A/N: It's been a work in progress for a bit, but it's pride month which means it's time for jealous Alma!
Word Count: 5.4K
Summary: An angsty AU sort of true to the movie in the sense that the loop collapses, but Y/N dies trying to save everyone. Miss Peregrine and the children then leave for the states to find Y/N before she ever has a chance to leave for the war.
The long grass crunched underfoot on the beaten path back to the house, you adjusted your hold on the fishing pole and continued on. Up the path, coming through the brush, listening to the birds and wind blowing through the trees. Not unbearably hot for the end of August.
“Would you shut up?” A child hissed, accent different, something different, European maybe?
You cleared through the brush to stop mid-step. A group of children were standing there, dressed terribly for the weather and staring at you with a fear you couldn’t explain. You smiled halfheartedly, “I was just passing through.”
“Y/N.” A child said, and stepped closer.
You looked at them, truly observed the kids, and their dirt smeared clothes, the sweat that clung to their faces. “Do I know you?” Faces all fell, most looked ready to cry. You set your fishing pole down, stood quickly, “I mean, are you, you know…?”
“Our loop was destroyed.” A girl said, who reminded you of Shirley Temple with those curls.
You swallowed, “Okay, I can take you to Miss Cardinal, and we can get y’all set up there for now.” A little girl in a small dress rushed up to you and buried her face in your pant leg, and cried. You rushed to pick her up, god what had happened to them? “Where’s your ymrbyne?”
A woman stepped from the back of the group, and held out her hand. “Miss Peregrine.” Your mind went blank momentarily at the most attractive woman you had ever seen in your life. You shook her hand, and tried to tamper down on the sudden nervousness.
“Y/N.” Adjusted your hold on the little girl, “I need to put away some stuff, and y’all need water.”
There were sighs of agreement, you picked up the fishing pole, and started down the road, leading the way. Feeling several pairs of eyes on you all the way home.
—--------------
Once you had a handle on everyone’s names, and made sure everyone had drank enough water then did you start to ask them about what happened and you caught bits and pieces from everyone mostly the same. They escaped their loop just as it collapsed, something about the war, and a wight. Another ymrbyne died to save them. Miss Peregrine had them travel to the States.
They still wouldn’t explain how they knew you beyond a simple comment that you were recommended to them. But that brought more questions on who knew you, and who thought you were equipped enough to handle traumatized children and a traumatized ymrbyne. It was obvious they thought you were capable enough to handle whatever it was they needed, especially when they looked at you so desperately. You didn’t like the way they looked like they might cry anytime they saw you.
Miss Peregrine looked put off by having you help them. She seemed to be the only one who knew you were out of your depth and disliked relying on someone so incompetent. “Where’s the closest loop?” Miss Peregrine asked evenly.
“About a two hour drive from here.” She frowned, even as you offered, “I can take you there tomorrow.”
She gave a curt nod and said nothing more, and you were certain without a doubt she hated you.
Fortunately your family was mainly out of town for the weekend visiting your father’s side and you were in charge of the house, which considering the number of children helped as you made do with pallets set on the floor as soon as you ran out of beds.
You cooked dinner, and tried to ignore the way most of the children watched you move about–it felt akin to being studied and scrutinized. But as they were children you brushed it off, to an extent that wasn’t truly out of the normal, their headmistress however…you were still heavily adjusting to the way she watched you flit about the kitchen.
Dinner was set, and devoured in record time. Baths were taken, you prioritized laundry next and were thankful when Miss Peregrine took over that. It seems they had all packed some essentials at least. Then as she went for her own round of washing off, you were left once more with several children and more questions than answers.
“How long have y’all been in the states?” You found yourself asking the redheaded girl you believe was Olive.
She was folding her gloves carefully as she neared the kettle, pausing at the question. “Oh, six days or so? Maybe seven?”
A week, and they were already at your door? You hummed, they had to have made quick work to get here, especially with the sheer number of them. Olive curled her hands around the kettle and the metal began to turn orange, “baby, I can turn the stove on.” You reached over and she pulled away.
But it was already well and truly done, perfect handprints on the sides of the kettle and a strong whistle. You smiled exasperated but not angry, “I take it you’re the resident tea maker of the house?”
“Miss Peregrine asked for some,” she commented off-handedly. “Thought you wouldn’t mind some either when you talk with her.”
“I see, do you know what we’re meant to be talking about?”
She shrugged, “everything probably.”
Bronwyn came into the kitchen, and wrapped both arms around you, your hand settled on top of her head. “Y/N, will you make me a glass of milk before bed?”
“Sure,” you answered, but the girl didn’t let you go and you got the feeling that it was a choice you were meant to take a hint on. “Did you want me to carry you?”
“Please,” came the muffled reply, hidden by her arm and your waist.
You scooped her up and moved about the kitchen a little awkwardly, but Bronwyn was undeterred and relaxed further in your arms. Milk was poured, a teaspoon of vanilla extract and a little sugar—all while you hummed and readjusted her to comfortably fit in your arms.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she murmured quietly in the crook of your neck. Weighted far more than a child’s voice should be over a stranger.
Your hand curled over her back to soothe and steady in the same motion, “I’m glad you’re here,” you answered. Unsure but simultaneously certain that whatever you were to say should reassure and comfort her. “I’m also happy I got a chance to make twice as much of my secret recipe and share it with you.”
“Milk, vanilla and sugar.” She answered, nodding slightly. As you paused, lucky guess maybe but her back had been turned the entire time, maybe a peculiarity with eyes in the back of her head?
“Exactly that,” you answered gently, setting her back down to offer her a mug. “How about you go settle with the rest of the kids while I go talk with Miss Peregrine?”
“Okay,” and she disappeared off to the living room to listen to the radio broadcast most of the kids had quieted for. Olive had left two cups of tea on the countertop and you grabbed both, taking them up the stairs to the bedroom you had turned down for Miss Peregrine. You gave a soft kick to signal your arrival and she opened the door. Dressed down for the night, a lovely nightgown and her hair up in a towel. Unfailingly gorgeous, she smiled slightly, and you offered the tea.
“I was hoping we could talk a bit?” You asked, she took the mug from you and let you into the room.
Notably you had given her your room to commandeer for the time being, and she still looked over the things as if it was an answer to a question she hadn’t asked yet. “Ask away darling,” she sat primly at the edge of your bed, sipping the tea; the novelty of her accent and the casual darling tossed so carelessly made you smile into your mug.
Another swallow of the tea, you finally cleared your throat and sighed. “I hope you’ll forgive me with my line of questioning—“
“You’ve been unfailingly hospitable to us, it’s the least I can do.”
You hummed, then acknowledged, “I take it you haven’t traveled the States very much then? Hospitality is a point of pride around these parts.”
“It is our first visit here.” She looked down at her half-drank mug as she continued, “and I still doubt that anyone would offer their own bed to a stranger they just met.”
You smiled, “you’d be surprised.” Then leaned against your desk; “can I ask what’s Bronwyn’s peculiarity?”
“Strength,” she smiled looking up at you again, obviously delighted to talk about her child. “She can lift boulders, I believe her record has been three so far.”
So no eyes in the back of her head, you noted, unsteady and sick with the knowledge of what the truth pointed to. Instead you smiled and nodded. “I can see it, I thought the hug was a little strong or I was getting a bit too weak.”
She laughed, softer and more tired than not, but the sound of it was like an electric current through your body. “No, she is just excitable and sometimes forgets her own strength.”
You grinned, “she’s a sweetheart, they all are to be clear.” Then set aside your now empty mug, “Miss Peregrine, if you don’t—“
“Alma.”
You acquiesced, corrected, “Alma, if you don’t mind me asking, why reach out to a dead woman?”
Her smile fell, that easy banter was replaced by a cold trepidation, but you weren’t a fool and you didn’t appreciate being played like one. You continued, “Bronwyn knew what I added to the milk without ever looking, she told me she was glad I was back, you’re from Wales and no one I’ve ever encountered is in that area let alone would recommend me as a person to find.” She was steadily silent, and you crossed your arms, “and there’s the matter of how y’all look at me.”
She shut her eyes, as a blotchy blush slowly colored her face that signaled she was trying very hard not to cry. It also signaled you had hit the nail on the head and done it to her at a terrible time, she swallowed thickly. “And how do we look at you?” Her voice was low and rasped.
“As if you’ve seen a ghost,” you answered, then took pity and came closer to kneel. A few tears rolled down her cheek, you took the mug from her hand and set your hand in hers, “Alma, I understand why you didn’t try to tell me all of this tonight but come on, it wasn’t that hard.”
“Stop talking about it so casually,” she huffed finally, glaring at you with wet eyes.
It forced a small laugh from you, “I’m sorry, but it is funny on my end.” The glare sharpened, and you flushed under her gaze and under her hand, “look, I will take you to Miss Cardinal’s loop most likely tomorrow, from there you and the children will get actual help. Set up in another place, all the things.”
Slowly she nodded, “fine, thank you.” You stood and offered her the mug once more, she took it tentatively as you picked yours up and made your way to the door.
“Darling,” she called, you turned and she looked as if she wanted to correct herself, but decided that she much rather call you darling anyways. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“I was going to make do with a pallet on the floor, why?”
“The bed can fit the two of us, and I would rather have you closer than not.” She answered, “you are more than welcome to decline–”
“Fine by me, but you will start telling me the truth right?”
She looked as if you had struck her, she swallowed whatever she wanted to say and gave a curt nod. “Yes.”
And the rest was settled, you came to bed a bit later once everyone was tucked in and Alma followed suit. Careful not to lay too close to her, but Alma’s hand settled over your bicep as if she rather not bother you but still wanted proof you were near.
She shut off the nightstand lamp and the two of you were thrown into darkness that felt absolute. The curtains hung off-centered so that a sliver of moonlight slipped through and separated the two of you in bed; all except her hand that curled over your arm as if to keep you both anchored. Soft murmurs came from the children in their own respective places in the house as they also settled in for bed, and finally you shut your eyes and asked. “How long have you known me?”
“Seventy-eight years,” she answered softly.
The air punched out of your lungs in one startled breath, “what was I to you?” The familiarity they all had with you pointed towards you spending several decades in Wales, several decades in a loop no less. Which meant maybe you were a good friend of Alma’s or—
“My wife,” she cleared her throat, “now can we hold off on grief-stricken questions for the rest of the night?”
You nodded, mind turning over the word wife so excitedly, so delighted. Everyone was bound to die one day but learning you were meant to live a long life with an impossibly beautiful woman eased any worry you felt at a future so far and distant. “I must've changed a lot in those few years.” You smiled, bittersweet.
She leaned closer, the moonlight caught her like a stagelight. “Yes and no,” she looked at you, eyes soft with a tenderness you knew wasn’t reserved for you. Couldn’t be for you. “You were reserved when it came to caring about us, beyond the superficial.”
Us—the children and herself, or us—you and her? “Superficial?”
She clenched her jaw, “You care about people easily, the bleeding heart type.” She gave a halfhearted vague gesture, “But when it came to things that bothered you, that were close to your heart I had to interrogate you to get a straight answer.”
“So not so different from myself now.” You nodded and focused on the dresser drawers, “I suppose it’s simpler for me to exist now than it will be in a few years.” You paused. “It gets terrible I imagine?”
Her silence spoke volumes.
—--------------
Not twenty-three hours later, there was long grass on either side of the road, and you went forty, headlights casting shadows on trees. The moon was a yellow half eye hanging in the sky. Most of the kids were piled into the bed of the truck, the exception to that were the youngest, Claire, and the twins were in the cab, sitting on or next to Miss Peregrine. The only sound was the thrum of the engine, the wind passing quickly. A Spanish song on the radio soft, and sweet as a lullaby. None of the children stirred, you made sure to dodge the potholes, and checked the rear view mirror every few seconds to see they were all still laying down save for one or two who seemed to be keeping guard.
“You should get some sleep,” you murmured, turning to risk a glance at Alma who looked exhausted, but still unfailingly beautiful.
“Are you sure this is safe?” She asked, ignoring your advice.
You nodded, “The diesel covers the smell of peculiars, the nightlife presents its own perils for wights and hollows.” Claire stirred, you quieted, waited for her to settle. “Y’all will be in a loop before any have a chance to follow the trail, and even then it’ll be too faint to get very far.”
“And if some do follow?” She asked.
You smiled tiredly, “Well I plan on dropping y’all off with Miss Cardinal, and I’ll drive around a good day or two, put on a good chase, and then come back to town and wait it out just to be sure.”
“...Are you not staying with us?”
“I think I’d be more useful waiting behind and covering your escape, you know?”
She went silent, and you kept your focus on the road, though you desperately wished you could look at her fully. It was difficult navigating this thing, both the curving road as it cut through creeks, and the relationship with a minefield of topics that you had no way of knowing what was off limits until it was out in the open.
“Wake me when we’re near.” She said softly, and then it was just you. You checked the rear view mirror to see the two who were originally watching for anything suspicious, both had fallen asleep, leaning onto each other.
It was another hour and a half before you made it there, at the ungodly hour of two am. Miss Cardinal was already waiting up, porch light on and you parked the truck. Turned off the lights and leaned over to Alma, “We’re here.”
She stirred, and met your eyes soon enough. You helped to lift the kids and carry them inside, a few of the older ones woke up just enough to walk inside, find a bed and fall asleep. Between you, Alma, and Miss Cardinal it was quick work, and soon enough everyone was tucked in.
Miss Cardinal directed Alma to her own room, and you helped carry the children’s things and set them in there. She closed the door behind you and you sighed, sleep sounded wonderful. But there were many miles before you could think of that. She moved closer, “You’re exhausted,” she said softly.
“I am,” you agreed, no point in beating around the bush. “But I’ve got you and the children covered, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“There’s always something to worry about.” She countered, stepped closer, and it was a moment of charged tension, you weren’t sure where to look. You settled for staring at her face, might as well meet her head on. She slid her hand in yours, “I’ll ask again, come with me.”
A bittersweet smile curved your mouth without your permission, “I would love to, but you all deserve rest and safety.”
She stepped closer, and she had to know what she was doing to you. “We would rest better with you, I would feel safer if you stayed.”
The temptation was unbearable, but it was better to remind you both of the facts. “I am not the person that you fell in love with.”
She stopped so suddenly as if she had been slapped, and you wanted to rush to reassure her that you could love her, were already halfway in love with her family, that given enough time you would’ve been head over heels for her. “You will always be.”
————
You stepped outside onto the wooden porch of Miss Cardinal’s home, the heat sunk into your bones again. Shoulders sagging for the moment, your eyes shut and a shaky breath caught in your throat. “You’re shaking.”
Miss Cardinal was sitting with a shotgun across her lap and a cigarette burning between her lips when you opened your eyes. She took a long drag, knocked the ash off on the edge of her rocking chair and resumed.
At a loss for words you finally found your voice, “I’m told I’m dead in eighty years.”
She hums, “a long life.”
“Dead in a loop.”
Her gaze caught yours suddenly knowing, “and they sought you out again.”
You swallowed thickly, “They don’t know where to go, every loop they knew of by then had been raided or destroyed.”
The bullfrogs started their tunes, and the two of you stayed silent for it. Miss Cardinal finally finished the cigarette and then elected to offer her advice. “Do what you planned and be back in a week. Think about which way you’d like to go.”
“On the road?”
Her mouth curled upwards, “back home or through more loops.”
—---------------------
It was another week before you returned to Miss Cardinal’s loop. There had been throwing any possible wights off the trail, and attending your cousin’s birthday, a few shifts to work–and yet through it all your mind hadn’t left the children or Alma Peregrine.
How was it supposed to? Your wife of seventy-six years was asking you to come with her and your adoptive children and leave everyone and everything behind at the drop of a hat. Even worse you didn’t know them truly, you were already halfway to loving them and yet they knew jokes and stories and things about you barely knew yourself at this rate.
You shut the door to the pickup truck and started up the worn walkway path to Miss Cardinal’s home, venturing in to see Alma and Miss Cardinal laughing and worryingly enough in cahoots. Alma was putting something in the oven, and Miss Cardinal was washing a few pans. A small prayer was sent up to the universe that whatever it was they had been discussing was not about you, and just as quickly that hope was dashed to pieces at the mention of your name.
“Present,” you answered. Both turned and you offered a small smile, “I hope I’m not the topic of conversation everyday.”
Miss Cardinal, rolled her eyes in that practiced motherly way as if to tease and reassure. But Alma’s gaze fell to you and lingered, that breathless smile you had begun to crave. “Only from the hours of one to three,” Miss Cardinal replied breezily, eyes crinkling with hidden amusement.
You hummed, tossed your hand over your heart with theatrical exaggeration, “well I just came to check on things, see if I could help at all. But since I’m obviously the root of all the gossip, maybe I should head back home…”
Miss Cardinal laughed, nodded to the window above the sink where it looked out on the clothesline that was slowly swaying in the mid-June heat. “You can help with laundry actually, I’m sure Miss Peregrine would appreciate the help.” And with little fanfare you set to the task without complaint or question; you pinned up wet clothes in place as you unpinned and folded the dried ones.
A presence settled to the left of you before long, “you came back,” Alma offered in way of a greeting.
“You’re sort of in my home away from home, of course I would.” You turned to glance at her, “what do you think of the loop so far?”
“Not too bad, the heat is still an adjustment but we’ve been welcomed easily.” She stood close enough that every so often her arm brushed yours as you both worked at the clothesline. “The children will be delighted to see you.”
“Were you?”
“You know I want you close,” she answered casually, not bothering to glance up from her work. “I am delighted every time you walk into any room, and even more so when you let me close enough to pretend you’re here for me.”
You nearly dropped the next clothes you were attempting to pin, thankfully catching the shirt at the last minute before successfully repinning it. “If I stayed for a bit, what good would that do?”
“Y/N!” A child yelled, you turned to see Fiona running full-speed to you, in retrospect you should have prepared for the wind to be knocked out of you…naturally you didn’t.
You hugged her, sucked in a breath and laughed when you found your voice again. “Ambushing me now?”
“I didn’t think we would see you, Miss Peregrine said you were busy.” She replied, slightly muffled as she hadn’t bothered to part from you yet. “I knew you would make time for us.”
Guilt gnawed at your stomach unhelpfully, “of course I will sweetpea, how do you like the loop?” Alma had already taken the laundry basket and continued down the rest of the line. Leaving you to follow Fiona as she showed you plants she had never seen before and you were familiar with.
You passed hands from Fiona to Millard to Hugh, Bronwyn, Claire, the twins, Enoch, Olive, Emma, and finally Horace. Before you realized it, dinner was served. Alma sat beside you and everyone was eating dinner, either at the table or at armchairs while others sat crisscrossed with their plates in their laps. The children were more than happy to socialize with the children and residents of Miss Cardinal’s loop and you were more than happy to sit and eat your chicken and dumplings quietly without fanfare.
Then again nothing had gone to plan today so why would it start now. “How long have you been here?” came loud enough from down the table to be heard over the rest of the chatter.
You glanced down the dinner table and amongst the sea of faces Beatrice was looking directly at you, and you couldn’t help the grin. “I could ask you the same thing,” you stood walking over to go hug her. She trapped you in an equally excited bear hug and you both picked up your conversation as if you hadn’t seen her since yesterday when it had truthfully been two years. She picked up her bowl, you went to grab yours and the two of you were lost to conversation once more.
The bowls were emptied, dinner had been over for an hour and a half by now and still the two of you hadn’t moved from your places on the couch. Teasing, talking, and trading every bit of information that flitted through your mind.
Above it all there was an uneasy sense you had missed something vital and were digging a deeper hole into it. Brownyn came up and happily climbed into your lap to lean her head against your chest and just sit and listen. You ran a hand along her back, and didn’t bat an eye when her head began to droop or when she began to snore softly.
“Will you help me take her to bed?” Alma asked, coming to stand beside where you were seated on the couch.
“Of course, I should probably start heading home as is.”
“It’s rather late.” “I think you should stay.” Both Beatrice and Alma answered, and you stood, readjusting Bronwyn slightly and nodding. It was one thing to argue with one of them, it was another thing entirely for both your childhood best friend and your future-wife to be in agreement.
“The house is a bit at capacity, if I go home I can sleep in a bed—“
“You can share mine,” Alma replied, already anticipating the answer. There was something in her gaze that hadn’t been there at dinner, a glint in her eyes that was going to be your undoing if you agreed.
“Nonesense Miss Peregrine, you’re too kind,” Beatrice added; “Y/N and I used to share a room here. It’s not too much different even now.”
Alma’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes as she looked at you. “I insist.”
You nodded, “That would be perfect then, thank you.” And made your way upstairs, Alma led you to the room Bronwyn shared with Claire and Fiona. Carefully you deposited Bronwyn into her bed and tucked her in with all the care you would have for any of the children.
Alma brushed a quick kiss to Bronwyn’s forehead and followed suit for the other two, leading you out to the hallway, then back into her bedroom.
She let you enter first, closed the door behind you both and by the time you turned she was stepping closer. Close enough that you were forced to tilt your face upwards to look at her, there was that glint in her eyes that left you unsteady. Her hand lifted almost like she intended to hold your face but lingered, suspended, as if she was afraid to cross that barrier. “What am I to you?” She asked, low with that rasp that undid you already.
“My wife.”
She hummed, lips upturning barely like she was pleased with the answer but it was only a step in the right direction to whatever hole you had dug yourself in. She still hadn’t moved away or tugged you any closer just as you began to shift, to argue or defuse; her hand snapped into motion tugging you closer by your collar. “Then a bit of advice darling, pay attention to your wife and don’t go traipsing into other women’s beds.”
She let go of your collar and you swayed, entirely unbalanced physically and mentally. “I didn’t—“
Alma sat at the vanity, “didn’t speak to me at dinner? I know.”
“Honey, I came to see yall.”
“And you did, you have always been good with the kids, but…” she sighed slowly, finally turning to meet your eyes; the vulnerability caught you off guard more than anything. “…damningly I still feel as if I have every right to you even now.”
“You do.” You answered, then corrected, “you should, look, we both are terrible at trying to do this dancing around the elephant in the room. I’ll say what I mean if you do.”
She glanced back to the vanity and double checked her appearance, you watched in real-time the vulnerability slip back behind her own control. “Fine,” she spoke. Then turned fully so that you were certain you had her full-attention and she could see every minuscule detail and change in your expression which you noticed she preferred. “I have never had to fight for your attention, and never had someone else try to get you in their bed instead of mine—“
“It’s not like that.”
“I know.” She murmured, softer, almost apologetic for the way her petulance showed. “I’ve met Beatrice before, I know it isn’t that. Simply put I have never not known where I sit with you.”
“Very very fondly, to the point that I should go home before it starts getting increasingly difficult to convince myself to leave.”
Whatever she had expected of you, it wasn’t this. This was much better based on the way she smiled, “then you should know I plan to convince you to stay with us.”
“I couldn’t.”
She offered a small tilt of her head like she heard it before, “you did once before.” Which is to say you had already agreed once, and she didn’t think it was all too difficult to convince you again apparently. “I’m rather convincing if you’d believe it.”
“I already know you’re unfailingly convincing.” You answered.
She stepped closer, cupping your face once more, but this was different. The edge of jealousy was doused now, smothered by your admittance that you liked her enough that it scared you…is this how it had started originally?
Had you been nervous then by the depth of your affection and had she known it then too?
She pressed her forehead to yours forgoing the kiss you thought was coming. “May I have my goodnight kiss?” She murmured, her breath fanned against your lips almost as close as a kiss.
You shut your eyes, ignoring the traitorous warmth clawing up your face and the way that Alma referred to the goodnight kiss as hers. “You want only one?”
She leaned closer, lips skimming yours, “I don’t think you’re prepared for what I want yet.”
You kissed her to distract and to answer, a goodnight kiss whatever that meant to her—was given. Slightly nervous, and smiling, the kind of kiss reserved for first dates. Not for couples married for seventy-six years…and yet she kissed you as if it was all the same. Gently, curling a finger beneath your chin to direct your kiss, smiling, and when you broke apart she gave another lingering parting kiss.
Even after the milliseconds passed and she parted, you held still, dizzy with the affection and near painful want. “Miss Cardinal set aside some pajamas she still had last time you stayed here.” Alma mentioned, still unfailingly close, her thumb brushing back and forth along your chin like she was still flirting with the idea of another kiss.
“Miss Cardinal is already settled for bed,” you answered, “she’d set those aside only if she knew I was staying, so, how long have you two been planning this?”
Alma grinned, “not long at all.” Which you suspected was the truth, but equally you suspected that your wife wasn’t above playing dirty now or until you agreed.
I will never not be in awe of your writing! And reading this as an addition to "can i get a kiss and can you make it last forever" is both happiness itself and absolute heartbreak. I think it's time for a re-read of "can i get a kiss". All your stories, really.
A/N: Ages are wonky, please just roll with it. The dragons are about to start their dance. Y'all ready?
You did not sleep for very long.
You were roused from sleep by a serving girl. She informed you that your father was dead.
You immediately stood and asked what time it was.
The hour of the wolf, the servant told you.
You instructed her to get your boots. She did so and helped you put them on.
Then you asked who else knew.
The girl told you only you and the Queen knew. She came to you by order of her Grace.
You nodded then told her to gather the rest of the small council.
She left to awake the men and you braced yourself against your bedpost.
This was the last thing you needed. Of all the nights, your father had to die as your world fell apart in front of you.
A part of you felt like you should go to him, to see he was truly gone, but as you turned the thought over in your head you realized you did not wish to see him. You wanted to remember your father alive, not whatever shell of a man lay on his bed.
So you made your way to the small council chamber instead.
You were not the first one there.
Alicent sat in her usual seat.
Had Otto not gotten your message?
She turned to you as you entered. She stood up.
“(y/n),” she breathed, fresh tears in her eyes.
Did she not tire of crying? You briefly thought.
Alicent walked to you but you brought your hand up to stop her.
The heartbreak on her face was plain. She lowered her gaze.
“Did your father not inform you that I relieved you of your seat on the small council?” You asked formally.
Her gaze shot back up to you. “You’re casting me out?”
You looked away from her and walked towards your seat at the head of the table.
Alicent scoffed.
“Have I not been properly punished for my betrayal? Was hearing your wife debasing herself for you not enough?”
“I need you to see to my father,” you replied dispassionately, your back to her.
She was quiet for a moment then sighed.
“As you wish, your Grace,” she spat.
You heard the click of her slippers grow fainter as she left the room.
Once she was gone you let out a deep breath then sat down in your seat. You buried your face in your hands.
What in the seven hells were you going to do? Announce your father’s passing and allow the men to draw up the banners of war?
Your small council entered, their appearances hastily put together.
The men sat down.
Otto turned to you. “Who knows?”
“Aside from those in this room, Alicent and a few of the servants.”
He stroked his beard in thought.
Lord Tyland Lannister looked around. “Know what? Was Dorne invaded?”
“My father is dead,” you spoke plainly.
Lord Tyland’s face paled.
Otto cleared his throat. “We grieve for Viserys, the peaceful.”
The men around the room nodded solemnly. Then they shared uneasy glances.
You knew what they were all thinking. With Viserys gone they no longer had to pretend they supported you as King.
So you stood and placed your hands upon the table.
“If any amongst you wish to depose me and install Aegon as King now would be the time to slay me where I stand and do so,” you commanded.
The men of the small council averted your gaze.
You turned to Otto and placed the dagger from your belt in front of him.
“Go on, my hand. Do what you have craved to do since Aegon was born,” you challenged.
Otto looked down at the dagger then back up at you.
“I swore my loyalty to you, your Grace, and I am not a man who betrays my oaths.”
Then you looked at the other men.
“We are with you, your Grace,” Grand Maester Orwyle affirmed.
You swallowed and nodded. “Very well, let us turn to the task that lays before us.”
