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thisismeracing · 5 months

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Haunted | LH44

― Pairing: Ghost!Lewis x fem!reader ― Word count: 3.8k ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and graphic description of sex (fingering and dirty talk); mentions of cheating; description of horror situations and stabbing (but not too graphic). ― Summary: Lost in the years, lost in the days, Lewis Hamilton haunts the house that once was his. The house where he was killed. And the house that now has new inhabitants. He was used to blowing candles, breaking chinas, and it being enough for the curious newbies to leave. However, it was the first time he met someone who wouldn’t act terrified by his presence. Yn was curious, and that curiosity had a price. Lewis was the one who would collect the debt.

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It was a cursed house.

The tale was that a rich man used to live there. He was beautiful. So beautiful the whole town knew who he was. He was also warm and compassionate, he would help old ladies with bags, walk the neighbor’s dog, share his famous coffee whenever he had the time, and help the young boys with driving classes. But his beauty was also his curse because someone’s wife fell in love with him, and as the saying goes, there are two things you cannot hide properly: a cough and a burning love. It wasn’t even a week after the man noticed how his lady would eye the town’s treasure. It was possible the young gentleman didn’t know about this infatuation, but the woman’s husband knew and it was enough for him to stab the man to death in the most brutal way. Rumor had it he tried to get up and walk, but he could only make it to the door of his room, his body collapsing and succumbing to death minutes after agonizing with his own blood. The houses were far one from the other, but his screams were so loud some of the neighbors heard them even after he passed away, haunted by his pleas they moved.

The house went for sale, and someone even bought it a year after the crime, but they did not last for a week, the ghost of the dead man haunted the place day and night moving things, opening and closing doors, as if inviting whoever was there to leave, and when his requests were not obeyed, he would riot. In the night, his screams would get louder, he would grab their feet, play with the TV’s remote, boil water, and let the windows open.

They say he’s an angry ghost, a miserable one because he never got to experience true love. He was killed before he could, and so he closed himself on the house he took so much care while in life. His garden was the most beautiful one. Full of dark roses, and big trees, but once he died so did the flowers. It was like everything rotted.

Yn sighed thinking about the story an old lady told her when she went to get groceries. The woman went as far as advising her to leave the house, the money be damned. But of course, Yn wouldn’t do it. The house cost money for her and her husband, Eric. And besides, she had always been curious about ghost stories. Never truly believed how dangerous it could get.

“And she told me some people still hear his screams when passing by the house,” Yn repeated the tale to Eric while they shared take-out on the living room floor. The fire was lit casting a warm glow around then, but she felt a brief shiver pass through her body as soon as she finished speaking.

The ginger laughed, “Did she tell you when it happened?”

“A long time ago, she didn’t- she didn’t mention the year,” Yn explained. “Why? Don’t you believe it?”

He shook his head, “Nah, you know I’m extremely skeptical about those fairy things.”

“Not fairies, Eric, but ghosts,” she tried.

He shrugged, “I think when we die, we die, period. There’s no second or third dimension, much less one in between to get stuck on.”

Yn nodded, knowing it wouldn’t be a productive conversation. Her husband was usually set on his beliefs, never straying away from them, and sometimes this would cost a peaceful night whenever they couldn’t agree on something. He would have a hard time comprehending her point of view.

“So what, you wanna move now? You’re afraid a bloody man is gonna show up and imprison you here?” Eric joshed.

Yn rolled her eyes tired of how pushy he could get. She loved him, but sometimes it was hell to deal with his mannerisms. When they were younger she thought it would change with time. Turns out it didn’t.

“It’s your turn to clean up, I’m heading to bed,” and pecking his lips she climbed the stairs leading to the long and dark corridor of the rooms. Yn stopped right at the door, watching the threshold and imagining how, even if years ago, someone died there. Right in between. Reaching for the outside. Screaming for help.

She sighed, starting her night routine. It was only their second week at the house, and she was used to how the bathroom lights would flash, or the water would lessen. Except, now she knew about the guy that died there, and everything that happened reminded her of him.

It’s curious how your mindset changes once you’re presented with a different explanation. Once you believe it to be true. And she believed so much to the point of googling it while lying in bed. Eric hadn’t been back just yet, and Yn was scrolling through the results which weren’t that many. It was a small town. Apparently a simple crime. It was probably life-altering and shocking for those who lived there at the time and knew both parties, but if she were a journalist that wouldn’t be the most exciting case to cover.

Yn heard the footsteps on the corridor, but she was so engrossed in the page that she finally found out about the murder of a young man, and just when she was about to reach his name the door opened. She bit her lips, trying to find which line she was reading, “Eric?” Yn asked, and the same door that opened all the way seconds ago closed abruptly making her jump.

The light on the nightstand flashed, and Yn tried to be rational. She told herself it was probably Eric trying to prank her. Or the wind, even though the windows were closed. Who knew? The house had a good ventilating system.

She called for her husband again, and she heard more footsteps, but he didn’t answer back. She huffed stressed, blocking her phone and turning on the bed to try and get some sleep. She had tons of cleaning to do the next day, the house was huge and some of her things were still packed in cardboxes.

Later, when Eric finally got to the bedroom, he walked by the bed squeezing her foot, a habit he had whenever he passed close enough to touch, and seconds before, when he crawled into bed Yn was too drowsy to complain about his stupid pranks. She just curled her body on his and dozed off.

She was humming to a tune she couldn’t quite grasp yet while folding her clothes on her bed when she heard the steps. She tried turning to look, but it all happened too fast. In the blink of an eye, she felt the sting on her back, so close to her neck it felt almost like when sunlight hit that particular spot. She held back a groan but screamed the second that same sting hit full force, this time on the left side of her shoulders. When Yn turned, feeling the tickles of hot blood run down her back, she saw a man with so much rage in his eyes that it was like he was hitting her over and over again on the same spot. But in reality, his hands went up holding a bloody knife, and he stabbed her in a series of different places. She screamed, cried, and asked between coughs why her, why he was doing it, why a knife, why so many hits, why why why? And when no answer came from his mouth except grunts she knew there was nothing to do but to run for her life. She stumbled in the direction of the bedroom door, feeling yet another series of stings on her back. She tried to run, but her own blood betrayed her and she slipped on it. The feeling of the hot liquid against her hands and cheeks made her scream harder for help. But no one came, and the stab continued. She tried crawling. Tried praying. Tried begging for her life or at least to stop and let her die in pieces, but it went on until darkness surrounded her. She weakly turned her arm in the direction of her killer, digging her nails into the skin of his forearm and dragging as if telling him something. And when darkness surrounded her she kept screaming and twisting her body.

“Yn, wake up! It’s me! Wake up, dammit!” Erik tried while Yn relentlessly twisted on the bed. “Wake up, Yn,” he tried louder and she jumped out of bed taking part of the covers with her and almost falling to the ground.

“Omg, omg,” she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, looking around her room and noticing there were no clothes to be folded or blood spots on the ground. Only her scared husband staring at her from his spot on the bed.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know,” she holds the covers closer to her body, trying to make herself smaller. “I had a nightmare, but it was so real, so real I-”

Erik sighed, “You shouldn’t have entertained that crazy lady at the supermarket, now you’re convinced and thinking there’s a ghost in the house, as if there are ghosts at all!”

Yn shook her head, but kept her mouth shut, standing glued on her spot and assessing the whole room all over again. It was this room. This exact same room was the one she was standing in in her nightmare, and possibly the room where the guy was killed. Her phone lit up on the nightstand, there were no new notifications, and when she unlocked it her browser was still open on the article about the case. She locked it again and took a step back.

“What was it now, babe?” Erik was clearly frustrated, he hated being woken up especially in the middle of the night, and especially in a scary situation like the one he just watched happen.

“Nothing, I- uhm- I should try sleeping again,” she stated, getting under the covers and lying beside him, when her back hit the mattress she swore she felt a small sting, but she kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes, trying to sleep it off.

When the morning came and the sun peeked through the blinds, Yn descended the stairs to the kitchen, stopping at the door and staring at the mess her husband, who was supposed to clean the dishes and discard the takeout containers, left.

Sighing, started the coffee machine, and a few minutes later Eric showed up in the kitchen, rubbing the sleep of his eyes.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, good morning, you probably had a blast last night watching TV instead of cleaning the kitchen,” she spat, and he arched his brows.

“I did clean the kitchen!”

“Then who messed it up? A ghost?!” she bit back, pointing to the takeout containers on the counter and the dirty dishes pilling on the sink.

Eric rubbed his temple, before walking to the coffee machine. He hated coffee, and the second he poured a cup Yn knew he was stressed, “I cleaned everything, I remember doing it before also cleaning the living room, that’s why I got to the bedroom so long after you.”

Yn saw a hint of truth behind his statement, but shook her head, starting to discard the cans and plastic wrappers in the trash. She watched from her peripheral vision her husband grab an apple and drown his coffee in one go before leaving the room.

Protected from the cold air by a thin robe, Yn ate breakfast peacefully watching the destroyed backyard of her new house. She could see the spots where plants once were, now involved by tall weeds and dark unkept grass. A three with a swing attached to it was hanging on by a thread.

She took notes of things she wanted to renovate and what she wanted to plant where, before getting inside to a virtual work meeting.

The day went on without events. At night she shared dinner with Eric again, and it was her turn to clean the kitchen. She did it alone on the ground floor, Eric in their room doing some readings or whatever. She finished in less than an hour and then went to bed. Her mind and body were tired after not sleeping properly the other night, so when Yn hit the mattress she was out cold faster than you could say “good night”.

His eyes were covered by the shadows, but she could tell he had a thoughtful expression by looking at his eyebrows. He was taller than her, she could tell, and he was broad. Lean and strong arms, chiseled jaw, and pretty dark skin.

Yn tried opening her mouth to ask who he was. What he was doing standing at her bedroom door, but his stare was so intense she couldn’t do anything but look back at him, and as the saying goes once you look something in the face, once you stare too long into the abyss, it looks back. It starts to truly exist.

Her week goes by with lonely days and strange nights. She keeps dreaming about the guy standing on her bedroom door and keeps hearing steps, and hushed voices. Sometimes she’ll live that stabbing nightmare all over again. Some hours, she’ll work on her computer, and though there’s a sense of loneliness, there’s also a sense of company, as if she was being watched.

It would scare anyone in their right mind, but Yn tried to rationalize things. And the things she couldn’t, she just let them be. Sometimes, you have to accept that you’re not supposed to understand everything. Life has its mysteries, and so did her new house.

Things with Eric were going downhill, and they were spending less and less time together. But it wasn’t anything new, and he was busy with work. They were both busy. Yn tried to tell herself. Feeling lonely would explain how her brain threw her into a heated dream.

It was the first time she was able to produce a sound in her dream. It was a simple “a” that passed between her open lips. And so as it happens, it was also the first time the man by the door moved. His eyes never left hers while he walked to the foot of the bed. He wandered as if he knew the place and setting of everything. Like he lived there for centuries. And when he stopped in front of her, his eyes trailed on the covers, moving them to her feet, without moving his body. Yn grunted, surprised with how easily the covers fell, and how her body was exposed to him. The cold air made her nipples harden against the silk nightgown.

When she looked at him again, she saw his eyes for the first time. A deep honey brown, carrying so much and whispering so much on her mind, she had the urge to touch him. But her body would only do so much. Yn watched, as he studied her contours with something she was not able to pin just yet. She watched as his tongue came out of his plush and pink lips to moisten them. And she moaned, she actually moaned when his fingers touched her leg. His skin was cold, his touch so feathery almost like a ghost. He trailed the tip of his short nails on her thighs and with just one look he spread them.

“Yes,” she was able to whisper when his eyes found hers again.

The man smirked devilishly. One of his fingers trailed the path to her unclothed pussy and Yn whined when he spread her sex and caressed her soaked lips. She couldn’t think about anything but his deep brown eyes. Her husband was long forgotten. The house was long forgotten.

“Yes,” she chanted again. It sounded like a prayer. It made the mysterious man’s grin widen. He inserted one finger inside her and dipped his face to her ear. There wasn’t a sound, but she felt a light gush of air against her skin. And she tried to move her hips in the direction of his fingers.

He played with her already puffy clit, and this time the gush of air she felt against her skin was accompanied by a quiet chuckle sound.

Her hips ground against his big hands, and Yn choked when his long fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. She shuddered and her body went limp when her orgasm hit her like a trainwreck, fogging her mind from any coherent thought.

Yn jolted from the bed feeling sweat slide down her forehead and between her breasts. She took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes trying to adjust them to the darkness of her room, her comforter was lying by her feet and the skirt of her nightgown was hiked up on her hips. She furrowed her brows and tentatively moved her fingers to her core, feeling the dampness of her core.

Cum.

She turned to her husband, but Eric was lying beside her, in a deep slumber.

She turned to the doorway and the once-closed door now rested ajar.

Once again Yn tried to rationalize everything. Was it possible to cheat on someone in your dreams? Was it really a dream?

She tried talking with Eric, but he was in so deep with work he wouldn’t be home until dinner almost every day. And when she tried to tell him about the weird noises and the sensation of being watched, he told her “It just feels weird because it's not decorated with your flowers and things yet, we got it mobiliated, not decorated, so maybe that’s why you’re feeling dislocated or whatever, just relax, will ya?”.

Up until starting to get the house in order, Yn would tell herself that every weird thing happening to her was just a product of her imagination. But while going through things in the living room, she found an album. Inside, a bunch of pictures caught her attention. The first few pages portrayed the house in a much better state. The gardens and a beautiful kitchen. A fireplace lit in the living room, and a corridor full of photos. At some point, she found a picture of a man. A stunning man. He had a big white smile while staring at the camera. His hair was ornated with braids, and two small ones shaped his face to perfection.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She flipped the album frantically being met with pictures of the same man side by side with different people. None of them were familiar to her. He was the only known face. By the foot of one picture, it read “Lewis and friends” signed with a date and a scribbled message she didn’t care to read because that man was Lewis.

That man was the one who would stand by her bedroom door every night.

It was the same man that fingered her until she came.

The same man who haunted her.

And precisely, the same man that haunted the whole house since the day he was killed, she confirmed after tipping on her phone, searching for the news about the case again, and finding his blurry picture there. No mention of his name. But a picture of him. And the mention of the neighborhood.

Her stabbing nightmares were his memories.

He was trying to spook her off the house.

But something changed along the way, Yn thought.

The cup of tea she was sipping tipped on the coffee table. She squeaked in surprise, and she would tell herself it was just her mind again if one of her books weren’t thrown across the living room.

And she swore it happened so fast, she couldn’t really process, couldn’t think of what she was doing when she opened her mouth and questioned, “Lewis?” She gulped. “Is that you?” her last sentence was a breathy whisper. So small only a ghost could hear.

And he did.

In fact, he waited forever to hear someone calling him by the name. He waited for the person who would see him and not run, who would stare, just like she did.

They say that calling someone by their name gives them power and gives them life.

Yn had just given Lewis what he needed.

And without even knowing, she had given herself too.

Lost in the years, lost in the days, he had finally found her.

He smiled, and when Yn turned to the corridor she saw him. She saw him for the first time being awake. Truly saw him. Lewis was handsome. Even more in person. But he was a ghost. He had touched and haunted her.

Yn couldn’t help but scream and try to run, but he was faster, appearing in front of her in the blink of an eye with a smirk on his face.

“Please, don’t kill me,” she whimpered and he chuckled.

“I’m not killing you, sweetheart. Quite the opposite, I’m keeping you here with me,” he states before adding, “Forever”.

