#there were jokes on my own mother's funeral | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celandeline · 2 months

Text

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children.

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable.

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say.

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you.

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder.

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious.

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts.

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries.

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands.

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied.

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less.

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost.

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully.

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even.

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another.

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already.

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone.

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming.

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance.

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone.

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist.

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning.

“Alright.” You say, stepping back.

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work?

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone.

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other.

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed.

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable.

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city.

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside.

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you.

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon.

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder.

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr.

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.”

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own.

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded.

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears.

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young.

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach.

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom.

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says.

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king.

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge.

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say.

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says.

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze.

“Where else, then?” Cole asks.

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath.

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most.

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake.

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon.

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp.

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice.

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man.

Still, there is nothing to do but wait.

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion.

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside.

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut.

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised.

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair.

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window.

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries.

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within.

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall.

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail.

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop.

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward.

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin.

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth.

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest.

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision.

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you.

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along.

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring.

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you.

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing.

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing.

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own.

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering.

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship.

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach.

“Of course.” You agree, confused.

It’s been too long since you last did this.

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight.

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears.

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face.

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze.

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry.

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject.

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say.

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms.

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair.

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him.

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant.

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons.

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple.

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides.

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you.

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed.

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin.

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again.

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice.

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place.

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side.

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much.

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room.

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say.

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck.

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek.

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will.

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you.

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace.

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent.

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you.

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs.

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning.

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm.

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning.

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired.

But one cannot simply resign from the throne.

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan.

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions.

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words.

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company.

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge.

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful.

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice.

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king.

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake.

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face.

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will.

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition.

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin.

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you.

“As I, you.” You return.

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd smut #hotd x reader

1K notes · View notes

bloop-bl00p · 1 month

Text

“Fîls de joie” What Poison could have been.

TW: Mention of Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Rape, Drugs, Addiction, Manipulation, Mention of Fetish and sex in general, mention of Sex works, Raphielle II don’t go harras him and respect his pronouns

I’m trying to be a writer and I understand writing about taboos and controversial things is difficult. I only write about what I know which is the effect of emotional and physical abuse and religious traumas. Notheless if I’m trying to do something out of my domain of expertise I’ll research it to respect the concerned part of the audience.

Vivienne Medrano said that people who’ve been sexually abused helped write episode 4. Part of me wants to believe it, it’s most likely true, it’s the best thing a writer can do, let knowledgeable people help and not just rely on sites about psychology. But, with how rape and assault are presented sometimes it really feels like she’s lying.

Angel Dust is the only character whose abuse is presented as serious.

Stolas kept belittling Bliztø and kept talking dirty even when the Man was in danger

You cannot tell me that he couldn't hear the gunshot through the phone, in this scene, he keeps making his disgusting speech. Blitzø was practically forced to make the deal as he wasn't in a situation where he could process his thoughts clearly since he was trying to survive

And it was a joke.

Angels Dusk kept harassing Husk throughout the series but he never once apologized. Yes, it stopped after Looser Baby but he should have a mindful conversation with Husk and genuinely say sorry about his behavior.

“It starts with sowwy🥺” What’s the point of having this song if the characters don’t follow through with the lesson?

Those scenes were mostly jokes.

And I haven’t mentioned Sir Pentious getting dragged while being drunk in a sex room, or Moxie being kissed by Succubus despite mentioning he didn't want any of that.

AAaaAaaaAh look at these men, being uncomfortable because they are touched and talked down despite verbally addressing their discomfort! That hilarious!

I want to believe she cares, I’m a fan of these shows, I know it doesn't look like it but I’ve been hooked since the Pilots. Not only was I disappointed at the final result but I was also shocked to learn Medrano is simply just an asshole with too much money in her bag.

Poison failed where Fîls de Joie succeeded:

Before reading any of what I wrote you should listen to it, there are English subtitles. And honestly, it's a good song on its own.

youtube

What’s the context of Fîls de Joie?

A sex worker died and her son is holding funerals for her. You can guess it with the wordplay in the title, Fille de Joie (Girl of Joy) is one of the many ways to say prostitute in French. Fîls (son) de Joie is a way to say that he’s the son of a sex worker.

While sung by the same man, you can notice that Stromae gives us four POVs in the song, the son in the chorus, a client, the pimp, and a policeman.

Everyone besides the son is a hypocrite and relatively an asshole. But even if those verses are self-centered and a pathetic attempt from these men to bring sympathy to themselves, despite never hearing the story directly from the Woman, you can guess exactly how her life was and you sympathize with her. It tells us a story, her story.

This woman was a good mother, and it shows how much the son insisted on leaving her alone, speaking proudly of her despite acknowledging her flaws, and even repeatedly calling her a hero.

But HEY! (But HEY!) Leave my mom alone Yes I know, she’s not perfect, it’s true She’s a hero (She’s a hero) And I will always speak of her with pride

The client is trying to be excused from his actions by stating he’s lonely and addicted to it.

Being alone is not easy And it’s been years since my last time

The hardest part, well, it’s the first time And now what’s hard is to decide when the last time will be

But he’s also verbally violent even stating that as long as he got the money he could pretty much do everything to her.

Maybe this time around we can do it with me insulting her. Yeah everything is negotiablе in life, if you got the money And after all, I’m probably her best customer

With that alone, you can probably guess that it’s not the only violent client she had but she has to endure it because she needs money. Considering that she has a son it’s probably to support his education or something related to her well-being and his.

Then comes the pimp, he brushed off all of his misdeeds by saying he gives them shelter and food and should be grateful for it.

Why does everyone hate me? I’m the one feeding them Their lives would be way more mediocre. Without me, their lives would be shitty

Not only that but his good actions are not for the sake of it, he should have his part of the deals. He doesn't want them to feel like princesses eventually calling them hookers in a very dehumanizing way.

That has a price, Missy. Well duh, in this life, everything comes at a price. Nobody ever told you? They say I’m guilty of human trafficking But 50, 40, 30 or 20% is not nothing

They better not delude themselves and think they’re models Ladies—or should I say: hookers!

Not only does this woman have to endure constant violent behavior from her clients she barely gets enough money despite being the one at work, receiving either 50% or even 20% of what she actually gained. The rest goes to an egocentric pimp that only sees her as merchandise.

While we can technically understand where the policeman is coming from, he’s just doing his job, he’s making a mistake apparent in the other’s verse but much more evident in his.

He doesn't see her as a human.

I know that it’s your job But I gotta do mine, don’t I?

Take back your ID and what’s left of your dignity You’re pathetic, pfft Find yourself a real job!

This song doesn't tell us the story of a prostitute but the story of a financially struggling Mother who juggles between abusing clients and a society that only focuses on the top of the iceberg, the fact that she’s selling her body.

Stromae tries to appeal to our compassion and teach us that it’s important to understand why someone will go their way to sell sex for a few pennies. And rather than rejecting them, we should help them.

Another thing I like about the clip as a whole is the Military. They don’t have a Belgian or French uniform but they wear multiple of them to show that this dehumanization isn’t linked to one country but it’s global, every countries and cultures take part in it, and it needs to be fixed.

What does Poison tell us?

Angel got stuck in an abusive situation and was forced to do sex work for his pimps, it focuses more on the sexual assault rather than his life.

He obliviously regrets his choice resulting in him blaming himself for getting into such a messy situation. A situation he’s seemingly addicted to despite himself, he knows it’s bad but he can’t help it.

What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself

You're feedin' me poison Addicted to this feelin', I can't help but swallow. Up your poison

The poison can also be a metaphor for the drugs he seems to take directly from Valentino’s brand. A drug he either takes himself or is forced to inhale.

He uses the same substance to forget his situation and numbs the pain while also putting on a false Sex-addicted mask to convey that he’s fine and stay on Valentino’s good side. A direct consequence of his abuse is his addiction and his hypersexuality.

I got so good at bein' untrue I got so good at tellin' you what you wanna hear I disassociate, disappear

At the end of the song he’s waisted, traumatized, and finally breaks down as he finally has a short time to process everything that happened. Because here’s the thing, Poison is a fantasy, it’s a mask he puts in to forget the emotional and physical weight that was put on him, hence why it’s so flashy and pretty. The few glimpses of Angel being visibly distraught show that all the parts where he isn't are him disassociating.

See I can analyze stuff and I totally understand what they were trying to do with it but the difference with Fîls de Joie is, that we didn't know the life or personality of The Mother and we learn it through the song.

Angel Dust and Valentino’s relationship is highlighted throughout the shows and Poison doesn't add anything new to the table. The song is POINTLESS. Husk already looked at us and told us that Angel Dust being sexual was a whole persona he puts in.

You can say that the song humanized him since he was basically the “AaahaAH SEX” character but the locker scene already did and… I don’t like the story behind the making of it, why you ask?

Because Vivienne let Raphielle’s work affect her writing.

Visually speaking I believe you can present a disturbing concept with equally disturbing imagery, I understand that the point was to make you uncomfortable and the Dance sequence was Angel Dust disassociating while what was happening was displayed on the screen.

But… can someone explain why they let the work of someone blatantly fetishizing Angel and Valentino's relationship leak into the final product? I don’t even care that Raphielle or Vivienne have a nonconsensual fetish but we can all agree that his content depicting the two men will be inrentently for gooning purposes right? Or am I crazy for saying that?!

Okay, I wanna be clear, Raphielle can do everything he wants what I care about is that his fetishistic content was referenced in the shows.

→ Here’s one of his works. Go at 2:45 if you wanna skip the sexual stuff

→ Click here for more proof

The idea of Angels Dust being “sexy” while his image is projected on screens is from Raphielle II, his work is for sexual gratification but Medrano still referenced it despite Raph being pretty vocal about it.

And that’s not all.

Yes, Vivienne, it’s great marketing to make a cum joke about visuals displaying rape. Because in case y’all forgot all of the sex scenes in the clip are non-consensual from Angel Dust's perspective.

Am I supposed to believe that this woman cares when not only she has a double standard only showing rape and sexual assault as a whole in a bad way when it comes to her favorite character?

Am I supposed to believe that she cares when she associates herself with a fetishizer and references his work in her show?

Why did Stromae managed to make me care about an unnamed fictional dead woman in the spam of 3:57 when she just irked me in 20 minutes with her so-called “well done” representation of sex workers?

Is that really what people call a realistic presentation? How does someone manage to fumble so hard on every aspect of the series, I’m starting to believe that Hazbin Hotel is just rage-bait with the lack of respect she puts into it.

That’s all for me if anyone wants to add anything, the comments are there.

#anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #hazbin hotel critique #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #tw drugs #tw sa mention #tw sa implied #tw sex assault #tw sex mention

129 notes · View notes

laviefantasie · 1 month

Text

[ Just Keep Swimming ]

Pairings: CEO! Gojo Satoru x Florist! Reader ; Lawyer! Naoya Zenin x Florist! Reader

Summary: The worst and best thing that could ever happen to you is falling in love. You were living proof of it. (based on “It Ends With Us”)

| Masterlist |

[ WARING TAGS: Modern!AU, no curse magic,, hurt/comfort, angst, domestic violence, violence, assault, sexual content, manipulation, gaslighting, blood, swearing ]

⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊

You were six the first time you saw it happen. You were ten when you first understood what it meant. You were fifteen when you first begged your mom with tears to leave him. You were eighteen when you decided to leave them.

And now here you were at twenty-five staring at your childhood bedroom , trying your best to not look at any of the family portraits that adorned the walls.

This was no happy home. You wouldn’t even call it a home to begin with. Not when the halls had echoed your mother’s terrified screeches as the walls tainted red. Not as your father’s fist painted your mother’s porcelain skin yellow, purple, red and green. How you hated those colors and despised this place.

You couldn’t wait to leave once again.

“It’s nice to have you back, honey”

You sighed. Your mother’s voice was as always soft and sweet; you hated how soft it sounded, as if she expected to get hit if she were to be louder.

Your eyes glanced around before stopping on an old music box, one a certain crystal blue-eyed boy had given you once upon a time. A small smile faintly appears on your face as you gaze at it, before being wiped off by the rest of your memories.

Clearing your throat, you turn towards your mother with a steady gaze. She smiled at you softly.

And you hated it. You hated that you remember how she had chosen him over you, again and again. You hated how you had begged, even gotten on your knees, for her to leave with you.

You hated that no matter how many times she chose him, he never stopped the cracks from deepening.

“Have you decided on what to say?” She asks slowly, “You could just recall a memory… maybe just state three things that he ever did to make you smile or…”

“Mom” you interrupted her, hating how as she spoke images of her being brutally hurt appeared in her mind, “I’ll figure it out”

She doesn’t seem convinced, but she still nods.

Sighing, you turn to look out your window straight at the three-story mansion in front of your own. Memories of joyous laughter and snow white hair.

Closing your eyes, you turn around. You had a funeral to get ready for and an eulogy to lie in.

The flowers on the roof of your building had always been your home away from home. Especially when you didn’t actually have somewhere that felt as home yet. You had lost that a long time ago.

You keep on cutting off the dead limbs, lost in your thoughts, when the door snaps open loudly and a crash startle you.

Turning around you are met with the sight of a blond man in a suit panting over a broken empty flower pot. You would’ve already screamed at him about the mess if it wasn’t for the tears streaming down his face.

He turns, eyes meeting yours. E/C meeting brown. His pants slow down and what appears to be shame shines through his face.

“I-I’ll pay for it”

“Seems like it was asking for it so no worries” you joke trying to make him feel at ease.

Why? You’re not sure. There was just something about seeing someone so powerful looking being vulnerable that made you sympathize.

He lets out a giant laugh full of relief and you find yourself smiling at it.

“You did all this?” He points at the many flowers al over the roof.

You nod, “Yeah, it’s my hobby… although maybe you could consider it my job too?”

“Huh? Really?”

“Hopefully, yeah” you nod, continuing your job, “You?”

“I’m, uh, a layer”

“A lawyer?” You ask ironically. He didn’t seem that confident to be one.

“I don’t look the part?”

“Not really”

He laughs again, louder this time, and you find yourself smiling. Again.

When was the last time you had smiled?

“You don’t look like a florist either”

“Makes sense, I didn’t actually study to become one” you smirk, “I just decided to become it”

“What did you study then?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles, “Actually, I would. Along with your name”

“Sorry, I’m married”

His face pales, “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any—”

Your laughter interrupts him. A loud and melodic one. One you hadn’t heard yourself let out in a long time.

It felt… warm.

“You… you’re messing with me”

“I am” your laugh faints, but the smile remains, “Was that too much?”

“When it caused that laugh? Not at all”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Y/N” you say softly, “That’s my name”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” he smiles, “I’m Naoya”

You nod at him before turning your attention to your flowers once more, trying to ignore the way your heart had started to increase the rhythm of its beat. You weren’t gonna acknowledge it.

“Why flowers?” He clears his throat, “I mean… you said you chose it so, why?”

“Why not? There’s q certain beauty in them, a familiarity, don’t you think so?”

“Familiarity?”

They’re just like us. When loved, they bloom. When hurt, they rot.

I wanted to say that, yet couldn’t. I had only ever said that to one person before and it felt like a betrayal to say it to somebody else, as insignificant as it seemed.

“Think about it, okay?” You settle for, smiling, “Promise you’ll figure it out”

He laughs faintly, “I take it, because it means we’ll meet again, right?”

“I don’t know about that…”

“You live here, am I wrong? I live here too! It’s meant to be”

You frown with a smile, “Is that your best way to flirt?”

“Only if it’s working”

You shake your head, laughing, “With those looks I thought you were a womanizer but now…”

“Hey! With this looks, what else would I need?”

Both of you share a laugh, a happy one, and for a minute you forget he came here banging doors and breaking pots; you forget you had been cutting dead limbs from flowers hoping it’d cut the ones inside you too.

But reality always sets in and your smile disappears.

He had been violent. Whatever his reason might be, even if it was one that could be understood, sirens loudly came to life inside your head making you move around, you were uncomfortable.

“Anyways… I know I said it probably was asking for it but what exactly did the flower pot do?”

You hate how your voice soften at the start, so you toughen it up by the end. The last thing you ever wanted was to be like your mom.

You’d never be like her.

“Honestly… it wasn’t the pot’s fault. Sadly, it was just collateral damage” he sighs, “I… uh… something happened. It’s kinda personal”

“Oh. Sorry. I-uh… too invasive. I apologize”

“No, no, it’s okay. Understandable. I…” he sighs, “I had this case, kinda can’t talk about it you know, but… it was a tough one. My client was a kid… and I lost”

“Oh”

“Yeah, oh” he laughs bitterly, “My client is a kid that I promised I’d help, that I’d save, and I didn’t. I failed them”

“I’m so sorry” you sigh, “That’s… a good enough reason for the pot’s short lifespan”

He smiles faintly.

You sigh, averting your eyes and playing with your fingers nervously.

“My dad died this past weekend” you blurt out, “Seems like it’s been a shitty last few days”

“Seems like it”

“Kind of a pretty deep conversation for two strangers to have on a roof, don’t you agree?”

“You’re not a stranger” his eyes soften, “You are Y/N, flower enthusiast, trickster, owner of the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You remind yourself to breathe as you let out an embarrassed laugh, averting your gaze from his soft one. Could your heart calm down? This was not the moment for a crush.

“Since we’re already spilling our dirty little secrets… how about a night of naked truths?”

“Naked truths?”

You hum, nodding, “I wouldn’t mind some company as I finish tending to my flowers and you seem like the last thing you need right now is being alone”

“Probably true. How’d you know I’m alone though?”

“Because we all tend to run to the person that makes us feel accompanied when we’re struggling… yet you’re on the roof, alone. Hitting doors and breaking pots”

“You’re also on the roof in a moment of struggle” he reminds you softly, his eyes filling with understanding.

“Again: I wouldn’t mind some company”

He nods, silently sitting down beside you on the floor and watching you as you tend your plants with care.

“Naked truths?” He reminds you softly.

You nod, “The odds of us ever seeing each other again are low, so it doesn’t matter”

“Kind of like a therapy session?”

“Zero judgement, all humor” you give him a small smile, “Wanna go first?”

“Today’s case… I watched a little boy’s life crumbled before his eyes when I failed him, making him go back to the hell he has lived with his father” he sighs, averting his gaze that had darken, “He’ll never be the same again and now he won’t even find a reason in asking for help”

“I’m sorry about that” you let out a deep breath, “Maybe he’ll figure out a way”

“Maybe… he shouldn’t have to though”

He was right. No kid should ever find a way to survive the hell they’ve been given. A kid should only ever be a kid.

“Your turn”

“I…”

He had been honest. He had been vulnerable. He deserved the same treatment.

“I’m a liar” you blurt out, “I’ve had to be since my father was a politician. But I shouldn’t have had to be it to the degree he made me be it. He… my mother and him fought a lot. And he would get so… so angry whenever they did that some-sometimes he would h-hit her. He’d apologize after. Taking us out, buying her expensive gifts. He knew I hated it when they fought so he’d buy me toys, to make up for it I guess. I didn’t really understand what him hitting her actually was, I was a kid. So… so-sometime-”

Your voice fails you, making you clear your throat as you find yourself admitting this out loud for the first time in years. Your saliva tasted like acid inside your mouth as you tried to find your voice once again.

Naoya waits patiently. Not making a sound and letting you collect yourself calmly.

“Sometimes I… I would find myself hoping they’d fight. Because I knew that if he h-hit her, the next two weeks would be… amazing” had I ever actually ever admitted this out loud?, “I wish he had never touched her. When I understood pain, I wished he’d stop but it was too late. It had become part of their marriage, like a silent norm in our house. So I let them be… I now know that letting it happen, never saying anything, makes me as guilty as him. As a daughter I have love for him, but as a person? I hate him. I have spent most of my life despising him for being such a bad person, but… I’m just as bad. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, am I right?”

“No”

The answer is immediate, making you freeze.

His hand stops your fumbling one, warming it on his own as if giving it a home. His gaze is determined, soft.

You couldn’t breathe.

“You’re not a bad person. I don’t think there’s really a thing as bad people” he squeezes my hand, “We’re just… people who sometimes do bad things. We’re humans, it’s inevitable”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Was I gonna agree with him just to stop the conversation? Was I gonna try to convince him that I’m bad? What exactly was I gonna say?

People who sometimes do bad things.

You felt yourself lighter after his words, as if the weight pulling you down and making it hard for you to breathe had slightly lifted.

No one is exclusively bad, he was right. Some people just have it harder to be good.

And that’s okay. You just gotta keep trying.

“Your turn”

He looks ready to disagree, but relents anyway.

“I don’t remember my mom” he confesses, “Dad and her divorced when I was four I think. He never let me see her once he won custody… and she didn’t try to either”

“You wish she had tried?”

“When I was a kid” he shrugs, “Not anymore. She made her choice, and now I choose not to wait for someone who didn’t want me”

“What if she wanted but just… couldn’t?”

He scoffs, “Your turn”

The bitterness in his voice stings, but you know it’s not directed at you.

You squeeze his hand trying to give him at least a little of the comfort he gave you moments ago. He smiles faintly.

“I have only ever fallen in love once” you admit, “His name was Satoru, he lived in the house in front of me. I lost my virginity with him until my dad found us and kick him out. Never saw him again after”

“Satoru?” He frowns, “Not a common name”

“Yeah, it isn’t”

“Kinda jealous right now” you frown, “He must have been a hell of a guy if you haven’t dated since”

You remember the blood and its metallic smell. How your throat hurt as you screamed for him to stop. How tears fell down your cheeks as you try to break them up, only to be pushed back. You feared he’d kill him.

“He was” you state softly, “It just couldn’t… we just had to stop seeing each other”

“Had to?”

“Yeah. Had to”

The confession tastes like the metallic smell imprinted in your mind, making it hard to swallow.

He stays silent for a moment.

“Now I really am jealous” he smiles, making you laugh, “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and you’re telling me you’ve only had one boyfriend? And he’s the one that got away?”

“Are you quoting a Katy Perry song?”

“Unimportant”

You laugh out loud. The screams that had muted the surrounding traffic sound quiet down, and the metallic taste disappears.

The one that got a way, you repeat to yourself. Yeah. Satoru definitely was that.

“What are you doing?”

You had been watching quietly so far but you just couldn’t anymore. Why did the heir of Gojo Enterprises look as if he was running away?

“Mind your own business”

“I actually am. You just stomped on my flowers before falling on your face as you ran without looking ahead” you scoff, “Now spill”

He sighs, looking towards his house before scoffing.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Satoru Gojo…? Only heir of the Gojo family, one of the top ten families in the whole country” you recite without a care, “Why does that even matter?”

“You forgot ‘illegitimate son’, princess” he rolls his eyes, “My mom was a maid who Mr. Gojo fucked because he pleased. So I’m leaving”

“Wh-wait! Leaving? Where?” You stop him, “You can’t leave”

“I can and I will”

“Where will you go? Do you even know what leaving on the streets will be like?” You scoff and cross your arms, “You won’t survive, not after living in that place”

“Until I was six, I lived in that place’s basement and was treated as a rat. I think the streets will be fine”

“But you can’t—”

“We’ve been neighbors all our lives and you’ve never once looked at me” he scoffs, “Don’t look at me now”

He turns around as he rolls his eyes, looking ready to ignore whatever else you tried to convince him to not leave home. But you’d never understand what a hell that house was and had always been, not when you had the picture perfect family.

“STAY HERE” you yelled in panic, freezing him on the spot, “We have a small house in our backyard, originally for the house’s help. It’s unoccupied, so you can stay there. Free of charge”

“Why?”

“Cause you look seem like someone who has had many doors closed in his face” you shrugs, averting your gaze shyly, “I want to show you there are others who’ll open it for you”

“Hey” you snap out of your memory from when you where fifteen, “You good? Lost you for a second”

“I’m fine” your voice is softer now, a hint of melancholy in it.

Why had you remembered that right now? Hadn’t that wound already healed?

“It’s gotten late. I-I should go”

You stand up, your head a mess, but his hand in yours stops you. His gaze is curious and slightly desperate.

“Will I see you again?”

“No”

“That stings”

“I’m just honest” you sigh, “That’s how it works”

“I don’t believe it is” he smiles, “So, see you next time, Y/N”

You had indeed seen him again, as if by destiny. He was apparently family of your new part-time worker, Maki. And apparently he knew your best friend, Utahime, whom had help you open your flower shop, Camellia Carnation.

It had taken you back to see him with Utahime, but you had acted indifferent. Then, he had been your first client ever and had buy the bouquet for you. Maki warned him you were off limits.

So you agreed to be friends.

Yet he was always there, and your heart kept on taking his side. One misstep and you found yourself falling.

You hadn’t meant to fall, not after Satoru. But at some point he smiled and you knew it was game over. Suddenly, he had sunk beneath your bones and nurtured this deep familiarity into a love so fierce that you believed this was it, that he was it. After all the pain, and the healing, and the heartbreak, Naoya was it.

Maki said he didn’t date, that he just played around. Naoya himself admitted it to.

Yet he begged you to try with him.

And holy crap were you glad you said yes. When was the last time you had been this happy? Dancing around the kitchen with only the refrigerator light? Playing board games in your bed? Laughing until the sun rose?

You gave him your all and he reciprocated it.

It only made sense that he met your mother when she came to visit you, even when you were a little hesitant about it. He was excited, you wouldn’t stop it.

You hadn’t expected to be frozen in your seat, barely registering what your mom was saying as you both waited for Naoya to come back from the restroom. How could you focus when you had just met your favorite set of crystal blue eyes?

You thought you had it wrong. You had to.

But nothing could compare to those eyes. White hair? People dyed it all the time. Pale skin? No beaches around. But his eyes? No one could even imagine coming close to their unique blue.

It has been years since you saw him, but you’ll never forget what he looked like. It had to be him. You know it was and you believe he recognized you, too, because the second your eyes met… it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

You felt breathless.

It was as if in this moment your soul was whispering to your heart excitedly about him. It was like a gravitational pull, like as if all the universes and all the galaxies were conspiring in his favor.

Snap out of it, you screamed in your head.

Why were you looking at him like that? You couldn’t. You didn’t know him, not anymore at least.

And yet…

You found yourself in the restroom’s, hoping he had recognized you and maybe decided to follow you.

What were you doing? He had left you behind, months before graduating, without a goodbye. He had probably gone to the marines to escape his father… but he had been so well dressed he probably had ended up doing as he was told.

You needed to compose yourself.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the door opening behind you. The Baby Breath flower tattoo in your collarbone burning as you meet his gaze, both of you breathless.

He looked healthy. There were so many emotions going through you at the moment but that was what stuck. You were happy he was healthy.

So why did it sting that he never came back for you? That he never looked for you?