“The King is correct,” Otto began, then turned to look at the others. “There is much to be done as we previously discussed. Now, there are two among the captains of the city watch that remain loyal to Daemon. Let us replace them.”
“My uncle will no doubt call on his bannermen and allies to measure the strength of his forces,” you stated as you sat back down.
“We shall do the same,” Otto replied, then looked at Tyland. “Lord Lannister.”
Tyland informed the council of the state of the treasury. The men discussed how certain they were of the realm's Houses allegiance to you. Some were obvious, Highgarden and Winterfell, while others were certainly against you, Storm’s End.
But those were all known factors.
You cleared your throat and drew the men’s attention back onto you.
“What of my uncle and his family?”
Otto glanced at the other members of the council nervously then back to you.
“They cannot be allowed to remain free and draw support to their claim.”
“You mean to imprison them?”
You knew what Otto really wanted, what needed to happen, but you did not want it to continue to go unsaid.
Otto let out an exasperated sigh. He knew what you were angling for, and he did not want to be the one to say it aloud.
“He and his family will be given the opportunity to publicly swear obeisance to you, your Grace.”
You pursed your lips then frowned. “You know as well as I that Daemon will never bend the knee.”
Silence descended upon the council, none would meet your gaze.
“If that is the case, we are left with little choice in the needed course of action,” Otto replied solemnly.
“I do not rejoice in the thought of killing my uncle,” you stated then shook your head softly. “But if he will not bend the knee we will do as we must.”
The silence and averted gazes continued.
You furrowed your brow and turned towards Otto.
He slowly lifted his gaze towards you. “Heirs must not remain to challenge your reign, your grace.”
You scoffed at him then looked around the council. The men shared uneasy glances.
“You plan to kill his children?” You asked in disbelief.
“Just the boys. His daughter can remain your ward and wed Prince Baelon when they are both of age,” Tyland clarified meekly.
You leaned back in your seat. The truth of the matter sank inside you like a rock in a pond.
“Aegon and Viserys are boys of two and ten,” Grand Maester Orrwyle stressed, “Prince Daemon’s supporters would only shift their allegiance to them upon his passing. Any living challenger invites battle and bloodshed.”
You clenched your jaw. “What of his son Aemon? Is he to be killed as well? A boy of only six.”
The council averted their gazes once more.
Otto leaned towards you. “It is unsavory, yes,” he reassured you, “...but a sacrifice we must make to secure your reign.”
“I will not be known as the kinslaying butcher of children,” you denounced in frustration and slammed your fist upon the table.
The men squirmed in their seats.
“What do you suggest, your Grace?” Otto questioned.
You did not have an answer.
He knew that.
So you pushed off your seat and turned towards the opposite wall to think.
“Time is of the essence,” Otto urged.
You sighed and closed your eyes.
This was not what your father would have wanted. That much you were certain of.
“Lord Commander Westerling take your knights to Dragonstone. Be quick and be clean,” Otto commanded.
The rustle of your Kingsguard’s armor rang in the otherwise quiet room.
“I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I recognize no authority but the King’s.”
You turned back around.
Ser Harrold looked at you.
“Is that what you command of me, your Grace?”
Everyone else’s gaze followed.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
The slaughter of innocent children was not a command you could dole out.
So you cleared your throat and spoke authoritatively.
“I shall leave and upon my return I expect you all to have gracious terms of surrender to present to my uncle.”
The men of the small council shared judgemental looks with one another.
You continued. “We have the advantage on the dragon front. Even Daemon is not foolish enough to believe he can go up against the likes of Vhagar and Vermithor.”
Some of the men nodded, expressing they had not considered that.
You started for the doors but Otto’s voice stopped you.
“A raven arrived last night and given the festive nature of last night’s supper I did not want to interrupt but Prince Qoren is once again delaying the wedding of Prince Aemond and his daughter, the Princess Coryanne.”
You grimaced at the mention of House Martell. What you once believed to be the beginning of a prosperous union had devolved into yet another of your failures.
“Should Prince Daemon not bend the knee we must know the Dornish’s true position,” Otto finished coldly.
You didn’t reply. You started anew for the doors.
Once outside you made your way to your aunt’s quarters where she had been joined by Lord Corlys mere hours ago.
Otto ordered all the members of court be confined to their quarters, and the servants taken to the cells below until decisions had been made.
He did not want the word of Visery’s death spread too soon.
Only the small council, your wife, and your children were given the freedom of movement.
The guard opened the door to Princess Rhaenys’ room and you took a fortifying breath before walking in.
You knew your aunt would be irate and as you stood in front of her you noted just how correct your assumption was.
Rhaenys whirled on her heels to face you. “I will do you the considerable courtesy to assume there is a good reason for the outrage of my treatment here this morning.”
You swallowed hard. “I apologize, Princess. There has been a tragedy and I-”
The words caught in your throat. You looked down at your feet. It was as though the truth of your father’s death was finally setting in now that you were not surrounded by the politics of the small council.
Your aunt softened. “Viserys?”
Tears started to well in your eyes. You nodded, your gaze still lowered.
Rhaenys stepped forward and pulled you into her embrace. She sighed.
Your shoulders relaxed in your aunt’s embrace. The tears you tried so hard to keep from falling now stained the velvet of her dress.
Were you anyone else you would have remained in your aunt’s arms and released all your anger and sadness regarding your complicated relationship with your father.
But you were the King.
So you pulled yourself together and pulled away from your aunt.
You cleared your throat as you wiped the errant tears from your eyes.
“All members of court have been ordered to stay in their quarters. The small council and I are planning around the potential of conflict with Daemon.”
Rhaenys nodded slowly. “That is a wise course of action.”
Then you turned towards the other side of the room where Lord Corlys laid. He remained asleep and you noted the haggard nature of his breaths.
“I will send a maester to see Lord Corlys,” you stated then turned back to your aunt.
She smiled sadly. “Thank you, your Grace.”
You brought your hands behind your back and laced your fingers together. “My hope is that you shall all be allowed to roam the Keep freely shortly.”
Before Rhaenys could reply you turned and walked out of the room in a hurry.
The air in the room suddenly felt suffocating.
In the hall you took a deep breath.
The early dawn brought a chill wind to the Keep’s halls.
It eased the warmth of your face.
You looked towards the south end of the hall. It led down to the crypts where you knew the Silent Sisters were already hard at work preparing your father’s body.
As the King you felt it your duty to see to your father’s body.
But as his bastard daughter you had not forgiven him.
And you were sure Alicent was down there with him, tending to him as you had instructed her to.
You did not wish to see her either.
You could not return to your chambers, you felt uneasy and restless. So you started to wander, and soon ended up in Viserys’ room.
The doors were open, no doubt to remove the smell of death but as you neared the Stranger’s stench strengthened.
Death always lingered.
In the center of your father’s quarters you looked at his bed. It was left in a distressed state.
You stepped towards it but thought better of it and stopped.
So you turned your attention to the far side of the room where his scale model of Old Valyria stood proud.
Viserys had worked on it alongside the royal builders for years, practically since you had moved in.
Even as his illness overtook him your father always sat and watched the builders continue to work.
On his lucid days he joined them for a short time before the worst of his aches forced him to stop.
You approached the model and grabbed the small dragon carved from stone.
Rhaenyra was always his favorite but you could never figure out what exactly you were to him.
For the first several years of your life you had no father, then you were told you were the King’s bastard and consequently exiled to Dragonstone for the majority of your youth.
You long believed your father held little to no love for you, as he did for all his children that weren’t born of Queen Aemma.
But he exalted you to King of the Seven Kingdoms. He wed you to Alicent.
You were sure you had never expressed any hint of your true nature to your father but he somehow knew of your deepest desires.
Desires even you did not fully admit to yourself.
Even in his madness, or perhaps because of it, he knew you better than your dear sister had.
Tears returned to your eyes.
Would your father have named your heir had any of Rhaenyra’s previous babies survived their birth?
Would he ever have claimed and legitimized you if Queen Aemma had not insisted?
Viserys did not recall your mother’s name or the night of your conception.
How much could you have really mattered to him?
Maybe you were simply the best option given his dislike of Aegon and the realm’s then distrust of Daemon.
Sadness gave way to renewed anger.
You threw the stone dragon across the room and it shattered against the opposite wall.
“Gods,” you heard a familiar voice gasp.
You turned towards the doors.
Aegon stood in its threshold.
You swallowed your tears and straightened your shoulders.
“What do you need, Aegon?”
Aegon stepped into the room. “Have you seen him yet?”
You shook your head softly. “I don’t think I can.”
“I think I am the same,” Aegon confessed as he neared you.
You met your son’s gaze.
“Do you hate him?”
Aegon’s brows knit together. “Hate Viserys?”
You nodded.
Aegon turned the question over in his mind before he answered.
“I used to. I grew up so desperate for his love. Love that he gave so freely to Rhaenyra,” Aegon admitted.
“What changed?”
Aegon’s eyes softened as he looked at you.
“He named you my father. You were always kind to me, and loved me as a father should have.”
You looked away from Aegon, feeling undeserving of his reverence.
But he continued.
“You believed in me when no one else did, not even my own mother,” he said mirthlessly.
Then you felt Aegon’s hand on your shoulder and you fortified yourself to meet his gaze.
Tears filled his own violet eyes. “I forgave Viserys because while he never loved me he blessed me with a father who did.”
So moved by Aegon’s words you could no longer contain the tears that threatened to overwhelm you.
This time you allowed yourself to bury your face in your son’s shoulder and truly cry.
Aegon held you as shuddering sobs broke through.
You wanted a family who loved you. Above all else that was what you truly wished for.
And even this your father bestowed upon you.
After the last of your cries ended you pulled apart from Aegon and held his face in your hands.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Aegon gave you a small nod.
Then you stepped away and turned to the model of Old Valyria once again.
“Would you think less of me if I could not forgive him?” You mused aloud.
Before Aegon replied you continued.
“I can’t seem to absolve Viserys of his callous disregard for my mother. Lord Matthos passed many moons ago and took the secret of her name and birth to the grave. It seems my father has as well.”
Aegon remained silent.
You touched the intricate work of the model.
However little or much Viserys truly cared for you was now of small consequence.
A battle for the throne loomed ahead of you.
You could not continue to wallow in your feelings of inferiority.
Aegon approached your side and handed you one of the iron poker tools used for the hearth.
“Fuck Viserys,” Aegon quipped.
You smiled. “Fuck him,” you reiterated as you took the hearth poker in your hand.
Aegon turned towards the door.
You put a hand on his shoulder and he turned back to look at you.
“Let us tear down the old and build a stronger realm together, as father and son,” you declared.
Aegon’s features swelled with pride. He nodded eagerly and grabbed another tool from the hearth.
Together you demolished the model of Old Valyria, crushing as much of it into pieces as you could manage.
Dust clouded your vision as the final slabs of the model fell to the floor and shattered.
As it settled you stood to catch your breath.
You turned to Aegon.
He smiled brightly at you.
Your shoulders relaxed for the first time all morning. The restlessness inside you sated by the resolution of your confusing feelings towards your father.
A Targaryen man at arms stood in the threshold of the doors and informed you that the small council had finished writing down the terms of surrender for Prince Daemon.
You nodded and told Aegon to follow.
He dropped the iron poker and did so.
-
You entered the small council room and noted the staleness of its air.
Otto furrowed his brow as he noticed Aegon behind you.
“What is your business here Aegon?”
Aegon turned to you.
You informed Otto that Aegon was the new Master of Laws.
“Prince Aegon?” Tyland questioned.
You turned to him. “Is that a problem?”
Tyland shook his head quickly. “Of course not your Grace.”
“With that settled,” you said and took your seat at the head of the table anew. “What are the terms you have come up with?”
Aegon sank into the seat at your left.
Otto stood and read the terms out loud. “Prince Daemon must acknowledge you as sole heir and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, your Grace will confirm his possession of Dragonstone and upon his passing it will go to Aegon the younger. His son Viserys will be Prince Aegon’s squire, and his youngest son Aemon will be the King’s cupbearer. Finally the king will pardon any knight of lord who conspired to overthrow her.”
You nodded slowly as Otto finished and sat back down.
“Those are most generous terms. I thank you all for the hard work of writing them.”
Lord Beesbury leaned forward. “Who will deliver them, your Grace?”
Aegon raised his hand. “I will go.”
You turned to him and brought his hand down.
“You are my heir Aegon. I cannot afford to send you into danger.”
Aegon frowned.
Then you turned back to Otto.
“As Lord Hand you will sail to Dragonstone and deliver the terms to my uncle.”
You noticed the displeasure flash across Otto’s face before he schooled his features and nodded courteously.
“As you wish, your Grace.”
You ordered the servants and members of court released from their quarters and cells. Then you stood from your seat and declared the session at an end.
-
You returned to your quarters exhausted. You wished to sleep and nothing more but as you stared at the pile of correspondence at your desk you knew you had duties to attend to.
So you sighed and made your way to the desk.
You opened the scroll at the top of the pile. It was the message from Dorne Otto had spoken about earlier.
You unfurled it and read. Sure enough, Prince Qoren was once again delaying the preparations for the wedding.
You threw the parchment onto the desk and rubbed the temples of your head to relieve the building ache.
If Aemond did not wed Princess Coryanne, and House Martell was truly providing aid to the Triarchy then you needed Daemon to accept the terms of surrender.
You did not wish to fight a battle on two fronts.
“Ser Criston, your Grace,” Ser Erryk stated after he entered.
You opened your eyes and nodded for the knight to enter.
Ser Criston walked inside and stopped short of your desk.
“I bring news concerning the undertaking you entrusted to me, your Grace.”
You sat back in your seat and steepled your fingers atop the desk.
“Go on.”
“Larys was tortured for several hours and brought to the very edge of death. He is now resting so that I may continue his punishment in the coming hours,” Ser Criston explained.
Not even the news of Larys’ torture brightened your mood.
“That is heartening to hear Ser Criston. Bathe then see to the Queen,” you ordered.
Ser Criston bowed his head. “As you wish, your Grace.”
Then he left just as quickly as he had walked in.
You were not left alone for very long as just a few minutes later Aemond rushed into your quarters demanding to know what had happened.
After you explained Aemond begged you to let him mount Vhagar and burn down the entire island of Dragonstone.
His eagerness to kill his kin was not lost on you, but you were too exhausted to address it.
So you told him to see to his sister, who you were told had started her birthing labors just moments prior, and Baela as Aegon was otherwise occupied.
Aemond did not seem very pleased with his orders but he followed them.
The pain in your head returned with a vengeance soon after he left. You closed your eyes hoping to lessen it but it seemed to double the pain.
You called out for one of the Kingsguards to bring the Grand Maester, and hoped they could give you something to provide much needed relief.
Summary: You didn't get your happily ever after. Would this Christmas be any different from the last?
A/N: You asked, I answered....very late but better late than never right? Please let me know what you guys think! This will be the last installment for this fic so please enjoy!
It was never going to work out, at least that’s what you told yourself to make Alicent’s reaction sting less.
It didn’t work.
The day after Christmas dinner, the morning after you had slept with Alicent, was a cold one.
After joking around with Aemond you went back up to Alicent’s bedroom, a fresh bottle of water in hand for her.
You found her crying- sobbing, actually- in front of her bathroom mirror.
You watched her for a moment before making a sound. You cleared your throat before you opened the door the rest of the way.
She quickly wiped her eyes and turned to you. “(y/n).”
You handed her the water bottle. “Is everything okay?”
Alicent uncapped the bottle and took a long drink. “I think we should talk,” she replied as she set the bottle down on the sink counter.
Your stomach sank. You already knew what she was going to say.
So you beat her to the punch.
“You don’t have to say anything Alicent. We can act like nothing happened last night.”
Alicent frowned and looked away from you. “I think that would be for the best.”
You turned around and walked towards the door. Alicent reached out and grabbed you by the wrist.
“I had a wonderful time last night (y/n) but-”
You didn’t turn back to look at her, you couldn’t. You knew if you did you’d start crying and it would only make Alicent feel worse.
“It would never work out, realistically. I know that,” you replied in a soft voice.
Alicent let go of your wrist. Your arm fell back to your side like a load of lead.
“Precisely,” Alicent whispered.
You swallowed hard then walked out of her bedroom.
You barreled toward the guest room where your clothes were. You changed and called an Uber. The cost was outrageous but you couldn’t stand to be in Alicent’s home another second.
-
After you changed you returned Aemond’s pajamas to him.
You knocked on the door to his bedroom and waited.
He opened the door, sweaty and shirtless. “Hey there creeper,” he joked.
You forced a smile. “I’m here to return your pajamas. Thanks for letting me borrow them.”
Aemond grimaced. “Gods, I’ll have to burn them now. Won’t be able to wear them without knowing what occurred last night.”
Damn, you had forgotten you’d told him the truth.
You furrowed your brows. “Have you spoken with your mom yet?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ve been avoiding her. I’m not quite sure how to look at her anymore. I mean, are you two dating now? Was it a one night stand? It’s a lot harder to reconcile than I thought it would be.”
There it was, an out.
“Good,” you told him. “I lied earlier. I didn’t sleep with your mom. I was just teasing.”
Lying always made the bile in your stomach rise in your throat. This lie was especially hard on your stomach.
Aemond sighed in relief. “You asshole. My anxiety was off the walls at the thought of it,” he said and jokingly shoved you.
You forced another smile. “I couldn’t help myself.”
You swallowed the bile in your throat.
Aemond took the pajamas from you. He noticed you had collected your things.
“Are you leaving?”
You nodded. “Yeah, my cousin called and she was able to send a car for me. It should be here in a few minutes.”
Aemond frowned. “I hoped you’d stay through New Years. It gets pretty lonely with it just being my mother and I. Aegon’s gone off somewhere to whore no doubt.”
“Maybe next time,” you replied.
He nodded. Then Aemond wrapped his arms around you.
“Happy Christmas (y/n),” he said as he pulled away.
“Merry Christmas Aemond,” you replied. “I’m going to wait outside. Your mom seemed busy this morning so tell her I said goodbye and thank her for her hospitality.”
Aemond nodded. “Will do. Safe travels.”
You turned and made your way down the hall.
You were almost at the door when you heard Alicent call your name.
You turned around at the door and there she was, rushing to meet you. You briefly hoped she had changed her mind and was coming to tell you.
Sadly that was not it.
She stopped a few steps away from you, a respectable distance.
“You’re leaving,” she asked. Her eyes were bloodshot.
You guessed she had continued to cry after you’d left her bedroom.
“Yes. I thought it best,” you told her, not meeting her gaze.
“Oh,” she replied, a frown on her face.
A beat passed in silence.
You gazed outside and saw a car coming down the driveway.
“Looks like my car is here.”
Alicent stepped closer to peer outside.
She was close. You could smell the perfume of her shampoo that still lingered in her hair. Cinnamon and vanilla. You closed your eyes and took in the smell.
It felt bittersweet.
She saw the car then stepped away.
“Right, well thank you for spending Christmas dinner with us.”
“Thank you for having me,” you said and turned to leave.
Alicent reached out and touched your shoulder.
You stopped.
Her hand remained on your arm.
“You don’t have to leave. I- Aemond would like for you to stay, I’m sure of it,” Alicent said, her voice straining against choked back tears.
You looked over at her hand on your shoulder.
“There’s no reason for me to stay…” You turned around to face her. “Unless there is?” You met her gaze, begging her to tell you to stay.
But you could tell by the sorry look on her face that she wouldn’t.
“Aemond would appreciate it,” she replied.
“Only Aemond,” you asked, giving her another chance.
But you knew she wouldn’t take it.
Alicent looked away from you.
You nodded slowly.
“Merry Christmas Alicent,” you said and walked out.
You didn’t look back as you made your way to the car.
You got in and greeted the driver. You wouldn’t look back.
You buckled your seatbelt and the driver started to pull out of the driveway. Still, you wouldn’t look back.
But as you neared the exit gate you caved and looked back.
Alicent stood in the doorway, her arms hugging her sides.
From your distance you couldn’t make out the look on her face but you figured it matched yours.
Tears spilled down your face and you quickly wiped them away. You swallowed the rest of them and faced forwards.
It would be hard to forget that night, but you knew you had to if you were to remain friends with Aemond.
-
The year that followed was one you could not have predicted.
Your family came around to your sexuality. They apologized for their behavior and welcomed you back into the family fold.
As such you were able to get your own flat.
Moving out was not as hard as you thought it would be. You and Aemond had not fallen out but distance had grown between you.
There was no direct reason or cause. You had simply spent less and less time together.
He found a girlfriend in a mutual friend named Alys, and you had found a wonderful distraction in working for your family’s company.
Graduation only served to further the divide between you.
It was also the first time you’d seen Alicent since Christmas.
She looked stunning, that was no surprise.
What was a surprise was the man next to her the whole ceremony.
Had she already found a new partner?
When the ceremony ended you found Aemond and congratulated him. He did the same and hugged you. He also affirmed that while you two had become distant his love and affection for you had not.
You told him you felt the same and hugged him.
Then he mentioned he was upset to see his mom’s new boyfriend with her.
Boyfriend, your heart sank.
But you weren’t surprised. A woman like Alicent would not remain single for long.
Alys pulled Aemond away before you could ask for any more details. Your family had also approached you to congratulate you.
You didn’t speak to Aemond much after graduation but he always liked and commented on your Instagram posts and you did the same with his.
You wouldn’t see Alicent again until Christmas came back around.
That Christmas your family had decided to throw a lavish ball for friends and business associates.
You dreaded the thought of having to play the perfect daughter all night long but you knew that you would manage with your cousin Elia by your side.
Unfortunately for you, Elia had gotten stuck at the airport oceans away.
So you scrambled to find a friend to join you for the night.
More unfortunate for you, they were all busy for the night with family or their own plans.
The only name on your contact list you hadn’t called was Aemond.
You knew he’d be busy with his own family so you didn’t bother.
Instead you posted a cheeky Instagram story about suffering through the party alone for your close friends list.
A few minutes after you posted the story Aemond direct messaged you asking if you wanted a plus one that he was available.
You called him, not wanting to go back and forth over text. He answered on the first ring.
After exchanging pleasantries you asked why he was free on Christmas. Weren’t his family coming down like they did last year?
“No, my grandfather and uncles told my mother they wouldn’t be joining us this year,” Aemond explained.
“Why? If you don’t mind my asking,” you replied.
Aemond let out a big sigh. “They weren’t too thrilled that my mother broke off her engagement.”
“Engagement,” you exclaimed, confused.
You had certainly missed that life update.
Aemond chuckled. “Guess I forgot to post that on Instagram didn’t I. Yeah, my mom got engaged to her boyfriend- the guy you saw during graduation- but she broke it off a few days after she said yes.”
Relief washed over you. You knew Alicent would never be yours, but at least she wouldn’t be anyone else’s either.
“And why did your grandfather disapprove?”
“He was the one who set my mom up with the guy in the first place. He’s an up and coming guy in politics and my grandfather wanted our family attached to his,” Aemond replied.
You nodded slowly. “I see. Did she love him?”
“Who knows. They weren’t very affectionate but my mom hasn’t ever been big on PDA.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear they won’t be coming. I know you don’t have the best relationship with them but still-,” you told him.
“It’s alright. I’m not bothered but my mom isn’t taking it as well. Especially since Helaena is going to spend Christmas Eve and day with a friend. So it’ll be just her and I,” Aemond said with an exasperated sigh.
“What about Aegon?”
Aemond huffed. “He’s in Las Vegas and doesn’t plan to come home.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. An idea had popped into your head.
A potentially stupid one.
“Why don’t you and Alicent join us?”
“Really? You wouldn’t mind- well, your family wouldn’t mind?” Aemond asked, his voice hopeful.
Your heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Alicent again. A whole year later and your heart still yearned for her.
A bit pathetic of you really.
Or romantic.
“Of course they wouldn’t. It’s a big party for donors and friends. They won’t care to have two more in attendance,” you replied.
“Alright then. I’ll speak with my mother but I’m sure she would prefer it to being home alone that night.”
“Perfect. I’ll text you the address. It’s a bit of a drive from Oldtown so if you can’t make it there won’t be any hurt feelings.”
“Nonsense. I’ll see you then,” Aemond replied.
“See you then.”
You and Aemond said your goodbyes then you hung up.
You smiled to yourself. The possibility of seeing Alicent again excited you but you tried to keep your expectations low.
Even if she came that night it wouldn’t change a thing between you.
You’d still be just Aemond’s friend.
And she would still be just Aemond’s mother.
What you wanted from Alicent would take a real Christmas miracle.
-
The night of the Christmas ball arrived.
You and Elia had spent a great deal of time on Facetime choosing your attire for the night. You wanted to look so good it would take Alicent’s breath away.
The guests had started to arrive so your parents had sent an assistant to fetch you.
You walked down to the ballroom and walked over to where your parents stood.
They were deep in conversation with another family when you approached them. You recognized the family.
The Tyrells were an old money family like your own, but they had been your family’s sworn enemies for generations.
That was until your father reached out to the Tyrells with an olive branch and mended the ages-long feud.
Most of your family didn’t even know how the feud started. You guessed it had been about land. Most feuds boiled down to land disagreements.
Now the Tyrells were great business allies. Your father had mentioned a desire to have the families united via marriage quite a few times but nothing had come of it.
The Tyrell patriarch had a daughter and a son but the son had come out as gay a few years ago and the daughter was well known to sleep around with the staff. Your only eligible brother had just gotten engaged to his long time girlfriend Lyanna so a marriage to unite the families was out of the question for your generation.
Or so you had thought.
Your father turned to you as you approached.
“There she is,” he said and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
You smiled politely.
Your father gestured towards the Tyrell patriarch.
“Mace, this is my daughter (y/n). Sweetie this is Mace Tyrell,” your father said.
You shook Mr. Tyrell’s hand.
“A pleasure to meet you sir.”
He shook your hand and smiled. “A firm grip, you’re like your father I see,” he joked.
Your father let out a laugh. “She’s a real chip off the old block. She started with us this year and has already gone far beyond what we expected.”
Mr. Tyrell looked at you approvingly. “That’s great to hear Manfrey.” Then he turned around and called out, “Margaery!”
A young woman, probably your age or slightly younger, walked over. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that turned heads everywhere she went.
Too bad your heart was spoken for.
So you admired her beauty the way you would admire a friend’s.
Mr. Tyrell placed a hand on Margaery’s back. “Manfrey, (y/n), this is my daughter Margaery.”
Margaery curtsied and bowed her head to your father then to you.
“A pleasure to meet you Margaery,” your father said and gave your shoulder a slight squeeze.
You turned to him with a furrowed brow then turned back to Margaery.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you told her.
She met your gaze. “The pleasure is mine (y/n).”
Your father cleared his throat. “I think we should let these two get acquainted, don’t you agree Mace?”
Mr. Tyrell nodded. “Absolutely.” He turned to Margaery. “Have fun sweetie,” he said, then gave her a kiss on the cheek.
You looked at your father, confused, but he just gave you a firm look. You’d seen that look before, mostly during business meetings when he needed you to close a deal with an associate.
You weren’t sure what kind of deal he wanted you to close with Margaery.
You’d have to ask him afterwards.
Soon you and Margaery were alone.
Once her father was out of earshot she let out a deep breath.
“Thank Gods they’re gone.”
You smiled. “You didn’t have to curtsey. My father might be a duke on paper but no one really cares about that around these parts.”
She returned your smile. “My father would’ve killed me if I didn’t. He told me I needed to make a very good impression with your family.”
A server walked by with a tray of champagne flutes. Margaery turned and grabbed two. Then she handed one to you.
You took it and thanked her.
“Why did you need to make a good impression?” You asked her as you took a sip of your drink.
She took a long drink from her own flute before responding.