Her eyes go round, and she shakes her head scaredly. “I-I have a husband, I’m married, I’m-”

Lewis chuckled, “He doesn’t love you, and neither you love him. Would you let me do this to you if you loved him?” he pins her against the wall and her breath hitches. He found her sweet spot and nipped it while tightening his grip on her waist. “I can practically smell your arousal. You’re such a filthy girl. So bad you get turned on by ghosts,” Lewis mocked.

She purses her lips, darting her eyes to the ground and he dips his head to her lips, tracing her jaw and cheeks.

“You’re cold,” Yn states.

“I’m dead, of course I’m cold, honey.”

“What are you going to do with Eric?” There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Lewis bites his lips and shrugs.

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” he widens her legs and fits his lean waist between them. “Now you should be worried about what I’m gonna do with you, or rather, what we’re gonna do together.”

And despite the fear and surprise mixed with confusion, Yn couldn’t help but shamefully feel aroused when he ground against her pussy, trapping her body between his and the wall.

“We’re gonna spend the eternity together,” he grinned.

Yn arched her brows, “But I won’t live forever, I’m a human, I-,” but the dark look in his eyes shut her mouth, all the answers she needed right there.

She would spend eternity with Lewis.

Maybe not as a human.

But she would, and he would make sure of that.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to Dee (@struggling-with-delia) for beta and proofreading this piece!🤍

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#lewis hamilton #lh44 #millie writes smut #ghost!lewis #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 smut #lewis hamilton smut #formula one smut #formula one x reader #formula one x you #lewis hamilton x you #formula one au #f1 au #f1 imagine

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aajjks · 10 months

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yandere!BTS: you say you don’t love them.

disclaimer: this post contains dark heavy content, it is filled with themes that can be triggering for many, so viewers discretion is heavily advised. This is purely fictional and this does not represent bts members irl.

warnings: YANDERE CONTENT, crying, extreme jealousy, profanity, degradation, emotional manipulation, guilt tripping, obsessive behaviour and unhealthy relationship dynamics, mentions of punching someone.

note: BACK IN MY 2020 ERA HAHA. share your thoughts n feedback, after so long I’m finally writing for other members too, it felt really nice!!!! ENJOY!!!

Jimin:

You won’t even look at him.

“YN, look at me.” He has been begging you to look at him for the last couple of days. He feels like he will go insane if he doesn’t feel your gaze on him any longer.

Jimin knows you are upset. And you have every right to be, he’s always doing something to make you hate him even more. Why can’t he just learn to control his jealousy?

“YN please! I’m sorry!” He scoops in closer to you, he is so distraught, how can he fix this, this time he knows he fucked up bad.

Insulting your friends was a stupid thing to do, he’s learnt that by now, if only he wasn’t so blind with his jealousy.

“Fuck off, Jimin.” You groan at him, your face is tilted towards the other side and his hands grab your shoulders, but you are stubborn. “P-Please I’m sorry I told you I’ve realised my mistake!” How can he get you to forgive him?

“I hate you! You’re fucking immature and stupid!” Your words are like bullets to his chest, but he maintains his composure, he cannot start crying right now because he doesn’t want to prove you right.

“YN- I-I know… I’m sorry I fucked up bad, but p-please don’t say you hate me!” Jimin gasps in surprise as you finally turn towards him, your gaze settles on him.

“Y-YN!!!!! Thank God baby!” He leans in closer to hug you but you immediately stop him. “No. I’ve had enough, I need a break.”

His whole world crashes down in front of his eyes.

“W-What do you mean!?” His eyes are wide and glossy already, he cannot believe this, you are going to leave him? Just because of your shitty friends?

“Yes you heard me, I need space from you- fuck I don’t want to look at you!” You stand up and glare at him. “This is not the first time you’ve crossed a line Jimin!”

He follows you, “YN THIS IS ABSURD! I TOLD YOU THAT IM SORRY! Y-YOU CANT LEAVE ME! Not over s-such a small issue!”

“SMALL ISSUE? Oh God… why am I even trying with you! You’ll never understand!” You try to move past him but he is quick to block you, “n-no you can’t leave me! YOU LOVE ME!” His crescent eyes look back into yours with a dark hue in them.

You laugh, “I-I did love you but I don’t think that I love you anymore.”

“Y-You don’t mean that!” Jimin breaks down at your words, fat tears start rolling down his eyes, it always ends like this.

He always manages to make you feel guilty.

But this time you’ll stand to your ground. You have to leave him.

“YES I DO. And you can’t stop me anymore Jimin.”

Taehyung:

Taehyung is glaring at you.

“Quit being a brat already.” He rolls his eyes but you don’t respond, it irks him so much, he doesn’t like your silence.

Taehyung doesn’t know how to handle you, or himself if he’s being truthful. Your relationship with him is fragile, he knows, he can see it breaking into pieces that he won’t be able to pick up.

But he can’t let that happen.

“YN.” He calls out your name, “you know that I won’t let you go out so why are you even trying huh?” He grabs your face and caresses your skin gently.

It makes you sick, how can such a monster like him even try to act gentle with you.

“Don’t touch me.” You slap his hand away, he sighs softly, his eyes make you nervous, you know he’s holding back his anger.

“You know, you always manage to test my fuckin patience.” He laughs, you look at him with no emotion, he doesn’t mean anything to you, you don’t care about him, you don’t love him.

You’ve never loved him, you’ve always feared him.

“You’re so lucky that I love you YN, but you always have to act like an ungrateful bitch, don’t you?” His words are harsh just like his soul.

How can anyone ever love him.

“Taehyung I don’t love you.” You stare back at him with equal anger, “what? Don’t act like you didn’t know.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes at him, he’s biting the inside of his cheek.

The satisfaction of hurting his feelings washes over you, the man doesn’t move an inch though, his eyes are empty.

“Well you better start loving me or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jungkook:

It’s eating him up, you’re fuming with anger.

He doesn’t know what to do, it’s too late anyways.

He already fucked up.

“FUCK YOU!” You spit at him, he can’t even look at you, his heart is thumping loud. Your voice is so loud that he cringes at the vibration. “YOU ARE FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE TO BE WITH!”

He doesn’t feel guilty about it though, he just feels guilty about the fact that it happened in front of you. “SPEAK NOW! You don’t shut the fuck up when you should and now you’re fucking quite!” You cross your arms to your chest and stand in front of him.

“YN I’m sorry to disappoint you but I don’t regret it one bit.” He looks up at you and confesses, you study him and yes it’s true.

There’s no regret in his eyes.

“Of course.” Your voice is breaking. He can never change, and it hurts to realise that. “HE FLIRTED WITH YOU RIGHT INFRONT OF ME!”

He’s screaming at you, it’s scary how he doesn’t realise his actions.

“You fucking punched him. That’s it I’m DONE.”

You are crying at this point, “I th-thought that you could change, Jungkook but you can’t. And I can’t take this anymore, your behaviour is starting to make me hate you.” You start to move back from him as he moves closer to you.

“Y-YN you love me and I love you! That’s enough for us, a-and I only protected our love!” You are too slow to get away from him and he grabs your body,

“What love? This is not love at all, I should’ve realised that way before but I chose to ignore my instincts! I don’t think I love you anymore.”

“You are impossible to love, Jungkook.”

“W-What?” Jungkook looks broken, his hands leave your body finally, he falls down to the floor of your bedroom, his tears don’t escape his eyes.

He feels numb.

Just like how you’ve been feeling this entire relationship, you both are toxic for each other, you bring out the worst in him.

He needs to let you go.

“I-I love you- YOU LOVE ME. I won’t l-let you go! I WONT! No matter what you say!”

#yandere bts #yandere jungkook #yandere taehyung #yandere jimin #bts smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #yandere x reader #yandere au #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #bangtan #yandere smut #smut

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thatsdemko · 1 year

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mess around and find out - j.hughes

masterlist

requested: y

pairings: jack hughes x fem!reader

prompts: “you're the worst at keeping secrets. how long did you think you could fool around and make ridiculous excuses without me noticing it? ”

warnings: secrets + nsfw actions mentioned (but no nsfw content)

a/n: i did not disappear from writing… just the hockey community 🫣… feedback is always appreciated xx my requests are currently open!

lukes friend. you could’ve sworn your whole life of being his friend, Jack only ever saw you as that and nothing more. things changed when you got older and his mind wasn’t full of making it big, he relaxed once getting a contract and settling in Jersey. it’s then when he realized he needs more than just hockey as a future, he needs someone.

it’s perfect timing, you’re sitting in the hot tub, Quinn across from you, both of you drinking the summer evening away while Jim cooks burgers on the grill. jacks helping Ellen in the kitchen when she mentions how quiet he’s been. it’s not like him to be so silent, but his eyes don’t move from you.

“you hear me, jack?” Ellen touches her sons arm to get his attention, he nearly knocks over the salad he’s been mindlessly tossing. her eyes followed where his were, and she just shakes her head, “don’t ruin Luke’s friendship, honey.”

he doesn’t want to, believe him he doesn’t. but the way the evening sun glows against your skin, it’s impossible for him to force those thoughts down.

so that’s how it starts. the endless summer sex, growing marks, and scratched up backs somehow all wound you into a relationship. you’re the one thing Jack looks forward to every time he comes home.

“it’s lonely here without you.” his pout grows on the screen, giggles escapes your lips. you couldn’t believe you had turn the once fuck boy into the softest and sweetest boy. he’s so different than he was when you first met him, he used to be so cruel and mean you could’ve sworn you never would’ve been like this. times really do change.

“I’m coming in less than a week!” you held up your pinky reminding him of the promise you made, and the expensive plane tickets jack had begged to purchased for you. you’re not sure how you’ll get away with this, Luke has both of your locations, and he knows there’s not a single one of your family members in the state of New Jersey. it’ll be tough to sneak this one by him.

“so what’s your excuse to visit?” he asks, he can’t recall the amount of absurd excuses he’s used to sneak past his younger brother all summer. you think Luke hasn’t caught on— like he doesn’t know Zumba classes don’t actually happen at eleven at night— but he’s a lot smarter than you both give him credit.

“haven’t thought of one yet, got any ideas?” you ask, hearing the sound of your bedroom door click open and immediately you hang up, tossing your phone somewhere in your bed. this isn’t the first time luke has shown up to your place unannounced, and usually you carry on your conversations with your family members, but jacks different. he cannot know.

“why are you so jumpy?” he laughs, two bags of your favorite carry out in his hands, while balancing plastic cups full of lemonade.

“I’m not?” you say, but it came out more like a question. you move to the floor where he’s setting up the food and you hear your phone buzzing. you know it’s jack, but you can’t answer. not with Luke around.

he scoffs in response, “please, you think I don’t know you?” he shakes his head, he knows something’s up, he hasn’t seen you this happy since getting into the university. he can’t place a finger on what it is, but he’s going to deep dive tonight. it’s the reason why he’s over in the first place.

you smile happily pulling out the coney dog and unwrapping the foil, the smell of the chili and mustard hitting your nostrils as you dig in. It almost makes you forget your phone is ringing.

“for the love of god just answer it!” he reaches upwards and before he can grab it, you spill the steaming chili down your sweatshirt reaching for the phone. jacks name and picture lights up the screen, making you quickly dim the brightness. you hope to god luke didn’t see the hearts around his name and the picture you’ve chosen as his contact.

“just my mom, I’ll call her back later.” you turn your phone off, tossing it back in your bed, once again, before going to change into a new shirt. while rummaging you find one of jacks hoodies, it has been so second nature to slide it on that when it’s over your head, your eyes are met with Luke’s confused ones.

“so you do have a thing for the number eighty-six?” he points to the stitched numbers on the right side of the chest, now reaching to pick up your phone. he slides open the call and is greeted to his brothers face, “how stupid do you think I am to not know you guys are dating?”

“dating?! no—“

“you're the worst at keeping secrets!” luke cuts him off, eyes darting between you and the screen. you’re practically frozen in place. you’re afraid if you move it’ll all become reality. like your best friend didn’t just find out you were fucking his brother on the side.

you didn’t think Luke had noticed something was up. jack lives across the country, you would’ve thought this secret would be easier for him to keep since he doesn’t see his brother as often as you do— and you swore your life to jack that you wouldn’t say a peep, but maybe your face did show a delighted expression every time his name came across your phone.

“how long did you think you could fool around and make ridiculous excuses without me noticing it?” Luke looks at you and before you can answer he’s cutting you off, “I know you didn’t go take karate lessons at 3am over the summer! I saw you both at the same place.”

you sigh, hoping his rant is over. there’s nothing you can say, you feel bad and a little bit sorry. you’re sorry that he’s the last to know the truth, but you promise you’ll always be his friend first. you promise to tell him the important stuff first and jack second, you want nothing to change between you two.

“I’m sorry you had to find out last.” jack says watching Luke’s eyes dart back to the screen, a flush of anger rushes over his face.

“Quinn knew before me?!”

“I gotta go, I’ll see you in a couple of days, y/n!”

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dulcewrites · 1 year

Text

Fool Me Once (part 5)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (Aegon ii x reader 👀) (wc: 6k)

Summary: As the further truths are uncovered, the battle for the Iron Throne begins

A/N: soooo, I said part 5 would be the last part, but in typical annoying writer fashion I’m not so sure now 😭. Either way, I truly cannot express how grateful I am for all the followers, and support I have received since starting it. I consider fmo my brain child but our baby with how interactive people have been. I’d love to get feedback or request on what hotd stuff you guys want to see from me. My inbox is always open so please let me know how you liked fmo (any thoughts or headcanons) and what you want to see 🫶🏽

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“We should run away to Yi-Ti.”

You look up from Aemond’s desk at Aegon with an exasperated expression. It was not the first time Aegon had thrown out the idea of leaving King’s Landing for good. There always an idealistic nature about Aegon that is as sweet as it is delusional. You know the guilt he would feel about leaving, and he knows you would too.

I have a dragon we can who can drop us anywhere. I can shave my head and we can change our identities

“You are supposed to help me be looking for this map,” Not bothering to give the same speech you tell him every time he brings it up.

Gently placing everything where you found it, you squat down to check the cabinets of the desk. Aemond kept his study annoyingly tidy, and you are sure we would notice if anything were out of place. The last thing you need is another argument.

There are multiple books, all of them relating to Westerosi histories, and a plethora of written works of poetry. Nothing stands out till you find a pile of letters. Your throat tightens. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but now the situation has moved past just Aemond wanting to be with someone else. It affects your kids, your relationship with everyone in the family.

You are just tired, and you just want it end. Or at least to have some sort of closure through an explanation or an apology. You are not holding your breath for the later.

With a sigh, you sit, slumped against the wall. Across from the desk. Noticing you are out of his view, Aegon walks around the desk and sits next to you. The two of you sit in silence before Aegon speaks.

“We can skip dinner,” he suggests softly. “I am sure our absence will not be noticed.”

It is a lie. You both know that if you do not show up, you will be in for an earful from Alicent. Especially now that Viserys has finally worked up the strength to leave his chambers. Aegon reaches over to grab your hand. You look at the large ring on his pinkie finger. The golden scales an ode to Sunfyre. Even with all the problems Aegon has with family, he has always fully embraced his dragon. A bond you have never seen before between rider and dragon. You run your hand over the cool metal.

“You know, despite my hesitance towards dragons, sometimes I am envious of you guys for having them.” you laugh flatly. “It is not even the beasts themselves, but everything they represent. This strange strength that means you are better than everyone else. A free pass for destruction.”

The past year and a half had been a sobering one. You feel so disconnected from yourself. Depleted by actions outside of your control.