“Y/N”

He’s standing at the end of the hallway like a ghost straight out of the past. He’s real, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Toru”

He smiled and you swore your heart stopped.

“I’m going to make a promise to you. I’ll get out of my father’s cage and make a life of my own. When my life is good enough to deserve you in it, I’ll come find you. But don’t wait for me, okay? It may not happen”

He blows out a quick breath of relief and then takes three huge steps forward. You find yourself doing the same. Meeting in the middle and throwing your arms around each other.

“Holy shit” he breathes, tightening his embrace.

You nod, “Yeah. Holy shit”

He puts his hands on your shoulders and takes a step back to look at you.

“You haven’t change a thing”

Covering your mouth with your hand, still in shock, you give him a once-over. His face looks the same, but he’s no longer the scrawny teenager you remember.

“I can’t say the same for you”

He laughed, “Six years in the military will do that, definitely”

You’re in shock, and so is he, so nothing is said after that. You’re both too busy taking each other in to figure out what to say next. Laughing with disbelief.

Finally, he releases your shoulders and folds his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t remember. You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved.

“I live here,” you say, forcing your answer to sound as casual as his question, “I own a flower shop over on Park Plaza”

He smiles knowingly, like it doesn’t at all surprise him.

You glance toward the door, knowing you should get back out there. He notices and then takes another step back. He holds your gaze for a moment, it gets really quiet. Way too quiet.

There’s so much you both have to say but where to start? The smile leaves his eyes for a moment and then he motions toward the door.

“You should probably get back to your company”, he says, “I’ll look you up sometime. You said Park Plaza, right?”

I nod. He nods.

And then you both parted ways.

The rest of your dinner was uneventful. Your gaze sometimes strayed to where Satoru sat surrounded by men in business attire, but came back to Naoya whenever he made your mom laugh.

Naoya is the perfect gentleman. Making your mom laugh, listening to her stories, paying for dinner, insisting on walking her to her car.

So why did you kept glancing at Satoru throughout the night?

“I ordered an Uber so we have approximately…” he checks his phone, “two minutes to make out”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. Smiling softly as you feel him kiss your neck lovingly, followed by your cheek.

“Ugh, how I wish I could invite myself over to your apartment, but my client wouldn’t be too happy with me if I did”

You giggle before kissing him back. Relief and disappointment coursing through you at his words.

Why was there relief?

“Grand opening soon, so I need to rest too” you remind him, “When’s your next day off?”

“Never. When’s yours?”

“Never”

You both laugh again, making out a little more before his Uber arrives and he has to leave. You watch until it pulls out of the parking lot.

Why did everything feel so right with him?

You smiled and turned around towards your car, but gasped as soon as your gaze met his covered one.

What the hell was Satoru doing standing at the rear of your car?

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you”

His voice is low, as if tired. You force yourself to not dwell on the motive.

“Well, you did” you lean against the car, three feet away from him.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

Your eyes widen as you turn to him, but his gaze is set on the road. You clear your throat.

“He’s…” your voice falters. This is weird. Your chest is still constricted and your stomach is flipping, “His name is Naoya. We met about a year ago.”

You force yourself not to wince at the truth once it came out. Maybe you shouldn’t have said you met that long ago. It sounded as if you were in an official long term relationship while you were just… courting each other?

“What about you? Girlfriend? Wife?”

Why were you asking that? Were you genuinely curious or…?

“Girlfriend. Her name is Mei Mei. We’ve been together almost a year now”

Heartburn. You believe you were having a heartburn. You place your hand in your chest.

A year?

“That’s good. You seem happy”

Did he seem happy? You had no clue. You just had to say something. Anything.

“Yeah. Well… I’m really glad I got to see you, Y/N” he turns around to walk away, but then spins and faces you again, his hands shoved in his back pockets, “I will say… I kind of wish this could have happened a year ago”

You wince at his words, trying not to let them get to you. Watching him as he turns and walks back to the restaurant.

Fumbling with your keys, you hit the button to unlock your car and slide in, shutting the door behind you loudly. You grip the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. You feel a sting on your lower lip as you bite it.

For whatever reason, a tear falls down your cheek. You feel pathetic as you carelessly wipe it before starting your car.

Why were you feeling this much hurt after seeing him?

But it’s good. This happened for a reason. Your heart needed closure so that you could give it to Naoya. Maybe you couldn’t have done that until this happened.

This was good…

Yet you kept on crying.

But it’ll feel better. It’ll be better. This was just human nature, healing an old wound to prepare for a fresh new layer.

Nothing else.

“Knock, knock” you smile, opening the door with a tray in your hands full of food.

Satoru is sleeping on the couch in the help’s house living room and your gaze softens as you see the usual frown you’ve become used to missing.

He is different than you thought.

At school he was all smiles and laughter. But that was just a mask. This was the real him, the human him. One that had a lot of baggage and was slowly trying to get rid of it.

Sighing, you put the tray in the table and move closer to him, kneeling in front of the couch where he is laying.

“Psst… Satoru… wake up”

He frowns and moves slightly, which makes you giggle softly. Was he pouting?

“Come on. Mom and dad left so I brought you breakfast” his eyes open slightly, “I made sure to bring also a piece of strawberry cheesecake”

That makes him sit up quickly. You giggle and shake your head in amusement. You had learned in the last few weeks of him living with you of his sweet tooth, it was adorable.

Except something look out of place.

His usual pale skin was red. And the house had AC so he shouldn’t be sweating that much. Also, why were his eyes bloodshot?

Worried you make your palm touch his forehead, frowning as you feel how hot it feels against your skin. You wanted to call my mother, but how would you explain the situation? What could you do?

He must’ve seen how worried you were, cause he smiled softly at me.

“I’m okay, Y/N”

Your frowned deepened. Without a word you stood up, crossing your backyard to go inside your house and look for some medicine in the cabinet. There was some flu medicine, you weren’t sure if it’d work but you needed to try. Then, you went to the kitchen and made him some ginger tea, which should help if he’s got a sour throat.

When you came back he was curled up in a ball, shivering slightly.

“Seriously, I’m fine”

“Shut up” you scoff, handing him the mug, “Drink the tea, I’ll look for a blanket”

You did as you said and he did as told. After the tea you made him drink the medicine you brought him, and then you help him eat the breakfast you prepared for him.

Throughout it all he watched you with an intense gaze that you didn’t understand, but didn’t mind either.

“Y/N… I think I wanna throw up”

You stop wetting the towels you were preparing for him, jumping to grab the trash can and kneeling down in front of him.

As soon as you set it down, Satoru hunched over it and started throwing up.

You felt your chest tighten. You didn’t want to pity him, but you kinda did. Whatever his home situation had been like, he preferred having no home to call his own and no parents to take care of him than keep on living there. Even when he was this sick.

He only had you now. And you had no clue on how to help him.

After he finished throwing up, you help him drink some water and help him brush his teeth before putting him to bed. He pouted and whined like a child, but you weren’t having any of that.

He was shaking so bad and sweating like crazy from the heat his body expelled, the thought of leaving him alone scared you.

So you didn’t.

You laid down next to him, not minding the possibility of getting sick, and every hour for the next ten hours that he continued to get sick you stayed by his side. You kept on emptying the trash can, wiping his sweat, changing his sheets, wetting his towels, making him soup and helping him eat. You didn’t even think about how gross it was.

He needed you, and you were not fucking failing him.

By the time he regained a little bit of his strength, you were exhausted. You sent him to take a shower and closed your eyes for a little bit.

Why were you so worried about him?

You sighed, too tired to think of an answer. What you did know is that you did care about him, and there was no changing that now.

When he finished showering, you made him seat next to you and covered him up with the blanket, leaning into him slightly as you felt yourself becoming sleepy.

“You should rest” he whispers, “You’ve been taking care of me all day”

“I’m not tired”

“Don’t be stubborn” he coughs, “Just sleep for ten minutes. Please?”

He never said please. You doubted the word was even in his vocabulary, yet he just said it so you would consider resting.

Silently, you close your eyes.

A few minutes later, you felt him lean over a little and press his lips against your collarbone, right between your shoulder and your neck. You stop yourself from shivering as you become breathless. It was a quick kiss. Not even one you could consider as romantic in any way, more like a thank-you kiss.

But it made you feel all kinds of things.

Even when it had already been a few hours since you left him, as you lay awake on your bed, you kept touching that spot with your fingers because you could still feel it.

It was probably one of the worst day of his life. But it had been one of your best.

The next couple of weeks things started changing between you and Satoru. Something had shifted in your dynamic.

Now you held hands. Now you slept some nights in the same bed. Now you both seek the warmth that came from the other. It made you wonder if he still saw you as a naive fifteen year old. He was just two years older, it shouldn’t make that much of a difference right?

You were currently both watching Finding Nemo in the main house’s living room. The part came up where Nemo’s father, Merlin, was looking for Nemo but feeling really defeated and Dory said: ‘When life gets you down do you wanna know what you gotta do? Just keep swimming’.

“Just keep swimming” you whisper to yourself, turning to face him with a soft smile as you grab and squeeze his hand, “Just keep swimming”

You wanted to be the one that helped him swim until he finally got to surface, until he finally could breathe again.

You both were now facing each other and he had a strange look in his eyes.

“When do you turn sixteen?”

“That’s a random question” you softly laughed, “In two more months… when do you turn eighteen?”

“Not until December” he said.

You nodded, wondering if he still saw you as a kid… and if he could ever see you as more.

Maybe when two people are fifteen and seventeen, it might seem a little too far apart. But once you turned sixteen, who would see the difference?

“I need to tell you something”, he said.

You lost your breath. Heart beating fast. Were you maybe too hopeful right now?

“I got in touch with my uncle today. My mom used to live with him in Boston. He told me once he gets back from his work trip I can stay with him”

Oh.

This was good news. This should make you happy. He’d have a home, a family. He’d be okay. So why weren’t you? Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?

“Are you going?” you asked, begging the universe your voice didn’t shake.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

He was so close to you on the couch, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. He smelled like mint.

You started fiddling with your hands, hoping to shake off the negative feelings surfacing.

“I don’t know what to say” you clear your throat, “I’m happy you have a safe place to stay, but what about school?”

A stupid excuse, but it was something.

“I could finish down there”, he said.

Oh.

He had already made up his mind, hadn’t he? You knew because he had this certain light in his eyes, a light you thought had extinguished.

Who were you to try to stop it from shining?

“When are you leaving?”

The words fled like acid in your throat.

You wondered how far away Boston is. It’s probably a few hours, but that’s a whole world away when you don’t own a car.

“I don’t know for sure that I am.”

“What’s stopping you? Your uncle is offering you a place to stay. That’s good, right?”

He tightened his lips together and nodded. Then he stop your fiddling hands, grabbing them on his own and playing with your fingers. He leaned back and then he did something you weren’t expecting. He moved his fingers to your lips and he touched them.

You felt like dying. How was it possible to feel so much at once? You had to be dying.

He kept his fingers there for a few seconds, and he said, “Thank you, Lily. For everything”

He moved his fingers up and through your hair, and then he leaned forward and planted a kiss on your forehead. Were you even breathing at this point? He looked down at me and you watched as his eyes went right to your mouth.

“Have you ever been kissed, Y/N?”

You shook your head no and tilted your face up to his because you needed him to change that right then and there or you weren’t gonna be able to breathe.

Then, too slow for your liking, he lowered his mouth to yours and just rested it there. You didn’t know what to do next, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care if you just stayed like that all night and never even moved your mouths, it was everything.

His lips closed over yours and you could kind of feel his hand shaking. You did what he was doing and started to move your lips like he was, although a little weird at first. You felt the tip of his tongue brush across your lips once and you thought your eyes were about to roll back in your head. He did it again, and then a third time, so you finally did it, too. When your tongues touched for the first time, you kind of smiled a little, because you had thought about your first kiss a lot. Where it would be, who it would be with. Never in a million years did you imagine it would feel like this.

He pushed you on your back and pressed his hand against your cheek and kept kissing you. It just got better and better as you grew more comfortable. Your favorite moment was when he pulled back for a second and looked down at you, then came back even harder.

You don’t know how long you kissed. A long time. So long, your mouth started to hurt and your eyes couldn’t stay open. By the time you both were too tired to open your eyes, you could still feels his lips ghosting over yours.

“You’re my favorite person”, you whisper, sleep overcoming you slowly.

“Out of how many people?”

His voice sounded alive for some reason. You didn’t dwell on it, too tired to try to open your eyes and see the look on his face.

“All of them”

His arms around you tighten, a small kiss being delivered to the side of your lip.

“You’re my favorite person too, Y/N. By a long shot”

You had to stop remembering the past. Especially now that you had a beautiful present paired with a future to look forward to. Naoya was perfect. He was everything you had wanted when you were a child.

Your chapter with Satoru was over. He was happy now.

You were happy now.

Time can definitely heal all wounds. Or at least most of them.

Life kept going and you buried any thought of Satoru that had come to mind. Things with Naoya became official and you felt on cloud nine every second you spent in his presence.

Especially after having sex. It was a hell of a ride.

You excitedly walked around your flower shop, humming a song under your breath and ignoring the weird looks Utahime and Maki are giving you.

Naoya had just called to say he was taking the day off for you. You had every right to feel giddy.

“Please tell me you’re being safe”

Your roll your eyes at Utahime as Maki fakes puking.

“Please, don’t”, Maki groans, “Still underage here”

“Both of you shush it” you laugh, “Utahime make sure to close. Maki get home safe. I got a dinner to make”

By the time you hear the door open you’re almost finished preparing the casserole mixture. You pour it into the glass pan and don’t turn around when you hear him walk into the kitchen.

You squeal when you feel the sting on your right butt cheek.

“Did you just slap my ass?”

“Don’t blame me, who wouldn’t want to smack that ass?”

You laugh. He raised the wine bottles in his hands with a grin, “It’s vintage”

Vintage,” I say with mock impression. “What’s the special occasion?”

He hands you a glass and says, “I have a smoking hot girlfriend and I have one of the most important trials of my life in a few days”

“What kind of trial?”

You both finish your glasses of wine and he pours you more.

“One that’s gonna be televised around the whole country. Career changing” he says, “A doctor that abused most of his female patients while anesthetized. Gotta put the bastard in jail”

Was it wrong to be turned on by your boyfriend putting trash men in jail?

“How long do you think it’ll take?”, you ask.

“Well, he had more than a hundred victims so… make three days trial if we keep it short”

You hated that people like that existed, but it made you like him more how hard he fought to get rid of them.

He chugs his wine then, “I’m gonna take a shower. Be right back”

He kissed your cheek swiftly before getting out of the kitchen.

You drink more of your wine.

He was on top of her.

They were on the couch and he had his hand around her throat, but his other hand was pulling up her dress. She was trying to fight him off and you just stood there, frozen. She kept begging him to get off her and then he hit her right across the face and told her to shut up.

You’ll never forget his words when he said, “You want attention? I’ll give you some fucking attention”

And that’s when she got real still and stopped fighting him. You heard her crying.

“Please be quiet. Y/N is here”, she sobbed, “Please be quiet”

Please be quiet while you rape me.

Was it possible for a person to feel this much hate? You walked straight to the kitchen and opened the drawer. It was like you weren’t in your own body. You grabbed the biggest knife you could find.

You weren’t planning to used it. You just wanted something that could scare him. But before you could make it out of the kitchen, two arms went around your waist and picked you up from behind. You dropped the know, but your father didn’t heart it. Your mother did.

You locked eyes with her as Satoru carried you back to your bedroom.

When you were back inside my room, you just started hitting him in the chest, trying to get back out there to her. You were crying (when had you started crying?) and doing everything you could to get him out of your way, but he wouldn’t move.

He just wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Y/N, calm down”, he kept saying over and over.

He held you there for a long time until you accepted that he wasn’t gonna let you go back out there. He wasn’t gonna let you have that knife.

He walked over to the bed and grabbed his jacket and started putting on his shoes.

“We’ll go to the help’s house. We’ll call the police”

The police.

Your mother had warned you not to call the police in the past. She said it could jeopardize your father’s career. But in all honesty, you didn’t care at that point. The only thing you cared about was helping your mother, so you pulled on your jacket and went to the closet for a pair of shoes. When you stepped out of your closet, Satoru was staring at your bedroom door.

It was opening.

Your mother stepped inside and quickly shut it, locking it behind her. You’ll never forget what she looked like. She had blood coming down from her lip. Her eye was already starting to swell, and she had a clump of hair just resting on her shoulder. She looked at Satoru and then at you.

You didn’t even take a moment to feel scared that she had caught you in your room with a boy. You didn’t care about that. You were just worried about her.

You walked over to her and grabbed her hands and walked her to your bed. You brushed the hair off her shoulder and then from her forehead.

“He’s gonna go call the police, mom. Okay?”

Her eyes grew real wide and she started shaking her head.

“No” she said, “You can’t. No”

Satoru was already at your window about to leave, but he stopped and looked at you.

“He’s drunk, Y/N” she said, “He heard your door shut, so he went to our bedroom. He stopped. If you call the police, it’ll just make it worse, believe me. Just let him sleep it off, it’ll be better tomorrow”

But it wouldn’t. It hadn’t been in all these years. This had to be the final straw.

You shook your head and could feel the tears stinging your eyes, “Mom, he was trying to rape you!”

She ducked her head and winced when you said that.

“It’s not like that” she shook her head, “We’re married. And sometimes marriages is… you’re too young to understand”

It got really quiet for a minute.

“I hope to hell I never understand”

That’s when she started to cry. She just held her head in her hands and she started to sob and all you could do was wrap your arms around her and cry with her. You had never seen her this upset. Or this hurt. Or this scared. It broke your heart.

It broke you.

You chug the wine in your hand and pour yourself some more. Tonight was a happy day, a good one. Why were you thinking about that?

You’re on your fourth or fifth glass of wine when Naoya comes back.

“We have dinner reservations tomorrow with Utahime and Maki to celebrate your flower shop” he pours himself another glass, “We’re going to the restaurant we went with your mom. Dory was it called?”

Your heart sinks down your chest.

It’d be impossible to meet Satoru there again, right? It had been a coincidence. Boston was too big to find each other again… right?

“I don’t want to go back there. I didn’t like it. Let’s try something new”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, “Maki is excited to eat there, I told her all about it and for once she didn’t roll her eyes at me”

What are the odds of meeting again at that same place? Maybe you should just let it be.

“Speaking of food, I’m starving”

The casserole!

“Oh shit!” You say, laughing. You were definitely tipsy.

Naoya rushes to the kitchen and you stand up and follow him in there. You walk in just as he pulls the oven door open and waves away the smoke. Ruined.

You got dizzy all of a sudden from standing up too fast after having that many glasses of wine. So you grabbed the counter beside him to steady yourself, just as he reached in to pull the burnt casserole out.

“Wait, Naoya! You need a…”

“Shit!” he yells.

“Pot holder”

The casserole falls from his hand and lands on the floor, shattering everywhere. You lift up your feet to avoid broken glass and mushroom chicken splatter. You start laughing as soon as you realize he didn’t even think to use a pot holder.

Must be the wine. It was a seriously strong wine.

He slams the oven shut and moves to the faucet, shoving his hand under the cold water, muttering curse words. You’re trying to suppress your laughter, but the wine and the ridiculousness of the last few seconds are making it hard. You look at the floor, at the mess you’re both about to have to clean up, and the laughter bursts from you. You’re still laughing as you lean over to get a look at Naoya’s hand.

You hope he didn’t hurt it too bad.

Suddenly you’re not laughing anymore. You’re on the floor, your hand pressed against the corner of your eye.

In a matter of one second, Naoya’s arm came out of nowhere and slammed against you, knocking you backwards. There was enough force behind it to know you off balance. When you lost your footing, you hit your face on one of the cabinet door handles as you came down.

Pain shoots through the corner of your eye, right near your temple.

And then you feel the weight.

Heaviness follows and it presses down on every part of you. So much gravity, pushing down on your emotions. Everything shatters.

Your tears, your heart, your laughter, your happiness, your soul. Shattered like broken glass raining down around you.

You wrap your arms over your head and try to wish away the last ten seconds.

Was that all it took for everything to shatter? Only ten seconds?

“Shit, Y/N” you hear him groan, “It’s not funny. It fucking hurts”

You don’t look up.

His voice doesn’t penetrate your body this time. It feels like it’s stabbing you now; that sharpness of his words coming at you like swords.

And then his hands are on your back, rubbing it.

“Y/N. Oh, shit, Y/N” he tries to pull your arms away from your head, but you refuse.

You shake your head. Begging for the last seconds to go away. Ten seconds. That’s all it took for a person to completely change everything about themselves.

Ten seconds that you’ll never get back.

He pulled you against him and started kissing the top of your head.

“I’m so sorry. I just… I burned my hand. I panicked. You were laughing and… I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast. I didn’t mean to push you, Y/N. I’m sorry”

But you couldn’t hear Naoya, you only heard your father.

“I’m sorry, Y/M/N. It was an accident. I’m so sorry”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It was an accident. I’m so sorry”

You wanted him away from you.

Using every ounce of strength still in you, you pushed him away from you. He falls backward, onto his hands. His eyes are full of genuine sorrow, but then they’re full of something else.

Worry? Panic?

He slowly pulls up his right hand and it’s covered in blood. Blood is trickling out of his palm, down his wrist. You look at the floor, at the shattered pieces of glass from the casserole dish. His hand. You just pushed him onto glass.

He turns around and pulls himself up. He sticks his hand under the stream of water and starts rinsing away the blood. You stand up, shaking, just as he pulls a sliver of glass out of his palm and tosses it on the counter.

You’re full of so much anger, but somehow, concern for his hand still finds its way out. You grab a towel and shove it into his fist. There’s so much blood.

You try to help stop the bleeding, but you’re shaking too bad, “Naoya, your hand.”

He pulls the hand away and, with his good hand, he lifts my chin.

“Fuck the hand, Y/N. I don’t care about my hand. Are you okay?”

He’s looking back and forth between your eyes frantically as he assesses the cut on your face.

Your shoulders begin to shake and huge, hurt-filled tears spill down your cheeks.

“No” you’re sure he can hear your heart breaking with just that one word, because you can feel it in every part of you, “Oh my God. You pushed me, Naoya. You…”

The realization of what has just happened hurts worse than the actual action.

Naoya wraps his arm around your neck and desperately holds you against him, “I’m so sorry, Lily. God, I’m so sorry”, he buries his face against your hair, squeezing you with every emotion inside of him, “Please don’t hate me. Please”

His voice slowly starts to become his own voice again, and you feel it in your stomach, in your toes. He’s not even worried about his hand, which is still bleeding. That means something right?

There’s too much happening. The smoke, the wine, the broken glass, the food splattered everywhere, the blood, the anger, the apologies, it’s too much.

“I’m so sorry” he says again

You pull back and his eyes are red and you’ve never seen him look so sad.

“I panicked. I didn’t mean to push you away, I just panicked. All I could think about was my hand and… I’m so sorry”

He presses his mouth to your and breathes you in.

He’s not like your father. He can’t be. He’s nothing like that uncaring bastard.

You’re both upset and kissing and confused and sad. You’ve never felt anything like this moment, so ugly and painful. But somehow the only thing that eases the hurt just caused by this man is this man. Your tears are soothed by his sorrow, your emotions soothed with his mouth against yours, his hand gripping yours like he never wants to let go.

Naoya isn’t like your father. He’s nothing like him.

He can’t be.

part two [coming soon]

#gojo x oc #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk satoru #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #naoya zenin #naoya x reader

62 notes · View notes

jo-harrington · 6 months

Text

TW: Death and Catholicism

Eddie as someone you meet at a funeral.

You’re a great-niece, he’s a grandson’s friend. You both really only knew the deceased distantly but in different lights.

To Eddie she was the lady who pinched his arm, fed him too much food, asked if he had a girlfriend, and said she knew some nice girls if he was having trouble dating. To you she was the lady who pinched your arm, fed you too much, asked if you had a boyfriend, and said she knew some nice boys if you were having trouble dating.

Nice to him. Rude to you. That’s just who she was though. To everyone. She had her favorites.

But you’re both there for your cousin more than you’re there for yourselves.

He ends up sitting near you at the funeral home, dressed in black. Well, everyone is. But it’s how you wear those black clothes. You both wear a comfortable shroud while everyone else shuffled in dresses that don’t fit and shoes that pinch and rented suits with ties that choke.

Funeral homes have formative memories for both of you. You bond over it in those drawn out minutes…hours where you connect with strangers only to probably never see them again. For him, it’s his mother and in return he gained a love of heavy metal and the inexplicable need to March to the beat of his own drum just like she did. For you, a grandma you were too young to really know.

“You and Danny have that in common then,” he tries to lighten the mood. “Dead grandma’s.”

“I think everyone gets a dead grandma at some point. Sometimes even two.”

“That’s fair.”

“Mine died on my 5th birthday though,” you tell him truthfully. “So I think I had it worse off than he does.”

“Gotta hold him to that then. He’s a cocky shit.”

“Yeah he is. He still holds some Mario Kart victory over me from when we were 7.”

You both fumble at the church as you seek out a familiar face—although for you it’s a sea of familiar faces you wish you didn’t have to see—and you guide him through, to you, partially forgotten prayers and the sitting and standing and you even hold his hand during the Our Father. He doesn’t let you go because he feels you shake with the uneven ground of your faith.

“I don’t do church anymore,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he whispers back. “Would you believe me if I told you people used to think I worshipped Satan?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I might currently worship Satan?”

“No shit.”

“Meh, anything that isn’t Jesus might as well be Satan to my mom so it’s not that much of a stretch.”

He doesn’t ask where your mom is. Where the rest of your immediate family is. And it’s nice for that to be the first time not to have to answer that question.

You continue to hold hands as the casket is sealed behind a stone wall, as your aunt and her secrets get locked away forever. Eddie remarks that it’s weird to bury people behind walls instead of in the ground. You think it’s weird that he thinks it’s weird; it’s all you’ve ever known.

You offer to show him around the big mausoleum if he plays his cards right.

It’s a joke. You both know it’s a joke.

But after Danny approaches the two of you once the service is over, and thanks and hugs are shared, he stands there with his hands in his pockets and stared at you expectantly.

“So?” He shrugs. “Grand tour?”

You’re speechless but you nod.

“And I know a place that does a good eggplant parm san—”

“Eggplant Parm Sandwich,” you nod. “Cue’s. Off Wolf Road? Yeah it’s my favorite.”

“Mine too. We can get some lunch?”

“Sure.”

And you both think as you walk around the silent cemetery.

You think your aunt must not have been so bad, and he thinks she must have been as good as he always thought she was.