“I have no idea. All he said was to make a good impression and get to know you.”
You furrowed your brow. “That’s interesting. I wonder what he and my father are up to.”
Margaery’s smile returned. “My father is always up to something, though he usually involves my brother and not me.”
You clinked your glass against hers. “Cheers to that. My father's go to is my brother as well.”
“Hmm, how curious,” Margaery replied.
The conversation didn’t last much longer. Margaery’s eye had wandered to one of the more handsome servers and yours was constantly checking the entrance for any sign of Alicent.
After speaking with Margaery you made your rounds with business associates and with family. Your mother had asked your opinion of Margaery, which you noted was peculiar, and your brother had asked if you thought she was pretty.
Were they trying to set you up with her? Did she even like women?
Your mother and brother would not reveal anything so you knew you’d have to ask your father.
You spotted him going to his study so you followed him but as you neared you stopped dead in your tracks.
Alicent was at the door. Aemond was taking her coat and handing it to one of the doormen.
You walked over to them, as calmly as you could but everything inside of you wanted to run over.
Aemond saw you first. He walked up to you and gave you a hug.
“Happy Christmas (y/n),” he said as he wrapped his arms around you.
You returned his embrace. “Merry Christmas, Aemond.”
Alicent met your gaze over Aemond’s shoulder. The world stilled.
A lump formed in your throat as you pulled away from Aemond and Alicent stepped forward.
”Merry Christmas (y/n). Thank you for extending us an invitation,” Alicent said and approached you for a hug.
The smell of her vanilla perfume wrapped around you and flooded your senses as Alicent neared.
You stepped away from her.
Alicent froze.
You cleared your throat and plastered a polite smile. “I’m sorry. I… My father had sent me on an errand for him before I saw you two. It was urgent so I should uhm..I should get back to that. It’s lovely seeing you both.” You looked over at Aemond, unable to bear the weight of Alicent’s gaze. “Have fun.”
Then you walked away as fast as your legs could go. You rounded a corner and stopped to steady your breathing.
A year had gone by and the second Alicent laid eyes on you. It felt like no time had passed and you were still the foolish girl standing in that bathroom, swallowing your tears and promising to forget an unforgettable night.
Suddenly the door to your left opened and out came the server who had carried a tray of champagne earlier. His hair was disheveled and he was hurriedly buttoning his shirt back on. He caught you staring and turned a deep red.
“Miss,” he said and bowed his head as he walked away.
You furrowed your brow and wondered what had happened but the answer came second later as Margaery emerged from the same room.
Her hair was also slightly mussed. She noticed you and straightened herself instantly.
“(Y/n),” she started.
Forgetting all about Alicent you smiled at Margaery. “It seems you’ve certainly made a good impression on that boy.”
Margaery eyed you nervously then let out a small laugh. “And on you?”
You held out your arm towards her. “I respect a woman who goes after what she wants.”
Margaery wrapped her arm around yours and smiled. “I knew I’d like you.”
You escorted Margaery back to the party then parted ways when your brother called you over to speak with some foreign investors.
As conversation of donations and business dragged on, your eyes wandered. You scanned the breadth of the ball room for any sign of Alicent.
Now that you had calmed down you realized how rude it was of you to reject her greeting of a polite embrace.
But it was so hard to think straight upon seeing her.
Especially in the dress she’d arrived in. It was a beautiful shade of green that brought out the deep hues of her auburn hair and amber eyes.
You found her across the room, next to Aemond and a few old college colleagues. She looked bored.
Ask her for a dance.
You shoved the impulsive thought aside. You knew better.
Your brother’s ramblings tore your attention from Alicent back to him and the investors. It felt like torture to be so close and so impossibly far from her. You recalled feeling the same way at graduation.
At least she was alone this time. You didn’t have to endure seeing her on the arm of some man.
At long last your brother offered to smoke a cigar with the investors and led them away.
Finally alone you made your way towards Alicent.
You had to apologize.
But as you neared she excused herself and walked outside.
You followed her out to the gardens behind the estate. They were expansive but the path immediately in front of you, which Alicent walked on, led to a private bench and fountain. You had spent a lot of time in that secret alcove as a child, running away from responsibilities and your family’s tiring rules.
Alicent sat down on the bench in front of the small fountain.
You lingered in the hedges behind her, suddenly reminded of being a peeping tom again.
“It seems your peeping tom ways haven’t changed,” Alicent joked and turned her head towards you.
You emerged from the shadows of the hedges and sat down next to her on the bench, careful not to sit too close to her.
“I wanted to apologize, for earlier,” you explained.
Alicent looked down at her hands in her lap. “You have nothing to apologize for (y/n).”
You looked at the fountain. “It was rude of me.”
She looked up and over at you. “It’s alright. I expected something like that to happen.”
You met her gaze. “Really?”
Alicent looked away and sighed. "We didn’t exactly part on the greatest of terms last we saw each other.”
You nervously thumbed at a loose strand on your trouser seams. “I was surprised you came.”
“Aemond insisted,” Alicent replied nervously.
“Is that the only reason?” You asked, briefly wondering if you were a glutton for punishment. Asking questions you knew lead nowhere good.
“Do you want me to say it was because I wanted to see you?” Alicent countered, the warmth and teasing tone of earlier completely gone.
“Only if it’s the truth,” you replied.
Alicent let out another sigh and shook her head. “What good is the truth?” She confessed bitterly.
You took a steadying breath before reaching out to touch the top of her hand. “I’ve missed you,” you confessed.
“Don’t say that,” Alicent replied and pulled her hand away.
You turned your body towards her. “Why not?”
Alicent met your gaze. “It doesn’t change anything.”
A knot rose in your throat. You swallowed hard.
Alicent’s gaze softened. “I don’t mean to be cruel (y/n).”
You looked away and turned back towards the fountain. You didn’t want her to see the tears that started to cloud your vision.
Alicent reached out and touched the top of your hand. “(y/n)..”
“Have you missed me?,” you blurted out.
A true glutton for punishment.
You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes.
Alicent pulled her hand away and stood. “I should go back in.” She smoothed her dress and turned towards the hedges.
You clenched your jaw and softly shook your head. “Do you have any idea how pathetic it feels to miss someone who doesn’t care about you at all…”
Alicent turned back towards you. She stared at you but didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t tell if the look in her eyes was pity or guilt.
You stood and closed the distance between you and Alicent. “It’s the worst feeling in the world.”
Alicent opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a servant running out of the hedges. She caught her breath then informed you your father was calling for you.
You dismissed her then turned to Alicent. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mrs. Targaryen.”
Alicent’s gaze dropped at the mention of her married name.
You knew it was petty and childish to call her that but you had been vulnerable with her and she couldn’t even pretend to have cared.
-
You made your way back to your father. He was surrounded by his colleagues and Margaery’s father.
He saw you and smiled. “Come my girl,” he called.
You reached him and greeted the crowd around him.
“It’s time,” he said and left.
Your father walked up to the stage at the front of the room then waited as the singer finished her song and introduced your father.
Everyone clapped as he walked to center stage and adjusted the microphone.
“Thank you, thank you everyone. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. This Christmas is a special one. Our family is whole once more, and I’m happy to announce it’s expanding,” you father declared then he asked you to join him on stage.
You did as he said and once on stage he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.
“(y/n) has not only joined our philanthropic efforts but she has gone above and beyond all expectations. She has truly made the family name proud,” you father cheered.
Everyone clapped.
You smiled sheepishly. You could barely make out those standing closest to the stage, the bright lights blinding you to the rest of the room.
Then your father invited Margaery and her family to the stage.
You weren’t sure where he was going with his speech. What did it have to do with the Tyrells?
Soon the whole Tryell clan was on stage next to you and your father.
“I am more than happy to announce that after many centuries of feuding, Mace and I will finally put that ancient history to bed and unite our esteemed families,” your father elocuted.
You wanted to look at your father. You wanted to furrow your brows.
But you knew better than to show any real emotion while in front of the spotlight.
So you plastered a fake smile on your face and clapped along with the crowd.
“This coming spring my youngest daughter (y/n) will wed Margaery Tyrell and usher our family into a new, prosperous, and progressive era.” Your father gave your shoulder a squeeze.
Your stomach dropped.
You finally turned to your father.
The look on his face was a diplomatic one.
You knew you wouldn’t be able to ask anything until you were in private.
So you turned to Margaery, who seemed just as shocked as you by the news, and smiled at her.
Your father encouraged you and Margaery to hold hands so you reached out and laced your fingers with hers.
Her hand shook and you did your best to give her a comforting look.
By the look on her face it brought nothing of the sort. She had gone absolutely pale.
-
After the announcement your father had led you and the Tyrell clan to his office.
You held your composure as you sat down in an armchair facing the roaring hearth.
The second the door to the study closed Margaery let out a flurry of expletives and demanded her father tell her the truth.
Her father explained to her this was the best choice for their family and that they had even accommodated her desire for a nontraditional spouse.
Margaery hurled more expletives then declared she would never marry.
She stormed out of the study and slammed the door behind her.
Your gaze remained on the burning fire.
It didn’t feel real.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get her on board,” Mace said and shook your father’s hand.
Then he and the rest of the Tyrells walked out.
It was just you and your father.
He poured himself a glass of bourbon then sat in the armchair across from you.
“You kept your composure out there. I’m proud of you (y/n).”
He took a long drink then pulled out a small box from his suit pocket. He handed it to you.
You tore your gaze from the fire and looked at it.
It was a ring box.
You took it and opened it.
“Your grandmother’s ring, I’m sure she’d be proud,” your father told you. Then he took another drink. “It should be sufficient for the Tyrells.”
You shut the box and pocketed it. Then you looked up at your father.
“May I be excused,” you asked.
He nodded.
You stood and started for the door when he reached out and grabbed you by the wrist.
You stopped and looked over at him.
He cleared his throat. “You will marry her. If she won’t come around you need to find a way.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Yes father.”
He let go of your wrist and you walked out.
-
You needed air. You needed to be alone.
So you walked towards the gardens.
But as you did you passed by the foyer and noticed Aemond helping with Alicent’s coat.
Panic spread throughout your body.
Had she heard?
You walked over to the door.
“Leaving so soon,” you asked, hoping the panic didn’t come through in your voice.
Aemond met your gaze and stepped away from Alicent. He walked over to you and put a hand on your shoulder.
“Mom’s not feeling so well,” Aemond explained. He gave your shoulder a squeeze. “But congrats on the engagement. You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone you dog,” he joked.
You turned to Alicent.
She wouldn’t look at you.
“I..,” you started but didn’t continue.
What could you say?
Not the truth. Your father would have your head.
So you stared at her, mouth agape, scrambling for a way to make her stay.
Thankfully the universe intervened on your behalf.
For once it was on your side.
Your butler came through the front door with a severe look on his face. You looked at him and he met your gaze.
“My apologies miss (y/n) but your guests won’t be able to leave,” he stated.
Alicent looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
Your butler explained there had been a horrible landslide on the highway leading out of town. The officials had already been notified and first responders were on the scene but it would be hours before it would be safe to travel.
Then he excused himself to let the others know.
Alicent turned to Aemond. “We will just have to stay at a hotel in town and leave tomorrow morning then.”
You shook your head. “Nonsense, you two can stay here with us. We have plenty of rooms.”
Alicent finally met your gaze. “You’re too kind (y/n) but we couldn’t ask that of you. We’ll be alright in town.”
“I have to insist that both of you stay. Think of it as repayment for letting me stay in your home last year,” you replied.
You could tell Alicent was trying to form a polite way to decline.
Aemond looked between the two of you, his brow furrowed.
You turned to Aemond. “It’s not a bother. I’d really like you both to stay the night.”
“Thank you for your offer (y/n),” Aemond said and turned to his mother. “We’ll stay here for the night then drive home in the morning.”
Alicent started to protest but Aemond had already asked you to lead the way.
-
You led Alicent and Aemond to the west wing of the estate where the guest rooms were. The house staff scurried to ready the rooms.
“Seems we won’t be the only ones staying,” Aemond commented.
“I doubt my father would let anyone try to go home in these conditions,” you replied.
You showed Alicent her room first.
She excused herself to freshen up before turning in.
Then you led Aemond to his room.
It was just around the corner from Alicent’s.
You started to excuse yourself but Aemond reached out to stop you.
“We have to talk,” he said.
By the tone of his voice you knew it was something serious.
Your stomach twisted at the thought.
You led Aemond inside his room and he closed the door behind him.
“What did you want to talk about,” you asked.
He leaned against the wall. “I want the truth.”
“About what,” you asked, dread filling your chest.
He scoffed. “You know exactly what.” Then he sighed and sat down on the bed. “I know something happened between you and my mother.”
Your stomach dropped. “What,” you choked out.
He shook his head softly. “Don’t deny it (y/n). You left our house in such a rush last year and nothing was the same afterwards.”
You remained silent.
Aemond crossed his arms against his chest. “When I told her about the party tonight she got so nervous and she fidgeted the whole way here.”
“I’m sure she was just nervous about what your grandfather would think. He hates my family after all,” you replied, hoping he would accept the lie like he had before.
“No, I want the truth (y/n).” Then he met your gaze. “You owe me that…we were best friends once, weren’t we?”
Your heart broke at the sound of his voice. You looked down at the floor in shame. “Yeah,” you replied, defeated.
“Then tell me what happened,” Aemond pleaded.
You sighed and sat down next to Aemond on the bed. You told him the truth. You told him you and Alicent had slept together. You told him it wasn’t because of the bet the two of you had made. You had always thought his mom was beautiful and that night…well one thing led to another.
“I suspected as much,” Aemond breathed with a sigh when you finished.
“I told you it had all been a lie because she wanted us to act like nothing had happened. I had already told you so I thought you’d believe it was just a joke.” You continued, your thumb still toying with the loose strand on your trousers.
“Is that why you pulled away from me when classes started again,” Aemond asked and turned to you.
You looked over at him. “Not explicitly but maybe subconsciously.”
Aemond nodded slowly. “I noticed and I wanted to say something but when I realized my mother was also acting strange I just froze. I wasn’t sure what to do or say.”
A moment of silence passed between you.
“Maybe that’s also why I pulled away, especially once Alys and I got together,” Aemond wondered aloud.
“I’m sorry for lying to you Aemond but it wasn’t my place to out anyone,” you told him.
Aemond looked down at his hands. “Do you have feelings for my mother?” Then he looked over at you again. “Real feelings,” he clarified.
You smiled earnestly. “I do.” Then you sighed. “I haven’t stopped thinking about her once since last Christmas.”
“My mother had a very traditional, conservative, upbringing. If she is bi, or gay, or whatever she might be…it would be hard for her to accept that about herself. It would be hard for her to be anything but what my grandfather had told her to be,” Aemond confessed.
You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I understand that more than ever.”
Aemond eyed you, confused.
“I didn’t know I’d end up engaged tonight,” you told him.
“Really?”
You nodded. “I just met the girl. I had no idea my father had plans to marry me off.”
“Do you have feelings for her?” He asked cautiously.
“No, but that doesn’t matter to my father.” You sighed and stood up.
“What are you going to do?” Aemond stood as well.
You shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t seem happy about our engagement either but my father has ordered me to get her on board if her family can’t convince her.”
Aemond frowned. “That’s fucked.”
“Beyond fucked,” you replied with a laugh.
Aemond ran a hand through his hair. “Why not just tell your father you won’t do it?”
You shook your head. “I can’t. My father would never forgive me. They’d disown me again.”
“You lived through banishment once,” Aemond countered.
“Yeah but I had friends. I had you,” you replied then wrapped your arms around yourself. “I haven’t spoken or seen any of my friends since graduation. Half of them didn’t even pick up the phone when I called to invite them tonight. If I lose my family again, I have no one.”
Aemond reached out and gave your shoulders a squeeze. “You still have me,” he said with a hopeful smile.
You smiled back at him. “Thanks.”
A knock at the door startled you.
One of your staff walked in and informed you that your mother was looking for you.
You thanked her and she excused herself.
You told Aemond someone would come by with spare night clothes then excused yourself.
-
You found your mother in the hall, showing a few family friends where to find their rooms. She told you to go to your father’s study so you made your way back there.
Once inside you saw Margaery and her family gathered there with your father.
Your father sat at his desk. He stood when you walked in.
“Wonderful news (y/n),” he said and instructed you to sit next to Margaery on the chaise.
Margaery’s father informed you that Margaery had come around to the engagement.
“Let’s leave the brides to get to know one another,” your father declared then he led Mace Tyrell out the door.
Margaery’s other family members followed and soon you were alone with her once again.
“Did you know,” Margaery asked in a hushed voice.
You sighed. “No. It was a surprise to me too.”
Margaery looked over at you. “I would’ve never guessed. You handled it so well.”
“My family is all about their image. I’m a well trained dog,” you replied, not meeting her gaze.
“Why aren’t you angry,” Margaery asked, a pensive look on her face.
“There’s no point,” you confessed. “My father always gets what he wants.”
Margaery folded one leg over the other. “And what would he do if he didn’t?”
“Probably disown me, again,” you replied, tired.
“He disowned you?” Margaery’s eyes widened.
You nodded. “Once. It was horrible, and lonely.”
“That sounds awful,” Margaery said and placed a comforting hand on your knee.
You shrugged. Then you turned to her. “Wouldn’t your family do the same?”
“No, never.”
You furrowed your brows. “Then why are you going through with this?”
Margaery looked away from you then bit the corner of her lip. “Can I trust you?”
“Of course.”
“We’re broke,” Margaery said with a sigh.
“You’re broke?”
“Mhm, and we need your family to help us through it.”
You looked down and noticed the outline of the ring box in your trouser pocket. “I see.”
Your father had probably left you alone so you could give Margaery the ring. You reached in your pocket then turned to Margaery.
When you looked over at her you noticed something in her gaze softened. She titled her head to the side.
“Maybe we could grow to love one another,” Margaery said and ran her thumb across your cheek. “You’re quite easy on the eyes (y/n).”
You smiled and let out a nervous laugh. “Thank you, but I have to be honest with you. Since you were honest with me.”
Margaery dropped her hand from your face. “What is it? You don’t think I’m pretty?”
You dropped the ring box back in your pocket and put a hand up towards Margaery. Your brows shot up.
“Oh no, it’s not that. You’re gorgeous Margaery, it's just that…my heart is spoken for.”
“Oh,” she replied, a bit of disappointment laced in her voice.
You smiled softly. “I’m sure we’ll be great friends Margaery, and I’ll come to care deeply for you in our marriage but I could never be in love with you,” you confessed.
“If someone has already claimed your heart, why aren’t you with them?”
“That’s a long story,” you said with a sigh.
Margaery stood and poured you both drinks from your father’s bar.
“Your father said to get acquainted so..” she said and handed you a drink. “Let’s get acquainted.”
So you told her everything.
When you finished Margaery let out a deep breath.
“(y/n) you poor, darling, idiot. Fucking your best friend’s mother…even I haven’t done that,” she said.
“I did worse than that Margaery. I fell in love with her,” you replied.
Margaery wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “A hopeless romantic,” she teased with a small smile.
You smiled back. “Thanks for listening to me go on and on.”
“What are fiancé’s for?” Margaery joked. Then she gave your cheek a quick pinch. “I think we will be the best of friends (y/n).”
You laced your hand with hers. “I agree.” You gave her hand a squeeze. “And the best part is I will be happy to hear all about your romantic and sexual dalliances during our marriage, as long as you keep them quiet, what with the family image to uphold,” you joked.
Margaery laughed. “Of course.”
A servant came in and informed Margaery her family was leaving via helicopter. The two of you hugged and said your goodbyes.
You walked out to the ballroom where everyone was slowly clearing out for the night. You grabbed an unopened bottle of champagne and made your way to your room.
-
A whole bottle of champagne later you laid in your bed and stared at the ceiling.
You were really going to marry a complete stranger.
And for what?
Your father’s pride?
You sighed and got ready for bed.
But sleep wouldn’t come.
You tossed and turned for hours until you gave up and decided to get some fresh air.
You wrapped your robe tightly around you and slipped on your outdoor slippers.
Just as you started for the door your eye caught on your grandmother’s ring. You grabbed the box and slipped it in your robe pocket.
-
The night air was crisp. It felt good against your skin.
You took a deep breath as you made your way through the garden.
You sat down in front of the small fountain. The stars twinkled overhead.
You thumbed the ring box in the pocket of your robe.
You brought it out and opened it.
You ran your finger over the diamonds.
Soon tears pooled in your eyes.
Your future was set.
You’d marry Margaery. Your father would want heirs so you’d probably have kids. You’d work at your father’s company until you retired. Then you’d sit all alone in your estate as your kids and Margaery all lived their own lives.
Tears started to cloud your vision.
A slave to your family name.
The tears spilled over. You wiped them away with the sleeve of your robe.
You froze when you heard footsteps behind you.
You stood up and faced the hedges.
“Who is there,” you asked as you shoved the ring box back in your robe.
It was quiet for a moment.
Then she walked out from the shadows.
Alicent stopped just short of where you stood.
“Who’s the peeping tom now,” you joked.
A small smile spread across Alicent’s face.
But it was gone just as quickly as it had come.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I couldn’t sleep so I came out for some air. I…I’ll go,” Alicent said and turned her back to you.
You reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Don’t, please,” you begged.
Alicent didn’t meet your gaze but she gave a small nod.
You sat back down on the bench and she sat on the other side of it.
“What brings you out here so late,” Alicent asked.
You sighed. “Everything.”
Alicent turned her head towards you. “Are you alright (y/n)?”
You shook your head. Then you brought out the ring box.
Alicent’s gaze shifted towards the ring box.
You opened it and showed it to her. “It was my grandmother’s.”
Alicent took it and ran her finger across the diamond. “It’s beautiful.”
“My father handed it to me and said my grandmother would be proud,” you recalled with a sigh.
Alicent handed the box back to you. “I’m sure she would be.”
You pocketed the box and let out a scoff. “What would she be proud of?”
You stood and walked to the fountain. You looked down at your reflection in the water, the moon high above you.
“I’m going to marry a woman I don’t know and don’t love for my father’s sake… My grandmother would’ve called me a coward,” you finished and turned to look at Alicent.
She furrowed her brow. “You don’t know her?”
You shook your head then sat down next to Alicent on the bench, your body facing hers. “I just met her tonight.”
“Oh,” Alicent responded, she looked away from you but you noticed a shy smile prying at her lips.
You looked down at your hands, a smile on your face.
“You know she caused such a scene in my father’s study that I thought her family would break off the engagement.”
You let out a small laugh at the memory of Margaery cursing in front of your father.
Alicent turned back to face you. “A scene,” she asked.
You nodded. “Our engagement was a surprise to her as well. She was not on board,” you explained.
“What changed?” Alicent tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
You remembered how soft her hair had felt in your fingers. You wished to reach out and touch her but you knew better.
So you looked away from her and took a steadying breath.
“I spoke with her, alone, and she explained that her family is in financial hardship and needs my family name to get through it.”
You looked up and met Alicent’s gaze. The moonlight washed over her porcelain skin. She looked positively angelic.
“I wanted to explain to you,” you started. “I didn’t want you to think what I said in the garden was a lie.”
Alicent softened. She reached out and touched the top of your hand. “I know your heart.”
You turned your hand over and laced your fingers with hers. You stroked the palm of her hand with your thumb.
After a moment in comfortable silence Alicent let out a breath and spoke.
“So you’re moving forward with the engagement?”
You shrugged. “What else can I do?”
Alicent brought your hand into her lap. “Surely your father would understand if you couldn’t go through with it?”
“Would yours?”
Alicent didn’t reply.
You looked over at Alicent. “What did it feel like…being in an arranged marriage?”
“It’s hard,” Alicent said with an exasperated breath. She closed her eyes. “You try to love them but so much of it feels hollow.”
Alicent opened her eyes and turned to you.
Tears had started to pool in your eyes.
Alicent reached out and cupped your cheek. “I don’t mean to scare you (y/n). Maybe it’ll be different for you,” she said, trying to comfort you.
A stray tear fell down your cheek.
You pulled away from Alicent and stood back up.
“It’ll be worse,” you muttered as you walked back over to the fountain.
Alicent stood up and followed you. “Don’t say that,” she chided and placed a hand on your shoulder. “She’s a beautiful girl. I’m sure you’ll grow to love her.”
You clenched your jaw then turned around. “She’s not you,” you confessed.
Alicent’s brows shot up. “I-.”
“I’m in love with you Alicent. Being with anyone else will be torture,” you told her. You reached out and took her by the hands. You brought them to your lips and kissed her knuckles. “I love you,” you murmured into them.
Alicent turned her head and pulled her hands away. “(y/n), please don’t.”
You stepped closer to her, close enough to smell her perfume.
“I’m going to marry someone I will never be able to love. Please…please let me tell you exactly how I feel about you,” you pleaded.
Alicent met your gaze.
Your faces just a breath apart from one another.
“It wouldn’t change anything,” Alicent replied.
“You’re right,” you let out a small sigh. Then you looked down and remembered the ring box in your pocket.
Alicent hooked her finger under your chin and brought your gaze back up to her. “You’ll be alright.”
You looked into Alicent’s eyes, and couldn’t stop yourself from leaning forward.
Your lips met hers.
Alicent cupped your cheek and softly pulled away.
“We can’t,” she whispered.
You leaned into her touch and closed your eyes. “I love you.”
Alicent dropped her hand from your face. “Stop saying that.”
You opened your eyes and frowned. “Why?”
Alicent turned away from you and wrapped her arms around herself. She was quiet.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable Alicent,” you apologized.
“It’s not that,” Alicent turned back around. She rubbed her arms for warmth.
You undid your robe and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“You’re too kind (y/n).”
Alicent pulled the robe tighter around her.
“You deserve all the kindness in the world,” you replied, a rueful smile on your face.
Alicent looked up at the sky and shook her head softly. She looked back at you and bit her lip.
There was something in her gaze you couldn’t quite read.
“What is it,” you asked her.
“I love you too,” she declared with tears in her eyes.
You stepped closer. “What…”
Alicent wiped away the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.
“I have not stopped thinking of you since that night.”
You closed the gap between you. “Really?”
Alicent nodded, not trusting her voice.
You cupped her face with your hands. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you call or text or-,” you rambled.
“Because it doesn’t matter how we feel. You said it yourself, we are slaves to our family names,” Alicent replied as tears fell down the sides of her face.
You wiped the tears away as they fell.
“It does matter. It matters to me,” you whispered.
Alicent leaned into your touch.
You brought your face closer and leaned your forehead against hers.
You dropped your hands from her face and wrapped them around her waist.
She buried her face in the crook of your shoulder.
You kissed the side of her head. “You know, I was never sure if you felt the same as I did. Sometimes I thought I tricked you into sleeping with me and had imagined any affection you had for me.”
Alicent pulled away just enough to look you in the eye.
“You showed me exactly what I had felt missing my whole life,” she declared.
Then she leaned forwards and brought her lips against yours.
Her kiss was timid but determined. She wrapped her arms around your neck and brought your face closer to hers.
You deepened the kiss and pressed her body against yours.
Desire started to pool between your thighs at the welcomed memory of Alicent's body against your own.
So you pulled away, just enough to speak.
“I need you Ali,” you whispered, breath ragged and spent.
Alicent stared into your eyes.
You noticed how dark her eyes had become.
She nodded and you led her back to your room.
-
Hours, and more than a handful of orgasms, later Alicent laid her head on your chest and smiled as your breathing steadied.
She laced her fingers with yours.
You smiled up at the ceiling as you ran your hands through her hair. It was just as soft as you remembered.
Alicent lifted her head and looked up at you. “You look lost in thought.”
You looked down at her and smiled. “I’m just so happy right now.”
Alicent kissed your collarbone. “I am too,” she confessed.
