Cherry’s World

i am as straight as a circle 🫧

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

Master list .

Ma Cherie, from my heart to yours. 😽 <3

ASOIAF

Daenerys Targaryen 𖦹

Cersei Lannister 𖦹

Jon Snow 𖦹

Viserys Targaryen III 𖦹

Aemon Targaryen ( Son of Jaehaerys ) 𖦹

Rhaenyra Targaryen 𖦹

Jacaerys Velaryon 𖦹

Valarr Targryen 𖦹

My Moon, My Man

Daeron Targryen 𖦹

Visenya Targryen 𖦹

Full of You

Yellow Jackets

Shauna Shipman 𖦹

The Archer

Bridgerton

Daphne Bridgerton 𖦹

Francesca Bridgerton 𖦹

Harry Potter

Tom Riddle 𖦹

Gilmore Girls

Tristan Dunguray 𖦹

Jess Mariano 𖦹

The Summer I Turned Pretty

Conrad Fisher 𖦹

Hot Blooded

Scream

Billy Loomis 𖦹

Ethan Landry 𖦹

Avatar

Neteyam Sully 𖦹

Jake Sully 𖦹

Pride and Prejudice

Caroline Bingley 𖦹

Marauders

James Potter 𖦹

ElectrIc Current

Sirius Black 𖦹

Kick-Ass

Dave Lizowski 𖦹

Marvel

Wanda Maximoff 𖦹

Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove 𖦹

Hunger Games Universe

Coriolanus Snow 𖦹

Twilight

Jasper Hale 𖦹

Carlisle Cullen 𖦹

Outer banks

Rafe Cameron 𖦹

Orange is the New Black

Carol Dennings 𖦹

Janae Watson 𖦹

Narcos Mexico

Ramon Arellano Felix 𖦹

Golpes En El Corazón

Ismael ‘El Mayo’ Zambada 𖦹

On My Block

Sad Eyes 𖦹

Those Years Are Over

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

it’s so hard being a stan for first born doomed sons. first neteyam, now jacaerys and next up valarr unless they plan to just skip to the part where his death already happened :/

I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE. 😔SOMEONE SEDATE ME.

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

MY MOON, MY MAN

Summary: Stuck on a conundrum pulled in by her younger cousin, Naerisse Targaryen must find her way back to her husband who desperately aches at the news of her disappearance after she went looking for her cousins who derailed from their entourage on their way to a tourney. The sun must use the gravitational pull of the moon to find her way.

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x Naerisse Targaryen

Warnings: Incest. Violence. Angst. Valarr being an overprotective husband. Mentions of death. Aerion. Underage drinking. Mentions of an illness. Alcoholism.

1 , 2

IT HAD BEEN MOONS SINCE NAERISSE TARGARYN HAD SEEN HER BELOVED HUSBAND SINCE HE DEPARTED TO ASHFORD MEADOW WITH THE SELECT FEW OF HER FAMILY. She had initially planned to stay back in Red Keep but the sudden conundrum she let Egg pull her into, prevented her from doing so. Egg had been appointed as Daeron’s squire, and as much as she favored Daeron from the rest of her cousins, she knew he always dealt a heavy hand when it came to anything that made him incoherent. She knew what he dealt with, enough to where he confided in her to tell her of the dreams that terrorized him for so long. Dreams so vivid and tantalizing, he began to blur the lines between life and sleep. He resorted to drinking wine or ale, or anything he could get his hands on to forget.

When word got to her that Egg and Daeron had been missing, she knew she couldn’t stay put. So with a good horse as strong as three combined and supplies that would last her days, she ventured off. Dressed in common clothing she sneaked out, with two golden cloaks on her trail, unbeknownst to her. When she managed to gather enough clues for their whereabouts, she spotted them in a lonesome tavern. Egg had been outside in rugged armor, mounting a horse while Daeron had been inside the tavern, heavily drunk.

“Egg!” Naerisse hissed. Aegon with a startled jump, turned to her with beady eyes. His eyes softened as he saw his older cousin, her lilac eyes shimmering under the torchlight. Despite the cloak she bore, her silver long hair had managed to slip out the hood, her curled streaks of golden strands shimmering like a thousand suns. Aegon often found warmth and comfort in his older cousin, who never saw Aegon as a pest like Aerion or Aelor saw him. Naerisse and Daeron had always been attached to the hip and on the occasion, Aegon himself would stick to his older brother and Naerisse found no reason to not be cordial to her younger her cousin, often involving them in their activities. She even developed a maternal sense, often serving as his trusted older adult. “What happened to your hair?! Where’s Daeron?!” She unmounted her horse, trying it to a nearby plank. She rushed towards the younger Prince, immediately engulfing him a crushing hug while he sat mounted on the horse. She reached towards him, taking his face in her hands and examining him. Aegon rolled his eyes trying to pry her hands off of him. “Stop that, Naerisse! I’m fine, i promise.” He backed up.

She huffed, coming to stand again. “Your hair is gone and you expect me to not feign concern. Are you serious, Egg?!” She began to reprimand him to which she held his hands up in protest.

“I’m fine.” He plainly stated. “To the gods, i swear it.” She searched his face only to find certainty. They would only involve the gods if they meant something truly, and her young cousin seemed to have meant it. She nodded. “And what are you doing here? You could have been harmed on the way here!” Aegon recalled.

“You think i’d stay put with the knowledge that you and Daeron are missing?”

Aegon blinked. “You are a Princess. You are Valarr’s wife! If anything happened to you, Grandpa Daeron would be massacring the realm looking for you! Valarr would even lead the raids himself!” Aegon dramatically flared his arms.

“Need I remind you that you are only nine namedays old!”

“Almost a man!”

“Practically a babe!”

“We weren’t even lost!” Naerisse crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. Aegon rolled his eyes. “Perhaps we strayed but it wasn’t my fault. Daeron promised me—” She shook her head.

“Egg, my love, it’s Daeron. We’ve long known he usually isn’t a man of his word when he’s inebriated half the time.” Aegon slumped his shoulder, shaking his head in agreement. She stuck out her bottom lip, reaching her hand to caressed his face. “Where is he?”

“Inside.”

She nodded. “Wait for me here. I’ll go fetch him. Don’t do anything you’re prone to do. Do you understand me?” Aegon nodded. About to turn, she turned back to Aegon. “Answer me this. Do I look like myself? Does this cloak hide me well enough?” She turned to Egg expectedly. He tiled his head in thought.

“It’s your hair.” She pouted her lips to the side. She turned to her horse, her eyes gleaming as they settled on a small piece of linen. She strode towards her horse and snatching the fabric. Letting the hood of her cloak fall back, she bent forward letting her hair fall over. In a precise motion, she bunched her hair, wrapping it in the fabric and tightly knotted it in the back, making sure all her hair was covered and tucked away. She straightened herself up again fixing any flyaway strands and propping her hood back up. She turned to him once more. Egg nodded with a small smile. She smiled at him, looking at him one last time before retreating inside the tavern.

She swung the door opened to a dimly lit tavern. Inside, a man sat by the door turned to her but she paid him not mind heading straight for the shorter woman who seemed to be the keeper of the tavern. Her face was covered well by her hood, only illuminating the higher points of her face.

“What can I do for ‘yer?” The woman responded. Naerisse turned to the woman who still hadn’t seen her face. Naerisse looked around the tavern for any signs of Daeron but none seemed to have appeared.

“I’m looking for someone.” The tavern lady chortled.

“Many of men come around here. You’ve got to be more specific.” Dunk from where he sat, couldn’t make out her face. But noticed the reaction of the Tavern Keeper’s face when they met Naerisse’s amethyst eyes that seemed to have looked even more vibrant in the dark. The keeper mumbled something Dunk couldn’t decipher, watching their exchange from a distance. He watched the keeper nodding as the mysterious person took ahold of their hand and put a great deal of stags in her hands watching the faceless person walk up the stairs. Dunk watched the woman look to the great sum of gold in her hands, clutching them and holding them to her chest. She looked up, meeting Dunk’s curious eyes. She slightly scowled at him. “Mind your eyes, ser. Your food will oughta get cold.” She walked away, leaving Dunk confused from her sudden shift in behavior, his eyes trailing to the staircase where the mysterious figure ventured off to.

Turning a left, Naerisse opened the door to a rather crammed room. A smaller bed was placed in the corner with a desk right next to it. Daeron had been slumped against the bed, his body nearly toppling off the bed. Naerisse shook her head and closed the door, stepping towards the bed and taking a look at the state Daeron was in. It was clear he had been drunk out of his mind, a bottle of ale was still in his grasp and his drool had been traveling across his cheek. She exasperated, grabbing the bottle of Ale and placing it on the desk. Daeron shuffled in his drunken sleep. Grabbing ahold of her cloak, she wiped the drool off and pushing him further into the bed.

“Daeron.” She whispered. He stirred where he laid, not quite awake. Her hands reached for his hair that covered his face, slightly pushing it to the side. Daeron in his sleep eased at the touch, knowing who it was that seemed to slowly ease him out of another dream that seemed to overcome and cloud his peaceful sleep.

“Gold.” He murmured. Naerisse accustomed to his ramblings, let him be. She knew this was his way of trying to escape the dreams that seemed to plague him. “Shrouds the seed.” She rubbed his forearm, knowing that he felt her. She was anchoring him to reality. “Gold.” He murmured again. “Dragon plants his fire. Golden it becomes.” He choked on his breath. Instantly, Naerisse sits him up and begins to pat his back. His eyes flew open, trying to regain his breath. He looked around the room, his eyes darting around until they landed on Naerisse who looked at him in worry. His breath began to even up, his gaze still turned on Naerisse.

“Naerisse. Cousin.” His voice was rasped. She nodded at him, rubbing his back. He looked past her to find no one besides her in the room. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Never mind that. Are you alright?” He gulped, nodding. “Were you dreaming again?” Daeron nodded, turning to stare at his lap.

“I thought I had drank enough not to. I guess that was not the case.” He dryly chuckled. Naerisse shook her head displeased.

“I thought we had agreed that there was better alternatives than you sucking your cups dry.” Daeron shook his head, falling back on the pillow. His eyes trained on the ceiling above him.

“I can’t escape them, Naer. Milk of the poppy tastes rancid and it only helps for so little time.” He explained, rubbing his eyes.

“And Ale doesn’t taste as rancid? If anything, it tastes like feet and metal.” Daeron laughed invoking a small smile from his cousin. Naerisse sat staring at the floor, feeling comfortable in the silence. She turned back to him, noticing how droopy his eyes looked. “What did you dream about?” Daeron lazily turned his head to her with a sigh. Naerisse rolled her eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me. You’ll tell me at your own time, perhaps when you smell of sweat and wine.” A small tug pulled at Daeron’s lips.

“Oh, dearest cousin. You know me so well.” He joked, yawning.

“If i did, i wouldn’t have to ask why you ran off with Egg to act a drunken fool in a middle of nowhere tavern!” Daeron huffed.

“I don’t like tourneys.”

“Then you should have let him squire for someone else.”

Daeron chuckled. “And let him squire for Aerion? He wouldn’t have survived a day. I’m doing him a favor.” Naerisse shook head, pinching the bridge of her nose trying to understand the situation.

“So letting him be one with the horses outside is also a favor? When he could be at Ashford Meadow right now and perhaps learning a thing or two.” Daeron closed his eyes.

“No. He would most likely arrive there by tomorrow. We travel in carriages remember? Our dragons died out ages ago.” Naerisse ran hand down her face.

“You are quite infuriating when you lack sleep, you know that?” Daeron didn’t respond, just hummed. Finding no resolution in squabbling with him, she placed her hood back on. “I will escort Egg to Ashford Meadow. Perhaps my husband will take him as his squire. And as for you, do it is what you need to do. Get it out of your system but I expect to see you gallantly walk those muddy fields of Ashford by tomorrow. I mean it, Daeron.” She instructed. Daeron slightly dozing off, faintly mumbled incoherently . “Just rest.” She soothed him by patting his forearm.

She stood up as she noticed his breath even out. Heading straight for the door, his shuffling stopped her. “Get there safe, ser.” He joked of her appearance even in his sleep. She chuckled, eventually finding her way out the door and down the stairs.

Stepping outside the tavern, she stopped in her tracks watching Aegon converse with the man from earlier.

“Take me with you, Ser. Please.” Aegon reached closer, unaware of Naerisse who stood nearby. Dunk turned around, his eyes meeting her cloaked face gesturing towards her.

“And what might he say?”

Egg turned to Naerisse. “Not much.”

Dunk turned again to Naerisse and twirled again. “That’s ‘yer father standing right there!” Egg scrunched his eyebrows at the sudden assumption. It dawned on him, he wasn’t very bright.

“My mother is dead.” Aegon solemnly spoke trying to ease the attention away from Naerisse who felt stumped.

“You’re an orphan boy.” Dunk assumed incorrectly again. Taking this as his chance to deflect, Naerisse began to grab her dagger that was hidden by her ankles.

“Are you?” Aegon began to question. His eyes darted behind the rather tall man and watched his cousin reach for her dagger. Alarmed, he tried to subtly grab her attention.

“I was. Once.” Dunk answered turning to stare at the ground. “Till my ser took me in. Taught me arms and riding, and ...” Naerisee began to inch closer, watching her steps. From afar, the two golden cloaks watched in anticipation, their guards ready to pounce at any given time. “and taught me everything really.” Egg frantically shooed her away to no avail. Naerisse behind Dunk shook her head, bringing her index finger to her mouth. “Best he could.” When she was only a step away, Dunk turned around to meet her calculating stare. Her Lilac eyes pierced through his as he stepped back, leaving Naerisse to stumble in her step. “What are you doing, Ser?” Dunk walked away like nothing, as if Naerisse wasn’t a swift motion away from piercing his neck. “Who are you?”

Naerisse still bewildered from his earlier assumption cleared her throat. Egg knowing she was about to blow their cover intervened quickly. “They’re with me.” Egg walked towards Naerisse, nudging her for encouragement. She huffed, clearing her throat.

“I am no ‘ser.” She protested. She pulled down her hood to reveal her wrapped head. Dunk’s eyes widened.

“Oh, excuse me, my lady, I did not mean to—”

Naerisse placed her hand on her hip. “Does my lack of hair make me less of a woman, Ser? Must I have long luscious locs for you to grant me my womanhood?!” She began to pick at the strangely tall man. His face flustered, reddening by the second.

“Forgive me if I offended yo—”

“I suffered a nasty sickness only moons past. My hair gravely fell out in handfuls. Would you like to see it? I am quite bald, if you must know.” Aegon stifled his giggles, turning to stare at the floor.

“No! I believe you, my lady. Forgive me if I’ve offended you. It was not my intention.” Dunk apologized. Naerisse feigned contemplation and nodded her head.

“I will take your word for it.. Ser…” Naerisse trailed on.

“Best hold on to it. He will take us to Ashford.” Aegon quipped. Dunk whipped his head to the smaller boy. “I could squire for him.” He turned to Naerisse, silently pleading for her to follow along. “And you can teach me best you can.” He turned to Dunk.

“No, I have no need for a squire, lad.”

“Every knight needs a squire. And you look like you need one more than most.” Aegon tried to reason. “And she can help with caring for your horses. Animals love her.” Naerisse gaped her mouth.

“And you look like you need a good clout in the ear.” He threw a sack towards Egg. “Fill me a sack of oats. I’m off to Ashford. Alone.” Egg defeated walked away. Her chest tightened at the sight of it, knowing it takes a mighty lot to defeat her fiery cousin.

“You insult my womanhood and then you deny him a safe escort. Are you bloody mad?” Dunk said nothing. A long silence dragged.

“It is not that simple for me to drag you along. I barely have enough for myself to get by. Two extra mouths and we’ll all be starved before coming winter.” Naerisse scoffed. “You are both better off not tending for the likes of me.” He mounted his horse. He flipped a coin towards their way. Aegon turned back to the hedge knight. “Sulk all you wish. I know you’ll scoop it up as soon as I’m gone.” He spoke, his horse galloped away. They watched as he rode away, her arms coming to wrap around his head, bringing him closer to her frame.

“If he won’t help you, i’ll get you there, Egg.” He hummed.

“And how will you do that?”

“The Gods have cared for me all my life. I’m sure they won’t desert me now.” Aegon turned towards her.

“Say we get there, then what? Uncle Baelor and my father and Valarr will all be there. What if they see you when they thought you’d be back home in Kingslanding?”

“That is my problem, Egg. Don’t you fret about it.” Egg nodded.

ALAS, IT SHOULD HAVE DAWNED ON NAERISSE THAT IT WOULD EVENTUALLY END UP HER PROBLEM AND HERS ALONE. She had been set on waking early to devise a plan that would eventually and surely bring them to Ashford. Only to find an empty bed and a certain bare headed cousin nowhere to be seen.

“Daeron! Where’s Egg?!” She shook Daeron. He grunted, shoving her hands off of him. She hastened towards the nearby rooms, opening and closing doors hoping he’d be in one. But all she had found was drowsy men who jolted awake at her sudden appearance.

“He left at sunrise.” He mumbled incoherently. Naerisse gasped, storming back into the tiny room. She threw a nearby rag at him.

“And you didn’t stop him?!” Daeron hummed in his sleep. “Gods help me.” She pinched her nose bridge. “You let a prince of nine years of age run away to chase a man who claims to be a knight. A prince who seems to lack survival skills and has been pampered his whole life!”

“What knight?” He slurred. Naerisse grunted in frustration.

“Daeron!” She hissed.

“Cousin, please. You wished for me to rest. I am resting.” He shuffled on the bed. Naerisse walked to where her cloak was resting and gabbing the dagger that rested on the small wooden bedside table. She grabbed his sack of gold, tucking it into the pockets of her pants.

Turning back to the sleeping man, she adjusted her cloak. “Rest all you wish. But i warn you, if you are not at that tourney by the time i get there, you will respond to me.” She threatened him. Daeron hadn’t moved a muscle. “And i’ll tell your father that you are ready to host a tourney to invite all the young ladies of the realm. And I do not mean it for your erratic amusement.” She spoke heading towards the door. If there’s two things her cousin loved was wine, and women. Something he wouldn’t be able to indulge while hosting a tourney in his honor, assuming the role of a Prince and not some inebriated fool. Daeron sprung up from the bed, whipping his head towards the now closed door. He huffed, lazily throwing his head back on the pillow.

Her footsteps were hot and heavy. She stomped across the tavern grounds until she found herself in the forest beyond the road. Pushing through bushes, she found a clearing. Golden cloaks laid on the ground, surrounding a dying fire. Both men still asleep despite the sunlight pouring on their face.

“Good morrow, Ser’s.”

The men jolted awake. Dried drool rested on their cheeks from the deep slumber. “Princess!” They scrambled onto their feet. “How did you know—” She shook her head.

“You were not as discreet as you may have thought. I caught on only a mile into my journey.” She explained. “Enough of that, i hope you both slept wonderfully. So splendid that you didn’t notice the Prince Aegon had ran off in the middle of dawn!” She smiled.

“The Prince! Forgive us, Princess, we—”

“Do not blame yourselves. Much of the fault falls on me. He is very devious that one. But thank the gods, I know where he is headed.” She began to explain. “Ashford Meadow. If we head now, we may arrive before he does.” The Golden Cloaks nodded.

“We’ll ready the hors-.” One turned, to find no said horse in sight but just the clearing. “-es.” Naerisse closed her eyes for a second. “They were right there!” Another pointed to a nearby tree. “They must have been taken while we slept!” She squared her shoulders.

“Then we walk..”

“Princess, Ashford is miles away. We cannot—”

“Prince Aegon is already well on the road. We must act now.” She stepped back, turning to the deserted road just beyond the bushes. She turned back to the men. “You swore an oath to protect me. Now it’s time to prove it.”

AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, NAERISSE HAD FINALLY ARRIVED TO ASHFORD MEADOW WELL INTO THE HOUR OF THE OWL. After a tiresome trek, she had learned a couple things about herself. Finding herself without a roof, she learned rainstorms weren’t as pretty when you walked on foot rather than watching them from her tower. Although it was a rainstorm that lasted no more than an hour, she found herself defeated when she had to wait out the rainstorm under a canopy made up of two golden cloak capes. She also had learned she did not farewell walking in complete silence. Godrey Flowers and Doran Yronwood appeared to be great listeners, ranging from the weather to dragons to her scoundrel cousins and to her voyages across the seven kingdoms. Not that they had much in the say, but they often were immersed in her elaborate tales. And her occasional high valyrian dialect slipping in every now and then.

The guards had found her pleasant. That was until they lost her when they arrived at the bustling tourney. She had wandered off looking for Aegon, leaving her guards to scurry around trying to find any trace of her. But with her pale hair covered, it was clear that they had a problem in their hands.

She had been looking for a certain prince when she found him wandering around one of the tents.

“Egg!”

The prince jumped in his stead, his eyes frantically connecting with his dear cousin.

“What were you thinking wandering off like that?!” She shook him. Aegon backed up, shrugging off her hands.

“I wanted to come to the tourney!”

“I could’ve taken you myself!”

“By the time we arrived, the tourney would have finished.” Aegon grumbled. Naerisse sighed, crossing her arms.

“You are a prince!” She harshly whispered. “You cannot simply wander off just because you have that boisterous inkling of yours!” Aegon threw his head back rubbing his bald head.

“It’s not an inkling, i want to be a knight!” Naerisse rubbed her temple closing her eyes for a brief moment

“We have teachers and skilled knights for that, Egg.”

“I will not learn anything if i’m pampered like Valarr.” Aegon rambled off. Naerisse quirked an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes. “I mean no insult, Naerisse.” She faintly smiled at this.

“But you are not a common boy, Egg. And neither is Valarr. You are princes of the realm, harm done to princes of the realm is harm done to the crown. You must understand this.”

“But i want to learn.” He fiercely spoke. “What it means to be a knight, a real knight.” Naerisse stood quiet. She intently stared at him, his eyes pleading for her to reason with him. How could she refuse a boy she has looked after since the cradle? She exhaled slowly, inhaling her atmosphere. A thick pungent smell of wine, sweat and steel clouded her nose. If this is what knights dreamed of, she thanked the gods she was born a princess of the realm.

“And you wish to learn from a hedge knight who has yet to learn of the attributes of a real knight?”