Because she filled her promise of introducing you both to someone nice after all.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #TW: death #tw: religion #tw: catholicism #RIP Zia - the best thing that you gave me was an inferiority complex and an excuse to go to the cemetery #Maybe I’ll meet someone at your funeral but I’m not gonna hold my breath

95 notes · View notes

mybeautifuldelirium · 2 years

Note

I don’t know why I want this so bad but here we go!

So I had an idea for a reader x Aemond where reader is one of Rhaenrya’s kids and they have been secretly seeing each other since they know their siblings would make fun of both of them if they knew.

Anyway Aemond takes reader with him when he goes to claim Vhagar and she’s a nervous wreck the whole time and if she’s nervous about just sneaking out you can imagine how she’d be when the first flight happens and she’s with Aemond when the fight breaks out between all the kids. During the questioning she sides with Aemond without a second thought and after all the fighting she chooses to go with Aemond back to Kingslanding and eventually get married. Then like the show a few years pass and we have the day of the trial and dinner and she tries to stop Aemond from starting the fight and then just fluff.

I hope this all made sense I got excited and went on a tangent 🤣 whether you take this request or not just know you’re an amazing writer and I can’t wait to see what else you write! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Always Meant to be Together || Aemond Targaryen x reader

A/N: so I did divert a bit from the request but as usual the overall premise is the same, hope u enjoy xx

Summary: Y/N is Rhaenyra’s first born daughter, Aemond’s closest friend, the one who was by his side during the incident and went against her own family to protect him. But after six years of being apart, has their relationship changed or could they be again, what they once were?

Warnings: angst, fluff, Targaryen incest

The true born Targaryen children of queen Alicent and the supposed bastards of princess Rhaenyra were never meant to get along, despite being of the same blood, they could never be of the same side. But as fate has it, rules always have their exceptions.

“Behold, The Pink Dread” the three boys laughed in unison as they presented the pig to the younger prince.

A cruel joke, this was, making the poor boy run out of the dragonpit.

“Very mature of you, Aegon” Y/N scolded him as she had just entered “And you two, is this what mother has taught you?”

“It was a mere jest, sister; why are you so concerned?” Jace giggled as he winked at the other boys, making them join in with laughter.

Y/N scoffed at his insinuation and went to follow after Aemond.

“Don’t listen to these fools, I know you’ll get a dragon very soon” the young girl said as she cautiously approached the prince.

“I don’t need your pity” he mumbled in annoyance, without looking at her.

“I’m not pitying you, I’m simply stating the truth” Y/N said, now with full confidence.

Aemond finally stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her “You truly believe so?” he asked, hints of hope in his voice.

“Of course! You’re a Targaryen prince after all” she smiled “And besides I believe you’re much braver than Aegon and my brothers” Y/N scrunched her nose, as they both giggled.

From that day, the two kids became quite inseparable, much to the displeasure of their mothers, they would often sneak out and spend time together.

It was way past her bedtime, yet sleep wouldn’t come upon Y/N, she was squeezing her eyes shut, tossing and turning in her bed, but to no avail. The images of Laena’s funeral from earlier that day still haunted her mind. Y/N didn’t know her aunt very well yet she couldn’t help but feel consumed by sorrow. Soon however, her eyelids at last grew heavy as she drifted into a dreamless slumber.

“Y/N, wake up” a hasty whisper suddenly brought her back. But as the girl was about to let out a startled scream, a cold palm was placed on top of her lips to shush her. “Hey, it’s me, it’s me, Aemond”

“Aemond?! What are you doing here”

“Shhh, come, follow me” he gestured towards the door.

“What?! Have you gone mad?! It’s the middle of the night!” the young girl whisper-yelled, confusion and exhaustion washed over her face.

“Please, just trust me, I need you”

Y/N sighed as she slowly got up, there was something about this violet gaze of his, when he was looking directly at her, that always managed to make her unable to refuse his pleas.

It was a clear night, the stars were glistening like thousands of diamonds as the chilling breeze was piercing through Y/N’s thin robe that she had loosely tied over her silk nightgown.

“Aemond, where are we going? I’m freezing”

“We’re almost there” the boy tried to reassure her.

The two kids continued their walk through the seemingly endless field and as Y/N was starting to consider running back inside her warm chambers, they were met with the magnificent silhouette of no other than Vhagar, the largest dragon alive, her late aunt’s dragon. And though asleep, the mere proximity to him made the little girl shiver with fear.

“We really shouldn’t be here; let’s go back to the castle” she ushered the young prince, her words, however were left unheard as he slowly approached the beast, enamored by its presence.

“Aemond, don’t!” she let out a scared squeal as Vhagar began to wake up.

“You said I was going to get a dragon and this is what I intend on doing” he smirked at her.

“This is not what I meant Aemond, please”

But the boy did not listen and by the time Y/N had comprehended the situation, he had already somehow managed to mount the dragon.

“Come” he finally spoke, reaching his hand down to her.

“No! There’s no way I’m doing this! And you shouldn’t be either. Please come down” she pleaded, her voice full of worry.

“Fine, suit yourself” Aemond mumbled as he commanded Vhagar to fly.

Y/N stood there, filled with dread as she watched the enormous beast take off with her best friend. Those few minutes of their flight were the most agonizing moments she had endured, they felt like an eternity and she couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible outcomes.

The poor girl almost burst into tears when she saw Vhagar landing right beside her with Aemond unharmed. The boy was beaming with pride and excitement as he had finally gotten his so deeply desired dragon.

“You fool” she wept with relief as she leapt to embrace him.

Their happiness however was short lived as on their way back they were met with enraged faces of Y/N’s two younger brothers and her cousins.

“There he is! Sister, what are you doing with this thief?” Jace spat at her, a mixture of disgust and disbelief lingering in his voice.

“He stole my mother’s dragon, she was mine to claim!” Rhaena screamed through tears as she charged towards Aemond.

It wasn’t long before a vicious fight broke out between the children.

“Jacaerys, Lucerys stop! Aemond, don’t!” Y/N was screaming at them trying to stop the fight, but to no avail. Suddenly a blood curdling scream of agony pierced through the halls. Before she could realize what had happened, Y/N saw the other kids run out. Then she saw, she saw him, her Aemond, laying on the ground, with arm on his left eye, waterfalls of blood pouring between his pale fingers.

Y/N let out a frightened scream as she rushed to him, gently moving his head to her lap.

“Aemond, Aemond, can you hear me? Listen, it’s all going to be alright, I promise” she choked on her tears, weaving her fingertips through his messy silver locks.

The following moments went in a blur, next thing she knew, she was standing behind her mother as the kids were throwing accusations at each other in front of the king. Alicent was inconsolable, going from caressing her wounded son to screaming at Rhaenyra and her children, it was like hell broke loose.

“Silence” Viserys at last stood up, making the whole room grow quiet. “Now, may I hear what exactly happened. Y/N, you were the one with Aemond when the guards found you, I want you to tell me the whole truth” he sent a stern look towards his granddaughter.

The little girl slowly stepped out from behind her mother’s skirts. Her face was pale as a ghost, dried up tears covering her cheeks, stains of the prince’s blood still fresh on her white nightgown. Everyone was now looking directly at Y/N, Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with concern, the two frightened boys clutching at her hands, Alicent hardly containing her rage, it almost felt like time had stopped. Then her eyes caught the gaze of Aemond’s remaining one, making her own well up at the sight.

“It was Jace and Lucerys, my brothers. They started it along with my cousins” the girl spat through tears, pointing at the kids “Aemond didn’t say anything to provoke them, they’re lying”

“Liar, she’s a liar” Jace started screaming at his sister “Mother, this is not true, he did call us bastards”

Rhaenyra looked with utter disbelief at her daughter’s face, but before she was able to say anything, Alicent had gotten up, grabbing a dagger.

“What more proof do you need?” she cried, running towards Luke with the weapon in her hand, but was quickly caught by Rhaenyra who leapt in front of her son.

Eventually the fight was put to an end and all were ordered back to their chambers.

Y/N was now sitting on her bed clutching at her blankets trying to erase her memories of the horrendous ordeal that had occurred. The girl was so consumed by those thoughts that she had just noticed that her mother had entered the room. She had an unreadable expression as she slowly approached the bed, holding her bandaged arm.

“How could you? How could you go against your own brothers in front of the king?” she asked, her voice full of disappointment.

“It was their fault. Luke took Aemond’s eye” Y/N sniffed trying not to burst into tears again.

Rhaenyra grabbed at her daughter’s chin, making her meet her gaze. “You siding with that boy almost cost your brother his eye” she hissed “We are a family. Your brothers are your family. Never forget this” she then stood up and left without another word.

Y/N had spent the following six years at Dragonstone after her mother’s marriage to Daemon. The girl couldn’t deny that she had rather enjoyed the peace of those years however she so deeply longed to go back to the capital.

Her prayers were at last answered as she finally stepped foot in her homelands. Y/N was now a woman grown yet she could still vividly recall her time spent on the castle grounds throughout her childhood. The princess was eagerly following behind her younger brothers as they explored the courtyard that they once used to play in.

However, the sounds of clashing steel immediately had caught the attention of the siblings as they quickly went to follow it.

Y/N couldn’t believe her eyes. It couldn’t have been him. But it was, it was him. Her prince, her Aemond. There was something about the way he was so mercilessly fighting against ser Criston that made her feel intimidated, a dangerous swordsman he had become.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” he at last spoke, pointing his sword at the two boys, no emotion in his words.

“Bōsa jēda daor ūndegon, kēpus” (long time no see, uncle) Y/N smiled confidently as she finally walked out from her spot behind the gate.

Her words made Aemond drop his sword in disbelief and he slowly approached her. There were now mere inches between them as she looked up meeting his gaze. He had changed, yet still possessing this otherworldly beauty she had grown to admire. His face was now chiseled as if carved by the hands of the gods, his silver locks, much longer, reaching the middle of his back and the deep scar still visible under the black leather eyepatch that was covering his left eye, a reminder of the vicious incident. The prince took his time slowly examining her features as if trying to confirm it was really her. He gently picked a lock of her hair, slowly twirling it between his fingers, a devious smirk now playing on his lips. Aemond then suddenly turned around and headed back without saying a word.

The king had called for a small feast in honor of his family as they were at last together. Y/N could hardly recognize her grandfather, the magnificent man she remembered from her childhood was now deteriorating before her, half of his stern face, covered by a gold mask, perhaps concealing the damage. He was leaning in his chair, unable to sit properly yet his presence was just as powerful as it once was.

The tension in the room was so present, almost as if you could cut through it with a sword. Y/N’s gaze traveled across the familiar faces around the table, they were her family yet they felt so distant. Then her eyes fell on Aemond, her childhood best friend. She couldn’t catch any hint of emotions in his eye, he was simply sitting with a blank expression, occasionally sipping from his wine. Their last encounter had left the young princess bewildered as he had left without speaking a single word to her. ‘What an arrogant prick has he become’ she thought to herself, angrily bringing the wine cup to her lips.

“Care for a dance, dear niece” she was suddenly brought back from her thoughts by Aegon who was now standing behind her. Seeing that his wife was dancing with Jace, Y/N reluctantly took the older prince’s hand and followed him across the hall.

The girl closed her eyes as she swayed, trying to forget who her partner was as she indulged in the music. A few moments later however, their dance was interrupted by a tap on Aegon’s shoulder and when she looked up before her was standing no other than Aemond, her Aemond. There was a wild look lingering in his eye, could that have been jealousy? She wondered for a second before moving towards his hands, continuing the dance. What she didn’t know however was that throughout her time with Aegon, the one eyed prince hadn’t left her from his sight, feelings he thought he had long forgotten, rushing back.

They didn’t speak the entire time yet they kept their eyes locked at each other’s and for a second Y/N could swear that she had caught a glimpse of the Aemond she remembered and so deeply cared for.

“I missed you” she whispered, almost to herself. His stern expression softened, serving as a proof that he had heard her. This intimate moment however was cut short as the king was being escorted back to his chambers and before she knew it, they were again sitting at the table. Much to her mother and brothers’ displeasure, Y/N was now seated beside Aemond.

Despite Viserys’ departure the feast continued, servants bringing dish after dish.

Luke couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as a large roasted pig was placed in front of his uncle, earning him a warning look from his sister. Y/N then grabbed at Aemond’s hand trying to calm him down but alas, the prince stood up giving a toast to his ‘strong’ nephews. It didn’t take long for a quarrel to erupt, after his insinuations, with Jace punching the prince across his face but before the fight could further escalate, Y/N quickly leapt between her brother and uncle.

“Aemond, don’t, please,that’s enough”

Just as she could never refuse anything to him, so couldn’t he, the prince scoffed and headed out.

Y/N tried to follow after him but was stopped by her mother. “Don’t even consider it” Rhaenyra pulled at her arm “Don’t betray your family once again”

It must’ve been past midnight yet sleep wouldn’t come upon Y/N, so instead of forcing it, the young maiden decided to take a stroll across the castle hallways.

Suddenly a strong arm was wrapped around her mouth, pushing her against the nearest wall.

“I missed you too, dear niece” a deep voice whispered in her ear. The only light coming from the moon, shining through the nearby window, illuminating the so familiar smirk spread across the man’s face.

“Aemond?!” the girl exhaled, looking closer at the handsome face of her ‘attacker’. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You never came to visit me after the incident, never even said goodbye” he hissed, hints of sadness in his voice.

“Oh Aemond, you have no idea how hard I tried to, but mother wouldn’t let me, she put guards in front of my chambers” Y/N softened her features, moving her hand to his cheek.

“Don’t go back to Dragonstone, stay” he placed his hand on top of hers.

“Why would I, am I not a bastard too, like my brothers?” she suddenly snapped, reminding him of the prior events.

“Ohh, the fuck with this” he grunted, smashing his lips on top of hers. This action caught Y/N completely by surprise yet it didn’t take long for her to eagerly kiss him back, tangling her fingers in his soft silver locks. This was her Aemond she was kissing, the young boy she had unknowingly fallen for way back when they were kids.

“We were always meant to be together, Y/N” he smirked as they pulled away from the kiss.

“Mother, I won’t go back to Dragonstone” she had gone to the godswood to announce her decision to Rhaenyra.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t want to go, I want to stay here” Y/N repeated, trying not to show the trembling in her voice.

“You, you are responsible for this, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra pointed at Aemond who had just approached them. “Haven’t you done enough harm to her!?”

“I simply wish to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, princess, to strengthen our houses” his infamous smirk, still lingering.

“What makes you think I’ll sacrifice my only daughter to you?” She hissed through gritted teeth.

“Mother, you tried to separate us years ago yet the gods once again brought us together, we were meant to be together” Y/N repeated Aemond’s words from the prior night.

“If that’s your decision, then so be it, I’ll give you my blessing, but remember, once you’ve chosen which side you’re on, there is no going back” Rhaenyra sighed as she left the young couple.

Those words pierced at Y/N’s heart, but she knew she had made the right decision, choosing to marry the one she loved and she was determined to go against anything that would try to separate them.

Tag list:

@ellathefriendlyalpacaaa

@believeinthefireflies95

@caspianobsessed

@hayoooos-blog

@kitkat-writes-stuff

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd 1x08 #hotd x reader #house targaryen

1K notes · View notes

multifanficwriter · 2 years

Text

they don’t know about us (jj maybank x reader)

summary: jj and you being in a secret relationship, because you’re not allowed to be together with any pogues.

warnings: fluff, some angst, fighting, party, mention of smut, kinda strict parents.

note: english isn’t my first language.

NOT MY GIF

you walked down the stairs of your house, into the kitchen to find a snack and when you closed the fridge, your mother stood beside you.

“oh good morning, mom” you said, forcing a smile to your face.

“i don’t think you can call it that when it’s 2pm” she replied, which just made you roll your eyes. “why are you first up now anyway?” she asked as i opened up a yogurt.

“i’ve been up for a few hours, mom. i’ve just been in my room doing my homework, trust me” you explained. “you don’t have homework, honey.”

“uhm yes i have. that’s how school basically works, you know. teachers giving kids and teenagers homework to ruin their childhood.”

your mom stayed silent. “did you sneak out last night?” she suddenly asked.

“of course not,” you answered, maybe a bit too dramatic, but you couldn't help it.

“she’s lying,” the voice of your brother suddenly said. “what the fuck, nick. can’t you keep your stupid mouth shut for once in your life” you said, raising your voice.

“don’t talk like that to your own brother!” your mother replied, matching your voice. “whatever” you mumbled as you took your yogurt and went up to your room.

just as you had laid down on your bed, your annoying brother opened the door.

“what do you want?” you asked annoyed. “a normal sister” he answered with a smirk. “very funny” you said ironically.

“oh, mom says you’re grounded for the rest of the weekend” he added and closed the door.

you then took a deep breath, calming yourself down. “just great” you whispered to yourself.

a few seconds later, a text popped up on your phone.

—

you’re still up for later? 😉

uhm, I kinda get grounded…

again? you’re a bad girl

thank you i guess lol

anyway, still up for later? 😉

I just told you I’m grounded

and?

seriously JJ?

what? do you need me to save you like always?

maybe, just don’t get caught

never princess

thank you my hero

always 😘

—

“who are you texting you're smiling like that?” the voice from your brother said, making you jump, not even having noticed he had opened the door again.

“that’s none of your business” you said as you pushed him out of the door and locked it. then you sat down at your bed once again, waiting for jj.

you heard something hit your window, so you immediately went over there and opened the window to see him down there, looking handsome as always.

“housekeeping” he yelled which made you roll your eyes, but also laugh. “are you just going to stare at me all day or actually get down here?” he asked.

“my mom is downstairs, so i can’t go down there and I’ll probably die if i jump,” you explained.

“i’ll catch you,” he said. “aww that’s sweet, but no. find a ladder” you responded. “princess, just jump. you know i’ll catch you. i always do”

you thought about it for a second or two, before answering, “alright, but if i die, you aren’t invited to my funeral,” you joked.

“oh my god y/n. just freaking jump”

“uh, someones eager today” you teased. “y/n, i swear to god-” you interrupted him, when you jumped and he caught you, holding you in his arms.

“my hero” you mumbled and was about to kiss him, but then remembered where you were and got out of his strong arms. you also saw the small pout on your boyfriend's face.

“you’ll get kisses later when we’re just the two of us,” you told him. “pinky promise?” he said, still with a pout. “of course” you replied, taking your pinkie around his finger while you got lost in his blue eyes.

“now, let’s get out of here before anyone sees us,” jj said and picked you up as he ran with you in his arms, laughing like crazy.

what you two didn’t see was that your brother was standing at his window, watching everything that had just happened.

—

when jj and you finally reached your secret spot, he immediately pressed you up against the tree and kissed you. your hands tangled into his blonde hair while one of his hands went to your waist and the other one behind your neck.

“i missed you” he mumbled against your lips as he laid his forehead on yours. “we literally saw each other last night” you said, catching your breath.

“too long away from you” he mumbled again and pecked your lips. “chessy” you whispered with a grin. then the two of you just started into each other's eyes for what felt like forever, but you loved it.

“so, i have a question,” jj said, caressing your cheek. “ask away.”

“there’s this party later tonight and i really want to go there.”

“... with you.” he added.

“what if my mother finds out? my brother is probably going to be there too” you babbled. “just avoid him and stay by my side”

“but he will for sure see me and with you.”

“ouch, you made it sound like I’m a bad person.”

“well, my family thinks you are a bad and dirty person, so-”

“whatever. let’s just enjoy actually being together tonight and ignore everyone else. how does that sound?” jj asked.

you threw your arms around his neck. “that sounds perfect” you answered and put your lips on his.

you stopped kissing him, when you got an important thing to say. “i’m going to steal some of your clothes and make it cute, since i can’t go home”

jj just rolled his eyes at you. “i do not care, cupcake. now kiss me”

—

you and jj had now walked home to his house, checking if his father was home and lucky for the two of you, he wasn’t.

“just go into my room, i’ll grab two beers for us” jj told you and then you did what he said.

the first thing you did was go into his closet. it was quite messy and it made your organized brain cry a bit, but you had learned to accept it.

“already stealing my stuff. i should’ve know” you heard jj said as he sat down on his bed.

he then took your hand in his and dragged you over to him, between his legs, giving you a few kisses. “where’s my beer?” you asked.

“here i am, giving you my love and then you’re asking for beer?” he joked, but you just ruffled his hair and tried to find your beer, but then jj began tickling you.

“for fuck sakes, jj!” you screamed while laughing.

—

jj and you walked into the party with his arm around your waist, keeping you close. you looked a bit around and saw that your brother was also here with his stupid friends.

jj noticed you being a bit tense and then saw what you looked at. “calm down, baby. i got you” jj said and walked the other way.

you eventually found the people that you shouldn’t be calling best friends, but actually did.

“eyyy y/n” john b sang when he saw you. “eyyy john beee” you sang back as the two of you did your handshake.

“oh my god, i didn’t think you would come tonight” kie admitted and gave you a big hug. “thank god you came. i don’t think i’ll be able to handle being the only girl with these dumbasses tonight” she whispered in your ear, making you laugh.

“you’re welcome, my lady” you joked, kissing her hand and twirling her around. “hands off my girl,” jj said. “calm down, lover boy” kie responded with a laugh.

“where's pope?” you asked, missing your study buddy. “he went to get some beer,” john b answered. “did you force him or something, because pope getting some beer doesn’t sound right?!”

“you’re absolutely right, y/n” you heard the voice from pope say and you turned around to see him with five beers for y’all.

“popeee” you greeted with a smile. pope put the beers down on the table and opened his arms, giving you a big hug too.

just as you stopped hugging him, your smile faded when you saw certain persons standing behind him. “why do you look so sad?” pope asked, getting worried about you. “uhm-”

“it’s rude not to answer a question, y/n.”

“ugh, just shut up for once nick!” you told your brother, getting a few confused looks from other people at the party.

pope then turned around and walked a bit backwards, when he saw your brother, rafe, topper and kelce. “you shouldn’t be hanging out with these people” he told you.

“i hang out with who the hell i want to”

“i’m pretty sure your parents think otherwise,”that stupid jerk, rafe implied. “it’s not like you’re a perfect kid either, cameron” you said, getting pissed that he even said anything to you.

you still can’t believe your parents want you to be together with him. they clearly haven’t seen his real side. rafe gave you a dry laugh as he stepped closer to you.

“listen here, sweetheart-” he started, but got interrupted. “no, you fucking listen here. if you even fucking touch or step closer to her, i’ll beat the living shit out of you!” jj said and stepped in front of you, standing right in front of rafe.

rafe, once again, just laughed dryly. “we both know how that will end, maybank,” rafe muttered. “you laying on your flat ass and begging for your daddy?” jj challenged him. “what the fuck did you just say to me?”

“you heard me. i said-” jj didn’t get to finish his sentence, before rafe threw his hand against jj’s jaw, almost making jj fall.

“jj, let’s just get out of here” you said as you put your hand on his shoulder. “yeah, listen to your little bitch” rafe shouted, making jj’s eyes turn dark.

jj turned around and punched rafe, making both of them fall to the ground. jj threw a few punches to rafe’s face, but then rafe turned them around and got on top of jj.

you tried to get over to stop rafe, but you were held back by your brother’s arm. “nick, what the hell?”

“don’t get near them. you’ll hurt yourself”

“he can’t just do this do jj”

“wait here” nick said and then himself got towards the fight. “what is your brother doing?” kie asked.

“i don’t know” you answered as you nervously watched the fight where rafe clearly had the upper hand. out of nowhere, your brother came and took rafe off jj.

a few people booed, but suddenly cheered as rafe began pushing nick, now wanting to fight him. i took the chance to run over to jj. the others followed me and helped jj up.

“take him to the car. i’ll try to see what my brother is doing” you said. “you have 10 minutes and then we’re driving, alright!?” john b replied.

“alrighty” you said and got into the garden again to find your brother. you find him on top of rafe, punching the shit out of him. “your brother has game” a girl said, standing beside you.

you decided to just ignore her. “sucks he's such an asshole and is standing up for a pogue” she added. “why don’t you like the pogues? they have done nothing wrong!” you said.

“oh, is this because you’re fucking around with jj? i’m sure he’s also fucking around with that bitch, kiara” she replied and that made you snap. you gave her a push, saying she shouldn’t ever talk about your friends in that way again, and then she gave you a weak punch. nothing you haven’t tried before.

then you began beating the shit out of her. they could talk shit about you, but never about your friends. you suddenly heard sirens and quickly got off the chick as you ran to the van.

as you had jumped into the van, you informed them that you heard sirens and then john b started the car quickly and drove away.

“can you set me off at my house?” you asked. “what about your parents?” kie said, sounding worried, knowing your mom could be easily pissed.

“i’ll tell them that i went to the beach or something. don’t worry about me” you explained. “just please take good care of jj!”

“so stupid in love” john b said. “so cute” kie added which made pope and you crack a laugh.

“yeah. i’m pretty stupid in love with that blondie” you answered with a shy smile.

“i can’t wait for the wedding” pope teased you, making the others laugh.

—

“this is me,” you said. “see you soon, y/n” the others said as you closed the door to the van.

you stood and waved at them as they drove away.

then you opened your front door and prayed to god that your parents were sleeping.

lucky for you, they were and you went into your bathroom, taking a quick shower and then jumped into bed, falling asleep immediately after the eventful night.

—

you woke up to your mom banging into your room. “what the hell, mom?”

“please tell me that what your brother is telling me isn’t true!” she shouted. “what are you talking about?” you asked, still not being fully awake.

“you having a boyfriend that forced you to jump out of a window and dragged you to a stupid party while you were grounded?”

“mom listen-”

“and that this boyfriend of yours is a pogue alongside your friends?!” you then stared at her with wide eyes.

“please tell me he’s wrong!” she basically begged. you continued to stay silent.

then your father also came into your room. “don’t be too hard on her,” he told your mom.

“so it is true?” your mother once again asked. “yes mom. i’m in freaking love with a pogue and my best friends are also freaking pogues!” you yelled in your parents’ faces, making them go silent.

your mom walked out of the room, leaving you and your father back alone.

“there’s nothing i can do about it, okay dad. i’m in love with this guy and i know he’s the one for me and these people are my best friends. i’m actually having fun with them. i’ve never been happier in my whole life” you rambled as tears came down your cheeks.

“shh, it’s alright, honey” he said and took you into his arms for some comfort.

—

later that day at the table, your family sat, ready to talk this out somehow.

“okay, so tell me what happened at the party yesterday, y/n” your dad said.

“it’s true that jj had told me to jump out of the window, but he didn’t force me at all. i trust him, so i knew he would catch me and he did like always. then we later got to the party and tried to avoid nick, because he will always gossip about me-”

“what, that’s not true-”

“nick, you’re not talking right now” your father said and then you began explaining again.