You twirled a lock of her hair around your finger. “You’re so beautiful.”
She buried her face in your chest but you caught the blush in her cheeks before she did so.
It brought a satisfied smirk to your lips.
The first streaks of dawn started to filter through the heavy curtains of your windows.
Alicent looked up and realized the time.
“I should get back to my own room,” she said and started to collect herself.
And just like that your carriage had turned into a pumpkin.
You sighed.
“Can’t we just stay in bed a while longer.”
You sat up and watched as she put on the pajamas your staff had given her.
“We have to face reality at some point (y/n),” she said and walked back over to the bed. She gave you a quick peck on your lips.
You caught her arm just as soon as she pulled away. She stopped and looked down at you.
You threw your legs over the side of the bed and pulled her in between your legs.
“Who says we have to do that?”
Alicent smiled languidly. “I would love nothing more than to stay in your bed with you until the end of time but-”
You grabbed her hands and kissed each palm. “But nothing…just stay a little longer,” you begged.
Alicent let out a deep sigh but the smile remained on her face. “Fine,” she resigned in fake annoyance.
You gave her hands a gentle squeeze then looked down at them. You ran your thumb over her ring finger on her left hand.
“You know, my grandmother’s ring would look good on you,” you mused aloud.
Alicent pulled her hand away and stepped back. “That’s cruel,” she snapped.
The air in the room changed in an instant.
You stood and followed her. You put your hands on her arms and she turned around.
“I’m sorry,” you started.
Alicent sighed then her shoulders sagged. “It’s fine I just don’t like thinking of things that can never be,” she reasoned.
You turned and noticed your discarded robe on the edge of the bed. You picked it up and pulled out the ring box.
Why couldn’t it? You thought to yourself.
Your father would hate you.
But you’d have Alicent.
You’d have Alicent…she just needed to say yes.
You opened the ring box then turned back to Alicent.
She eyed you curiously.
You got down on one knee.
Alicent’s eyes widened. “(y/n),” she started.
“Marry me,” you declared and held the ring towards her.
“You can’t be serious,” she stuttered.
You stood and looked her in the eyes. “Now that I know you feel the same as I do, I can’t marry Margaery. The only woman I want to be with is you,” you declared.
Alicent’s mouth fell open. “I- I don’t know what to say. (y/n) we hardly know each other.”
You shrugged. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another.” You got down on one knee again. “So say yes,” you urged.
Alicent walked to the other side of the room. “It would never work,” she argued. Then she started to pace about the room. “I’m a widow with three grown children. What would they say if we married? You have your whole life ahead of you (y/n).” Alicent stopped pacing and looked at you, her anxiety and fear written all over her face. “Your father will disown you.”
You walked to where Alicent stood and smiled at her. “I don’t care what others will say. I don’t care if my father disowns me. I don’t care if they take my inheritance away.”
“But (y/n),” Alicent started to protest but you held up a hand to stop her.
“I love you. I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?”
Alicent held your gaze. “Are you sure?”
You nodded. “More than I’ve ever been before.”
Alicent bit the inside of her cheek. Then she looked down at her hands, she nervously toyed with them.
“Everything would change. I’m scared,” Alicent whispered.
“I can be brave enough for the both of us,” you said and brought her gaze back up to meet yours.
You gave her a tender kiss then stroked her bottom lip with your thumb.
“Please, let me love you the way you deserve. Let me fill your days with joy and your nights with endless bliss,” you professed.
Alicent let out a great sigh then let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t deserve you (y/n).”
You shook your head. “Yes you do.”
Alicent kissed your lips, then your cheeks, then your forehead.
You laughed then got back down on one knee. “Let’s try this again,” you joked.
Alicent smiled down at you.
You took the ring from the box and held it up towards Alicent. “Alicent Hightower, will you do me the absolute honor of marrying me?”
“Yes,” Alicent replied, tears in her eyes.
You stood and slipped the ring onto her finger. Then you brought her hand up to your lips and kissed her knuckles.
Alicent took a steadying breath then wiped the tears from her eyes. She admired the ring on her finger.
Then her smile dropped.
She looked up at you.
“What are we going to tell Aemond?”
“We’ll tell him he can call me Mom,” you joked with a smirk.
Alicent’s smile returned. She swatted at your arm. “You’re impossible.”
You brought her lips to yours and slowly drifted back to your bed. It would be another couple hours before either of you got back up.
-
Aemond sat at the foot of the bed, stupefied.
“You’re marrying my mother,” he asked aloud.
You sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re damn right I am, son.”
Aemond’s face soured at the sound of the word.
“Do not call me that ever again.”
You laughed. “Fine, but I won’t mind if you call me Mom.”
Aemond shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Then the two of you went out to find Alicent and break the news to your family. It didn’t matter if they hated you. It didn’t matter if they disowned you. You had Alicent and you had Aemond. You would have a new family.
Summary: Dragons start to dance and the Dornish Princess remains far from King's Landing. She fights to return to her love but what is waiting for her upon her return? All that once was, no longer is.
A/N: Hello everyone! This is the long awaited follow up. I will be covering the entire second season of HotD with liberties to the canon. If you enjoy it please leave a comment or reblog, thank you!
The wheelhouse had not stopped since departing from King’s Landing.
Prince Qoren Martell wanted to arrive in Sunspear as quickly as possible. He knew what would come next; he knew war loomed and war with dragons left nothing but ash in its wake.
So he ordered his men take them through the boneway passage. It was treacherous to outsiders but even for the Dornish it was not easy.
But it would bring them to Dorne faster than the Prince’s Pass.
Princess (Y/N) sighed aloud. She had grown weary of being stuck in the wheelhouse. The Princess shared one side of the wheelhouse with Coryanne, not leaving either much room to move.
Princess Coryanne swatted at her sister’s thigh.
“Stop spreading your legs (Y/N), you’re squeezing me into the very corner,” she protested.
(Y/N) sat up in her seat. “I am not spreading them, Cory there is no room for me either.”
The two sisters began to swat and shove one another.
Prince Qoren awoke from his slumber at the noise. He cleared his throat but neither woman would stop arguing long enough to hear him.
“Enough,” the Dornish Prince yelled.
The princesses stopped and turned to face their father. They lowered their gazes.
“My apologies father,” Coryanne spoke.
“It was Coryanne’s fault,” (Y/N) mumbled.
Then suddenly the wheelhouse stopped. A knock on the door was followed by the voice of one of the knights.
“We’ve reached the Wyl, my prince.”
Prince Qoren stood as the door to the wheelhouse opened.
Princess (Y/N) stood to follow but her elder sister pulled her back down.
“Cory,” (Y/N) whined but it was too late.
Princess Coryanne had already gotten up and left the wheelhouse.
Princess (Y/N) let out another sigh then climbed out. She stepped down from the wheelhouse and walked up to her sister.
“That was a bit childish Coryanne.”
Princess Coryanne paid her younger sister no mind. She followed her father to where the bannermen and servants started to set up tents and make fires.
Princess (Y/N) looked around at the forest and the river before her. She took in a deep breath and filled her lungs with its refreshing smell. Then she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds around her.
She heard a faint rumbling. Princess (Y/N) opened her eyes and turned towards the sound.
Trees rustled in the distance.
With the chaos of setting up camp the guards did not have their eyes set on the princess. So she took advantage and walked into the woods.
She followed the soft rumble between the trees until she reached a clearing.
Princess (Y/N) stopped short of the treeline.
Before her was a dragon. A large, silvery grey dragon.
The princess knew what dragon this was. In her time at the Red Keep one of her favorite books to read was a detailed account of all known Targaryen dragons.
The dragon before her was Silverwing, once ridden by Queen Alysanne.
It normally resided in Dragonstone with King Jaehaerys’ dragon, Vermithor.
She wondered what it was doing so far from there.
Princess (Y/N) edged closer. She remembered Silverwing was somewhat docile and friendly to strangers.
Then she stopped.
She could not approach the dragon empty handed.
So the princess returned to her family’s campsite and stole a goat one of the knights had trapped and slain.
When she returned to Silverwing the she dragon lifted her head up. She sniffed the air and opened her eyes.
Princess (Y/N) let it wash over her then she tossed the goat closer to the dragon. Then she stepped back into the treeline.
“Ipradagon [Eat],” she commanded.
Silverwing grabbed the goat with her mouth and swallowed it whole.
Princess (Y/N) watched, rapt.
She worried she would never see another dragon, but there she was in the presence of one of the oldest dragons in Westeros.
“(Y/N),” a faraway voice called.
The princess frowned. That was her father. She had to go back.
Silverwing blew more hot air towards the princess.
It did not seem hostile but (Y/N) did not want to overstay her welcome.
“Lyks [Peace],” the princess called.
Then she turned around and walked back to her family’s campsite.
-
Alicent gripped the chair’s hand rest, her knuckles white. Her head dipped back in ecstasy.
With her other hand she gripped the back of Ser Criston’s head tighter as she reached the peak of her pleasure.
A wave of warmth washed over her and her legs went limp.
She slowly let go of Ser Criston as she steadied her breathing.
When the warmth started to leave her body the image of the Dornish Princess flooded in her mind’s eye.
Alicent squeezed her eyes shut.
It was wrong.
Ser Criston pulled away from between the Queen dowager’s thighs and stood. He crossed the room and wiped her wetness from his face. Then he poured himself a goblet of wine and took a long drink.
The silence between them was thick with words unsaid.
They both knew it was wrong.
Each for different reasons.
Ser Criston knew it went against his oath as a knight of the Kingsguard, as a white cloak.
Alicent knew it was a betrayal of her truest love, Princess (Y/N).
She never meant for it to happen more than once. She was so lonely after (Y/N) had left, and news of Aemond’s kinslaying had just reached her. She knew war was inevitable and it all seemed too much.
And there he was, her white knight…Ser Criston.
In a moment of weakness, Alicent allowed Ser Criston to hold her.
He comforted Alicent. He held her while she sobbed.
She sobbed for Lucerys. She sobbed for Aemond’s soul. She sobbed for (Y/N).
Alicent had cried so much that night it was a miracle her tears had not flooded the Red Keep.
Seeing the Queen dowager in such distress moved Ser Criston to action. He professed his true feelings to the Queen dowager, and his desire to console her in a different way.
Then he kissed her.
Alicent was taken aback at first. She wanted to pull away but Ser Criston was warm….he was warm and gentle. His devotion and loyalty shone through his lips.
The Queen dowager desired warmth, comfort, and softness.
So she gave in to Ser Criston. She kissed him back.
It would be just a kiss, Alicent had promised herself.
But the day after Aemond killed Lucerys Velaryon proved to be just as harrowing as the night he had flown back to the Keep.
Alicent needed more comfort, more warmth.
And Ser Criston gave it to her so easily.
Soon the comfort became more than a kiss.
Alicent swore to herself it would only happen once.
But there Alicent sat, spent and guilty. She watched as Ser Criston donned his armor piece by piece.
Alicent stood and pulled her stockings up her knees, and slipped her feet back into her slippers. She looked over her shoulder at Ser Criston.
He was still putting his armor back on.
“There’s a chill in the air,” Alicent said, hoping to make the room feel less suffocating.
Ser Criston looked up at the Queen dowager. He did not reply.
“Summer is well and truly through,” Alicent continued.
“We are expected at the small council, your Grace,” Criston said, not meeting the Queen dowager’s gaze.
Alicent sighed aloud and approached the kingsguard.
Ser Criston finished roping his wrist armor in place. He looked up as the Queen dowager approached.
He steeled his face. He knew what she would say. She said it every time they finished.
Alicent met Criston’s gaze.
“We cannot. Again,” Alicent whispered.
Ser Criston nodded. “Yes, your Grace.”
He knew it was meaningless.
In a moment of loneliness the Queen dowager would call upon him and he would give in to her.
Though he sometimes wondered if the Queen dowager thought of him in her peaks of pleasure, or if she thought of the Dornish Princess.
Ser Criston grabbed his white cloak from the table and raised it up to the Queen dowager.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he asked.
Alicent took the cloak and quietly tacked it onto Ser Criston’s back.
Then the pair made their way to the small council hall.
-
After a few hours of rest the caravan began anew.
Princess (Y/N) closed her eyes and thought of Silverwing. She was elegant and graceful, her silver scales shimmered brilliantly in the fading rays of the sun.
She had met quite a few dragons. She was most familiar with Vhagar but Helaena had once taken her to the dragon pit to see Dreamfyre and she had witnessed Aegon ride on Sunfyre one early morning at the Keep.
Nonetheless, Silverwing’s beauty was singular.
Princess (Y/N) wondered if her dream of riding a dragon would ever come true.
Then, as her thoughts often did since leaving King’s Landing, (Y/N)’s mind wandered to thoughts of her Alicent.
She smiled to herself as the wheelhouse continued its journey through the boneway.
-
Exhausted after verbally sparring with her sons and father at the small council, the last person Alicent wanted to see was Lord Larys Strong.
Unfortunately for the Queen dowager, she found him outside her chambers- waiting for her.
Alicent donned her mask of propriety and addressed him.
He bowed his head as the Queen dowager approached. “Good morrow your Grace,” he said.
“Good morrow Lord Larys,” Alicent replied and stopped just in front of him.
“I’d come earlier to have a word before the small council convened but your handmaiden said that you were indisposed,” Larys said with a small, knowing, smirk.
Alicent looked away from him and swallowed hard. Larys Strong stopped asking lewd favors of her but he still unsettled Alicent. She did not wish to linger in the shadows with him.
“What is it you wish to discuss?”
Larys did not seem surprised by the Queen dowager’s reaction. He continued unbothered.
“I have completed questioning all of the castle staff. They produced rather interesting details but I am satisfied I have exposed all who have betrayed us.”
Alicent grew tired of speaking with Lord Larys. “And what of them?”
Larys lowered his voice.
“They no longer breathe our air. I have chosen your new staff personally.”
Dred pooled in Alicent’s stomach. She nodded slowly and turned away from Larys.
“Thank you Lord Larys, I must see to others matters.”
Larys hobbled forwards. “There is one other matter I wish to inform you of, your Grace.”
Alicent turned back towards Lord Larys. She sighed aloud.
“Go on,” she commanded.
“I was just informed that the Dornish Princess’ caravan safely made it through the boneway,” Larys said, carefully studying the Queen’s reaction.
Alicent’s eyes flickered to meet Larys’.
He continued. “I thought your Grace would be glad to hear of it, given your close friendship with the Princess.”
The Queen dowager’s throat dried at the mention of the princess. So she cleared her throat and looked down at the ground. She turned away from Larys once again.
“Thank you for the update Lord Larys.”
Then she walked into her chambers and closed the heavy door behind her.
Once alone she closed her eyes and sighed.
(Y/N) was safe, Alicent was relieved to hear that, but guilt flooded her anew.
She ordered a handmaid to draw her a bath. She suddenly felt covered in filth.
-
Princess (Y/N)’s patience with her sister was growing thin. Days on the road did not help the tensions between them.
Thankfully the Martells arrived at Yronwood castle before the sisters resumed their bickering.
Lord Anders Yronwood welcomed the royal family at the door. At his side was his youngest son, Ser Loren Yronwood.
Princess (Y/N) greeted Lord Yronwood then wrapped her arms around Loren.
Loren spent much of his childhood in the halls of Sunspear. His father had sent him to ward with the Martells.
Princess (Y/N) and Loren grew up together, and were each other's confidant for many years.
Until Loren proposed to (Y/N).
Their friendship suffered for a few years after that. Loren could not understand why (Y/N) would not marry him. He was her closest friend. He supported her desires for reading, swordplay, and adventure. Her rejection cut him deeply.
Princess (Y/N) was angry that Loren even dared to propose. Had he not listened to a word she had told him? Was he not her true friend? Did he only care for her because he felt an attraction towards her?
Time healed both wounds.
Loren extended an olive branch and (Y/N) accepted it graciously.
“Loren,” (Y/N) breathed as she wrapped her arms around the tall, burly, knight.
Loren embraced (Y/N) in kind. Then he pulled away and mused her hair. “You have not changed a bit, princess.”
Lord Yronwood beckoned the family inside, and informed them supper would be ready within the hour.
Servants led each of the family members to their chambers to freshen up.
Princess (Y/N) fell back onto the bed and sighed. A proper bed felt nice after days of sharing a makeshift cot with Coryanne.
While resting an idea formed in (Y/N)’s mind.
She had to find the castle’s library.
The Princess had visited the castle once or twice in her girlhood but she always had Loren to guide her.
Princess (Y/N) stood from her bed and walked out of her chambers. She roamed the halls, and asked servants for directions, until she reached the keep’s library.
Once she found it she scoured the shelves for maps. She needed every map of Westeros she could find.
She needed to know what the fastest way back to King’s Landing would be from Sunspear.
The Princess thought about leaving her family to return to Alicent but she had no way of traveling on her own.
So she continued to pour over the maps in the library.
A knock at the door pulled the Princess from her thoughts.
She looked up to see her sister enter.
Princess (Y/N) groaned. “What are you doing here,” she asked.
Princess Coryanne sat in front of (Y/N), a satisfied smirk on her face.
“I knew you would be in the castle library.”
Princess (Y/N) returned her gaze to the maps on the desk in front of her.
“I wish to be alone.”
“I don’t care what you wish,” Coryanne replied.
Princess Coryanne leaned towards the desk and peered at the maps.
“What are you looking at maps for?”
Princess (Y/N) pulled the maps towards her. “That is none of your concern.”
“Father will never let you return (Y/N), and you cannot be so foolish to think about returning alone,” Coryanne chided.
(Y/N) shrugged.
Princess Coryanne let out an exasperated sigh. “I will never understand why you are so intent on your own demise.”
Then she left Princess (Y/N) alone in the library.
The tension in (Y/N)’s shoulders left as soon as the doors shut behind her sister. She put the maps to the side and realized that the right moment would never come for her to leave. She had to do it before she got any further away.
But she would need coin.
So she went to Loren’s chambers.
He was sat in front of the hearth and smiled when (Y/N) entered.
“Princess (Y/N), I was just going to fetch you. A handmaid informed me supper is ready.”
He crossed the room to meet the princess by the door.
Princess (Y/N) returned the knight’s smile.
“Wonderful, but uhm…I came to ask a favor of you.”
Loren furrowed his brow. “A favor?”
“Mhm,” the princess nodded slowly.
Princess (Y/N) knew that her favor would be a large imposition. She had never requested coin from anyone before, not even her own father. Money was not something she ever had to think about.
“What is it you need of me Princess,” Loren asked.
(Y/N) took a deep breath. She let it out slowly and looked away from Loren.
“It is a bit embarrassing for me to ask but I am in great need of it and you are one of the few people I can trust wholeheartedly,” the princess explained.
Loren stepped closer towards Princess (Y/N). “Anything, just ask it.”
Princess (Y/N) met Loren’s gaze. “I need you to procure some coin for me. Ideally enough for passage and lodging for a couple of weeks across a large distance.”
Loren’s brow furrowed once more. “Passage and lodging where? If it’s coin you need, can't you ask your father?”
The princess reached out and grabbed hold of Loren’s hands. “No, my father cannot know.”
Then she gave the knight’s hands a squeeze. “I cannot tell you very much of my plans. I’m sorry for that friend but I need your help. When I am able I will pay the debt twofold. I promise.”
Loren looked into the Princess’ gaze, hoping to find more answers. All he found was fear, and worry.
So he softened.
“As you have said, we are friends. I will get you what you need and you do not have to worry about the debt.”
Princess (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Loren’s shoulders. She buried her face in his shoulder.
“Thank you Loren.”
Loren wrapped his arms around the princess and sighed. Though years had passed and he knew all that could be between them was friendship his true feelings of love tugged at him.
He would do anything for (Y/N).
“Think nothing of it. Now, let us join the rest of your family and mine for supper.”
The princess pulled away from the knight and together they made their way to the great hall for supper.
-
The handmaidens gently poured sweet smelling oils and pitchers of hot water into the tub.
Alicent pulled her knees towards her chest.
Her mind filled with thoughts of (Y/N).
And of her betrayal.
One of the handmaids dipped a sponge into the warm water and started to scrub at the Queen dowager’s hand.
Alicent watched but her mind was elsewhere.
She recalled the morning of (Y/N)’s leave.
The Princess wrapped her arms around the Queen.
“I am yours,” she whispered into the Queen’s shoulder.
Tears started to prick at the corners of Alicent’s eyes.
So she tore her hand away from the handmaiden and took the sponge with her.
“Give me that,” Alicent snapped.
The handmaiden startled.
“Your grace?”
The Queen dowager looked down at the water and blinked her tears away. Then she began to clean herself. “Just leave me.”
The young women in front of her did not move. They looked towards one another.
The Queen dowager continued to scrub at her arm.
“Just leave me,” she commanded once more.
This time she looked up at each one of them.
“Just leave,” she repeated.
The handmaidens stood and left the Queen dowager alone at once.
Alicent scrubbed her arm then her shoulder.
Her eyes jerked to the chair in the corner of the room. The same chair where just hours earlier she had reached the peak of her climax thanks to Ser Criston.
Alicent started to scrub harder.
Then her eyes darted to her bed. The very bed where she had slept with (Y/N), where she gave herself over to her truest love, where she felt alive and truly loved.
And the same bed where she had slept with Ser Criston just a day after the Princess departed the Keep.
The tears she had blinked away returned.
They streamed down the sides of Alicent’s face and cooled the bath water as they fell.
Alicent’s skin turned red as she continued to scrub harder and harder.
She was too filthy to get clean.
So she stopped.
She dropped the sponge into the tub and covered her face with her hands.
Everything was ruined and she could not fix it. She could not stop the war that was to come. She could not get Aegon to heed her wisdom.
And she had sullied her love with betrayal.
Alicent wiped the tears from her face and dipped her head back onto the edge of the tub. She closed her eyes and steadied her breath.
Her only comfort was that the Dornish princess would never know of the betrayal. She would be safe with her family in Sunspear.
Far away from war and from Alicent’s filth.
-
The air was filled with scents of anise and allspice. Laughter and cheers rang out across the great table.
Princess (Y/N) sat between her elder sister and her childhood friend Loren.
It felt like home to (Y/N).
Unlike supper at the Red Keep.
But even amongst the laughter, music, and revelry of Yronwood castle (Y/N)’s heart tugged with longing for intimate dinners with Alicent and breaking fast with Aemond in the library of the Red Keep.
That had started to feel like home too.
Princess (Y/N)’s smile faded from her lips. She looked down at her plate of food and pushed around the roast lamb with her fork.
Princess Coryanne noticed (Y/N)’s change in demeanor. What spell had the Queen cast upon her sister?
Lord Yronwood held a hand up to silence the table.
When everyone stilled he stood and raised a goblet. He toasted to Prince Qoren Martell, to the health of his heir Princess Aliandra Martell, and to the good fortune of Dorne.
Everyone at the table raised their cups and cheered.
Then the conversation at the table turned towards the latest news out of King’s Landing.
One of the bannermen for the Yronwoods discussed the death of Lucery’s Velaryon with Qoren.
Princess (Y/N)’s ears perked up at the familiar name. “Lucerys Velaryon has died?”
The men turned towards the young princess.
Prince Qoren cleared his throat and his gaze met (Y/N)’s.
“Yes, I was informed when we arrived that Prince Lucerys, and his dragon, were killed above Storm’s End.”
Princess (Y/N) furrowed her brows. “Storm’s End?”
She recalled Aemond was on his way there to secure Lord Baratheon’s support for Aegon.
“Is Prince Aemond alright?” (Y/N) asked.
Silence enveloped the room. Even the musicians stopped.
Prince Qoren looked over at Coryanne then back at (Y/N).
“(Y/N), it was Prince Aemond who slayed Prince Lucerys.”
Princess (Y/N)’s stomach twisted. “No that’s….that’s not possible. Aemond- Prince Aemond would never do such a thing,” she insisted and shook her head.
Princess Coryanne reached out and covered her sister’s hand with her own. “(Y/N).”
(Y/N) pulled her hand away from her sister. “No, he couldn’t have done that.”
Then she met her father’s gaze.
Her eyes begged him to tell her it was a lie. To tell her it was a cruel joke Coryanne asked of him. Anything.
Prince Qoren sighed. “Coryanne, I think your sister needs to retire for the night.”
Princess Coryanne nodded. “Yes father.”
Then she stood and turned to her sister.
Princess (Y/N) would not look away from her father.
Her father would not meet her gaze.
Princess Coryanne tugged at her sister’s arm.
(Y/N) swallowed hard, looked down, then stood from her seat and followed her sister out of the great hall.
The music and laughter resumed as the sisters made their leave.
-
Alicent gathered her skirts and held them as she continued down the stairs.
She crossed the foyer and noticed Aemond readying a horse.
“Aemond, where are you going,” Alicent asked as she approached.
The prince did not respond.
Alicent closed the distance between them. She asked Aemond once again.
“To be anywhere but here,” Aemond muttered.
Alicent softened. “Aemond, I know it has been arduous but-”
“Arduous?” Aemond scoffed. He turned to face his mother. “You know nothing of how difficult these last few days have been for me.”
Alicent reached out to cup Aemond’s face but he turned away from her. Alicent frowned.
“Aemond please, you can’t go out and make rash decisions. Not right now.”
The silver haired prince shook his head. “Something rash.” Aemond met his mother’s gaze once again. “Such as flying to Dorne and bringing Princess (Y/N) back?” he asked defiantly.
Alicent straightened at the mention of the Dornish princess.
“You know you cannot bring her back. She is no longer your betrothed.”
Aemond clenched his jaw. “Because grandsire made Aegon give her family leave. You should have insisted they stay and declare for Aegon.”
“We could not keep them prisoner, Aemond,” Alicent replied, exasperated. “Would you have us fight two wars?”
Aemond stepped away from his mother and ran a hand through his hair. “She would have convinced them to join us.” Then he turned back towards the Queen dowager. “She should be here, with us,” he declared.
Alicent laced her fingers in front of her. She took a breath then met Aemond’s gaze.
“And what would she have thought when you returned with news of killing Lucerys Velaryon?”
Aemond stilled, he looked away from Alicent.
Alicent continued.“She cannot come back, above all for her own safety.”
A guard walked over to the Queen dowager and informed her the wheelhouse was ready to take her to the great Sept.
Alicent thanked the guard then turned back toward her son.
“It’s what’s best,” she told him.
Aemond did not meet her gaze. He pursed his lips. “Best for whom, I wonder,” he spat then marched back inside the Keep.
Alicent let out a great sigh then turned to walk to the wheelhouse. She would light a candle and pray for Aemond.
-
Princess (Y/N) sat at the table in her chambers with a quill, ink, and parchment. She decided she would write to Alicent.
If what the bannerman said at supper was true then Alicent and Aemond needed her support more than ever.
There had to be an explanation for Aemond’s actions. Sure, he could be brash and impulsive, and he hated his cousin, but Aemond was no kinslayer.
There had to be more that had been left out of the gossip.
A knock at the door tore the Princess out of her thoughts.
“Enter,” she called out.
Loren walked into the room. “I hope you are doing alright (Y/N).”
Princess (Y/N) stood and walked towards Loren.
“The news was a lot to take in,” she confessed.
Loren nodded then reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a small pouch.
“Here, full of golden dragons. More than enough for passage and lodging wherever you wish to go.”
He handed it to (Y/N).
Princess (Y/N) took it. It was quite heavy and upon opening it (Y/N) confirmed it would be more than enough for her needs.
“Thank you Loren.”
Loren shook his head. “No thanks necessary.”
Princess (Y/N) smiled at him then tucked the pouch into a safe place.
Loren cleared his throat and the princess turned back towards him.
“Will you tell me where you plan to go,” he asked.
Princess (Y/N) sighed. “I suppose I owe you as much.”