“Naerisse.” Aegon groaned. She laughed shaking her head.

“I suppose i can turn a blind eye if you really wish this.” His face brightened up as he ran towards her. She embraced him, slouching to cradle his head to her waist. “But you must swear you will not be out of my sight again until i know i can trust this hedge knight of yours.” Aegon ferociously nodded, a large smile plastered on his face.

“Thank you, Naerisse. Thank you. Thank you.” He pulled apart from her, craning his head to look at her.

“You are very most welcome.” She spoke. “And just so you know, my husband is a real night, you shiny dragon egg.” Aegon chuckled at this, nodding. His eyes then averted to the towering presence behind her. Naerisse turned to be met with the tall man, his gaze wavering as he recognized her.

“And you!” She began. Dunk backed up, holding both hands in the air. “Do you have any sense at all? Allowing a child to follow you across half a realm!”

“Allow? He followed me, i swear! Come on, tell her, boy!”

Aegon shrugged his shoulders earning a pointed look from Dunk.

“I know he did but least you could do was send him back or send for me!” Dunk appalled at the sudden defensiveness, almost tripped backwards, his legs tangling up.

“And risk the journey back! He wouldn’t have gone!” In that moment, Dunk had cursed the seven with his tall stature wishing he could just shrivel up and let the ground eat him up. But he couldn’t when he was closer to the sky than to the ground. “Come on, tell her!”

IT HAD TAKEN NAERISSE FOR DUNK TO ALMOST WET HIS TROUSERS BEFORE SHE HAD THE DECENCY TO STOP TORMENTING HIM. He could admit for a woman lesser in height compared to him, she was indeed fury in a bottle. They set in a tent, conversing, trying to ease Dunk’s nerves.

“So you’re a Dornish-born? A bastard of House Dayne?” Dunk questioned. Naerisse nodded smiling.

“Proudly so.” She drank the Ale, her face grimaced as her tongue touched the rancid liquid. Setting the cup down, she pushed it away.

“Well, that explains your eyes. I had thought you were a Targaryen bastard.” Dunk chuckled to himself, raising his cup to his lips and taking a giant swig. Aegon nervously chuckled earning a kicked from Naerisse who sat beside him. He winced.

“Saerisse Waters has a better ring to it than Saerisse Sand, does it not?” Dunk nodded.

“Indeed, my lady. A fine name regardless of the last. Though, i cannot help but think it reminds me of a name i’ve once encountered. Perhaps you’ve heard of Princess Naerisse Targaryen. Were you named after her?” Naerisse throat ran dry. Her eyes quickly darted to Egg who shook his head, this time kicking her in the shin. She winced at the impact.

“Not that i’m aware. But people tend to do that, name a child after someone grand.” Dunk nodded.

“Grand they are, that house.” He thought for a moment. “If i could call myself champion of Ashford Meadow, even for an hour, maybe some great house might take me into its service. Perhaps even a House Targaryen.” Both looked up at him.

“You suppose the dragon house employs many hedge knights, ser?”

“Enough of that. I’ll have you know Ser Donnel of the Kingsguard is but the son of a crabber.” Naerisse shook her head, swishing around the cup of ale.

“Ser Donnel? Of Duskendale?”

“Yeah.”

“His father owns half the crabbing fleets of Westeros.”

Unbelieving, Dunk turned to confirm with Naerisse. All she could do was nod. “What?!” He turned back to Egg. “How would you know?”

Egg shrugged his shoulders. “I like fishing.” Suddenly, cheer erupted and a horn blew. “It’s time!” Dunk chugged the last of his ale.

“Come on, pick your feet up. Let’s go!” Dunk began to walk. Naerisse turned to Egg, flashing him a smile.

“Good save, dragon egg.”

NAERISSE STOOD NEXT TO DUNK, THANKING HER STATURE THAT HELPED HER OVERLOOK MOST HEADS. Egg sat on Dunk’s shoulders knowing his height would only allow him to see sweaty backs rather than the tourney itself. They pushed through the crowd until they landed themselves on a decent spot.

The royal box was coincidentally right in front them, only feet apart. Naerisse turned to watch the crowd erupt in cheers as her Uncles and Aerion arrive to the tourney. She turned to Egg who had been staring back at her warily before turning back to the fighting grounds. She cleared her throat, adjusting the head wrap.

Medgar Tully rode into view with a fish in hand.

“For the new gods and old!” He shouted in glory, biting the head off of the fish. Naerisse grimaced looking away.

“How barbaric.” She scoffed. The man next to her laughed at her commentary. Without looking at her, he spoke.

“Well, this is a tourney, girl! If ‘yer expecting a wedding, best be gone.” The guy comically said. Naerisse shook her head smiling. All the men began to gear up, her palms tapped against the thin fabric of her cloak. A habit she picked up after her father. Anxiety gnawed at her knowing anytime soon, her husband would surely appear. She knew that a lot of work was put into the tourney to secure a safe space for Valarr to demonstrate his strength. Coddled, some would say but Naerisse knew it was a precaution. He was a Prince, and many weren’t in favor of the Targaryen’s as of late.

“Helmet!” Valarr ordered, galloping in with his black horse. And suddenly, all the air had been sucked out of Naerisse. As if seeing her husband for the first time. He looked tired. Despite his chivalrous demeanor of a great knight, he looked fatigued. Like he hadn’t slept in moons. Naerisse could tell from far away from his rigid posture and his light colored eye bags. Her heart tore at this knowing she may have been the culprit. She was sure he had sent ravens to the keep expecting to have received a response only to find none. Hells, word may have gotten to him of her sudden disappearance knowing how protective King Daeron was of her.

“Hey, who’s that?” Dunk questioned. Egg turned to Naerisse and back at Valarr.

“Prince Valarr, Baelor’s son.” Egg softly spoke. Naerisse hummed beside them, her eyes trained on Valarr who scanned the crowd, taking the palm of his hand to rest on his cheek, breathing in his wrist. Naerisse knew he carried a vial of her fragrance oil whenever they parted so he had a piece of her near him. Going as far as to dabbing a small droplet on his wrist. Naerisse unknowingly copied his actions, her heart skipping another beat. He took a shallow breath before putting on his helmet. “Second in line to the throne. Married to Naerisse Targaryen. The princess you mentioned earlier.” Naerisse lightly beamed, her eyes twinkled.

“He’s the favorite, I’d wager.”

“I’ll take that bet, ser.” Aegon agreed.

“The prince as the favorite? You’ve got to be joking.” The man beside them spoke. They all turned to him. “If anything, his wife is. Naerisse the Golden. He may have been the first grandson but she was the first granddaughter, that has to count for something.” The man chomped on some stale bread. All men began to ride to their stations.

“You’re placing your bets on the Princess, i wager.”

“I place my bets on sense. Not that there’s any around. Or any contained, for the matter.”

“What are you getting at?” Dunk replied.

“The royal family will go as mad as the rest that came before them. With two princes missing, you could say that’s bad enough.”

“What could be worse than two Princes missing?” Dunk questioned.

“There are whispers the Princess is missing too. Princess Naerisse gone without a trace.” Dunk felt his jaw drop. “Ay. It’s got every lord whispering. Seven hells, it got every commoner worried, far more than the king who appears to care less. They’re saying he’s got something to do with it given how calm he is.”

“King Daeron meddling with the disappearance of the Princess Naerisse? You’ve got to be jesting.” Naerisse spoke up. Her own name felt weird on her tongue.

“It’s odd isn’t it? They’re saying Prince Baelor has gotten involved that he ordered a search party. And Prince Maekar is storming the grounds ready to strike anyone who has something to do with the disappearance of his sons and his niece. And better yet, Prince Aerys is near losing his wits over it. No sign of his only child would break any man.”

Naerisse turned to the floor in guilt.

“And what of her husband? Surely he must be losing his mind.”

The man nodded, turning to the Prince who sat on his horse far away.

“He hasn’t slept a wink. I’ve heard he has been trying to abandon the tourney but Prince Baelor has stationed more men at his tent to prevent him from doing so.” Her eyes flickered to her husband who tightly held onto his reigns. “If you ask me, it’ll be a miracle if he lasts any longer than he has now.” She cleared her throat. Everyone felt silent as the horses neighed and hooves stomped on the ground.

“Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!” Everyone laughed and the horns blew. The men rode towards each other and full pace. Naerisse covered her face, waiting for the sound of impact. Cheers erupted. Nervously, she peeked through her hands hoping to find her husband whole. Her face relaxed when she recognized her husband’s gear amongst the others. They rode again.

“Ser. Put me down, ser.” Aegon ordered. Dunk looked up at him and set him down. With a newfound courage, Egg pushed his way to the very front and climbed onto the wooden railings. Naerisse and Dunk followed behind and this time, all eyes were on her husband as he marched towards his opponent. He struck and they crashed onto the ground, taking some of the wooden railings with them. As the jousting progressed, more men fell and surrendered until Valarr was the last one standing. Her cheering had been the loudest sound she ever made. And she was proud it was in support of her husband.

NAERISSE SAT IN SILENCE AS SHE WATCHED EGG PLAY PRETEND WITH A WODDEN STICK. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head rested atop. A few feet away, Dunk sat contemplating. She turned to Dunk, throwing a small pebble at him.

“Magnificent riding tonight.” She called out. “Though, the raw fish biting was a tad barbaric.” She mused. Dunk sat still in his own head.

“Something the matter, ser?” Aegon took notice of this.

“Do great knights live in the hedges and die by the side of a muddy road?” He suddenly spoke. “I think not.” He stared at nothing in particular. “Ser Arlan wasn’t gifted with sword or lance, and he drank, and he whored and he was a hard man to know. He made no friends either.” Both Egg and Naerisse sat quiet, drinking in his words of remembrance. “He lived nigh on 60 years and never was a champion. Mm, what chance do i have? Truly?” He looked at the two Targaryens who stared back at him. “But he was good to me. I wasn’t his family.. but he kept me like we were.”

“Forgive me, Ser. But how did you meet him?” Dunk turned towards her. He smiled at the faint memory like it has been only yesterday.

“I was just a boy when there was a celebration throughout the realm. I didn’t know until later that it had been to honor the birth of Princess Naerisse, the Miraculous Year; they called it.” Naerisse raised her eyebrows in astonishment. “It was a great thing. The first child of a Prince, who i don’t remember his name, had folks thinking he would never have any. King Daeron’s proudest joy. The streets celebrated like mad, all throughout the year. After her, more princesses followed. Four, if i’m not mistaken.” Naerisse smiled at this fondly. “There was food everywhere, music littered the streets. But gods, the food. I’d been starving for a while and i was as sick as a pig. It was the first full meal i’ve had thanks to those celebrations. I ate until i was sure i could burst.” Dunk smiled at this memory. “Had i not eaten, i would have never met Ser Arlan, who i had met a few weeks after that. I may be stupid, but i would never forget that name.” Silence followed. “Which is why I pray for her safety, had it not been for her, i wouldn’t have lived, least i can do.”

“You were talking about how you met Ser Arlan, Ser!” Egg called out.

Dunk nodded, fumbling with his hands, spoke again. “I remember a guard had been talking bad on the Princess’s name and i remember going livid. Something overcame me and i attacked. I hadn’t realize the guard had been taller than me at the time and i got a good beating. Ser Arlan stepped in to save me and beat him bloody. Took me in as family.” Naerisse hummed. “He raised me to be an honorable man and all these noble lords can’t even remember his name. His name was Ser Arlan of Pennytree and I am his legacy. On the morrow, we will show them what his hand has wrought.”

Eventually they all dozed off to sleep, minus Naerisse who stared at the sky. She missed her husband. She missed staring into his mismatched eyes and caressing his silver streak. She missed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His eyes always had a certain twinkle to them. But when she had seen them today, they were dull. Joy stripped from his irises. So she couldn’t help but wonder, if her little adventure was affecting him more than he let on. Was it affecting her Grandpa Daeron or her Father Aerys? Would Valarr be unable to sleep tonight thinking she is not safe? She couldn’t have that. She just couldn’t. She knew she had to find her way back to him before the Moon lost its gravitational pull and descended into darkness.

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

HOT BLOODED

Summary: Letting go of the boy she loves and a best friend of a lifetime, Kit finds herself in the United Kingdom. Finally accepting and forgetting the past, the future comes clawing at her. Hot-blooded and unrelenting, a certain fisher boy comes back igniting everything she thought she extinguished

Pairing: Conrad Fisher x Kit Ackerley

A/N: 3 A.M activities aka me maladaptive dreaming

LONDON’S DREARY SKIES COULDN’T TAINT THE HAPPINESS THAT RADIATED OFF OF KIT ACKERLY, THE NEWLY TWENTY-TWO YEAR OLD. Her day couldn’t have been better after receiving word of her brother’s engagement, Tate, the oldest of the four. She had known of his relationship with Shayla ever since they met only a few years back, obviously after Steven and Shayla broke up. That summer, Tate had to leave early after scoring an internship leaving his twin and youngest siblings behind. Not knowing of Steven’s entanglement with the girl.

“So how did you propose, bro? Did you get down on both knees?” Avi snickered at the thought of his brother making a fool of himself. Kit laughed at the insinuation. Tate scoffed, readjusting his phone.

“You wish, bro. Just know i got a yes.” Jude howled at his twin’s apparent victory. Kit laughed, her head falling back. Avi’s whistle cackled through Kit’s speaker

“One down, two more to go and i should have my niece or nephew soon!” Kit smiled, leaning against her chair that was parched against her balcony that overlooked the gloomy skies of London. The wind blew, teasing her hair.

“As if Avi will ever have the balls to ask Belly out.” Jude taunted. Avi dramatically gasped, clutching his chest.

“That’s a low blow, dude.” Avi moved around his apartment, his phone still clutched in his hand. “It’s not like i’m a hundred miles away while Conrad is right there in the palm of her hand. Bro, i wish i wasn’t broke or i would’ve gotten a ticket to Paris.” Avi groaned. Kit’s smile momentarily faltered but as quick as it fell, as quickly as she recovered. She cleared her throat.

“Conrad’s in Paris?” She asked through the phone. Tate scoffed at his younger brother.

“Dude.” Tate reprimanded Avi. Kit shook her head, a small smile forcefully tugging at her lips.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’m okay.” Kit reassured them. “I just overheard it when i called Jude the other day.” Jude dragged his hand down his face, squinting; remembering Jeremiah was over at his house that day with Steven, Taylor and Denise.

“Yeah, he is.” Tate whispered, almost inaudible.

Kit pressed a smile. “Thats nice. I heard from Belly that Paris is beautiful so i’m glad he’s enjoying that.” She cleared her throat, shuffling in her chair.

“You’ve talked to her?” Jude spoke up. Kit shook her head.

“Laurel. She was checking up on me and mentioned Belly in the passing. No deal. Just Laurel being Laurel.” Kit rested her head on her palm that was propped up against the ledge of the balcony.

“We understand if you don’t want to talk about her or Conrad.” Tate spoke, almost as if soothing her even if he was an ocean away. She knew this was his way of protecting her peace, being the youngest and only sister, she knew Tate and the rest of the boys would do anything for her.

“Lowkey, i’d also prefer the Eiffel tower over the big ben. Why the fuck do i wanna see a clock when i can just go to my living room.” Avi spoke, trying to ease the tension. Tate groaned once again, wishing to smack his little brother.

“Bro, shut up!”

Kit lightly chuckled, peering towards the bustling streets of london. “If you didn’t want to come to London for Christmas, you could’ve just said that.” Avi shook his head.

“You think i’ll pass up on a free vacation? Do you even know me!?” All three laughed at his antics. Eventually Jude spoke up, brushing his curls to the side of his face.

“Don’t let that idiot get to you.” Jude glared at Avi who pretended to find himself busy with something else that didn’t concern his glaring older brother. “Don’t think too much about it, Kitty. You’ll just beat yourself up.” She nodded, sipping on her cup of tea. Something that only a few years back, her brothers would have looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

“I mean let’s be honest here. If i wanted to fly somewhere just to see the architecture, i would have just walked to the closest IKEA.”

“With what money would you have to begin with that isn’t mom or dad’s?” Tate joked.

“You are one second away from being blocked, tater tot.”

All four siblings laughed.

“Talking about sponsored trips, Mom and Dad are talking about flying to London in the Spring.” Tate began to claim. Kit sharply tilted her gaze to her propped up phone.

“Really?!” She squealed.

“They said it’s to make sure you don’t live in a shoebox.” Jude added in. Kit scoffed

“Shoebox? I have the best view of London.”

“So we’re just going to pretend you don’t use your cupboards as drawers?” Jude remarked. Kit felt slumped.

“Got me there, Judy.”

Tate cleared his throat averting the attention back to him. “Anyways, as i was saying, i just wanted to check with you first if it’s okay to bring Shayla. To incorporate her more into the family and—”

“YES!” Kit happily shrieked. “Of course she can come! Why would you even stop to ask me that?! I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Tate rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s your place. I didn’t just want to force someone else who isn’t us into your home.” Kit shook her head ferociously, pressing her lips tightly together.

“She’s practically family now that you’re engaged.”

Tate smiled at his sister’s reaction, nodding at her statement.

“Now that we are feeling all kumbaya and stuff…” Jude began. Kit furrowed her eyebrows. “If your humble abode allows us to fit more than three people, there’s this girl..”

“No way bro.” Avi snickered.

“A girl? Like a human breathing girl?” Jude rolled his eyes.

“No, a fish.”

Kit deadpanned. “Okay, a girl. What girl? You’ve never mentioned a girl!” She retorted. Jude shrugged.

“I met her at Finch when i visited Jere.” Kit’s jaw dropped. “So like hypothetically speaking, if she happened to catch the same flight as us and surprisingly also knew the way to your place..”

Avi shook his head. “If that’s the case, can someone throw me off the plane?” Kian gagged. The two elder brothers cackled.

“It’s not our fault you didn’t grow the balls to ask Belly out when you had the chance.” Jude sassed. Tate howled. About to hear her twin brother go on a verbal rampage, a knock started at her door. She turned to the door waiting for another set of knocks to follow.

Knock. Knock.

“Answer your door, Kit. I’m in the middle of something here.” Avi said, pausing his attack on his brothers.

“You expecting someone, kitty?” Tate asked. She shook her head.

Jude ruffled his hair. “Jack the ripper probably.”

“Dude.” Tate laughed.

“Wait, i’ll call you guys back.” Kit giggled. The boys waved through the screen. Ending the phone call, Kit got up and walked towards her door. The knocking continued. “Wait! I’m coming!” She opened the door, her heart dropping right back into his hands.

“Conrad.”

[honey-sweeeet]

rule the roost - 2

had a lot of love for part 1 so here’s a continuation.

(4.5k)(valarr targaryen x connington!reader)

no use of yn. mild discussion of period-typical dysfunctional families & alluding to abuse. no real warnings apply.

the red keep is rather monstrous. it changes people, devours them. what is worth clinging to, in such a place?

gif by @valarrs-targaryen illustration from a world of ice & fire, grrm

the red keep may be named for the rock from which it is hewn, but as you stand in the courtyard you wonder if the castle isn't drinking the blood from the ground.

there are fewer familiar faces around now. not just the peasantry and landed lords taking their leave, but each morning you wake up with fewer nieces and cousins. quietly vanishing family members are a grim reminder in each of your waking hours.

over the trailing days, the tourney grounds slowly close as smaller lords and those entirely uninterested in the high houses politicking have upped and left.

confined to the city proper - your uncle's polite words for 'not out of my sight' - you have nothing to do but walk loops around the outer keep. there's no checkpoint enforced, but you never dared venture past the guards in black outside maegor's holdfast or toward the tower of the hand. further up the grand set of stairs are more apartments, council chambers and the godswood, surely, tucked away in the heart.

you stick to the tents in the outer keep, walking tighter and smaller rings in the courtyard day by day. you watch house guards fight in the courtyard and wonder which girl will go missing next.

one fair morning, you’re pleasantly enough entertained by some men of the vale swinging one-handed, swooping blows at each other. it's a cutting, dancing kind of fight. they pause and step back between each flurry and bow to each other, then the crowd. the light applause each time feels pleasant enough to join.

pushing through your inner dread, you take great amusement watching your cousin get slammed to the ground by a lannister knight. on the sidelines, manners prevent you from outwardly applauding the man but you will remember that victory for a long while.

as you are monstrously enjoying the sight of your cousin knocked about like a wayward branch, a retinue in black begins to emerge from near the kingsguard barracks.

from their dress you know who they belong to, but not a single little lordling's face is memorable. the only one you can tell apart from such distance is brightflame, his hair the colour of milk.

there's no sour words from him today and so you cling to the hope that maekar righted the princeling's head behind closed doors.

aerion does not tarry at joining in the good-natured melee. his expression sits severely flat. as soon as he works his way in, you can sense the mood has turned.

the crowd fades into fraught quiet as aerion swings a morningstar around. the applause from onlookers begins to seem forced. it's a terrible weapon he wields and you can hear the chain howling as it spins. aerion lands a quick battery of blows on one of the tully lordlings. he doesn’t even gloat, simply swats young men aside with a quiet and fearsome expression.

one swift boy lands a solid hit to aerion’s shoulder. brightflame returns tenfold with a terrible blow to the head.

you turn away then, deciding this is not for you anymore. the honour has gone from it. no sport but cruelty. you look around and realise the sadness building in the empty spaces of the courtyard.

as you walk away, you pass the dismantled tent where your cousin sat on the evening she left. write to maidenpool, alright? no matter where from. send word to maidenpool.

there are more meals each evening. wheel-turning repetitions of the night before with a different set of people. some houses and free city nobles have been hosted by the royal family no less than four times apiece. such extravagance is expected for their status.

the eve's is a smaller affair than the last one - the royal family seems to dwindle each successive evening. gracefully, the king is absent; the hammer and the anvil sit together in talkative spirit; the right table sits occupied by the elusive brother, aerys, who had taken up a book the second sevants began clearing food; the left table seats the young prince and his little brother.

the conningtons have never been small, but the griffin who nests is often overlooked. your father roosted, your uncle has shaken open his wings.

there are new additions to your table this evening. a baratheon second cousin and a third daughter of a hightower. two delicate young girls now tied into the family. they sit still and silent and it burns you.

and all the while, your circle of trusted conversationalists dwindles. there are no female cousins of your age left. two went to maidenpool and saltpans. a third to some landed knight of the dornish marches. two nieces have been notably - wordlessly - absent for a day. only your sister-by-law and the children remain.

you look up the length of the tables, deeply into the shadows behind. right at the back of the room, behind breakspear and his sparse relations.

the iron throne looms.

a mountain of warping, slithering metal that entangles in places only to burst into a deadly sunburst.

it lurks clearly even without torchlight. your thumb rubs over the handle of your knife, soothing back and forth. sooner or late I must partake in my own life, or be consumed by it.

your heart races and you grip the knife tighter.

a sudden hand snatches your elbow, sending guilty, cold shame up your back.