“But then I think maybe it is good I do not have a dragon; or more so I do not have the power that comes along with it. I have spent my whole life doing exactly what I was supposed to, just to still get dealt a hand of misfortune,” you murmur emotionless. “I fear that there was tiny seed of hate put in me when I first found out about Aemond’s actions, and that everything that has happened since has only made me more bitter and revengeful. I was told that fighting wrong doings with more destruction was never the answer. I do not know how much I believe that now.”

You look over at Aegon with an illegible look in your eyes. “I would go mad with the things I would do with that kind of power.”

Aegon swallows thickly. Honestly, his first instinct is to make a joke. You, the girl who got teary eyed when she learned about the field of sheep kept in the Red Keep for the dragons, speaking with such gravity. But his eyes travel to the faded scar on your arm and back up to you. The harm done to yourself, grief-stricken eyes, and tired frown. He’s only seen that type of look on his mother. The most persistent person he has ever known, and probably will ever know. She wakes up every day to tend to a man that has never done right by her and run a kingdom she did not want in the first place. There is a simmering type hate in your eyes that he is sure only comes from being around his family for too long.

He wonders if this is how his mother felt when she had him. Young, exhausted, and utterly pissed.

“You are not the only one who feels that way,” he softly. “But - you cannot let it get the best of you. Once you get in that place, it is hard to get out.”

You know he speaks from experience. Resentment leaves a bad taste in the mouth of those who feel like life has let them down.

You want to say that another worry is what will happen if you ever find equal footing with the men in your life. Would the spell wear off you were a flight risk? Would you be seen as a volatile powder keg if not a maiden to come to the defense of? Would you be seen as the prize in his eyes if you were not in the position you ate in? In that moment, you think you should tell him about what you let his grandsire do. If anyone would understand, it would be Aegon. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder.

You do not have the words for that just yet.

————

The search for the map in Aemond’s study goes unsuccessful. You decide to change tactics. There is a slight uneasiness you get digging through his things in the chambers. Soft whiff of lavender and citrus hit you nose as you look through folded clothes of his. You heart rate spikes when you see a scroll of thin parchment. Looking back to check the door, you then unroll the paper.

There is various lines and arrows, but the words are all in high Valyrian. You have picked up and word here and there since being in the Red Keep, but not well enough translate every word. Instead, you follow the arrows. Walking around the room in a way you are sure would look silly to someone if they walked in.

You find yourself in front of the small outline wall next to your clothing wardrobe. Blinking blankly at the wall, you frown. You run your fingers gently across the fabric on the wall. The deep red and gold stitching smooth under your hands. You push harder than intended and gasp when the wall swings open.

In front of you are stairs that lead down a pathway. A tunnel. You do not venture too far, but you see where the path is leading to. Daemon had given Aemond a direct line to outside the Red Keep. And a direct line for anyone to come in.

But why?

As you walk down the tunnel, something shiny catches your eye on ground. You pick up a single earring. A gold plaited coin earring. It is oddly familiar, but you cannot seem to put your finger on who it belongs to.

All you do know is that someone has been using the tunnel recently.

A part of you wanted to storm through the castle and find Aemond. Have him explain what the Seven Hells has been going on. Or if he even used the tunnels. But you surprise yourself when you knock on the Hand’s study door. Perhaps he is not the best person to go to in this state. You know it is not comfort you will find. But for all his faults, Otto Hightower will tell you want you need to hear or at least you will have his ear.

You are now not naive to how much Lord Hightower seems to want to keep you around.

After it was decided Aemond and you were to get married, you were not clueless enough not see the clear advantages not only for you house, but also for his. Your only naive thought being the mutual benefit would keep you safe or protected.

When you walk into the study, you find Otto sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. You know Viserys’ surprise appearance at the petition hearings rattled him as much as it pleased Rhaenyra and her family. You do not know where to begin or what you are even expecting of this conversation.

“Did you know about the tunnels,” you blurt suddenly. “The ones that run under the castle.”

In typical Otto fashion, his face does not give anything away. But he does shake his head, and gestures for you to continue.

“I…. I think Prince Daemon may have had something to do with my… problem.”

That makes Otto lean forward in his seat, the mention of Daemon clearly stirring something in him. You aren’t ready to put anything on Princess Rhaenyra yet. Partly because you are still wonder where her limits are opposed to seeing exactly how Daemon operates. And because just saw what happens when you question Rhaenyra, even if you have proof or a valid criticism.

“And if they had something to do with her, I cannot help but wonder if they had something to do with what happened to Alaric’s blanket,” you still shudder thinking about it.

You already had a deep sense of guilt since giving Otto the go ahead to find Alys. Taking a life is not something you want on your hand and conscious, and it only doubles knowing how this all could have been a perfectly plotted scheme. Your anger at your husband reaches a new level. Whether Alys was the shiny poisoned apple or a woman in love that has gone rouge, this still involves your kids.

“It seems your family’s influence is something many have noticed,” Otto finally speaks, voice gravely and tone even.

Your brows furrow. “They think threatening my son is going to make me tell my parents or uncle to back Rhaenyra’s claim?”

Your grandsire was an old man by the time Rhaenyra was named heir; your uncle took over for your house shortly after that time. And your uncle was just as thrilled as your parents when you married Aemond, clearly excited to have familiar ties to the Targaryen family. Now that you thought about it, you had never asked him where he stood when it comes to Rhaenyra being heir. But based on knowing how your family acquired their wealth and how they operate, they have never been ones to stray from tradition. Despite your grandsire bending the knee to Rhaenyra, you get the feeling everything is up the air especially with you being the good sister to the other possible claim.

“No, dear girl,” Otto sighs, eyes growing tired. “But I am sure they think you feeling unsafe here and having no love for your husband’s actions will.”

Your mind goes back to Rhaenyra’s offer. You are always welcomed at Dragonstone.

They hoped you would seek refuge in them, and in turn feel compelled to drop any allegiance you have to this side of the family. Did they know about how close you had grown to Aegon or to Helaena? Or that even through this turbulent time, you still find yourself having a soft spot for Alicent. You are sure they would reassure your safety if you ever switched side, but you know your safety was not a priority to them. Only the men or ships that would come with it.

“I am not shocked Daemon would go to such lengths, if true,” Otto says. “I would say I am shocked Rhaenyra would go along with it, but the Princess has always found a way to involve herself in things while feign innocence.”

His words make you raise a brow. You never knew if the Hand’s anger towards the Princess came from how she treated Alicent or his grandchildren, or if it came from the pressure he felt to get Aegon on the throne. Perhaps it is Alicent, even all this time and animosity, still craving a relationship with Rhaenyra that eats him up the most.

“You do not need to worry about that. Everything will be put to rest once the rightful heir is put on the throne, and any possible threats have been ridden,” his tone turns stern. You scoff sardonically in response. This is never going to end till there is a clear winner, and win to means there was a fight. War. That would only start if…

“The Queen would never let you do that. Usurp the throne or kill Rhaenyra,” you say immediately. Otto eyes narrow; the tell. It will always be Rhaenyra for his daughter, and it burns him inside. But that can be used in your favor. “Not unless she had more reason to. Rhaenyra could be a good queen for all we know, but her brazenness will always be her pitfall. Now she has Daemon at her side. Spilled blood is clearly not something he is worried about.”

You sit back in your chair and think for a second. Entitlement is like a dangerous herbal, and many members of this family get off on it.

“If you want Aegon on the throne, it may be best to take your time with this. Give Rhaenyra the chance to do what you think she does best… mess it up.”

By the time the power struggle between Rhaenyra and Daemon finally comes to fruition, maybe Aegon think differently. Your mind goes to Aemond, stewing silently about how his brother manages to get everything handed to him. You bite back a smile. Is a miserable existence to always be in the cards for him? If being with you is so terrible to him, maybe that is exactly what he deserves.

“I think I know how to start this off.”

———

You leave Otto’s study, but not before he leaves you with a long, meaningful glance and tells you he needs to discuss somethings with others. You assume it is the council, but you have a feeling his daughter is not privy to that.

The next time you see everyone is at dinner. Your eyes strained on the empty plate in front of you. A sick feeling coming over you every time you look down the table at Daemon and Rhaenyra. A large gap for the king between Rhaenyra and Alicent.

There is something unsettling about how everyone seems to think what happened in the Grand Hall was nothing. You all saw a man beheaded, and now are to sit down to a "family meal" at the behest of the King. The only mention of Vaemond comes in a prayer from Alicent; you catch the eyeroll given by Daemon. The lives of others are expendable if it prolongs or prompts up whatever claim is being fought for.

False promises do nothing to move you while that is all that makes up the Targaryen family. False promises to make up for future deceit. The gull of Viserys to plea for peace when many the broken relationships in the family can be tied to him. Tied to his indecisive, feeble reign as a king. The King That Never Should Have Been perhaps.

A sick sense of irony rushes over you watching his rioting body and empty eye socket while sitting next to Aemond. You have learned that the Gods can be deliciously cruel.

The crown not stand strong is the House of the Dragon remains divided

It’s all flowery words that seem to go in one ear and out the other for your peers. You can tell by the way Aegon’s eyes gloss over, Helaena brows burrow as she fiddles with whatever butterfly Aegon gave her, and how Aemond’s back stiffens that this final push for family unity comes too late. But it seems that all the older adults in the room are moved by the Viserys' speech, or at least Alicent and Rhaenyra are.

You and Otto, sitting across from each other, share a look when Alicent says that Rhaenyra would make a fine queen. The Queen and Princess exchange shy smiles and peripheral glances; for a moment, they look like young girls, untarnished by the world around them.

Your eyes catch Jacaerys’, and he gives you a warm smile. You try to replicate it to the best of your ability. None of Rhaenyra or Daemon’s children have done anything to make you suspicious of them, especially Baela and Rhaena. But you do notice how Lucerys never seems to look you in the eyes. You are still trying to figure out if that is a byproduct of you being Aemond’s wife or if he is privy to information.

When you were receiving offers for your hand, Jacaerys’ name had come up by members of your house but was instantly shut down by your parents. Though the idea of you being future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was tempting, but they did want to risk the embarrassment of the worst kept secret being spoken. Marrying a bastard was not the vision they had for you, Queen or not.

But when the music behinds, you do get an idea.

“I going to dance,” you whisper to Aemond.

“You know I do not like dancing,” Aemond sighs, and Aegon gives you a look at the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes at him. You remember the lecture his mother had to give him before the wedding festivities about being a good sport, and dancing with you.

“I never said I wanted to dance with you,” you hiss at him, and get up. You feel Aemond and Aegon watching you as you walk to Jace.

“I was wondering if we could dance,” you hold your hand out. Eyes going from Jace to Baela. “If your betrothed is fine with it of course.”

Baela gives you a good-natured shrug and smile. Jace looks surprised by your offer, but nonetheless grabs your hand and leads you to the free area near the table. You turn back briefly to see Aegon and Aemond look at you with mirrored looks of disbelief and disgust. You have duck your head to keep from laughing.

“I have to warn you I am not much of dancer,” Jace smiles as you begin to dance. “But I am sure I cannot be any worse than my uncle.”

You raise a brow at the comment but say nothing. While you are dancing, you see Viserys get carried out. The fact that he has lived to this point is a marvel… and a confusion. He refuses to go away.

“I do hope after that all of this, our families can see each other more often,” he lowers his voice slightly. The sentence seemed sincere enough, but he has also grown up having pretend half of him does not exist. If it is something Alicent and Rhaenyra’s children have in common, it is knowing when to put on a front. They learned it beautifully from their mothers. “I am sure Daella would appreciate seeing Dragonstone. And the girls would love you around.”

There is that mention of Dragonstone again. Before you can even reply, a commotion disturbs you. You turn to see Aemond standing with a drink in his hand.

“I want to make some final tributes,” a small smirk comes onto his face, and his eye flicks over to you. “First, to my dear wife. A gracious mother, and always keeps me on my toes.”

Your face gets hot when everyone’s eyes turn to you. Alicent looks at her son with a nervous look in her big eyes, confused by his sudden need to speak after a dinner of silence.

“And to health of my nephews - Jace, Luke, and Joffrey,” a sinking feeling comes into your stomach. There’s a glint in Aemond’s eye that you recognize all too well, and know not to trust. You see Jace’s shoulders tense at the mention of him and his brothers. “Each of them handsome, wise…. Strong.”

Your throat tightens. Even putting aside, the absolute irony of that coming from him now, you all just saw what happened to someone who questions the parentage of them. And now he is doing here in front of everyone.

“Aemond,” you begin, not even caring to use formalities with him. He cuts you off and continues.

“Come, let us drain our cups to the three Strong boys.”

And of course, to make matters worse, Aegon confidently raises his goblet in the air. They’re imbeciles. Everything seems to happen in slow motion - Jace punching Aemond, Aemond pushing Jace with ease, to out of the corner of your eye, Aegon slamming Luke’s face into the table. You wince at the scene before you as Helaena gets up to move you out of the way of the guards restraining Jace and Luke.

Alicent and Rhaenyra both get up from the table, yelling at their boys to stop. You take notice of the roasted pig on the table; you had heard about the pink dread prank from Helaena. It was never something you pushed with Aemond or Aegon, knowing it led to a large rift in their relationship. You know they love each other; you can tell by the way they backed each other up that they do. They just do not have the words to express their love, or their pain.

A dinner that was meant to bring everyone together ruined. There will probably always be too much bad blood, and not enough honest or apologies for reconciliation. Before Daemon leaves the room after staring Aemond down, he gives you a smile filled with mirth. A chill runs up your spine.

You watch as Alicent all but walks up to Rhaenyra, eyes soft and pleading. She gently rubs her arm as they smile at each other.

With the dinner going wrong, Aemond stalking out of the room, and learning about the map - everything seems to be put into perspective. As you watch your good mother, you wonder if that is how you will be with Aemond. Always waiting and ready for reconciliation, even despite mistreatment. Foolishly dismissive to how you can be hurt again if it means just moments of reprieve. Or maybe a better comparison would be Rhaenyra and Daemon. Knowing exactly what situation you got into, but still finding yourself wanting more because you thought you would be the exception. Both scenarios mean being in a constant loop of love and hate, praying for the day you reach apathy.

Rhaenyra seems to share Alicent’s warm disposition. Everything is warm and lovely when Rhaenyra smile. She is the Realm’s Delight for a reason. Even with the little time you have spent around Rhaenyra, you see how she operates. It is the way all Targaryens are treat her like the world revolves around her, and she’s yours. Entitlement and confidence used to mask a hallow shell, a trait she shares with her husband.

The possible reconnection of old companions would be a sweet affair. Instead, you finally get the complaining Aegon does about his half-sister. To hear the praises of those who have little regard for you.

Daemon giving Aemond the map, Alys introduction into your life, Rhaenyra telling you Dragonstone will always be a place you can go, and your families ties to this family are all connected. The same way your marriage to Aemond was always leading to something.

It was always a question you pondered since coming to the Red Keep. Does the Iron Throne corrupt those who vie for it or do those who vie for it corrupt the Crown itself?

Now not only have you been caught in the crossfire, but you children as well. And who knows what will come of the rest of your family once King Viserys dies. One thing you do know is that you will not leave any stone unturned by the time Rhaenyra tries to sit the throne. If your involvement is what they want, your involvement is what they will get. If your happiness and well-being is worth the price of the throne, what would happen if it was taken away right when she had it? Like your stability or sanity, ripped away without any caution or care.

This power that Rhaenyra is sure is hers to claim. The one that those want so badly for Aegon. The seat Aemond watches enviously as Aegon scoffs at the idea of it.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you call out after her before she leaves the dining hall. You reach out to grab her hand in a similar manner to Alicent. “I want to talk with you about Dragonstone.”