Loren shook his head once more. “You owe me nothing, but I do worry for your safety.”
Princess (Y/N) crossed her arms against her chest and told Loren the truth of her plans.
“Upon my family’s return to Sunspear I will pack a few items then seek passage back to King’s Landing.”
Loren furrowed his brows. “King’s Landing?”
Princess (Y/N) nodded.
“For Prince Aemond?” Loren asked incredulously.
“Not exactly,” (Y/N) replied. Her hands dropped back down to her sides. “I am needed there.”
Loren stroked his beard pensively. “And you’re sure of this?”
“I’m certain,” the princess replied.
Loren dropped his hand from his face and sighed. “Then I wish you luck on your travels.”
Princess (Y/N) wrapped her arms around the knight’s shoulders. “Thank you, my dear friend.”
The princess swore the knight to secrecy before his departure from her chambers.
He promised he would not tell another soul of her plans.
When Loren left, (Y/N) resumed writing her letter to Alicent.
She knew her letter would be a decent balm on Alicent’s heart until she arrived.
-
Upon her return from the sept, Alicent found Ser Criston seated near the fireplace in her chambers with his armor set aside and only in his undershirt.
“Ser Criston,” Alicent said, startled.
Ser Criston stood from his seat. “Your Grace.”
“What are you doing here,” Alicent asked, though she knew exactly why.
Ser Criston looked down at his hands. “I thought you might require my company.”
Alicent swallowed hard then looked away from Ser Criston.
“Your protection is the only thing I will require from you moving forward, Ser.”
Then she crossed the room towards the table with the pitcher of wine. She poured herself a fresh cup, her back to Ser Criston.
“Your Grace I thought-,” Ser Criston began, confused at the change in the Queen dowager’s demeanour.
Alicent whirled on her heels. “You thought wrong.”
Ser Criston stood, mouth agape. “Oh.”
A tense silence filled the room.
Alicent took a long drink from her goblet then met Ser Criston’s gaze.
“Is that all Ser Criston?”
Ser Criston furrowed his brow.
“Have I done something wrong, your Grace?”
Alicent sighed. “No.”
Ser Criston walked towards the Queen dowager and closed the distance between them.
“Have I not pleased your Grace?”
His chest heaved just a breath away from the Queen dowager’s.
Alicent looked away from Ser Criston, blush tinting her cheeks.
“It’s not that.”
Ser Criston searched the Queen dowager’s face for any answer.
He found none.
His heart sank.
If it was not him, not a slight he had accidentally made against her Grace, then it could only be one thing.
Or rather, one person, that plagued the Queen dowager’s mind.
“Is it Princess (Y/N)?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Alicent’s eyes darted back towards Ser Criston.
Ser Criston noticed the alarm in the Queen dowager’s eyes. He softened.
“I know you held a certain…affection for her.”
The blush deepend in Alicent’s cheeks. She looked away from Ser Criston once more, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
There was his answer.
Ser Criston clenched his jaw. He thought the Queen dowager’s torrid dalliance was behind her.
Jealousy bubbled inside him.
Then he sighed aloud, defeated.
“If it would help, you could think of her when I am…,” Ser Criston said then cleared his throat.
Alicent’s gaze returned to Ser Criston.
He lowered his gaze to their bodies and gestured towards the Queen dowager’s skirts.
Blush turned to red hot embarrassment on Alicent’s face.
She brought her cup up to her lips and downed the rest of the wine.
Ser Criston’s gaze returned to the Queen dowager.
Alicent could not look at him.
She suddenly felt even worse about her affair with him and her betrayal of the Dornish princess.
Thankfully the conversation would end there.
Helaena rushed into the Queen dowager’s chambers with her daughter, Jaehaera, in her arms.
Ser Criston immediately stepped away from the Queen dowager.
Alicent noticed the distress in her daughter’s face. “Helaena?”
Helaena did not answer. She walked behind the partition in Alicent’s apartment and sank to the ground against the room’s wall.
Alicent followed her daughter.
“What’s happened?”
Helaena started to rock back and forth, her daughter still in her arms.
“They killed the boy.”
The Queen dowager and Ser Criston shared a horrified look before they heard the screams outside in the halls.
-
Princess (Y/N) was startled awake in the early hours of dawn.
Her sister’s hair tickled her nose as she woke.
“(Y/N),” she heard her sister call.
(Y/N)’s eyes fluttered open.
“Cory?”
Princess Coryanne’s face was wracked with worry.
“A raven has just come from King’s Landing.”
(Y/N) sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “King’s landing?”
“I thought you would want to know. It came for father but I have a guard inform me any time he receives news,” Coryanne explained.
“What is the news?” (Y/N) probed.
Princess Coryanne took a deep, slow, breath before she continued. “They have killed the new Queen’s son.”
“Helaena’s son?” (Y/N) asked incredulously.
The elder sister nodded.
Princess (Y/N) furrowed her brow. “But he’s just a boy. Who would do such a thing?”
“That is not known but I assume it was Princess Rhaenyra, or someone who is loyal to her, in revenge for her own son’s murder.”
(Y/N)’s vision blurred as tears formed in her eyes. How could anyone order the murder of such a young, innocent, boy?
Surely Princess Rhaenyra would not be capable of such depravity.
Princess Coryanne placed a comforting hand atop (Y/N)’s.
“I needed to tell you (Y/N). If the Targaryens will not hesitate to kill an innocent boy of their own blood they will not hesitate to put you in harm’s way,” Coryanne warned.
(Y/N) frowned. “How could you even think that?”
Princess Coryane pulled her hand away from her sister and smoothed the skirts of her dress. “I know you think me uncaring (Y/N) but you are my sister, you are my family. I do not want to see you killed, or worse, for a woman that does not truly love you.”
Anger shot up inside of the younger sister. Of course Coryanne took the death of a poor boy to manipulate her against Alicent.
“What could a woman as cold and conniving as you know of true love,” (Y/N) spat thoughtlessly.
No sooner than the words had come out of her mouth did (Y/N) regret them.
Princess Coryanne raised her hand and slapped her sister’s cheek.
Princess (Y/N)’s head jerked to the side. She held her cheek.
“You could never understand what my Edric and I shared before his untimely passing. A love lived so fully and in the light, one you will never know,” Coryanne declared, her nostrils flaring with each word.
(Y/N) looked down at the furs of the bed. Coryanne had pushed her and she pushed her sister in turn but (Y/N) had crossed a line. She knew that.
“I’m sorry Cory. My words were thoughtless.”
Princess (Y/N) took her sister’s silence as acceptance of her apology. She brought her gaze back up to her sister’s and looked at her pleadingly.
“But what Alicent and I share is just as special as what you and Lord Edric had. I must get back to her.”
Tears streamed down the sides of Princess Coryanne’s face. The memory of her deceased betrothed too much for her to bear.
“She does not wish for you to return,” Coryanne replied as she wiped the tears with a handkerchief.
(Y/N)’s brow furrowed. “How would you know?”
Princess Coryanne blew her nose with the handkerchief then met her sister’s gaze. “As we made our leave that morning in King’s Landing she whispered to me to ensure you never returned.”
(Y/N) shook her head. “You misunderstood her.”
“(Y/N) when will you understand your love for her will be your undoing,” Coryanne asked with a large sigh.
Princess (Y/N) shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps she will be my undoing, but I would rather die beside her than live without her.”
“Foolish girl,” Coryanne chided, then stood from the bed.
Princess Coryanne made her way towards the door, opened it, then turned back to her sister.
She opened her mouth as if to speak then closed it. She shook her head then took her leave.
Princess (Y/N) had come to a decision during her conversation with her sister. She could not wait until they reached Sunspear to return to Alicent.
With the news of Prince Jaehaerys’ passing (Y/N)’s return was needed more than ever.
So the princess stood from her bed and got dressed. Then she made her way towards her trunks and filled a sheepskin bag with clean undergarments, and the bag of coin Loren had procured for her.
Finally, Princess (Y/N) donned her cloak and made her way towards the door. There she turned back to see if she had forgotten anything.
An open trunk with all of her books brought a sad smile to (Y/N)’s lips. In another time she would have brought one or two for the journey ahead of her but such girlhood folly was behind her.
No book could prepare her for what laid ahead.
-
Princess (Y/N) knelt in front of the statue of the Mother in the small sept inside Yronwood castle.
The Yronwoods were the most devout of the Dornish families.
(Y/N) lit a candle for Prince Jaehaerys, Queen Helaena, and for Alicent. They would all need the Mother’s strength.
In the sanctity of the sept she felt closer to Alicent.
Princess (Y/N) closed her eyes and prayed for them.
“When the handmaid stirred me from my sleep at such an hour I thought it would be to inform me of grave news, not to be summoned by you,” Loren chided as he entered the sept.
Princess (Y/N) stood from the altar and crossed the room towards Loren.
“I’m sorry for waking you at this hour Loren but I am in need of another favor from you.”
Loren nodded slowly. “What is it?”
“I need a horse. Any horse your family can spare.”
(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek. She had asked so much of Loren in such a short time.
Loren’s brow rose in surprise.
“A horse? What for?”
(Y/N) steadied her breath. “I have to leave for King’s Landing this very morning.”
Loren let out a nervous laugh. “(Y/N) that is madness.”
“I have no choice. They need me in King’s Landing.” Princess (Y/N) closed the distance between her and Loren. She placed a hand on his chest to stress the importance of her quest.
Loren sighed and shook his head.
“You cannot travel by horse on your own.”
(Y/N)’s hand dropped from Loren’s chest. She turned away from him, frustrated. “I am not a child, Loren. I know to be cautious.”
Loren crossed his arms against his chest.
“You are a woman, a high born one at that. You will not make it through the boneway alone.”
(Y/N)’s nerves frayed with every moment that passed. She turned back to face Loren. “I have to leave now, Loren,” she pleaded.
Loren put a hand up to quiet the Princess. “I won’t stop you princess but I cannot let you leave alone,” he explained.
Princess (Y/N) shook her head. “No, I could not ask that of you.”
“Then it is good you are not asking,” he replied with a small smile.
Princess (Y/N) tilted her head and met the knight’s gaze. “Why would you risk your life for me?”
“The same reason you are risking your life for Prince Aemond.”
Not Aemond, (Y/N) thought to herself.
Princess (Y/N) nodded slowly. “Alright, let us depart at once.”
“Wonderful,” Loren said and clapped his hands together. He let out a small hum then said, “I’ll have my men ready two horses. Meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes. We’ll need to leave quickly. Thankfully, most of the household has yet to wake.”
Princess (Y/N) agreed to meet the knight at the stables. Then he left to gather his things and ready the horses for their leave.
Now alone, (Y/N) debated her next move. A part of her wanted to say goodbye to her sister and father. She did not want them to worry.
But could she defy her father if he forbade her from leaving?
Then she sighed. She knew she owed her father an explanation.
So the princess made her way to the guest chambers where her father slept. A guard outside his door bowed his head to her as she arrived.
“Good morrow Princess. Shall I announce your arrival to your father?”
(Y/N) gnawed on the inside of her cheek.
Was this the right decision?
“Princess?” The guard asked.
Princess (Y/N) shook her head. “It’s alright. I shall speak with him when we break fast.”
The guard nodded. “Very well princess.”
(Y/N) turned around and made her way towards the castle stables.
She had a hard journey ahead of her, she could not let her streak of cowardice continue.
-
Alicent hung her head in shame, her curls loose about her face. Tears continued to stream down her face.
Her father sat behind her, facing the hearth. He spoke calmly.
“The gates have been shut. The search progresses. The villain will be found, we mustn't be shaken by this.”
Alicent shook her head. How could he be so resolute after such an act of depravity?
Otto Hightower continued. “This act, the child-”
“The child is dead,” Alicent snapped. She raised her head but did not look at her father. “His pain has ended but what they’ve done to my- to my girl,” Alicent stuttered.
Her chest started to heave uncontrollably. She could not control her breathing. The tears continued to blur her vision.
Otto rose from his seat. “Yes and,” he began and crossed the room towards his daughter. “- they will pay for this,” he declared and placed a comforting hand on his daughter’s back.
Alicent shrugged off her father’s hand. She turned towards the window of her chambers.
“Who will pay?
Her father sighed.
“Whoever’s hand did this or caused it to be done,” he replied, slightly irritated.
Alicent turned to face her father. Her breathing had steadied but the tears had not stopped. Alicent wrapped her arms around her waist.
“And what if the hand who's done it is not the one who must be blamed?” She asked him, her gaze fixed on the ground.
Her father did not respond, he let out another sigh.
Alicent shook her head then sank into the seat in front of her. She covered her face with her hands. “The gods punish us. They punish me,” she cried.
Otto approached his daughter.
“For what sin?”
Alicent looked up at her father, her lip quivering.
Otto Hightowered lowered his head and whispered to his daughter, “We mourn as we must but some good may yet come of this.”
Alicent furrowed her brows. What could her father possibly mean? It was clear to her that the Gods were punishing her for her wickedness.
-
Princess (Y/N) walked out to the castle stables. She rounded the corner to enter them and stopped short when she realized her sister stood before her.
“Cory.”
Princess Coryanne stood at the entrance of the stables, her arms folded against her chest.
“I knew you were going to do something foolish.”
(Y/N) scoffed and attempted to push past her sister.
Princess Coryanne placed a hand against her sister’s chest and pushed her back.
Princess (Y/N) struggled against Coryanne’s grip.
“I need to go. Alicent needs me.”
Princess Coryanne brought her face close to her sister’s.
“Your family needs you,” she declared. “Do we not matter anymore?”
Princess (Y/N) stopped her struggle. She took a few steps back and Coryanne dropped her hand from her sister’s chest.
“Father has you,” (Y/N) replied. “Besides, Aliandra is his heir. I am not needed here.”
Princess Coryanne shook her head.“Father will disown you. What will you do then?”
(Y/N) began to respond but her sister raised a hand to quiet her.
Princess Coryanne continued.
“Or worse, he won’t forsake you and you will drag Dorne into a needless war. Thousands of good Dornish men will perish as their ancestors did to dragons, and for what? So the Queen dowager can fuck you like a common whore?”
Anger once again rose inside of (Y/N). She shoved her sister.
“Do not speak of her like that.”
Princess Coryanne steadied herself then stepped in front of (Y/N) once more.
“You fight so fiercely for her but I doubt she would do the same for you.”
Princess (Y/N) sighed. She was tired of Coryanne’s games.
“I don’t care.”
Coryanne stared at her sister, utterly dumbfounded. “You don’t care?”
(Y/N) shook her head. “If I am a fool then I am a fool. If Alicent is my demise then I gladly go towards her.”
Princess Coryanne approached her sister and cupped (Y/N)’s face with her hands.
“I cannot lose you too sister.”
(Y/N) softened. “I’m sorry, but I have to go to her.”
Princess Coryanne sighed. “Will you truly not be swayed against such folly?”
(Y/N) shook her head once more.
“Alright then,” Coryanne replied, defeated. She dropped her hands from her sister’s face and reached into the pocket of her dress.
Princess Coryanne brought forth a coin purse. She handed it to (Y/N).
Her sister took it hesitantly. “What is this?”
Princess Coryanne wrapped her sister’s hands around the coin purse.
“Keep it well hidden. I know you asked Loren for coin but you will need to keep more close to you.”
(Y/N) nodded. “Thank you Cory.”
Then the younger sister tucked the coin purse into her sheepskin bag.
Princess Coryanne’s eyes swept over her sister, one last time. Then she brought her sister against her. She wrapped her arms around (Y/N)’s shoulders.
“Please be safe (Y/N). Care for her but do not forget to care for yourself,” she whispered.
(Y/N) wrapped her arms around her sister. “I will,” she promised.
Coryanne slowly pulled away from (Y/N). She held her sister at arm’s length.
“Tell father I am sorry, tell him not to worry,” (Y/N) requested.
Princess Coryanne nodded and gave her sister a small smile.
“Write as soon as you are able.”
(Y/N) returned Coryanne’s smile. “I will.”
Princess (Y/N) turned to walk into the stables but her sister pulled her back into another embrace.
(Y/N) let out a small laugh but she wrapped her arms around her sister once again. She gave her sister a tight squeeze.
“I love you Cory,” (Y/N) whispered into her sister’s shoulder.
Princess Coryanne pulled away from her sister once more and placed a kiss on (Y/N)’s forehead.
“I love you too baby sister,” Coryanne replied with tears in her eyes.
(Y/N) pulled away from her sister before she saw the tears fall. She knew she would not have the strength to leave if they did.
She did not look back as she walked into the stables.
-
Helaena clutched a green blanket with golden embroidery.
Alicent entered the room quietly. She knew she had to be gentle with Helaena.
“There is to be a funeral for Jahaerys,” she said evenly.
Helaena did not turn to look at her mother. She let the blanket drop to her side.
Alicent stepped forwards. “We’ve been asked to ride in a wagon behind his body.”
At this Helaena turned to face her mother.
“I don’t want to,” she protested.
Alicent continued forward. “Neither do I,” she confessed.
Helaena shook her head.
Alicent sighed. “But when a thing like this happens, a blow to the king is a blow to the realm. When the people share our grief they draw closer to us,” she explained.
Helaena crossed the room away from her mother.
“I don’t want them closer. I don’t know them.”
Alicent stepped towards her daughter. “Sometimes we have to pretend.”
Helaena turned and met her mother’s gaze.
“Why?”
Alicent folded her hands in front of her. “We are representatives of the throne, we have a duty.”
Helaena frowned.
Alicent once again began to close the distance between them. “Helaena, what you saw last night when you came to my room-”
Helaena resumed shaking her head. She shoved the blanket into her mother’s hands then turned away from her once more.
“For my boy,” she said.
Then Helaena reached for the wooden dragon figure on the table. She caressed the rough edges and smiled fondly at it.
Alicent took a deep breath then began anew. “What you saw Helaena-”
Helaena once again cut her mother off. “The princess is on her way home,” she declared.
Alicent furrowed her brow. “Yes dear, Princess (Y/N)’s family is safely on their way home.”
“No,” Helaena insisted. “(Y/N) is on her way home. She will be here soon.”
The Queen dowager’s stomach sank. The princess was the last person she wished to see. If she could not protect her daughter or her grandson she would not be able to protect her lover.
Not from those that sought her family’s destruction and not from Alicent herself.
-
Hours on horseback left a deep soreness in Princess (Y/N)’s thighs. She ached for respite.
Thankfully Loren informed her they were near the Wyl. They would make camp and let the horses rest and drink.
Princess (Y/N) recalled her family making camp in a similar area. She briefly wondered if the dragon would still be in the clearing.
She helped Loren set up a small tent and watched as he made a fire. The sun was high in the sky but as they traveled North the sun’s warmth did not reach them the way it did in Dorne.
“How long will we stay here,” (Y/N) asked.
She did not want to dally for too long.
Loren stood and dusted himself off. “Not very long. The horses will need about an hour or two of rest then we may resume our journey.”
Princess (Y/N) nodded. “Good.”
Loren sat against the wide base of a tree. “You should get some sleep. You were up even earlier than I was.”
“I’m alright, you can rest if you’d like.”
Loren nodded. “Alright then, just don’t wander off and alert me if you hear anything.”
“Okay,” (Y/N) promised.
Then the knight closed his eyes and soon his breath slowed in a deep sleep.
Princess (Y/N) curiosity grew, she had to know if the dragon was still in the clearing. She knew it was unlikely…but the thought gnawed at her.
So she stood and walked into the woods. She did not recall the path she had taken exactly but figured she could find her way.
Sure enough, she soon emerged into the clearing where just days ago the ancient dragon Silverwing had nested.
(Y/N) frowned.
Silverwing was not there.
The wind whipped through the trees. Prince (Y/N) drew her cloak tighter around her then she turned and returned the way she had come.
-
The Queen dowager watched as the maid finished pouring the last pitcher of hot water. She bowed her head towards the Queen dowager then took her leave.
Alicent followed the handmaid out to the door. She stared at the back of Ser Criston’s head.
“Have you told anyone?”
Ser Criston looked back at the Queen dowager in disbelief.
“What do you take me for?”
The Queen dowager swallowed hard, her voice quivered when she spoke. “One who seeks absolution.”
Ser Criston’s gaze fell to the floor.
“There is none for what I have done,” he whispered.
Alicent closed the door and walked back to the bathtub. She quickly undressed and lowered herself into the tub.
She submerged her body and head below the water. Alicent was tired. She needed the world to slow down. Too much happened too soon.
Alicent opened her eyes while under water and watched as her breath left her.
The Queen dowager laid there until her lungs began to burn. She resurfaced begging for air.
Alicent filled her lungs then let out soft cries.
-
Princess (Y/N) and her companion Ser Loren Yronwood rode their horses for hours, well into the night.
As it neared the hour of the bat they reached a small village along the King’s road.
Ser Loren suggested they stay in an inn for the night and continue their travel on the morrow.
The princess did not want to stop; she wanted to see her love.
But she knew to listen to Loren. He had seen much more of the world than she.
So they paid for a room at the local inn. They posed as husband and wife to guarantee their safety.
Then Loren led the princess to the tavern nearby for supper.
At the tavern, they heard word of the funeral procession for the young Prince Jahaerys.
Ser Loren looked at princess (Y/N).
Princess (Y/N) schooled her features into one of passive indifference.
Upon their return to the inn Loren informed the princess he would sleep on the ground.
The princess thanked Loren for his chivalry.
The following morning (Y/N) awoke before Ser Loren.
She wrapped her cloak around herself and crossed the room to the window. She opened the window and took in a deep breath of fresh air.
(Y/N) was so close to Alicent but still so far away. They would venture another full day of travel before they reached the gates of King’s Landing.
As she gazed out onto the village she noticed a looming shadow in the clouds above. The shadow formed into a familiar shape.
So she hastily grabbed her slippers and put them on. Then she raced down and out of the inn. She ran to the end of the road and watched as the shadow dipped closer, under the cover of the clouds.
It was a dragon.
Princess (Y/N) smiled.
The dragon dropped closer and (Y/N) realized it was Silverwing. Her heart raced.
Silverwing dipped down into the forest surrounding the village.
An idea formed in her mind.
She returned to the inn to find Loren, his armor hastily put on, at the door.
“(Y/N)! I was so worried,” he exclaimed.
Princess (Y/N) smiled sheepishly. “My apologies Loren, I saw something and had to go outside to get a better view.”
“You could have woken me up to accompany you,” Loren chided with a sigh.
The princess pushed past Loren to enter the room.
“Well you’re awake now, so accompany me.”
Loren furrowed his brow. “Where?”
(Y/N) handed Loren some coins from her sheepskin bag.
“Go buy a pig while I get dressed.”
“A pig? A whole pig?” Loren’s brow remained furrowed.
Princess (Y/N) nodded. “Yes, now go.”
Loren sighed but turned towards the door.
The princess began to undo the knot of her cloak when she recalled she had something else for Loren to do.
“Wait,” she called.
Loren stopped and turned back towards the princess.
“Yes princess?”
The princess walked up to Loren and handed him a small rolled up scroll.
“Please send this raven to my father. It’s just to let him know we’ll be in King’s Landing by the time it reaches him, and that we are alright.”
Loren nodded then walked out of the room.
Princess (Y/N) quickly changed into her dress from the previous day and ran a comb through her hair to tidy it into a braid.
Then she collected her things and made her way outside. There she found Ser Loren, with a pig at the end of a piece of rope.
“One pig,” he said and handed the reins over to (Y/N).
Princess (Y/N) thanked him then led him into the forest nearby.
After a few minutes of walking Loren asked (Y/N) what they were walking to.
“A dragon,” (Y/N) responded nonchalantly.
Ser Loren stopped walking.
“A dragon? Are you mad?”
Princess (Y/N) stopped and turned around to face Loren.
“You can stay here if you would like. I am not afraid.”
Loren frowned. “I’m not afraid either.”
“Sure you aren’t,” (Y/N) replied then turned back towards the forest.
She continued through the trees until she saw the outline she was looking for.
In the distance she could see something large and grey.
Princess (Y/N) smiled and picked up her pace.
She reached the edge of the forest, and just on the other side was the clearing. Her eyes raked over the resting dragon.
Silverwing was as magnificent as she had recalled.
Ser Loren remained farther back. He had never seen a dragon so close, and he did not wish to get closer.
“Princess (Y/N), perhaps we should leave. This is not safe,” he whispered.
The princess sighed. “It’s alright Loren. She won’t hurt us unless we give her reason to. Stay there,” she commanded.
Then she walked into the clearing, the pig in tow.
Silverwing’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of footsteps nearing. She turned her head towards (Y/N), and blew smoke in her face.
Princess (Y/N) closed her eyes and let the heat wash over her.
When it passed she opened them and called out to Silverwing.
She inched forward with the pig then weighed down the rope with a nearby rock so the pig could not flee.
Then she walked backwards.
“Ipradagon (Eat),” Princess (Y/N) commanded.
Silverwing blew more smoke out of her nose then swallowed the pig whole. Her throat hummed contentedly.
Princess (Y/N)’s body inched forward once more.
Loren called out for her. “Alright princess, you fed the beast now let’s go.”
But Princess (Y/N) didn’t want to.
She continued forward.
Silverwing turned her attention towards (Y/N).
The dragon blew out more hot smoke towards (Y/N), a warning…or a welcome.
“Gīda gēlenka tīkun (peace silverwing).”
Princess (Y/N) continued towards the dragon.
The dragon swerved her head to the other side.
The princess closed the gap and placed her palm against the dragon’s throat.
It was hot, just like Vhagar’s.
(Y/N) smiled wide.
She had done this all on her own.
But Silverwing started to stir. She raised her neck and started to flap her wings.
And before the princess knew it Loren was pulling her back towards the trees.
Princess (Y/N) watched Silverwing fly away.
Her heart raced in her chest.
“That was madness,” Loren said as he tried to catch his own breath.
(Y/N) looked back towards him and smiled.
Loren shook his head and released the princess. “I have never heard of anyone touching a dragon that wasn’t a Targaryen or dragonkeeper. Perhaps you truly were meant to be one?”
“A dragon keeper or Targaryen?” Princess (Y/N) countered.
“Both,” Loren replied.
The pair shared a laugh.
Loren straightened himself out. “Let’s head back to the tavern to break fast then get our horses and be on our way.”
Princess (Y/N) nodded. “Will we make it to King’s Landing by nightfall?”
“Not exactly, we’ll be just short of the hour of the wolf.”
Princess (Y/N) sighed. “Lovely.”
The pair walked back the path they had come.
-
After a long day Alicent wanted nothing more than to sink onto her bed and sleep.
She entered her chambers and began to remove her jewelry.
Then she turned her head and noticed Ser Criston seated on her bed, in his undershirt.
Alicent sighed and approached him.
Ser Criston stood and met the Queen dowager in front of the bed.
They stood in front of one another in silence.
Alicent raised her hand and slapped Ser Criston.
He clenched his jaw then returned his gaze to the Queen dowager.
Alicent’s heart started to race. She brought her hand up and struck him once more.
Again, Ser Criston clenched his jaw then returned his gaze onto the Queen dowager.
Alicent’s breathing quickened. Her palm tingled with the sting of her strikes. She met Ser Criston’s gaze.
His eyes begged for her forgiveness.
Alicent’s throat tightened.
How dare he ask for her forgiveness? When he sullied her first.
Alicent shoved the Kingsguard, anger rose inside her.
Ser Criston did not stagger. He held his ground.
So Alicent stepped forward and pushed him once more, this time with all her might.
Ser Criston took a step back but steadied himself. His gaze firmly set on the Queen dowager.
Alicent’s anger threatened to boil over.
The anger was truly at herself, at her own weakness and selfishness…her wickedness.
But she told herself her anger was at Ser Criston.