"you are finished eating? good." your eldest cousin barks. his voice comes a little heavy with drink and it makes you drop your cutlery.

he all but marches you up to the high table by your elbow. while it may seem polite from the outside, for the first time it gives you violent and shameful thoughts of anger. you wish for the knife back and then immediately regret it, chiding yourself for thinking such monstrous things.

"we’re doing this for our father, right? remember your manners. that’s all I ask." he says in warning, wearing a painfully charming smile.

he may have recovered from his fall in the yard, but you remember what it looked like to see him strike the dirt.

"your grace. may I present my cousin, the young lady connington. we have the honour to have travelled far to be set before-"

"rise, my good ser,” valarr interupts, dismissing the slightly drunken lean of your cousin. "it is good to see you in our hall again, my lady."

"likewise, your grace. fortunate, one might say."

valarr’s mouth twitches and the pull of his eyebrow softens just so. if you were not watching him so close, you would not have seen it.

"good cousin … you have taken audience?" your older cousin asks, leaning close to talk.

"your own lord father had the honour a few nights past," you say, unbothered if the prince should hear. with a painfully polite smile, you return the blame tenfold towards your family and your betrayers. "I warned the sweet wine does not agree with you. it fogs your head so. please, good cousins, take some fresh air."

yes, you drunken fools. you have tried to embarrass me this eve and succeeded only in your own shame.

your cousin reddens to the colour of his hair, almost tripping over his feet to apologise. "pardons, your grace. we had-"

baelor waves a quick hand at them gently, letting the squirming fish from the hook without a word. breakspear seems much more enthralled by his brother's conversation to take great concern with his son's suitors.

you watch as your cousin walks away, sobering greatly after a brush with kings. you glance over your shoulder at their retreat.

"for all his faults, I still beg his pardons, your grace. you see it is not so striking when all the birds in the nest are red."

"there are many in a flock and you are but one of one." valarr returns your words to you with a soft smile and it makes your heart pause deliriously.

two days and it has stayed with his mind? with all that must be attended to in this place, he remembers that?

valarr leans back in his chair slightly, one of those not-quite smiles on his face. “your cousins may have red feathers, but are they pheasant or hawk?’

"they are young, over indulged cockerels." you reply sharply. "men who forget they are neither eagle or lion ... pardons, your grace," you add belatedly towards baelor.

breakspear turns his rings impassively over in his hands. just observing and occasionally consulting his darling baby brother. he will be king one day. not because of his name, or the blood inside him. but because he has such a quality that you realise is absent in most seated at the table.

at the tone of your voice valarr exhales in soft amusement and looks down at the table.

"I do believe this city is getting their blood up." you add, conscious of keeping your hands nicely folded.

"a turn of fresh air may do them good." valarr counters. it’s hard to accustom yourself to - someone who watches without staring.

you laugh. "there is no fresh air in this city. some sea air would straighten them out."

valarr smiles, shifting in his chair. he glances almost unconsciously at his father before he speaks.

"my good lady…" valarr begins tactfully, fingers stopping on the stem of his goblet. he picks up a soft tone as if he does not want to insult the sharpness of your mind. "we are on the blackwater..."

"we are indeed, your grace. I mean a true sea breeze."

valarr takes a slow drink, stretching out the quiet as he sits and looks up at you. it’s it's equal parts intimidating and magnetic to catch sight of his silver streak and it succeeds in forcing you to babble out another sentence.

"have you sailed shipbreaker bay, your grace?"

valarr softly shakes his head and lowers the cup.

"the swell is so strong you can lick salt from the air. i hear it roar beneath the window each morn and rumble behind the shutters every night."

"an enchanting vision, my lady. it brings fond thoughts of dragonstone."

as valarr speaks you realise how easily you have stepped into your cousin’s shadow. you stand here, doing exactly as they’ve asked of you … and you’re falling prey to it. you’re skipping on the cold coals at the edge of the fire. smearing your feet with ash and toying with duty like a child outrunning a swelling wave. he talks so kindly and you’re letting it soften you.

"when the thunder rises," valarr says. "the sea comes with it."

•

fitful sleep has you awake in your tent most of the night, feeling unguarded without someone sharing your bed. no cousin kicking you in the back. nobody pulling all the covers off. your sister-by-law’s snoring something you never thought you’d lament losing.

dawn comes red and heavy. a true sailor’s warning bleeding out into the sweetest pink spring sky.

when a summons comes, you’re about ready to let it take you. if not today, tomorrow, or tomorrow. someone will arrive.

you hear the voices through the canvas before they enter. in comes a page, a serving man and two ladies. lastly, your cousin.

“you have an escort. dress her properly.”

"and if I do not wish to go?" you ask petulantly. in fact, you are morbidly excited about the prospect beneath the surface. but the fact that it benefits your cousins makes you wish to protest.

"you will go willingly, or you will go tied to the horse." he bites back, pinching your arm cruelly through your sleeve.

"your mother should have tossed you from the tower when you were born. let the gulls have at you," you hiss, snatching your arm away.

a hurried and hateful few minutes pass as you stand silently and let the women fuss with your hair. they undress you and put you into the black gown septa dorys had been so insistent upon.

it is not your colour, really. black for mourners and widows.

out in the courtyard stand only three remaining tents. it seems dawn has taken the rest. you realise as you step outside how it’s likely enough you’ll sleep elsewhere tonight.

your escort stands to be one man.

a head taller than the men at arms, helmed and unmoving, a vision in kingsguard white standing beside his horse.

the mail-and-scale armour ripples and moves. it’s blinding when the sun skins across. his trailing cloak stops at his ankle, unbesmirched and white as sea foam.

a quiet ‘my lady,’ and you’re simply expected to follow this nameless man. to let your cousin lift you side saddle onto your own horse, the very picture of smiles and familial love for all the gathered crowd to see.

but his clenched teeth and digging fingers to your rib made his intent clear to you, if no one else.

"do not ruin this for us, cousin," he hisses out in a final warning, kissing the back of your hand and wielding another disarming smile for the onlookers.

“what have you done?” you hiss lowly.

“me? why, it were you courting each evening. I did not make you seduce the prince.”

he steps away then and cuts you off, knowing you won’t risk an outburst... but you want to lean forward and cry out liar! and order the kingsguard to cut him down for it.

you wish for that dinner knife back with a burning desperation.

your escort is near silent. you begin to think the polished scale is but a ghost inhabiting armour. a wandering piece of metal with no words to say but always with a sword to swing.

he rides headfirst out of the red keep and your heart begins to race so quickly you are sure your horse will sense it. why is the prince not in the castle?

yout escort turns out and follows the wall parallel to the rushing blackwater as it meets the sea. gulls scream in their diving swoops and huge war galleys sit moored in tthe bay. it's the seafront, to be sure, but it's too calm, the surface a rippling black glass.

you are taken across the blackwater by the winch gate. it's more military than civilian and your horse does not have to puosh crowds aside. you pass undisturbed by men in gold cloaks and the black-and-red household guards of the targaryens.

half a mile outside of the walls, you think your heart may burst from the fear. if he has taken you out to kill you, he's ridden further than needed. south of the city is flat, open sea cliff. the dense kingswood emerges in the outskirts of the city.

"… what is your name, brave ser?" you ask, pulling alongside in the open track.

"ser willem wylde, my lady."

the name wylde pricks at your memory, nice and familiar.

"of rain house?" "the very same."

you've never met the man before, but he's a stormlander like yourself. from a rocky outcropping on cape wrath. slightly further east than your roost, but still in the desolate cup of shipbreaker bay.

"you are far from home." you say, staring at the treeline. there is one, huge central path through the woodland. it's easily big enough for three wagons abreast. but it matters not, as it's dwarfed by the ancient sprawl of the kingswood.

as far as the eye can see south and west sits the canopied forestland of the crown.

"as are you, my lady," ser wylde replies. his measured tone is hard to dechiper. you cannot sense if his reply carries a warning or boredom.

in the midst of the path your way is somewhat blocked. two riders halt leisurely, horse's heads drooped low.

it sounds like they're laughing underneath the rustling hush of leaves on the wind. one is another brother of the kingsguard, clear as day. next to him on a dark horse, sits a dark haired man.

he’s underdressed for a crown prince. no armour, none of his ceremonial regalia you’d seen inside the hall. no band of valyrian steel about his temples. fewer rings on his hands. plainclothes and simple, a black cape and hood. riding trousers, high boots. a sword at his side.

your plain black dress is fit to match. no wasted time on jewllery and headpieces. no elaborate cloak in bright colours.

black for mourners, widows ... and dragons.

the way the prince is angled in the saddle, you see only a head of brown hair and a young man’s face. if he were not with kingsguard, valarr may look like any man at all. a countryman on horseback, waiting for a lady to accompany him through the forest.

the sworn guard turns first, then valarr. both looking towards the approaching horses. when he spins his head around, you spot that streak of white. not your uncle’s late grey, not aerion’s flat silver, but white as the kingsguard cloak. white as the full moon.

"good morrow, my lady," valarr calls out, urging his horse forward to meet you in the middle.

"well met your grace." you greet, smiling, pulling to ride alongside.

he sets a leisurely pace into the rustling archway of trees. ravens and finches cry out overhead.

"pardon my rude summons so early in the day," valarr begins. out in daylight, not under heraldry and circumstance, he smiles at you. "but I had woken before that red dawn and thought it was surely a sign."

the white brothers in their faceless helms fall at a distance, riding slowly and letting the wind take your words. just far enough for your conversation to be private, but in sight of their sworn prince at all times.

"only a sign of storms, your grace. red skies at night are good fortune."

"I did not think it a sign of fotune. I thought it a sign I should seek your company when we are not at the whim of misbegotten cousins." valarr seems much more at ease than yourself out in the open air, simply conversating sweetly without expectation. "how have you liked the festivities?"

"pleasant enough, my prince."

"may I ask your honest opinions?"

"you may ask what you like, you are the heir."

"indeed," valarr sighs, gathering his horse in hand. "though if I were not, may I still ask it of my lady?"

"you may, your grace."

"just ser, if you please." valarr mutters. "might we agree to speak truly with each other for a short while?"

"I swear it, ser." you say, taking a deep breath. your mare continues walking, ever steady and forward in her gait.

"how have you enjoyed our hospitality. it seems you do not want to be here."

"the food and music is quite fine. I danced very well with my sisters-by-law ... before she left. it was a … joyous affair."

"and yet?"

"nothing, ser. it was a fine ball. I am grateful for your family’s continued hospitality."

valarr sighs beside you, sitting calm and unmoving in the saddle as his horse flicks its head up and down.

"my lady we had sworn upon honesty, foremost." he chides, a hint of disapproval in his voice at your eagerness to lie for the sake of appearances.

"…I am … greatly saddened, ser." you admit, watching the world throguh your horse's bobbing ears. "I do not think I will see my home again."

"why ever not?"

"have you walked the courtyards and the outer keep of late?"

“I was there yesterday morn.” valarr says diplomatically. “… if you are to tell me of my cousins shame I already know it.”

“no, ser. I speak not of that. though I did bear witness his … display.”

“I know.” he says softly. you turn to silently regard him a long moment.

“the upper walls are … it’s a good vantage. my lady." valarr stumbles through. his neck appears slightly flushed pink. "I happened to be summoned to the tower of the hand.”

“so swiftly does honesty fly from the nest,” you sigh.

valarr has the good grace to look slightly ashamed before correcting himself.

“I … wondered if you were still in the keep. I had not seen you for a few days… and there you were. it was a shame my cousin ruined it. "

you're endeared with his honest words and the way he does not shy from his embarassment. he folds his reins into one hand, recovering composure.

"now I have given you the truth, tell me what troubles you.”

"everyone knows the crown may choose but one," you begin, calm and wary of your voice. "and yet all of these lords and noblemen have brought their women here … because they care not if they are overlooked. there are lords about the corridors and in the pavilions willing to make the most of their long journey. seeking to soothe their losses with a different marriage proposal."

you take a breath, daring a glance behind you at the kingsguard. they keep a modest distance, riding slow and leisurely, two abreast.

"each morning I wake missing another cousin without a word in parting. so it matters not who stakes the claim to my uncle, for I will never be returning to my keep. I will be lucky to return to my tent." you continue. as you talk you realise your eyes are burning and your hands are sweating around the leathers of the reins.

valarr rides alongside, frowning at the muddy track ahead as you talk. he doesn’t interrupt or stop you. like his father, he sits there and hears all while keeping a sharp guard on his own thoughts. if he'd worn jewellery today you're sure he'd be idly twirling them.

"it is the way of things - I know this - and yet still I struggle to make peace with it." you finish, sniffling and turning away to face the passing hedges as you wipe your eyes and nose with the heel of your hand.

it’s terribly ignoble of you.

"… I know what it is to be burdened with a duty, my lady. and to wish for that duty to be lifted from you."

"I am sorry ser, to cry over marriage when you are set to lead a realm."

"I’ve been wed to the realm since the day I was born… and now I’m to be wed to a stranger."

"… that is a sorry lot to be born into. you have my greatest sympathies, ser."

valarr draws his horse to a stop, pulling to the side so you halt in the path, steeds facing each other. he glances at the kingsguard making slow progress forward and lowers his voice.

"so I ask now if you could bear that burden."

"ser?"

"there are a great many things one would need give up in order to rule. one would never know a moment’s peace or privacy again."

"that seems a great sacrifice."

"ruling is sacrifice. I can promise you would not wed a stranger, but you would live in a den of snakes." he speaks low and hurried, voice coming quickly as you both grow more aware of the kings guard in the distance.

"if you were to give up your home I would bring you back to the sea. I would take you to dragonstone but you would always be whispered about at court. people will hawk upon our children and our grandchildren, set crowns on their heads and duty in their hearts and you will have no power to stop them… my lady there are promises I cannot make to you, because my first wife has always been the realm."

"ser… this is a madness of some kind."

your words take all the wind from beneath him. valarr silences his quickly paced talking.

“madness, you say.” he exhales a heavy sigh and looks down at the way his hands hold the reins. valarr nods, still staring down, before talking with a quiet, boyish tone of hurt. "… you think me like my cousin."

"no!" you exclaim, aware of the volume of your voices carrying in the leaves. "but … my prince you are asking something not easily given."

valarr urges his horse forward a step or two. he stops when his tall boot rests near the fold of your overlapping knees. it's the closest you think you've ever been to a man you weren't dancing with.

it's somehow more even more intimatet than dancing in an open room, watched from all sides.

"look upon me," valarr insists. "do you think me a monster?"

"never, ser." "you swore to honesty," he says with hurt. "I give it freely! you are not your cousin."

"like as not, we are cut from the same cloth. he is a pale prince, yet here I sit with a beast’s lopsided eyes."

"you are cut from your father’s cloth." you insist. "I can see it. he will be a fine king and you may grow to be even finer. aerion would make us all bleed."

"you see why it must be me? seven save us if a son of Maekar sits the throne." valarr mutters. he hastily glances at the kingsguard and lowers his voice and leans his leg closer.

"so I ask again, my lady, with some honesty and good haste, now: could you bear that burden or would you gamble on some lordship’s wife?"

"… you would take me to the sea?" you ask quietly. internally, you chide yourself for sounding a little childish. you’re a grown woman and yet you’re worried about the ocean breeze!

valarr smiles at the very edges of his mouth as his bows his head solemnly.

"I would bring the sea to you if the gods allow me. you may live on dragonstone and listen to the storms devour the castle."

hoofbeats arrive, inevitable and ever-present.

"your grace, we must make for the keep." willem wylde calls out. "we are already late to break our fasts. your lord father would not wish to keep the archon of tyrosh waiting."

"many things take a prince’s attention. they will wait and take my apologies this evening." valarr tells his escort. "I promise my sire is engaging enough company without audience."

"...though all the same, we should return to the keep." he sighs slowly, looking up at the leaves above. valarr turns to regard you, lastly. "what say you, my good lady?"

the stare is long, pointed. he’s asking more than one question here.

no more sers and honest talk. you will live in a den of snakes, valarr had said, and here it begins. it’s a delicate system of words. all words are valuable - more so in times of peace than war.

“… indeed, your grace,” you agree. “it is time we made for home.”

part 3 and 4 idefinitely n the works if you can be patient … i’m not even hiding it anymore, this is consuming my entire brain. if you enjoyed it pls give my editor some love. this chapter's lore deep dive here

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[honey-sweeeet]

@smilefortae , @charlielotte , @claire-loves-music , @slyreg , @cherriesandstrawberriesontop , @greenmandm , @fandomtrela , @universallyrenound

[honey-sweeeet]

rule the roost

(3.6k) (valarr targaryen x connington!reader)

no use of y/n. connington typical red hair but no skin tone/height/etc. fem adjacent 'my lady' usage. no warnings apply. unless you consider aerion his own warning

baelor wants something good for his son, the lords of the realm want to parade daughters before kings, aerion wants attention, you want to go home. nobody ever seems to come out a winner.

gifs from @targaryensource

men turn mad at sea, women sink to madness in carriages

most carriages are not willingly used by men, for only a woman can sit in such discomfort, boxed with no means of escape, pinned by the dreariest and blandest of conversation and still at the end of it maintain a grasp on sanity.

your finest dresses had to be packed away in a leather case for this journey - a spread of spring colours and your favourite occasion gowns. a box of your late mother’s jewellery was stacked in with it. all the finest things you may choose to dress yourself in. septa dorys had insisted upon packing a black dress, for when you are asked to dine with royalty. it was all rather a waste, you think. all that effort and we’ll be going home.

your uncle and his eldest sons ride outside, feeling the fresh air and the sun. knowing a horse beneath them and that at any time at all they might dismount and go for a walk, or spur their steed over the hillside and back. they could ride off, sword in belt, and see the world.

meanwhile, spread through the trail of three lumbering wagons are your cousins, your neices, widowed sisters-by-law and aunts. anyone unwed, comely and young enough to be paid for.

two of your male cousins - one an unwed brute and the other a green boy a few years younger than you - sit across from you and and their sister, talking strategy as the carriage rattles onwards. your brother sits wedged between, nodding and encouraging the men.

speak to the king only when invited… beauty is what all men like to see … so sit up, not slouch. there’s three good sons … smile at them… call them your prince. do anything at all, but never appear desperate…

it stabs at you a little, seeing your child of a brother have more power and fredom than you could ever dream of as an adult. he's never going to have to sit quiet while a room of women appraise him. he's never going to be scrubbed and trussed and stood in the centre of every banquet like a human sacrifice, made to sit silently by a woman’s side for a lifetime.

though your anger builds, you smile and stare out of the window where the three hills rise high in the distance. the tallest spire atop the highest of the hills seems to be caught on a cloud. perhaps it is the distance, but you cannot see the banner atop the tower from so high.

"I have heard your concern. but I will be returning to the roost." you tell them. "perhaps save this talk for your own sisters."

it was unbecoming, you knew, to throw your cousin before the carriage as you did. to hide behind her like a shield and push her out first. but truly, why did it have to be you sent off with dowry? why did it have to be any of the women here? it was just presumed a woman might not have anything more fulfilling to do than sit quietly and go where she is told.

in the seven kingdoms, many would - and do - walk into the sept with a king willingly. but every other man in the seven kingdoms has some unwilling girl to throw into the ring.

and what do they know of marriage? only insomuch as the sworn men and gold to be found in a well-picked one. it’s of no consequence. you don’t intend to abandon your home any more than your cousins do, so the matter settles itself in your mind.

there’s unfinished embroidery sitting draped over your bedframe, after all. septa dorys will be disappointed you have not completed it. there’s a history of dorne partway read still sat on your desk by the window. you squeeze your eyes shut and picture it, the oaken tabletop smoothed by many connington hands. hundreds of years of a mother's embroidery, ladies and their hair brushes, the push and slide of books and maps and scrolls polishing the oak into a gleam.

you’ll be going home to it in a week’s time. it will all stay sat just as it is, collecting dust and waiting for your prideful return.

the tourney grounds between the lions gate and the king's gate are alive and roaring. tents, horses, pavillions and thousands of drunken smallfolk. lords swirling around on horses dressed as finely as the women.

from so far away, you can't make out what the entertainmet is, but from the intermittent waves of delighted screaming, it must be a joust.

aegon’s high hill looms from outside your carriage and seem no smaller on your entry through the king's gate in the south east city.

you push back the curtain to look at the people as you slow to a gradual walk through the city. every man, woman and dog in the seven kingdoms has filled the already crowded streets, inns and brothels. the horses take painfully slow steps, trudging along with the foot traffic up the highest hill in the city.

peasants and traders. nobles. whores walking in step with silent sisters. strangely dressed essosi dancers. tyroshi men with blue beards. a woman with a bird on each shoulder. children underfoot. mules. the poor fellows with begging bowls tied around their necks.

it's almost obscene to ride through, just floating by it all like a river of curiosites.

the outer courtyards in the keep are filled with tents, pavillions and carriages of the lordly houses. even with the landed knights and baggage trains settling outside the tourney grounds, the red keep is crawling with ancient houses.

the distinguished yellow and black tents of your baratheon liege lords occupy one corner, staked directly opposite the yellow and green tyrell roses. there are riverlords and men of the vale, northerners and foreign envoys all clustered in one place.

it sets your heart racing at the many generations-old grudges being brought together under one roof, until you begin to notice the tents are all occupied with grandfathers, old lords, women and children. no hale and healthy young men. no, they're out at the tourney grounds, maiming each other for entertainment.

there are families who bring many women. handfuls of sisters for the crown to choose from, retinues of nieces and aunts in well-dressed gaggles. around them, like hornets to a bee's nest, move the older brothers. the deal makers. the auctioneers.

there are houses with a great deal to gain in this rank city and many of them pounce on it the second they are through the red keep’s portcullis. who cares if they have been turned down by the crown? there are many and more young men to burden with a troublesome daughter.

fourth daughters already stand engaged to knights and third sons, cousins swapped and widows snatched up by widowers. it’s no better than a livestock exchange and your cousin marches you through it, tailing behind your uncle’s tall back. you focus tightly on the greying streaks of your uncle's red hair. the white patches bleeding in at his temples.

this wouldn't be if father was alive. but he isn't and so this is how we must conduct ourselves.

your uncle marches forward, shuffling you towards the first small tent your family has staked. there's still two other wagons of your extended family incoming and the stern look on your uncle's face tells you that waiting is the only thing you can do.

everyone in the city is here to gain something. everyone wishes for something.

it seems so small that all you wish for is home. the window of the tower flung open and the soothing sound of waves breaking beneath. you think of your embroidery and swear inside your head. septa dorys, i’ll sew the neatest lines in the stormlands. just, please do not send me away again.

for all of the fear and the dreadful anticipation, most of your days in king's landing are spent waiting around. two days and a night pass with nothing beyond your cousins returning to the campground late at night to retrell tales of the tourney grounds. each one you listen to with bland suspicion, knowing their tendency to embellish a story.

it slips to three days in the capital before a maid comes flying into the tents, setting everyone into a flurry.