If they are willing to rip each other apart for the Iron Throne, so be it.

Aegon and Aemond stare at you like you have three heads when you tell them about wanting to stay at Dragonstone. Aegon goes as far as to giggle at your proposal. His eyes wild and glossy from the abundance of wine.

A part of you thought maybe you should just leave, but you know them. There is nowhere you can go that they cannot find you on dragon back. Plus, you still had to explain everything to your parents. You let them in on you leaving while holding some cards to your chest. Their faces go through a mirage of expressions. Aegon's brows shooting up when you mention the tunnels and Daemon while Aemond's going painfully stoic. You know he does not want you or Aegon to get a read on what he is thinking.

"So, you think Daemon and by extension Rhaenyra knew about the Strong whore, and wanted you to be upset enough to leave," Aegon begins sardonically, and Aemond's eye flickers to him when he says whore. "And in response.... you are leaving. Wow dearest, you are really sticking it to them."

You glare at him. You know he is hurt that you are leaving, even if it is for a short time. He is upset that this all leads back to the throne. For every part of Aegon that is loyal and loves deeply, there are parts that are equally selfish. It hits you that Aegon has never had to try with relationships; the only ones he knows are with women that are his family or with ones where he can buy their affection. Those women have no choice but to be around. But you are leaving, and without him… that would be a blow he would not recover from.

"I am not going for long, and I will be taking Quinton with me," you say, and Aegon rolls his eyes in response. "They involved my son, so I will get to the bottom of it."

"I'm sure Jace will be thrilled to hear it," he scoffs.

"You have no right to be jealous; you are not my husband."

It was cruel to say, and you can tell by the way his resolve turns from anger to bitterness. "I am needlessly reminded of that, thank you."

Your brows furrow at that. Who is reminds him of that? You sigh, running your hands over your face.

“This is punishment. This is because of me.”

Aemond finally speaks up, interrupting your argument with Aegon. He looks away from the fire and at you with a look you have not seen in moons. Sadness. You are sure this news is a lot for him to take in. It would be a lie to say that you are not at least a little happy that he feels uneasy about you possibly leaving. Or a little happy that the love story he had built in his head was not exactly what it seems.

It would serve him right. He felt comfortable enough to do what he has done because there was always the expectation you would be around. Sitting in the Red Keep, taking care of your children and waiting to him to finally come around.

“Give us the room,” you whisper to Aegon. He leaves in a huff, not happy with you. You walk over and sit on the seat opposite to Aemond's.

The only noise that permeates throughout the room is the crackling of the fire in front of you two.

“It is foolish for you to think they would not harm you, especially now,” he starts to fiddle with his fingers, a tick he has picked up from his mother. “You would in place surrounded by her people… by dragons.”

“She would not hurt me. Not now, she wants my family’s support,” you rebut.

He does not answer right away.

“You would be giving her exactly what she wants. Us apart.”

Us. You two have not been an ‘us’ for quite some time, and Aemond referring to you as that makes you chuckle coldly.

“That’s the point, dear husband,” your eyes drift from him to the burning flames. “You know how your sister is. She wants everything entirely too much, and now she has a guard dog, planning and watching her every move. This just one step in her 'preparing' for the throne, and what may happen if she takes it."

“She is not fit for the throne. Neither of them is,” he says bitterly. “It would cut her up inside and out just like it did my….”

He trails off softly. Viserys was never made to be King, but then again who is. By the time everything falls into place, things will be different.

“So, we let it.”

Your conversation is stopped by Quinton opening the door for Jayne.

"Sorry, my lady but your parents were asking for you," she says softly. You notice how her eyes seem to survey the room. Taking inspection of anything and everything in it. Your parents watched Daella and Alaric for you during dinner. You nod in acknowledgment, but as you get up you notice the necklace she wears.

A gold plaited coin dangling on a dainty gold chain, perfectly matching the earring you found in the tunnel. Your blood runs cold.

"Thank you, Jayne," you stand up slowly as your eyes go to Aemond. You hope he can read something, anything from the look in your eyes. Your eyes travel to the wall where the secret door is. His eye looks at you, then to Jayne, and you watch him swallow and sink back into the chair.

"Ser Quinton, if you do not mind staying," Aemond says softly, going back to staring at the fire. "I have something I need you to tend to."

Quinton gives you a skeptical look, knowing the tense history between him and Aemond but you give him a reassuring smile.

Maybe it is time Quinton proves his unwavering loyalty to you.

“I just need…. to get away,” it was not a complete lie. On top of having things to figure out, you were looking forward to getting away from the Red Keep. Even if it was to Dragonstone of all places.

Your father had giving you a skeptical look when you mentioned going to Dragonstone. You tell him this the perfect time for him to stay in King’s Landing in your stead. You whisper to him to stay close to the Hand and to Prince Aegon. When his resolve still did not chance, you told him about this being an opportunity for Daella to get connected to her ancestral home, and he understood. He always has a soft heart when it comes to his grandchildren.

It was your mother who gave you the most grief about the proposition. She stays in the room after your father has left.

“I do not think it is appropriate you leave your husband,” she sighs. “Especially at a time like this.”

It has always been her concern. Your allegiance to Aemond and in turn to the who she thinks should sit the throne. A part of you wants to tell her the plan. Maybe rub in her face that Aegon wants you.

But you know you would not be met with an impressed gaze or her questioning how your life has come to this place. Instead, she would ask why you haven’t debased yourself for him yet? Why haven’t you jumped at the chance to be in his bed, in his mind, under his skin the way real lovers do. Sometimes you look at Aegon and ask yourself the same questions. The most frustrating part is you know he would take you up on it. Aegon would indulge the most depraved parts of you because those of the ones he likes the most.

Your mother always manages to seep her way into things that should be good for you. It happened moons ago when you first became friends with Helaena. It is how you are in this mess now. Telling her about Aegon before the right time would be fatal. A blow to your plan, and the last remaining pieces of your heart.

“Perhaps he can come with you?”

“The point is to have some time away from each other. He thinks it would do us some good too.” Your spine feels tight as you are painfully aware of your posture in front of her, “The Princess offered, and it would be rude not take her up on it. She is till the heir till otherwise.”

Your mother stares at you for a moment. She scrutinizes every part of your face, the face she gave you wholly. Her only daughter. The person she has invested so much in.

“You always do this,” she starts coldly. “Shrivel up when things do not go your way. You have so much put in front of you, and you do so little with it. Leaving your husband when things are tough? I thought I raised you better than that.”

A lump grows in your throat. You are taken back to your wedding day. Your mother talking you through a panic attack, telling you to think of your future. That not going through with the marriage means throwing away years of work. In the end, you walked down the aisle. You followed through, and now the debt comes due. You are her biggest star, and her gravest disappointment.

Everything she could have had, and nothing she ever was at your age. You know your mother is happy with her position now, later in life. Reaping the benefits of your father’s house, but it was not always like that. There was never an opportunity to be draped in silk or have the ear of the royal family when she was your age.

“When this does not work, I hope you will not go running to your father.”

And with that she gets up and leaves you in the kids’ room.

You flinch when the door slams. As you sit in silence, you wonder if you would have gotten a different response if you told her about Alys. Maybe she would have pulled you into her arms like she did when you were younger. Deep down, you know she would have asked you what you did wrong; what did you do to make Aemond want to find comfort in another woman. Regardless of the pretenses, he still jumped at the first chance he got at something he saw as real. She would see it as a sign of failure on her part. She did not instill the right values in you to keep your husband happy. She has a funny way of flipping everything on its head, and yet you still crave any validation from her.

Your mother is as cruel as she is dutiful. As cold as she is charming. And as calculating as she is hurt and wounded by the world, she grew up in. The more your plan falls into place the more you find solace.

You are your mother’s daughter.

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#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader

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skullrockbi · 9 months

Text

Steve has a going away present for Eddie before he goes on tour. Rated M for mature. Word count: 1526 brief mention of daddy kink

“I have a going away present for you. I don’t know if you’re going to think it’s weird or not. I’m sure you’ll probably have lots of metal groupies clamoring for your dick. But in case you need a little solo time & some audio assistance.” Steve hands Eddie a tape. There’s no track listing and on the title spot on the cassette it says “do not lose or share.”

“Stevie I don’t think your top 40s sexy times mixtape is going to help any situation.”

“It’s not that. It’s..” Steve blushes and leans closer to Eddie to whisper “sex noises? Like the sound of people having sex?”

“By people you mean you?”

“Well yeah but I’m pretty quiet during most of it.”

“Did you record this in secret?”

“No. That’s creepy! It was done with permission. One girl really put on a show for the tape. I think she was more into the fact that I was going to listen to it later. It’s the beginning of side B.”

“Side B, got it. Am I going to recognize anyone on this tape?” Eddie cuts his eyes over towards Nancy.

Steve does a half snort type of laugh, “None of this was recorded when I was in high school, dude. All consenting adults.”

Eddie nods and slips the tape into his jacket’s inner pocket for safe keeping. “Thank you for your generosity, my liege.”

Steve pats him on the shoulder before wandering away. Eddie watches him get pulled into the kitchen by Gareth which meant it was the perfect time for Eddie to escape. Nominally the party was Gareth’s graduation party, but was quickly converted into a Corroded Coffin going away party after they announced they were going on tour. Steve and Gareth would be the only people to be concerned about Eddie ducking out early. If he accidentally caught Henderson or Buckley’s eye in his escape, he would just mime smoking. Luckily Eddie was able to flee with no obstacles.

He needs to listen to this tape immediately. Is just beds squeaking and breathy moans? How quiet is ‘pretty quiet’? What type of show was at the beginning of Side B? What if someone said something ridiculous and Eddie starts cracking up while everyone in the band was studiously ignoring each other’s actions. It was curiosity that urged him home. Nothing more.

Locking his bedroom door, Eddie throws himself on his bed and grabs his cassette player. Steve was not kind and did not rewind his gift, so Eddie pressed play in the middle of the tape.

“Good for Daddy? Yeah.”

That very obviously male voice was not Steve’s voice. Eddie drops the player in surprise and his headphones disconnect. Eddie plugs them back in.

“Fuck baby you’re so good at this. Daddy’s perfect little cocksucker.” There was a whiny moan in response and the slick sound of a cock fucking into a wet mouth.

Eddie cannot believe his ears. Maybe Steve and his partner were watching porn for ambiance and the microphone recorded it instead of them. Eddie isn’t really into the whole daddy thing. He stops the tape and fast forwards to the end and flips to side B for the chick who was into being recorded.

It’s a show alright, but not the show Steve promised. The crackle of the microphone and then Steve’s voice. “Are you hard for me?” Hard. Not wet, not horny, not ready, hard. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, I hope you’re laying in bed naked, ready to follow my instructions. It’ll be like I’m jerking you off.” Eddie pauses the tape and trips over his feet to get his jeans off. Thinking about Steve being the one doing this to him, listening to his instructions, Eddie comes so hard he blacks out.

The next morning Eddie wakes to frantic knocking on the door. Steve’s there looking nervous and shifting side to side. Even during the Vecnapocalypse Steve’s never been this frantic. “What’s up man?”

Steve lets himself into the house and heads towards the kitchen looking around the house. “Is Wayne home?” He pours himself some coffee & sits at the table.

Eddie shrugs, “I just woke up. I reckon he’s out for the day since he didn’t open the door.”

Steve drums on the table but doesn’t look at Eddie. “I gave you the wrong tape. I realized when I got home last night that you have a copied Wham cassette in your possession, not what I said it was.”

Eddie lets out a huff of air and sits across from Steve. “You and I both know you didn’t give me a Wham tape.”

Steve blushes, “You already listened to it?”

Eddie shrugs and casually admits “Wanted to hear the show you promised on side B. I needed to know if it was actually good or if I’d start laughing.”

Steve is still not looking at Eddie. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Laugh.”

Eddie looks at Steve who is looking into his coffee mug like it has all the answers in the world. He wonders how truthful he should be. Obviously if Steve is making these types of tapes he doesn’t have a valid reason to punch Eddie, but that’s never stopped any jocks before. But Steve isn’t just a jock anymore. Steve is his friend. They don’t have that freaky mind meld Steve & Robin have but they’re close. Steve is the first person he told about Corroded Coffin going on tour before even Wayne. Steve knows things about him that he never told anyone about his childhood. Eddie decides to be brave.

“Steve I came so hard I blacked out. There was no laughing. Now I don’t know if there’s an specific intended recipient of this tape, but as for audio assistance for solo time, you get a gold star in gift giving.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck and looks at Eddie. “It wasn’t a girl though, on the tape.”

“I know. It was the hottest guy I know telling me how to jerk off, telling me what he’d do to me if he was with me. I think that’s hotter than some random babe moaning about how wet she is for my dick.”

“But you like girls?”

“You’re allowed to like both Stevie.”

“I know that!” Steve defends himself, “I didn’t know you knew that too.”

“Yep.” Eddie draws out the sound. Steve likes both. Eddie briefly wonders if “Daddy’s perfect little cocksucker” is Steve. And immediately shuts that thought down. Eddie is beginning to spiral thinking about Steve down on his knees for him. Just because Steve likes both doesn’t mean he likes Eddie. Maybe the tape was for a secret boyfriend. He gets up suddenly & starts looking for breakfast. He can make toast. “Do you want toast?”

“Do I want toast? I came out to you and you want to make me toast?”

“Technically you didn’t come out to me, but if you want something a little more celebratory I can scramble you an egg.”

“A celebratory scrambled egg for being bisexual. Sure, I’ll take it. I was up all night freaking out because I gave you the wrong tape and you’re making me scrambled eggs. Okay.”

“Celebratory scrambled eggs, Steve.”

Eddie makes them eggs and toast for breakfast. Steve pours them both fresh coffee and they eat in silence before Eddie can’t resist poking the bear. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have one?”

“Well who’s the tape for?”

“Oh! I um sell them to this guy in Fort Wayne. He has like a whole distribution thing. It’s good for quick money.”

“Do you need to give him the tape I have?”

“No. Yours is a copy.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah cool.”

Steve gets up and starts washing the breakfast dishes. Eddie wants to protest but he also really hates washing dishes.

“I gotta head to work, thanks for breakfast dude.”

“You’re welcome any time, you know that.”

Steve pats Eddie awkwardly on the shoulder and leaves. Eddie sighs a sigh of relief. He survived whatever that was unscathed.

Reaching to lock the door behind Steve, it bangs into his arm. “You said I was the hottest guy you know.”

Steve is walking back into the house and turns to bracket Eddie against the wall next to the door. Eddie said that half an hour ago, had Steve been thinking about it all through breakfast. “If you don’t find anyone hotter on tour can I take you on a date when you get back?”

“We don’t leave til next week, you can take me out before then?”

Steve’s watch beeps at him. “I really need to go to work.” He bites his bottom lip in determination before telegraphing his movements. He kisses Eddie softly before pulling away. Eddie presses closer to him and kisses him again.

“Let me take you out tonight?”

Eddie smiles, “I’ll have to check my busy schedule.” Eddie mimes looking through a date book. “Looks like I’m free for you Big Boy.”

Steve laughs and kisses him again. “Good. Maybe afterwards, you can show me how good you are at following directions.”