“as i was saying, we were at the party and i said hi to my friends. then as i was hugging one of them nick and his friends suddenly stood in front of me. nick began saying that i shouldn’t be hanging out with pogues, but i said i didn’t care about what he thought and then rafe began talking shit, so jj came forward and told him to back off. they argued a bit, before rafe punched jj and said that i was jj’s bitch. then they began fighting and boom, then nick and rafe began fighting while i took down some chick that was talking shit about my friends and-”

“okay okay. i think we got it” your father said, stopping you as you began raising your voice a bit.

“i’m sorry for sneaking out and not telling you about this, but i didn’t wanted to lose my friends, because my parents doesn’t like poor people”

“what? that’s not what this is about!” your mother said. “why do you hate pogues then? they’ve done nothing wrong. they have shit lifes and just wanna have fun like everybody else, mom!”

“i know, okay! but there’s still dirty people out there”

“do you really think i will be together with people i don’t trust? you know, you didn’t raised me like that”

“i know. i just don’t want you to get hurt” you then stood up from your chair and walked over, giving her a hug.

“these people are my absolute best friends. i promise you they won’t hurt me”

—

“how do i look?” jj asked as he looked in the mirror of your car.

“like the most handsome guy in the world” you answered. “really”?

you hummed a yes, driving into your driveway. “what if they don’t like me?”

you then took his head in your hands.

“jj maybank, you’re one of the best people i’ve met and you changed my life complenty. i think they already love you for making me this happy” you admitted and gave him a kiss.

“just what i needed” he mumbled against your lips. “now come on. we can’t be late for your first dinner with my family.”

—

#jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #obx #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks

