husband, he wasn’t on the list of suitors her uncle made so that was already a benefit. If he was struggling to inherit the dukedom then perhaps he would be open to becoming a marquess instead? Persis opened her eyes and swirled her champagne around in its flute as she drifted deeper into thought. She needed to find someone who would help her inherit the title her father left behind. She couldn’t let her uncle continue to act as proxy now that she came of age, let alone did she want to. Ideally, she wanted to find a man who would let her assume full control of the responsibilities of Marquess, but she knew how farfetched a dream that was. 

“hNXT-uh,” startled out of her thoughts, Persis turned around to see Lord Bastian duck his head into his shoulder as he made his own escape to the balcony.

“Pardon me, I did not realize this balcony was occupied,” he bowed his head in apology and began to retrace his steps.

“It’s alright, you can join me if you’d like,” Persis gestured back to the ballroom, “it appears that you need the reprieve from dancing and small talk.” 

He cleared his throat, “then I would be most grateful Milady,” he trailed off. 

“Persis Basilwood, Milord.” Persis supplied. 

Lord Bastian smiled, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady Basilwood.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Lord Macintire.” Persis replied. 

She couldn’t help but take note of Lord Bastian’s features in the lamplight. Despite the other noble ladies dismissing his physique, he was tall and appeared to have some well-toned muscle hidden beneath his impeccably tailored tailcoat. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed minus a small curl that seemed to have been dislodged and now fell by his brow. He also had striking hazel eyes that in the soft lamp-lit light, almost appeared golden. 

Persis took another sip from her glass as she watched him look out into the courtyard. Now privy to his side profile her eyes were suddenly drawn to his nose. It wasn’t all-encompassing on his face but not too small either. His side profile looked like the busts of ancient warriors her aunt had bought and displayed in their foyer. Strong and straight, and even in the soft light she noticed that his nostrils appeared a little flushed in color. 

She hid a small smile behind her drink, so there was some truth to the rumors regarding his health then. Just not quite as life-threatening as the gossip leads everyone to believe.

Suddenly, Lord Bastian inhaled and swiftly ducked his head into his shoulder, “HnGXT, ngxt, h-hHh..ih’Ngkx,” he sniffled and raised his head, running one finger crookedly under his nose.

“Bless you,” Persis said before he could utter any apologies. 

He lowered his hand to adjust his cravat and cleared his throat before responding, “Thank you.” He almost looked embarrassed and Persis had no desire to make the young lord any more uncomfortable.

“Are you hiding from the marriage-minded mamas then?” she inquired.

He glanced at her with widened eyes, “I beg your pardon?”

She gestured towards the ballroom with her glass, “Surely you are here to avoid being entangled with ambitious mamas who hope their daughters can capture the attention of the son of a duke,” she paused and looked back at him, “Why else would you find yourself here?”

Despite the dim light, Persis could see relief wash over Lord Macintire’s features. She concluded that the Lord did not want her to know that he must’ve snuck away due to what she assumed was a battle with his constitution. Persis took another sip of wine and looked out at the palace courtyard, she was more than happy to offer him another plausible excuse. 

“And what of you?” he inquired, “why are you hiding away?” Persis noted that he didn’t answer her question, but answered his anyway.

“You are not the only one who needs a respite from socializing,” Persis set her glass down and placed both of her palms on the ledge of the balcony, closing her eyes and concentrating on the soft breeze that caressed her skin, “I’d rather spend my time here than listening to young lords prattle on about the qualities they are looking for in their wives,” she opened her eyes just to roll them, “Delicate and demure, they might as well just purchase a porcelain doll.” She turned to Lord Macintire with a small smile, “Please do not tell my cousin or I will not hear the end of it.” 

Lord Macintire returned her smile with a grin of his own, “Your secret is safe with me,” he took a few steps closer to the ledge of the balcony so that he was now standing next to her, “your cousin mentioned that you were quite bright and a tad bit spirited,” he said as he gazed out over the courtyard. 

Persis let out a small sigh through her nose, “I did not realize that my cousin liked to talk about me to his fellow schoolmates.” 

Lord Macintire let out a light breathy chuckle, “he is quite proud of you. One moment he’s boasting and the next he’s threatening any man who might try to court you.” 

Persis dropped her head and groaned, “I apologize for any offense he may have caused you.” 