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #baby’s first steddie fic #skullrockbi writes

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lovelyangelxxx · 12 days

Note

yeiii for twisted wonderland I wanted to ask for headcanons about what they would be like as parents? for vil, riddle and azul buuut his son came out as a rambunctious and very naughty (besides, his mc used to be like that too so anyway, his son reminds you of how his wife was when they first met her like mother like son hehe) this idea makes me laugh xd I imagine the son as naughty as in the movie "Problem Child"

hello! thank you for requesting. i’m so sorry it took so long, i’ve been so busy with school. i’m not sure if i touched upon the mother’s resemblance, but i tried my best!

fatherly love | various twisted wonderland characters x reader

→ how they are like with a rambunctious child

→ fluff, fem reader

→ azul ashengrotto, vil schoenheit, riddle rosehearts

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

azul ashengrotto ♡

~ azul is very conflicted between absolutely loving his son and throwing his child out the window. every day, he deals with the same problems over and over again, and it never fails to either make his blood boil or cause him immense stress. as a previous house leader, the owner of a successful business, and a man with a respectable reputation, azul is always hoping his son will do better. azul of course is believes his son is his pride and joy, but he can never follow his son’s course of action as it is somewhat rebellious and much to similar to his wife’s personality. he’d rather have you deal with the complicated situation because he knows he would become too stressed about it.

“please don’t cause even more trouble for me…”

riddle rosehearts ♡

~ riddle would become very angry and extremely tired of his son’s behavior. his old tendencies as the queen of hearts back in school plays a part in his harsh and cold attitude towards his son’s behavior. your guys’ son’s nonchalant and rebellious stage causes riddle to implement stricter rules and harsher penalties for bad behavior. this doesn’t mean riddle does not love his child, that would be completely out of the question. he loves, cares, and only wishes the best for his son and does not want his son to end up a rule breaker with no moral principles. riddle adores his son and is proud that your child has become successful in some areas, but will still condemn disobedience.

“do not break the rules.”

vil schoenheit ♡

~ vil would also be a bit conflicted, but would be leaning towards reprimanding his son’s irrational and selfish behavior. vil would believe that his son should be taking into account his own beauty and appearance, and how acting terribly and rebellious around others may tint his character and reputation in a negative way. he would hate to have his son be known as someone untrustworthy and shifty who cannot follow simple rules. vil will most likely consult you and have a talk with you on how to approach such behavior in a way that will not hurt him, but lead him in a good direction. vil will also hate how may demerits or detentions his son will have to deal with and how it will affect his physical appearance.

“curiosity is not a sin, but a lack of beauty is.”

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ghostlyaerobics1984 · 1 year

Text

Please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface. I want to be in the sequel.

Summary: Being Tara’s boyfriend is no easy feat when the “Ghostface” killer from Woodsboro resurfaces in New York. Reader has a personality similar to Stu Macher.

Pairings: Tara Carpenter x Male!Reader

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: Heavily implied sexual content. Depictions of stabbing/kidnapping.

“Damn, Tara. Your sister is HOT.”

You had a red solo cup in your hand, which used to be filled to the brim with alcohol, and you’ve might’ve been moderately drunk.

You were crowding Sam and some creep that had laid his hands on Tara and tried to drag her up to his room by force with the full intention of having sex with her.

Like, WHAT THE FUCK? You and Tara were open about your relationship; The two of you couldn’t be seen without the other hanging off their arm.

How could one lack a moral compass that bad to be dragging someone else’s woman into bed with them? No one can expect a man with the coined nickname “Frankie” to be smart, and that was the PG version.

You have been intoxicated out of your mind and you were in no shape or form to be fighting dudes reeking of testosterone, and later, you were going to be pissed off that Chad and Sam had to fight your own battles for you.

It was a good thing Sam showed up to the party when she did. Frankie got what he had coming to him—A good ass whooping, aka, tased in the balls.

It was hot when Sam’s boundless, protective, older sister nature was uncovered. That’s why you declared your admiration for the whole party to hear.

It’s also the primary reason she was the one person you and Tara did not flaunt your relationship to.

Imagine what would happen if Sam Carpenter found out you were dating her younger sister? She was hellbent on keeping Tara safe for every day of her life.

So yeah, your intimate relationship has been kept under wraps from her to spare Tara’s sanity and for your best interest.

Tara’s friends didn’t know either, only Mindy and Anika because their gay radar was too strong and they were smart women, picking up on various hints that you and Tara dropped. Okay, technically, it was not an exclusive relationship.

Though, you had a sneaking suspicion Chad knew. There was a time when he would be seen attached to Tara’s side and making her laugh, but weirdly, he’s been keeping his distance and directing his attention to his roommate, Ethan.

He still made her laugh, and so did the rest of her friends. It would be mean if you took that away from him.

Tara thumped your arm, causing you to wince and mumble an ‘ouch’. She wielded so much strength despite her small body size. “I’m your girlfriend, asshole. Don’t take her side.”

You faked an offended gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “I wasn’t taking her side. I was merely making a suggestive comment on the situation.”

Tara rolled her eyes; Your stupidity went in one ear and out the other. “What are you doing here? I cannot believe you followed me.” She was talking—more like yelling—to Sam.

Your girlfriend, being a defiant young adult, was too agitated to listen to her sister’s explanation and favored dramatic exits.

You were the obedient, caring partner and supported your lover in her many tantrums; hence, you pursued Tara outside as she marched on the street to blow off steam.

Sam blew past you like a blur of wind, hot on her sister’s heels. “Will you stop?!” She demanded.

It wasn’t said rudely. It was a desperate, I-need-to-talk-to-you kind of demand.

Tara did stop, but then she launched into a rant about how Sam’s constant, overbearing supervision was suffocating and prevented her from achieving the future she desired.

You strayed a few feet apart from both of them, watching the back of Sam’s head, because it was best to let the sisters resolve the conflict themselves.

Your girlfriend had this terrible habit of locking away her emotions until they festered and exploded in her face.

Sam fell prey to Tara’s angry outbursts 99.9% of the time. Of course, you weren't immune from the angst either just because the two of you were dating, but on the several occurrences it happened, it was misdirected.

The same applied to her friends. If they expressed any semblance of concern for Tara’s safety, she would berate them, whether that be in public or in private.

She did need to see a therapist, not just about her feelings and impulsivity, but about the post-traumatic stress disorder she cultivated because she was a victim of fucked up killings in Woodsboro.

Yes, you knew. The internet was at the entire world's fingertips and made it extremely tough for you to dodge the information acquired by social media.

You had tried to offer a referral to your therapist, but Tara just refused without considering it.

You felt a presence by your side and watched in your peripheral vision as Chad, Ethan, Mindy, and Anika assembled in a horizontal line next to you and listened to the argument.

“I have been going out with—!” Your eyes expanded to the size of golf balls at the slip-up. Tara stopped mid-sentence, her eyes flicking over to yours nervously.

“You’re dating? Who?” Sam looked around, apprehensive, and urged Tara to confess who her suitor was.

You shook your head in a silent no, and Tara was quick to cover her mistake. “No one! I'm not dating anyone.” She resumed her indignant tone, “Because you won’t let me go."

This was not how you envisioned Sam finding out, blurting out secrets during fights was the absolute worst way to reveal information.

If Sam just caught her sister in a lie, she didn't mention or show it. She was annoyed, but not more than usual. “Tara, If you want to date, you can. I never took that choice away from you. You know my rule, don't sleep with assholes."

“And I'm not! I haven't.” Tara exclaimed. “I never gave that douchebag permission to take me upstairs. I can't believe you think so low of me.”

Sam’s voice raised to the same pitch as Tara’s, which was a striking contrast from her previous, calm demeanor. “If you want to be a crazy party girl, then that's what I'm going to think you are.”

She was losing her patience, it was being stretched thin like a rubber band.

Tara scoffed and called her sister a hypocrite, then mentioned something about letting go.

Both sisters sounded like they were holding back tears, they went back and forth, and the argument was soon tired out.

There was a long night ahead of you.

“I'm sorry about your shirt.” You were apologetic as you leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as Sam scrubbed aggressively at the fabric, which had been stained with Cherry Coke or some other beverage.

“Not your fault.” Sam gave you tight-lipped smile in return, it didn't quite reach her eyes.

She pulled her shirt over her head and tugged it off. You ogled her for a second too long, drummed your fingers against the counter, and left the kitchen area to see your girlfriend since her sister wasn't much of a conversation starter.

“I'm sorry for telling Sam about the party.” Quinn was standing in Tara’s room when you came in. “It's just–she was really upset, and I couldn't help my mouth.”

“It's fine, really.” Tara had a disingenuous smile on her face. It bothered her more than she let on. “She’s all on my ass, like usual.”

Quinn eyed you like a vulture would a carcass when you stepped into her field of view and sat down. “Who is this cutie?”

“Y/n is a friend.” The lie rolled off Tara’s tongue easily. Guess she didn't trust Quinn enough to not blab to Sam about your relationship with her.

“Friend, huh?” Quinn didn't seem like she believed it. She slow-walked to the door. “Okay, Tara’s cute friend. If you ever find yourself pent up from lust and wanting a release, I’m a room away.” She sent a wink in your direction and stalked off.

You turned to Tara once Quinn was out of earshot, blinking in shock. “What the hell was that?”

Tara joined you on the bed. “That was Quinn.” A small, amused smile tugged on her lips. “She’s my ‘sex-positive’ roommate.”

“Huh.” You remarked with zero substance to the conversation. “I could picture that.”

It took Tara a minute to catch on, and she whacked your shoulder in faux annoyance. “Gross! It’s not like that, perv. Get that image out of your mind.”

You laughed, grinning at her aghast expression as you stuck your tongue out. “I’m just playing, baby.”

Tara huffed an exaggerated, annoyed sigh, and repositioned her legs so that she was turned to you. “I know you are, dumbass.”

The mattress dipped as you scooted closer and patted Tara’s thigh, still having that goofy grin plastered on your face. “I want to go out there and get drunk with Chad.”

You were ridiculous, talking about drinking again when barely even sober from the alcohol consumed at the party.

“Or…” Tara dragged out the ‘r’ syllable, leaning forward. “You bring a beer in here and I’ll sit on your face.” She smirked, an eyebrow raised as if she was daring you to refuse.

“Sold.” That was the fastest you ever hustled, power walking—because running in an apartment was crass unless absolutely necessary—from Tara’s room to the living area.

Pilfering two beers from Chad’s hands, you made a beeline to her room. Tara was suppressing a laugh when you returned, you did not waste time, and it was painfully obvious. “Close the door.”

You did as she said before the sentence was finished. Tara was calm and collected, but a closer look at her face said otherwise, more specifically, the anticipatory gleam in her eyes. She was as desperate as you.

You wrapped your arms around her neck and slinked down, your butt finding a seat on her lap. "No more demands."

The beers were held in one hand by the neck of the bottle, and you set them aside because it was inconvenient for your hands.

The bottles lay sideways on the bed, temporarily forgotten.

"None?" Tara feigned disappointment, her gaze following your tongue while you licked your lips.

"No more." You confirmed in a light whisper.

Your lips brushed against hers, not quite touching them because you wanted to keep your girlfriend on her toes.

Tara barely reached the average height, and your current position made it difficult for her to be comfortable.

She squirmed under you, "I said I was going to sit on your face, y/n. I didn't mean you on my lap." You smiled at her halfhearted complaint.

"I thought you planned to get drunk?" She playfully mocked your words from a few minutes ago, now that you had changed your mind.

"Nah. I don't need it because you intoxicate me." Before she could reply to your less-than-remarkable pick-up line, albeit in a judgmental way, you closed the distance and kissed her.

It was a gentle, short, and sweet kiss. Tara wore cherry-flavored lip gloss; the taste of it lingered on your tongue, and her hand found your cheek.

You had a daydream-like appearance when she disconnected her lips from yours, sporting a warm, lazy smile and dilated pupils.

“You’re so cute.” Tara couldn't help but copy your smile, she still looked as composed as ever. “Now get in position before Sam becomes suspicious and invades the privacy of my room.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.” You crawled to the other end of the bed, grabbed one of the beer bottles, and sat against the headboard.

You twisted the cap off and took a swig, a satisfied “Ahh,” leaving your mouth.

Tara observed all this with a roll of her eyes and crawled to you, picking up her beer. “Dork.” She swung her legs around both sides of your arms and sat on your chest.

When both of you were done drinking, you reached over and set the bottles on the nightstand, looking back at Tara with hungry eyes. You asked, “Ready?”

“Hey, T. I think I left my phone— Oh my god!” Quinn covered her eyes with her hand after waltzing into Tara’s room.

Soft moans filled the room along with other lewd sounds, both of you were too preoccupied to hear the door opening, and Quinn’s disgust went unnoticed.

“I’ll come back later!” She shut the door and scurried away. Mumbling under her breath, “Friends, my ass.”

You and Tara freshened up after having the ride of your lives in the bedroom. Tara orgasmed on your tongue, and she didn't want you to leave unsatisfied so she returned the favor, which led to you outstaying your welcome.

Not a drop of mess spilled on her sheets because if she had to clean them, Sam would have immediately found out about you two.

Tara lit a scented candle to rid the smell of sex from her room, and you helped her reorganize the bed.

Mostly everyone was chilling on the couch watching television when Tara walked you out to the living room, your hands intertwined with hers.

“I had a great night.” You said with a big grin while standing outside the apartment door.

It was late, and it was time for you to go home. “Minus the argument you had with your sister, but the party was pretty fun.”

Tara nodded, her face soured a little when Sam was mentioned, and the door was being propped open by her arm. “It was fun.”

“See you soon?” You were already excited at the thought of seeing your girlfriend again and you hadn't even left her place yet.

Tara crossed one leg in front of the other, and a light blush formed on her cheeks. “See you soon.” She affirmed.

She waved as the door was closed in your face. You walked away with a skip in your steps, happily humming the tune to a song you liked.

Unknown to both of you, it would be a while before you saw each other again.

You were at work when your phone chimed with a text alert from Tara. “Hanging out with my sister, Mindy, her girlfriend, and Chad. Wanna come over? I'm losing my mind.”

You smiled at the message, already imagining the group having fun and laughing. You typed back a response, “Wish I could. I am busy with work.”

“It’s cool.” She might’ve said it was cool, but you knew she was upset you couldn’t make it.

Another text alert and Tara had sent you a message. “Chad just nicknamed us the Core Four. Kill me now.”

“That is not happening.” You chastised her over text, laughing quietly to yourself because you could tell how annoyed she was.

Your phone was tucked inside your pants pocket and you opened the door to your place of work, walking inside.

That was the only conversation you had with her on the day following the party. Work was exhausting, you were scheduled for 9-hour shifts a few days a week and you often fell asleep straight after arriving in your dorm.

You had been stuck with a closing shift again, which was why you were spending your time at work instead of sleeping in or making out with your girlfriend.

Speaking of, you really would've liked to be with her. You haven't seen her for only two days, but it felt like an eternity.

A phone rang. It was yours, you dug it out of your pocket and pressed the answer button. Tara was calling. “Babe, hey. How are you?”

“Quinn and Anika were killed.” Tara’s voice was frail over the phone as she informed you about her friends’ deaths.

Your heart relocated to the pit of your stomach, and you immediately dropped what you were doing to comfort her. “I am so sorry. What the fuck happened?”

“Ghostface. He's back. She’s back, whoever the fuck it is.” Her words were sharp enough to cut through the phone.

You had stepped out where there was less noise, and so you could take a break. “It's going to be okay, alright?”

You glanced around the outside of your workplace, the only person there was a coworker dumping trash into the dumpster.

Tara sniffled. “A professor was killed by someone I knew, and he died too. It was on the news after you left our place.”

“I know. I caught the news before I went to bed. It’s unfortunate.” You never knew Jason well enough to care about him, only knowing him as the guy Tara hung out with too often, but it was alarming to learn there was a pattern of serial murders forming.