1K notes · View notes

bumblesimagines · 2 years

Text

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 8

Request: Yes or No

~~~

The dark gray skies and cold weather greatly reflected the somber mood hanging over everyone. Sunlight peeked through the clouded skies, shining down on those gathered but more specifically on the stone casket of the beloved Laena Velaryon. There was no body, however, as the young mother had screamed for her dragon to save her from the very fate that befell Queen Aemma and thus had been reduced to ashes. But Lady Laena hadn't been the only one (Y/N) Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen mourned.

In an almost cruel joke, Ser Harwin Strong and his father had also been reduced to mere ashes in their very home. And while (Y/N) and his sons wished to attend the funeral, Rhaenyra rejected the idea as it would only bring more attention to them. (Y/N)'s departure with the princess had fueled more rumors at court despite Queen Alicent planting her own seeds and their father's return to court as Hand of the King. The last thing Rhaenyra wished for her family were more rumors, more doubts seeping into the minds of her young children.

"We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all days to come. As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughters on the shore." The uncle of the late Laena, Vaemond Velaryon, spoke softly as the casket of his niece was prepared by knights, gaze settled solely on Daemon. The Velaryons, apart from Vaemond who wore black and gold, were clad in dark shades of blue and black. Laena's daughters, Baela and Rhaena Velaryon wept in the arms of their grandmother. Continuing, Vaemond turned his sharp gaze onto Jace and Luke. "Though their mother will not return from her voyage, salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin."

Giggling from Daemon broke the solemn silence, eyes turning in his direction as his shoulders shook. The Velaryons glared at him but nonetheless remained silent, looking back at the casket as the knights pulled on the ropes to push it toward the ocean. "My gentle niece. May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, and your nets be as full as your heart. From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return." Vaemond finished as the casket plunged into the depths of the dark water.

Finally breaking his gaze away from the waves, (Y/N) turned his head and met his fathers' eyes. Otto hadn't changed much over the years other than his ever-so-slowly graying hair. There were more wrinkles on his face but his deep-set frown and hardened eyes remained. (Y/N) couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to his father but he knew the conversation had been far from civil as always. However, it didn't stop a certain longing from developing in his chest. It'd been many years since he last felt the comforting touch of a parent and despite his age, he wished for nothing more than to collapse into the arms of his mother or father. But (Y/N) hadn't been granted the unconditional love of a father, far from it. His father's love changed as quickly as tides and (Y/N) had long stopped caring about meeting his expectations.

The crowd began to disperse with the funeral officially over. King Viserys had been given time to depart first with his wife and Hand, followed closely by the Velaryons and the others. Guests scattered around Hide Tide, sipping on drinks and eating the few snacks provided whilst they chatted or lingered around alone. (Y/N) joined the others on a large balcony overlooking the sea and looked out at the distant waves. He could feel stares burning into the back of his head, most likely his father and sister, but the chances of them approaching him in public were low. He'd betrayed the Hightower name by having bastard children and then dragged it through the mud by abandoning his twin sister.

"Uncle." A soft voice greeted from behind and (Y/N) turned, facing his nephew. Aemond offered a small timid smile and stepped closer, peering over the stone to take a glance at the sea. "Mother misses you terribly, Uncle."

"I miss her as well, Aemond." (Y/N) sighed tiredly, looking toward his sister and meeting her gaze.

"Then, come home. You can return with us when we depart."

"I'm afraid the Red Keep is not my home." (Y/N) responded, looking back down at the silver-haired prince. Aemond's pale brows furrowed and he tilted his head, fingers toying with the side of his dark green hood.

"Mother says you were raised there."

"Yes, we were." The older man confirmed with a nod, reaching out a hand to brush his fingers through Aemond's hair. "But the place you were born or raised in does not have to be your home. A home is somewhere, or someone, that makes you feel safe and loved, and wanted. The Red Keep has never felt like home for me and that's perfectly fine."

"Then... You're my home." Aemond looked up at his uncle and (Y/N) chuckled softly, patting the top of his head before dropping his hand to his side. Noticing the way Aemond's eyes followed his hand, he glanced down and spotted the ring the boy eyed. With a small smile, (Y/N) crouched down and slipped the ring off his finger, offering it to him. Aemond blinked, glancing between the ring and his uncle before hesitantly taking it into his hands.

"It's a sapphire." (Y/N) murmured. "One of my favorite gems."

"I can have it? Even if it's your favorite?"

"Consider it a gift from your favorite uncle." (Y/N) answered playfully, hearing Aemond giggle softly. The boy slid the ring into his pocket and stepped forward, arms wrapping around (Y/N)'s neck. (Y/N) rubbed his nephew's back, leaning back when Aemond pulled away and watching him weave through the crowd to show his mother his new ring. The Hightower stood up, looking away from the two when Alicent looked up at him. (Y/N) briefly met Daemon's gaze, a smirk toying on the prince's lips despite having just lost his wife.

"Have you seen Laenor?" Rhaenyra's voice reached his ears as she appeared at his side, momentarily eyeing her uncle. She turned her back to him and looked at her lover, a hint of worry swirling in her light eyes. The setting sun casted a warm glow on her face.

"He's just lost his sister, Nyra. He's most likely drowning in wine somewhere in the castle."

"Even more so a reason to find him," Rhaenyra muttered quietly, attempting to avoid drawing even more attention as she glanced around at the other guests. "You know how he is when he's had too much to drink."

"Well-"

"Retrieve your patron." Corlys' voice hissed through the crowd and when the couple turned, they spotted him with a hand tightly gripping Ser Qarl Correy, Laenor's lover. Releasing his hold after being coaxed by his brother, Corlys glared down at the knight and watched him leave to find Laenor before he could rain fury down on them.

"Problem solved. If you'll excuse me, I'm going for a walk. I've had enough of people's stares for today." (Y/N) exhaled heavily and stepped away from Rhaenyra, making his way through the crowd and toward the stairs, but before he could reach them, a body stepped in front of him. One glance at the pin proudly resting on their chest told him enough.

"Father."

"Son." A stoic exchange between the two but neither had expected tears and hugs at their inevitable reunion. Clasping his hands behind his back, (Y/N) tilted his chin up and finally looked at his father up close after the many years that had passed. How he wished the old man had remained in Oldtown. But Otto would be a vulture until his death, searching for power wherever he could find it and with the death of the Strongs, the position for Hand had fallen right back into Otto's lap. (Y/N) had no doubt Alicent helped convince the king.

"I see you've left King's Landing. I was surprised to hear you did so without telling your sister. Were you afraid she'd convince you otherwise?"

"Queen Alicent wasn't informed because her husband was and I assumed he would've eventually informed her of this. It appears he chose not to until we were already at Dragonstone." (Y/N) answered, giving a light shrug. Narrowing his eyes, the older man opened his mouth to speak but (Y/N) moved around him and headed down the stairs, sparing a glance at his eldest nephew who lay at the bottom of the stairs with a cup in hand. The stairs took him to the beach and he walked alongside the water, feeling the sand tug at his legs with every step, not that he noticed when his body had grown sluggish over the days. Every time he tried to sleep, he'd be plunged into a sea of memories and reminders of what he'd lost.

"Fuck." (Y/N) cursed, feeling the tears prick at his eyes. Feelings of regret and guilt erupted in his chest, his mind cursing at him relentlessly. He knew if his sister hadn't planted the rumors at court, their beloved Harwin would've lived. And as much as he wished to cast the thought away, he knew she had something to do with his death. How he desired to turn back time and properly say his goodbyes to Harwin. But as he climbed the sandy hills and reached more sturdy ground, he knew there was no point in wallowing in the 'what ifs' that plagued his mind. Being pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his name being called, he turned his head and looked back at Rhaenyra as she clumsily climbed the hill.

"I know you are angry with me." Rhaenyra breathed, releasing the sides of her black dress walked closer to him, a frown present on her face. "I know you wished to attend their funeral-"

"I know why you forbade it, Nyra. I am no fool; I'm aware there weren't only just whispers of you and Harwin." (Y/N) interjected, resuming his walk but slowing his pace to allow Rhaenyra to walk alongside him. The princess sighed, gazing out onto the hills of sand and grass, the wind whipping back her hair and dress.

"I wished I had kept Harwin at court, (Y/N), I do. I wish I had decided on Dragonstone sooner and saved him from that dreaded curse."

"There is no curse, Nyra. Only scheming and coins."

"Do.." Rhaenyra swallowed, glancing at him before shaking her head. "I do not believe your sister capable of cold murder."

"I believe her capable of trusting the wrong people, as she has time and time again. I know my sister is not innocent or an inherently good person but I know she would not want to cause such harm. She relies on people who only wish to use her for one thing or another. But I did my duty as her brother. I tried to be there, I tried to shield her, I tried to teach and guide her but she refused to listen. I am aware that underneath her now cold exterior is the Alicent I once knew... But I am afraid that when she finally becomes her again, it'll be far too late. This path was chosen for her but she's never made any attempts at straying off it or turning back." (Y/N) spoke, voice nearly cracking. The emotions he'd held back for so many years came crashing down. Coming to a stop, the man turned toward the sea and stared out at the dark water.

"You said it yourself, my love. You tried." Rhaenyra whispered, reaching out to take his hand into hers, gaze softening as she stared at him. "And for the most part, you succeeded. I've heard Alicent during council meetings and I see so much of you shining through. You've taught her well but you couldn't guide her forever. And I believe she knows that too, even if she refuses to admit it. When you are trapped... It is sometimes better to accept your cage rather than escape it."

"I wish to see her happy... Just one last time. I cannot even remember the last time I've heard her laugh or seen her genuinely smile." (Y/N) exhaled, fingers gently wrapping around Rhaenyra's hand. The princess stepped closer, bringing his hand to her face and delicately kissing it before she pressed his hand against her cheek.

"You are a good brother. And a good father, even if the boys don't know it." Rhaenyra pressed her chest to his and reached up with her free hand, placing it on the side of his neck and stroking the skin with her thumb. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against (Y/N)s', leaning her forehead against his. "I wish we could be together now."

"Laenor does need you, Nyra. Despite his flaws and albeit childish nature." (Y/N) sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he basked in her presence and comfort. Rhaenyra softly grunted, dropping her head to his shoulder and wrapping both arms around him. While they weren't able to mourn publicly, they could mourn privately and in the safety of each other's arms. (Y/N) rested his chin on her head and looked back out at the waves, their soothing song calming the storm in his mind and heart. Harwin wouldn't wish for them to grieve forever. He'd want them to be strong for the boys, to celebrate his life rather than weep over his death.

The sound of wings and a low rumbling sound pulled the two apart. They turned their attention to the sky as a large dragon passed overhead, flying through the clouds and diving down toward the water, skimming it with their wings and legs. There were only three dragons as big as the one flying and one had died long before either of them had been born. The other one resided on Dragonstone which left only one dragon and her rider had been put to rest that very day.

"Were you aware Vhagar was claimed so soon?" (Y/N) questioned, turning toward his lover. The surprise on her face answered his question and he brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning softly. Turning toward Hide Tide, he watched Vhagar land near the castle to presumably drop off her new rider. (Y/N) could only pray to the Gods above that her newest rider wasn't one of his mischievous sons.

Taking Rhaenyra's hand, (Y/N) tugged her toward the castle, quickening their pace once the surprise wore off. By the time they arrived at the steps, Vhagar had already taken off into the skies. They hurried up the steps and entered Hide Tide, following the sound of voices until they reached the throne room and entered the crowded room. Knights, a few servants, the Velaryons, and Targaryens had gathered in the room. Sweeping his gaze over the room, he spotted why. In a chair near the crackling fire sat Aemond with a maester and a crying Alicent at his side whilst (Y/N)s' eldest sons stood on the other side of the room, bruised and dirty. Even Daemon's daughters had bruises on them.

"Jace? Luke!" Rhaenyra rushed to her sons, crouching down by Luke and gently prying his hand away from his face to look at his nose. "Who did this?"

"They attacked me!" Aemond shouted, whirling around in his chair to look at his older sister with a sneer. (Y/N) winced upon seeing the injured side of his face. His eye had swollen shut, a long cut trailing from his forehead down to near his jawline had been stitched closed. The children began shouting and arguing, accusing each other of attacking and protesting. But despite the loud bickering, (Y/N) heard the cause of the fight; Aemond had claimed Vhagar as his. (Y/N) sighed heavily, hearing Daemon snicker from his spot against the wall and King Viserys attempting to quiet the arguing.

"Silence!" King Viserys shouted, voice bouncing off the walls and effectively quieting the children. Exhaling, the old man leaned against his cane and began approaching his son, all eyes turning toward the king. "Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened. Now."

"What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible."

"It was a regrettable accident." Rhaenyra quickly insisted, wrapping her arms around the boys and glancing in (Y/N)s' direction. The Hightower remained by the doors, gaze flickering between his lover and his sister. Both mothers with injured sons, both women he loved dearly, both women he vowed to protect who were now publicly arguing.

"Accident?" Alicent repeated with a scoff, brown eyes glittering with tears at the brutality her son faced. "The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to an ambush. He meant to kill my son."

"It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!" Rhaenyra shot back at her, voice raising considerably. "Vile insults were levied against them."

"What insults?" King Viserys asked curiously, turning to his eldest daughter with furrowed brows. (Y/N) swallowed when Rhaenyra glanced at him once more, her lips pursing slightly as she gently took Luke's hands into her own. All too familiar insults, he assumed.

"The legitimacy of my sons' birth was put loudly to question."

"He called us bastard." Jace piped up quietly, face caked in dirt and blood. A heavy silence fell over the room as King Viserys absorbed the information whilst Alicent lowered her gaze. Others exchanged uncomfortable or knowing looks, some eyes flickering over to (Y/N). The young man kept his head up despite the stares from Daemon, Otto, and the Velaryons. He could only watch unless he wished to risk the wrath of either woman or even the King.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons." Rhaenyra continued, taking a step forward and watching her father closely, pleadingly. "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders." She finished, lifting her eyes to meet Alicents' teary-eyed ones. The brunette stared at her former friend before she turned her head toward her brother, betrayal etched all over her face.

"Over an insult?" She breathed with raised brows, looking back at Rhaenyra and motioning at her injured son. "My son has lost an eye."

"You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?" King Viserys questioned Aemond, leaning downward toward his son and tightly gripping his cane. Aemond kept his gaze on his lap, fingers digging into the armrests of the chair.

"The insult was training yard bluster. The lot of boys. It was nothing." Alicent alleged desperately for she knew the answer but her husband merely glanced in her direction, unconvinced by her answer.

"Aemond... I asked you a question." Aemond swallowed, nervously peering up at his father as King Viserys spoke, tone shifting into one of impatience.

"Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys' father?" Alicent attempted again when Aemond couldn't provide an answer, turning toward those present in an attempt to rouse them and push the attention away from her son. "Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter."

Her attempt worked, seeing as King Viserys looked upon his daughter. "Yes, where is Ser Laenor?"

"I do not know, Your Grace. I... I could not find sleep. I went out for a walk." Rhaenyra answered, clearing her throat and averting her gaze as (Y/N) avoided Daemon's knowing look. The prince smirked from his spot, eyeing the lord before he turned his attention back onto his brother and young nephew.

"Entertaining his young squires, I would venture," Alicent muttered, drawing glares from Corlys and Rhaenys. Ser Criston smirked and bowed his head to hide it but (Y/N) caught sight of his reaction and felt a wave of irritation wash over him. With his interest in Laenor's whereabouts quenched, King Viserys returned to Aemond.

"Aemond, look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?" King Viserys demanded and Aemond swallowed, shrinking back into his seat and looking toward his mother. Alicent tensed, breath hitching as King Viserys and the others turned to her.

"It was Aegon," Aemond finally answered.

"Me?" Aegon breathed, staring down at his brother wide-eyed. Aemond relaxed when King Viserys looked away from him and instead focused on his older brother. The old man stepped toward his son, lip curling.

"And you, Aegon? Where did you hear such calumnies?" King Viserys questioned, patience beginning to wear thin. When his son didn't answer, he leaned toward his face and shouted, "Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!"

"We know, Father," Aegon spoke quietly, slowly turning to look at his father. "Everyone knows... Just look at them." He whispered. Rhaenyra tensed, desperately glancing in (Y/N)'s direction as she pulled Lucerys closer to her body, her own eyes beginning to water. King Viserys glanced back at Alicent, falling silent when he looked at (Y/N). The Hightower averted his eyes, digging his teeth into his bottom lip.

"This interminable infighting must cease!" King Viserys spat, slamming his cane into the ground and facing the people gathered. "All of you! We are a family! Now make your good will and share your apologies to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!" Slamming his cane once more, he exhaled and shook his head, unable to meet his wife's eyes as he walked by her.

"That is insufficient," Alicent protested, staring at her husband. King Viserys sighed softly and faced his wife. "Aemond has been permanently damaged, My King. 'Good will' cannot make him whole."

"I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye."

"No, because it's been taken."

"What would you have me do?" King Viserys asked, voice bordering on desperate and exhausted.

"There is a debt to be paid," Alicent croaked with a trembling voice as she stared her husband in the eye. Clenching her jaw, the brunette turned toward Rhaenyra. "I shall have one of her son's eyes in return." She demanded, murmuring spreading through those present as Rhaenyra pushed her sons behind her, eyes widening in fear. Finally moving from his spot, (Y/N) quietly moved down the stairs.

"He is your son, Viserys!" Alicent implored with a whimper, her bottom lip quivering when she faced her husband once more. King Viserys stepped toward her, shaking his head.

"Do not... allow your temper to guide your judgment." King Viserys stressed, glaring at his wife for voicing such an idea. His cane tapped lightly against the ground when he turned away from her again, resuming his walk back to his room. Alicent's fingers curled into fists and she inhaled deeply, glancing at her son.

"If the King does not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston... Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon." She ordered the knight, the desperation that had previously coated her voice now placed by coldness. The knight stared at her in return as Corlys protectively took the terrified Luke into his arms. "He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son."

"You will do no such thing!"

"Stay your hand." King Viserys quietly ordered Ser Criston.

Scoffing, Alicent raised a hand to her chest, pointing at herself. "No, you are sworn to me!" She shouted, turning her furious glare onto the knight when he made no attempt to move. Ser Criston swallowed, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, the metal of his armor clinking together.

"As your protector, My Queen." He reminded softly. Alicent's brows raised, arm dropping to her side as her face went blank with defeat. (Y/N) turned to look at Rhaenyra and the boys, noticing Jace looking at him fearfully. (Y/N) sighed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

"Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?" King Viserys sneered, getting close to his wife. Alicent reeled back, lips parting as she met her husband's glare. King Viserys leaned back and stepped away from his wife, gazing over the crowd. "And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed." He settled his gaze on his wife, shaking his head at her disapprovingly and turning away.

"Thank you, Father," Rhaenyra murmured, turning around and crouching down to inspect her sons once more. Striding forward, Alicent retrieved King Viserys' dagger and turned toward Rhaenyra, making a beeline for the princess as shouting and shoving commended. Frightened screams escaped the children as Rhaenyra whirled around and quickly caught Alicent's arms, a circle forming around the women.

"Alicent!" (Y/N) shouted for his sister, moving forward to push through the crowd. A blur of silver ran at him but before Ser Criston could reach the lord, Daemon put himself between them and shoved the knight back. (Y/N) paused, staring at the two men until Daemon nodded for him to separate the two women. (Y/N) pressed his lips together and looked away from the prince, forcing his way through the crowd and spotting the two.

"You've gone too far!" Rhaenyra shouted, arms trembling as she attempted to hold Alicent back, looking between the blade and the girl she once loved as a sister.

"I? What have I done but what was expected of me?" Alicent wailed, the tears slipping down her cheeks. "Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you wish!"

"Alicent, let her go!" King Viserys demanded but it fell on deaf ears.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled under your pretty foot again!" Ignoring even Otto's demand, she continued. "And now you take my son's eye, and to even that you feel entitled."

"Exchuasting, wasn't it?" Rhaenyra sneered. "Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are."

Grunting, Alicent and Rhaenyra shoved each other away, but not before the blade was brought down and sliced skin. A silence fell over as the women were caught before they could fall, the sound of dripping soon filling the quiet. Rhaenyra slowly looked down at her hand, extending her fingers as blood slipped between them and onto the floor. Upon seeing the blood, Alicent's breath hitched, the dagger falling to the floor with a clatter. (Y/N) approached his lover, gently taking her arm into his hands.

"Enough of this foolishness!" (Y/N) snapped, lifting his head to look over everyone "All the children must and will be punished for all of them behaved inappropriately. There was no need for their disagreement to escalate to violence, much less to bloodshed. Behaving in such a manner is below their stations as princes and ladies. They are no brutes, no savages. This matter could've been resolved peacefully in the presence of an adult. It is severely disappointing to witness such behavior from a bunch who I know were raised better than this." The children lowered their heads at his words.

"Lord (Y/N) is right but let us put this matter to rest for tonight." King Viserys spoke, finally being allowed to return to his bedchambers without interruption. Alicent followed after some coaxing from Ser Criston and he escorted her out of the room. Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged tired looks before urging their granddaughters back to their room. (Y/N) made brief eye contact with Daemon, giving him a thankful nod as the prince took his leave as well.

Escorting Rhaenyra to her room with the boys and maester, (Y/N) replayed the events of the night in his head. The first time Alicent and Rhaenyra had clashed so publicly, so openly. Sure, the two argued occasionally but neither ever dared raising a hand to the other. His sister had never been prone to such violence. (Y/N) made himself occupied by retrieving a bowl of water and having the boys clean their faces with a wet rag. The maester tended to them first before focusing on Rhaenyra and stitching her cut. The princess winced and hissed, flinching every few seconds. By the time he finished, the sun had begun to rise.

"I must prepare for our departure." (Y/N) muttered, giving Rhaenyra's shoulder a gentle squeeze and exiting the room. His legs took him to his room and he quietly thanked the maids already there, folding and packing away things. He picked out a fresh set of clothes and changed, retrieving a warm coat and watching the servants take away the few belongings he'd brought along. (Y/N) left his room, wandering the halls of High Tide until he reached a balcony and stepped out, looking out to sea. The cold wind nipped at his nose and cheeks but he didn't mind it. Eventually, he spotted the ship his sister and her husband were on, the dragons following not long after.

"I spoke to Laenor," Rhaenyra spoke from behind him, approaching his side. "And Daemon."

"Should I be worried?" (Y/N) asked, a hint of both playfulness and seriousness to his tone. Rhaenyra's silence only amplified the concern forming in his stomach. She stared out at the boat, fingers rubbing against the bandages wrapped around her arm.

"I must know, (Y/N)... Who do you side with? By blood, you are a Hightower and it would not be fair of me to ask you to turn your back on blood."

"They are not the only ones I share blood with, Nyra." (Y/N) murmured, turning his head to look at her. "You are the mother of my children and I have been by your side long before their births. The moment I devoted myself to you, I stopped being a green."

"Then, let us bind our blood. My claim may not be so easily challenged with you as my husband and king consort. Tonight, you proved to have the wisdom of a good king and you know the greens better than I ever could." Rhaenyra spoke firmly, determination laced into her voice as she faced the Hightower. (Y/N) studied her face, his face unreadable to the woman who knew him since childhood. Swallowing, she continued, "Since I was young, I always knew you and I were destined for many things. Together. Let us fulfill that by joining together in marriage once and for all."

"What of Laenor? You cannot marry unless he dies."

"I know. I sought out my uncle for a reason." Rhaenyra cupped her hands together, gazing back out at sea. "He claims to be a queen, my subjects must love and respect me. But they must also fear me. . It will cost Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys their only remaining child and the realm will whisper that we were somehow responsible. They will fear us. But Laenor will be dead to everyone but us as he will be living a free life across the sea. What do you say?"

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Lifting the dragonglass blade, (Y/N) sliced her bottom lip, a droplet of blood slipping from the cut. Gathering the blood with his thumb, he lifted his hand and dragged his thumb down Rhaenyra's forehead. The silver-haired princess adoringly stared up at him, using the blade to cut his lip as well and mark his forehead before she cut her palm and handed him to blade. (Y/N) winced slightly, dragging the blade down his palm and taking Rhaenyra's hand in his, binding their blood together as a priest spoke. Their children along with Daemon and his daughters watched on.

Bringing the cup to his face, (Y/N) felt his bottom lip sting as he drank from it. He handed it to Rhaenyra and watched her drink, the cup being set down beside them. Once the priest finished speaking, Rhaenyra smiled and cupped her husband's face, stroking his skin with her thumb before they leaned in. (Y/N) could taste their blood, lip stinging from the pressure but he ignored it. Rhaenyra pulled back, her bottom lip smeared with blood and saliva. She rested her forehead against his. And now, before the eyes of a priest, they were united. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.

"Avy jorrāelan, (Y/N)."

"Avy jorrāelan, Rhaenyra."

493 notes · View notes

cowboysandpilots · 1 year

Text

One thing about Bradley is that he loves coffee. Another thing about Bradley is that he loves ice cream. Luckily, those two things go well together.

He goes to a family-owned ice cream parlour, one his mom took him to when he was little. He knows all the ladies that work there, a mother and her two daughters, by their names, and they greet him by name as well. The older lady, the mother, asks if he's had a bad day, and it proves that he comes here after he's had a bad day which he joked about with Jake when he directed the man here with no hint of where they were going.

Bradley wanted to bring Jake here even though they were having a rough day, especially because they were having a bad day. This place is special to him in a way that he couldn't explain until he got here. It was something special, a tradition that he wanted to share.

Bradley orders his ice cream, or really, the woman just hands it to him. She knows, they know, the same thing he always gets. One scoop of cappuccino and one scoop of peanut butter. Jake puts his hand on the small of Bradley's back as they take their cones, and he smiles happily at the touch before he says goodbye to the women and walks back to the door with Jake. Maybe he should wait until they're further than just out the door but the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"My mom used to bring me here before she got sick." He takes a lick of his ice cream before he continues. "After my dad... well, I couldn't get through the day at school without being upset, so the nurses would call her, and she would always come pick me up with no hesitation, no judgement, and she would bring me here." He smiles wistfully. "I... started getting cappuccino cuz I was never allowed to drink coffee, and I thought I was so grown up." He chuckles. "It felt good because I never wanted to grow up, but at the funeral, everyone just kept telling me about how I was the 'man of the family now', and how I had to 'take care of my mom'. I guess I... didn't do a very good job, but I... well, coffee still makes me feel just a little bit more grown-up... like I'm not completely spinning out of control."

——

Would you like a commission from me? CLICK HERE. For all other links, look HERE.

#hangster #sereshaw #hangster fic #jake seresin #tgm fanfiction #hangster fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun: maverick #top gun #top gun maverick #tgm #rooster x hangman #tgm fic #my writing

145 notes · View notes

freshbakedbreadstick · 1 year

Text

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Six

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The human mind is a very scary thing.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, funerals, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, interventions, al-anon. Depiction of a gun and implication of suicide in a portion, not graphic but heavily implied/hinted at during a possibly distressing nightmare sequence.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: A little late bc i just moved into my dorm for the year <3 its been quite the adjustment so i took a bit of time to myself to just relax and get used to things ! ! ! Anyways today was my first day of class and it went SO GOOD ! ! ! ! Im so excited for the semester and the school year in general ily all sm have a slay day besties ! Also this is just angst again im sorry i swear it will get better at some point but probably not nowwwww 😭

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic @eternallyvenus (MWAH <3 )

Masterlist

You stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall and wearing some sunglasses you dug out from your bag. Your arms were crossed and your face was neutral but, behind those dark frames you wore, your eyes darted back and forth between each person who sat in the chairs around the circle and to Amanda, the leader of this Al-Anon meeting.

Some were at ease, sharing freely and even throwing jokes in between their talks, while others sat stiffly and managed to get up on their shaky legs and share their own narratives.

But somehow, none of them judged one another.

Beside you stood your mom, gripping her purse straps so tightly that you could see the straps bending in her grip. She tapped her foot softly on the linoleum, smiling empathetically to each person and applauding politely when needed. But every once in a while, she would glance over at you and look away quickly, shoulder slumping and smile fading.

Your lips formed a line as you continued to look as neutral as possible, staring as the meeting started to get wrapped up. Amanda spoke to everyone, clasping her hands together before waving everyone off with a soft smile.

Everyone got up from their chairs, some joining one another to talk while others moved toward the door a couple feet away from you. They passed by you, most not really turning to you while a couple politely nodded and left.

But as the room started to get emptier and emptier, that scared-nauseous feeling came back in full force when your mother put a hand on your forearm and looked over at Amanda.

“You know, Natalie was the one who recommended me to take you to some Al-Anon meetings… but it was Carmy who told me to take you to one after you ran out…”

You glanced over at your mom, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why?”

Your question was both a rhetorical and actual one. Part of you was confused as to why Carmy was the one who spoke to your mom about the argument at The Beef earlier. Carmy was the person who didn’t bother to show up to Mikey’s funeral and refused to reach out to those who tried to contact him, so why would he even bother to care about you facing your own feelings about this situation?

But another part of you was touched.

Carmy was the kid brother who would follow you and Natalie around when you were in middle school. When you were in high school and started to date Mikey, Carmy was the kid that you would playfully bother when Mikey wasn’t giving you attention. As an adult, Carmy was your sense of peace whenever he was around, providing you with a much needed distraction during Berzatto family gatherings when he would finally open up (after much pestering on your part) about his own life away from Chicago. And while it seemed like that sense of peace was gone as he got farther and farther away from everyone, this news made you realize that it had never left.

He still wanted to give you that peace you desperately needed when it came to his family.

Your mom turned to look at you and gently reached up to take your sunglasses off. She looked into your eyes, seeing the way the bags under your eyes looked darker while you both stood in the corner of the room.

With a heavy sigh, she responded, “Carmy told me that he had just started to attend some meetings himself. Natalie told him over and over to go to some but he… he hadn’t gone until now. And when he heard the news that you came back, he jumped to tell me about taking you. Especially when he saw your erratic behavior, he knew you wouldn’t go unless we were the ones who took you.”

You looked away, arms falling to your sides.

“Please give it a try, please… you know that Mikey wouldn’t want you stressed out like this…”

Your chest tightened, “I… I don’t know what Mikey would’ve wanted anymore.”

Amanda called your name as she began walking over to you, making you quickly rub your eyes and look at her, “Hey you two, how are you feeling about possibly coming to a session?”

You shrugged and looked to the floor, “I’ll have to think about it but… I might.”

Amanda smiled and nodded, “I know this is a huge first step and I understand that you need time to think about it. Our next session will be in two days, you're free to join us if you would like to. And, you're free to bring someone for support.”

You nodded and glanced at your mom, seeing her smile at you from the corner of your eye.

You soon found yourself back in your car, packed haphazardly full of your stuff, and looking out of the passenger’s seat window.

You leaned your head onto the glass as your eyes looked out the window at the way the sky started to turn from blue to orange. By the time you got home, the sky was filled up with colors similar to the ones you saw while sitting on the hood of your car all those months ago.

The car slowly pulled into the driveway and standing on the sidewalk, with his hands in his pocket, was your dad. He waved and smiled sadly, making you sigh and look away. You could feel the way your cheeks began to burn and your chest tightened.

Silently, he approached the car and opened the trunk. You passed by him, watching him begin to start to unpack the trunk that held the boxes of your life, one by one.

The three of you, in silence, emptied the entirety of your car. Any of the boxes and other belongings you had previously kept there were now placed in your room, each getting a designated spot and most getting unpacked completely.

The way that everything just seemed to fall into place in your own childhood bedroom made you shiver and walk away as your parents continued organizing.

In the dark hallway, you paced. Your fingers busied themselves with picking the skin of your bottom lip, leaving it raw and sting whenever your tongue ran over it. It wasn’t until your parents came back out that you managed to get yourself to pause, ignoring the way it stung.

Your mom smiled sympathetically and passed you, placing her arm comfortingly on your shoulder. You dad though, he paused and let your mom get downstairs and away from the two of you before he spoke up, “Some habits are hard to break, I know that, but staying here for a while will be good for you, okay honey? I love you so much, we all do, and we want you to stay.”

Your eyes stung a bit, making you flutter your eyelids to stop any tears from forming, “Okay… I think… okay.”

Your dad wrapped his arms around you and hugged you. His arms squeezed around you, tight, as if you were going to fall into pieces if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough. You winced and he did so, but let him hold onto you.

“Your my little girl and I would,” He began to speak again, pausing as his voice cracked to clear his throat before continuing, “Your mother and I would never be the same if anything happened to you. We love you so much.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

As you watched him go down the dark hallway and down the stairs, you felt your lips sting as you began to taste a salty wetness. The decision was done: you would stay here for however long it took to heal and would attend the Al-Anon meetings in the meantime.

Now that this major decision was made, it was time for another.

“Time to fix my fuck up,” you mumbled to yourself.

Later that night, after you had dinner and began to unwind for the night, you went over and sat on your bed. After washing the day’s bad choices and tears down the drain, you had changed into something comfortable for bed. You hummed, feeling satisfied with the soft clothes you wore that you completely forgot you even had, thankfully your parents’ unpacking and organizing allowed you to find them easily and happily.