"the baratheons are being hosted and we follow our leige. get dressed, stupid girl, up, up!" your widowed aunt snaps. you don't even have a chance to feel insulted as she suddenly turns her foul mouth towards her own daughters and other occupants of the tent.

in situations of great panic or strife, it is often better to follow the crowd. so you do, you line up with the rest of the flock and lose yourself in the group of shuffling, striding people.

you pass by a contingent of northern ladies - serene and beautiful in greys and furs - seeming out of place so far south. exotic women too, striking blondes with honeyed skin from lys. dark skinned beauties from tyrosh with hair dyed pink and blue and purple.

ladies from the free cities float around draped in scandalously thin silks. jewels sit over their breasts and up their throats. summer islanders with their ebon skin covered in feathers. goddesses from every corner of the known world.

the realm has brought its daughters to the red keep. a veritable feast for kings to dine from and many families to insult. many fine women to turn down, many fathers to apologise to.

sat at the far end of the room, you have a fine view of your distant baratheon cousins. up above sits your liege lords and his brothers. though after many and more feasts at storm's end, your interest is almost entirely set on the high table.

not for anything other than a morbid, dreadful curiosity. everyone has a different whisper about the dragons and now finally you might see one for yourself.

seeing the king in person, high on his raised wooden chair, makes your heart drop. daeron sits in his father's crown in the grand, monstrous shadow of the iron throne. your palms start to sweat from looking at it: the old pale man and the banners rippling in the torchlight behind him.

curiosity takes your gaze further around the table, down the two opposing branches that make the rest of the horseshoe. at good king daeron's right sits his eldest, breakspear. baelor and his dark haired sons seem somewhat shadowed by pale brothers and nephews.

you keep looking up and down the length of the table, idly watching as well as you can from down the hall. it's somewhat belatedly you wonder which son, exactly, is the one everyone is going to trouble over. you nudge your sister-by-law to draw her attention.

"who are we here for?" you ask quietly, letting the sound of music and cutlery and conversation wash your voices under.

she fixes you with a withering stare. a long flat look that says are you stupid, girl?

your hands fall still on your pewter goblet as you realise far too late what everyone else already knows. it isn't any one man in particular. it could be any of the high table or the lords outside. don't think too deeply about who wants the dowry, just know it's getting paid.

food and conversation slows - lulling just as evening becomes early night. from your knowledge of your leige, any moment now servants will start pushing tables aside so the baratheons can dance.

it happens almost as sure as the sun might set and rise. the sudden groaning and pushing of benches near the middle of the room. musicians switch from the quiet, lulling dinner music into something higher. not bawdy, but something to wake up the tired diners. it's the signal everyone needed to begin politely intermingling. table to table discussions open, wanderers drifting between groups of family.

it's also an unspoken signal for lords to approach the head table. they circle slowly, pretending to be mildly disinterested in it all as if that convinces anyone watching of their hidden desperations. your uncle has no skill hiding his desperations from you.

"take my arm, dear, come with me," he smiles. it's not usual at all. it may have been, years ago, when your father was still alive. when he was nothing but your jubilant uncle. but these day's he's a different man entirely.

his lordship weighs heavy upon him, overwhelming him in a way your father had never been. he walks you the length of the room and even has the grace to turm you for one rotation of a dance before speaking duty.

"dear. I need to present you at the table, and I need not stress the importance of it." he tucks some hair behind your ear and speaks gently. for a moment, you manage a glimpse of your father in him... and then it is gone. "for me, do this one thing."

and so the herald by the table calls forward your uncle. he smiles so deeply and so amiably that you're jealous of the lords that get such displays of his warmth.

"I have the honour to present the lady connington, your grace." your uncle bows, delicately letting your elbow go.

and then he's gone. he retreats and leaves you standing there, staring down the head table. some brave warrior, your uncle must be, to run away from the king himself and leave a girl standing in his place.

it's intimidating enough to make your throat close and the first warning whisper of tears in your eyes. I didn't ask for any of this. not a second of it. you quell the feeling by staring fixedly at the scarlet tablecloth, embroidered with black dragons so small you'd never see it unless you stared.

"an honour to be invited to your great keep, my good king," you bow to daeron in his silent crown.

it's a well-rehearsed pleasntry that septa dorys had beaten into the back of your hands with a smoothed stick. as a kid, you'd struggled to remember the words and they'd never come out quite right. like your mouth was fighting the words, tongue disobedient and unruly.

if septa dorys were here, she'd perhaps give a straight-lipped nod of approval. no praise, never praise. but a quiet nod and no beating saved for later.

when you raise your head, daeron nods and turns to speak to his pale son, maekar. you and your rehearsed pleasantries are not in the king's interest.

"a most striking colour, lady connington." the young prince calls out politely.

you blink, turning to breakspear's branch of the table. it seats fewer people - only his two dark haired sons and his brother rhaegel - but two of the four are direct heirs to the throne. at least baelor and his son are polite enough to acknowledge you.

they all have the martell look about them - dark haired and dark eyed. no, not quite. when the young prince, valarr, tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement, you catch sight of a bold streak of white threading through his hair. and it seems one of his eyes is blue, not brown.

the combination is rather disarming, actually.

is any of this in his interest, or does he have a wife in mind already and each night is simply a farce of duty and grace? or is he even looking? you glance briefly at his cousins on the other side of the king and begin to sense dread. what if it's actually one of them? paranoia might be the death of you in a place such as this.

you smile nicely, interlacing your hands in front of your skirts. "not so striking as yours, my good prince. we are all born red as the sunset in the roost. I am but one of many. why, you are one of one."

valarr barely smiles as you talk, lips slightly curving but never daring to show his teeth.

beside the young prince, baelor expertly displays the art of listening while not looming. surely he hears each word you speak to his son, but pretends he is observing the dancers across the floor. with good king daeron beside baelor, you can see the strong, proud resemblance in each of them. there’s a spark of it in the young prince, too.

the lord hand glances briefly at you and you try to not bother yourself with it. he seems somewhat stern, if quiet, but the twice broken nose and the way he mindlessly turns his wedding ring lends breakspear an element of human-ness to him.

it looks as if the young prince readies himself to talk, but you don't get to hear it.

"red, the colour of whores," interrupts a bored voice. brightflame strikes a small roasted bird onto the tip of a dagger, claiming the whole thing and dropping it atop his plate as he talks.

it all hangs quiet for a moment as you wonder if someone else will speak against this, or if you are meant to stand and bear it. the kingsguard around the walls do not move. the music continues to lull and swell behind you. dancers turn and feasters dine.

prince maekar grimaces uncomfortably. on his left, his eldest son sits half slumped over his plate. after daeron, his monstrous pale brother aerion. two woefully placid and silent girls sit next. on the end, a small boy with finely-razored hair sits next to an empty chair. he dosen't look at any of his siblings and seems to have barely touched his food.

heart racing, you find it in yourself to blink placatingly at aerion. he leans onto the armrest of his chair and looks through you. as if the most interesting thing you could do would be to burst into flames on the spot.

turning to baelor and his son, you desperately seek for any chance to take retreat. to tuck tail and go back to griffin's roost and watch the waves crash against the cliffs.

they may stare at you with mismatched eyes and streaks of white in their hair, but there is nothing monstrous about this head of the dragon. the young prince seems sad as his fingers tap the stem of his goblet.

speak your piece and leave. thank them with kind manners and sit with your family.

"on the contrary, your grace," you say softly.

you clear your throat and try not to stare at any one in particular. instead, you gracefully gesture jewelry-laden fingers at the blood-coloured cape around baelor's shoulders; valarr's ruby-studded ring; the dragon banner behind maekar's head.

"'tis a very fortunate colour. red is kissed by fire."

this time valarr hangs his stare on you a little longer. his lips twitch but the kingly instincts of his father take over his face. if he wishes to smile, he does not show it.

"red is indeed fortunate, my lady. shepherds pray for-"

"I've seen you." daeron suddenly lurches up, talking dierctly over his cousin.

even with the music playing, it seems to fall quiet around the head table.

"I said, I've seen you." daeron repeats in a broken slur, knocking a goblet down the front of aerion's doublet.

"yes, yes, we've all fucking seen her," aerion barks, roughly flinging the goblet aside. it clatters to the floor and rolls under the table, turning in a lopsided arc until it stops near your feet. "sink back into your cups, brother."

with a sudden lurch, maekar grabs his son by the collar, quiet words spoken through a clenched jaw as aerion is swirled out of the hall as subtly as can be managed.

it all seems to fall apart around you. only four of seven seats now sit occupied on maekar's side of the table. valarr glances towards his father ever so briefly. baelor simply sighs and spins his wedding ring near unceasingly.

the pressure of it all is too much for you and so with careful movements, you bend to retrieve the spilled cup.

it’s heavy and golden, inlaid with rubies the size of your thumb. a few drops of dornish red spill down the edge of your palm as you lift it. the metalwork has been moulded into the shape of a tri-clawed foot at the base of a twisting, ornate stem.

saving as much dignity as possible, you bow before the princes and gently set the goblet on the table's edge. you try to not look at either of them, choosing instead to smile and dip your head and keep your eyes on the rings on valarr’s fingers as he holds his own goblet.

"I am grateful for your hospitality, my king, my lord hand." you lower your head, looking at daeron and baleor with as much reverence as you have left for the night.

you count the seconds in your head in septa dorys’ voice. hold your bow for royalty. two, three, four, yes. stand up straight now. smile for them. hold your hands flat you stupid girl! those shaky fingers are why your needlework leaves much to be desired.

before you turn to valarr, you shake the last drop of wine from your hand. "thank you for your sweet words, your grace. good eve."

you turn in a hurry, taking no solace at all in valarr's apologetic gaze when all that fills your mind are the disappointed looks your uncle may throw your way. not when the only sound playing over and over in your mind is the metallic chime of the goblet hitting the stone.

halfway through the hall your eyes fall upon nieces and cousins. hands linked and dancing. they look like girls drunk on wine and it pains you to see.

until suddenly it is wiped away by a stagnant thought.

I haven’t finished that blanket.

a fandom surviving on breadcrumbs. i want to eat him alive! spent a lot of time laying out the geo-political background to this. the behind the scenes lore stuff is here for all my fellow smelly book nerds.

probably a part 2 ? somewhere in my head there's always more

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part 2

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

Those Years Are Over

Summary: After Spooky’s release, Sirena finds herself adjusting to Cesar’s drastic personality shift, while also coming to the realization of a certain attraction to a certain member of Los Santos.

Pairing: Setareh ‘Sirena’ Vallejos x Angel ‘Sad Eyes’ Guzman

Warnings: Gang affiliation, alludes to said pairing, incarceration, deportation, teen housing displacement.

FREERIDGE WAS THE ONLY HOME SETAREH VALLEJOS HAD KNOWN SINCE SHE MOVED FROM NEW ORLEANS APPROXIMATELY THIRTEEN YEARS AGO. At the ripe age of only nine years old, she moved in with her Aunt who was staying at her Uncle's house who has been incapacitated after the war. She served as a caregiver after the death of his wife. Her single mother had been deported and with no other family, she was sent to her aunt. With taking care of Setareh’s uncle, Setareh’s two year old cousin and now a nine year old girl, her aunt was forced to give more attention to her incapacitated brother and two year old niece than to the perfectly young nine year old. Feeling as if she was just another pain in the ass and hating feeling like a load, she did what any normal child would do. Go outside.

In doing so, she befriended a ten year old Oscar Diaz and Angel Guzman. Santos royalty which she hadn’t know at the time. All she had known was that she had two friends and an Uncle Ray who had socks that were as tall as her. Los Santos felt like a refuge, like she belonged. Her Aunt who had no idea of the brewing affiliation with the viscous gang that would soon come knocking at their door.

As they progressed with age, it had been obvious what had to be done. They would have to be initiated into the Santos, something their peers around them had been pressuring them to do. It was only a matter of time. They were only fourteen when they were jumped in. And soon, they would rise through the ranks. And slowly, they each got their street name, with Setareh landing with Sirena. Tribute to her birth place in New Orleans, where magic clung onto everything, even a fourteen year old Setareh who had no business being affiliated with Los Santos. A face worthy of magazines and flashing cameras. Too beautiful to be affiliated, too beautiful to run the streets.

When word got to her Aunt, she was kicked out fearing that with her affiliation, their family would become a target for those persecuting her. With a bruised face and body, she packed the little of what she had and moved in with the Diaz family. Not too far from her Uncle’s house where she would be able to monitor their house. And now at the age of twenty-two, alongside Sad Eyes, were Spooky’s second in command. Their bond only growing tighter as the years passed by, despite Spooky’s incarceration. Spooky had served a four year sentence, leaving Sirena to care for Cesar who was only a child. That was until Sirena was put on House Arrest, making the Santos help her out with anything relating to Cesar that involved leaving the premises. And even when she welcomed Oscar back, she was forced to watch how everyone welcomed him until he decided to stop being an ass and meet her on the porch.

“Damn, mana. They let you out the house now or you still grounded?” Oscar teased from the middle of the front lawn. Sirena stood with her arms crossed, watching how Spooky’s eyes travelled to her leg where the ankle monitor was fastened around her ankle, blinking. He let out a shit eating grin.

“Pinche pelon! If you don’t drag your bald-headed ass over here right now, I’ll scrape that little teardrop off myself.” She threatened earning whistles from the Santos who all hung around the front lawn watching the amusing interaction.

“She missed you, Spooky!” Someone yelled out.

“Says the one on a leash.” Spooky retorted. Sirena scoffed, not noticing the group of Santos laughing their asses off.

“And i’ll violate it just to violate your ass.” She smirked. Spooky threw his head back, walking towards his porch and pulling her into a bone crushing hug. She held on tighter, rubbing his back. “Welcome home, cabron.” Once they pulled apart, she punched him in the arm, groaning at the impact, he rubbed his arm. “Don’t do that shit again.”

Oscar had laughed nodding. “Watch out, homes. She’s been loosing her mind ever since she got on house arrest.” Sad Eyes spoke taking a hit of his blunt. Sirena turned to Sad Eyes flipping him off, causing both men to laugh.

It had been approximately six weeks since he had came back and slowly, things started to get back to normal. Spooky resumed his position as the one in command and Sad Eyes and Sirena as his right hand man and woman. School was about to resume and as much as Cesar dreaded the beginning of school, Sirena had forced him to buy his school supplies only two days before the term started, taking advantage of her newly freed ankle. They had landed on a compromise, Cesar would go back to school, not that there was much of an option and in exchange, she would teach him to drive. It worked perfectly. That was until she realized they had taken her car when they arrested her and they had no other way for her to teach him unless Spooky gave up his car which was less likely than her getting her car back.

“Orale, Spooky. Lend me your car.” She sat next to him as he worked out with his dumbbell. Los Santos had been hanging out in front of Spooky’s house per usual, each immersed in their mindless conversation. Sirena had taken advantage of the nice weather to bother Spooky about his car but like she had forgotten, he was very stubborn.

“No.” He stated, flexing his arms. Sirena groaned, taking a swig of her blunt, watching how the smoke swirled in front of her.

“No? No?!” She exclaimed.

Spooky continued to work out his right arm. “You’ll just scratch her up.” Sirena shook her head.

“You know i’ll never. Plus, are you seriously doubting my driving skills? You’re the one who taught me how to drive!” Spooky laughed, still not paying her much mind.

“Exactly. And i was drunk when i taught you.”

“But i learned, or no?” Spooky shook his head.

“I said no.” Setareh rolled her eyes, balancing herself on the crate she sat on next to Spooky. She hit her blunt again until noticing a figure in front of Cesar who was to her right.

“Hey, my love. I haven’t seen you in a while.” Setareh greeted the girl, sending her one of her warm smiles. Setareh had been very fond of Monse who had always been around. She saw herself in a way in her. Before everything happened. Before the Santos happened. Before her mom’s deportation.

“Hey, Sirena.” She greeted the older girl. “I need to talk to you.” She turned to Cesar who sat mockingly on the busted couch.

“I’m listening.” Monse scanned the lawn full of Santos who were waiting for her to continue talking.

“Privately.”

“We can to inside.” Cesar began. Oscar cleared his throat, Sirena sending him a weird look. “But if you wanna sit on my face you got to put that mouth on pause so I can concentrate.” Mid hit, Sirena froze in her spot. The men around her laughed, and in an instant, Monse had felt smaller under their mocking gazes. She gave Cesar the meanest glare before stomping away.

“Fuck you, Cesar. You’re dead to me.” She stomped away, hugging herself as she walked away. Cesar was about to open his mouth yet again before Sirena leaned over and slapped the back of his head. Cesar grimaced at the impact of her hand colliding with the back of her had.

“Yo, what the fu—”

Sirena shook her head, she was more than pissed. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Cesar furrowed his eyebrows in irritation. “You think that was cute? You think you’re so tough?” Cesar sat straighter, craning his neck to look at Sirena, not missing the calculating stare of Spooky before looking past him and at the fuming woman.

“I can do whatever the hell i want.” He huffed out. “And last time i checked, you ain’t my mother.” He sassed. The rest of the men hissed.

“Oh, i know, papito. But i’m the closest thing you got so shut it or i’ll straighten you up.” She threatened, resting her elbows on her thighs, inching closer at the younger boy. Cesar looked at Oscar who shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“You won’t do shit.”

Sirena tilted her head, mocking him. “Try me. I’m right here.” She ghostly smirked. Cesar opened his mouth only to close it again, feeling all eyes on him. His face twisted in frustration and borderline embarrassment, standing up from the couch.

“Whatever. Fuck this!” He stomped inside the house, slamming the door. Sirena rolled her eyes, getting up to sit where he previously sat on the couch. She took yet another drag, her blunt being as long as her pinky. From her left, Spooky cleared his throat once again.

“Kids got a mouth.”

Sirena snickered. “And he’s got to learn to shut it before it gets him in trouble.” She ironically said, despite being in a space full of gang members, including herself. “Someone’s gotta raise him.”

“That ain’t your job.”

“It is when a certain pelon gets locked up.” Spooky laughed at the nickname, subconsciously rubbing his head as he set the dumbbell down. “He’s a good kid so it wasn’t even hard but now that he’s getting bigger, me la esta poniendo mas dificil.” She rubbed her eyes. “He looks up to you, you know. He’s doing this shit to impress you and it’s pissing me off.” Oscar remained silent, staring at the grass listening to her talk.

“We can tell. You’re literally always on his ass, mana.”

Setareh scoffed. “On his ass? Or do you mean wanting the best for him?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“For real.” Sad Eyes butted in, taking his seat next to her on the couch, their legs touching. And it would be a lie if Sirena didn’t feel fuzzy where their bodies touched. She turned to him, offended.

“Oh, so you too, Sad Eyes?”

Sad Eyes shook his head smiling, rubbing his chin.

“All im saying, is you’ve been on his ass a lot lately.” Spooky explained. Sirena clicked her tongue.

“Well, fuck me for not wanting him to drop out before his balls have even dropped.” Both men laughed at her obscene comment.

“Suave, mana. You’re the last one to talk.”

Setareh whipped her head around “Me?!”

Sad Eyes nodded his head. “You were worse at his age.”

Spooky leaned over to do his handshake with Sad Eyes. “Palabra.”

“Ay! Don’t put this on me, par de pelones.” Sirena tried to defend herself to no avail. Spooky tapped his hand on the armrest of the worn out couch.

“Remember when she fought Mousy and Flaca cause their vatos wanted her.” Spooky shook his head, as if almost vividly seeing the nasty fight that ensued. “Or when she jumped Shorty cause she forgot she lent her that ugly camera.” Both men cackled in their seats. “Or when she stole that one prophets—”

Sirena shook her head almost immediately. “I survived and turned out fine.” She took a drag, exhaling slowly.

“That blunt ain’t doing shit if you think you weren’t as bad as Cesar.”

Sad Eyes reached out of nowhere to take the blunt from between her fingers and pressing it to his lips. His eyes never left hers as she watching him wrap his lips around it. He blew out the smoke to the side, their intense gaze still locked onto each other. “Nah, homes. The weed is fine. It’s just her.” Sad Eyes spoke, handing it back to her. Feeling their fingers graze each others. She blinked her eyes back to reality, settling back on the couch, feeling his eyes burning holes on the side of her face. Her body coming aware of the presence next to her, overwhelming her senses.

“All im saying is i’m not letting shit slide.” She spoke, letting her words hang in the air for a moment. Still feeling the buzzing sensation that felt like flies under her skin and she didn’t know how to stop it. Spooky nodded.

“Whatever you say, mana.” He smirked to himself, aware of the tension lingering on the couch. If only he knew shit would only get more entertaining than this.

I guess this is me alluding to more Sad Eye fics. I’ve been on a rampage and lowkey, hella ideas came to mind so here i am. also, i forgot the page who suggested Angel as Sad Eyes name, i’ve liked so many, i don’t even remember which one it is.