Someone was talking to her, but it was indiscernible on your end. “Mindy wants to know where you were last night while the murders and shit were taking place.”

You paused, feeling uneasiness wash over your body like a blanket. “I was working, babe.”

“For that long?” Tara sounded skeptical, and as a result of your stubborn attitude, you started to become defensive.

“Yes,” You slouched against the wall adjacent to the back door while pinching the bridge of your nose. “I'm the designated closer and I'm closing again tonight, working the morning shift right now.”

“Alright.” Tara wasn't as engaged in the conversation as she usually would be. She was dismissive and full of doubt about you.

“Y/n? Are you there?” You were deep in thought. Your mind ran a mile a minute as you panicked on the inside.

It wasn’t because Tara was skeptical of you, but because you were assessing the reality of the Ghostface killings.

“I don't think we should be together right now.” It was abrupt, both of you were surprised at your request.

“What? Are you serious?”

“Just until all this blows over.” You knew it was in poor taste and timing, but the possibility of being hunted and killed because you were in a relationship with Tara was far more gut-wrenching.

“Your friends were attacked and that means I’m next.”

“Look,” Tara’s voice turned exasperated as she attempted to sway your fear, “Whoever it is, has to be close to one of us. If we end our relationship, it will not work because they’re already gunning for you and me.”

“What if there's a chance it could work, though?” It was a stupid question—Deep down, you knew she was right.

Tara stated with utmost sincerity, “Y/n, I need you. I can't do this without you.”

You heard the trembling in her voice and your eyes felt misty, but you had to stay strong. “I know you do. This is what's best for us, though. I don't want to put my life at risk.”

“I'm risking mine as we speak, y/n.” Tara was growing frustrated with you. “Mindy—stop.”

“No! Stop! I'm not giving you my ph—” There were shouts of protest from Tara and what sounded like the phone exchanging hands by force.

“Hello?” You cringed, having to pull the phone away because Tara and Mindy were shouting in your ear.

“Y/n,” It was Mindy who answered you. “Terrible idea. I just asked where you were as a formality! You should stick with your girl or you'll regret it when your insides are—”

It sounded like Mindy was swatting away Tara as the latter demanded her phone back.

“Mindy, what are you even saying??” Sometimes, she could be a terrifying scary movie geek.

“One of the most important rules of horror moves: Splitting up is no bueno,” Mindy stressed every word to ensure you understood her point. “Tara—No!”

There was some fussing, and Tara returned to speak to you. She had wrangled her phone back. “Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?”

You considered her question, biting the inside of your cheek. “No...” Your response was uncertain.

Your stomach churned, even it was sending signals that this was a bad idea, but your mind had been set... somewhat, anyway.

“I feared this was going to happen.” A heavy, dissatisfied sigh from your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. “I guess this is goodbye, y/n.”

She was about to end the call, but you begged her to wait. “I thought you would fight me more on this.”

“What more can I say? It's your decision.” Her tone implied that she was not in the mood for a discussion anymore. “No one wants to stay when my sister and I have a huge target on our backs. I get it.”

Tara was still there, your Tara, the one you had grown to love. She was dealing with a lot right now.

You could hear your boss yelling at a coworker and asking about your whereabouts from inside your workplace; you needed to conclude this call fast.

“Tara.” You processed her words before you said anything irrational.

“When it gets out that I am innocent,”—enunciating the word ‘when’—I want you to know that I love you, I would never hurt you, and I hope this Ghostface bastard rots.”

Your phone beeped once, indicating that Tara hung up on you.

You scoffed in disbelief, staring in shock at the black screen in your hand.

She didn't say it back.

You headed back inside to do your job before your boss popped a blood vessel and triggered an aneurysm. Working would help distract your mind from the heartbreak that was settling in.

It was 10:30 P.M. and, like you said, you were closing tonight. It was just you, by yourself, in the dimly lit deli.

A detective with a full head of gray hair had stopped by earlier to interrogate you about your alibi and whereabouts during the time window of Jason Carver’s murder and the double homicide of Quinn and Anika.

He didn't say it outright, but you guessed that he was Quinn’s father because he had trouble saying her name without choking.

You were honestly perplexed that he hadn't been removed from the case due to a conflict of interest, but it was easier to answer him and move on.

You were in the back running deli meats through the company-bought slicer in preparation for tomorrow.

The whirring of machinery and the dicing of thick meats were the only sounds that occurred in the building, otherwise, it was eerily quiet.

You were just coming back from a bathroom break, whistling, when you were greeted by an uninvited guest.

Well, it took you embarrassingly long to notice the figure clad in a Ghostface mask and black cloak until you had turned around to investigate a noise, and there they appeared, armed with a knife, ready to kill.

It was a real-life jump scare. Your heart skipped a beat and your soul felt like it evaporated from your body as you screamed so loud, it was deafening.

Ghostface jabbed the knife at you, and you dodged, the knife cutting through the air where your head just was.

The space you were in was small, not fit for running or a two-person scuffle. All you could do was duck and avoid their attacks because you were cornered by this masked killer.

One thing led to another and you were pinned down on the counter, being slid toward the machinery you had just used to slice meats, the rotary blade was menacing as it neared you.

You struggled and released aggravated grunts. In a frenzy, you nailed Ghostface in the groin with an unsynchronized kick.

The cloaked figure sunk to their knees. A groan sounded suspiciously like a male’s, and it did not come from you.

Panting from exertion, you bent your knees to get a closer look while squinting your eyes. “Ethan?”

That name triggered something in the masked assailant, and they lunged at you with surprising momentum.

You were trapped on the counter once more, his grip was unforgiving on your wrist.

The palm of your hand lay flat on the surface, facing upwards. Ghostface stabbed the blade through your palm and the tip of it embedded in the counter, a guttural cry ripped from your throat.

Tears were flowing down your cheeks and you were weeping incoherently.

There was only one person you couldn't stop thinking of. “Please, I want to see Tara again. We have so much to talk about, I can’t leave her like this—Shit!”

You sunk your teeth in your lip as Ghostface ripped the knife from your hand and put an end to your mindless rambling.

You craved a distraction from the pain.

Ghostface leered over you, tilting his head, the screaming mask was especially daunting when you were his next victim.

He lifted the knife stained with crimson, and you screamed for the umpteenth time that night, your throat was becoming raw. “No, no, no!” The weapon was brought down in one swift, stabbing motion.

Outside, sirens blared, cars revved on the street, and the city bustled with life, but your cries of terror went unheard in the darkness of the night.

It was a new day and the weather was fine. Tara hadn't been in contact with you since you suggested a breakup.

She hadn't been in contact with you since you said those three words, and she didn't say them back. Still hasn't.

Tara didn't know what she was waiting for. You loved her irrevocably, and she knew that.

She had always known, starting from the time you guys shared a first kiss and when you gathered the courage to ask her out.

God, she missed you.

Everything you did and said swept her off her feet and into your arms. She wasn't being exactly fair to you. You were right to be frightened about her past, she didn't know why it hurt so much though.

Tara and her sister turned a corner, coming into full view of your place of work—Marceli’s Deli—but something was wrong, police cars and news reporters surrounded the building, and dispatch could be heard faintly over the radio.

Detective Bailey was on the scene, looking forlorn. The two women rushed to him.

Tara blurted out a string of questions before he received a proper greeting. “What happened?! Is y/n okay?”

“Oh,” Detective Bailey winced, lips tugging back in a grimace. “I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

Tara’s devastated expression hardened into an impassive one. “What? Is Y/n in there?”

She strained her neck to get a peek at the damage done, but Sam prevented her from sprinting inside.

Bailey raised his hands to his chest and pushed downwards, imitating a gesture that meant calm down. “Y/n has gone missing; The forensics team hasn't found a body, or... remnants of one.”

He glanced away from the Carpenter sisters, an offhand look in his eyes as he waved an officer over. “If you ladies will excuse me, this is an active crime scene, and I have unfinished work to do.”

Tara scoffed, then gasped like she couldn't believe what she just heard. Sam ushered her sister from the chaotic scene, softly murmuring, “We should go.”

“Sam! Tara!” Oh, they recognized that voice, it belonged to the shallow, selfish, self-serving liar herself, Gale Weathers.

And she swarmed into their personal space without reading the room or caring for Tara’s distraught demeanor. “How do you feel now that Ghostface has followed you to the Big Apple?”

Gale spoke into a microphone while someone filmed behind her. “Care to comment on the recent murders?”

“No. Leave us alone.” Sam said through gritted teeth. She was okay before Gale Weathers showed, but now she was aggravated.

Gale was annoyingly persistent, following after the two women when they tried to leave, and spouting an overwhelming plethora of questions.

Sam had enough. She spun on her heels, and with a roll of her eyes, threw a punch in Gale’s direction. The targeted newswoman anticipated that it was coming, and swerved.

“Nice try, sweetie,” Gale smirked, her voice amplified because of the microphone. “But I've been through this dance before—Oh!”

Tara’s fist struck her in the cheek and made Gale swivel. Tara leaned forward, threatening, “Stay away from us.”

Gale stood, dumbfounded, pressing a hand to where she'd been hit.

Sam was resting against a wall with her arms crossed once she found a secluded area for a genuine talk with Tara. “Is everything okay?”

Tara had been twisting her hands and gnawing on her lip, which were all signs that pointed to extreme anxiety and worry. “We were dating. Me and y/n.”

It came out like word vomit. Sam was surprised Tara confessed information about her private life without the usual opposition.

She blinked and straightened her posture, curiosity peaked. “Oh, Tara. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because you're—” Tara was going to say something mean, but she stopped herself, her voice trailing off. “You.”

Sam listened to her younger sister with a glimmer of guilt in her eyes, and Tara despised that look, like she was a wounded puppy Sam had just run over.

She eyed Sam before finding solace in the ground and absentmindedly rubbing at her sore knuckles. “But Y/n has gone missing, or might not even be alive, and it's all my fault.”

Sam frowned and wrestled with a thought. “Is it possible—”

“Don’t.” Tara shut down the question before Sam could complete it, because if it was voiced aloud—there was a chance it could be true.

And she didn't want it to be true.

Sam nodded and held her tongue; her lips were set in a straight line. She didn't want to upset her sister further. “Okay.”

“It's not over.” Sam shuffled over to Tara, their shoulders almost touching as they both leaned on the building. “We're going to find Y/n and kick the asses of whoever is accountable for hurting all of us.”

“Promise?” Tara half-smiled at her sister.

She wouldn't be wholly content until you were in her arms again, but knowing she had Sam by her side, that made her feel better.

“Swear on it.” Sam held out her pinky, her tone was sweet, but her face expressed a certain maliciousness.

In agreement, Tara hooked their pinkies together. She just missed one vital piece that would make her life almost okay again... you.

A lot has happened. Gale Weathers had been stabbed, Mindy was stuck with Ethan on a train and she was falling behind, and Tara was spiraling into depression because you remained missing.

Prior to Gale’s attempted murder, the reporter had found an abandoned, secret hideout with Ghostface graffiti scattered on the outside and guided Sam and Tara to it—everyone else followed along—as an apology for being a conceited bitch.

It kinda worked. Tara felt a little remorseful, but she deserved that punch.

Turns out the inside was even more of a freak show, occupied with Ghostface collections and a fucking shrine of mannequins wearing cloaks and wielding the knives of past killers, only all the masks were missing.

Tara did not like it here. The place gave her the creeps equivalent to a thousand bugs crawling down her back.

She hoped that you would show up out of the blue, in good health, with a smile on your face, saying something like, “I'm sorry I ran away,” and tease her like you always did by being your goofy self.

But with every passing moment that specific scenario didn't happen, the likelihood of you being alive became less likely, and her heart grew heavy.

Tara didn't want to admit it, because then your disappearance would become a reality, but her hopes were diminishing.

Sam was also going through her own internal turmoil; Tara has seen the way her sister looked at Billy Loomis’s display when she assumed no one was watching.

“What are you doing?” Tara didn't mean to spook Sam. Her eyes gleamed, not out of fear, but because she was concerned.

“Yo, Tara!” Chad had cupped his hands over his mouth to shout and was beckoning for her to walk with him.

Tara glanced over at Chad and back at her speechless sister, who was struggling to form a sentence, her gaze sympathetic.

She turned away to follow Chad.

“Who uses this place anymore? It's so old,” Tara remarked while smirking.

She stood at a dusty concession counter with Chad. He smiled at her comment and shifted closer to her.

He reached for an old box of candy at the same time she did, and their fingers brushed.

Tara flushed from embarrassment. “Oh, you can have it.”

Chad withdrew his arm, grinning sheepishly. “I'm sorry. You can have it.”

“No, you can take them.” Tara insisted, her smile fading while handing the box of chocolate to him.

But Chad just wouldn't get the hint. “No, you wanted them...” He tossed the candy down on the counter. “You take it.”

“I don't want them. They're a hundred years old. I actually—What are you doing?” Chad had tried to kiss her, but Tara pushed him back.

“Kissing... You?” He arched a brow in confusion, sounding unsure of himself.

“I'm dating Y/n. I was. We broke up.” She rambled, using her inhaler before she was sent into a panic attack. “It's complicated.”

Chad wasn't unattractive in the slightest. He had a buff build, muscles, and a soft heart underneath the tough jock exterior.

Sometimes he said things that made him seem brainless, but terrible timing aside, she didn't see him like that—more than as a friend.

Even if you were out of the picture, which was a thought she couldn't stomach, her relationship with you was still fresh. She didn't want to date anyone else.

Chad was quiet, and all Tara wanted to do was drown herself in the silence.

Sam lingered away from the Ghostface mannequins, and stepping down the stage, she called out, “Tara? Chad? Kirby?”

She was alone, in the room by herself. They had dispersed to different areas of the theatre and left her.

Tara and Chad stood beside each other with their backs turned to the counter, seeking comfort in the other’s presence.

“I'm stupid, aren't I?” Chad had a pained smile on his face. He was trying to make the situation less awkward by joking.

Tara couldn't help the small, amused smile that tugged on her lips, partially serious as she answered him. “A little bit.”

Dejectedly, he hung his head and blew a puff of air. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Tara shook her head, “You're going to be fine.” She corrected herself, “We are,” and playfully nudged Chad.

Sam slowly crept toward the corridor, her ears picking up on muffled thumping sounds that resembled rats running through pipes.

Chad and Tara kept talking in the other room while Sam was investigating the noise. “I think you're beautiful, Tara. You're strong and I like women who can throw a punch.”

Trailing her hand along the walls, Sam had Billy Loomis’s knife out at the ready, on extremely high alert as she neared the source.

“I can't be with you, not now, probably not ever” Tara replied curtly.

He wouldn't drop the subject and it made her uncomfortable. “Maybe if you told me before I met y/n, then it would be different.”

Bingo. Sam’s hand found a small handle in the paneling. She pushed, then pulled and it gave away, revealing a thin, hidden compartment.

“The thing is, I didn't realize how much I wanted you until I saw you with someone else,” Chad admitted, taking a tentative peek at her.

He was speaking from the bottom of his heart, but still, Tara didn't love him like she loved you.

It was dark, but Sam could see the silhouette of a person and glistening eyes. “Y/n.” she breathed softly; her heart broke at the condition you were in.

There you were. Alive, held captive but not dead.

She flipped the knife so the blade was facing the floor, and crouched down.

“Tara is here with me. We're going to get you out of here, okay?” She fumbled with the duct tape on your wrists, glancing at your tear-stricken face. “She'll be so, so happy to see you.”