With an exhausted groan, your back hit the plush mattress. You bounced softly for a second before wiggling around to get comfortable before pulling the blankets onto your body. With a glance to the ceiling, you began to think.

You had messed up majorly with Carmy, Sugar, and Richie; well, with the entirety of The Beef. You knew that you definitely needed to apologize and try to make things right, especially considering that you would be staying here now and could run into them. You might be the type of person to flee in the face of trouble, but you knew that not apologizing would sour your relationship with them even more than it already is.

And while it was a bit overwhelming to be around them now, you did miss them.

Showing up and just apologizing en masse made you cringe a little. You knew that Carmy probably wouldn’t receive that well, he was stubborn and held onto anger so this wouldn’t just be an easy thing to forgive for him. Richie would be a bit hesitant to show vulnerability in front of everyone so the tough and funny guy act would be brought up, and that wouldn’t feel like you properly apologized to him. And Sugar… she would take your apology in a heartbeat but… you didn’t want her to. She was tough when she wanted to be but was always too kind with you. You didn’t just want this to be a forgive and forget moment for her, you wanted her to be upset with you and let you work on gaining her forgiveness.

“I can’t let her be a doormat…” you whispered to yourself.

But while you laid there, on the soft mattress of your childhood bedroom, the cocoon of blankets and fresh air that made it perfect to get all snuggled up started to work against you. The warm plushness made your thoughts get blurrier and your eyes droop and while your breathing got deeper and deeper, your body gave in to sleep.

You narrowed your eyes at the orange sun, letting yourself blink until your eyes got adjusted to the room. You then looked around and gasped when you realized where you were.

You were back in the kitchen of the place you and Mikey lived in together. The bright setting sun had come from the giant window of the kitchen, the window that overlooked the streets and had a view of the city, the exact window that made you and Mikey decide to rent this place in the first place.

Everything looked and felt hazey, half drowned in the warm yellow lighting of the sun. As you looked down at your hands, you saw them also overlaid with the sun, feeling warm and looking… healthy.

Someone started humming behind you, voice deep. You whipped your head around to see who it was and was faced with the back of a tall, broad man.

He wore a black shirt that stretched over his muscular body. As your eyes wandered up his form, you noticed the attractive and slightly messy dark hair that was on his head.

“Baby?”

Your heart stopped.

You began to stumble backward, gasping giant gulps of air as your eyes zeroed in on the man in front of you. Slowly, he began to turn around, and give you a good look of himself.

His dark brown eyes focused on you. His eyebrows creased together as he watched you reel back, almost falling to the floor.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You let out a strangled cry as he began to move forward, reaching his toned arm out to grab you. You froze, eyes trained on his large hand as it came closer and closer to your skin. You squeezed them shut, terrified.

His hand felt warm as it gently wrapped around your own.

You felt yourself being gently guided up and forward. The hand then let go of you and an arm wrapped around your body, resting the hand against the small of your back. Another hand wrapped around you on the opposite side and you were pulled close against a broad chest.

You could feel the way his relaxed heart was beating, unlike your own racing one.

“Mikey…” you whispered in a broken breath, eyes still clamped shut.

Your entire body was stiff as a board as you stood there, but it began to betray you and give in to the person in front of you.

“Look at me baby,” The voice said, rumbling but calm.

With a sharp inhale, you began to blink your eyes open. You looked at the face in front of you, your own eyes connecting to those dark eyes you missed so much.

“Mikey… is it really you?”

You felt a deep rumble in his chest, followed by the twinkling of his laugh. He threw his head back, letting his unruly hair flutter as he moved.

“Yes baby, it’s me. Who the hell else would it be?” He smiled at you, letting his eyes half lid as he looked at you.

“But… but you…” you began, but were quickly interrupted.

“Come here babydoll, come try this for me.”

He moved away from you and ushered you forward with one arm, but regardless, you had no choice as the other arm that was still wrapped around your waist pulled you close into his side. Your body slotted against him, as if the missing piece to his puzzle.

You watched as Mikey dipped a finger into the giant pot of sauce that was bubbling on the stove and you slowly began to smell the scent of roasted garlic and fresh basil, straight from the pot you had growing on the windowsill.

He gently blew on his finger as steam rose from the sauce, he slowly brought it up to your lips, pausing just before he would touch them to look at you in the eyes again.

“Go on baby, try it and tell me what you think.”

You gulped and parted your lips. Leaning forward, your mouth encased his finger. As your tongue hit the sauce, your eyes shot wide open.

A multitude of flavors exploded in your mouth, all so familiar. That made your knees buckle.

With a laugh, Mikey caught you before you went down, taking his finger from your mouth and wrapping both arms around you again. He carefully lifted you up and placed you on the empty kitchen island to sit.

“Was it that good? How come you don’t react like that every other time I make it, hmm?” Teasingly, he smirked at you and turned away to wash his hands.

But all you could do was sit there, stone cold, and in shock. No matter how many times you swallowed, the taste of fresh sauce with a ton of garlic, basil, and San Marzano tomatoes would still linger on your tongue. A sauce that Mikey would make, claiming to be a recipe that only he could make perfectly, for family spaghetti night.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, bringing you back to where you sat, “Do you think it needs anything? I wanna make sure it’s perfect before Carmy, Sugar, and Richie get here.”

You coughed and shook your head rapidly, unsure what to do but along with it, “Yea it’s, it’s perfect, my love.”

You paused, eyes wide again. A slip of the tongue. You hadn’t said “my love” for such a long time that it felt foreign coming from your mouth, despite it being a nickname you commonly used for Mikey.

But Mikey either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care when you said that. He just beamed and turned back around to stir the pot for a second.

As you gathered yourself on that counter, you looked around again. Everything was… everything was exactly like how you left it. The pots and pans were in their usual spots, the curtains were drawn just the way you liked them, and every framed photo in the house showed you and Mikey, grinning and holding onto one another.

You were home.

But you knew you weren’t supposed to be here.

“Give me a second babydoll, i’ll be right back.”

Your head whipped around to look at Mikey as he stood in front of you. He smiled and reached over, kissing your temple, before walking off in the direction of the bathroom with a hand in his pocket.

Once he disappeared, you immediately threw yourself off the kitchen island.

Your hands immediately went to the back of your neck, holding onto it as your eyes raced over everything.

“What the fuck am i doing here?!”

Everything around you was perfectly in place, as if untouched by time.

The world around you spun as you threw your body around, desperately trying to find something that would prove that something was wrong. But alas, everything seemed okay.

You were too terrified to open any drawers or touch anything, so all you could do was hyperventilate and turn around over and over and over, scanning the walls to see the photographs you knew you buried under boxes and decorations you tried but failed to throw out.

Suddenly a phone began to ring.

You froze.

There was no phone in the kitchen, nor the living room, or anywhere else in the house. But there was a phone whose ringing sounded exactly like this one’s; the phone in your parent’s house.

It was an analog, rotary style phone that rested on a table in the hallway of your parent’s house. This hallway led the front door to the living room and had picture frames of you and your family throughout the years. Next to the table with this phone was a small, single sofa chair/

A chill went down your spine as tears began to sting your eyes.

This was the phone you found out about Mikey’s death. And that chair was the one you collapsed on before screaming.

The ringing stopped. Then, Mikey’s voice echoed from the other room, calling you.

Hesitantly, you turned to the direction you heard his voice.

He called your name again, but this time, he beckoned you over.

“Come here for a second baby!”

You stared at the empty doorway where you watched him leave. From that direction, his voice called your name out again.

As your foot slowly inched forward, you held your breath.

“I just need you real quick, come over here!”

Your footsteps were silent as you stepped forward, closer to the sound of his voice and to the doorway that led from your kitchen and dining room to the hall.

His voice got louder and louder as you slowly rounded the doorway, continuing to call you.

Down the hall and in front of you was the bathroom door, wide open. There stood Mikey, back towards you, standing in the dimly lit hallway and dark bathroom.

Now, he was silent and still.

With a quiet and shaky voice, you managed to whisper out, “Mikey?”

You heard a click coming from him, coming from his hand. When you looked down, you saw metal.

“I'm sorry babydoll.”

Your body jerked up with a strangled cry. You ripped the blankets from your body and threw yourself out of bed, falling straight to the floor with a loud thud.

Your knees ached and your palms did too as you hit the floor, but you didn’t care. In that moment, all you could think about was what you saw. All you could think about was the shine of the metal.

As a loud cry escaped your shaking body, your door swung open to reveal your alarmed parents. They called your name, rushing forward to hold you as you sobbed and screamed only for their alarmed questions weren’t heard as you continued to see the glint of the metal, despite it not being there.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto imagine #mikey the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #richie berzatto imagine #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto #the bear fx

121 notes · View notes

duhnova · 1 year

Text

brightest star in the night sky | choi seungcheol

synopsis. freshly widowed seungcheol has to tell his daughter that mommy isn’t coming back but she can always find her amongst the night sky.

word count: 743

warning(s): angst, mentions of a funeral, set in a graveyard/ at a grave sight, loss of a parent (mother), mentions of death, crying. - don’t mind grammatical errors and typos (i quite literally wrote this will crying)

this was very self indulgent for me as i got hit with a big wave of grief over the loss of my mother.. i lost her a long time ago so it’s nothing new but some nights are hard, especially when the stars are extra bright.. anyways i hope that others can find some solace in this work and just remember that you’re not alone and it’s ok to still grieve years (and decades) later - there is no bounds to getting over the loss of someone you love and care about.

“papa.” the little girl squeezes seungcheols finger.

“yes baby?” he tries to clear his throat as much as possible after sobbing his heart out.

“is mommy coming back?” she looks down at the freshly dug patch of dirt, the reality and weight of what just happened not fully comprehending in her four year old mind.

“i don’t think so.” seungcheol sniffs, his eyes burning again with tears.

“why not?” his daughter finally looks up at him.

“well.. because she’s taking a nap.” he looks at her with his bloodshot eyes.

“but you wake up from naps silly!” she smiles up at him, giggling quietly at what she assumed was a joke.

“think of this one as a forever nap.” he gives her a pained smile.

“what’s a forever nap?” her head tilts, giving her the air of an innocent puppy.

“it’s when you don’t wake up.” seungcheol rips his eyes off his daughter to stare at where his wife laid six feet under:

“so.. mommy is never waking up “ her voice trails off a little, something clicking in her mind that she’d never see her mother again.

“i’m sorry baby.” his voice cracks as he swallows back a sob.

“but why? why isn’t she waking up? what happened to her?” she sounded so confused, and hurt - about what? she couldn’t put her finger on it but all these unknown emotions were making tears fill up her eyes.

“i don’t.. i don’t know how to answer any of your questions baby i’m sorry.” he finally broke, an onslaught of tears spilling out his eyes as he bites his lip to keep back all the ugly sounds he wanted to make.

“i want mommy to wake up daddy.” a tear finally fell from her eyes.

“i do too.” his breathing was shaky as forces out coherent answers.

“why won’t she wake up? does she not want to be with us anymore?”her little voice shakes as more tears begin to fall.

“no.. no baby, that’s not it.. mommy just wasn't feeling well and so she had to go away so she wouldn’t be in pain anymore.” seungcheol picked up his crying daughter, allowing her to cling to him as she expelled all her emotions.

“but i.. want her.. to be here.. with us.” she hiccups in between her sobs, her little hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket as she tries to calm herself down enough to speak.

“she’ll always be here baby, everywhere you go she’s there.. look in the flowers that bloom and the sun that shines.” he pushes her hair out of her face before wiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“what about.. at night?” she takes in a deep breath, finding comfort in the way seungcheol began to gently sway them, his own tears slowing down as he watched his daughter (that looked so much like her mother) work on managing her own.

“she’s always there at night. just look up into the sky and the brightest star you see is her looking over you.” he sniffles before giving her a gentle smile.

“if it twinkles, is that her saying hello?” she wipes at some of the tears that were working on staining his cheeks causing him to laugh quietly (and a little brokenly).

“i think it is.” he smiles through his pain, his eyes still glassy from the tears that didn’t escape yet.

“i’ll make sure to wave back at her then.” she snuggles quietly before leaning down to wipe her nose on his jacket, a louder and more solid laugh leaving him.

“i think she’ll like that.” he wraps one of his arms around her back to hold her in a tight hug, whispering about how he’ll wave with her.

“can we go to mommy’s favorite restaurant for dinner tonight?” she whispers into his shoulder.

“of course we can, baby.” seungcheol fights back another wave of tears as he wills himself to finally walk away from the grave. “we can go to all her favorite places if you want.”

“i’d like that,” she mumbles before peeking over his shoulder, watching the dirt patch get smaller in the distance. “bye mommy.. see you tonight.” she whispers into the wind, waving her little hand gently. seungcheol could feel his body shake a little as he swallowed back his tears, promising himself he’d stay strong for the rest of the night so that his daughter had someone to rely on.

#svthub #scoups angst #s.coups angst #seungcheol angst #seventeen angst #scoups imagines #s.coups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seventeen imagines

217 notes · View notes

book-place · 1 year

Text

Paradise

Warnings: arrow s1 spoilers, mentions of death, nightmares, weapons, violence, cursing, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Oliver Queen x sister reader, Thea Queen x sister reader, Moira Queen x daughter reader

*not my gif*

Summary: When that yacht went down, you lost everything. But now, Oliver is back

A/N: Welcome to book place’s one year event!!

Inspired by: Paradise by Coldplay

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

When she was just a girl, she expected the world

“Have fun,” You smiled as you hugged your father, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.

He matched your smile, hugging you back tightly, “Don’t get too comfortable around here without us,” He teased, “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“We’re counting on it.” Your mother said with a smile, watching as her husband turned to her with a large grin.

As the two of them said goodbye, you turned towards your twin brother, and you scoffed playfully, “Just get out of here.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the smile that broke out on your face.

He matched your sarcasm by crossing his arms over his chest and lightly glaring at you, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll miss you too.”

The grin widened on your face and you took a step forward, wrapping your arms around Oliver’s torso as he hugged you back in return.

Your brother turned his head slightly and planted a kiss on the side of your head in his own farewell.

“Make sure the yacht doesn’t sink.” You joked, not quite understanding the power behind your words.

“Don’t worry,” Oliver reached out and teasingly ruffled your hair, “I know how to swim.”

But it flew away from her reach

“-and then the boat went down,” The officer in front of you had his hat off and he stared at the three of you sympathetically.

Immediately, Thea fell against your mother with a loud cry leaving her lips as tears began to roll down her face like a waterfall. Moira tightly grasped onto her and held her to her chest while they sobbed together for the loss of your father and brother.

But you stood there, feet rooted in place and heart frozen over, you were sure that it had stopped beating.

Your brother- your twin brother- was dead. Your other half was gone. And though the two of you didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, you were still each other's best friend. You knew everything about each other and now that he was gone, you were certain that you would fade away into nothing.

Because without Oliver, where did you stand? How could you be expected to walk through life without your partner in crime by your side?

You were barely able to register the way your mother moved to wrap an arm around you, and how her and Thea clung to you. But you were still yet to move, to show any sign of what you were feeling, to look away from the officer.

“I understand that this is a lot to take in-“ He didn’t even finish his sentence before you slammed the door in his face.

Thea and your mother whipped their heads up and their lips parted in shock to see your arm still outstretched to where you closed the door.

Without a word, you shrugged off their hands and turned on your heel and walked away.

So she ran away in her sleep

“At least take a moment to think about this,” Moiras voice was desperate, begging, “We barely just had a their funeral, I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind-“

You cut her off as you slammed down the top of your suitcase and leveled a glare at her, “I am in the right frame of mind,” You moved around her to begin collecting things off of your desk and placing them in a bag, “And what I’m thinking is that I need to get the hell out of the place that’s reminding me so much of my dead father and twin brother.”

The words made her recoil, as if struck, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You had spoken the truth, it hurt more to stay in a place that reminded you so much of them than not.

“You can’t just leave your family at a time like this,” She whispered, eyes filling up with tears.

It seemed like all of you had cried enough tears to last a lifetime after the reality of the situation had finally crashed over you at the funeral and you had broken down in a pile of sobs. You were surprised to see that she could still cry, you had thought that all three of you would have long since run out of tears.

Finally, you sighed and gently placed your bag down, softening at your mothers voice and making your way over to where she stood before wrapping your arms around her, “It’ll be alright,” It was an empty promise, and you both knew it.

She sniffled, holding you against her tightly and whispering in your ear, “Where are you even going?”

You cleared your throat, slowly pulling away, “I don’t know yet.” You answered honestly, “But I promise I’ll call you soon to let you know I’m alright.”

There was hesitation and fear clear as day present in her face, but you paid it no mind as you picked your bags up and made your way out of the room, bidding her one last farewell.

You froze in your steps though when you sucked in a sharp breath. Thea was standing right outside your door, staring up at you with those wide eyes of hers.

“Where are you going?” She asked softly.

A sigh left your lips and you gently brought the girl in for a hug, “I just have to go away for a little while, Thea,” You whispered, “I need to clear my head.”

She bit down on her lip and averted her gaze from your own, “For how long?”

“I don’t know. But I promise, I will be back.”

Dreamed of para-para-paradise

Your eyes snapped open and you flew up into a sitting position, breathing coming out rapidly and in gasping spurts.

It had been three years since the yacht went down and you were still yet to come home after all that time. You had moved to a nearby city, only communicating with your family every so often to let them know that you were still alright.

But no matter how much time passed, you could never shake that feeling of wrongness.

Somewhere inside you, against every bone of better judgment, you believed that Oliver was still alive. You knew it was wrong and you knew that it was nothing but false hope. But no matter what you tried, no matter how much you begged yourself to move on, you couldn’t.

How could you? After being told what had happened and it was as if half of your soul had been ripped out?

The nightmares began the day you recived the news. Senerios flashing in your mind of what could have happened. Of all the different painful ways your brother could have died. Your mind was a never ending torment of the whole thing.

Once you were finally able to get your breathing under control, you dropped your head into your hands and ran them down your face with a groan.

Your head picked up after a moment and your eyes subconsciously found the small picture frame that sat on your beside table.

In it, Oliver had his arm slung over your shoulder with a wide grin as you doubled over laughing at something that he undoubtedly said. It was your sixteenth birthday and you both looked so happy, so free. So oblivious to what was to come.

It had taken you about two and a half years before you could put that picture up without feeling like you were painfully being stabbed in the heart. But even now, it wasn’t the easiest thing to look at.

Para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise

Five years. That’s how long it’s been. That’s how much time passed and you had finally, after all these years, begun to learn how to burden your pain correctly. How to be able to still live your life without him by your side.

That’s why you decided to return home for the first time since the funeral.

Just a few days ago, you had called home with the news and both your mother and Thea seemed ecstatic, much to your relief. You had been worried that they would scoff and turn their noses up at you that you were finally coming back after all these years of pushing them away.

It wouldn’t be a permanent move, just for a few days, to see how things were. Because despite everything you had been through in the last few years, you still had a life that you built in your new home for yourself, and you weren’t quite ready to abandon it entirely.

Now, as you stood, staring up at your childhood home, the one you had almost never dreamed of returning to, you were hit with a wave of reluctance.

What if too much had changed over the years? What if your family had just felt inclined to allow you back, only doing so because of the guilt that they felt?

You nawed on your bottom lip as you contemplated the possibilities, but ultimately came to the conclusion that you needed to get over yourself and you confidently pushed the door open with slightly more force than was probably necessary.

“Y/n?” Thea’s voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears the second you stepped into the entryway.

Quickly, your head snapped over to where your sister who was not so little anymore and smiling brightly, came bounding down the stairs and flinging herself across the room to come crashing into your arms.

“Thea,” You breathed out, allowing your eyes to flutter shut in contempt as you hugged her tightly to your chest. You had missed her far too much.

A new voice- more like a gasp- reached your ears and you opened your eyes to come face to face with your mother.

Quietly, Thea slipped out of your hold and stepped back to give you and your mother a moment.

Moira brought a shaky hand up to her mouth as tears filled in her eyes. It was almost as if she hadn’t expected you to actually come today.

“Hey, mom,” You greeted quietly, being the one to take the striding steps to meet her where she stood in the doorway and wrap your arms around her.

“Oh,” She breathed out, hugging you to her tightly and placing a tearful kiss on the side of your head, “I missed you so much, sweetheart.”

Every time she closed her eyes

You let out a loud laugh, throwing your head back and letting your eyes crinkle up as giggles left your mothers and sisters lips as well at the story Moira had just told.

The three of you were sitting around the dining room table, chatting about what had happened in the last five years and eating lunch.

At first, you thought it would be an awkward and stiff conversation, but you soon realized that your family missed you just as much as you had missed them, so you were able to flow into a lunch that consisted of laughter and catching up.

“Ma’am,” A voice tentatively called out from the doorway, a worker stood there hesitantly, seemingly embarrassed for interrupting, “There’s a phone call for you.”

Moira was still sobering up her chuckles as she answered, “Take a message and tell them I’ll get back to them as soon as I can.”

“Ma’am,” She said again, a little bit more confident this time, “It’s the hospital.”

All three of you fell into complete silence as the words dawned on you. The only family you still had was sitting in this room, so what could they want?

Wordlessly, your mother stood up and followed the worker out of the room, leaving you and Thea to share a worried glance behind her back.

A few moments later, you heard a sharp gasp come from the direction and you and your sister immediately shot to your feet and rushed into the room.

Your mother stood in the middle of the room with a phone grasped tightly in her hand and tears flowing freely down her face with a hand placed over her mouth for the second time that day.

“Mom? Mom?” Panic began settling in the pit of your stomach as you hurried to her side and gently took a hold of one of her shoulders, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Painfully slow, she turned her body to face you and over her shoulder you could see Thea watching the two of you with worry.

Your mother then breathed out the one thing that made your heart stop.

“Oliver…”

“Ollie?” Thea came to your side, “What about him?”

“He’s… he’s alive.” Moira cried out, dropping the phone onto the carpeted floor and throwing her arms around the two of you.

But you were frozen in shock.

Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was-

“Oh my god,” You sobbed out, legs giving out and falling to the floor. You could no longer support yourself.

He was alive.

When she was just a girl she expected the world

“He’s right through here,” You barely even registered the doctor's words as he led you through the halls, “But just be careful Mrs and Miss Queen, this isn’t the same Oliver that you lost.”

Forcefully, Moira made herself plant her feet as she watched you practically float through the air and towards the door that had just been guestered to. As much as she longed to follow after you, she knew that you needed more than anyone to go in before a single other person could see him. She owed you that much.

For some incomprehensible reason, your mind was completely blank, almost as if you had gone into autopilot. Nothing of what you had done as soon as you heard the news had been by your own free will. It was as if something had possessed you and tossed your conscience to the side.

You opened the door and took a step inside. The snapping sound of it closing seemed to finally break you out of whatever trance you had been placed in and you blinked once. Twice.

A very tall figure that stood with his back facing towards you turned around at the sound, and you felt like you were going to pass out.

He was Oliver Jonas Queen, there was no doubt about it, but he had changed so much. He was taller, more muscular, so much more mature looking.

There was something behind those stunning blue eyes of his that automatically led you to believe that he had become a guarded man, holding secrets that you couldn’t even begin to guess.

Something about being on that island- as you had briefly been informed on the way over- had changed him. The only thing you couldn’t tell from a single glance was if it was for better or worse.

“Ollie,” You breathed out. It was the only thing that you could say.

“N/n,” He smiled softly, striding across the room and gently wrapped his strong arms around you.

“I-I-“ You stuttered incomprehensibly before throwing your arms around his torso in a desperate manner, “Ollie-“ You sobbed into his chest, a fresh set of tears emerging from your eyes and staining his- no doubt- new shirt.

He didn’t seem to care in the slightest though, only strengthening his hold around you, letting out an almost inaudible sigh of contentment as he did so.

“You’re here,” You whispered, almost as if saying the words aloud would send him away again, making him disappear into nothing.

“I’m here.” He repeated, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I’m here.” There was such intensity in his relief that you began to fear all the things he had been forced to go through.

You pulled away with a tearful smile, the first genuine one that you wore since before his disappearance and cupped his cheek with a disbelieving laugh, “You’re really here.”

But it flew away from her reach

“Thea?” You knocked on her open door and stuck your head in with a wide grin, “It’s time for dinner, you coming?”

She snapped her head up from staring at her hands from where she sat on her bed and you immediately realized the way her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tear marks.

Worry grasped onto your body and wrapped itself around you as you automatically rushed to her side and crouched down before her, older sister instincts kicking in, “Hey, hey,” You said softly, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Your sister shook her head, chuckling tearfully and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, “No, nothing. I’m just so happy.”

A smile of relief grew on your face when you realized that she was alright and you reached up to gently swipe a stray piece of hair away from her eyes, “I know, I am too.”

“It’s just- I finally have both of my siblings back.” She breathed out with a wide grin.

Your smile, however, faltered at her words, “What do you mean?” You asked quietly.

Her eyes flitted up to you and she bit down on her lip guiltily when she realized what she said and she shrugged, “No, it- it’s just- it always felt like I lost both you and Oliver when his ship went down.”

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and your breath caught in your throat, “Oh, Thea-“

“I’m not trying to make you upset,” She immediately rushed out, “It’s just- you left right after Oliver disappeared and it just felt like both of you had died even though I knew that you hadn’t.”

Tears of your own began to fill your eyes, one of sadness for the first time that day, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, “I never- never meant to do that to you, Thea. I-I just couldn’t stay after everything-“

“And I know that,” She gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand, “I know that you had to do what you had to do. I’m just happy that you’re both back.”

A smiled sadly, moving another piece of hair behind her hair, “I am too.”

And the bullets catch in her teeth

“Come on, you have to admit, that was fun.” You spoke with a large smile as you swung your arm around and linked it with your twin brothers.

Oliver smiled, placing his hands in his pockets with his arm still wrapped around yours, “It was.” He agreed.

The two of you had just gone out to lunch with Tommy, figuring that it would be best for all three of you to catch up at the same time, given that you all used to be- and still are- best friends.

You turned down an alleyway to take a shortcut to where you parked your car, happily chatting away with one another.

Ever since he got back, the two of you hardly left each other's sides. It felt more comfortable- safer- to be in the vicinity of each other whenever you could. Almost as if that would lessen the chances of the other being taken away once more.

“Freeze!” A deep voice sounded behind you all of a sudden, and you both halted in your steps, “Now turn around with your hands up.”

Quickly, your panic filled eyes flitted over to Oliver, making brief eye contact with him and he gave a subtle nod of his head to let you know to do as was said.

You both turned on your heels with your arms partially raised, and your breath caught in your throat when you caught sight of a man pointing a gun straight at you two with a ski mask pulled over his face.

“Give me your wallets.” He demanded.

No. No. No. No. No. No-

This couldn’t be happening. You just got Oliver back, you would not let anything take him away from you once again.

Quickly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your wallet, drawing the man’s attention away from your brother long enough for him to shift his body in front of yours slightly.

You stuck your arm out to hand it to the man, and when he moved the gun into one hand and began to reach for it, Oliver quickly stuck his own arm out, slamming his fist into the side of the man’s face.

You stumbled back as the man’s eyes rolled back and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. Knocked out cold before he even hit the pavement.

Oliver let out a sigh through his nose, not even flinching upon the impact of his fist with the man’s jaw before turning back towards you.

“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, eyes scanning over you for any sign of injury.

All you could manage was a small nod of assurance.

Before the island, the only fights Oliver ever got in were bar fights. Ones filled with sloppy punches and slurred insults. Never had he ever actually learned how to fight for real, let alone know how to punch a man out cold in one go and not look even remotely fazed.

“What happened to you on that island?”

It was the dreaded question. The ‘do not go there’ topic. Something that every single person had been avoiding since his return.

The man stiffened in front of you, “I don’t want to talk about the island.”

There was that look again. The one you saw in the hospital when you first went to retrieve him. That guarded, cold look that held secrets that clearly had restricted access.

“We have to at some point,” Your voice was now coming out as begging, “It can’t be healthy to keep all that bottled up! God knows what you were forced to go through. And I just want to help-“

“You can help by leaving it alone.” He snapped.

At his words, your spine snapped upright and a hard look of your own overcame your features, “Fine.” You said in a cold tone that could rival his.

All at once, he softened and ran a hand down his face with a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry, n/n. It’s just-“ He took a stuttered breath, “It’s just a lot.”

You softened as well, “I know that,” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “And I’m not trying to force it out of you. I just want to be here if you need to talk about it.”

“I know,” He walked over and hugged you, “I know. And I appreciate that, n/n, I really do.”

Life goes on, it gets so heavy

“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, Oliver!” You shouted.

Ever since that day in the alleyway, something seemed to change in your twin brother. No longer did he stick by you every available moment, he now distanced himself from you- from everybody.

“You’re always running off to god knows where, doing god knows what!” You continued, feelings anger and betrayal and nervousness rising inside of you, “We just got you back, and you seem hell bent on making us lose you again!”

Oliver stood stiffly across from you in the living room, arms crossed over his chest and head bowed to the floor. Not once did he shout back, he just took your words with that guarded exterior of his.

“Just talk to me!” You begged now, “I’m not asking you to tell me about those five years- that’s your own business to tell at your own leisure. But I’m your twin sister for god's sake! Tell me what’s going on with you now- in the present.”

“It’s… complicated.” He finally spoke and raised his head to meet your burning gaze, “I promise, I’m only trying to protect you-“

You let out a loud scoff, throwing your arms up mockingly, “Yeah, sure feels like it!”

Anger finally seeped through his mask and painted his features, “What do you want me to say, Y/n? What- you want me to be the same person that I was before the island? You want us to tell each other everything again as if we aren’t grown fucking adults?” His voice gradually raised throughout his small speech until you physically flinched back at the volume of it.

Both of you stood, chests heaving up and down in short pants as you tried to catch your breaths, and for a few moments, that was the only sound echoing in the vast room.

“Fine.” It was your turn to put on a cold exterior, “Fine, you’re right, Oliver. We don’t know each other and we don’t have to. Why would we? We’re ‘grown fucking adults’. We don’t need each other anymore. We’re not children.”

His arms dropped to his sides, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You shook your head and backed up, holding your hands up in surrender, “No, no. I think that’s exactly what you meant.”

“Y/n-“ He called, but it was too late. You had already stormed out of the room.

The wheel breaks the butterfly

“How did you know I’d be up here?” You mumbled, not lifting your head from where it rested upon your knees that were pulled to your chest.

Moira sighed, carefully lowering herself to sit beside you on the roof, “You used to come up here all the time whenever you and your brother got into a fight.”

You winced slightly, “You heard that?”

She hummed, “Put on quite a show for me and Thea… while on the other side of the house.”

“Sorry about that,” You whispered, taking your sleeve and rubbing the tear stains off your face.

“Oh,” She breathed out sympathetically, reaching over and rubbing your back comfortingly, “It’s alright, sweetheart. You both just said some things you didn’t mean, nothing you can’t come back from.”

You looked at her uncertainty, “Are you sure? We were both pretty brutal.”

Your mother wrapped her arm around your shoulder and allowed you to rest your head on her own, “That’s true, but you and I both know that you two can’t go very long in an argument without making up.”

“I know that,” You whispered, “But that was before. We’re both different people now.”

You missed the way she lifted her head to look at the window she had just crawled out of to come see you, “That’s true. I don't think either of you could last in your arguments as long as you used to.”

Confusion overtook your features and you turned your head up to her with furrowed eyebrows, but her eyes were trained elsewhere. You followed her line of vision and paused. Oliver stood on the roof, looking as if he had just climbed out.

Moira left a lingering kiss on the top of your head before walking back into the house, offering your brother a reassuring smile on her way.

Wordlessly, Oliver sat down beside you, staring out at the garden that you could overlook from where you were perched.

At the same time, you both turned to each other and synchronously said, “I’m sorry.”

You chuckled slightly when you did so, each relaxing slightly.

“I didn’t mean it- any of it.” Oliver said, turning apologetic.

“I know,” You stated, “Neither did I. It’s- it’s just that after everything we went through-“

He cut you off by wrapping an arm around your shoulders like your mother just had and pulling you into his side. Oliver dipped his head to give you a kiss on the top of your head, “I know. I know.”

The two of you fell into a silence that lasted until you finished watching the sun fully set.

Every tear a waterfall

“This is the first time I’m seeing this since the funeral.” You admitted, swinging your arms back and forth by your side.

Oliver turned to you, “Never felt like coming to visit me?” He teased.