On his wickedness.
Alicent continued to shove Ser Criston. She did not stop.
She did not meet Ser Criston’s gaze. She couldn’t.
Alicent did not stop the tears that flowed down the sides of her face.
She did not stop the anger from spilling forth through her hands.
The hands that shoved Ser Criston until his back was up against the wall of her chamber.
Even then, Alicent brought her hands up to shove Ser Criston once more.
But Ser Criston grabbed the Queen dowager’s hands and stopped her.
He twisted the pair around.
Now pinned to the wall Alicent brought her gaze up to Ser Criston’s.
Her chest heaved. Her anger was spent.
Ser Criston looked down at the Queen dowager. Slowly, he leaned his head towards her.
Push him away, Alicent thought. You can’t, not again.
But the Queen dowager did not push Ser Criston away.
Instead she closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his lips against hers.
The gods had already punished her for her wickedness, Alicent reasoned.
Her father was banished from the Keep. Once again she would be alone.
Alicent was unable to comfort her eldest son and her daughter in their grief.
So what good would pushing away Ser Criston’s warm lips do?
She was wicked.
Ser Criston let go of the Queen dowager’s hands.
Alicent’s hand immediately dug through Ser Criston’s curls. She brought his lips closer to hers and deepened their kiss.
The knight moaned softly into their kiss.
His hands started to hitch the Queen’s skirts up to her thighs.
The Gods could not punish her any more than they already had.
Alicent needed the comfort of Ser Criston’s devotion.
So much had happened, and none of it was hers to control.
But Ser Criston was hers. All hers.
Alicent let go of Ser Criston’s hair and brought his hand between her thighs. With her hand she directed the knight’s fingers exactly where she wanted them.
At least this she could control.
-
The hours on horseback started to feel endless to (Y/N). Her thighs ached and chafed against the saddle under her.
The sun had set mere minutes before and Loren assured her they would be at the Keep before the hour of ghosts.
So Princess (Y/N) urged her horse forward.
Thankfully, after a few more minutes (Y/N) and Loren emerged from the forest and saw the gates of King’s Landing looming across the clearing.
Princess (Y/N) smiled and turned towards Loren.
Loren smiled back. “No turning back after we make it past the gates. Are you sure you want to do this?”
The princess nodded. “They need me.”
Loren sighed aloud. “Then let us hurry.”
Loren gave the reins a snap and his horse started towards the gates. (Y/N) followed close behind him.
The pair were allowed through the gates of King’s Landing without issue. Loren handed the guards a hefty amount of golden dragons and they were happy to let them through.
They continued through the barren streets of the town towards the gates of the Red Keep.
Princess (Y/N)’s stomach filled with butterflies as they neared the gates.
Her excitement was palpable but so were her nerves. Her throat dried as they continued their march toward the castle.
The moon was high in the sky when Loren and the princess reached the gates of the Red Keep.
A guard ordered them to stop and state their business so late.
Loren looked to (Y/N).
Princess (Y/N) cleared her throat. “I seek an audience with the Queen dowager. Inform her the Dornish princess has arrived.”
The guard turned to another guard and whispered to him. The second guard nodded and ran into the Keep.
The first guard ordered the pair to wait outside the gates.
Loren marched his horse closer.
“She is a princess of Dorne. The Queen will have your head for keeping us outside in this bitter cold.”
The guard furrowed his brow in thought. Then he turned towards the princess.
Princess (Y/N) smiled down at the guard. “My family and I departed less than a week ago from the Keep. Surely you would not forget me?”
The guard nodded. “Of course princess,” he acquiesced and ordered other guards to let the pair through.
(Y/N)’s heart beat loudly in her chest. Alicent was closer than ever. Her palms started to sweat but she couldn’t help but smile. She had kept her promise.
She had returned to her true love.
-
The Queen dowager was stirred awake by one of her handmaidens.
She awoke and furrowed her brow. “What is the meaning of this?”
The handmaiden stepped away from the bed and bowed her head. “Apologies your Grace but a guard informed me the Dornish princess has returned and seeks an urgent audience with you.”
Alicent’s throat went dry.
The princess? Her princess?
Alicent’s head swung to the other side of her bed.
Thank the Gods she was alone.
Then she turned back to her handmaiden.
“Bring me my robe, quickly,” she ordered.
The handmaiden grabbed the Queen dowager’s robe from the partition where the Queen dowager dressed. Then she slid it onto the Queen dowager as she made her way towards the door.
Alicent tied the robe around her waist as she hurried towards the Keep’s entrance.
Her heart rang loudly in her ears.
Princess Coryanne had promised her (Y/N) would not return. She had promised to keep (Y/N) safe.
But of course (Y/N) got away.
Of course she trekked through dangerous forests and villages to get back to Alicent.
(Y/N) was pure.
Her love knew no bounds.
Bile rose in Alicent’s throat.
She continued towards the entrance. She reached the top of the great staircase and started down them.
The doors of the Keep opened just as Alicent neared the bottom of the staircase.
The world stilled as Alicent laid eyes on Princess (Y/N).
She looked just as beautiful as Alicent recalled. One would never guess the princess had traveled for days.
“(Y/N),” Alicent breathed.
Her sun had returned to her.
The Princess walked into the Keep. Her eyes rose up and met Alicent’s.
A wide smile spread across (Y/N)’s face.
Tears pooled in Alicent’s eyes.
“Alicent,” (Y/N) called out.
The Queen dowager raced down the remaining steps and started towards the princess.
Then Alicent recalled the image of Ser Criston’s face between her thighs in her mind’s eye.
Alicent stopped short of where the princess stood.
She would not be able to keep her betrayal from (Y/N). She could not lie to her.
And if she could not lie to (Y/N), she would surely lose her.
Tears ran down the sides of Alicent’s face.
“Your grace,” (Y/N) asked, her brow furrowed.
The princess stepped forward and closed the gap between them.
“Are you not pleased to see me?” she whispered.
Alicent looked up at the lit candles of the chandeliers of the Keep. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
She was more certain than ever the Gods were truly punishing her.
I recently told an ao3 writer that I keep going back to their 260k word unfinished slowburn checking for updates for the last 2 years. They said I'm like that puppy that waits for his dead owner at the train station every day.
That's the realest thing anyone's told me online, I ain't even mad.
Summary: A few years post 'Battle Of Hogwarts', y/n decides to buy her and Hermione a home that they can move into as newlyweds.
Pairing: Hermione x Reader
Wordcount: 2.8k
Warnings: smut, jealous hermione, g!p reader, dom hermione (in theory), penis in vagina sex, cunnilingus, possesive hermione is hot, porn very little plot
Note: hello! so i've had this drafted for months but just never had the motivation to finish it but i finally forced myself to write since i was missing hermione, so here it is :) this isn't an original idea (loosely inspired by a scene in a film) and i'm embarrassed to admit which movie gave me the idea so i won't say it but iykyk. anyway, enjoy!
"Make a left here." You say as you point to the turn coming ahead. Hermione merely scoffs, begrudgingly turning the steering wheel.
"Will you just tell me where you're taking us?" She asks, your wife's brows are furrowed the same way it has been the entire drive, but still, you don't give in.
Shaking your head, you respond. "Have patience, darling.. you'll see soon enough."
Although that does nothing to soothe Hermione's curiosity; her scowl only deepens.
She takes her eyes off the road for a moment to glare at you. "You know that I hate surprises."
"Oh you'll like this one, I'm sure of it." You declare with a certain conviction, soon leaning in to place a chaste kiss on Hermione's cheek.
As you almost earn a smile, you continue to kiss along Hermione's jaw before reaching up to part her hair away and doing the same on the shell of her ear.
You nip at it, and this time Hermione doesn't fight back her giggle as she squirms, shrugging you off. “Stop it, you rogue– I'm driving.” Your wife warns, and you eventually relent, leaning back in your seat as you travel further into the outskirts of London.
Gone is the bustling city, now there is only a long winding road, shaded with tall oak trees.
For a while it seems as though the journey may never end, but soon enough, a large property comes into view.
Ten acres of wood and stone, the house sits perfectly at the end of the road. It remains still and empty, abandoned for nearly a century, but it is a glorious sight nonetheless.
“Why have you brought me here?” Hermione questions as she slows the car, before it eventually comes to a complete halt.
You don't respond just yet, your bottom lip is set in between your lips in excitement as you unbuckle your seatbelt before climbing out of the vehicle.
Hermione follows suit, eager for an explanation.
You step in front of the car before speaking.
“You once told me.. when we were looking for places to stay in London, that you liked the look of this house. So I bought it.” You explain with a growing smile, glancing at the home once more.
As you take in the sight of the house and the surrounding scenery, Hermione stares at you as though you had gone mad, but inevitably, a smile also graces her delicate features.
“You are a complete imbecile.” Your wife remarks, although there is no bite to her words. It is cushioned even further with the way she practically jumps into your arms.
You chuckle as your hand rests on the small of Hermione's back. She clings to you, enthusiastically peppering kisses all over your face.
You wince at the contact, but a grin tugs on the corners of your mouth all the same. “I've made a good decision then?”
“Yes, it's- I love it. Reminds me of the lakehouse my parents owned.” Hermione admits.
She takes a step back, keeping her hands on your shoulders as she marvels at the large house with an almost childlike wonder.
Your chest brims with pride at her expression, and you proceed to intertwine your hands with Hermione's so you may walk together.
“Come, let's go see inside.” You urge, giving your wife's arm a tug, but she doesn't budge.
Instead Hermione pulls you back towards her, capturing your lips with her own for a searing kiss, her grip remains firm on your collar.
As your fingers get lost in her hair, you move to deepen the kiss, however you are abruptly interrupted by the sound of another car pulling into the driveway.
“Ah, that must be the muggle architect I hired.” You state watching as the silver car parked next to your own.
“Look, we don't have to change a thing if you don't want to.. but I figured it would be good to have a second opinion.” You express and Hermione swiftly nods, her hand remains on the nape of your neck as you both turn your attention to the curly haired brunette that emerges from the car.
The woman smiles at you as she approaches.
“Mrs Y/N, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” The architect greets, surprising you by pulling you into a hug.
After the initial shock subsided, you stiffly embrace her in return, before shifting your gaze towards Hermione.
“This is my wife, Hermione.” You introduce, and the architect finally releases you from her hold.
“Hermione, I am Emilia.” The woman says, only regarding your wife with a firm handshake in contrast.
“This location is excellent, I am going to build you a fabulous house.” Emilia avows, her hand somehow finds your shoulder this time. Her touch lingers uncomfortably, and you catch the way Hermione is staring daggers at the other woman.
You clear your throat, deliberately taking your wife's hand in your own. “I'd like to show Hermione inside.”
“Ofcourse.” Emilia beams, but her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “This way.”
═══════════════════════════════════════════
On the inside, the house appears somehow worse for wear. The walls are caked in dust, the wallpaper and paint cracking, but it is expected, and the interior remains gorgeous nonetheless.
More importantly, you know that Hermione prefers houses like this, one with a rich history.
“This is beautiful.” Your wife gaped as you all stepped into the spacious kitchen.
“Really, you like it?” You inquire, making the mental note of keeping the kitchen as it is.
“Yes, it's perfect Y/n.” Hermione utters as she walks around the room, inspecting the aged furnishings.
“Good.” You mutter with a relieved sigh as you take off your blazer to hang it over the barstool.
“It's hot in here, isn't it?” Emilia's voice is sudden as she enters the kitchen with a roll of blueprints in hand.
“That's why I think it would be best to get rid of this old brick and instead replace it with some temperature resistant concrete.” The architect suggests, but as you open your mouth to respond you are distracted by the way Hermione falls in next to you.
She drapes her arm around your shoulder in an almost possessive fashion, her body is flush against your own, as though to eliminate any chance of space in between you.
You wrap your own arm around her waist as a way to reciprocate.
Emilia proceeds to roll out the blueprint onto the kitchen island so the three of you may look at it. “So, this is what I have in mind.”
“A state of the art, self-sufficient smart home. Marine steel with self-cleaning glass, a guest wing and an entertaining area to the west.” She continues, and you notice the way Hermione tilts her head as the architect speaks.
You know your wife well enough to understand that she only does so when she disapproves of something.
“and this, infinity pool” Emilia says as she points to the top half of the blueprint. “It will overlook a gorgeous view of the lake.” She finishes, unnecessarily reaching across the island to touch your arm.
You clench your jaw, now starting to grow agitated with the architect’s incessant attempts to flirt with you right in front of Hermione.
You feel the way your wife's hold on you tightens, she clears her throat before addressing Emilia directly.
“So you plan to tear the entire house down?” Your wife challenges and Emilia flashes an insincere smile once more.
“Why not? It is incredibly dated.” The architect remarks, glancing at you for a reaction.
“I like it, it adds character.” Hermione interjects, she threads her fingers through your hair, now demanding your attention.
You hear Emilia scoff, she continues to address your wife in a condescending tone. “Well, a new house would be a statement. Ecologically efficient– truthfully these older homes are very impractical.”
“Eitherway, it's up to you.” Emilia speaks to you directly, her fingers brushing your forearm once more.
The architect's lack of subtlety makes your brows knit together in annoyance, you look to Hermione to find her wearing a similar look on her face. Although you also notice the way her sharp gaze is now brimming with anger.
“Actually it is up to my wife. What Hermione says goes.” You declare, squeezing Hermione's waist reassuringly before removing yourself so you may look at the pool table in the study.
As you explore further, you somewhat manage to overhear the things Hermione is saying to the architect.
“Please stop speaking to my wife as if I weren't here.” Even in a hushed tone, your wife's frustration is palpable.
You can hear Emilia's chuckle, laced with condescension, no doubt, although as she tries to respond, Hermione interrupts. “This is not your prestige project, this is going to be my home.”
“If you want this job, I suggest you stop making eyes at my wife and keep your hands to yourself.” Your wife concludes firmly and only silence follows afterwards.
As you wait for a response from Emilia, you reach out for the eight ball atop the pool table, fiddling with it.
The architect soon speaks, and you listen closely in added intrigue.
“That is ridiculous, Hermione I would never–” Emilia attempts to continue the farce, but Hermione refuses to tolerate the disrespect any longer.
Your wife sighs. “I have decided this is not going to work, my wife and I don't require your services after all.”
“What? I–” Emilia stutters in evident shock, but Hermione's patience has been stretched thin.
“Do shut the door on your way out– drive safe.” Hermione instructs curtly, and more stunned silence follows before you finally hear the rustling of papers followed by the echo of footsteps heading towards the front door.
As you hear the door shut, the noise is swiftly followed by more footsteps, Hermione's heels against the hardwood flooring as she enters the room you are currently standing in.
You observe the way your wife is looking at you; she appears almost like a predator, staking her claim.
“She's gone?” You ask the obvious and Hermione nods, she gets close enough to wrap her arms around your neck.
“I think you should hire someone else.” She states in a lighthearted tone and you let out a huff in amusement, your hands find Hermione's waist as you reply. “Alright, darling, I will.”
Hermione hums in satisfaction before leaning in, her lips meet your own for a heated kiss.
You only break away once your chest is heaving.
“I've been in the presence of actual Death Eaters, and you are more intimidating than most of them.” You quip and Hermione smirks at your statement, but otherwise, she continues to look at you in a way that suggests she wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation.
“Shall we see the rest of the house?” You attempt, and your wife shakes her head in disagreement.
“Not yet.” Hermione contends and your breath hitches in your throat as her hand finds your rear, harshly holding you in place.
“You're mine.” She asserts and this time you smile, matching her intense gaze.
“Yes. All yours, my sweet.” You seal your promise by kissing the column of Hermione's throat. Your wife's hand shifts to the back of your head in approval as she bares her neck to you.
You continue to kiss her, earning a breathy moan as you sucked on her tender flesh, Hermione proceeds to tug on your hair so she may guide your mouth towards her own once more.
She kisses you passionately, open mouthed and wanting, Hermione's tongue clashes against your own repeatedly as her hands roamed your frame.
*
Eventually, her palm settles on your groin over your slacks, and you aren't able to fully comprehend what was happening before you can feel Hermione's enchantment working.
The shaft begins to form within your underwear, and the familiar sensation causes you to groan, it is only heightened as Hermione boldly palms your cock.
“Hermione–” You barely manage as your lips separate for an instant; your wife doesn't speak, but the gleam in her stare still manages to send a thrill through your body.
“My love, please–” You find yourself muttering pathetically, as you ground yourself into her touch.
Hermione gives your shaft one last squeeze before pulling her hand away. “I know, baby” Your wife coos, and you watch as she lifts her dress up to her thighs before languidly removing her black laced underwear.
“I want to feel your mouth first.” She admits as she settles her rear atop the edge of the pool table.
As Hermione parts her legs, you don't need to be told what to do next.
You kneel before her eagerly, trailing a path of wet kisses along her inner thigh before your tongue inevitably makes contact with her hot, weeping core.
Hermione gasps aloud at the sensation of your tongue on her heat. Her fist clenches in your hair once more as you begin to pleasure her with your mouth.
“Yes..” Hermione moans and you slide your tongue skillfully in between her folds. You repeat the motion a few times before settling your mouth over her sensitive clit so you can suck on it.
Hermione is already trembling once you slip your tongue inside of her. You revel in the way your wife moans aloud.
You soon break away to lap at her folds, and as your tongue makes contact with her clit again, Hermione finally comes undone.
Your wife throws her head back as her climax rips through her. You hold onto her thighs as she writhes, her hold on the back of your head is painful, in truth, but you don't care.
“Y/n,” Hermione utters breathlessly, as you place one last peck upon her swollen folds before standing up to meet her in an urgent kiss.
**
Your wife does not waste anymore time, matching your eagerness as her hands find your belt. She unclasps it with trembling hands, and you moan as she slips one hand inside of your slacks to grip the base of your shaft.
Her thumb then traces the tip of your cock before assisting you in pulling off your pants completely. As you kick them off, Hermione doesn't let go of your length, leaning back onto the pool table.
You swiftly follow her lead, as though in a trance, climbing on top of your wife.
Hermione hastily pulls down the top of her dress until they fall to reveal her breasts. You then eagerly take them in your mouth, licking and sucking on her hard nipples. Your lover rewards you with more gasps of pleasure.
Hermione tugs on your hair habitually, and once your face is hovering over her own, your wife kisses you again, stroking your length simultaneously.
You feel her leg settle around your waist as she lines up the tip of your cock to her entrance.
Meeting her halfway, you move in a fluid motion, and soon you are sheathed inside of her to the hilt. The moan that rips out of Hermione afterwards causes your cock to twitch desperately inside of her.
"Fuck–” You groan, retracting your hips slightly before pushing deep inside of her once more.
Your wife's nails begin to dig into your back through your blouse, you can feel the way she is desperately trying to pull you closer.
You oblige her, your mouth eventually finds the base of Hermione's jaw as you continue to pump in and out of her at an urgent pace.
Hermione is incoherent, she is mewling and whimpering with every movement of your hips as your cock never fails to reach just the right spots within her after each thrust.
“Y/n– don't stop” Your wife eventually manages through her heavy pants, and you can already sense her second orgasm approaching.
You don't stop, instead, bracing your hands on either side of her head, you lift yourself up before rutting into her wildly. The lewd noises of your joining fills the vast room, and Hermione's whimpers soon morph into a loud moan as she reaches her peak on your cock.
The way the walls of her cunt flutters around your shaft was maddening, and the sudden gush of arousal that coats your girth instigates your own release.
Your entire body tenses as you orgasm, mere seconds after your wife.
Your heavy breathing matches Hermione's as you collapse on top of her, for awhile all you can feel is her arms and legs draped around you, along with her soft lips against your ear.
“Perhaps I should make you jealous more often.” You mutter in a playful tone once you regain your bearings.
Your joke earns a firm slap from Hermione, one that lands directly on your bare rear.
A/N: Happy Halloween, I've been busy but thank god for dreams that have semi-coherent plots 🎃🥳 Also this is Angie at her more evil, so enjoy lol
Summary: You barely survive the death of your parents, thankfully you still have Angelique.
After your parents' death, your brother starts to grow more and more suspicious and paranoid–convinced that your family’s tragedy is a product of a curse. He grows distant with you. Angelique grows distant with him. It feels an insurmountable chasm between the people still left and you.
Angelique is still a calming presence in your life, and if she notices how you seek her out more often in the grief-stricken days after she makes no comment on it. Simply takes your silence as it is, and offers bits and pieces of gossip if she feels so inclined.
She keeps you at arm’s reach—and your brother’s attention shifts to Josette. Whatever affair Angelique and Barnabas had seemed to share a similar fate as your parents. But for a moment there seems a glimmering hope that your brother is happy again, a few dinners you even manage conversations that don’t seem to hang or end so abruptly. Where you manage to keep a smile all the way through the night.
Josette’s death shakes you to your core then.
Your brother becomes isolated, nearly sick; he stops eating with you at every meal—then any meal. Mirrors across the East wing are covered by sheets at his request, he sleeps through the day and leaves you to handle business correspondence. Whatever grief you experience soon turns to a distinct numbness, constantly adrift.
Angelique notices and you find yourself under her attention more and more, she becomes the one to handle anything related to you personally.
The candle flickers restlessly near you as you continue to write this evening, planning out exports and shipping costs, your mind swims with numbers and obligations. A dull ache worms its way through your temple, as you reread the letter again. Exports to be sent to…A hand settles on your shoulder. “What are you doing awake?”
Caught red-handed, you sigh. “Keeping us afloat.”
Angelique doesn’t find it as amusing tonight, “you need sleep.”
It’s the truth and truly some part of you appreciates the care, when the rest of your mind seems to crave self-destruction tonight. “Do you think there’s a curse on me?” Her hand flexes against your shoulder and you know her answer without looking up.
“You’re not cursed.” She lies, and you finally stand up to face her. She regards you slowly with concern and something you don’t care to place. Too afraid to find pity.
“No?”
She shakes her head slowly, adds in, “Your brother? Without a doubt.” She cracks a slight smile and it can’t improve your mood tonight. She softens, cups your face and tilts it to her.
Not for the first time you acknowledge Angelique is beautiful, you remember thinking that before Barnabas ever seemed to take notice. Back when you had barely begun to befriend her at the tender age of ten, she was already twelve and she seemed like she knew everything.
Even now, when twenty-two and twenty-four seem comparable she still seems leagues ahead of you. You would sell off half your family’s fortune to know what goes on in her head. “You should be in bed.” She reminds gently.
“I wanted to stay up to talk with Barnabas about the exports,” you answer, settling your hands over hers. She has yet to let go of your face, and you hope she pulls away soon. Even though a part of you craves the small contact.
Her expression shifts in the smallest of meters, a twitch of her eyebrow, a heartbeat’s pause. You know he’s still a sore subject to her, even if neither acknowledges it. “He already stepped out.”
“This late at night?” You pull her hands from your face and rush to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a lantern, or your brother’s silhouette. The estate property is unlit and empty. “I need to go check on him.” You turn back to Angelique and feel all at once foolish to be the only one concerned.
She stands still in the spot you had left her, hands at her sides. “What has you so worried?”
Your mouth opens, then closes, and finally your mind settles. “I don’t think he’s in his right mind, frankly I don’t think I am half the time either.” You check the window again before putting the thought aside. “I fear he’ll leap off Widow’s Hill.”
Your worries are not her own, you can tell. “There’s very little you can do to stop him, if he chooses that fate.”
The truth wounds better than a lie, and you look away. “He’s still my brother.” The only family you have left, even if he’s a shell of himself now. It’s the only real wealth, your father once said. You turn the focus then, ask Angelique. “Would you leave me to jump off Widow’s Hill, if my grief pushed me to?”
“I don’t think you’d be so foolish as to leave me.”
You soften at such an admittance. Angelique was your closest friend but even more, you were hers. “Barnabas may be foolish in his grief, but I would be just as foolish if it wasn’t for you.” She lets you take her hand in yours, there’s a lingering challenge in her eyes that you don’t know the meaning of. You don’t try to. “I shouldn’t ask such questions when you’ve been so attentive, forgive me?”
“It’s already forgotten,” she covers your hand with hers, and smiles. Your wounded heart flutters all the same even when apprehension settles in the pit of your stomach.
—————
Barnabas leaves letters for you in place of seeing you. His letters are thorough instructions when discussing business and when they turn to anything else—they turn nonsensical. Curses and witches and blood…the last part is new. You suspect his grief has turned his humor morbid but still you persist, still Angelique like clockwork has you turn in for the night. Barnabas is always gone by then, and asleep when you wake.
Angelique takes to walking with you outside the estate, she keeps your attention most days. Walking with you arm in arm, it’s revolving topics; gossip, or news, asking about business. There’s few times where you catch her attention drifting to your mouth, and it occurs to you that you smile easier now.
You think you’re doing better.
Smiling comes easier, sleeping comes easier, running your family’s business no longer leaves you sick with unease.
It’s a shame fate deals another hand.
Angelique is nowhere to be found as evening settles in, you venture down the hallways, and halfway across the estate before you pause at the East wing. Only half the candles are lit, sheets across every mirror in the hall, you walk towards your brother’s room to find it empty.
His bedsheets are still perfectly folded as if he hasn’t slept in it in months. You leave slowly, hoping if you take enough time you might catch him somehow hiding in the shadows.
Halfway across the estate, hands as cold as death settle on your shoulders and turn you. Barnabas looks paler and sicker than you’ve ever seen him, and you nearly want to cry. “Y/N.”
“How long have you been sick?” You ask, thoughts already racing on why no one had told you he was sick. Why has no one called a doctor yet?
“I made a mistake,” he says. “Angelique cursed me and killed Josette.”
Your concern doubles, “Barnabas, Angelique has taken care of us.”
His face twists deadly serious, “She has done nothing but leech off of us.”
Your heart twists, your brother isn’t well. But he’s all you have. “Why haven’t you told me?”
“When has she been apart from you? What moment did I have where she wasn’t there?” He glances around the hallway now like she could be there, like she’s the thing of nightmares. “I’ve bought you a ticket for tomorrow’s boat to London.”
“You won’t come with me?” You plead, voice cracking the slightest. He isn’t well in the slightest, but my god the thought of losing him shakes you to the core.
He shakes his head, “I have to see this to the end.”
You’ll set him up in a place where doctors can look after him, you’ll visit, he’ll be monitored. He may hate you, but you’re willing to throw every cent away if he lives. His expression shifts, his eyes glance somewhere behind you and then he’s walking past you. Heading towards the front door, and you can’t let him go like this.
You follow behind by a few steps, several steps before the door—you hear the shouts before the knock ever echoes. Barnabas stops at the door, his hand flexes against the door handle. “Leave us.”
You won’t leave him entirely, he watches as you press the third ring of decorative wood carved into the wall, and the secret pathway opens. He waits for you to pull it closed, but just to spite him, and just to reassure, you leave it cracked by a hairsbreadth. You take a seat and press your face to the crack, unable to look away as he opens the door.
Pitchforks and torches, angry shouts and yet above it all you hear it loud as day. “There’s the monster.” Barnabas stands up straight at Angelique’s voice, and your brother shuts the door behind him.
You wait there in the silence, waiting for his voice. Waiting for him to walk back in no worse for wear, complaining about how much gold he lost in bribes. The seconds tick by until you aren’t sure how long you’ve sat here in a dark pathway. Tear-streaked and alone, the first thought that breaks your stupor is your lantern is upstairs.
You shut the wall closed finally, and take the steps two at a time, finally spilling out from the dark pathway into your own bedroom. The wall swings shut and clicks into place with the force of your momentum. Your lantern sits at your table, and you rush to light it, the flame flickers in your unsteady hands.
The bedroom door opens and you turn hoping to see Barnabas without a scratch on him. Angelique meets your gaze, then her attention flickers to the lantern in your hands. “No.”