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

Golpes En El Corazón

Summary: After years of running Nogales and Acapulco, the drug queen was never expected to show face, she ran her plaza’s and she made Miguel Angel a whole bunch of money, what more can he ask for? But times have changed and now everyone is dying to know the ruthless drug queen. And the double life she has been living all those years before showing face, are finally catching up to her.

Pairing: Ramon Arellano Felix x Eileen Gisellos Carrillo

Warnings: spanglish written, toxicity, mentions of death, lovers to strangers.

EILEEN KNEW THAT WITH HER LIFESTYLE, CAME APPEARANCES. And when Amado made El Chapo drag his sister to Enedina’s wedding, she knew she had to stop her struggle just before those doors opened. She had loved living under the radar, why stop now? Cause some egoistical men want to know who is the girl who’s making ten times the money? She initially refused but her half-brother was very insistent.

“Con la chingada, Ele!” Amado harshly spoke to his sister who had the biggest frown on her face. And it was then that he didn’t perceive her as one of Mexico’s biggest but under the radar drug traffickers. No, not at all. He saw her as his whiny little sister who didn’t want to see her ex at her former cuñada’s wedding. Not only that, but she would make her debut. Her name will finally have a face to string along after the years of her name being brought up. Miguel Angel had no problem with it, as long as she did her part, he could care less. Knowing how protective Amado was, it helped ease his stress with also knowing his sister could roam the street unrecognized but severely protected. But that comfort was long gone. Miguel Angel had been captured and now everyone wanted to know who the hell was the ruthless drug queen who managed Nogales and Acapulco.

“No se porque madres tengo que estar aqui, Amado! Si nadie ha tenido problemas con no saber quién soy, ¿por qué empezarían ahora si no vengo a esta pinche boda?” Eileen lectured him, their phone call was over an hour and Eileen still wasn’t having it. Amado ran a hand through his gelled hair.

“Porque yo lo saben! Todos ya quieren ponerle cara à la morra que anda ganando un monton de dinero!” Amado explained. “Bueno, ya te lo dije. Bajas de ese caro!” He grew irritated.

“Vete à la chingada, Amado.” She hung up. Turning to meet El Chapo who sheepishly smiled at her from the outside of the Limousine. He popped the door open, lending a hand to the girl who gracefully took it. She rose from the vehicle, ignoring Joaquin’s questioning eyes.

“Ya acabaste de pelear con tu hermanito, Ele?” El Chapo joked. Eileen scoffed, fixing her fur shawl and her expensive dress. After meeting the shorter guys only hour prior, she had grown a liking to him. He had a sense of humor and a sense of respect to those around him. She valued that. She knew if she didn’t have a brother like Amado she should have grown arrogant.

“Medio hermano, dejémoslo claro, Chapito.” Joaquin chuckled, offering his arm to Eileen who looped her arm with his. Beginning to walk, they heard the loud booming music. The place had been lavishly adorned with the most expensive of decorations.

“Sangre es Sangre, o no?” Eileen ignored his face as they entered. All eyes turned to them. Eyeing the beautiful girl on El Chapo’s arm whose whole outfit costed more than the cheap flowers Joaquin deemed as a wedding present. She was then broken out of her trance when a figure walked up to them.

“Un día muy especial para tu familia, Francisco.” Joaquin said with a smile plastered on his face. Eileen scanned the man who bore a resemblance to her past lover. Only shorter and with a mustache.

“Qué bonita curita traes, Chapito. Oí que tuviste un problemita.” Joaquin turned his gaze elsewhere, shaking his head. Eileen caught in the crossfire of petty remarks, still unnoticed by Francisco.

“Mala comunicación, no más.” Joaquin turned to the presents behind Francisco. “Qué bonito ese regalo, ¿eh?” Fransisco circled back to the table full of presents.

“Lo mandó Amado.”

“No pues, qué hombre tan generoso es Amado. También nos mando à la Chiquilla en su lugar.” He turned to Eileen who smiled. Francisco averted his eyes to the beautiful girl next to Joaquin. He eyes lit up.

“Cecilia?” Francisco scrunched his eyebrows, surprised to see the young girl after many years. Eileen panicked, clearing her throat.

“Cisco, qué sorpresa verte.” She nervously chuckled.

“¿Cómo has estado?” Eileen nodded frantically, ushering Joaquin to walk away.

“Cecilia?” Joaquin questioned loudly, confused at the situation.

“He estado bien, Dios, ¿cómo has crecido? ¡Qué placer recibirte, de verdad!” She nodded, forcefully smiling at the older man.

“Gracias, pero no quiero quitarte más tiempo. Tenemos una fiesta para disfrutar, así que si pudieras disculparnos.” She began to step away with Joaquin.

“Esperate, traje estas para la hermosa novia.” Joaquin handed over the flowers to Cisco who glared at the flowers in disgust and confusion. His mood switching in an instant.

“Pues, ¿es un funeral o qué pedo?” And just like that, his mood switched. Francisco’s eyes staring him down. He threw the flowers to the floor, earning a grimace from Eileen who stared at the flowers on the ground as if they were nothing but garbage. “Joaquin, te puse en la mesa de los niños. Pásatela con madre, ¿eh?” He began to walk away, coming to stop once more. “De todos modos, disfruta de la fiesta, Chiquis.” He sent one last smile to Eileen before parading away. Eileen ushered him away, feeling the need to hide in the crowd, hoping a certain Arellano wouldn’t spot her just yet.

“Me tienen hasta la madre, esos culeros.” El Chapo gritted his teeth. “Ya ves por qué necesitamos que te unas a nuestro negocio! Y tu nomas andabas por ahí escondiéndote.” Eileen shook her head.

It was true. With the Sinaloa and Tijuana rivalry, Tijuana taxed Sinaloa’s shipments heavily just to use their border. With Nogales being right there in the middle neighboring Tijuana, Sinaloa and Juarez, it would be the obvious choice for her to join forces with the plaza down south. She had her own access to the border and didn’t have the need to rely on the plaza to the left. She had occasionally allowed Sinaloa to pass through there when money was tough and Miguel Angel was still in charge but now that she had the reigns, she controlled what went through. With the brewing rivalry, she knew the smartest thing was to back out of whatever she had going on with Sinaloa. Amado was the one to recommend her to stop whatever bullshit she was doing. And with Tijuana hearing how she had been cheating them out of their money, all eyes had landed on her. The plaza who had been controlled by a faceless woman. She instead devised a plan to reroute her shipments and that had taken a while but it had worked.

She also had Acapulco to strategize with. She had built more buildings, more attractions to bring more visitors from the states. On her beaches, on her soil, she was able to distribute even more product, earning her more money. She didn’t have to do the extra steps to send it past the border. she had them come to her. Her profits doubled without ever crossing north. Every risk that came with transporting her goods, now latched onto whatever foreigner decided to uphold the responsibility and risk of networking her products. And as much as Sinaloa and Tijuana didn’t want to admit, she would be one of the best assets depending on whichever side she chose.

“Aquí no, Chapo.” She warned him. He scoffed leading her to the table where the rest of the Sinaloa cartel sat. They stared at her curiously, confused on when the hell did Joaquin score himself a girl.

“Y esta chulada, Chapo?” Azul lit his cigarette.

“Es la mismísima-”

A slurred voice spoke up. “Nos vale verga como se llame la morra. Nomas no las dejas.” El Rayito spoke. Eileen stopped her movements, turning to the drunken asshole. El Chapo held his breath. The rest of the men let out slight chuckles, not knowing what was to come.

“Esta morra se llama Eileen Gisellos Carrillo, encantada. No se si has oído hablar de mí, pero en caso de que no, pues ya te dije.” She reached for her small pistol that was hidden in her holster under her dress, pressuring it against El Rayo’s side to prevent onlookers from noticing. The pressure making him wince and squirm under her graze, suddenly sobering him up. “Para la proxima, te vuelo la cabeza, pendejo.” He frantically nodded. She hid her pistol, clearing her throat before standing abruptly. “Con permiso.” She smoothed her dress. “Voy a felicitar à la novia.” The men nodded in silence watching as she walked away as if nothing had happened. Once she was out of view, Hector smacked El Rayo’s head upside down.

“Estas pendejo o te haces?”

Eileen walked away, heading for Enedina who was just across the dance floor greeting guests. She hoped she wouldn’t recognize her, not yet anyways. Suddenly, a figure stopped right in front of her blocking her path.

“Cecilia?”

Benjamin spoke with his eyes wide and a small smile.

“Perdon, se equivoca.” She cleared her throat. Benjamin shook his head.

“Como voy a olvidar la chamaca que traia a Ramon envuelto como si fuerra un perro.” He half chuckled at the memory of a smitten Ramon. Eileen shook her head, trying to shove the memory back down. That was the past.

“Me está confundiendo.”

Benjamin shook his head. “Como de que no? Te recuerdo perfectamente. Te deciamos que te parecías a pájaro tweety con tus ojitos.” Eileen looked to the floor, but even she knew it was fruitless.

“Disculpen.” Hector Palma walked up to the pair. Both turned their heads to the man who pointedly looked at Benjamin and then to Eileen and back to the older man who knew what he had came for. “Yo pensaba que podiamos hablar tantito.”

“Hoy no se habla de negocios, Güerito. Hoy no.” Benjamin said sternly, as in more of an order.

“No va a tardar. Te lo regreso rapidito, Eileen.” Benjamin stilled his head craning to the taller man. He then peered to the frozen girl in front of him.

“Como de que Eileen? Que chingados?!” Benjamin spoke in bewilderment. It’s as if it all clicked, suddenly the realization dawning on him. Eileen clenched her jaw in irritation turned to Palma.

“Vete à sentar.”

Palma looked confused, peering between the pair.

“Que te vayas a sentar. Este no es asunto tuyo.” Benjamin ordered. Palma defeated, walked away. Benjamin turned back to the girl, his stance rigid and cautious. “Qué vida doble estabas viviendo, cabrona?”

Eileen despite the accusation which were very much true, held her chin high. “Esto no te agobia.” Benjamin bitterly laughed.

“Entonces que? Nos estuviste enganando todo este tiempo?” His voice raised. Heads slowly began to turn, catching the attention of Kitty. He patted Ramon’s chest, signaling for him to turn. “Pinche mentirosa.”

“Y tu bien santo?” She bit back. Her patience wearing thin by the moment.

A figure emerged from behind Benjamin, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Qué chingados esta pasando aqui? Los invitados se te quedan viendo.” Ramon muttered. Eileen turned and suddenly, the music dimmed. Her breath hitched in her throat, taking a small step back. Ramon with his extravagant fur coat, suddenly felt suffocated. Like the walls were caving in. His pupils were blown wide at the beauty and presence that was Eileen. Or more like, Cecilia.

He had searched for her for years and it was as if the ground had sucked in her in. No trace of her was ever found. His men had lost track of her. She never came back like she promised and it had tormented him since. And now she stood in front of him in all her glory, her gravity pulling him in once more and he hadn’t even realized.

“Cecilia, Eileen, Chiquilla como se llame, ni puta idea. Es tu pedo, arreglalo ya.” Benjamin muttered, his eyes scanning the venue, sending fake smiles to whoever bothered. He walked away leaving the lovers facing each other. The party had resumed but they stayed still. Scared if they moved, time will once again take what’s hers.

“Ramon.” She whispered.

Uhm, hellur. I barely see any recent Ramon stories so i took matter into my own hands. 😽

[cuidadfantasma]

prohibido

4.5k words — ramón arellano felíx x reader

a/n — this turned out longer than i expected it 2 honestly & idk how 2 feel abt how i ended it *or the whole thing in general lmfao* but it’s been sitting in my drafts all day so here it is. i haven’t written anything in months + literally never written in 2nd person pov so i really hope this doesn’t completely suck </3 but if any1 wants 2 request something i’m down 2 write it!! ALSO this is dt the anon who told me they’d want 2 read it <3 :* okay bye enjoy

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[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

The Archer

Summary: Joni Taylor didn’t have much going for her, she basically lived life on autopilot. Not counting her twin sister forcing her to join the girls soccer team, being medicated for said ‘anger issues,’ getting into reckless fights, and secretly banging her sister’s best friend behind her back. Or on second thought, maybe she did have alot going on for her.

Pairing: Shauna Shipman x Joni Taylor

Warnings : Violence, angsty lesbians, closeted affair, internalized homophobia

JONI TAYLOR KNEW SHE’D GET HER ASS HANDED TO HER REGARDLESS. It was either come to practice as soon as possible with dried blood still stuck on her face or arrive much more later with clear bruises. Either way, she knew Jackie would be on her ass. With that thought in mind, she unscrewed her pill bottle and shaking two poppers on her palm and shoving them in her mouth. With one hard gulp, she grabbed her bag heading towards the back exit that led to the middle buildings that separated where she was from the soccer field. She began to jog the distance hoping two pills was enough.

“Where the hell is she?” Jackie spoke staring off into the bleachers. She ran a hand through her hair letting out an exasperated sigh. She had already warned her sister of another lateness and there she went ignoring her. Shauna Shipman besides her rubbed her best friends forearm hoping to sooth her anxious state.

“Relax, Jax. She probably got caught up with something.” Shauna tried soothing her. Jackie threw her head back, rolling her eyes. “Van probably knows where she’s at. Have you asked her?” Jackie craned her head back up, moving her hands to lightly shake the taller brunette.

“I hadn’t even thought of that, Shipman.” Jackie with Shauna in tow jogged across the field to where Van sat on the ground lacing up her cleats. Feeling a shadow over her, Van peered to the captain who stood in front of her with her arms crossed.

“Yes. What can i help you with, ladies?”

“Have you seen Joni? She’s late and practice is about to start.” Van shook her head.

“Nope, not since sixth period. Last i saw her, she was with someone.” Van mindlessly said with a concealed smile unaware of the shift in Shauna’s face. Her eyes darkened at the implication, unbeknownst to Jackie who had her arms crossed next to her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. She really ditched practice to hook up with some guy? Is she stupid?!” Jackie practically yelled. Van finishing up in tying her laces, shrugged her shoulders. She stood up lifting her foot to twist around her ankle to secure a comfortable fit. Van couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of Joni with a guy of all things. Jackie scrunched her face. “What?” Van shook her head.

“Nothing.” Coach blew his whistle.

“You’re goalie for today. Maybe it’ll teach her something if she even bothers showing up.” Van nodded and turned to reach for her gloves in her bag.

“If she beats me up for taking her making her look bad, that’s entirely on you. I’ll make sure of it.” Van grinned maliciously. It took Jackie a second until she realized and groaned. Shauna next to her cracked a small smile.

“Ew, Van, no! Just.. go!” Jackie shooed her away. Van jogged away, throwing her head foward in laughter. Shauna looked towards the bleachers hoping to spot Joni who still was nowhere in sight. She let out a shaky breath hoping nothing bad had happened to her, knowing exactly how Joni was.

It had taken Joni Taylor an approximate twelve minutes since practice had started to arrive breathless. All eyes had slowly turned to her and eventually back to their scrimmage. A pair of certain brown eyes let out a sigh of relief while another pair of blue eyes scoffed at the girls audacity. “Taylor squared, you’re late!” Coach Ben yelled, his eyes glued on the game in front of him. “What the hell were you thinking?” He had finally turned to see the bruise by her cheekblood beside her lip and underneath her nose.

“Coach, I can explain..” Jackie had jogged over causing a groan to emit from Joni from deep within her throat. She knew Jackie would waste no time to assume her role as captain. And if Jackie loved one thing other than herself, was assuming responsibility over her twin sister. Despite being older by only two minutes.

“You’re late and bruised! Are you kidding, Jo!” Jackie snarled at her sister who grabbed her face and began to inspect her. “Another fight? Like couldn’t you have done that on a day we didn’t have practice? Use your head!” Joni rolled her eyes, adjusting her bag strap. “You have a lot of nerve showing up so at least tell me who did this?” Joni swatted Jackie’s prying hands, turning her head to the side catching a glimpse of Shauna who ran across the field, who eventually turned to lock eyes with Joni. Shauna scanned her face, and showing her indifference, turned away. Joni bit her lip forcing herself to look away.

“Drop it, Jax.” Coach shook his head.

“Drop it? You show up twelve minutes late with a bruise on your face and you want us to drop it?” Coach said. Joni rose her hands up in defense.

“I’m here, Coach. I can still play. I swear.” Coach shook his head turning away from the girl.

“Go home. Clean up. Next time you’re late, you’re benched. And this is my last warning, Joni.” The taller girl nodded watching the older man walk away and towards the field with his whistle in between his lips. Jackie flicked her finger at her forehead earning a groan.

“I won’t tell Mom and Dad, just don’t pull this shit again, Jo.” Jackie murmured, forcing Joni into a hug. “Now go and figure out how to hide those bruises.” Jackie ordered her. Joni nodded walking away, turning to lock eyes with Shauna who once again darted her eyes away. Her eyes trailed to the goal post where Van stood unable to meet her eyes with a sly grin.

“Oh really?” Joni spoke loud enough where Van heard her. Joni mindlessly stared daggers up ahead, walking towards the exit until she abruptly took a sharp turn and lunged herself at Van.

“Joni, i swear to god—”

They began to wrestle with a clear smile on Van’s face and a small smirk on Joni’s features. They held onto each other’s neck, trying to bring each other down to the floor. “Knock it off, Bugs and Daffy!” Coach the turned to Joni who sheepishly smiled. “And i said go home.” Joni sighed, getting off of Van. Van who stood a few feet from her stomped on her left leg and pretended to lunge forward to tease Joni who responded with a smile. Her eyes beelined for a certain brunette who stared at her with an irritated expression and swerved her eyes. And it was then that she knew she was fucked.

IT HADN’T TAKEN A GENIUS TO NOTICE SHAUNA’S WORRISOME STATE. Seeing a teammate’s bone pop right out of her shin was a sight she wished to erase from her memory. Along with the memory of a certain twin who couldn’t seem to leave her mind alone. Remembering every touch and kiss that engulfed every inch of her body like it had been created just for Joni Taylor. Every bruise from Joni’s muscular hands that gripped her thighs to stop her from pulling herself away from her hungry mouth felt like a fucked up reminder of a hidden agenda that was getting harder and harder to keep hidden. She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t realized she had already stepped foot in the Taylor living room until remnants of the youngest twin lay about on the coffee table. Her discman along with her headphones were left abandoned.

“I mean seriously, Shipman. You’re acting as if she died.” Jackie said trying to ease the taller girl’s jittering thoughts. Shauna turned to the shorter girl with a deadpanned face. “She’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, i promise.”

“It’s not everyday you see your teammate’s bone pop out of her shin, Jax!” Shauna exasperated. Guilt gnawing at her skin and knocking at her brain. They walked further to the kitchen table grabbing a quick snack.

“No, i know. But—”

Jackie turned to the sudden noise that came from the second floor.

“Did you hear that?” Jackie turned to Shauna who also was listening intently to the sudden shuffling from above. “I thought no one was home.” Jackie said, dropping her snack on the counter and thundering her way up the stairs with Shauna in tow.

“What if it’s an intruder, Jackie?! You can’t just storm in there.” Shauna harshly whispered. Jackie scoffed, reaching for a nearby vase to lessen Shauna’s whispers. More shuffling and giggling came from down the hall, from Joni’s room that had been slightly ajar. Jackie stepped to bust the door open to reveal a scene far more crazier than earlier.

“Joni!” Jackie gasped. The vase fell on the floor shattering into pieces. The shirtless blonde girl attached to her sister’s torso squealed at the intruders. She fell to Joni’s side and reached to pull the bed sheets to cover herself up. Joni sat upright with flushed cheeks. She felt her face begin to warm up and her ears beginning to fire up.

“Jackie.” Joni awkwardly chuckled. Jackie looked between both girls bewildered. Shauna stood silently sucking in a breath, a pang in her chest.

“What the hell!” She covered her mouth.

“I can explain. I’m—” Jackie shook her head.

“I don’t care that you’re into..” Jackie turned to the blonde who peeked behind the bed sheets.

“Hazel.” The girl timidly spoke.

“Hazel. You’re telling me you skipped practice for this?! Are you serious?!” Jackie reprimanded her. Joni felt her heart flutter at the realization that Jackie simply did not care. She did not care about Joni’s biggest secret. In fact, it was the last thing on her mind. “So what, you’re making up for the cardio you missed during practice?” Joni choked on her spit.

“Can i go? This seems personal.” The blonde whispered. Joni nodded, reaching for the bed sheet to hold it up. Hazel took this as an initiative to reach for her shirt that dangled from the headboard and proceeded to dress herself again. Hazel grabbed her shoes, speeding past Jackie and Shauna with her shoes in hand. As the thumps lessened, Joni fell back on her bed with her hands covering her eyes.

“Now that the cat is out the bag—” Jackie groaned at her twin.

“Ew. I’m not even going to go there. Gross.” Jackie leaned against her messy drawer that had clothes spilling out and wrappers stuck in between.

Shauna had been too quiet, swallowing every curse she wished to throw at Joni. “Yeah, gross.” Her monotone voice giving it away. And as smart as Jackie was, Joni couldn’t believe how oblivious and trusting she could be. She still wondered how in the hell they shared the same womb.

“Plus i don’t care. It’s like whatever. What really matters here is nationals and that stupid biology homework Ms Gallow assigned us.” Jackie sung on, until a mischievous smile began to grow on her face and she began to look more similarly to a cheshire cat. “Unless..” Joni instantly knew what she was referring to, automatically shaking her head.

“No.” Jackie whined at her response.

“I’ll tell Mom.” Jackie threatened. Joni’s heart raced at the idea of her mom finding out a secret she managed to hide for so long. “That you skipped practice.” Her heart palpation slowed down, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. But even then, she knew she’d also be cooked. Medicating Joni lessened her ‘emotional turbulences’ but even her parents knew that medication could only do so much. So when Jackie Taylor had suggested for Joni to join her soccer team, they full heartedly agreed. And surprisingly enough, it helped. And even more surprisingly enough, her emotional turbulences landed them in nationals.

Joni nodded her head and a squeal erupted from Jackie who clapped her hands. “We’ll kill two birds with one stone, Jo. You do that for me and i’ll do the rest of my homework myself. Cuts me some slack.” Jackie began to depart towards the door. “Okay i’m done now. My homework will be in my room whenever you want to do it. Also are you coming to the party later?” Jackie said stopping just next to Shauna who shuffled on her feet. Joni lazily groaned. “Okay, grumpy pants. I’ll leave you to it. Shauna, are you coming?” Shauna snapped out of her daze. She turned to Jackie who looked at her expectedly.