You shook your head, “It wasn’t that.” You admitted, “I moved out as soon as the funeral was over.”

Your brother faltered in his steps before catching up to where you now stood, feet planted in front of his and your fathers empty graves.

“You moved out?” He asked in surprise, this being the first he was hearing of it.

“Yeah,” You laughed slightly, “The day you came back was actually the first day I had come to visit home. Looks like we both thought that would be the perfect day to do so. Maybe it’s a twin thing.” You hummed thoughtfully at the end.

“I-I didn’t know you left.” He stuttered out, turning to look at you.

You were slightly taken aback by the way he was taking the news, “Well, yeah… it hurt too much to stay here.” You explained, head tilting slightly as you tried to figure out why this was such a big deal to him.

“I thought- I thought you were still here after all this time.”

“Oliver,” You laughed slightly, “What’s the big deal? I’m here now.”

He shook his head, “It’s just- I thought you had mom and Thea to look after you all this time- and now I find out that you were alone for everything?”

You fell silent, finally seeing what the big deal was for him, “Oh,”

Tears shone in his eyes, “I went through all of it alone- but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to as well.”

“Ollie…” This was the first time since his return that you saw him get so emotionally upset over something.

“Why didn’t you stay with them? Why didn’t they stop you from leaving?” He asked suddenly, “They could’ve taken care of you-“

“Hey.” You cut him off sternly, taking his hand in your own and shaking it firmly to get his attention, “That was all my own decision. And besides, we’re both back now, so it doesn’t matter. We’re alright now.”

In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes

You laughed loudly as Oliver threw a piece of popcorn at you, “Oh, come on! You know it’s true!”

“It is not.” He scowled playfully.

Thea joined in your amusement, “Oh, it totally is!” She snickered, “You used to be too scared of the dark to sleep alone! I remember- you would always sleep with mom and dad!”

The three of you sat around the couches in the living room, munching on popcorn with a long- forgotten movie playing in the background.

“I did not!” He protested.

“Oh, yes you did, young man.” Moira smiled at the sight of her three children, all playfully bickering with one another as she entered the room.

“Mom!” He complained as yours and Theas cackling grew louder at her admitted statement.

“I’m sorry,” She shrugged, completely unapologetic, “I can only speak to the truth.” She jokingly wagged a finger at Thea, “And don’t you be laughing, young lady, remember what happened during the Christmas party when you were eight?”

Your sister's eyes immediately widened with horror and it was then Oliver’s turn to join in on your laughing.

“Mom!” She shrieked, “That’s not cool! Don’t bring that up!”

“And you,” Moira playfully narrowed her eyes at you, “Need I remind you of your seventeenth birthday fiasco?”

“No! No!” You quickly shook your head back and forth.

Your mother was the only one left laughing after that, but you couldn’t deny that this felt good. Joking around as a family again. All together.

In the night the stormy night away she'd fly

You tiptoed across the hallway towards Oliver’s room as if you were a child again. The two of you used to sneak a candy bar or two up to your rooms during the day and stash them under your pillows for the nighttime and would oftentimes have a mini party with one another while feasting on your treats.

This time though, it was different. There were no more candy parties. No more stifled giggles in the middle of the night. No more childhood.

About a few minutes ago, you had woken up with the feeling that something was off- that something was wrong. It was such a strong feeling that it became practically impossible to ignore. So you found yourself throwing off your covers and creeping to your twin brother's room to try and figure out what was wrong.

As soon as you stepped through the already opened door, you realized what the problem was.

Oliver was sitting on the edge of his bed with his head dropped like a rock into his hands while his elbows rested in his knees. He had a nightmare.

You didn’t know how you knew, it just came to you and there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that it was what happened.

Wordlessly, you shuffled into the room and sank down onto the mattress beside him.

At first, he tensed up and whipped around to face you, only to relax when he realized that it was just you.

The silence carried on between the two of you for a few minutes before you spoke up in a small whisper, “I used to get nightmares almost everyday after you and dad…” You trailed off and swallowed thickly.

“What did you do about them?” His voice was as soft as yours was. Your brother didn’t even question how you knew.

“Not enough,” You admitted, hugging your knees to your chest, “I let them plague my mind because I didn’t know what else to do about them.”

“What were they about?” You could tell from the sound of his voice that he didn’t want to push, but curiosity had taken over.

“How you- I mean how you could’ve…” You harshly blinked tears away, “Every nightmare would be a different scenario of how you could have died.”

Without another word, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you into a strong, side hug, planting a kiss on the side of your head as you leaned into his chest.

“They stopped, though.” You craned your neck to look up at him with a teary smile, “As soon as you came back. I haven’t had another one since.”

He shook his head softly, “I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.”

“Don’t apologize.” You copied his head shake, “There is absolutely nothing that you need to be sorry for. The ship going down wasn’t your fault.”

Oliver gazed at you with sad eyes, “But I wish it hadn’t happened.”

You let out a small laugh, “Of course,” Small giggles continued to pour out of you, “You can’t actually be glad something like that had happened.”

A smile pulled at the ends of his lips as he turned his head away from you to look out the window, “No, I suppose not.”

Dream of para-para-paradise

“What the hell is all of this?” You asked quietly, turning in a slow circle from where you stood.

“You know what this is.” Oliver called softly from behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked- dare you say- nervous.

About an hour ago, he had rushed into your room, rambling nonsense about not wanting or being able to lie to you- his twin sister - anymore, and had practically dragged you out of the house and to an old abandoned warehouse that used to belong to your father.

“You’re the vigilante.” You breathed out.

Deep down, you felt as if you had somehow known all along, because now, it all made sense. The obvious secrets, the interaction with the mugger, the difference in, well, everything about him.

“Oliver.” You turned and looked him directly in the eyes, “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Chaotic Hero’s 🤍- @lovanitu @mukbee @i-writes-things @kiyomi-uchiha777

#book places 1 year event #platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #arrowverse x reader #arrow x reader #oliver queen x sister reader #oliver queen x reader #oliver queen x reader platonic #thea queen x sister reader #thea queen x reader #thea queen x reader platonic #dc x reader #song fic #song inspired fic #song imagine

325 notes · View notes

searchingsomewhere · 4 months

Text

All Too Well, Part 10

{"Stay in the light, my dear. Until the love you crave falls in your arms."}

poly!Gojo x OC x Geto

Part 1

We're finally at my favorite part of this story.

The flowers she picked out for her mother's grave were lilies. Miho bent down, gently laying the stems down at the base of the headstone. Cold air brushed against her legs and she smoothed out the skirt of her black dress when she stood.

"Thank you for coming with me, Satoru," she said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. It fell back into her face when she looked down at the flowers.

Behind her, Satoru pushed his dark glasses further up his nose. His black dress shirt and pants made his white hair stand out even more than it already did. "Of course. You know Suguru would be here if he could."

She laughed a little. "I know. It's like they sent him out on purpose."

Miho was only half joking. She had exploded on Yaga when she got back. Threatened both her own life and his, and everyone working above him. She didn't know if she really meant it. Seeing her withered mother dying in her sleep brought back every pain she felt before meeting Suguru and Satoru. Every lonely day, missing her parents, missing her childhood friends. Watching the other students enviously from her window. The agony of lying in bed with a welted back. Hiding away in the library. It wasn't really Yaga's fault, she knew. But he was the first faculty member she saw when she stormed back into the school. Had Suguru not been there to grab her up when she lunged, Yaga might have gotten hurt.

"If you happen to sneak out on the day of the funeral, I'll be out of the office that day. So no one will know." Her teacher told her.

"You ready to go?" Satoru asked quietly, gently touching her shoulder.

"...Yeah. I am," Miho said. As she turned to him, she added, "What did my dad say to you?"

She was only mildly concerned he had said something embarrassing. Since meeting them, he had consistently gotten their names mixed up. Tell Suguru I said hello. He's the one with the glasses, isn't he? Satoru is the one with the dark hair, right? Your boyfriend?

"Just asked me to take care of you. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm Suguru," Satoru said.

"He gets you two confused," Miho sighed.

"It's cause we look so similar, right?"

"Your names are just similar. Japanese is his second language, so-"

"Miho," Satoru said, grabbing her face in his hands, "I'm joking."

His icy blue eyes flickered across her face teasingly. Her face grew warm under his touch and she pulled away. "Sorry."

He threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Quit apologizing. Let's get something to eat."

---

Satoru walked her to her dorm. The sun had already gone down, The orange glow of the street lamps being the only light guiding them. It was strange, walking so quietly beside her. Satoru allowed himself to enjoy her company more than he should have. Pulling her close like he did earlier had made his heart skip a beat. The hair falling into her face taunted him, and his heart begged him to tuck it behind her ear. He was dancing along dangerous territory.

Miho seemed less than thrilled that he was leaving. Satoru noticed her sudden silence and tilted his head curiously.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She tucked her hair behind her ear again. It fell into her face anyway.

"It's just... Suguru isn't back yet," she said, deflated.

An idea popped into his head. One that he might regret, depending on the outcome of the night.

"I'll wait up for him with you. We can have a movie marathon."

---

Suguru quietly opened the door with a click. It was well after midnight, and he had only just returned to campus. Nights like these, when he'd been gone for days and returned late, made him glad Miho had made him an extra key for her room. He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes and slipped his shoes off.

The small tv was on, flickering through a DVD menu screen. Blue light illuminated the space.

Satoru was slumped over on the edge of Miho's bed, still wearing his sunglasses even in his sleep. Miho was lying behind him, her legs sticking out of the blanket. She was sleeping heavily. Both were still wearing their funeral clothes, now rumpled and wrinkled.

Some might have been upset to see their best friend asleep with their girlfriend. Instead the feeling swelling inside his chest was the opposite, a warm, soft feeling that left him whole. He gently removed Satoru's glasses and set them on the bedside table. His friend didn't stir, even when he lifted his legs to lay them on the bed. Satoru sighed heavily, turning to snake his arm around Miho's waist.

Dark hair fell to Suguru's shoulders and framed his face as he pulled the hair tie from his bun. He yawned as he removed his school jacket and tossed it on the chair.

He crawled into bed from the bottom, squeezing between Miho and the wall. It really was a tight fit, the three of them on there. As if sensing him there, Miho roused in her sleep to rest her head on his chest, giving him more room on the small mattress. He slid his arm under the pillow Satoru was using.

A softly glowing blue-eyed gaze met his own hazel stare.

Suguru felt his friend's hand move away, ashamed, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. He gently laced his fingers with Satoru's, pulling his hand back to rest on Miho's side. Satoru didn't pull his hand away, and neither did Suguru. It occurred to both of them then, how this just seemed the right thing to do. Something clicked in their minds.

Unspoken, and yet well understood.

Soon that warm, comforting feeling took over his mind, and Suguru fell into a dreamless sleep.

Part 1 Part 11

#jjk #geto suguru #gojo satoru #gojo x oc x geto #jjk gojo #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #satosugu

28 notes · View notes

valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year

Note

Hii about dark daemon and Alicent daughter can u do part 2 like daemon actually wear green to Otto funeral or something like that and shown Rhaenyra were his aliance lies.

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

summary: Part 2 Alicent daughter, like daemon actually wear green to Otto funeral or something like that and shown Rhaenyra were his alliance lies.

Word count: 5,4K

Warnings: Smut, Angst, fingering, P in V, cunnilingus, blow job, deep throating, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, orgasm control, cum play

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

You felt numb as the maids around you prepared you for your grandsire's funeral. You and him were close ever since you were young, he was usually the one to check on you after a fight with your mother or when you felt down. You still remembered an emerald necklace he had given you when you were ten, he had gifted it to you on your nameday, that day instead of celebrating you were crying in your room after Aegon had teased your about you still sleeping with a doll, the necklace used to belong to your grandmother. You decided to wear it the funeral whether Daemon liked it or not.

"All ready, princess" Keila, your handmaiden broke your train of thoughts. Your eyes snapped from watching the emerald necklace around your neck to look at her.

"Thank you, you may leave" You gave her a weak smile. She bowed and ushered the other maids out, all of them giving you eyes filled with pity before leaving. You sighed and turned to look at the mirror in front of you, your simple black dress with a green belt matching the emerald around your neck, there was also a golden dragon embroidered over the left side of your chest, looked beautiful on you but still.

The sound of the door opening again made you turn to see who it was that came. Your breath got caught in your through at the sight of Daemon walking in with your son in his arms. His outfit was black with a green neckline and sleeves. There was a golden dragon embroidered on his chest matching your own. Daemon was matching you showing where his loyalty truly was. Vaenys wore a matching outfit to his father and his platinum hair was brushed to the side still too little to be styled otherwise.

"Muña!" Vaenys squealed the only word he can say. Daemon huffed rolling his eyes playfully at his son. His fingers tickled his small belly earning a giggle.

"My darling" You smiled a little. You walked over to the two and took Vaenys from Daemon. The little boy's arms latched around your neck in a vice grip, hugging you tightly.

"Muña" he whispered before he started babbling as if he was telling your something. You pulled back a little to look at his face frowning a little as if you were truly understanding what he said.

"He is telling on me, is he not?" Daemon joked, one of his hands rested on Vaenys' head giving him a small pat on the head. Vaenys giggled swatting his father's hand away.

"Oh yes defiantly. He was telling me that his father and himself-" You wiggled the toddler a little earning giggles from the movement. "-look quite dashing in the color green" Your eyes rose to look at Daemon.

"We do, do we not?" Daemon looked down at his outfit smoothing down the velvet. Up close you could see some swirls of green mixed into the black as well other than the fully green sleeves.

"You do" You nodded in confirmation. Daemon smiled slightly and leaned down to steal a quick kiss from your lips. Vaenys huffed and his face in your neck. Daemon wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you closer to deepen the kiss before fully pulling away.

"Let us depart before we grow even more late" Daemon guided you out of the room. The Red Keep was in a somber silence, even the servants did not gossip while walking around much to your shock.

Your grandfather was going to have a normal funeral considering he was no Targaryen. Daemon had his arm around your waist guiding you through the corridors the entire time, not wanting you to feel alone for a second. He wanted you to see that he was going to be by your side through your good days and your bad days.

"Your grace" You curtsied to your father once outside where everyone was waiting beside the carriages to take you to the great sept. Your father nodded weakly at you, smiling as much as he can at Vaenys, your son that was named in his honour along with princess Rhaenys, the queen who never was.

"Darling" Your mother smiled as much as she can as well looking at the emerald necklace Vaenys was playing with now. Her eyes trailed to Daemon by your side nodding at him, her eyes brightened at the sight of his outfit knowing Aegon had one more ally, once more dragon.

"Shall we depart then?" Rhaenyra asked, sounding annoyed. She paused by your father's side taking you and Daemon in. Her eyes trailed from you to him and back, slowly analysing you from head to toes.

"Of course, niece" Daemon nodded, coldly. He reached over to take Vaenys from your arms so you can climb into the open carriage. You took your seat to face forward before Daemon joined you by your side and Vaenys in his lap.

"Are you okay?" Daemon asked. You placed your hand on his thigh squeezing almost painfully when Rhaenyra joined you with Laenor and sat in front of you.

"Yes" You simply answered. Your eyes remained watching your sister who was eyeing your husband unashamedly. The carriage slowly rolled out of the Red Keep and into the streets where crowds had been formed in honour of your grandsire.

No one uttered a word, whether in the carriage or on the streets. The air was filled with the sounds of the horse hooves. Your heart was squeezing in your chest at the sight of your grandsire's corpse being transported. There was one carriage before yours holding your mother, father, Aegon, Aemond and Helaena.

Daemon moved Vaenys to sit on his lap and held him with one arm and his free hand trailed to grab yours over his thigh. Rhaenyra's eyes trailed down at the movement and flashed with discomfort at the action. Her eyes trailed back up to you with her lips downwards.

"Is there something wrong, Rhaenyra?" You asked, earning the attention of all three adults with you in the carriage. Rhaenyra's eyes flashed up to look at yours instead of your hand in Daemon's.

"No sister, I am merely saddened by the passing of the Hand, he was a loyal man" Your sister faked a smiled and turned to look at the crowd. You scoffed and turned to look at Daemon who was smirking at your reaction. He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"It seems you are the one with a problem, darling" His lips ghosted the skin behind your ear for a second before he placed a kiss there. Your whole body shivered at the affectionate gesture.

"I do not have any problems, Daemon" You denied, shaking your head. Daemon tilted his head teasingly before his eyes snapped to Rhaenyra then back to you. You huffed shaking your head as if you could not handle his teasing anymore. Daemon had to suppress a chuckle at your reaction. He pulled your hand up and placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles.

The carriage arrived at the sept faster than you thought it would. Laenor and Rhaenyra got out first followed by Daemon who still held Vaenys. He helped you down the steps careful. Daemon was a brute, he was a rogue, he was a fighter, he was many things but that day he was your husband, the father of your son Vaenys and your unborn child, he was a gentleman, he was merely Daemon.

"Why did you leave so fast?" Daemon questioned. After the funeral you basically ran away from the feast held in your grandsire's honour, a somber occasion where people kept toasting him and remembering his best moments.

"I was in no mood to listen to those liars who always spoke of him behind his back and now acting as if they were the best of friends when he has passed" You hissed. You swayed Vaenys from side to side, the toddler's eyes dropping quickly after such a long day and in need of a nap.

"Oh darling, I understand it can be hard but sometimes you have to listen and ignore" Daemon wrapped his arms around you from behind. His hands rested on your stomach and his chin on your shoulder to look down at your son. Vaenys' little snores made your heart flutter, it was like he was your only light in the world.

"I was just not feeling like it today" You responded. Daemon nodded slightly, his head moving to dip his face in the area between your shoulder and neck, placing a chaste kiss there. You sighed content with the affection he was showing you.

"Let us go to our room then, hide there from those 'liars'" Daemon suggested. You nodded moving to place Vaenys in his cradle. He took your hand into his once Vaenys was secure in his bed and pulled you out of the room.

The maids at the door bowed before moving into the room to watch over your son. Daemon walked slowly and in no rush knowing you were tired simply from the grief.

"Uncle" A voice you were beginning to hate called from behind you forcing you to stop and turn. Rhaenyra hurried over to the both of you with a raised eyebrow.

"Where are you both going? The feats is not over yet" Rhaenyra crossed her arms looking like she was scolding the both of you.

"My wife and I are exhausted from the day niece and the Queen has excused us from staying" Daemon answered. He pulled you closer to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You almost melted right then and there.

"I see, do you need anything? shall I send the maids over?" Rhaenyra asked, faking her worry. One of her hands moved to rub your shoulder as well. You looked at her hand as if disgusted by it.

"My wife has always been sensitive during pregnancies, niece, no need for any maids I will care for her" Daemon was quick to shut her down. Something you have never witnessed him do before. You turned to look at him. He smiled down at you gently. His actions made a fire begin to ignite in your belly and a wetness to form between your thighs.

"Oh, you're with child?" She sounded saddened slightly. Rhaenyra was loosing Daemon to you. You married him. You gave him a son. You were going to give him another. You fulfilled his dream of. Valyrian wife. He even wore your colors, green.

"Yes, and I wish to rest" You nodded. Daemon nodded one last at Rhaenyra before guiding you away from her, still wrapped in his arms.

Once in the safety of your room Daemon did not hesitate to push you against the wall. You gasped shocked, not expecting such a reaction from him. His eyes sparkled almost lustfully while looking down at you.

"Did you enjoy that, sweet wife?" He asked, voce low and dangerous. You gulped eyes wide and lost.

"Enjoy what, husband?" You asked. Daemon leaned his forehead on yours. One of his hands rested on the wall by your head while the other found home on. your hipbone.

"Did you enjoy me as your puppet? Did you enjoy the taste of power I gave you?" His lips were close to your own, clouding your senses. You wanted to just boost yourself you and smash your lips together.

"I have always had the power Daemon, you just had never noticed" You whispered back. Daemon's laugh came out almost breathless.

"Sweet wife, you are not the one in control here" Daemon teased. Your hands rose from your sides and instead trailed up his thighs to rest on his waist.

"I am not?" you asked back. Your head tilted to the side when a shiver ran through his body. His adam's apple visibly moved as he gulped. You wanted to take it between your teeth and mark it but stopped yourself.

"What you do not understand Daemon is that I control you, the second you declared your love for me yesterday I decided that it is time to show you, just how much control you gave me over you, willingly" You raised a hand up to grab a fist full of his hair and pulled his head closer to yours. Daemon whimpered at the movement.

"I control your body" You pushed your body against his feeling obvious bulge against your stomach. He whined at the friction hips stuttering forward for more.

"And I love it" Daemon grumbled. You grinned letting go of his hair and slowly slid down on your knees in front of him. Daemon watched you with hooded eyes as you undid his trousers and pulled them down to his ankles. He got out of them quickly. His erect member slapped against his stomach once free.

"Watch, darling husband" You instructed, grabbing his member in your hand. You gave him a couple of strokes before finally taking him into your mouth. Daemon moaned feeling your wet tongue swirl around his tip before you pushed him further into your mouth.

Mindful of your teeth you moved your tongue to trace the vein that ran down the side of his shaft. Knowing how much he loved to feel you, you pushed yourself to take all of him in.

"Fuck" He groaned. Your nose brushed against the small amount of hair he had over his cock. You were unable to breath but that only made you grow wetter.

You pulled back taking huge gulps of air but your hands immediately moved to work, stroking him using the spit you left behind as lubrication. Daemon's hand snapped to the back of your head pushing you to take him in your mouth again, desperate.

"Patience, darling husband" You placed a comforting hand on his thigh. Daemon whined but did not push you again. You thumb swiped over his reddened tip earning a jerk of Daemon's hips.

"Pretty" You complimented before taking him in your mouth again. Your eyes remained upwards, looking at him. He followed your earlier instructions, watching as you sucked his tip. Tears were building in your eyes as you deep throated him again.

"Gods" Daemon broke the eye contact, throwing his head back. You pulled him out of your mouth and removed your hands from him as well.

"Fuck, why?" He asked, looking down at you. You smirked, raising one of your hands to wipe the spit from your mouth with your pointer and middle finger. Your other hands slowly trailed up his thigh as you moved to stand up again.

"Why should I continue when you cannot follow a simple order?" You teased. You raised an eyebrow when one of his hands snapped to wrap around your neck but he paused before he could touch your skin.

"Apologise" you ordered. Daemon's whole body shook with desire and just a tiny bit of anger.

"Sorry, wife" He whispered. His eyes looked anywhere but you, he could not believe that he was bending to your will.

"No, call me mistress" You shook your head. his eyes flashed to look at you, a glare set on his face. He wanted to protest so but could not find it in himself.

"Sorry, m-mistress" He stuttered. You chuckled knowing how hard it must have been for him. You loved seeing him struggle, you loved seeing him blush when he realised that his cock grew harder at the nickname, he enjoyed it.

"Good boy, now suck" You raised your fingers that were coated with your spit near his mouth. Daemon opened his mouth to take the two digits in his mouth and sucked. You grinned approvingly and pulled out your hands, still coated with spit just not yours.

"Undress me like the good boy you are" You nodded to you back. Daemon clenched his fists but complied moving to turn you around to face the wall. His strong fingers unlaced the dress with urgency and moved to remove the corset and linen leaving you completely naked.

"Good" You turned back around to fave him. You unbuttoned his tunic slowly, teasing him. He whined but shut his mouth once your eyes raised to look at him, hard and angry.

You moved around him and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed with your legs wide open, giving him a good view of your glistening entrance. Daemon had to clench his hands so he would not touch himself at the sight of you.

"Come" You ordered. Daemon looked up at you, resting like a goddess on the bed and took a step close to you.

"Stop" You raised one of your hands. He froze feeling like he was caught stealing something.

"Crawl" You smirked. Daemon glared at you but complied. He slid down on his knees before falling fully on his hands as well. He crawled over to you like some dog, he was your dog.

"Good boy" You reached over to pet his hair once he was close enough. Daemon rose to his knees and grabbed your hand.

"Ah ah ah" You pulled your hand away before he could tighten his grip. You grabbed his chin instead and leaned closer to him. Your noses touched and your eyes crossed to look at each other.

"Careful Daemon or mistress will grow angry" You whispered. You licked his lips and up to the tip of his nose before moving back. Daemon huffed annoyed but stop all movement.

"What do you want, sweet boy?" You asked. Daemon raised his hands but paused before they could touch your thighs. You gave him a nod letting him touch your thigh.

"I wish to eat you, mistress" Daemon answered. You grinned leaning back on your hands.

"What are you waiting for?" You widened the space between your legs. Daemon dived without a second thought.

You moaned feeling tongue lick at your clit. He moved to wrap his lips around the swollen num of nerves and gave a gentle suck. One of your hands trailed to touch his now messy hair, pushing him closer to your hole.

"Sweet boy, give mistress more or else" You threatened. Daemon pulled back to look at you. One of his hands moved to rub at your clit. Your hips jerked at the touch but you did not break eye contact with him.

"Or else what?" Daemon, asked with a smirk on his face. He was testing the waters. He thought he could break your will with pleasure.

"Or else you would not get to peak until I saw otherwise" You shrugged trying as hard as possible not to show that his finger rubbing your clit did not affect you. Daemon's smirk fell seeing that you were serious.

Silent he moved back to your cunt. His finger moved down to your hole, pushing one digit inside. You moaned at the intrusion. His tongue moved to your clit. He slurped and kissed you like there was no tomorrow. The sounds he let out were vulgar but they you only added to your arousal.

"Oh fuck...Daemon" You cried. Your hand behind his head tightened around his hair. Your other hand moved to grab at your breast. Your hips rolled unconsciously.

"Mistress" He whimpered, sending jolts through your body. Your head fell back at the vibrations. Daemon added a second finger inside of you, curling them just right, finding the sweet spot inside of you.

Your eyes rolled back and your legs moved to Daemon's shoulders, curling with pleasure. Your hand squeezing your breast before tweaking your nipple like he does. Your other hand let go of his hair and moved to brace yourself on the bed.

"I am so close" You whimpered. Daemon quickened the movement of his tongue over your clit. Your stomach tightened as the white hot pleasure coursed through your body threatening to snap.

With a stroke of his fingers to your sweet spot the tightening in your stomach snapped and floods of pleasure ran through your body. Your hand froze over your breast. Your legs shook on Daemon's shoulders and your toes curled. Daemon moved to place kisses to your thighs instead but his fingers resumed their movement inside of you.

"Good boy" You praised. You relaxed your legs and moved them off his shoulders. Daemon looked up at you awaiting further instructions.

"Get up" You ordered. Daemon let go of your legs and moved to stand up in front of you. You were face to face with his cock, leaking pre cum.

"Touch yourself" You looked up finding the shocked look on his face. You slid back onto the bed until you were leaning against the mountain of pillows, legs spread to show your cunt, glistening with your peak.

"Mistress?" He tilted his head to the side shocked. You chuckled at his bewilderment.

"Touch your cock" You repeated. Daemon hesitated for a second before complying. His hand stroked his cock slowly at first unsure.

Daemon has touched himself many times before, especially in his teenage years but still now after years of whore and almost three years of marriage it felt like a foreign activity for him. He moaned when his fingers grazed his tip.

Your hands trailed down your body to touch yourself, eyes never leaving his. His eyes however watched as your fingers opened your lips and your other hand moved through to gather your arousal, you fingers moved to touch your sensitive pearl.

"Fucking hell" He groaned, his ministrations growing faster. His other hand moved to cup his balls, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

"Are you close, sweet boy?" You asked, teasingly. Daemon nodded desperately. His breathing growing heavier. You slid a finger inside of yourself, your fingers were nowhere near as long as his but they will do.

"Do not cum" You glared at him. Daemon whined but did not dare complain. You noticed how he tried to slow his stroking, to earn himself more time.

"Do not slow down" You hissed. Daemon cried out sounding as if he was struggling. You pushed a second finger inside of your cunt. Your breasts bounced as you rolled your hips to match your finger's rhythm. His eyes watched ever movement you did. Your eyes as well moved to watch as his hand stroked his cock, hard and leaking only for you.

"Fuck, come over" You moaned. Daemon moved to climb onto the bed and closer to you. Once on his knees between your legs he continued stroking his cock.

"Fuck, mistress is so pretty" He moaned, now watching from up close.

"Put it in and cum" You rolled your hims as if inviting him in. Daemon did not hesitate to push his cock inside once your fingers were out.

"Fuck, yes" He cried, snapping his hips agains yours not giving himself or you time. Your head fell back, walls tightening around him. Your breath got caught in your throat as the feeling of being full consumed you.

"Yes, fill me up even when pregnant" You whispered in his ear. Your wrapped your arms around him to pull him closer. Your nails raked down his back as your peak washed over you.

"Yes, breed you" He cried, cock pulsing with his orgasm. Your hips wiggled needing more of the overstimulation. He did not stop the movement even when your orgasms had calmed. It was like a comfort movement at this point, just gentle rocking.

"My beautiful mistress, I love you so much" He whispered. His head leaning down to place kisses along your shoulder and down to your collarbone. You moaned as his cock softened inside of you but still managed to brush just against the right spots.

"My beautiful good boy, I love you as well" You whispered back. He pulled back to look at you. He leaned down claiming your lips in a passionate kiss, you kissed him back without a second thought.

"Mistress" Daemon whined, his cock growing even more sensitive with the movement. You smiled, caressing his cheek as you watched him for a couple of seconds, still moving on top of you, not daring to stop without your permission.

"Such a good boy" You praised, running your fingers through his hair. You stopped the rolling of your hips to lessen the movement.

"Pull out, nuncle" You whispered. Daemon did not waste another second to pull out of you, whining like a wounded animal. His cock was red and dripping still. He fell beside you panting and shaking.

"Look at that" You chuckled, opening your lower lips to show his cum oozing out of you. Your other hand slid down to gather the white liquid. You sucked your fingers tasing his salty cum, letting out a hum of approval. Daemon moaned at the sight. You grinned seeing him eyeing your mouth. You leaned closer to kiss him and much to his surprise you pushed his cum into his mouth.

"Swallow, husband" You nudged his nose with your own. Daemon stared wide eyed at you. Still he swallowed without a complain. The fire of desire started burning inside of him again.

"Mistress" He whispered. He reached over to grab at your breasts. He leaned down to kiss one of them, suckling your nipple. His hand trailed to the other one tweaking it just like you did earlier but somehow his hands, his finger were much better. His hands rough and calloused from sword fighting. Your hand trailed up his arm, tracing each and every scar and burn he got on his body, cursing whoever was responsible.

"Are you still hungry, nuncle?" You questioned. He raised his head with your nipple still between his lips, stretching it. He whined nodding his head.

"Words" You pushed some of his hair back and behind his ear. He released your nipple with a blush decorating his face.

"I am still in need of you, mistress" He whispered. He buried his face between your breasts and slid down to your navel leaving behind sweet kisses and some marks. Still Daemon wanted to mark you. You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back up to face you.

"Shhh" You shushed him before he cold say anything. His lips twitched but a gasp rolled out of his mouth when you pushed him on his back. You climbed his lap with a smirk.

His hand fell by his sides and his eyes glued to your figure as you leaned down. You dodged his lips and instead kissed his cheek, moving down slowly to kiss the tip of his nose. Behind his ear and down his neck. His hips unconsciously rolled up trying to hump you but was unable to do so. His cock growing hard again as you resumed the trail of kisses. You kissed down to his chest pausing there with a smirk.

You took on of his nipples into you mouth. He gasped shock, arching his back. You swirled your tongue around the bud before sucking at it. One of his hands snapped to grab at you shoulder. You pulled away with a pop and moved to the other one. He moaned as you placed kitten licks to the bud, burned and the skin irritated so you did not linger long on it. You continued down as he whined disappointed slightly but not for long. You nibbled at his hipbone, leaving behind a mark.

"What is it nuncle? Are you unsatisfied?" You asked. One of your hands trailed to find his member, hard and standing proud again. Your cunt pulsed with need, the mere sight of him on his back, eyes wide and watching you, the usually loud and dominant man in bed at your mercy.

"No- I mean yes mistress, more p-please more" He cried trying to thrust his hips up for more friction. You gave him a couple of pulls before removing your hand.

"Shh sweet nuncle, I will give you what you want if you just tell me" You sat yourself on his stomach. His hands rested on your thighs kneading the skin, grabbing hand fulls to compose himself.

"I need to be inside of you, breed you" He begged. His eyes growing wetter the more time you left him without touching him.

"Oh but sweet nuncle, you already breed me" You grabbed one of his hands and moved it to your belly where your baby sat still two moons old inside of you.

"Again-more" He cried. You smirked, leaning down to kiss his swollen lips. He kissed back, grabbing the back of your head with one hand and the other trailed to grab your behind and squeezed.

"Alright, sweet nuncle" You mumbled against his lips. You pushed his hands off and slid down to grab his cock, you lined it with your entrance and slid down slowly. You moaned at the feeling of him resting inside of you. You almost came from the mere sight of him sliding inside of you so easily.

"Gods" His hips twitched below you. His hands reached up to grab something and you gave him your hands. You intertwined your fingers by your hips as you began moving.

You teased him by moving your hips slowly in a circular movement. He sighed in content either way. You picked up speed, bouncing up and down as the need grew more inside of you.

"Daemon" You moaned, throwing your head back. Daemon pulled himself to sit up, one of his hands let go of your hand and wrapped it around your waist to assist you. Your thighs burned with each thrust but you did not mind.

"Sweet wife" He moaned, against your ear. Your free arm wrapped around his shoulders to brace yourself. Your hips moved in unison to bring you both to your peak.

Your eyes looked over to the wall behind the bed where a small opening showed, not big enough to be seen. Your purple eyes met an identical set watching you and your husband fuck and with passion. The person seemed to be panting as they watched. You moved your head slightly until your lips were by Daemon's ear, moaning with pleasure.

"Fuck" He groaned, his grip tightened around your hand. Your stomach was in knots causing you to move faster, alerting Daemon that you were close to your release. Daemon helped you bounce faster unaware of the pair of eyes watching the both of you.