“No need, it was all in good fun. Although I will admit that his stories did cause me to wonder what it would be like to meet you.” 

Persis looked up at his confession to see him smiling at her with an almost boyish grin. It was - she dared to say - cute. 

“And do I live up to your expectations, Milord?” 

Persis did not tear her gaze from him, daring him to respond. However, whatever he was going to say to her teasing provocations was lost. Persis watched as his expression crumpled, his eyes drifting shut as his nose scrunched. Bastian quickly turned his head away and into the shoulder furthest from Persis.

“hiiNXT,hi…ih..GNXT,” he sighed and raised his head from his shoulder, “excuse me.” 

He sniffled wetly, fist pressed against the underside of his nose, “I beg your pardon, that was not very gentlemanly of me.” 

Persis shook her head, “You do not need to apologize, it does not bother me one bit.” She bit the inside of her lip and then reached into the pocket of her ballgown, pulling out a delicately embroidered handkerchief.

 “Here use this, you’ll end up hurting yourself if you keep stifling them like that.” 

However, her offer fell upon deaf ears as Lord Macintire’s attention was solely on keeping this new stubborn tickle in check. Persis looked up to see his face contorted in pure itchy misery. Lord Macintire’s eyes were squeezed shut as his nostrils flared, his breathing becoming more erratic with each shaky breath. Persis quickly unfolded and pressed the handkerchief into his hand, hoping he would catch on and use it. As soon as she curled his fingers around the linen square and released her grip, Lord Macintire immediately brought the cloth up to his face and cupped it around his nose. 

“HEH-MPFH!, HMNN--HMPFshhk! gh-heh…HEMPFH-uh,” 

Persis knew it was poor manners to stare but she couldn’t help but watch as Lord Macintire seemed to lose control. Each sneeze was more powerful than the last and he was left curled into himself. An unfamiliar heat seemed to coil in her stomach, she felt her cheeks flush, unsure of what just transpired but wanting to experience it again. 

It took Lord Macintire a moment to collect himself and soon he was back to standing straight. Persis quickly turned to the side to give him the privacy she should have given him in the first place if she wasn’t so distracted. She watched from the corner of her eye as he kept the handkerchief tented around his nose, he sniffled a few times before folding it and gently wiping the cloth against the underside of his nostrils. Persis wondered if he was embarrassed to use it to its full effect or if he was worried about ruining it and her ‘gentler sensibilities’ with it. 

“Thank you, Milady.” 

 Persis turned around and smiled, “Do not mention it Milord, are you feeling better?”

Lord Macintire coughed lightly into the fist holding her handkerchief and Persis swore she saw a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. “Much, thank you again. However, I am afraid that I ruined your handkerchief.” 

Persis shook her head, “I am just glad that it was of some use, I have no sentimental attachment to -” Persis was cut off by the resounding chimes of the Capital’s clock tower. Her eyes widened and she turned to face the direction of the bells. Suddenly all too aware that it was now midnight and all unmarried ladies would have to depart from the ball. She thought she had more time, she glanced back at Lord Macintire, lip caught between her teeth. There was no guarantee that he would be coming to the following balls, or partaking in any other social events in the Capital. This may be her only chance. She hoped that her panic was not visible on her face as she posed a question to the young lord.

“Forgive my candor but if you wish to reciprocate my kindness, perhaps you would like to meet me for tea?” 

She watched as his eyes widened, not that she was surprised. She was being outlandishly bold, it was expected that the man would take the first step in courting a woman, not the other way around. But Persis did not have the luxury of other demure noble girls with the entire season to secure a husband. She did not have the time to give him coquettish smiles and send signals his way with a minute flick of a hand fan under the watchful gaze of her chaperone. No, if she wanted to form a courtship with Bastian Macintire, she would have to take the necessary steps to do so. 

“I would like that very much snf, I will send an invitation to your family’s Capital estate in the morning.” 

Persis took the skirts of her dress in her hands and began to make her way to the balcony’s open doors. “I look forward to it, Lord Macintire. Now if you’d please excuse me, I must find my cousin post haste before he realizes I spent an unseemly amount of time with you unchaperoned.”

She stepped out of the balcony and back into the ballroom, quickly making her way back to Theodore. Persis couldn’t hide the smile that graced her lips as she caught a glimpse of Lord Macintire’s own boyish grin. Yes, she wouldn’t mind having him as a husband at all.