“Uhm, yeah. I just need to grab my bag from downstairs.”

“Can you grab mine too? Please?” Shauna nodded. “Thanks, Shipman.” Jackie mumbled. “Also, clean this mess.” Jackie ordered before disappearing into her room and shutting the door. Joni closed her eyes, finally appreciating the silence. That was until her door was shut closed. She jolted up and there stood Shauna, her body pressed against the door.

“You’re mad.” Joni spoke. Shauna didn’t reply, just intently staring at the taller girl. Joni rubbed her face with her hands knowing Shauna wasn’t going to give in so easily.

Shauna scoffed. “I wonder why.”

Joni leaned foward, with her elbows resting in her thighs. “Why do you care, Shauna?” Joni sat in her bed staring at the brunette. After minutes of no response, Joni got up and headed towards her dresser with her cd’s were displayed. “Fine. Don’t answer me. If you want to stare at me all day, do that then.“ She began to fix her cd’s, paying no mind to the looming figure by her door.

“So i find you in bed with someone and now i’m the crazy one for reacting like this?” Shauna took a step forward. The small shards of glass sticking to her shoes.

“It’s crazy you say that when i’m the one who should be mad when there’s rumors going around you with a guy.” She placed a cd back in its case. Shauna laughed bitterly.

“Rumors are rumors, Joni. You sleeping with someone isn’t a rumor. I just walked in on you with a fucking bitch!” Shauna harshly spat. Joni turned around to face her.

“Oh, my bad for seeking attention that i never got from said partner. My bad for wanting a relationship with someone who isn’t ashamed of me. My. fucking. bad.” Joni stirred.

“Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re excusing your cheating because i don’t want to get harassed for liking you?” Joni turned once again back to her collection of cd’s.

“So not even fully acknowledging each other in public is a relationship to you? It’s not cheating if we aren’t a thing.”

Joni muttered without realizing. Shauna halted. Joni turned around to see hurt written all over Shauna’s face. “Okay.” Shauna whispered. Joni immediately reached out for her hand only for Shauna to pull it back from her grasp.

“Shauna. Don’t be like that.” Joni pleaded. “You know i didn’t mean it.” She tried to hold onto her waist. Shauna pushed her away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Shauna spoke too soon.

“Shauna—”

Suddenly a car horn honks. Joni’s face fell. “Fuck. I promised Hazel i’d drop her off.” Shauna stared at her.

“Of course you did.” Joni shook her head.

“Can you please just let me explain?”

Shauna devoid of any emotion, held onto the doorknob and pausing just briefly. “Go take your fucking meds before you give her a matching black eye to go with yours.” Joni stepped back. Both girls startled at the pure hatred that escaped her lungs and set the atmosphere on fire. Shauna heard a trembling breath come from the girl standing a few feet behind her.

“Yeah. I will.” Shauna heard footsteps behind her until Joni came to view and slipped past the crack and onto the hallway, slamming the door in the shorter girls face. Shauna stood frozen. Her breath coming ragged. She took a deep breath and wiped the single tear that came running down her cheek and turned knob feeling suffocated in a room she always found comfort in.

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

Full Of You

Summary: Leader of the Kingsguard, Thalyn Baratheon must adhere to the rules to uphold the prestige it is to protect the Conquerer with her life. And so must Visenya Targaryen, the mastermind of the Kingsguard and the very same person who appointed Thalyn as the leader to prohibit an engagement to rise from the very eligible stance Thalyn stood in. Unless she wishes to bend the rules for her own selfish needs.

Pairing: Thalyn Baratheon x Visenya Targaryen

Warnings: Smut, Praise, Edging, Possessiveness, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Power dominance, Minor Sub!Visenya, Dom!Reader, g!p reader, Typical Targaryen Incest (kind of), lowkey short, there’s more but i forgot the names and it’s 3 a.m.

THALYN BARATHEON STOOD WITH HER HANDS GRIPPING THE TILT OF HER SWORD MADE OF VALYRIAN STEEL. She lightly traced the golden embroidery on the sleek tilt. She stood by the steps with a few other knights, the furthest from Aegon who was perched on the throne, thousands of swords bent to construct stairs stood between him and Thalyn. Her brother, Orys stood only a few feet away from her, the closest to Aegon than any of the other knights. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, taming her wild curls, with only a strand slipping loose.

“The Dornish are at bay for now, but rumors go that they are gathering men.” Thalyn informed both men. She had been appointed alongside her brother as Aegon’s commander of forces. Together, they planned and seized all enemies the threatened Aegon’s sake.

Orys shook his head chuckling. “Those Dorinsh bastards are relentless, aren’t they?” Aegon chuckled with the man.

“Even with my most trusted of friends who hold lands that surround Aegonfort, do they dare and plan the means to uprise?” Aegon said with a surprised tone. “Foolish Bastards!” Thalyn laughed at Aegon’s commentary. It was to no one’s surprise when Orys and Thalyn were greatly compensated for their unwavering loyalty to their ‘friend.’

Thalyn had marched alongside Aegon and their forces to Harrenhal where they had been blindly attacked by Harren the Black’s sons after a victory. Thalyn had slained a dozen men as she guarded Aegon as he mounted Balerion. With Balerion’s flames, they fell upon the enemy and charred them to nothing but specks of ashes. Using this to her advantage, Thalyn had sneaked her way into the supposedly impenetrable castle. When Aegon had tried to get them to surrender near the gates, Harren the Black had refused and took fort in his castle. Unbeknownst to them, Thalyn had been waiting by his Throne when she had slain the self proclaimed king and his sons while Aegon flew rampant outside, melting the castle. She had escaped quickly, letting the stone burn and forever erase what was once a king.

Orys had been marching towards the south, towards Storms End where he was accompanied by Queen Rhaenys. With the support of his bannerman, Argilac the Arrogant managed to cut down a thousand man before finding shelter in the forrest. With Meraxes in tow, the she-dragon set ablaze the forrest, killing notable figures. Word of the Riverlands siege had reached them and Argilac marched towards to meet Orys and his men in battle. Almost powering through Orys defense, they were met the the fury of Meraxes who killed yet another notable figure. Finding Argilac wounded, Orys offered a plea of surrender to with the self proclaimed king refused and it was then that Orys slew the man. It was then that the storm landers surrendered, ending the rampant attack of Argilac and his forces.

Seeing their loyalty as worthy, Aegon had granted each their lands which surrounded Aegonfort. Orys was named Lord Paramount of the Stormland and Lord of Storm’s End. Thalyn was granted Lady Paramount of the Trident and Lady of Riverrun. Not only enhancing their stance but given lands that served as a wall between their King and foe. A stagnant reminder of the King’s most fealty protectors, guardians of the crown.

The door creaked by the entrance, a menacing figure striding down the Throne room. Her presence was thunderous with their feet hitting the stone with a loud echo that snatched their attention. There stood Queen Visenya in all her glory and beauty.

“You sit too soft, brother.” Visenya stopped in front of the throne. Her hair was loosely braided. She wore a silky violet dress with light armor and Dark Sister wielded at her hip. “This castle is not safe and you sit too soft as if you haven’t made enemies by just sitting there.” Aegon hummed, stepping down from his throne.

“My men are vigilant. I’ve got one of the two greatest swordsmen guarding me since i’ve claimed this seat.” Visenya turned, only to be met with the same watchful eyes of Thalyn Baratheon. Her heart thumped at her chest and her vision had gotten hazy had she not looked away. Thalyn quirked her eyebrows with a small faint smile, turning to the floor.

“Vigilant? I was nearly slaughtered in these very same halls had i not taken them down myself. If they managed to get that close to me, imagine what could have been done to Rhaenys!” She argued. Thalyn flinched at the reminder, having been with Aegon when that had occurred. Her heart had nearly jumped out of her chest, leading her to spend a couple nights in the Queen’s bed.

“It’s sufficient for a King.” He roared, feeling the urge to steer the conversation away from involving Rhaenys. Visenya faltered her eyes to Thalyn, before averting them yet again. Thalyn shifted her balance to both her feet, almost pulling herself to involve herself in the conversation when she felt a slight hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Orys staring at her, sternly. As if begging for her not to interfere. Thalyn scrunched her eyebrows, her mouth gaping. Orys shook his head. “You need not shame my men—”

Before most could react, Visenya sheathed Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blinding its onlookers. Visenya reached toward to strike Aegon, its trajectory having been interfered by Thalyn who had reacted faster than all the swordsmen present. A clean cut brewed from this attack, right by her cheekbone. Blood lightly prickled from the cut. Gasps escaped from the swordsmen behind her.

Visenya froze, her eyes trickled in fear as she eyed the wound on her lover. Regret was etched on her face, being quickly replaced by poise. She stepped a few steps back to stare at Aegon.

“What use is an army if a foe could attack before any of them stir in their spot?” Visenya reprimanded the King who turned to Thalyn, seeing the blood slowly prickle with ease. Orys inched to inspect his sister, only for her to urge him to stand back. Visenya turned once again to her lover, unable to meet the crimson that sat on her cheekbone. “Thalyn cannot always be at your side. What must happen for you to understand you are vulnerable despite wielding the biggest dragon and the crown? Where dragons cannot walk, rats linger, brother.”

Aegon stood for a minute in contemplation.

“And you need of me to hear your counsel?”

Visenya nodded at his words. “You need a true number of guards. Swordsmen of the greatest repute. Dedicated and sworn to only you, not the realm, but you; the King. They will not lounge, they will not sleep, they will not eat until their King is safely guarded.” She spoke with confidence. Aegon turned to Orys and then Thalyn before returning to Visenya. “The king’s guard, his most trusted and his most worthy.” Aegon rubbed his stubbled chin, slightly nodding, as if agreeing.

“Your counsel has always been dear to me and i’ll see for it to be heard.” Aegon turned to Thalyn who had not moved from her position right besides him. “Send for a maester. A cut like that unattended will scar if ignored.” He said, almost as if he knew Thalyn would protest to the Maestor’s aid. He waved his hand, dismissing them. Thalyn nodded at her side, bowing to her King and then turning to bow at her Queen, their eyes locking as she looked up as if almost gravitational.

THALYN SAT ON A CUSHIONED STOOL, HER FACE BEING CAREFULLY HELD ONTO BY THE HAND OF THE GRAND MAESTOR. She winced as he rubbed ointment onto her wound. She subtly gripped her thighs from the stinging pain, her mouth scowled as she tried to hide her distaste.

Suddenly, a door swung open. Thalyn didn’t have to look to know who had been the intruder to walk in. Visenya Targaryen strode into her chambers like she owned them, which she had. All the noise in the room had stopped and almost everyone bowed in presence of their queen. She nodded and curtly, everyone retreated from the knights chambers, leaving only Visenya and Thalyn.

Hearing the door shut, Thalyn stood up, heading towards the table where her sword rested. She began to sharpen her sword, giving no thought to the queen who stood in the middle of the room. Appalled at her behavior, she burned holes at Thalyn’s back. And if looks could kill, her tunic would be aflame, leaving the knight at the queens sweet and viscous disposition.

“Am i to be ignored by my own knight? A knight that has sworn to protect and obey me?” Visenya’s words cut sharp. Thalyn still paid her no mind, finding the rasp of the sharpened blade more interesting. “I am your Queen. And i order you to drop that sword and face me.” Visenya roared. Thalyn chuckled at her words, her movements halting as she cluttered the sword to the table. Visenya strode closer, far too close as to where Thalyn felt her hot breath on her back. “Ah. You do obey.” Visenya mocked her.

In no moment to waste, Thalyn seized Visenya in her arms. Her arms roughly grabbed at her queen’s waist, spinning her to stand in between her chest and the table. Thalyn’s hands planted on the table, securing Visenya in her grasp, pressing herself firmly against her. Her mouth lightly grazed against near the top of her earlobe, Thalyn’s height imposing her to crane her neck. Visenya’s breath hitched, inhaling her lover’s scent of honey and steel. Her legs lightly clamped against each other, hoping Thalyn didn’t feel her sudden shift. But she knew it was foolish to deceive her. Especially when she knew every corner and crevice of her.

Her left hand moved to snake around her waist and towards her chin, forcing her to look at the grand window in front of them, where the table was pushed up against. Aegonfort glimmered with red topped houses and civilians who roamed the street, appearing as ants from their view. “Among these people, rats walk among them. Ready to strike at you whenever time pleases.” Thalyn rasped, her voice sending goosebumps down Visenya’s skin. “And i ache when you recount your near encounter with one of those rats. Feels like shame when i recount i wasn’t there.” Visenya furrowed her eyebrows. Now aware of her true feelings behind her outburst. “I may not posses a dragon, but i will burn this city to the ground if it means the arms that hold me, will continue to do so. I will gladly take any cut and wound from you, and i will cherish it still; i will let them come. If it’s to prove why i need to be much closer than ever before, i will take it. Because it’s by the hand i love.” Thalyn whispered. Visenya hummed.

“How much closer? How much closer can we get for you to have enough?” Visenya whispered, her voice trembling. Thalyn’s hand slid lower, meeting her abdomen, teasingly slow to the heat that called for her.

“Where i melt into your body and we become one, my Queen.” Thalyn said, pressing a faint kiss behind her earlobe. “And i want the whole world to see how i ruin my queen to filth.” Thalyn’s hand cupped her heat, evoking a moan from Visenya who threw her head back against her chest. Surprising Visenya, Thalyn threw her sword to her ground with a swipe. She removed herself from Visenya, much to her dismay before walking towards the window and opening the panel’s. She pushed the table much closer to the window ledge to where there was no space between them. Visenya stood there, bothered and confused. Thalyn walked back to the Visenya, grabbing her by the hips and placing her on the table, where her legs slightly dangled from the window. Visenya’s eyes widened to which Thalyn chuckled.

“I want the whole realm to see how i melt into my queen.” Thalyn spoke, pulling herself to sit behind Visenya, with Visenya in between her legs and facing the window. Visenya turned to Thalyn in shock, her hand gripping onto the slight muscle on her arms.

“Thalyn—”

Thalyn shook her head. Her hands placing themselves on her stomach with a look of adoration. “Do you trust me, my love?” Visenya nodded, her lip quivering with anticipation and lust. Thalyn reached to kiss her, Visenya inched forward until their lips connected. Their tongues slipping into each other’s mouth, fighting for love, a demonstration of their hunger. Visenya hummed, forgetting where she was. Her hips swayed against Thalyn, creating a friction in her pants. A bulge knocked at her hips. Slowly, Thalyn began to kiss down her neck, eliciting a moan out of Visenya. A wet trail ran from Visenya’s earlobe and towards her collarbone. Thalyn’s other hand gripped at Visenya’s chest, her hand kneading her right breast. Visenya arched into her touch, her head falling back again at the pleasure.

“Thalyn.” She panted. Thalyn smirked. Her hand then slowly trailed itself lower, landing just before Visenya’s soaked pants. Her hand didn’t move, still peppering kisses. “Please.”

“Please what?” Thalyn taunted her. Visenya grunted.

“Touch me. Let me melt into you.” Visenya cooed. Thalyn nodded, landing a kiss on her cheek.

“As my queen commands.” Thalyn slipped her hand past the Targaryen’s waistband, being met with a glimmer of heat. Her middle finger glided upwards, feeling the wetness already coating her finger. Visenya moaned, her hand reached behind her to tug at Thalyn’s hair. A second finger was added as she slid her fingers upwards, earning an arch from Visenya. With limited space, Thalyn slid both fingers down before inserting them in the sweet hole that welcomed her. Visenya squirmed under her touch, having Thalyn hold down her hip. Her fingers met with her spongy walls before sliding back out. Thalyn felt her pants get tighter.

Her fingers rutted back inside her and yet again slid out. Visenya gasped, holding onto Thalyn’s forearm. Her free hand reached to circle her clit, Visenya’s body almost dispatching herself completely from the pure adrenaline that coursed through her veins. Feeling her spongy walls tightening around her fingers, she slipped them out in one swift motion.

“Thalyn.” Visenya gasped at the emptiness. Her chest heaved up and down, struggling to catch her breath. Unlacing her trousers, she let her erection to spring free. Visenya instantly felt it, twisting her body to face Thalyn. Visenya placed her hands on Thalyn’s shoulders, raising her hips just enough to hover above Thalyn’s erection that throbbed right under her core. Visenya leaned foward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and crushing their lips together in a sloppy heated kiss. Their breaths mingled with each others.

Having enough of the torture, Thalyn gripped Visenya’s hips and rammed her down onto her shaft. They both moaned in unison, unable to contain the pure ecstasy. Having regained her composure slightly, Visenya began to rock up and down, hearing her slick echo in her chambers. Thalyn grunted, hugging her waist, laying her head on her chest, savoring her scent. Slowly and steady, Visenya rocked herself up and down, moaning with each slow and deliberate thrust. She whimpered at the sensation. Thalyn filling up and poking at each crevice that made her a woman. Her shaft twitched inside of her. Finally getting a grip of herself, Thalyn held onto the Targaryen’s waist, sliding in and out at a more faster pace. Visenya’s breasts wriggled in her tight leather vest, leaving Thalyn frustrated where she ripped open and freed them.

“Thalyn!” Visenya gasped, her nipples hardening at the soft breeze. She went to grab her breast before Thalyn swatted them away, her mouth latching onto them, sucking and bitting, leaving Visenya a moaning mess. She looked up at the Targaryen, watching as she closed her eyes, taking everything Thalyn had to offer. Thalyn began to rut inside of her, making the table creak at their pace. Heads of sweat trickled by her hairline, like diamond teardrops, just glistening like one would.

Aside from swords and beheaded cowardly men, she didn’t love it like she loved this. Having the Targaryen queen under her disposal, taking everything Thalyn promised her and more. Aching and gaping for her. Her moans screaming out for the world to see how her sworn protector ruined her to the woman she was. Not the fierce warrior but the needy woman. The needy woman that had her hair stuck to her forehead, rosy warmed cheeks and eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“I’m—”

Thalyn grunted, pounding into her from the encouragement. “I know, my love.” Visneya reached to kiss her once again, battling with their tongues. Hoping to anchor each other from the pure bliss. Thalyn’s hand went to circle her clit, feeling Visenya arch into them. Her walls squeezed around her shaft, giving a final warning. Thalyn pulled away from her lips, rerouting herself to her neck, slightly sucking.

“Thal, no.” The queen warned her, knowing it would be both their heads on the spikes if a bruise were to appear on her neck. Thalyn hummed into her neck, sending goosebumps to riddle down the queens skin.

“Oh, i know.” Her lips moved further south, closer to her breast’s. Visenya purred, finally nearing her end. She gripped onto Thalyn’s back, anchoring her head to dip into her collarbone, biting at her skin. Exploding, she released her cum, milking Thalyn’s member. She moaned into her collarbone, biting harder at her release. Tears slowly slipped down her face from pleasure. Thalyn feeling herself get closer, she sped up her pace, hoping to ride out Visenya’s climax and speed hers up. Visneya whimpered at her sensitive hole being used. Thalyn feeling herself getting ready to cum, began to remove Visenya from her member, only for Visenya to wrap her legs around her thighs.

“Make me full of your child. For you are the only worthy one of this womb, issa jorrāelagon.” Thalyn peered up to stare at her violet eyes, only be met with warmth and sincerity. Visneya mushed their lips together, in a slow and passionate kiss. Her hands went to settle in her lips, thrusting one last time before releasing her ropes of her thick white substance. They both moaned, feeling Visenya be flooded with her cum, half of it oozing out. Thalyn still continued to thrust, hoping all of the white sticky substance that fled, were being pushed back into her. Lazily, she continued to thrust, both of them panting messes. Visenya slumped against Thalynn, inhaling the fuse of their bodies. Thalyn peppered kisses on her neck.

“I think the realm knows i’m full of you, my love.” Visneya smiled. Thalyn chuckled, nuzzling into her, halting her movements. Her body stilled, taking in the sweaty woman who clung onto her.

“Good. Let them know my queen is full of me.” Visneya brightly smiled, kissing her once again. Letting the realm see how their Queen melted into her sworn protector, full of her.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader x Sirius Black

Series Summary: You have been best friends with the Marauders since you were in nappies, and you've loved James Potter for just as long. However, when he start dating his long-time crush Lily Evans everything is different now.

Summary: Because of an incident with Snape, feelings between you, James, and Sirius become even more complicated than they were.

Genre: Fluff, angsty

Warnings: friends to lovers, unrequited love, misunderstanding trope, violence, harassment, Snape is a little shit, James is oblivious, James x Lily, James is jealous, MESSY (this should always be a warning lol), conflicting emotions

ONE / TWO / 3 / 4

Charms class is usually your favorite class. It's your favorite because for seven years, you've had Charms with James. You can still remember how, knowing you were nervous for your first class in first year, James had enchanted a paper crane, a smiley face with the words; "you're amazing," scribbled on the inside. He'd sent you a wink from across the room and the class had gone smoothly. That was the moment you realized something was different.

The moment you started loving him.

This year, Lily Evans is in your class too. Now, the seat next to James that was once engraved as yours is hers. And as some form of torture, you're sitting at a nearby desk, watching them smile and share love sick giggles, which each feels like a dagger to your heart.

"Y'a know, you should just consider what I have to say," Severus Snape murmurs from beside you, nails scratching the wood of his desk. His voice is low, sharp. His hair hangs oily over his cheekbone, and he's watching James and Lily like a snake waiting to strike. "You want James, and I want Lily. I don't understand what you don't understand, Y/l/n?"

"Shut up," you mutter, returning to read the lesson as you pull your book closer to you, flipping a page. You'd been partnered with Snape this time around, which was worse than torture. 

Severus just leans closer, his breath against your neck. "I guarantee you, the moment lover-boy over there," he nods towards James, "finds out you and I are dating, he'll be falling all over himself to chase you instead of Lily. It's pathetic, really, how quickly he'd abandon whatever fairytale he thinks he's built with her for a shot at having you."

You recoil inside, his words making you sick, but don't give him the satisfaction of a full reaction. You don't even look at him when you say, "You shouldn't talk about things you don't know, Snape. It makes you look stupid."