“Tell me where he is.” You plead, a fresh wave of tears threatens to spill, Angelique nears. “Please.” She lifts your lantern and blows out the flame with the same finality she had damned your brother. Your voice shakes, “Angelique.”
She sets the lantern down beside the door and holds your face, “he’s buried now.” She wipes at the tears that spill, “he wasn’t well.”
The back of your throat burns with nausea, “I know that, I would’ve sent him to doctors. I would’ve kept him safe.”
“He killed townspeople.” She answers back, and it’s infuriating to see her so neutral at his murder. She had loved him once, hadn’t she? “He was returning in the early morning, covered in blood for weeks now. At first it must have been animals, but then they started to find bodies in the village. Mutilated beyond recognition.” Your eyes shut, and the whimper escapes anyways. “It was best to handle him, and then tell you afterwards.”
Your eyes open again, and Angelique does look partially remorseful if only for your sake. “Who thought it best to handle me as an afterthought?”
Her thumbs brush along your cheekbones, she leans in fondly. “I knew you would fight me every step of the way, if I told you before this.” You rip her hands away from you.
“Tell me where he’s buried, or I’ll go ask the villagers to bury me in the grave next to his.”
Her eyes light at the threat, even if the punishment would be yours alone she takes it as her own. “You need to sit down.”
“I refuse.”
A wave of dizziness overtakes you, and Angelique rushes to your side. Her arm is around your waist, and the other still cradles your head like you’re helpless. The first touch of her hand against your temple seems to soothe whatever dizzy spell you have, and all that’s left is Angelique watching you with worry. “Will you make me a monster in your eyes?”
“Will you refuse me again?” You retort.
Her expression pinches in concern, “in the morning we can hold a small memorial for him. At his grave site, but for now you’re in no state to venture outside.” She’s infuriatingly cool against your emotions, unfailingly steady as she holds you close.
“He’ll be dead by morning, I can get to him still. I can send him off discreetly.”
She looks at you pityingly, mouth downturned in a small frown. You consider pushing her away again, but you know she won’t let you do it again a second time. “He was buried in an iron coffin, he ran out of air long before they finished burying him.”
You bury your face in her shoulder, your tears soak into her clothes, surely she was lying, surely he could make it another hour or two. He had to, but precious seconds were being wasted convincing Angelique. “I hate you for not telling me he was sick.”
Her arm wraps around your shoulders, and all at once you can’t stand such an intimate embrace with your brother’s murderer. But still you can’t muster up the strength to push away your only surviving friend. “I did what I thought was best, I feared losing you to the same grief that broke him.” You lift your face to stare up at Angelique, her eyes roam your expression searching for something you’re sure doesn’t exist. Affection or forgiveness, it’s hard to tell what she wants. “Can you blame me for wanting to spare you another tragedy?”
“I want to blame you,” you answer quietly, thoughts race. You could tell her you wish you were in that coffin instead, but she’d no doubt react the same when you discussed leaving. You could tell her you wanted to escape this loneliness, but she stood presently the only person to remain by your side. You could call her a monster the way she had called your brother one. But you don’t want to. “I won’t.”
Synopsis: Your friend abandons you at a Halloween party. Luckily for you, you find someone far more interesting to spend the night with.
Words: 4k
Warnings: biting, blood, marking, smut, drug use mentioned, hair pulling, rough sex, mentions of alcohol
The lights and the music were overwhelming. With the tight corset binding your waist and the heels on your feet, you were trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. You should have never let your friend convince you to come to the party. You certainly shouldn’t have let her dress you up in something she deemed sexy before abandoning you with to a bunch of strangers.
You didn’t even know whose house you were in.
You perused the snack table, chuckling at the plastic spiders scattered over the bright orange table cloth. Snatching up a handful of chips, you turned, taking in the crowd. Bodies writhed together in time to the music, flashing lights illuminating flashes of skin here, groping hands there. Your cup of red liquid sloshed in your hand as you pushed to the edges of the room, looking for somewhere quieter to perch until you could leave.
The garden was quieter, although hardly empty. Someone had started a small fire, the scent of burning sugar making its way to your nose. Lingering on the outskirts, you curled around it, shivering in the cool air. You were too far for the light and heat to find you, watching the flames flicker between shoulders pressed together and cigarettes being passed from hand to hand. Cloves and smoke and weed, all mixing together with the sharp sweetness of marshmallows burning as they slid off sticks under inattentive cooks.
You lent back against a tree, keeping to the shadows, enjoying the sting of cold air on your bare skin. You tilted your chin up, taking a deep breath that burned your lungs, the stars twinkling high above you, the moon almost new.
“Not your crowd?”
You tried not to show how startled you were. You’d wrongly assumed you were the only one skulking in the shadows, leaving the revelry for the people who had wanted to be at the party. Turning your head, glancing down, you found a pale face full of flickering shadow, the light from the fire playing over it, still staring at the group of people laughing. Dark hair and darker clothes, if anyone belonged to the night, it was this woman.
“Not particularly,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.
“Why are you here then?” she asked.
“A friend needed moral support,” you replied, “is this the moment when you tell me this is your party?”
“Fuck no,” she laughed, “my ex thought I needed to get out more.”
“Your ex dragged you to a party?” you asked.
“No. He agreed to take our daughter for the night so I could come. It’s my producer’s party,” she replied.
You considered her a moment. She tipped her head back, leaning it against the rough bark of the tree. A flicker of familiarity went through you but you couldn’t place from where. Like a half remembered dream you’d had once many years ago.
“So why are you hiding from everyone?” you asked.
With face half in shadow, her dark eyes found you, leaving you a little breathless. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the ache of the heels pinching at your toes more a nuisance than anything else. Even in dark she was undoubtably beautiful.
“Who said I’m hiding?” she asked.
“You’re skulking in the shadows. Is there another reason if you’re not hiding?” you asked.
“I suppose not,” she said, her gaze drifting away from you again.
You kept looking down at her, wanting to catch another glimpse of pale skin, dark eyes, lips curling in a scornful smile. She was still staring out at the group by the fire, a guitar having been pulled from seemingly nowhere, the soft chords so discordant with each other. Her nose wrinkled and you had to bite back a laugh. Even her disgruntled expression was compelling.
“Why aren’t you with your friend?” she asked after a few moments of silence.
“What?” you asked, blinking back to the moment.
“You said you came with a friend who needed moral support but now you’re here on your own. What happened?” she asked.
“Oh.” You perked up, “the moral support worked and uh, she abandoned me to go talk to Rick.”
“Rick? Why would she want to talk to Rick?” she asked.
“She called it networking but… I dunno. Do you ever get the feeling that someone is speaking the same language as you but with different meanings?”
You shifted your body, turning it towards her, shoulder resting against the tree. Her head rolled towards you, finally looking at you again. It sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.
“She’s fucking Rick to increase her chances of being in one of his projects,” she said.
“Yeah, which is not how I network but then.” You shrugged, “I don’t work in this industry.”
“You don’t?” Her interest in you seemed to increase.
“I’m in tech,” you replied.
Her interest immediately retreated again. A pang of disappointment went through you.
“I write a lot of code. I test firewalls for companies. Like a contractor. I get to hack into people’s websites,” you said.
That usually impressed people. Usually being the operative word. She couldn’t have cared less.
“So, I guess I just have to wait around until she’s done,” you said, hoping that would get a response.
“Shouldn’t take long,” she snorted.
“Do you… do you know that from personal experience?” you asked.
The look she gave you was so full of disgust you reared back. She didn’t bother trying to school her features, those eyes sweeping over you with a judgemental eye.
“Why are you wearing that?” she asked, derision dripping from every word, “I would have expected your friend was hoping you’d be the honey pot in her plan looking like that.”
“Oh, uh, I didn’t really come with a costume so… she dressed me in her clothes for the party,” you said, looking down at your body.
The tight corset nipping in your waist, the short skirt, the lace showing off your skin more than you were used to, you could understand what she meant. Wrapped up so pretty, and without a bow. You’d had plenty of interested looks as you’d lingered on the outskirts of the crowd. Too bad none of them had enticed you.
And the only one you had was looking at you like you were…
“What are you meant to be?” she asked.
“I’m told I’m a witch, but we didn’t have the hat so I guess it’s a pretty bad costume,” you said, “why? What are you meant to be?”
Your eyes lingered on her. She was hardly in anything you recognised.
“Nothing. I didn’t bother with the costume. My ex is the whiz at all that. I only promised to leave the house for something other than work,” she waved off.
“So this is just how you normally dress?” you asked, eyes doing another sweep over her body.
“Why?” she asked in response.
“It’s cool,” you said.
She seemed to not have an answer to that. She settled back against the trunk of the tree, staring out at the group that had moved on to singing off key but enthusiastically. You sighed, slowly sinking down until you were sitting too. Taking the pressure off your toes, you groaned, tugging the shoes off to massage the sole of your foot.
“Those things are death traps,” she said.
“I’m not exactly enjoying any element of this outfit,” you said.
Her low chuckle was only audible because you were sitting right by her.
“At least it looks good on you,” she said.
“Oh.” It appears as if you were forgiven for your misstep, “thanks.”
“I’m sure Rick would prefer I dress more like that,” she said, “I had to compromise in the end.”
“Why? You look good in what you’re wearing now,” you said.
She turned to look at you, a slow drag of eyes that made you shiver again.
“Call it the misogyny of the entertainment industry, or the creeps who need to want to fuck the woman to pay attention to them, but sex sells,” she said, “I put on the costume and I do the work and I thank them for the opportunity.”
“It doesn’t sound like you like your job that much,” you said.
“It has its upsides,” she said, offering you a small smile, “I get to be on television.”
“I wouldn’t want that. I’ve always felt awkward when a camera is pointed at me,” you said.
She hummed but didn’t give you more of an answer. Her eyes were studying you and you let her, giving her the space to stare at you to her heart’s content. You liked the thought of being looked at by this woman.
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” she eventually said.
“Nope.” You popped the p obnoxiously, but smiled to let her know you weren’t making fun of her.
“Lydia.”
She offered you her hand. You took it, the warmth of her skin almost burning yours. Your name fell from your lips, almost breathless from the feeling of her palm against yours. Her lips quirked up, not quite a smirk, but something approaching it. You couldn’t get a read on her, so aloof from the rest of the gathering and yet you had to wonder if she kept away for another reason. People pushing you to go socialise usually meant one of two things. Either you were some kind of hermit who refused to leave the house, or you didn’t like going to social gatherings. Which spoke to something else usually. The moment spun out for longer than you’d been expecting.
“You don’t know Ghost House?” she asked, finally letting your hand go.
“Sorry,” you said, shrugging, “I’m not much of a television person.”
She made a soft sound and lent back again, slightly closer than you were expecting, her shoulder brushing yours. You tucked your feet underneath you, letting yourself gently tip towards her, wanting more of her touch. With both of your faces turned towards the fire, it was easy to pretend like it was purely a coincidence. That you didn’t feel like she was a black hole, drawing you in with little more than a moment of her attention, dark eyes assessing you. Why did you want it to be a positive assessment?
“Do you think they understand how tragic they are?” she asked.
“I think they’re drunk and high,” you replied.
Her laugh was throaty, raspy, like a ghostly finger stroked along the length of your spine. She rose, not quite as elegant as you’d imagined, and yet your stomach dropped with disappointment.
“Are you coming?” she asked, turning to look at you over her shoulder.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” you said, scrabbling to your feet.
You followed her on bare feet, past the tree, further into the shadows of the garden. It opened up farther, more expansive than you’d first thought. She seemed confident in the direction she’d chosen, striding through the darkness.
“Rick likes to think he’s sophisticated because he buys art but he has no eye. After all, he has one of Delia’s pieces around here somewhere,” she said.
“Delia?” you asked.
“Delia Deetz,” she said, pausing for a moment to let you catch up, “you really don’t know anything about me or my family.”
She seemed pleased by that. You offered her a small smile, feeling better about where this was going now. Any misstep had been passed over, leaving a warmth growing in your stomach.
“I’ll show it to you,” she said, reaching out to grasp your hand and tug you behind her.
She wound her way past one statue after another, growing further and further from the lights and sound of the party. The cool night air and the silence was appreciated, exactly what you’d been looking for when you’d slipped outside. Her hand was warm in yours, chasing away the chill that threatened to sink into your bones.
“Isn’t it just horrific?” she asked, coming to a stop in front of something you couldn’t conceptualise.
It was spiky and abstract and not like anything you’d ever willingly seek out to look at. You titled your head, trying to understand what you were looking at. Nose wrinkling, you shook your head, giving up on trying.
“I know art is subjective but I really don’t get this,” you said, “I wouldn’t pay money for it.”
A warm hand landed on your cheek, turning your head, chapped lips landing on yours. You gasped, startled, not sure if that was what she’d meant to do. She pressed closer, more insistent, teeth nipping at your lip until you kissed her back.
Her hands were gripping your cheeks while yours slid around her waist. She was so warm under your touch, so soft, so supple. The way she kissed you was like she was trying to possess you, to own you, and you were willing to give her what she wanted. You hadn’t expected this turn of events, your hope nothing but a pipe dream, or so you’d thought.
Her tongue was in your mouth, fingers digging in, rough and harsh and so perfect it made your head spin. You were making small noises, muffled by her mouth, almost begging her for more. It only made her kiss you harder. She tasted of cigarette smoke and sugar, dreams of something dark and dangerous at the edge of the moment.
She dragged you down to the grass, ignoring the damp collecting on the blades in the cold night. She straddled your body, knees either side of your hips, pressing in to keep you pinned underneath her. You whimpered when she trailed her lips over your skin, teeth scraping before sinking in at the junction of your shoulder and your neck. The noise you made was embarrassing in its wantonness. Her tongue soothed over it but you knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. Or maybe later today. You’d lost track of time.
Her hands shoved under the skirt of the dress you’d been forced into, nails dragging over the vulnerable skin of your inner thigh. Your legs parted, falling open to give her more access. Her teeth were still making a home on your skin, lips trailing over whatever bare skin they could find. Sinking in at the soft skin over your heart, the flesh of one breast pushed up from the tight corset digging into your ribs. Her name was a gasp before it devolved into a filthy moan.
She shifted, fingers pressing at the throbbing between your legs. Your hips rose, meeting her touch, asking for more. Pushing your underwear to the side, you sighed at the feeling of her hand on you, no barriers in place, nothing but skin against your slick heat.
Pinned in the damp grass, skirt hiked up around your waist, beautiful woman on top of you, your night had significantly improved. Your fingers had found their way into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging on it as her fingers swept through your folds. Wetness gathered on her fingertip, she was rough on your clit. The high whine from the back of your throat only seemed to spur her on. Her teeth sunk in deeper, right over your heart, a soft growl coming from her.
When her fingers plunged into you, you cried out, arching up into her mouth. She wasn’t soft with you, no longer exploring as her fingers thrust into you. Your hips met her hand, a strangled noise coming from your lips when her palm ground against your clit. You were panting, the electricity in your bloodstream all consuming. You’d never felt more alive than you did, there in the grass, abstract statue looming over the shoulder of the woman with her mouth on your body and her fingers inside you. Clutching at her, you rode her hand as hard as you could.
When your orgasm hit, it rushed over you. Your inner muscles clenched around her fingers, almost strangling them while your fingers tightening in her hair until you were pulling on it. Your hips were pressing up into her, seeking out every drop of pleasure you could find. It had never felt this intense before, this good. You wanted more of it.
“Fuck,” she growled into the skin of your neck.
Her hand retracted from between your legs, glistening with your arousal in what little light there was. Her tongue dragged over her skin, cleaning herself up. It was the single hottest thing you’d ever seen, which was saying a lot given what you’d been doing only moments before. Her dark eyes watched you with every lap of her tongue. You felt boneless and fucked and so turned on. Whoever this woman was, whatever her damage was, you wanted more.
Her leg swung around and she sat beside your splayed body. Wiping her hand on her skirt, she stared up at the statue in front of her, menacing in the shadows.
“Sorry about that,” she said, “I’m sort of going through something.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” you replied, slowly sitting too.
She looked over at you, a smile flirting with her lips.
“I suppose you’re not.”
Her eyes dipped down and something on her face changed. Her hand reached over, hovering before it made contact with your skin.
“Sorry about that.”
You looked down, finding a stark bite mark on the skin of your breast. Your thumb wiped away a drop of blood from the wound.
“Don’t worry about it,” you said, “it was kind of hot, actually.”
“You’re being surprisingly calm about this,” she said.
“A beautiful woman just ravished me in a garden. It’s the stuff dreams are made of,” you said with a small shrug and a smile.
She shook her head but didn’t disagree with you. The cool night air washed over you. You shivered. She shuffled closer, arm pressing to yours, her warmth seeping into you. You lent against her.
“So who is Delia?” you asked, staring at the statue.
“My step mother,” she replied.
“You don’t like her?” you asked.
“It’s complicated,” she said, “I don’t hate her. It’s just…”
“Complicated,” you said, nodding.
You sat in silence for a while longer. You wanted to reach out, to taste her, to know what she sounded like as she came. You thought she might not want that. She’d been so quick to put space between the two of you after your earth shattering orgasm. Even leaning on her, you weren’t sure she was completely comfortable with the casual touch.
“You are alive, right?” she asked after the silence had settled over you.
“What?” you laughed.
“Just tell if you’re actually alive or not,” she demanded turning to look at you.
“I’m not like a zombie or a ghost,” you said, still laughing.
The way she was looking at you had the laughter die on your lips. She was serious. Deadly so. You blinked. Her gaze was lingering, open and wide and vulnerable. Your heart clenched.
You grasped her hand, pressing it to your heart. Her palm moulded to the curve of your body as she pressed down. The sting of pain was worth it when her shoulders relaxed at the feeling of your heartbeat.
“See?” you murmured, “alive.”
She sat there, her hand on your chest, dark eyes watching as your chest expanded with every inhale. You let her, not sure what she was going through but letting yourself be there.
“Sorry,” she said, “sometimes it can get…”
“Get?” you prompted when you weren’t sure she was going to continue.
“Overwhelming,” she said, “that’s why I have a show. I can talk to ghosts.”
“Oh,” you said, not sure what to make of that, “cool.”
“You’re not going to tell me I’m crazy?” she asked.
You considered her for a moment.
“Nah. There’s enough out there we can’t explain that I’m not willing to dismiss anything yet,” you replied, “it’s not crazy to experience the world differently from me.”
Her hand tightened on your skin, the pain causing a hiss to fall from your lips. She looked down, flipping her palm to find your blood smeared over her skin. She brought it to her mouth, licking your blood away, holding eye contact with you.
A shot of pleasure went right between your thighs.
“You should probably go find your friend,” she said, ignoring how breathless you were.
“If she’s not still busy with Rick,” you said.
“She won’t be,” she said.
“She definitely won’t have had as good a time at this party as I have,” you said, smirking over at her.
“Come on.”
She stood, holding out a hand to you. You let her pull you to your feet, staggering into her body. Her fingertips were soft as they brushed over the apple of your cheek, lingering for a moment before putting more space between your bodies.
You followed her back to the party. The singing had only grown louder, the words slurred and indistinct, a wall of noise you weren’t interested in. You paused for a moment, scooping up the heels abandoned at the foot of the tree, Lydia lingering with you.
“I think I’ll return home now,” she said, almost absentmindedly, “Richard left candy when he picked up Astrid.”
“Pop on a horror movie and relax,” you said with a small laugh.
“Exactly.”
Looking at her, you could imagine she would be the exact kind of woman to relax to a good slasher movie. Something about her spoke to the darker side of things, the strange, the unusual. You liked it.
Your friend was in the doorway, staring out at the backyard, eyes searching. They alighted on you, relaxing before a look of surprise passed over her face. As you stepped into the circle of light spilling out of the house, her mouth fell open.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“You mean after you abandoned me?” you replied, “I made a friend.”
Her eyes dragged from you to Lydia, still at your side for reasons you hadn’t yet worked out. Your friend’s eyes widened and she seemed speechless. Not an easy feat, if you were being honest.
“Are you done? Can we go now?” you asked her.
“Uh… yeah, sure,” she said, still looking to Lydia.
“Great.” You turned to Lydia, “if you need to work through more shit, come find me.”
“I might just take you up on that,” she said, the corner of her lips curling up in a smile.
You reached out, brushing your fingertips over the apple of her cheek, a mirror image of the softness she’d shown you earlier. Her hand caught yours, pressing her lips to the centre of your palm before she let you go.
You grasped your friend’s elbow and steered her towards the front door. The house spat you onto a dark driveway, empty and long, the perfect setting for a horror movie ending to the night. After all, you’d sex. That was, like, horror movie 101.
“Did you seriously fuck Lydia Deetz?” your friend asked in a hiss of a whisper.
“Well…” you said, thinking over it.
“You know she’s a total con artist, right? She tells people she talks to ghosts,” she said, a judgemental edge to her tone.
“She told me,” you said.
“And you still fucked her?” she asked.
“Yeah, I did.” You jutted out your chin, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared at her.
“Didn’t know you were into that freaky shit,” she said, eyes trailing down to the wound on your chest.
“Hey, I don’t judge you for sleeping with some slimy producer. Don’t judge me for what I get up to,” you said.
“Fine,” she said, “but you’re not really going to see her again, are you?”
“I hope I do,” you said.
And when the phone rang, you jumped at the chance to help her work through more of her shit.
A Tale Told in Three Parts (Lydia Deetz x f!Reader)
Synopsis: Each of the Deetz women gets a glimpse into your relationship with Lydia.
Words: 4.4k
Warnings: mentions of toxic relationships, angst
i) Astrid
After the disastrous wake for her grandfather, Astrid was doing her best to avoid Rory and her mother. She wanted to return to school and not be forced to watch the farce of her mother’s life. By extension, she was doing her best to avoid you too. Another one of the people caught up in her mother’s world, she hardly wanted to give you any more thought than she had to.
Still, when she came upon you being so careful as you packed up her grandfather’s possessions, it was hard to hate you.
You’d been in her mother’s orbit for a few years now. She’d never quite been sure of your purpose. Caught somewhere between assistant and friend, you were always in the background, watching and listening, but staying out of the fray. She couldn’t blame you. It’s not as if she wanted to be involved with anything her mother was doing.
But unlike her mother, you would smile and let her sit in silence, and not ask her probing questions in an attempt to force emotional intimacy she didn’t want. Unlike Rory. She could do with less attempts to be her friend from him.
“Hey, did you need something?” you asked, noticing her lingering in the doorway.
“No,” she said.
“Okay.”
You went back to the box, delicately placing an object wrapped in bubble wrap inside. With both hands on your hips, baggy jeans and old worn t-shirt, you looked out of place in the house and in the family. You looked… normal. She couldn’t work out why you were still there, with her mother, letting your life be ruled by such insanity.
“There you are.”
You glanced up again, a smile spreading over your face. Your eyes focused on something over her shoulder, your entire face brightening. Astrid rolled her eyes, turning away, brushing past her mother. Lingering for a moment, she could hear your soft voice, answering whatever it was her mother was saying.
“He said something about getting more boxes,” you said, your voice hardening for a moment.
Maybe that was part of the reason she found you less insufferable than her mother. You made it no secret that you didn’t respect Rory or even particularly like him. She’d heard enough snide comments under your breath to know that, in least in that respect, you were on the same wavelength as her.
Slipping away, she left you to your own bad life decisions. It wasn’t anything to do with her. Not really. She had no interest in whatever was going on.
Even if the way you’d smiled upon seeing her mother was the way her dad used to smile at her too.
A few hours later, as she haunted the upper levels of the house, she happened to glance out the window. Wrinkling her nose at her mother standing on the grass, staring down at the town, she was ready to turn away and go back to ignoring her existence. She paused, a shadow rippling across the grass towards her mother.
She jumped, turning with a disgruntled look on her face. Your smile was wide enough for her to see it from her perch in the upper levels of the house as you approached her mother. A similar smile broke over her mother’s face and she felt something uncomfortable shift under her skin. That smile was almost familiar. One she could almost see as if a dream running through her fingers, hazy from childhood memories.
You said something that made her mother’s shoulders tense again before she seemed to make a concerted effort to relax them. You took another step forward, entering into her personal space, the way so many people never seemed comfortable doing with her mother. Herself being one of those people after everything.
She lingered, an ache in her chest, a bittersweet feeling dripping through her veins. The longer she watched, the more it grew. It wasn’t as if the two of you were doing more than talking. But the way your bodies were curved towards one another, seemingly unaware of anyone else on the property made it seem like it was more.
She watched, almost in slow motion, as your hand reached out, finger gently tapping the tip of her mother’s nose. It wrinkled and your head tipped back as you laughed. Even through the glass from so far away, she could hear it, bright and sunny and so full of joy. Her mother’s face melted into something soft, her lips tugging up in the corners into a small smile. She hadn’t seen that look in so long.
Her heart gave a pang and she turned away. It shouldn’t matter what her mother did with you. You weren’t the one she was choosing to marry. You weren’t the one leeching off her family. You weren’t the one that was ruining her life.
Yet, the feeling lingered long after she’d stopped watching you with her mother.
ii) Delia
Grief was a many pronged thing. Sitting in it was incomprehensible. The house, a constant reminder of all Delia had lost. She could use it. As an artist, exploring her inner feelings was as natural as breathing. Something good could come from all the pain she was forced to feel.
Only the house was full of people and she wasn’t sure what to think about it. Astrid was a relief in many ways, and Lydia was no longer a thorn in her side, but Rory was an active dark cloud on there periphery. You, in amongst all that swirling angst, were a breath of fresh air.
She’d met you a number of times before. One of her step-daughter’s entourage, you were a nice balance to the absolute bullshit that came spewing out of Rory’s mouth. Softer spoken, kinder, straightforward and caring in a way that spoke to the warmth of your soul, she appreciated your presence far more than her soon to be step-son-in-law’s. You offered more comfort in her moment of need. You were happy to take a backseat to her own grief, to let her art shine the way it deserved.
It would be wrong to say she hadn’t developed a soft spot for you. It would be hard not to when compared to Rory. It helped that, while the sleaze of a fiancee Lydia had ended up with tried to ingratiate himself in the family, you offered a steadying force without announcing your intention. In their time of need, you were a rock she was happy to have in the house.
You were sitting on the floor, legs crossed in front of you as you sorted through a large collection of books she hadn’t wanted to touch. Piles surrounded you, carefully wiping dust off each one with a gentle touch. It’s like you knew everything of Charles’ was precious, that a part of him remained in what he left behind.
It was something Rory would never be able to understand.
You looked up, eyes widening before settling into a small smile when you saw her lingering in the doorway. Head tilted up to watch her walk into the room, you placed the book in your hand into the open box in front of you.
“Did you need something, Mrs Deetz?” you asked.
That was another thing. You were always respectful towards her, a trait that had seemed to have passed by Rory without his notice. She definitely preferred your presence in Lydia’s life than the oaf of a man she’d hitched her cart to.
“No, no. I’m merely passing through in an attempt to capture the wistfulness of a life lost,” she said.
“I can give you the room, if you want,” you said, already rising to your feet to give her the space you thought she needed.
“You stay,” she said.
“Alright,” you said, but you didn’t resettle on the floor again.
As she floated through the room in an attempt to feel the way Charles had seeped into the foundations of the house, you made your way to another bookcase, pulling the tomes down. You worked in silence, not interrupting her communion with her husband.
Another thing Rory would never be able to manage.
“Do you have- oh.”
Delia glanced up. Lydia had managed to find her way into the room with the two of you, the familiar expression of anxiety and frustration on her face. You were careful as you placed the books down on the closest surface.
“What’s up?” you asked.
“I was looking for… it’s not important,” she said, already backing away again.