"Yes" Your head fell back as you crashed over the edge. Your fingers dug into his flesh, leaving behind crescent shaped behind. Daemon was following close behind with a loud moan. Your body shook from the intensity of your orgasm, you never imagined being watched would bring you so much pleasure.

You and Daemon remained in a tight embrace as you came down from your highs, Cock deep inside of you keeping his spent in there, his lips moved to litter kisses along your shoulder and neck. Your fingers played with his hair, chests rubbing against each other as you panted almost in a rhythm.

"I love you" Daemon whispered, against your skin. You pulled back to look him in the eyes. His purple eyes showed nothing but the truth.

"I love you too Daemon, so much I am ready to die for you, I am ready to kill for you, I am ready to burn the world for you" You leaned your forehead on his. Your words seemed to have a strong impact on him, his breathing grew shallow and his eyes closed enjoying this intimate moment with you.

"I will start a war for you, my love, I will end the world for you, if you only ask my mistress" Daemon whispered. You crashed your lips against him in a passionate kiss. He pulled you impossible close before rolling you on your back, still deeply lodged inside of you.

"Are you ready for another round but with master this time?" He asked, Daemon the gentleman still very much present and in need of permission.

"Master? Really?" You teased, smirking at the nickname he gave himself, the male version of your own.

"Mistress? Really?" He teased back. You both giggled before your lips locked again. The sweat on your bodies did not bother you. The sheets soaked with sweat and cum did not bother you. The jealousy inside of you long forgotten. The person watching you fuck was long forgotten. The world was long forgotten as long you were with Daemon, even better as he fucked you.

249 notes · View notes

itsasainz · 1 year

Text

the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

Shiv had been, and is your friend—in many ways, your best friend—but you’d always had a sweet spot for Roman. It wasn’t until you moved to New York more permanently, right after you graduated, that you actually befriended him, your work at his father’s company at first forcing you into the odd work dinner or late night at the office, but routines were formed, at some point. Thursday lunches together, Monday morning coffees. At some point, he’d stopped seeming like Shiv’s whiney older brother, and become funny—most of the time. Roman, you had, at some point understood, took time. But most of your relationship with him came after Greece.

The first time you went on holiday with them—beyond the Hamptons or British countryside—you were twenty-three, and had found yourself on a ten-day trip through the Greek islands on Logan’s oversized yacht. It was that ten days that you realised that you were in, not particularly intentionally, but in nonetheless. You remembered everything about that trip; the private jet that took you to Thessaloniki, the starting point of the trip—you’d fly back to New York from Heraklion, with the entire family, who were coming from various outposts across the globe. To start with, though, it was just the two of you, walking on the scorched tarmac of Thessaloniki’s international airport, leaving the gleaming private jet behind, already feeling slick with set in the hot, midsummer air. You had appreciated the perks of a private jet that day—no queues, no crying babies or seats reclined into your knees—and didn’t have to think twice about where your luggage was, because everything had been taken care of by a team of people you barely saw, working like ants under the foliage. A refreshingly air conditioned car had brought you smoothly to the port, where a smaller boat, already stacked with your luggage, had taken you quickly to the gleaming palace on water that was the Roys’ yacht. The boat was like a small, disturbingly empty, city; an almost utopian place, gleaming and shimmering under the Mediterranean sun, a labyrinthe of rooms and decks and corridors. Despite the surplus of space, it was split between a select few; Logan Roy, of course, his four siblings and their own guests, a selection of board members and his third wife, who you’d met only once or twice before, Marcia. That day was languid, a steady flow of arrivals as the hours passed and the yacht sat just outside of the port, watched by the locals and tourists alike, most likely speculating about the owners of such a gratuitous yacht, carelessly waiting for all the world to see.

You and Shiv had been greeted by Connor, in his pre-Willa days, already in his forties though; Kendall had appeared at first without your notice, but the sound of his children, still babies then, had alerted you of his arrival, alongside his then-wife, Rava, who you still respected wholeheartedly. Roman had been next, harder to miss, making sure to “jokingly” insult everyone aboard within five minutes. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered when it took him a minute or so to come up with an insult for you, but that train of thought was quickly lost to the arrival of the man himself; Logan Roy came with a fleet of people. He spoke about three words to you directly on that first day, but you supposed that wasn’t so bad—you were hardly novel to him anymore, given how your recent promotions had drastically increased your time spent with him and Kendall. Roman, however, was a different matter entirely.

You’d seen him around an awful lot, and spoken to him maybe twice, never for longer than a passing comment or introduction, though he knew of your friendship with his sister. And yet, here you were, on holiday with his family, and he was suddenly fascinated. Over those ten days, between your hours spent gossiping with Rava and his hours spent talking business with his brother and father, you somehow found time to get attached to the youngest son of the Roy dynasty.

Roman was a piece of a work, there was no denying it. He was insulting, defensive, childish, et cetera, et cetera, but he was often funny, too, and within days you had understood him well—he, like Kendall, Shiv and Connor, was driven by his father’s approval, but as is the way in any family, each of the siblings had manifested the same fears and motivations in different ways. Shiv’s fear of intimacy made for relationships with people who depended on her—for money or status—but who she could keep at an arm's length, and cast aside if they got too attached. Roman more openly craved connection, but his fears and traumas came to light in a more physical expression. The jokes at his expense had swiftly enlightened you to his troubled relationship with sex and affection, while, even this early on, Kendall’s addictions were beginning to form cracks in his determinedly “hip” façade. Most of these things you had already understood, but an extended amount of time on a vehicle that you can’t exactly leave had opened it all up to you—unlike the Hamptons, you couldn’t piss off to the other side of the island or back to the city, but only to the other side of the yacht, and even for a big yacht, it never allowed you to genuinely leave. The thoughts that would later become a strange, fucked up mantra began to formulate on that holiday; before you’d put it into words, or understood what you were asking yourself, the statement was swirling around your consciousness; the poison drips through.

Each of the Roy siblings was broken and damaged in a way you’d never seen before, but your long standing practice of people-reading and your love of untangling the dynamics within groups made the holiday a sort of project—by the end, you’d created a map in your head of the different events and people that made up the complex web of Roy troubles, built off the foundations laid by your friendship with Shiv and many brief interactions with her extensive family over the decade. It was an incomplete map—there would be things you didn’t discover until his death, a decade later, and things you would never know, but that initial map, fraction of what it would become, was the starting point for your relationship with Roman.

Your morbid fascination with the family, and apparent loyalty (though you only realised it years later) met with his intrigue with you. Shiv never brought friends on holiday, he disclosed on the third or fourth day—as such, everyone was trying to work you out, your game, your presence, beyond the limited stuff they already knew. But at the end of the trip, it wasn’t Shiv who you’d spent the most time with, but Roman.

You’d thought of it as a ten-day deep-dive into the family, one that wouldn’t be repeated and that would have few repercussions—for you, anyway, but something had been pushed into being on that yacht that would change the trajectory of your life.

Upon your return to the company, tanned and rested from your break, you found that your routine at work changed a little at first, and then a little more, and then completely. A week after the end of the holiday, Roman had barged into your office at around lunchtime, insulted a photo on your desk and dragged you out for an overpriced lunch to discuss work stuff—a legitimate offer, you later found out from Gerri, about an actual deal that he genuinely wanted to pick your brains about. The work-related talk had lasted maybe fifteen minutes before the two of you were side-tracked by something entirely inconsequential and spent the rest of the hour essentially gossiping. His coarseness surprised you a little, though it shouldn’t have, and you remember your initial reservations about his overt slights and hyperactivity—though nowadays you’ve grown to love both. The deal—the one he’d wanted to pick your brains about—had gone better than anticipated, partially, it was said, due to your counsel. So it became more regular—Thursday lunchtimes became your lunches with Roman, and he would stop by your office for discussions almost every day, uncharacteristically invested in his work, according to his siblings. You started to move up through the company too, taking on more responsibility, spending more time with the family, getting closer to the top.

At some point, you and Roman had become friends. You gravitated towards each other at galas and occasionally went for drinks after work on a Friday night. But, despite your time together, there was something odd about the dynamic—neither of you particularly spoke about your pasts, your childhoods. There was a certain shame you had about your upbringing—you knew it was entirely unfounded, that you’d been better off than the vast, vast majority, but then again, you spent most of your time with multibillionaires these days. Generally, you avoided discussions about family wealth, and guarded the inner-workings of your family, and all its troubles, in a way that is far more impossible for a family of the Roys’ calibre—you had your own secrets, a great many things you refused to discuss, and he knew that. In turn, Roman didn’t seem to want to delve into what it was like to grow up with the mighty Logan Roy as a father; so neither of you pushed it, and the subject of who you were pre-Roman began to fade; it would take a couple of years for it all to be disclosed, and even then, most of your big revelations about your relationship with him seemed to come in times of crisis.

You were friends. Work friends, really, but edging into the ground of the simpler terms; you were friends. You were, perhaps, his only one, or one of very few, and he was one of a fair few on your part, though he and Shiv were almost entirely separate from the company you kept outside of Waystar; you’d sometimes wondered what they’d think of the people you spent your Saturday nights with, or the clubs you frequented. But for years, he was your friend, and only your friend.

You’re not entirely sure when things began to get muddled, and lines began to blur. After one crisis or another, he had turned up at your door, late into the night, too tired and too upset to take the piss out of your apartment—a sure sign something was wrong—and ended up in your bed. You hadn’t slept together, but had spent the night beside one another, in hushed conversation or drifting into restless slumber. You’d woken up with his back to you, and it hadn’t been brought up again, not even when he turned up at your door a week later. Sleeping in the same bed as Roman became more common, though it was never sexual—it eased slowly from the simple need for company to admissions of wanting some form of affection—you would sometimes wake up to find that you had curled into one another, that in your unconscious states you had found an intimacy that was impossible in your waking lives.

And then, at some point, something had changed. You’d created a setting in which Roman could actually communicate—not without difficulty, but a space where he could say what he thought and attempt to move away from what he felt he should think. The emotional stuff took longer, but with those changes came a definite change in the nature of your relationship—namely, there was a newfound romance to it.

You’d held off the idea of a relationship with Roman for a long time—through all his joking, overly casual proposals, which you suspected were a way of him affirming some need for rejection, assuring himself that he was unlovable by presenting the ridiculous to have it shot down, as expected. But that had changed as he had, gradually, changed. As he became more open, more honest in that mesocosm of your apartment, developing a unique ecosystem of trust and loyalty and, you supposed, love, allowed him to become accessible to you in new ways.

Sex had taken longer. You were, to all intensive purposes, his girlfriend for a long while before you actually had sex. It was tentative, a slow process of breaking down barriers and rebuilding his relationship with a lot of things, in order to create a version of him that was capable of vulnerability. It’s still a work in progress. At some point (a nonchalant way of putting it—your milestones with him may have been muddled, but they were still deeply significant to you), the relationship had been opened for scrutiny at the hands of his family. You had, in some senses, created a healing process that they couldn’t comprehend, and you think that for that they will always resent you, but for the most part his siblings saw someone who made their brother a little happier and a little less skittish, and his father saw someone who could talk business and keep his son in check.

You didn’t know if there would ever be a wedding to commemorate it, and you doubted there would be children, but your ever-evolving relationship with him made you happy, and you knew it made him happy. Sometimes, you just wished that all that progress you’d made with him would translate to other aspects of his life, but such hopes never came to fruition—at the end of the day, he was still the young boy desperate for the approval of his hard-headed, abusive father.

It was that relationship with his father that made his relationship with his siblings so twisted. You and Shiv weren’t so close these days, but there was still amiable respect and remnants of that original loving friendship, but circumstance had torn rifts in the friendship of your teen- and twenty-something selves. In your thirties, that love had been somewhat lost, or changed—you’d probably always feel that friendly love for Shiv, the one responsible for this entire trajectory of your life.

Now, however, feels simultaneously like the best and worst time for a reflection on the ins and outs of your relationship with Roman Roy. Your bed is a mess, sheets tangled from Roman’s tossing and turning, his frame tense as he paces back and forth, pink flashcards clutched in his grasp. You’d helped him write them over the last few days, through the frustrations that he couldn’t get the words right or couldn’t express his true feelings.

It is only natural that on the morning of a funeral, you think of the funerals you have been to before. The one that stands out, the paradox, is the funeral that exposed your true upbringing to him; it wasn’t the wealth—Roman had hardly expected anything quite so extreme as his own family, but rather the people, your people, and how different they were from his.

You’d received the call late at night—UK and US time differences had gotten confused, your uncle thought you were five hours ahead, not behind—and had tried to gloss over the reason you were suddenly going back home for a week. Of course, in registering your time off with work—paid compassionate leave—he had discovered the truth, and insisted he accompany you. So Roman had met your family at a wake—not ideal, but it made sense. Your family, for all their flaws, had an open, friendly attitude; anyone was welcome in your home, and help was always offered where it could be, a notion so foreign to him that he’d never quite managed to grasp it.

Your family had been confused but welcoming of him; the context of your mother’s death was a strange setting to first impressions, but they liked him nevertheless. Your brother found his jokes more than a little amusing, and your little cousin seemed to think he’d hung the moon, which had more than baffled him—he’d never liked kids, even when they looked like you might have when you were little, even (perhaps especially) when they made him wonder about having children with you. That funeral had been a modest affair with a large turnout—most of the neighbourhood seemed to be there, but there was no fancy coffin or grand church; it was a small funeral, as your mother had wished, and as fitted the circumstances.

You remember a conversation with your sister a day or two later; sat in the garden, smoking, she had turned to you, posed that fatal question; What if the poison drips through? You had dismissed it initially, but at some point, probably after another depressive episode after, you had understood it. The poison drips through. But that was then, and this is now. This is not a modest funeral in your mother’s hometown, but a lavish one, in New York City.

No, this funeral is different.

Logan Roy’s funeral is not a neighbourhood affair, but an international one, and your Roman is doing the eulogy—hence the pacing and the flashcards. He is already dressed, and you are still in your pyjamas, but that is hardly the consideration—in this moment, you are simply concerned over whether or not Roman will make it through the eulogy; with every hour that passes, you become less convinced by his claim that he has “pre-grieved” his father’s death. If Roman breaks, the whole world will see it, abuse it, manipulate it; but everyone, Roy or not, should be able to grieve their parent’s death—no matter how awful they were—without judgement or manipulation.

He looks up from his cards— “You’re not dressed yet.”

“We have time.” you chide, but slip out of the tangle of bedsheets and turn the shower on. “Getting there on time is not going to be an issue.”

He dismisses you again, announcing the lines from his flashcards to himself as you shower, still going as you do your make up and dress, eat a little food—as much as you can stomach on a day like this, and make sure everything in terms of logistics will run smoothly, send a quick text to Shiv to make sure she’s coping—you’re sure none of them are—and eventually let Roman know it’s just about time to go.

His composure is already cracking by the time you get to the car. There is a sense of foreboding, and though you can’t bring yourself to iterate the thought, you have a distinct premonition that Roman’s eulogy will not happen as planned. You’re even wondering if he’ll sneak out before it’s his turn to speak, but you push the thought away. Roman would be okay, he always managed to scrape himself out of trouble, somehow.

The funeral is sombre, to no one’s surprise. You end up on the front pew, between Roman and Kendall, though you’re not entirely sure how. The service is long, as Roman Catholic funerals usually are, in your experience, and Roman will have to sit through the rest of it after his eulogy—whether it’s good that he’ll get it over with, or bad that he’ll have to sit with it for ages after is something you can’t decide on. You suppose that regardless of which point in the service he did the eulogy, he will always have to sit with his words.

And then it’s his part, and he doesn’t even manage the first sentence. You realise, the moment that he looks over to the coffin, that it’s over. You’re the first to get to him at the front, pulling the cards from his hands and letting him collapse into you, the cards getting taken by Kendall, the Roys all there to offer some form of support to their faltering sibling. His questions, his grief, are concerned with Logan’s body, lying and waiting in that coffin. It does, admittedly, seem unnatural that such a force could be contained in such a simple box. You feel almost like you are carrying him back to the pew, tucked under your arm, and welcoming him into your side, his body pressed into yours as though you are the only thing keeping him on earth, as if he would be gone without you. You let him cling, you make it to the end of the service without a further disruption, and then tell Shiv you’ll walk him back to the reception yourself, make sure he’s in a better state before you present him to the world once more. You sneak him out somehow, find a long route back that is not impacted by protests or by paparazzi.

The walk is slow, and he comes to himself little by little by the simple process of walking. He calms his breathing, starts to look about, register his surroundings and the events of the last few hours.

“Why’d you take us this route?” he asks. It’s not the quickest route, and it’s too strange a route to simply be about avoiding photos or crowds. He’s frowning, but you don’t seem embarrassed or confused by his line of questioning.

“My grandparents used to say that you should leave a funeral in small groups, and never all take the same route. It was some superstitious thing—like, if you all took the same route back then the soul of the dead would be able to follow you home, and they’d never leave.” You don’t say that you would hate for Logan’s soul to remain here, to follow him for the rest of his life.

He frowns at you. “I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop him from staying.”

You sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll never escape him, will I?”

“Roman, for the first time in your life you can step out of this sphere. You can look at the world without the oversight of that bastard, and you can pick a direction. You have the choice, the ability to choose for yourself without his consequence. If you want so badly to escape him, then you can. It’s in your grasp.”

He doesn’t respond, meandering toward your destination. Eventually, he formulates a response. “He’s gone, but the rest of them aren’t.”

You don’t push it—it’s for another day. Instead, you hold his hands in the street, and the pair of you head towards the reception.

He’s beside you for the majority of the evening, until you go to get a drink so that kendall can have a word—a bad idea, in retrospect—and you return to find him gone. Kendall shrugs you off, and no one else knows or cares where he’s gone. You call him a few times, wonder if he just needs some quiet, and then feel your instincts correct you; Roman has not gone for a moment of quiet, you know him better than that, and there is no guarantee he is safe or calm or well.

So you leave, try his phone a few more times, and some morbid curiosity leads you toward the sounds of the protestors. Perhaps it’s your gut, perhaps there is something that viscerally understands his masochism and self destruction. You know you’ll find him in that mob, at the mercy of the only people who will show him violence like his father used to. You feel sick with the thought, nauseous with the understanding of what he is doing to himself.

Sure enough, by the time you find him he has been beaten to a pulp, he is black and blue and bloody, damn near smiling with the pain despite being barely able to stand or walk, destroyed by a sadistic crowd. They do not know this man, you think, as you bundle him into a car, they do not understand grief if they can do this to a man who had freshly lost his father.

At your apartment, you sit him against the bathroom wall, on the floor, splatters of blood on his clothes, tainting the white tiles. He’s incoherent as you sort the first aid kit, and find a cloth to clean him up with. You work methodically, sure to keep him conscious in case of a concussion, as you clean and dress every part of broken skin, and treat his bruises with an ointment you find in the bottom of the kit, and strip him of his stained clothes, providing him with a change. You do not leave him alone, for fear of what might happen, and help him into some new clothes, sweaters and top, too casual for him to ever actually wear—you’d bought the joggers over a year ago and seen him wear them twice—before settling him into bed. You know enough about concussions to know you should wake him up frequently to check on him, but for now you let the tears come in waves. You’ve cleaned the physical wounds, and you hope that with every round of tears comes a cleanse, one that will make the wounds of his broken life easier to heal come the morning, as though the tears themselves will act to wash the grit from the graze, or to pick the shrapnel out from the marred flesh of this open wound.

You look around your apartment, out the window at the city below, and an idea strikes you—almost certainly a bad one, but you’re beyond the point of caring. “Rome,” you say, “You wanna go to Barbados?”

Caroline’s place in Barbados is lovely, if a little mosquito-ridden, and it feels oddly bonding to care for Roman together with his distant, almost neglectful mother. She loves him, that much is true, but it’s never enough.

You have thought more about your own mother in the last two weeks than in the last few years—not because you’d wanted to forget her, you saw her in everything—these thoughts were more active, like you were searching for the memories that might guide you in how to deal with this, or help Roman to cope. Your mother had been a different kind of a parent to Logan, and her issues had never been sought out—it was like no matter what she did, she would always have been claimed the same way, her life would always have made yours worse, despite anyone’s efforts to change that.

The poison drips through. That had been your sister’s line, and now Kendall’s. You’d experienced some of what your mother had first-hand, and it always made you wonder if everyone is destined to become their parents, to mirror their lives no matter how consciously they tried to avoid it; whether they resign themselves to it, or try so hard to avoid it that they do a full circle, returning to the likeness of their parents, everyone you’ve ever known is the product of their parents; it is biological, cultural, psychological.

It’s no surprise when Shiv arrives, ready to turn Roman to her side of the discussion about the board meeting. It’s late afternoon when you and Shiv find a moment—Roman has disappeared, and you sit on the paved surrounding to the pool, legs soaked up to your knees, weight leant back on your arms. The youngest Roy is somewhere behind you, to the right, probably on a deck chair.

“Do you think—and tell me to fuck off if you like—that maybe this whole deal is a good thing?”

You hear her sit up, and turn to look at her. She’s frowning at you, “How so?”

“I don’t know, ‘cause, like, you guys—all of you—have just been trapped in this sphere of Waystar and ATN and your dad, and all of you are just fucking miserable. What if you—what would be so bad about just getting out? You could free yourselves from all this bullshit, and there’s no Logan to pull you back in, so you could just… be. Just, y’know, learn a bit more about who you are outside of your father’s sphere of influence. Plus, like, Kendall’s gonna break, Roman already has, and you—all of you—are, frankly, pretty fucking fragile at the minute.”

She moves to come and sit next to you, slipping her feet into the pool beside yours. “You don’t understand.”

You shrug. “I’m sure I don’t.”

“We’re never, really, going to be free of it. Any of it.”

She shifts, her head resting on the bare skin of your shoulder, hair ticklish on your neck. You rest the side of your face on the crown of her head. “Maybe, maybe that’s true. But for the first time in your lives, the door’s open.”

The silence stretches out over the pool, filling the air, making you wonder what’s going on in her head. You sit like that for a while and at some point you realise she’s crying— not sobbing, not shaking with the force of it, but just sitting there, letting the tears stream; you don’t think she’s even really blinking, but the stillness remains, you don’t move. She needs this. You know about the scheduled meeting rooms for crying—Roman mentioned it—but this doesn’t feel like mourning. Not for her father, at least.

“Hey, fucknuts,” Roman calls, appearing at the edge of the courtyard, still barefoot in the shorts and top Caroline had gotten him when you first arrived. Shiv swiftly brushes the tears away, smiling up at him. He looks between you. “Ah, fuck—what… nevermind.”

Suddenly, you are plunging through the chlorinated water, lungs straining at the shock, hands splaying out through the cyan waters, in some momentarily suspended, bubbly universe, the tiled walls of the pool reflecting its pale, eggshell blue translucence onto your skin. You burst upward, drawing in a deep breath and flicking your hair from your face as your toes find the floor of the pool. “Argh, fuck you!”

Roman is laughing, Shiv in a similar state to you, and the moment feels distinctly child-like. You wade through the neck-deep water to the edge, and reach up to him to help you out, but he shakes his head. “Fuck that,” he chides, “I’m not that stupid.”

Shiv is laughing now, and you realise that you’re smiling despite yourself. “Rome, come on, at least help the pregnant lady.”

“Yeah, Rome, help the pregnant lady!” Shiv echoes, joining you at the edge and reaching for him. He knows what’s about to happen and submits himself to it regardless, letting her get a grip of his hands and be practically thrown over your heads, crashing sidelong into water. The splash and waves lap at your chin but you and Shiv are too busy laughing to notice; he struggles upright and rolls his eyes through his smile.

“Cunts.” he groans.

Shiv splashes him in the face with some water, and he swears again, splashing her back and catching you in the process. The ensuing water fight is short and chaotic, halted by Caroline’s arrival to tell you all to be quiet. Roman is laughing, the three of you paddling to the shallow end through some half-hearted apologies. Clambering out and grabbing some towels, you meander down to the seats and drinks table overlooking the seas, drying out your hair and letting conversation turn to business. This is where Kendall finds you, twenty minutes later, in a serious discussion about the board meeting.

The next few hours are a rollercoaster. Calls, discussions, debates, the classic Roy egoistical outlook on why each of them are better suited to the CEO position and why they have been groomed for it. Privately, as you meander in and out of their discussions, conscious that you’re not really involved in their family stuff at all, you settle on the idea that perhaps none of them are. Your feelings about the deal are one thing, meant to be separate from your feelings about them, but they intertwine now—the future of the company lies with them, and their capabilities, and their decisions. That’s not particularly your concern, you’ve been starting to manoeuvre your way out of your current position of influence, toying with the idea of leaving completely, selling your shares and heading elsewhere, but the idea of leaving them behind, leaving Roman behind, is too difficult to consider. What if you didn’t have to factor that in? What if you could walk away knowing it wasn’t them you were walking away from?

It’s this spiralling thought process that subdues you during dinner, ignoring Peter’s friend—James? John?—and knocking back continuous cocktails. Shiv frowns at you, “Trying to get hungover before the board meeting?”

You let out a half laugh. “If I drink a bit more tomorrow I won’t get the hangover.”

Kendall watches you for a second. “Clear minds tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. Caroline glares at you all for ignoring the pitch you’re currently being presented with and you glance at Roman beside you. He’s anxious, he has been since the morning of the funeral, and you get the sense that he—body, mind and soul—is consuming himself, like he’s just destroying the fabric of himself from the inside out, so destroyed by his father’s death. The whole structure of his life, its fabric and its character, has been defined by his father’s presence and absence, and the man’s ability to maintain his presence even through his absence, but that presence, that famed presence, their “dear, dear world of a father” diminishes with every passing second.

Roman’s hand finds yours under the table, slightly clammy, taking you by surprise. His initiation is uncharacteristic. You give his hand a slight squeeze, and in response he laces his fingers into yours, a more substantial hold. Be here, he seems to ask. The world goes quiet—it’s just you, Roman, and your palms against one another under the table.

Like all things, the moment passes, the chaos returns. More phone calls, an equivocal end to the dinner, and you end up at the house, the Roys down at the beach. You lie at the end of Roman’s bed, feet still on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan; there could be any manner of discussions going on between the siblings at the sea, you could wake up to find they’ve drowned one another or something. Knocked each other out with a coconut or some shit. Roman, your Roman, and his grief, his deep felt love and guilt and terror, lost in the storm of this entire shitshow. You think of that day at Connor’s ranch when you saw the scars on Logan’s back, Ewan’s eulogy about his polio and self-blame, the mirror he made his children look in when they cried. Broken people make broken people. It’s easy to think of time as linear—past, present, future—but it’s more of a circle, you think. Infinite, never-ending, always repeating the same old mistakes. Kendall’s distant fathering, Logan’s abusive fathering—were they really so different?

The poison drips through.

It’s difficult to compare your childhood with the Roys’, but you remember those same thoughts, of a different nature—you’d been lucky enough to live in a world where things were talked about, and you had been able to process things as they happened, rather than let them bubble under the surface, but there had always been that idea. Your family history, the mental health troubles, ECT treatments and various crises in your family history, long before your time, and the effects that you had grown up with. You remember the first time you understood that your mother wasn’t quite right. You remember trying to get her out of bed to walk you to school and the realisation that she wasn’t really there, not in her mind, anyway. And in your teenage years, when you felt that yourself for the first time, you remember the terror of becoming her, of losing all feeling until you couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

When you took Roman to her funeral, you hadn’t told him how she’d died, too scared it would be weird or uncomfortable. He’d worked it out, and confronted you in the bathroom at the wake. Sat on the bath met, you had unleashed it all on him, and it had been one of the few genuine conversations you’d had with him in those first years. It had been a different kind of a struggle to his—it wasn’t actively inflicted by your parents, it wasn’t an intentional abuse like the kind he had experienced, but an enforced bystander effect—instead, you had had to stand at the sidelines as your mother collapsed in on herself, decaying before your eyes until you gave up and left. Half the world away, you had learned to understand those things, but now Roman had hints of it in him—he was barely even a bystander in his father’s death, but the grief and guilt were parallel.

This deal was his version of moving to NYC. An escape, an out.

You must drift off, because you open your eyes to the muffled chant; a meal fit for a king. Downstairs, you find them, concocting some awful smoothie, cackling like maniacs. As teenagers, it had been one of those games you’d played when their parents were away, seeing who could stomach the most awful of concoctions for trivial prizes and rewards—apparently this is similar, an initiation to a proper CEO position, on Kendall’s part. You make yourself known by handing Shiv a bottle of Tabasco, Kendall groaning and the other two cheering.

Caroline’s interruption only spurs it on, and by the time you’re heading back to bed, the smoothie having been dumped on Kendall’s head, a crown, you can barely stand you’re so tired.

Still vaguely unfamiliar, you wake up with Roman’s face pressed into your neck, his breath warm and ticklish on your skin, arm thrown over your waist and legs tangled together, a position that makes you think he really is comfortable with you, even if it’s taken a ridiculously long time to get here. You wonder if he can hear the air in your lungs or the blood in your arteries, or whether he notices the patter of your heart as you recognise this display of unconscious affection. Eventually, the rest of the building comes to life, and Roman wakes, moves from you with a sort of embarrassment, changing from his Walmart shirt into business attire. You wear the pantsuit you’d gotten with this board meeting in mind a while back, your office fashion being a slight point of pride—you weren’t the biggest fan of the drab stuff people usually wore, and liked to use interesting cuts and shapes to create range in the endless blouses and blazers and skirts and trousers of your work clothes. Subtle, but not boring.

Back in NYC, after a morning of calls and diplomacy and last minute bids for votes, you are greeted with a room full of people in expensive suits waiting and chattering anxiously as board members start to file in. You still don’t know how to vote, whether you’ll side with the siblings or not. Instead of stressing, you wrangle some gossip out of Stewy and do a shot in the bathroom. Zero hour.

With a pencil, you tally up each vote on a Post-It note stuck to the page of your notebook where you were planning to take notes, both Shiv, to your right, and Roman, to your left, glance at the tally every few seconds. You will be the last three votes.

When it reaches Roman’s turn, it is 6-4 toward the deal, he votes against and you are faced with a choice. If you vote for the deal, Shiv’s vote is purely nominal, and the deal will go through whether she likes it or not—you will be the decider; if you vote against, then it is an even 6-6 and she will cast the deciding vote. You look at the faces of each of the Roys, the children who have grown up to get to this moment. It feels ridiculous that it might be your choice. In the end, that is what makes you vote how you do—this is their livelihood more than it is yours, and you want Shiv to have the options in front of her—you can cope either way. So you vote against the deal—not for any loyalty to Kendall, but for one of your oldest friends, to give her some ounce of autonomy when you know that’s something that has been scarce in her life. Perhaps it's cruel to give her the choice between her brother and her husband, but, selfishly, you don’t want Roman to hate you.

“No, I vote against.” you eventually utter out, earning a triumphant nod from Kendall. Shiv glances at your tally, confirming the equal scores, confirming that it is her choice that makes or breaks the deal—literally.

And she breaks.

You see them, the Roy children, through the glass walls that separate the various conference rooms. You see the pain, the anger, the fear; it comes to a head, and all of the raw emotion of the last days is borne into the world, witnessed through the glass. You listen to Kendall’s rage, and for a minute you are a teenager, listening to one of Logan’s tantrums after one of Roman’s misdemeanours. For a minute, you realise how quickly Kendall turns into his father. For a minute, you feel your heart break on their behalf—at the end of the day, they are children, mourning for a father whose love was confusing and hateful.

The poison drips through.

You are your mother’s daughter, and he is his father’s son.

Afterwards, as you stand beside Shiv in a commemorative photograph, it is understood that there is no singular reason behind this. The freedom of her siblings; the power as the wife of a CEO, not the sister; the wishes of her late father; Kendall’s rage; Roman’s breakdown; the inevitable becoming of one’s own mother. When you and Roman leave, despite the knowledge that Roman is emotional and angry and probably confused by a sense of relief, you resolve that you will call her in the morning. You’ll make your exit as quietly as you can, but you will try to book Saturday morning brunches with her like you used to when you were in your early twenties. You’ll text Rava a little more, and try to create some positive influences in the next generations of Roy children.

You think of your parents. Of Logan, of Caroline, of your own siblings and your own childhood. The poison drips through. What if it doesn’t have to?

#roman roy x reader #shiv roy x reader #succession #succession x reader #roman roy #shiv roy #Kendall roy #succession fanfiction

270 notes · View notes