Severus laughs, low and bitter. He rambles; "Is that so? Well, I'm not as stupid as you, Y/l/n. At least I'm not the one living in some fantasy where I think no one loves me. Oh poor Y/n, so alone. You're too blind to see the truth." He leans in, his lips so close to your ear you shiver, "I see the truth. How you've got those two blood-traitors wrapped around your little finger. And yeah, I don't know why. You're nothing special."

You freeze, tensing up. Does he mean Sirius? "You're a liar," you rasp.

Then his hand latches onto your arm. Tight. Unrelenting. He yanks you closer. His hold on you is so hard it's painful. He looks angry. Angrier than you've ever seen him. "I am not a liar. You must really be stupider than you look," he hisses.

You narrow your eyes, pushing him away. "You're hurting me. Let me go," you demand, slipping a little from the stool you're sitting on as you yank away from him.

And then, the stool titters backwards, and you fall.

Your head hits the floor, disoriented from the fall, and you gasp as you sit up, staring up as Severus hits the ground as well, blood pouring from his nose. A heavy book floats momentarily in the air before crashing onto his hand with a sickening thud.

He yelps in pain.

You look around. No one understands what just happened.

"Y/n!" Lily exclaims. She's suddenly kneeling at your side. "What happened?" Her gaze darts from you to Severus. There's something odd in her gaze—like some distant concern for him but she pushes it down.

You wonder if, in some other reality where she wasn't dating James and Snape wasn't such a prick, she might have run to him instead.

James stands behind her, his fists clenched. His ears are pinker, and he looks furious. He's glaring at Severus and your stomach churn. You lift your hand and touch where your head is throbbing. Your gaze follows his arm before he can hide it in his robe.

You swear you saw his wand.

Did he enchanted the book that had taken Severus down with you? Did he hurt him on purpose? He doesn't even look sorry. You look at Severus again. You wince as he smiles eerily through bloodied teeth, as if he'd planned this and somehow won.

Your head spins.

Later, you sit quietly in a hospital bed, your spoon swirling in untouched pudding as you stare at the old tiled floor. Sirius sits up from the bed beside you, still recovering from his injury. He seems surprised to see you back so soon. 

"What's with the ice?" he asks casually. "Did ya miss me that much?" His grin fades when he notices your expression. You look confused, maybe. Sad. Angry? He isn't exactly sure.

"I bumped my head," you whisper.

"Oh?" He leans in. "How'd that happen?"

You hesitate, not wanting him to worry. "I tripped in the hallway because of my shoelaces."

Sirius chuckles, and raises an eyebrow. "Or me thinks you just subconsciously want to spend more time with me."

You don't respond, but you crack a small smile. You look up at him and he catches the smile instantly.

"Aha!" he exclaims, pointing. "I love that smile."

You pause.

"Yeah?"

"Of course I do. It's yours."

Your cheeks heat up like they're on fire. You're certain you're about to explode as Sirius keeps smiling at you in ways that confuse every feeling you've known. However, the feeling quickly disappears when James rushes in. He's alone and he looks concerned.

"Is your head okay?" he asks urgently, standing way too close as he cups your cheeks, inspecting your head. You stare at him, unsure how to respond to his worry. 

"Um, yeah," you nod, your voice squeaky, glancing nervously at Sirius. "Charms isn’t over yet. What are you doing here?"

James frowns, opening his mouth to explain but the arrival of another student interrupts you. It's Severus. He's groaning and holding his hand, which is still bleeding. The one that had been mangled by the book. He'd refused to walk to the Hospital Wing with you, but it seems his injury warranted a trip anyways. Madame Pomfrey rushes over to him the moment she sees his hand and ushers him to his own bed on the opposite side of the room.

"Bloody Hell, I don't care if Charms isn't over. I wanted to see you." James mutters, his thumb stroking across your cheek. 

"What happened to that wanker?" Sirius asks casually, looking toward Severus, the spoon of his own pudding dangling from his mouth.

"I crushed his hand with a book," James says in a whisper, his gaze hard.

Your heart drops. "James!" you reprimand him, your voice squeaky again. 

He'd actually been the one to do it.

"You did?" Sirius half-whispers back. He looks confused and slightly proud.

You grab James's arm, turning him to look at you again. "Why? Why would you do a thing like that?!" you demand, sounding stern and James's hazel eyes soften. He brushes your hair gently from your forehead, brushing his thumb on your eyebrow now. "I saw him, Bug. He hurt you. He put his hands on you."

"What?" Sirius exclaims, narrowing his gaze now. "Y/n said she tripped."

"Nah, that blimey git was being a real prick. I had to teach him a lesson," James snorts, looking at Sirius and he looks proud of himself now. 

Sirius looks a little hurt, his attention on you now. "Why would you lie to me about something like that?" he asks seriously.

"I didn't want to tell you," you mutter. Severus's previous words ring in your ears.

"And why the fuck not?" Sirius demands. He sounds more urgent now and James looks confused by the sudden shift in mood.

"It doesn't matter, I'm fine. It didn't need to be mentioned because it wasn't a big deal and you don't need to be so worried. Both of you." You stand up and James gives you some space.

Sirius shakes his head and tries to stand as well until Madame Pomfrey's voice interrupts his plans; "Mister Black, you stay in that bed." Sirius ignores her and tries to follow you out as James does the same. 

"Sirius, you should—" James whispers, turning to stop him.

"Y/n, wait," Sirius calls but you've disappeared. Sirius pauses, feeling James's hand on his shoulder. James sends his best friend a sympathetic smile. 

"I'll talk to her," James says and motions towards the hospital bed. "Just focus on getting better, okay? She'll be alright. I'll make sure she is." Sirius's jaw clenches but he nods, he knows running after you isn't the best thing to do.

Plus, you'll listen to James more than him. 

Outside in the hall, James runs after you, catching your arm. "Hey, Bug, please. Can you hear me out?"

You turn, looking more than a little annoyed at him. "You really hurt Snape. I was fine, you didn't need to make such a fuss. What did Lily say?" 

James laughs. "Bollocks, he was being a real shit," he says as he walks closer, his hand still on your arm. "I did what I did to protect you. I don't care what Lily thought, not in that moment."

You look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Protect me? I'm not yours to protect."

James frowns, his hand faltering on your arm. "What? You're my best friend," he justifies. Your heart feels heavy and you can't tell if he truly doesn't understand what he's saying or he's messing with you. He drops your arm and reaches for your cheek, moving closer, and you don't dare push him away.

"I adore you," he whispers, leaning over you as he plays with a strand of your hair. He's so close. Your eyelids flutter. James barely processes it himself as he leans in, his lips so close to yours. He isn't thinking. This just feels—right. 

"You're my best friend and I—" he repeats, eyelids closing as he almost kisses you.

You turn your head, your palms pushing on his chest as you catch your breath. "Yeah. I know I am. I'm your best friend, Jamie, not your girlfriend. Lily is. You should remember that," you say, your voice low, watching his eyes open and he looks ashamed. He pulls away, blushing. It breaks your heart to push him away but you have to.

For Lily's sake. She deserves better than whatever this is.

"I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" he starts, looking around awkwardly. 

You nod, a horrible pit forming in your stomach. "Yeah. I know. It's okay," you say.

"It didn't mean anything," James adds, almost in a panic, and he says the words as if he's trying to believe them himself. As if he knows he's lying. But you believe them and you feel like crying.

You back up further against the wall and nod, biting your cheek. "I know, James. I won't tell Lily. Promise."

To be continued NEXT PART

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[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader x Sirius Black

Series Summary: You have been best friends with the Marauders since you were in nappies, and you've loved James Potter for just as long. However, when he start dating his long-time crush Lily Evans everything is different now.

Summary: One Quidditch incident makes an already messy situation even more complicated…

Genre: Fluff, angst

Warnings: friends to lovers, unrequited love, injury, hint of Wolfstar, Jily, things are messy lmao…

ONE / 2 / 3 / 4

December.

Amidst the Christmas chaos and the winter chill, Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement for the end of Quidditch seasons. Because the end meant the Champion match. And for the fourth time in a row, it was Gryffindor VS Slytherin.

You wrap your scarf around your neck, nuzzling into the warmth as the game continues. Lily claps loudly, jumping up, her deep cherry-colored hair bouncing flawlessly around her shoulders, as James bumps a Slytherin midair, sending him spiraling off his broom and under the stands. You wince. 

With practiced ease, James snatches the Quaffle and smiles triumphantly. You hold up the binoculars, your cheeks warm. His dark curls fall over his face, his cheeks a little pink from exertion. 

You wonder if there's ever been a time James Potter wasn't stupidly beautiful. You lower the binoculars, lost in a memory of a younger James; playing in his parents yard, mud all over his trousers. You don't think there has been.

Suddenly, gasps erupt from all around you and Lily shrieks. You snap out of your daze and look up just in time to see someone plummeting from the sky. James? you think, heart dropping into your stomach. The boy looks enough like him to freeze your blood. A shaking hand covers your mouth as your vision blurs. 

"Bullocks," Remus mutters. Remus never swears, but this time he does, and he looks worried. If Remus is worried, everyone should be worried. Peter holds onto the sleeve of your woolen coat, as distressed as everyone else. You turn your head, poor Lily looks like she might faint. 

Terrified, you sprint down the stairs, pushing past students and leading the way for your friends to follow. The grass crunches against your shoes as the first fall of snow sprinkles across the greenery. You see two figures in the distance, more players huddled around them. The closer you become, the clearly the scene is;  

It's not James. But it's just as horrifying. It's Sirius.

Your heart shatters as you see him on the ground, clutching his arm as groaning in pain. You gasp and suddenly breathing feels impossible. "Oh my—" your voice cracks, drifting as you pause. You don't dare run up to him. Sirius is crying now, and his arm is twisted in a way that makes you feel like vomiting up your breakfast.

You can't look at him anymore. So instead, you turn and look at Remus.

Unlike many of your other friends, Remus Lupin always seems in control. He never looks scared, never anxious, and certainly never looks unsure of himself. James once told you the only time Remus has ever truly looked terrified in front of him is during the nights under the Whomping Willow—the nights they never let you join in on. But now? Remus looks petrified. His body trembles and you throw your arms around him.

"It's okay," you whisper, gripping him tight. Remus wasn't ever really good with bodily injuries, especially when they involved Sirius. "I'm here. He's okay. Promise."

You don't know if Sirius is okay, but your words slow Remus's shaking, so you say them anyway. More arms wrap themselves around you and Remus, Peter's sniffles calming you in the chaos. 

The walk to the Hospital Wing is silent. Even James isn't speaking as he tries to listen to the murmurs of the professors as Madame Pomfrey rolls a miserable Sirius's into the dim and cold room. It's snowing hard outside.

Madame Pomfrey doesn't let you all in the room. She only lets James because he makes  a fuss when he can't be with Sirius. You, Remus, and Peter wait outside while Madame Pomfrey works to heal Sirius's arm and other injuries. It takes hours and by the time she calls you all in, Peter has fallen asleep on Remus's shoulder and your eyes are bloodshot. When Madame Pomfrey leaves you, the only other person in the room is James. He's sitting beside Sirius's bed, head resting on his arms, seemingly asleep. He's still in his Quidditch uniform.  

Sirius's skin is pale—too pale. His eyes are shut, his nose scrunched like he's in pain. But he looks like he's sleeping now. "James," you murmur, approaching him. He lifts his head, blinking groggily. He blinks again, sitting up and touching his chin and cheekbone. His cheeks are marked from the sheets. When James sees you all, he beams.

"Bug," he breathes. He smiles at Peter and then his gaze flickers to Remus's worried expression. "Moony, it's alright. Pads just broke his arm and he has a small concussion. It's nothing super serious. He'll live."

James stands on wobbly legs and walks over. He places a hand on Remus's shoulder. "You can sit with him if you want."

Nodding, Remus moves to Sirius's side. He toys nervously with his fingers, his lip caught between his teeth as he looks at Sirius's bandaged arm and the bandage on his head. You glance at James and guilt hits you, making you feel ill.

You're ashamed.

You're so ashamed that some part of you is glad it wasn't James lying in that bed. Your James. You feel like a horrible person. Your eyes land on Sirius again and you walk by James, kneeling beside Sirius on the opposite side of the bed, pretending not to hear Lily knock and enter the room. Pretending not to notice how James brightens the second he hears Lily's voice.

You take Sirius's uninjured hand—pale and cold—and feel your heart break all over again. "I'm sorry," you whisper, tears falling now. How dare you think of James when Sirius is here, unconscious and hurt? You let out a breath. You are so happy he's okay. 

Warm tears drip onto Sirius's hand as you kiss it.

"Hey, Y/n, don't cry," Sirius suddenly croaks, one eye fluttering open. "Someone might think you actually care about me."

Your eyes snap up and a smile curls your lips despite the shame you'd been feeling. You lift yourself up and throw your arms around Sirius's neck, pressing kisses to his cheek.

Sirius laughs, rough and raspy. "Ow—that hurts."

Remus gently pulls you back. "You're hurting him," he whispers.

You glance at the sling holding Sirius's arm and mutter, "Sorry."

Sirius looks at you, his eyes warm and soft. You look away because you don't deserve the warmth in his gaze. You step aside and let Remus talk and hug Sirius. They seem closer than you've ever seen them as Remus smiles brightly, laughing at some stupid joke Sirius made in his sickly state. 

"Black, I'm happy you're okay," Lily speaks up from behind you, her tone kind. She's all shimmering emerald eyes and glossy pink lips, and you hate how well she fits in James' side, his arm around her. As if she was made for him. You feel another wave of shame at your feelings. 

"Mighty kind of you, Evans," Sirius says, grinning. He sits up fully, groaning a little and he moves his attention to James. "Prongs, who won? Because I swear if Slytherin won, I should've just died from the fall."

"Isn't that a little dramatic?" Remus mutters

"We won." Peter interrupts and walks closer to Sirius. He squeezes Sirus's arm and Sirius grins up at him, patting his arm in return. 

"Wormy's always the bearer of good news, thanks, mate."

"Bloody hell, this hurts," Sirius then adds with a grunt. You look back to see him trying to move again. His shirt shifts slightly upwards, revealing his lower stomach and the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. Eyes wide, you reach forward and gently press on his shoulders.

"Pads. No. You're hurt," you chide. 

Sirius suppresses a moan of pain and winks. "Heartbroken, honey," he teases, bringing up your conversation from a month ago. The one you'd told him never to mention. You freeze. Your cheeks warm and you wish he hadn't said that. It had been weeks since any of your even hinted at it. But he's smiling, and that smile is intoxicating so you can't even be upset with him.

"Heartbroken?" Lily asks, and you want to scream at her to shut up.

"It doesn't matter," Sirius interrupts her, eyes still on you. "Y/n, don't you and Jamie have Charms right now?" 

You know he can tell you're annoyed by his tease and he likes it.

You send him a little look as you walk out the doors with James, his hand on your upper back. Sirius leans back, drowning out Remus's words. All he can think about is you. How he wants to kiss you, hold you, mark you as his. And he knows you feel something. You feel the tension, the wanting— but you're in love with James.

And Sirius knows it.

To be continued… NEXT PART

Taglist: @lexy-com2, @alice07ea, @sweetstrawberrianne, @rosed-rouge, @hoerauders, @leena12, @kingsandqueens12345, @whyucloudingmymind, @watersquirtpewpewboomm, @asillysimp, @dreamybabbyy, @ladybirdz, @corawithfanfiction, @mischievousmoony

[latenightreadingpdf]

Secrets of the Heart - Marauders Era

Chapter 6 - In the Stands

Secrets of the Heart Masterlist

The next morning, Aurora found herself waking up before the sun fully crested the horizon, determined to see what all the Quidditch fuss was about. She wrapped herself in a cozy sweater and, with her Hufflepuff scarf thrown over her shoulders, made her way down to the pitch.

When she arrived, the practice was already in full swing. James was darting through the air, leaning low on his broom as he scanned for the Snitch, while Sirius rocketed around, sending Bludgers flying with precise hits. She could just make out Peter in the distance, helping with drills. The only one who wasn’t on a broom was Remus, sitting a little ways up in the stands with a book in his lap, his gaze flickering between the pages and the action on the field.

Aurora approached quietly, but he noticed her footsteps, and when he looked up, his face lit up with genuine surprise and excitement. “You actually came!” he said, grinning as he closed his book.

She gave a small, shy smile. “Good morning, Remus. Thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you did. I was getting kind of bored just sitting here.”

They settled into a comfortable silence as they watched the players zip across the pitch. After a few moments, Aurora glanced at his book. “What’re you reading?”

He held it up so she could see the worn cover. “The Lord of the Rings.”

“What’s that about?”

His eyes brightened, and he started describing the journey of the hobbits, the sweeping landscapes of Middle-earth, and the concept of unlikely heroes. Aurora found herself getting drawn into the story through Remus’s passion and animated way of explaining it. He had a way of making even the most intricate details sound fascinating.

As they talked, they didn’t notice James spotting them from across the pitch. Mid-flight, he waved both hands and shouted, “Oi, Aurora! Good morning!”

She laughed and waved back, feeling oddly more at ease as she returned to her conversation with Remus. Seeing her in the stands seemed to spur James and Sirius into action; they started showing off their tricks, looping through the air and executing dives and spins. Aurora couldn’t help but laugh at their antics, giving them an encouraging thumbs-up, much to their delight.

They continued talking as the practice ended, both absorbed in discussing heroes and quests, not noticing the other players leaving the field. Eventually, Remus and Aurora realized the pitch had quieted down when Sirius and James sauntered up to them, fresh from the locker room.

James smirked, crossing his arms as he looked at the two of them. “Well, don’t you both look chummy.”

Aurora’s face flushed as she noticed just how close she had gotten to Remus during the practice. She started to shift away a bit, but before she could, Sirius plopped down on the bench beside her, effectively sandwiching her between him and Remus.

“So, did you enjoy the show?” Sirius asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“It was… fun,” she admitted, stifling a small laugh. “I’ll probably come again.”

At this, Sirius and James exchanged a triumphant look and pumped their fists in celebration. “It’s because of how cool we are, obviously,” James declared, earning an eye roll from Remus.

As the four of them made their way back to the castle, Aurora felt herself settling into their easy rhythm, amused by their confidence but also surprisingly charmed by their enthusiasm.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Later that night, past curfew, the Marauders found themselves wandering the darkened corridors, talking in whispers about their latest ideas. They were working on mapping out new routes and escape plans, testing ways to avoid getting caught when pulling off pranks. As they passed the Hufflepuff common room, James noticed a shadow creeping along the wall and nudged the others.

“Look, it's Aurora,” he whispered with a grin.

Sirius couldn’t resist. “Oi, Aurora!” he whispered loudly, his voice just carrying enough to startle her. She nearly jumped out of her skin, clutching her chest as she turned around.

“Oh my—Sirius! I thought you were a professor!” she hissed, slapping his arm as he laughed.

“Well, if I were, you’d be in detention,” he smirked, winking at her. “Want to join us? We’re heading back to the Gryffindor common room for a bit.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Sure, why not?”

Together, they quietly made their way through the castle, managing to avoid any wandering professors or Filch. When they finally slipped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, Aurora was greeted by the cozy warmth of the fireplace, crackling softly against the silence of the night.

They settled into the Gryffindor common room, laughter echoing softly in the quiet of the castle. The fire cast a warm, flickering light across their faces as they all sank deeper into the cushions. Remus and Sirius, leaning back on one couch, exchanged knowing glances as James scooted closer to Aurora on the other. Sirius stretched out, putting his legs across Remus’s lap, settling in comfortably with a lazy grin.

They spent a while chatting about professors, each Marauder throwing out impressions and imitations that had her snickering. Sirius gave a flawless rendition of Professor McGonagall’s sharp tone, and Remus did an exaggerated impression of Professor Slughorn’s affected voice. James’s version of Flitwick’s squeaky laugh had Aurora covering her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Eventually, the conversation turned to her. Remus, ever the curious one, asked her a question. “So, what was Beauxbatons really like? Is it as posh as they say?”

Aurora tilted her head, thinking. “In a way, I guess. It’s beautiful—everything’s so polished and ornate, like a palace. But it felt… strict. Formal, maybe? Hogwarts just feels more welcoming.”

“That’s Hogwarts for you,” Sirius said, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“We’re glad you’re here,” James added, nudging her gently with his shoulder. “I mean, where else would you get a front-row seat to all our brilliant pranks?”

She smirked, but her face softened. “I think I’m glad to be here too.”

“Why the transfer, though?” Sirius pressed, his curiosity barely hidden. “Just tired of the French accent?”

Aurora glanced at her hands, feeling their gazes on her, and then shrugged. “My parents travel constantly for work, and they wanted me closer, so here I am.”

James nodded thoughtfully, then shot her a mischievous grin and leaned in close. “All right, serious question now. Which of us is your favorite Marauder?”

Aurora’s eyes went wide, and she burst out laughing, rolling her eyes. “Not you, obviously,” she said, pushing his face away.

He clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to gasp in horror. “Oh, Aurora Haven, you wound me!”

“Get up, you big baby,” she laughed, nudging him back upright. But he took the opportunity to slide his arm around her shoulders, giving her a grin as if daring her to protest. She hesitated, but after a second, relaxed, letting herself lean against him.

“Can’t believe she actually tolerated that, Prongs,” Sirius said, a playful smirk on his face. “Usually, girls last about five minutes before trying to run away.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” James said, giving Sirius a mock glare. “I happen to be very charming.” He flashed her a grin that made her roll her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile a little.

They settled back into more conversation, and soon, the Marauders started discussing the upcoming Quidditch season, each of them sharing their excitement, strategies, and hopes for Gryffindor’s chances. Aurora found herself enjoying the flow of their talk, the way they were so passionate about their house and their team, each of them with their own quirks.

As the fire crackled softly, she grew more comfortable, finding herself laughing freely with them and chiming in with her own thoughts here and there. Eventually, her eyes began to droop, and she felt herself getting sleepier with each passing minute. The warmth of the fire, James’s arm around her, and the low voices of the Marauders created a cozy lull that she couldn’t fight.

“You’re drifting off,” James murmured, noticing her eyes half-closed.

“Just a bit,” she admitted, stifling a yawn.