You stepped forward, lowering your voice as you drew closer to her.
“Lyds, come on, what is it?” you asked.
She shook her head and you sighed. Your hand rested on her shoulder, drawing even closer.
“Front pocket,” you murmured, “and I have the prescription hidden amongst my things if he throws them out again.”
Lydia seemed to relax, her eyes slipping closed as she let out a long breath. You squeezed her shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” you said.
“I can’t…” Lydia raised an unsteady hand to her eyes, pressing it in.
“Hey, it’s okay,” you said, “whatever it is, we can get through it.”
“He’s back,” she said, almost a whisper, “he’s in the model.”
This again. Delia was tired of hearing of the demon who had terrorised her poor family all those years ago.
“We’ll get rid of it,” you said, your hand rubbing along her arm, “it’ll be okay.”
“Why won’t he leave me alone?” she groaned, turning away from you.
The way you looked at her was like you you could understand why someone would become fixated on her. It was such a look of longing she wanted to capture it for all to see. An ache, bittersweet, yearning in every line of your face. It was such an open expression of vulnerability, the exact kind of emotion she was trying to capture in her art. And it was all there on your face, for anyone to see, except the person it was directed at.
It was art in its purest form.
“I need a moment,” Lydia said, striding out without looking back at you.
She watched as your body almost crumpled in on itself, spine curling and shoulders hunching. One deep breath then another before you straightened. You turned, blinking when you saw her standing there, watching you with pity in her eyes.
“Sorry,” you said, returning to the books.
“What are you apologising for? Emotion is the fabric of humanity and it is an artist’s job to capture it,” she said.
“Please don’t capture this,” you said, “it will only end in disaster.”
“Are you sure? It’s rather potent on you,” she said.
“I’d rather play out my heartbreak in privacy, if it’s all the same to you,” you said.
“There is no reason for heartbreak,” she said.
“I’m completely smitten with Lydia. How can it end in anything but my heartbreak?” you asked, “she’s marrying someone else tonight.”
“The curtain has yet to be drawn. Tell her. I’d much prefer you join this family than Rory,” she said.
“It’s not really about what you’d prefer though, is it?” you said, the note of resentment clear in your voice.
“She might prefer it too,” she said, “you’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“I know enough,” you muttered.
You lingered a little longer, finishing up your work with the books before slipping away. The front door slammed and she considered watching you from a window, to luxuriate in the pain and longing and consider how she would express it in her work. Instead, she turned back to her own project.
A nice distraction could never end the ever suffering of her grief.
iii) Lydia
There was something to be said for a wedding interrupted. The aftermath was always something to behold. Still, two weddings aborted in a single night was a record, even by Lydia’s standards. A second trip into the Neitherworld had reminded her of the joy of life, the way her blood pumped in her veins and the time she still had left on Earth. To share it with her daughter, coming out of it with the gap between them beginning to be bridged, was full circle with her teenage self returning with a new outlook on living.
By the next morning, the overwhelming feelings were crashing into her again. Delia was gone, Rory was gone, Beetlejuice was still lingering in her unconscious mind. Astrid was more opening to her attempts to talk. You were doing your best to give her the space you thought she needed. In the space of one night, her entire world had been turned on its head, and she was trying to adjust.
She didn’t want the space you were giving her. She didn’t want that one thing to change. She’d never wanted that thing to change.
You slid a plate of food in front of her, pancakes drizzled in some kind of fruit syrup. Astrid had taken hers into the living room, curling up on one of the old armchairs that would be coming with them to their home when they left. She had taken up space in her father’s study.
“You didn’t have dinner last night so don’t fight me on this,” you said.
She sighed, taking the cutlery from your hands. Your finger under her chin tilted her face towards you, seemingly taking her emotional temperature. You gave her a small smile as you let her go.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need something,” you said.
She caught your wrist, keeping you from leaving.
“Stay?” she asked.
You looked down at her, considering her request before you nodded. You sunk into one of the chairs on the far side of the room. Fiddling with your phone, she wondered if there was a reason you were avoiding looking at her. Your eyes flicked up and you looked stricken at being caught before you relaxed into a smile.
“I haven’t poisoned that, you know,” you said, nodding at her plate.
She took a bite, your eyes lingering before you nodded again. It wasn’t often she couldn’t figure out what you were thinking, usually so good at reading you. The longer you’d been in this house, the less she’d been able to. She didn’t want to think about it.
But then you looked up again and something in your face softened, fondness in every line of your face. Something in her chest broke open, delicate warmth spreading through her body. It was like the sun had come out from behind the clouds, illuminating every inch of her psyche she’d kept locked up and hidden in the shadows.
Her heart thumped hard in her chest, bruised and battered, and yet still beating. Your lips spread in a smile, the kind that was tired and soft and spoke to the years of intimacy you’d built with her. It was the kind of look she’d been searching for for so many years. How had she never noticed when it was right under her nose?
It had crept up on her so slowly there’d been no reason to pay attention to it. The way you were a steadying hand, keeping her upright, helping her through every moment when she was worried she’d break apart. The way she sought you out when the anxiety got too bad, her eyes scanning the room until they found you. The way you made everything easier without fanfare or an expectation of gratitude.
The way she breathed easier around you.
Blinking at you, it all crashed into her. The events of the last few days should have left her weary and broken, but this was the moment something in her snapped. This was a step too far.
To have fallen in love without even noticing was not meant to be the conclusion to two disastrous weddings, a funeral, and a trip to the Neitherworld.
She turned her attention back to the stack of pancakes you’d made her, brought to her, thinking about her needs even after everything. When was the last time someone else had done that?
“These are good,” she mumbled.
“My grandma’s recipe. She made them every Christmas morning. They taste like childhood joy to me and I figured we could all do with some of that,” you replied.
Her heart squeezed at that. It was so simple. You wanted to give her a bit of your childhood joy, to share with her something that might lift her spirits, to give her something beautiful without asking for something in return. And wasn’t that just a wonderful metaphor for her entire relationship with you.
You shifted in the chair and she realised she was staring at you. Looking away, she took another bite, the warmth of your kindness doing more for her than the actual food. There was no indication you felt even a fraction of the same thing she did. This was how you’d always been with her. You’d always been so soft with her. She hadn’t always deserved it.
“Thank you,” she said, voice quiet, staring down at her plate.
“Any time,” you said, “you know I’ve always got you.”
She was beginning to realise exactly how true that was.
Later, after you’d drifted away to give her that space you seemed so sure she needed, she found herself sitting in Delia’s chair, staring out at the town spread out down below. Astrid was keeping close for the time being while you were exploring the surroundings. She lent back, looking up at the sky, hoping Delia had found her father in the Neitherworld and moved to the Great Beyond. The thought of them together for eternity had to be some comfort in the face of her own lose.
Laughter floated towards her on the breeze. Turning her attention down, she found you in your old jeans and soft t-shirt walking through the grass. Your head was tipped up and you paused, a smile stretching over your face as you sought out the sun. The long line of your neck was on full display and she felt her mouth grow dry.
“You might want to wipe the drool away.”
She startled, not having heard Astrid appear in the doorway. Her daughter seemed unimpressed with whatever she saw on her face.
“I don’t,” she began to say.
“It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain,” Astrid interrupted.
“Could you keep your voice down?” she asked.
She turned back to make sure you hadn’t heard anything her daughter had said. Your eyes were closed and your face was still tipped up to the sun but you seemed to be taking time to breath deeply. Her eyes lingered, staring at you in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to ever do before. Even before she’d realised her own feelings it had felt dangerous to look too long.
“You should just tell her,” Astrid said, leaning against the side of the house.
The tableau was hauntingly familiar, the same as just a few days ago between herself and Delia. Was this the cycle she was bound live for the rest of her life? Reliving her own relationship with Delia? There were worse things to live through, she supposed.
“I’m not doing that,” she said.
“Why not? You obviously like her. And she’s better than Rory. Even Delia thought so,” she said.
“You talked about this with Delia?” she asked, something uncomfortable sitting in her stomach.
“In passing. Shockingly, we had other things to talk about than your abysmal love life,” she said, “but we both liked her more than him.”
“I didn’t-“ she tried to say.
“Look, you should just tell her. Life is short and you never know when it’s going to end. Look at Delia. Look at Grandad. Look at Dad. No one expected them to die but they did and we were lucky to see Dad and Delia after they were gone to say goodbye properly but most people don’t get that. So tell her,” she said.
“We’re not talking about this,” she said, turning away again.
She couldn’t tell you. There was no possibility it would end well. The thought of having to go on without you, especially after everything that had just happened, made the panic rise in her. And if she told you that perhaps her feelings were more than what they seemed she was certain you’d pull away from her. She’d rather sit in the feeling with you in her life than lose you.
“I’m not enjoying it any more than you are but she makes you happy and I’m trying to be nice,” Astrid said.
“I’m not risking ruining what I have for more,” she said.
You were slow to lower your head, eyes squinting open. Raising a hand, you shaded your eyes as you looked up at the house. Your hand raised in a wave, hers automatically raising in response without thought. Astrid snorted.
“She likes you too. Just talk to her. It’s not that hard,” she said.
“Says the teenager who’s first date led to her almost giving up her life to let a dead murderer return to the world of the living,” she said.
“We’re all allowed to make mistakes. I haven’t given you shit for Rory,” she said.
“You gave me nothing but shit for Rory,” she replied, looking up at her.
“Rightfully so,” you said, coming up to them without her noticing. Her attention was severely lacking, it seemed, continually being snuck up on by the two people staying in the house with her.
“What?” she asked, on the wrong foot from the surprise.
“No offence, Lyds, but you deserve a bit of shit for Rory. He sucked and you were the only one who couldn’t see it.” You took a seat on the steps, looking up at her with one of those smiles that felt intimate and warm and fond, “sorry but you’re a total badass and you put up with that whimper of a man? You deserve some shit for that.”
“You never said anything,” she said, taken aback. You’d never been this open about your feelings on Rory.
“Yeah, because you were in love with him. It’s a dick move to do that to your friend. But now he’s your ex…” you said.
“I wish you had said something,” she said.
“Would it have made a difference?” you asked.
She paused a moment.
“I don’t know.”
You gave her an indulgent smile, your chin tipping down as you looked up at her from under your lashes. Her heart skipped a beat. She was no romantic but there was no other way to describe the feeling in her chest.
“Am I allowed to be critical of him now?” you asked, voice softening, “if you’re not okay with it I’ll stop.”
“You can,” she said.
“Okay.” Your shoulders relaxed, “because he was awful. You’ve always been too good for him.”
“Who would you pick for me?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Someone kind,” you replied.
Such a simple answer and yet it felt like a shock to her system. Could it really be that simple? You were kind. So maybe her heart was on to something already.
“Do you know someone?” she asked.
“I’m sure you’re more than capable of finding someone yourself,” she said, “after all, you found me.”
“I did,” she said.
She braced for some kind of comment from Astrid, caring wrapped in sarcasm to get her to say more. But when she looked around, her daughter was gone from where she’d been, slipping away in silence. Something about you seemed to ruin her perceptive abilities. You distracted her from the rest of the world.
You stood and she had the sudden fear that you’d heard more than she’d intended in those two words and were about to leave her alone. Instead, you lent against the railing beside her, fingers plucking the sunglasses off her face and dropping them onto your own. Her heart stuttered and she froze.
“If you had to pick someone, who would they be?” you asked, and she had the desperate wish to see your eyes.
“Someone I’m safe with,” she replied, “someone I trust.”
“That seems like the bare minimum in a relationship,” you said, but you weren’t smiling anymore.
“Clearly I’m not good at finding that,” she said.
“Lyds,” you sighed, pushing the sunglasses to the top of your head, keeping your hair out of your face, “I hope you already have those things. With me.”
“I do,” she rushed to say, that familiar anxiety growing.
“So you’re not bad at finding it,” you said.
“Yes but you…” She wasn’t sure she could finish that thought.
“I…?” you prompted.
“You wouldn’t be interested in being with me like that,” she eventually said.
“I wouldn’t?” You raised your eyebrows.
“Would you?” She couldn’t look at you as she asked.
“I suppose that would depend,” you replied.
Her eyes darted back up to you. The way you were looking at her was so gentle, like she was something special, something wonderful, something you couldn’t believe existed.
“On what?” she asked.
“On if it was something you were interested in,” you said.
“And if I was?” she asked.
“Then I would be very interested in you like that. In fact, it’s possible I’ve been interested in you like that for a while now but thought there was no chance you’d be okay with that,” you said.
Lydia stood from the chair, stepping into your personal space. You fidgeted until she reached out, hands laying over yours to still them. Your expression was so open, so vulnerable and all she could think about was how special it was to be given permission to see this side of you. Her fingers brushed over the pulse in your neck, feeling it jump under her touch. Your breath hitched and you swayed towards her. When your teeth sunk into your lower lip, her gaze was drawn to it, heat seeping through her veins.
“Then maybe you should know I’m thinking about what it would be like to kiss you,” she whispered.
Middle of the Night Conversations (Lydia Deetz x Reader)
Synopsis: After the wedding that wasn't, Lydia finds you in the kitchen, unable to sleep.
Words: 3.4k
Warnings: Praise kink if you squint real hard, mentions of toxic relationships
“You’re awake.”
You glanced up from your cold mug of tea. Perched on a stool in the kitchen, you’d been staring down into the mug in the darkened house. Everything had gone quiet a few hours ago, but left to your own devices you hadn’t been able to fall asleep. So you’d gotten up to make yourself some chamomile tea, your mother’s voice echoing in your mind from your childhood. The trouble was, you’d lost yourself in thought before you’d had even a sip of the calming drink.
Lydia stepped through the shadows, into the moonlight streaming through the window. Your thundering heart calmed, the regular level of anxiety returning just from seeing her. Something about being in the original ghost house was making you jumpy, especially after everything that had already happened.
“So are you,” you said.
“I’m always awake in the middle of the night,” she said.
“I know.”
You shared a small smile with her, her night time habits intimate to you. You’d been her assistant for a while now, hired by Rory when he decided she was a big enough star to not be bogged down with the minutiae of human life. When you’d been hired, you’d expected something more in line with your previous jobs. Demanding and egotistical, and yet what you’d been met with was a woman who seemed as unsure about your presence as you were. Rory, at least, had managed to fulfil your expectations, at times seemingly forgetting you weren’t his assistant.
Over many long hours and middle of the night conversations, it had become clear that both of you were more alike than different, letting you settle more comfortably in as her assistant. A slow friendship was built over insomnia filled nights. She’d call you to talk, or she’d keep you in the studio late. Sharing take out on the floor of her living room had become one of your favourite things to do, usually because Rory would be off schmoozing in fancy restaurants while she was left alone. You were her go to when she couldn’t sleep.
“Do you want me to make you some tea?” you asked, already rising to stool to put the kettle back on the stove. At the very least, you could do with actually drinking some of the tea yourself.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, unapologetically taking your stool.
“It’s quite literally my job,” you said.
You lit the stove and placed the kettle on the hob. Turning, you rested against the counter, leaning on it with your arms curled around your waist. She was looking down at her own hands, wringing together where they rested on the bench in front of her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.
It had been slow going, getting her to open up to you. Over many hours, you’d wandered towards one another on shaky legs, both unsure of what the other would do in the face of vulnerability. And while she had such a presence about her when the lights were on and the cameras were rolling, it was so different from the anxious woman you’d come to know behind the scenes. The one who spoke to people who weren’t there and at times seemed as if she’d be engulfed with a greif you couldn’t place. The woman who curled into herself and grew quiet, staring into space.
But once the floodgates had opened, they hadn’t closed. You always wondered if it was because you wanted to listen to her talk about ghosts without demanding for anything more from her. Just an enthusiastic ear who liked the stories for what they were. You thought she liked talking without anyone pushing in with their opinion or listening in with judgement.
“I didn’t realise what it would be like seeing him again,” she said, “I thought I’d moved past it.”
“The ghost?” you asked.
“I can still feel him.” She shivered, “I know he’s not actually here but it’s like he’s watching me.”
“He’s fixated on you,” you said.
She looked up at you with those wide eyes that had grown familiar over the many days and hours and months you’d spent with her. You swallowed past the lump in your throat. You’d seen her when it had all grown too much but this was something different. It was like she was haunted. Ironic, given her job, and yet…
“Maybe he is,” you said, “you saw him before he was here, didn’t you?”
You could still remember the fear on her face during the taping. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to see again.
“What will it take for him to leave me alone?” she asked.
“Dying?” you suggested, “moving on like the Maitlands did?”
“He’ll just follow me then too,” she groaned.
“Maybe all you can do is ignore him and live your life the way you want to,” you said, “who cares if he’s watching? There’s only one way to bring him here and you’re not about to do that again. So don’t give him this power over you.”
The way she was looking at you was like you were too naive to understand properly. It made your skin itch in ways that had grown familiar to you. Hugging yourself tighter, you tried not to fidget under her scrutiny.
The kettle began to whistle and you jumped, having forgotten you were in the middle of making her a cup of chamomile tea. You turned away from her, pouring the boiling water into a clean mug for her. Her fingers were cold where they brushed against yours as you passed her the mug. You drew back again, pushing up onto the counter you’d been leaning against, bare feet swinging, not wanting to think about that touch.
“I’m not saying it will be easy, but do you want to be beholden to him for the rest of your life?” you asked, pouring your own cup.
“I want him to leave me alone,” she said.
“We could summon him. Demand he get out of your life and your head,” you said.
“NO!”
You offered her a small smile over the rim of your mug. She stared back at you, eyes wide, almost wild, cheeks flushing.
“Alright, then if you won’t summon him, what can you do?” you asked.
It took a moment before her shoulders slumped. Her hands curled around the mug in front of her, as if seeking out warmth she couldn’t generate herself. Taking a sip of your own tea, you waited for her to say it.
“Ignore him,” she said, so tired.
“There ya go,” you said, keeping your voice gentle.
“I can feel his presence,” she said, looking up at you, “he’s still here.”
“And you’re going to…?” you prompted him.
“Ignore him,” she replied.
“Good girl.”
She took a long drink from her mug, not quite meeting your eye. You followed suit, looking away to look out the window on the moonlight drenched night. Sometimes, when you were talking to her in the middle of the night, words slipped out that you wouldn’t say in the light of day. The thoughts in your brain didn’t go through the usual filter before they made it to your mouth. This was one of those times.
“Why are you awake?” she asked, breaking the silence you’d caused.
“It’s been a weird few days,” you said, still staring out the window.
You hadn’t expected her to bring you with her when her father died. You knew she didn’t have many people around her, Rory the only one that had been propping her up as far as you could tell, but you weren’t part of her family. There hadn’t been a reason for you to be there. It made no sense.
But she’d asked and you couldn’t say no to her.
“I suppose that’s one way to describe it,” she said.
“I guess I’m just processing,” you said, looking back at her.
She was watching you, a carefully neutral expression on her face. You shrugged, taking another sip of tea, not feeling the need to say more than that. It was obvious enough what you’d be processing.
“Did you believe me?” she asked, her eyes skittering away from you.
“About what?” you asked, but you thought you knew.
“About the ghosts,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t think you were lying, and I didn’t think you were hallucinating, so yeah. I believed you,” you said, “if I hadn’t I would have told you straight to your face.”
“Would you?” she asked.
“Just because Rory didn’t that doesn’t mean everyone he hired is awful. I would have told you and then accepted whatever decision you made about my future as your assistant. I wasn’t trying to make money off you. I just wanted to help you,” you said, “if you hadn’t wanted me around I would have been sad but I would have moved on without my life being ruined. It was about what you wanted and what would make you most comfortable.”
“Why didn’t I see it in him?” she asked.
“He lied. You saw what you needed to see to survive. It happens,” you said.
She looked sharply at you before her shoulders relaxed when she saw you watching her with an open expression.
“There’s nothing wrong with you for believing it when someone told you they loved you. That’s being human,” you said.
“I should have noticed it,” she said, rather than agreeing with you.
“Did you even like him?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Did you like him? Did you respect him? If the answer is no, then his opinion isn’t worth anything,” you said, “Astrid’s opinion matters. Your opinion matters. His doesn’t.”
She stared at you a moment. You shifted on the counter, fingers tightening on your cooling mug, looking away into the shadows of the house. You might always want her attention on you, but any time you got it, there was always a sense of self consciousness from you. Like you were worried about her seeing too much.
“Your opinion matters too.”
Your eyes found hers again. There was such an intense expression on her face, fierce in a way you only saw occasionally, usually when she was fighting for Astrid. You’d seen it plenty over the last few days. This was the first time you’d found it directed in your direction.
“You don’t have to say that to spare my feelings,” you said.
“I’m not.” Her voice had hardened.
She stood, the stool screeching against the kitchen floor. You winced, a shiver going down your spine. Her bare feet were silent as she approached you but still, it was like a tremor went through the building as she drew closer.
“I’m not saying it to make you feel better about yourself. I’m saying it because it’s true,” she said, “your opinion matters to me.”
“Well, that’s just… that’s… thank you,” you said, not having the words for what it meant to you.
“Did you like him?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Rory.” The eye roll was implied.
“He disrespected you. Of course I didn’t like him,” you said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, shaking her head.
“He dressed you up like a knock off Elvira when it’s clear that’s not how you want to present yourself,” you said, eyes gliding over her body before meeting her eyes, “he made everything about himself. Just look at how he acted the entire time he was here. It was all about him, and not you or Astrid or Delia when it was your father who died. He was sleazy and self serving, and you can do so much better than him.”
“Can I?” You hated the undercurrent of vulnerability in her question.
“Lydia.” You reached out, grasping her hands in both of yours, bridging the gap she’d first breached, “if you wanted the world you could have it. Whatever else happens, please believe that.”
Her fingers tangled with yours, tightening as she stepped closer. The silk of her pyjamas brushed your bare knees, sending electricity over your skin. Your breath caught and any words you might have had left died on your lips.
“Sometimes it feels like you are the only one I feel like my old self around,” she said, a whispered confession that rocketed through your body.
She came closer, her body now pressed against your legs, hands holding yours, dark eyes searching your face for something you’d gladly give her if she’d only ask. You held your breath, waiting to see what she would do.
“You’d give me the world if I asked for it, wouldn’t you?” she asked, whisper soft and broken open, wonder painting every syllable.
“I would,” you breathed out.
Her gaze slid over your face before slipping down to your lips. Your tongue darted out, dragging over them, watching as her eyes followed it. Her own tongue followed suit, an unconscious mirroring as she focused on you. Your knees fell open and you tugged on her hands, pulling her closer until she was nestled between your thighs.
“Lydia,” you groaned, almost pained, feeling as if you’d ended up in a dream.
“I don’t need the world,” she said, her fingers untangling from yours before resting her palms against your legs, “you can keep the world.”
“Okay,” you said.
“But I do need you,” she said.
You didn’t have an answer for her. You didn’t know how you’d gotten from talking about the demon that had been haunting her since a teenager to this but you didn’t want to ruin it. It felt fragile, a moment made from spun glass that could shatter if you mishandled it even slightly.
“Oh,” you finally managed to get out.
“I need you,” she said, her grip on your thighs tightening, almost painfully.
“Okay,” you said.
“I need you,” she said again, head tipping forward until her forehead came to rest against your chest.
You were hesitant as you curled your arms around her. She pressed closer, hands sliding from your legs to your hips to wrap her arms around your waist. You lent forward, pressing your face to the top of her head.
“You have me,” you whispered.
She drew back just far enough to look up into your face. Your lips parted and her eyes slipped down to them. You fell forward, sure she would draw back, but not able to stop yourself. The first brush of lips was so soft, tentative, as if waiting to be pushed away and told off. She made a small noise, practically a whimper.
Your hands cupped her cheeks, kissing her again and again and again, each time just a little deeper. You were trying to be so careful but then her teeth nipped at your lower lip and you groaned into her mouth. Her hands were pushing up your shirt, bare skin on bare skin, making you haul her even closer.
“Sorry,” you said, panting, when you drew back, reminding yourself that you’d both just gone through something intense and she’d just lost her fiancee and her father and her step mother in the last three days, “I’m so sorry.”
“No, don’t,” she said.
She pushed up onto her toes, kissing you again. There was nothing you could do but kiss her back. You were so utterly smitten with her you’d do anything she asked.
“Don’t apologise,” she demanded, her lips still brushing yours, “not for this.”
“Are you…” You gently pushed her back, still caught between your legs but giving you the space to think again, “what are we doing?”
“Something I’ve wanted for a while now,” she said, “do you not…?”
“Lydia, I’ve been half in love with you since the moment I began working for you,” you said, “but is now really the time? You’ve just lost so many people. You can’t be thinking clearly.”
“Don’t tell me what I’m thinking,” she said, pushing away from you.
“Sorry,” you said again.
You pressed your knees together again, curling your arms around your waist, suddenly ice cold. You watched her pace the kitchen, that feeling of being in a dream shifting into a nightmare. You’d shattered the moment, shards of glass stuck in your skin.
“Do you think this is easy for me? That I go around doing this with everyone? That I trust people the way I trust you?” she asked, no, demanded, from you.
“Of course not,” you said, growing smaller.
“Then don’t tell me what I’m fucking thinking. I’m more me with you than I ever was with Rory. So don’t tell me I’m not thinking clearly right after telling me you have feelings for me,” she said.
“I just meant-“
“I know what you meant,” she snapped, “you were the one just telling me to live my life the way I want to and that I can do better and have the world. I don’t want the world. What I want is you.”
“You have me. You’ll always have me,” you said.
“Then why are we arguing about this?” she asked.
“Maybe because I’m worried this is all because of everything you’ve just gone through and in a few weeks you’ll realise this isn’t what you want and I’ll be left heartbroken,” you said, “maybe getting something I’ve wanted for so long is scary because I’m not sure I’ll survive if it’s taken from me. Maybe I’m scared.”
That seemed to give her pause for thought. Freezing, she stared at you with wide eyes. Admitting it, spilling out your feelings for her to see, was also scary. To be vulnerable would never sit comfortably to you.
“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” she said.
“It’s not you I’m scared of. You’re wonderful. But if I let myself have this, I’m giving you the means to seriously hurt me and it worries me because this is coming out of nowhere from my perspective,” you said, looking down at the fingers twisting together in your lap.
“It’s not coming from nowhere,” she said, stepping towards you again, looking grim, “it’s easy to pretend something is one thing when it’s actually something else because you think you have that thing in someone else.”
“What?”
She sighed, stepping forward until she was brushing against your knees again. Her hands hovered over yours before they landed, skin against skin, cool fingers almost icy against your warmth. You shivered but flipped your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers again, looking at the sight of them wound together.
“I could pretend my feelings for you were platonic because I thought I was in love with Rory. But I wasn’t. Not really. He never made me feel the way you did. Why do you think you were the one I always spoke to when I couldn’t sleep?” she said, her grip on you tightening, “you’re the person I feel safest with.”
“Oh,” you said, not sure what to say, putting those words into the context of everything else that you’d experienced with her.
“You understand what I’m saying, right?” she asked.
“I think so,” you replied.
“After everything we’ve just been through, I can’t lose you too,” she said.
You tugged on her hands, drawing her closer until you could trap her between your thighs, pinning her in place. Something in her seemed to relax as your fingertips brushed over the apple of her cheek.
“You won’t,” you said, “but I can’t lose you either.”
“You’ll never lose me,” she said.
Her lips landed on yours again, sighing into your mouth as she sunk into you. Her arms were back around your waist and your fingers were under her chin, tilting it upwards to kiss her like she was something precious, soft and sweet and lingering. Proof you were going to stay, that she meant something to you, that this was the first moment of many more.
Sleep was overrated and Lydia Deetz was worth being awake in the middle of the night for. Especially when she was kissing you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. That you meant something to her. That you were more than just her assistant.