Your eyes brightened, but what you were attempting to say was unintelligible because your mouth was duct-taped as well.

You were happy though, that much Sam could tell.

A scream echoed in the corridor. It was Tara’s.

Sam’s eyes snapped to yours and reluctance showed on her features. She began to pull away, even though she was not finished setting you free.

“Sam.” You looked at her expectantly.

She was reminded of that time in Woodsboro when Tara was locked in that closet and she had to decide whether or not she should set her sister free.

Guilt tugged on Sam’s heart, but she stood up anyway. “Wait here. I'll be back, I promise.”

You began to shout muffled objections. The secret door was shut back in place, leaving you to stew in your thoughts and emotions once more.

Sam went to find her sister, but she didn't have to go far because Tara ran into her, hyperventilating. “They got Chad! They got him! Two of them.”

Sam gripped Tara’s arms and waited until she calmed down to tell her what she'd discovered. “I found Y/n!”

“What? Where is he?” Tara attempted to search for you, but Sam kept her still.

“Not now. He's safe.” Sam brushed back a strand of hair from her sister’s eyes, moving her hands to hold both sides of her face. “Hey, let’s finish this okay? Then we can go home.”

Tara nodded and allowed Sam to guide her to the room where the mannequins and Ghostface memorabilia were.

It was time for Act 3.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes morphed into hours. You were just sitting there, waiting, in the cramped space when the door slid open again.

Sam stared down at you, sporting a familiar, black cloak that you had witnessed Ghostface wearing. “Did you see who took you?”

A slow nod from you.

Was it Ethan or Quinn?” She was digging for information about the culprit of your kidnapping; you shook your head at both of the names mentioned.

“Detective Bailey. Old cop guy with grey hair.” Your confused expression shifted into a knowing one.

Sam smirked, an evil glint in her eyes. “Be right back.”

She slid the door closed; you were enclosed in the secret compartment again.

Sam tore the mask off her face and let it sit on her head. She turned out of the center stage, walked through the projector curtains, and joined Tara on the steps.

“Thank you for letting me go.” Tara’s face was stained with black splotches, and she looked the same as Sam did—A total mess.

They had just finished killing a family–Richie’s family, in fact. Quinn, Ethan, and fucking Detective Bailey were all relatives of his.

Detective Bailey was the only one left alive for their final act. It was a team effort; Tara called him over the phone pretending to be Ghostface.

Sam wore the costume, stealthily approached that dipshit, and stabbed him until he couldn't scream anymore.

Of course, she did stab him in the eye as a preventative measure. He deserved a worse fate than death, but he also didn't deserve a second chance to torment her family. Yes, that included you too.

Sam smiled, and this one did reach her eyes, resting her head on her arm. “I knew you could take care of yourself.”

Tara’s smile faltered and her gaze dropped to her shoes.

“I want to be in your life though,” Sam added after a beat of silence. Tara made eye contact with her sister, her expression softening. “But only as much as you want me to.”

“I want you to be in my life.” Tara declared with complete honesty, squashing Sam’s doubts. “And y/n, Mindy,” Her voice wavered at the next name, “Chad.”

Sam reached over and placed a hand on Tara’s knee. She was sympathetic to her sister’s feelings.

They both have dealt with this specific trauma two times, too many.

Tara chuckled and a wide grin formed on her face. Sam giggled with her, just glad to laugh after the day they had.

A loud bang! and a clatter startled the sisters, causing them to jump up apprehensively.

You stumbled into the room with a bruised eye, and a bleeding cut above the eyebrow of your other eye. Your face was roughed up as if you had been in a horrible fistfight.

There was a long and wide, jagged, exposed gash that went across your nose, under your left eye and stopped at your earlobe.

Your feet were taped together and the tape on your hands had been cut.

“You still don't understand, Tara!” Ethan screamed, veins exuded out of his neck and his eyes bulged. “In the sequel, the perfect boyfriend died.”

“Quinn.” Detective Bailey demanded. “Go fetch, y/n. We have a crime scene to stage.”

“On it!” Quinn strode past the sisters and turned into the corridor that led to the other rooms of the theatre, disappearing from view.

Sam looked up through hooded eyes into the soulless ones of Detective Bailey. “Wow. You and Richie have similar plans.”

He was aiming a gun at her and tilted his head, confusion etched on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Your son took my sister hostage.” There was a faux sweetness behind her tone. Sam was taunting him. “He tried to convince me that Tara was the killer, but guess what? I untied her.”

As if on cue, Quinn exclaimed, “Uh, I can't find him!”

Detective Bailey’s voice boomed as he shouted back, “He can't have gotten far!”

Some things were tossed and slammed around in her search for you. A sharp ��thwack’ sounded and Quinn cried out.

“I let him go,” Sam smirked.

Tara ran and wrapped her arms around you in a bone-crushing hug, nearly knocking you off your feet, a choked sob escaped from her.

Pulling away to inspect you, she reached out and peeled the tape from your lips. “Tara.” You croaked.

Your throat felt like sandpaper due to a lack of water and food, and your lips were cracked.

“Y/n,” Tara mumbled softly, tears welling up in her eyes. She brought her hand around the nape of your neck and drew you in for a kiss.

You succumbed to the warm sensation of her lips on yours and deepened the kiss. The suffering you had endured was washing away now that your girl was in your arms.

Tara had that power; she always knew how to make your pain forgettable when you were with her.

You parted for air, already missing her lips on yours.

You also had something really important to say and it couldn't wait, “Tara, I want to undo the breakup.”

Tara beamed at you and grinned ear-to-ear. Teasingly, she asked, “We broke up?”

Her face glowed with a certain happiness that was only expressed in your presence.

You rolled your eyes, and the small smile on your lips made it obvious that you were humoring her. “Come here.”

You lured her in for a second kiss and your lips nearly connected with hers, but a loud, animalistic growl forced you and Tara to spring apart in fear.

Ethan Landry was still alive. He had a bloody maw and roared like a beast, rushing, aiming for all three of you with a knife raised.

It was so unexpected and too fast for any of you to formulate a defensive strategy. You, Sam, and Tara could only gape at Ethan’s grotesque appearance.

Something creaked, and in the blink of an eye, the tv that killed Stu Macher tipped over and claimed Ethan Landry as its new victim.

Kirby popped out from behind the display where the TV used to be. Like the rest of you survivors, she was in terrible shape.

She smiled, “Saw that in a scary movie once.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and pulled Tara close to you, a smile returning to your face.

Sam moved closer to you and Tara, looking proud of you two. She placed her hand on your back, between your shoulder blades, and gave you a one-armed hug.

You leaned into her embrace and rested your chin on her shoulder. It was nice of her to do that, and you felt like crying because, from the moment you started dating Tara, you hoped to bond with her sister.

Sam didn't let you go right away; she was dragging out the hug for as long as possible, and it's what you needed. “How would you feel about going out on a double date? You and Tara, Me and Danny—my neighbor—who I've been seeing.”

Her voice was smooth and inviting, even if you considered saying no, it would've been hard to refuse. “I'd love that, Sam.”

She broke off the hug to gauge whether you were being serious or otherwise. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” You had a grin on your face.

“Already talking about me behind my back?” Tara chimed in, staring at you with an eyebrow raised, and suppressing a smile.

“Aww, is my lovebug feeling lonely?” You did a silly, comical impression with your voice and pulled her flush to your hip, tenderly squeezing her shoulder.

“I can't stand you.” You and Sam laughed together at Tara’s empty insult.

Tara protested and elbowed you in the ribs, but soon, she was laughing as well.

“Oh, man.” When the laughter died down, you groaned and touched your forehead, dangerously on the verge of fainting or spilling out your guts. “I need to go to the hospital.”

Two weeks have passed.

Tara strutted through a fitness gym, wearing sunglasses and holding a coffee. All she could hear were misogynistic, sweaty men grunting and using the exercise equipment.

“Come on! Come on!”

Two men were practicing boxing. One man was holding up mitts, acting as a target dummy, and the other was throwing punches.

Tara approached them, removing her glasses. “Y/n.”

You stopped mid-punch, saw who called your name, and disengaged from your boxing stance. “Babe, hey!”

You walked to her with open arms and pulled her into a big, sweaty hug. “We were just finishing up.”

Danny was the man who you were sparring with. He peeled off the gloves and tucked them under his arm, sporting a toothy grin.

“I got you coffee.” Tara offered you the to-go cup when you pulled away.

You took the coffee off her hands. “Oh, sweet. Decaf?”

“Uh huh, only the best for my beau.” She smiled while watching you chug the hot beverage.

“Is Sam ready?” Danny asked, joining you and Tara.

“Yeah,” Tara pointed her thumb at the entrance of the gym. “She’s waiting outside.”

You finished drinking the coffee and lowered the cup in your hands. “How is Chad, by the way?”

Tara perked up when you asked; she seemed excited to talk about him. “He’s recovering pretty fast. It's impressive, according to his doctor. He’ll be out in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s good to hear!” You said cheerily with a hint of sarcasm. “I still need to fight him for trying to kiss you.”

Your girlfriend released a small, airy laugh. “As much as I would love to see both of you acting like idiots, fighting is unnecessary. He’s already dealing with my rejection.”

“I imagine that's gotta hurt.” Danny chortled while glancing at you.

“Yeah, imagine.” You smirked, refraining from laughing when Danny gave you a knowing look.

Tara shook her head and she didn't bother to hide her signature eye roll. “I'm hating this... bromance or whatever this is between the two of you.”

You chuckled. Danny pressed his hand to his chest and faked a hurt expression. “Ouch, Sam’s little sis.”

“Speaking of, I wouldn't want to keep Sam waiting.” You slung each of your arms around Danny and Tara and propelled them forward. “Let's go eat!”

Both of them complained while you used their necks as props as you reached the doors to exit, and Tara smacked you until she was freed from your arm.

You met up with Sam, who was standing right outside the gym, and the four of you walked on the sidewalks of New York to a nice, fancy restaurant.

You and Tara were seated together at a table with Sam and Danny, surrounded by great food, jokes, laughter, and a warm ambiance.

You clinked your alcoholic drink against theirs and chatted the night away.

Ghostface? Stab series? They didn't cross your mind once.

[Tags: @jacelion because they are so supportive of my posts <3 ]

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x male reader #scream 6 #scream vi #jenna ortega x reader #ethan landry #sam carpenter #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #quinn bailey #jenna ortega x male reader #tara carpenter x y/n

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gojonanami · 1 month

Text

I just hit a very unbelievable milestone yesterday and I still can’t quite believe it—

10,000 feels like a number I can’t quite even fathom and I truly thank every one of you for being here. truly I started this blog because I had jjk brainrot and I was going through a lot of difficult life changes and writing has always been my coping mechanism

so the fact so many of you enjoy my work has made it so much more fun and so much more rewarding 🥹 and I don’t want to ramble too much (because I feel it’s very self congratulatory) but thank you for every reblog, comment, ask, and like you all have sent my way. it’s meant the world and this blog has been my oasis from just difficult life situations.

especially your asks — they never ever fail to make me smile or laugh—I still can’t quite fathom the amount of asks I get but I’m so glad I get to interact with you all so much. it literally is everything to me.

I will definitely do another follower celebration event (once I finish my 2K one because wow I’m still working on that one somehow 😭).

I want to also thank every mutual I have on here - I will only not list you because I am afraid I will miss someone and it will haunt me forever lol. but you know who you are and I love all of you.

also a very very special thanks to @laneysmusings and @gaylatteart who literally put up with beta reading and listening to me ramble about my fics and ideas and jjk in general (even though they are not really into jjk at all haha). I love them so much and truly my writing would not be the same at all without them and I cannot thank them enough for dealing with my shenanigans 💕🥹

anyway I said I wouldn’t ramble so I won’t so!! thank you all so much and I’ll be here still writing away!! 💕🥹 and I hope you guys will stick around.

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in-my-feels-probably · 1 year

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hey! Is it okay if you write something for Daenerys where reader is usually very playful and is suddenly scared of Dany? After the thing in King's Landing, R is very cold and overly polite with Dany, calling her "Your Grace" and flinching away from her. Happy ending and female reader please!

A Better World

Request: hey! Is it okay if you write something for Daenerys where reader is usually very playful and is suddenly scared of Dany? After the thing in King's Landing, R is very cold and overly polite with Dany, calling her "Your Grace" and flinching away from her. Happy ending and female reader please!

Hi! I am so sorry it took me so long to get to this request, I was so busy and then I took a break from writing. I wanted to make sure I took some time with this request when I started writing again, I love this one.

This is my first time writing for Daenerys and Game of Thrones, thank you for sending this in. I love this request, I have so many thoughts about Daenerys’s ending, she didn’t deserve to die and I miss her. This is a little different from your request, but I tried my best to stick to it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

(Warnings: mentions of death, murder, grief, execution, let me know if i missed any)

—

You had never known another woman like Daenerys.

Fierce, but kind, and undyingly loyal. She was strong, and brave, and everything the realm needed her to be. You watched in awe at everything she did.

She often spoke of how she couldn’t do it without you by her side. From the desert wasteland after Khal Drogo’s death, to her dragons being stolen. From witnessing the deaths of slaves, to making decisions regarding the lives of those who betrayed her.

There were countless times she thanked you for your ability to lift her spirits and keep her going. She loved that about you, how easily you were able to get her to smile and laugh, and keep her uplifted and driven.

When she and her armies secured Meereen after the attacks from the Sons of the Harpy, resulting in the death and near death of Ser Bariston Selmy and Grey Worm, she found the time to take you aside to confide in you.

In her chambers at the end of the night, she laid in your arms with her head resting on your shoulder.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do it.”

You sat up, looking her in the eye. “Do what, love?”

“Watch people die. Watch the people who put their faith in me suffer, because I cannot protect them.”

“No,” you quickly shook your head. “You cannot think like that. You saved these people. Without you, they would still be suffering, even worse than now. You freed the slaves, gave the armies something to believe in. Someone to fight for. You are doing all you can. You are one person, you cannot be expected to save every single person who looks to you for help.”

“Why should they follow me if I can’t save them? Why should you? I was so worried for you today, I didn’t know if you were safe or not.”

“I’m fine, see?” You said, dramatically showing her your arms and legs to prove you hadn’t been hurt.

Daenerys tried to fight it, but a smile broke through, and yours grew at the sight of it.

“There’s that smile.”

You cupped her cheek in your palm, running your thumb across her cheekbone.

“People die every day, Dany. People get hurt. There’s nothing you can do to stop that. What you can do is lead these people. You can break the wheel, so that nobody else has to suffer in the ways you did. The people follow you because they believe in you…I believe in you. You’ll be the one to save us all. So please, do not worry about my safety, or whether or not I’m alright. I will always be alright if I’m around you. I may have my fears, but I have never once feared for my life when it came to following you.”

—

Sticking by Daenerys’s side for the better part of her adult life, the things that scared you were far and few in between.

You had watched her take cities and free slaves. You watched her command armies, getting the Dothraki and Unsullied to believe in her fight. She was fierce and relentless, never stopping until the work was done.

You had watched her dragons hatch and grow into the beasts they are now. Others might shake in terror at the sight of them, but to you, they really were Daenerys’s children. You never feared them. They never hurt you.

Together, after uniting the North, you had fought the Night King. You lost many, and feared for the death of friends and family, but you made it through.

You had watched both Viserion and Rhaegal die.

In your years with Daenerys, their deaths were one of the only times you had been afraid to be around her. Watching her grieve was more than you could take. You watched her grow cold.

But still, she was your Daenerys. Your girl, your Queen, your best friend. With you by her side, she made it through. Despite the rage and sorrow you knew she felt, she grew warm again, opening back up to you. You made it through together.