Sirius leaned over with a smirk. “Can’t handle a late night, Haven?”

She shot him a drowsy glare but couldn’t hide her grin. “I’ll manage,” she said, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes, listening to the comforting sounds of their chatter.

As she was on the edge of sleep, she heard someone whisper softly, “Goodnight, love,” before she finally drifted off, a small smile lingering on her face. For the first time in a long while, Aurora felt truly at home.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ I'm not really sure if I like this story, I might not write anymore chapters :/

what should I do?

continue writing this one!!!!

write more one-shots/imagines instead <3

Voting ended onNov 9, 2024

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader x Sirius Black

Series Summary: You've been best friends with the Marauders since your first year, and you've loved James just as long, however when James begins dating his long-time crush, Lily Evans, suddenly your entire world crumbles. And as usual, Sirius's timing is horrible.

Warnings: everyone is 17/18, their in their seventh year, friends to lovers, love triangle, unrequited love, misunderstanding trope, dubious consent kissing (kinda?), James is oblivious, James x Lily, Snape is a weirdo, reader is going through the motions in this chapter and acts like a normal teenager girl lol

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

September

There's something bittersweet about the way autumn looks in the evenings. The humid air smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon and it reminds you of him. Too many things remind you of him lately: like books that smell like worn out parchment, or the sound of the branches snapping on window shutters in a warm, welcoming, childhood bedroom—

This summer was the first summer you had spent away from them. It hadn't been the same and no matter how much you could pretend you haven't, you have missed all of them terribly.

This meant that the very moment Sirius Black's arms crushed you in a hug, you burst into laughter and squeezed your arms around him. You grin, your smile hurting your cheeks as the sounds of chatter from the train platform melts into the background.

"Hi, Pads," you say and Sirius mirrors your grin as he pulls away, still holding your waist.

You've heard rumors of Sirius Black's infamous charm, almost all the girls in your year say so, but being his best friend you had never experienced it yourself—Sirius had been too busy throwing mud in your hair for you to care about his looks. 

However, watching him now, at seventeen and taller; his normally pale skin slightly tanned from the summer sun at Potter's vacation home in Cornwall, with his dark hair falling around his shoulders in faint waves, you suddenly see what the student body could have meant and it sends heat through your cheeks. 

You feel someone else's presence behind you and you turn around. Remus Lupin is holding both his trunk and Peter Pettigrew's as the latter ties his shoes clumsily. Remus has also changed over the summer, he almost towers over you now, but your eyebrows furrow when you see some new scars across his cheeks. He's never told you why he has them and the others have warned you not to ask. Still, they worry you.

Instead of mentioning them, you point to his ankles and whisper, "Remy, you've outgrown your pants. Do you need new ones? I can ask—" 

Remus helps Peter up and chuckles. He ignores the comment and smiles, nudging Peter over. "We missed you," Peter says, interrupting your worry as he hugs you with a wide smile. Unlike Sirius and Remus, he hasn't changed much and you're happy for the familiarity. One summer couldn't have changed that much. You hug him, pulling Remus in by his sleeve to have him join, still smiling. 

"I missed you both more." 

The train honks and you all wince, laughing as you cover your ears. You look around and just as you open your mouth to ask, you're snatched from Remus and Peter. The scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and oak fill your nostrils as a warm cheek skims yours, muscular arms circling around you. 

James Potter presses feathery light kisses on your cheek and then tousles your hair in a way that has always driven you crazy. "Merlin I missed you, bug," he exclaims, his voice so quiet only you were supposed to hear him. Once he finally releases you from his clutches, you look at him, and he smiles. It's not James's usual smile. It's your smile, the one he has reserved only for you. 

You duck under his arms quickly and escape his hand, groaning as you comb your fingers through the mess he's made of your hair. You send him an annoyed, and reluctantly amused, look as Sirius, Remus, and Peter laugh in the background. 

James's smile turns into his boyish smirk as he laughs. You look at him closely, your eyes squinting as you take him in. His hair looks slightly longer and he looks much more in shape than when you'd last seen him. Perhaps things can drastically change over the summer.  

"What have you been doing over the summer?" you ask, your gaze locked on his arms. He's holding his robe over his shoulder casually, which is causing his forearm to flex and Merlin's name it looks practically sinful—

James bursts out laughing. Your cheeks now burn hotter and it only becomes worse when Sirius puts his hand on your shoulder, "You like 'em? Prongs worked hard for those babies over the summer," he remarks and wiggles his brows in James's direction as his best friend obnoxiously flexes. He looks ridiculous.  

"Oh, fuck you," you say and push Sirius's arm off you. You look at James again and shake your head, biting your cheek. You don't want to encourage him but he does look good. So good your mind wanders.

Suddenly, James's attention moves from you as he calls out a name, one name, one normal, unoriginal, name but the moment the name leaves his mouth, you feel ill and you hold your breath. "Lily!" 

Lily Evans, beautiful and kind Lily Evans. You don't hate her. How could you hate someone so sweet? And still, whenever you hear Lily's name something inside you crumbles into dust and you don't know why. It's like your chest suddenly becomes too small for your heart. Slowly, you turn as James drops everything and pushes by you and some other students simply walking by to meet the red-head. 

"Lily-Flower," he exclaims dramatically, swooping in low and wrapping his arms around the smaller girl's waist, hoisting her up into his arms. You half-assume James will lean in to kiss her— he's always looked like he wants to kiss her, Lily has just never given him permission. 

However, this time their lips connect and the air in your lungs feels like it's been jerked from your chest. Remus moves closer to you, his hand skimming your arm to steady you. You look up at him, your eyes wide. You don't even need to ask. 

"It happened this Summer. Prongs won her over." Remus explains in a whisper, "It all happened so quickly he must not have had time to send you an owl."

Remus making up excuses for James isn't new. He'd tell them in class, during dinner, in the courtyard, during Quidditch matches, anywhere, but he'd never told them to you. James has never been dishonest with you, or hidden something from you. Not you. Up until now, when it must have slipped his mind to tell his best friend something as important as a new girlfriend.

"Oh," is all you can say. 

"James! Not here! Your friends—" Lily squeaks with embarrassment, pulling away and hiding in James's chest like a love-sick school girl. Lily seems to be more relaxed and easily embarrassed. It's weird. 

"No one minds, right, guys?" James asks, looking over at you all. Sirius shrugs, clearly unimpressed and Remus and Peter shake their heads. James's eyes meet yours, looking at you expectantly and you feel cornered. All you can do is strain a reassuring smile with your stomach sinks.  

James returns his attention to Lily, fussing over her as she blushes and clearly enjoys the attention. Your other friends must sense the mood shift because Remus loops his arm in yours, Peter coming to your opposite side, and Sirius isn't far behind as he mutters a spell and your trunks, having them float behind you all. "C'mon, I'm starving," Remus jokes, lightening the mood. 

"I hope they have pudding," Peter thinks aloud, causing a snort from Sirius behind you. 

"They always do, Wormtail," he teases, his tone light, "you just eat it all up for everyone else—" 

"Oi, you shut up, you're already a pain in my arse," Remus snaps at Sirius, who barks another laugh, and for a while, the pain in your stomach from seeing James with Lily becomes a distant memory. 

* * *

Dinner passes fast and you didn't eat with them. You usually don't. You're not a Gryffindor and you have your own friends, friends that you also haven't seen all summer. Jane Hughes, one of your roommates, keeps pestering you about James—to which you only brush her off. There is nothing to say, especially since he's dating Lily.

Your mind wanders as you walk to your Common Room. You don't even hear someone approach behind you until it's too late. "Ow," you suddenly hiss as someone yanks your hair from behind. 

Your cheeks burn with anger as you turn and see—Severus Snape. He's smiling, which leaves your palms sweaty and makes your stomach twist. Perhaps it's the way he hates you, or the strange thing that's always existed between him and Lily Evans, or perhaps it's how even breathing next to him sends James into a fit.

"Snape," you say, soothing your scalp as you move away from him a little. 

"Y/l/n," the boy drones back. You frown. He looks even angrier this year. 

"What is your problem? You can't just pull someone's hair. What are you, a first year? It's childish," you snap, crossing your arms.

Severus looks unamused by the scolding. "You talk too damn much. I have a proposition. I want to date you," he says like he's rehearsed it a thousand times in the mirror. You feel ill.

Your eyes round in shock. You move back again until your shoulders hit the wall. "Excuse me? You want to what?"

"Date you," he repeats, his voice still emotionless. It's becoming awkward. He steps closer and panic rises in your chest. Damn it, you should have just walked back with the others. 

"No."

"No?"

"Yes. No. I don't want to go out with you, Severus."

"Potter would be furious," he says it casually but his gaze flicks over you like you're something to be won. You frown. You don't understand what that has to do with anything. "Don't you want him to be furious? Dating you would make him crazy, Y/l/n, he thinks your his—"

His words are cruel, and it's pathetic. Your gaze hardens as you stand your ground. You're not some pawn he can use to mess with James. "I said no."

"You heard the lady," a voice says behind you—and then James is there, grabbing Severus by the collar. "Why don't you mind your business, Snivellus?" he asks, his tone harsh, as he brushes imaginary dust off Snape's collar as he grins. "You're clearly not wanted here. What a surprise."

Severus shakes his head but his fists are clenched. For a second, you think he'll swing.

He never does. Instead, he shoves James away and the latter lets him. James crosses his arms as Severus mutters a curse behind his breath, "Consider my offer, Y/l/n," is all he says as he turns away.

You watch him slink away, your expression disgusted. You relax once he's gone.

"Bloody creep," James mutters. He turns to you, also relaxed. "You okay?"

You nod, smiling a little. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the Common Room already? I saw you and the boys leave the Great Hall hours ago."

"I was concerned, and as Head Boy it's my duty to investigate any concerns I have," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose I have a sixth sense when it comes to you." He smiles.

"We're not in the same house, you knob. And maybe you're just a stalker and I should be worried."

James only laughs, he's unfazed by your words, and simply holds out his arm. "Can I walk you, m'lady?" You smile and take his arm, happy for normalcy. 

The walk toward the Ravenclaw common room is silent in the beginning. You want to ask so many questions about Lily, but you don't want to sound jealous. Still, James is your best friend. He is your best friend no matter what and you shouldn't walk on eggshells around him because of his girlfriend. Knowing Lily, she wouldn't want that anyways. 

"So, you and Lily, huh?"

His eyes light up. Your stomach sinks.

"It happened this summer. She came over when you couldn't, I invited her," James pauses, sounding a little sheepish but he continues, his tone becoming lighter as he tells you, "and well, she kissed me one evening. Just happened."

"She kissed you?" You look genuinely surprised.

"I know! I mean, I never thought the day would come." James is beaming and you should be happy, but you aren't. "Who would've imagined she would make the first move? I mean, technically I made all the moves, but—"

You tune him out.

Left, right, left, right.

You focus on the rhythm of your steps instead of the ache creeping up your chest.

"You okay, bug?" James's voice pulls you from your thoughts and you realize you've made it to the Ravenclaw Common Room. James is looking at you with those puppy dog eyes and you strain a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm really happy for you, Jamie."

The smile hurts.

James smiles back, leaning in and kissing your cheek lightly. Like he always does. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Oh. Okay. Sure." 

James pretends not to notice your fake smile or that you had completely tuned out his rambling. Pretends, because deep down, he knows. He knows what it really is and he won't allow himself to admit it. "Goodnight," he says simply.

* * *

October

"You look awful," Sirius says, eyeing the half-hidden state of your face as you groan against your desk. It's been weeks of no sleep and endless exposure to James's lovesick nonsense. The start of this year has been absolutely  horrible. You turn away from Sirius, who is supposed to be your Potions partner but you haven't been listening. Hair shields the dark circles beneath your eyes.

"I'll hex you, you arse," you mutter.

Sirius ignores you and turns you towards him. When he sees your eyes, how blood-shot they are, he panics. "Bloody hell, did someone—"

You snap up, your head pounding. It isn't Sirius's fault but he's there and you've had enough. "Don't touch me,” you snap, yanking away.

Sirius blinks, confused by your explosion. You stand and shove your books into your book-bag. The entire class has grown silent but you're much too upset to stop now. Your emotions are everywhere. "Can't you shut up for one bloody second? Ever?!" you snap, the words hurtful, and storm out.

Sirius doesn't let it go. He follows you out into the hallway, his voice sharp behind you, "Y/n?!"

You spin around and find him standing close. He's so close your noses almost touch and his cheeks are flushed. His grey eyes are sharp as he grips your shoulders and pushes you against the wall. You gasp. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

You laugh bitterly. "Oh Merlin, Sirius. Grow up."

You try moving away from him but his grip holds you firm. You're so overwhelmed now that your eyes squeeze shut, hiding the tears that threaten to spill.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks.

You open your eyes. He looks different now. He looks genuinely upset that you look so hurt and sad. Sirius's hand touches your cheek and suddenly the world stops. His hand is warm against your skin and your heart skips and you don't know why. Suddenly, you can't look away. Sirius looks at your lips and you look at his.

And then he kisses you.

His lips move with certainty, brushing against yours as his hand tightens around your cheek. This shouldn't make you feel better but somehow it does. You kiss him back and your body leans in without permission. You hear a sound behind you and instantly, you snap your head away and look behind Sirius. No one is there. Thankfully. 

Sirius tilts your chin towards him, smiling a little. You laugh, but it's shaky. You laugh until you almost cry. "What was that?" you ask, your voice small. 

Sirius shrugs. "I wanted to kiss you."

Your stomach flips. "This can't happen again, Sirius," you croak, your throat dry.

His smile fades and he drops his hand from your face. He moves away a little. "Why not? I fancy you, Y/n."

Your breath catches. What? Since when? You feel sick. How did this happen? How could you have allowed this to happen? This year is already a mess and now you've kissed one of your best friends while being madly in love with another?

No.   

"Un-fancy me, then."

"I don't think that is how feelings work."

You stare at him. Sirius has never liked girls like you, Merlin's beard you've never even heard him mention a crush! You shake your head. "I'm sorry I let you kiss me. I shouldn't have. But, Sirius, you and I, it's never gonna happen."

Sirius looks gutted.

'I'm so sorry," you whisper, only feeling more horrible than you had been.

Sirius exhales. "It's alright. I get it." He looks into your eyes, his knuckles skim your cheek, smiling a little. "And just so you know, this doesn't change how I feel, hm? And if you ever change your mind, I'll still be here. Waiting," he says and pauses. "This doesn't have to change anything," he whispers.

You don't want him to wait for you, it's unfair. But knowing Sirius, nothing will change his mind right now. You exhale. You really want to believe him that nothing will change. You do. But he’s wrong. Things have already changed. You feel like you're swimming in muddy, uncertain water, and you're not sure how much longer you can stay afloat.

"Yeah," you whisper, your voice shaky. "Okay."

To be continued…. NEXT PART

[cherriesandstrawberriesontop]

Electric Current

Summary :

Heartbroken by the one and only James Potter, Laine Brivarsi volunteers to be the evenings performer. But what will happen when they lock eyes after their painful departure? After James chose Lily and Laine is left to pick up the pieces of her heart?

Pairings:

James Potter x OC

LAINE BRIVARSI HADN’T REMEMBERED WHEN IN MERLIN DID SHE AGREE TO PERFORM AT THE YULE BALL. She was still in disbelief, even now that she was dressed in a pearly slick white dress. The bottom gracefully trailed behind her almost like a veil. The ball was about to commence and Laine hadn’t been able to shake off the jitters. She didn’t know what to do with herself other than pace around the grand hall. It had been decorated in a snowy theme that irked her soul when remnants of a stolen heart still floated in the air. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling, yet the atmosphere was warm for the most part but suffocating and intoxicating for Laine.

It wouldn’t be long until it was her turn to perform. And as if the world wasn’t out to get her, the most anticipated slow dance of the night wouldn’t have been reserved for her. Locking eyes with the boy who ripped her heart out didn’t fascinate her, especially in the same type of setting where they accidentally stole eachother from a dance. The switching of partners had been an entire error from both counterparts when James had hoped to receive Lily in his arms during the poorly rehearsed exchange of partners, only to end up with Laine who had hoped for a certain Black brother. From then a heart was stolen, cherished and crushed in a matter of months.

“Are you ready, dear?” Minerva walked up to Laine who turned to her, letting out a shaky breath. “You will be breathtaking. I trust i made the right choice.” She complimented her.

“I won’t let you down, Minnie.” Minerva cracked a smile at the nickname knowing the tumultuous reasoning to her nervousness and decided to not reprimand her. Walking to the life size clam shell, she stepped onto the mouth taking a deep breath.

“Mr Longbottom and Mr Fenwick are in charge of levitating the clam. If you feel uncomfortable or anything of sorts, let them know so they can lower you.” Laine nodded. “Off you go.” With a thumbs up directed to Frank and Benjy, the clam closed. Suddenly and slowly, she was lifted in the air and towards the stage.

“And with a round of applause, we cordially invite all seventh years to take the stage for the long awaited ballad.” Minerva Mcgonagall called out. Soon, all the seventh years pooled the dance floor, forming into two rows opposing each other. “Take it away.”

As the orchestra started, the seventh years began to slowly march towards each other finding their partners.

I bust the windows out your car

Laine began, the clam slowly opening. All the dance partners began to dance in a circle on sync. Bodies swaying to the rhythm of the orchestra.

After i saw you laying next to her. I didn’t want to but i took my turn.

Many set their eyes on her as she emerged from the clam. She had look ethereal, like someone who had been pulled out of a fairytale. Beauty who compared to one of a Veela’s and even that didn’t do her justice. Her glittery eyelids enhanced her already cerulean eyes, as if she had all five great oceans crashing against her eyelashes.

From afar, James hadn’t noticed Laine performing. His mission was intent on finding Lily to hopefully land with her on an exchange of partners. Unbeknownst to him, Laine scrunched her eyebrows as she scanned his figure. Noticing he had been wearing the same suit they had went out to buy together for this very occasion. His pearly suit matched her pearly dress and it had been like her heart had been ripped out.

Sirius and Remus exchanged glances as they saw her unfold in front of their very own eyes. To the regular attendee, it only seemed like she was immersed in her performance. The scrunch of her eyebrows and the elegant flaying of her hands were deemed indicators. But to the trained eye, it was seeing the yearning of a love that was not reciprocated. And it hurt to see a friend of theirs appear so melancholic.

I’m glad i did it cause you had to learn.

Taking calculated steps, James swiftly turned only to have Lily land perfectly in his arms. He let out a breathy smile as he dipped Lily who smiled back at him. Her emerald eyes sparkled like the scottish plains on a summer day. Looking right past her, his eyes landed on Laine who stared back at him. Her eyes suddenly and subtly glossing up. His jaw slightly dropped as he skimmed her dress that mimicked his own. In a second, her expression faltered to an indifferent demeanor when she felt his eyes on her. Invading her sense of peace.

I must admit it helped a little bit. To think of how you’d feel when you saw it

His lingering gaze faltered when Lily called out to him, breaking the bubble that had engulfed James and Laine. “James.” Lily’s soft voice struck him out of his trance. Averting his gaze to Lily, he cleared his throat bringing her back to his chest.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, gentle swaying them back into the rhythm. “I’m just admiring the place. Minnie really gave it her all, huh?” He joked trying to diffuse her confusion. She smiled warmly, caressing his shoulder her palm was resting on.

“I didn’t take you for an attentive person.” She hummed allowing James to twirl her. “I guess you’re just full of surprises, James Potter.”

He smiled pushing a strand of hair behind her ears to which Lily could only blush, resting her head on his shoulders.

I didn’t know i had that much strength. But i’m glad you see what happens when—

Suddenly, she had felt her throat close up; cracking slightly. She shook her head, momentarily closing her eyes shut before opening them again.

Hearing this, James eyes gravitated towards hers again. Unable to fight the magnetic pull that tugged at his heart.

Selfishly, she had turned at the right moment not wanting to give in. But even avoiding him seemed utterly useless when she remembered how his fingertips felt on her skin. How he had also pushed those same strands of hair from her face where only her azure eyes peeked through. And she hated herself for it. Longing for a touch that did not belong to her and for a heart that hadn’t chosen her.

You see you can’t play with people feelings. Tell them you love them and don’t mean it.

He loved Lily. But he detested Laine. Hating how she made his adrenaline course through his veins when he used to see her sitting in the Quidditch stands. Her green robes hiding the red plaid skirt and mustard shirt that were reserved for him. He hated how he’d look for her in the Slytherin table, earning dirty stares in return that seemed to vanish any brewing pranks when they would land on hers. He hated how they’d sneak around the castle with his invisibility cloak to sneak into each other’s dorms. He hated how her eyes reminded him of the great lake, a place he knew was a second home to him. He hated how her hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. How was she the chemical that wired his brain and Lily his antidote but he felt trapped between the reaction of it all?

You probably say that it was juvenile. But i think i deserve to smile.

But even he knew trapped was a bogus lie. A fool’s excuse. When he knew all too well she was the electric current he couldn’t contain. The electric current he couldn’t hold. The circuit that electrified every ounce of his body and burned too sweet. But like every man, he took the antidote before he knew how the sparks would feel already settled deep into his bones.

I bust the windows out your car.

She finished snapping James out of his trance. Clapping echoed throughout the hall to which Laine nodded her head. Lily perked up clapping as well, unbeknownst to her how James stayed completely still. His eyes unwavering on the girl who stared back at him. Slowly being lowered onto the ground, Laine’s attention was diverted to the boy that was waiting nearby, his hand reaching out for hers.

Both of their necks craned towards the culprit, and there stood Regulus black looking dashing in a suit, rings decorated his fingers. Without a second thought, she laced her palm with his stepping down.

A tornado ravaged his guts as he saw the girl he had once loved stare back at another man’s eyes with the same look she had once reserved for him. A chaste kissed was planted on her cheek as he guided her away. And it was until then James hadn’t realized it hadn’t been a reunion but rather a sorrow goodbye. She left at the stage feelings she did not want anymore and a love that did not pertain to her. It was an electric current tying all loose ends.

This is heavily based on that one scene from Step up 3 where it’s like a broken tango choreography. So if you want visuals, i suggest you do that. This lowkey sucks but it’s just to like debut myself ig? Idk, hope yall enjoyed.