You had fought through your fears together, and now, there wasn’t much you were truly afraid of. You had been through it all together, what was left to fear?

—

The darkest day was when she rained fire down upon King’s Landing.

You watched in horror as she sat upon Drogon, seething as she listened to the city ring the bells in surrender. You knew that face.

Missandei had been killed just days before, and Daenerys was devastated. That, on top of the North rejecting her as their leader, and the deaths of her dragons, it was more than she could bear.

Instead of heading straight to the Red Keep, she set fire to the streets. The sound of screams filled your ears, people desperately trying to run away. Mothers calling for their children, crying when they couldn’t find them.

Soldiers from the Keep were being slaughtered by the Dothraki and Unsullied, as well as any man who tried to stand in their way.

Jon, who had been charged with keeping you safe in the unlikely event that you would need protection, kept you close by his side when the real chaos began.

You were supposed to stay with Tyrion, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You wouldn’t stand by and let your people get hurt because Cersei was too prideful to save her own. You had gone down to the streets to try and reason with the soldiers fighting for Cersei to give up. The city was surrounded, there was nowhere for them to go, and it was a fight they would not win. All they had to do was wait for the bells to be rang, and that was it.

Men and women screamed for the bells to be rang, begging and pleading with their Queen to surrender. Daenerys watched overhead atop Drogon, and you knew even when the bells were rung that it wasn’t the end.

She first headed for the Keep, and you had a fleeting sense of relief that she was going to do the right thing. The people would be spared, and Cersei would die. That’s how it should have been. But people started running and screaming, and your heart sank from your chest.

Just as the men laid down their swords, and you were going to retreat to safety, fire filled the streets.

Grey Worm commanded the Unsullied to kill the Keep’s soldiers, with the North men and Dothraki quickly following. Jon convinced a few to stay back, to not kill anyone, but quickly was forced to fight back when the soldiers swamped him and his men.

Jon immediately brought you to stand behind him, handing you a sword off a dead soldier. You knew how to use it, and you’d fight for your life, but you were scared. Even if you survived this, you wouldn’t survive dragon fire if Daenerys unknowingly turned your way on Drogon.

“Stay close to me! Don’t leave my sight!” He yelled, and you quickly nodded, following behind him.

Soldiers were burning in the streets. Mothers cried as they clutched their children to them, hiding in alleyways. Smoke and ash encased the city.

You killed any soldier that tried to kill you, but mostly watched in dazed horror as you followed Jon through the streets, running as fast as you could.

Soldiers from your own side were murdering fathers in front of their wives and children, forcing them to run. Mothers were sacrificing themselves, giving their now orphaned children just enough time to escape.

You could see it in Jon’s face that he was just as horrified as you, only killing when necessary. His men weren’t listening to him, and screams filled the streets.

“Find somewhere to hide,” he told a woman who had narrowly escaped a soldier's wrath, motioning for her to get up.

You grabbed his arm, turning him towards you. “Jon, there’s nowhere to go.”

He gave you a sad look, pulling you with him. “Just keep going.”

Ash filled the air, making it hard to see. Injured citizens were laid out all through the streets, screaming and crying in agony. Others called out for lost family, unable to find them. People were running, trampling over each other.

“We’re going to die here,” you said, narrowly escaping the buildings caving in.

“She wouldn’t hurt you. Not you.”

You heard his words, but you didn’t believe him. An hour ago, you would have. But now, you were afraid. So afraid, and it was because of her.

“Fall back, Y/N. We have to go beyond the wall, we have to get out of the city. Fall back! Fall back!” He yelled to the surrounding people, pleading with them to follow him.

You kept a hand tightly clutched to the back of his coat, not daring to let go. You followed where he led, trying to shut out the sounds of explosions, screams, and cries.

The Dothraki went in to finish the job, killing any survivors the flames and wreckage missed.

—

Within an hour, the fighting had stopped.

There was so much ash in the air that it looked like it was snowing. You were choking on it, it clinging to your eyes and scratching its way down your throat.

Casts of people's incinerated bodies lay throughout the streets, small fires surrounding them.

You and Jon hadn’t said a word to each other in minutes, both in shock. The silence was so loud it was beginning to hurt your ears.

Tyrion led you through what was left of King’s Landing, before parting to go find his siblings, if that was even possible.

Jon kept you by his side. Slowly, you walked together to the steps of the Keep, trying your hardest not to look at the dead children scattered in the street. There were a few survivors left in the city, dazedly wandering around.

You stumbled upon Grey Worm, who had Lannister soldiers in a line on their knees. He had sentenced them to die in the name of the true Queen. Jon couldn’t stop him, and you moved onward before the executions began.

You walked through the army of Dothraki, and then the Unsullied. A banner with the Targaryen house sigil was hung over the wall.

You climbed the steps with Jon, spotting Grey Worm at the top. Jon stopped halfway up the steps as he heard Drogon’s roar, turning to look.

You kept going. You were afraid that if you turned around, and you saw Daenerys atop Drogon, you’d never be able to get the memory of it out of your head. Your view of her would be permanently scarred. You heard the cheers of her army as she flew overhead, and you quickly climbed the rest of the steps, turning around at the top to face the armies.

Daenerys suddenly walked through the archway, coming to stand at the top of the staircase.

You shrunk into the corner, and were unnoticed by her. Jon took his place beside you, laying a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

You nodded, watching as Daenerys addressed her army. First the Dothraki, and then the Unsullied. You had a vague understanding of each language she used, catching a few words here and there. You found it hard to pay attention to her speech, your new fear of her now outweighing your love for her.

She spoke with a fury that you had once admired.

But now, as you listened to her speak, you feared she was following in her house’s footsteps. She was supposed to be the Targaryen that changed everything. The one to save you all. Now, you weren’t so sure.

Tyrion appeared, standing at her side. You only caught glimpses of their conversation, their voices drowned out by the cheers of the army.

“I freed my brother,” you heard Tyrion say. “And you slaughtered a city.”

He removed his Hand of the Queen pin, throwing it down the steps. It grew quiet, and you anxiously watched as Daenerys commanded for him to be taken away.

As Tyrion was led away, Daenerys finally turned around and spotted you.

You must have been a sight to see. Covered in ash and blood, your clothes torn and your hair disheveled. A dead man’s sword, still in your grasp. You willed yourself not to shrink away from her gaze in fear, keeping your eyes on hers.

She let out a small gasp, concern written across her face. Daenerys had never anticipated you getting hurt. You were supposed to stay outside the city and away from danger, yet here you were, lucky enough to have narrowly escaped death.

A death that would have been by her hands.

“Y/N,” she muttered, taking a step towards you.

You took an involuntary step back, internally scolding yourself for showing weakness. Her eyes widened, and she gently took another step toward you.

“What happened to you? Are you hurt?” She asked, softly cupping your chin and turning your head to get a better look at you.

You gently pulled your face from her grasp, shaking your head. Your voice was small.

“I’m fine, Your Grace. Just a few scratches. Jon was there to help me.”

Daenerys was confused by your words and distant tone. “Why were you here, I told you to—“

“I’m sorry,” you quickly said, taking a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, my Queen. I need a moment alone.”

You rushed off before she could say another word, finding an alleyway to duck into. You collapsed against the wall, taking deep and erratic breaths. How could this have happened? Why didn’t she accept the surrender?

It was just that morning that you looked at the woman you loved with nothing but pure adoration in your eyes. Now when you looked at her, you felt fear strike in your heart.

You thought through the events of the day. You watched her burn a city to the ground, with everyone in it. You watched soldiers from your own side slaughter innocent mothers and children. You heard cries for help as Drogon flew over the city, incinerating everything in his path.

This was not the first time Daenerys chose the violent path. She murdered the slavers of Astapor. She crucified hundreds of Meereenese nobles. She burned the Dothraki khals alive. And who could argue with that? You were by her side for all of it, and you justified each one. They were evil men doing evil things, they deserved to die. They didn’t deserve her mercy, they deserved the gruesome deaths they got.

But after so many liberations, the bodies began to pile up. The streets were filled with blood and ash, and who was left to rule over all of them now? Your Queen.

She freed the people of Meereen, Slaver’s Bay, and now Kings Landing. She freed them, and she would continue liberating people until the entire world was free.

At its core, it wasn’t a bad idea. Daenerys has a good heart, you knew that much. She was doing what she genuinely believed was right. Freeing people, you agreed with. Breaking the wheel was a necessary step. But the methods in which she did and would continue to do it weren’t excusable, even by you.

To her, it seemed as if building a better world, and burning it to the ground, were one in the same.

Fire and blood was in her nature. You hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not yet.

—

A few hours later, you were called to the Red Keep.

Daenerys had requested your presence. Grey Worm led you to the throne room in silence, opening the door and guiding you in.

“That will be all. You may leave us,” Daenerys said, and he closed the door behind you.

She was standing before the Iron Throne, running a hand along the melted down swords. She hadn’t turned to look at you yet.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice soft. “What were you doing in the city? You could have been killed.”

You fought the urge to scoff at her, fiddling with your hands in front of you. Biting your tongue, you answered.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Your Grace?” She asked incredulously, turning around to face you.

You held your breath as she stared, feeling like her eyes were piercing straight through you.

“Is that not what you want to be called, My Queen?”

“Not by you. You’ve never referred to me as such. Why now?”

You chose your words carefully, keeping your gaze on the floor. “You have the throne now. You have control of the realm, you are now its ruler. As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, is it not my place as a subject to refer to you as such?”

She ignored your answer, asking again. “Why were you in the city?”

“I couldn’t stand by any longer. The city had fallen, but the bells hadn’t been rung. If there was any chance that I could convince Cersei’s soldiers to stand down and give up control, I had to take it. I followed Jon’s men to catch up with him, and just as the soldiers laid down their weapons, the fires started. The fighting followed. I had no way of getting out of the city on my own, and so I stayed with Jon.”

You heard her approach you, faintly flinching as she got close.

“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice quiet. “Y/N…look at me.”

Reluctantly, you glanced up to meet her gaze. She reached out, taking one of your hands. You stiffened, but didn’t pull away. You felt tears stinging your eyes, and willed them not to fall.

“Why can’t you look at me?” She asked, squeezing your hand. “Do you fear me?”

It was silent for a moment. You looked into her eyes, feeling a twinge in your heart.

“What if I do?”

A look of sadness set on her face. It pained you to see it, so much so that you almost gave in to her touch.

“Why?”

“Have you been down there?” You asked, growing angry. “Have you seen all that you’ve done?”

“I did what was necessary–”

“No!” You said, cutting her off. “No. You did what was easy.”

You watched as her jaw clenched, and she dropped your hand. She moved to turn around, but you grabbed her shoulder to stop her. She looked at you in shock, but didn’t say a word.

“I could have died, Daenerys. Do you realize that?”

“I would never hurt you–”

“But you did! I was lucky compared to most of the people down there. I’m still alive. I didn’t lose anyone. I can’t say the same for anyone else. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. When I heard the bells toll, and the city had surrendered, I felt relief. You were supposed to go for the Keep! This was just about Cersei.”

“Cersei gave me no choice!”

You shook your head. “There’s always a choice, Daenerys. I watched innocent men, women, and children die today. Either at the hands of your soldiers, or from the fire and destruction you rained down upon them. I killed men today. I ran for my life for hours through the streets. I would have died if Jon wasn’t there to protect me. When it was all over, we walked by complete and utter destruction. Families burned to ash. Children…burned to ash. You once told me you had no interest in being Queen of the ashes. Has that changed?”

Daenerys took a step closer to you, laying a hand on your cheek. “I did not intend for you to get caught in the crossfire. You must believe me, I would never put you in harm's way. I’d never forgive myself if you had gotten hurt.”

You pressed your face into her palm, feeling fresh tears spill onto your cheeks.

“I understand that this city is corrupt. And I know how hurt you are, I know how much you’ve lost. Jorah, Missandei, your dragons, the North’s support. There’s nothing I could say that would make that any better. I know how much you’ve had to grieve, and I wish that I could take that pain away from you…but you punished a city for it. This throne, it has corrupted you. It’s made you lose your way. Dany, I know your heart is good. I know that. But I will not stand here and justify what you did today. How can you?”

Her face crumpled at your words, and she sank to the floor. You slowly followed her, kneeling at her side.

“All my life, I’ve waited for this moment. I’ve sacrificed so much, Y/N. I’ve seen too much suffering at the hands of people like Cersei Lannister. I will not stand idly by when there is something I can do to change that.”

“I would never ask you to. I understand the world you’re trying to create, Dany. You have done so much good already. Freeing people, killing tyrants, and that is how it is supposed to happen. I have stood by your side and supported you through it all, have I not? But this is too far. Please tell me you see that.”

“I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

You nodded, taking her hands.

“I know that. But hear me now, and hear me well. You are not your Father. You are not him, or your brothers, or any other man that has come before you that has been responsible for the suffering of countless others. There is this rage in you, one that I think has been brewing for generations. Don’t let it control you. You are stronger than it. Be better than the ones who came before you.”

She clung to your hands like she was too afraid to let you go. “I don't know if I know how to do that.”

“I’ll help you,” you said, squeezing her hands. “We all will. I won’t lose you, Dany. Not after everything. But I will not stand by your side any longer if continuing down this path is what you choose.”

“I did what I thought was right,” she whispered, and you felt your heart crumble at her words. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you did. That’s why I love you so much. You’re my best friend, and My Queen. I’ve watched you for years, in awe of you every day. You’re strong, and you’re driven, and you’re brave. You care about people, and you’ve saved so many. You’re good, Daenerys.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away.

“I believe in you, Dany. I believe in your fight. But what happened today is not the way. This rage that is inside of you, in some ways, I admire it. But it is controlling you. If you truly mean what you say, then we must do better. Building a better world means protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

She listened to your words, and sat for a moment in silence. After a moment, squeezing your hands, she stood and walked to the edge of the room where the wall had fallen. She let out a shrill whistle, and Drogon appeared from below.

He crawled inside the keep, facing his Mother. She turned to you, giving you a sad smile, before turning back to Drogon.

“Drogon…Dracarys!”

Standing tall, letting out a roar, Drogon set fire to the Iron Throne.

You shielded your face from the heat, watching in shock as he melted the throne down into nothing more than a pool of steel on the floor. Daenerys backed up, stopping when she stood by your side. You reached for her hand, gripping it tight and intertwining your fingers.

Daenerys never ceased to surprise you. She was the strongest person you had ever met. She waited years to sit upon the Iron Throne, and had given up so much of herself for it, only to burn it to the ground when it really mattered.

Your Dany was good, and she would not let herself be controlled by the demons that controlled the very men she sought to overthrow. The wheel would be broken, that was a dream she’d never give up on. But it would be broken by justice and mercy, not fire and blood.

When it was over, she turned to you. “I won’t be weak. I won’t allow the evil of this world to continue. Sometimes, fire and blood is necessary. It is the way, for those who deserve it. But it won’t control me. I won’t be cruel. I won’t kill those who don’t deserve it, and I’ll protect those who cannot protect themselves. You were right. I don’t want to be Queen of the ashes…I want to be Queen of the free. I said that I wanted to leave the world better than I found it, and that is what I intend to do.”

You smiled, bringing her into your arms. “I’ll follow you every step of the way, My Queen. As long as it takes. We’ll do it together.”

—

A/N - Hi! Thank you again for being so patient. If you couldn’t tell, I love Daenerys, and I miss her so much. She deserved so much better. Anyways, I hope you liked it, let me know what you think!

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