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ppomumgranatum · 9 days

Text

the dance of love's sweet potion.

also available on Ao3

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

tags: fluff, one shot, you POV, house-neutral reader, jealousy, protective

word count: 5.3k

Warnings: MAJOR HEADCANNON, the books and the potions are all in my head just for the sake of this story, characters are in their 7th year, I finally caved and wrote the cliche protective and jealous seb and i fucking love it

Summary: When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

Notes: I was craving some fluff, so a fluff was created ❤️

Revulsaroma is a powerful potion that demands careful handling and discretion. Designed for specific situations where deterring unwanted advances or repelling individuals is necessary, its potency requires utmost caution. Ingredients: • 3 drops of essence of skunk cabbage • 2 crushed doxy wings • 1 teaspoon of powdered Boomslang skin • 4 ounces of extract from a Devil's Snare vine • 1 pinch of powdered Basilisk fang • Hair from the person brewing the potion

You carefully traced your finger along the intricate words laid out in the book you had kept from your parents’ dusty collection on potion making and meticulously followed the instructions. Taking advantage of the quiet after hours, you used the station at potion class to get on with your mission.

You’re not a pro in potion making per se, but the way you precisely measure out ingredients, stirring the potion with such poise, you feel as skilled as Professor Sharp– if he was plagued with a horrible disease of a red-haired boy goes by the name of Leander Prewett.

For weeks, Leander had been following you around so relentlessly and constantly asking you out. It was cute at first but now it was starting to feel like pure harassment. Despite numerous rejection, it didn't seem like he’s the type of guy who understood the concept of boundaries and your patience was wearing extremely thin.

You remembered an old potion you once came across when you were younger– Revulsaroma, a repelling potion. You figured it was time to revisit those pages since you’re in a dire need for a solution.

You stirred the components inside of your cauldron with a pinch of determination, distress, and a lot of rage. The earthy and putrid notes filled the air and it was probably going to stick with you for a while but you surely hoped this was going to be worth it.

When the potion finally came to completion, you carefully transferred it to a pumpkin juice bottle to trick Leander into drinking it.

“Alright, that looks good.” You sighed in relief as you put the bottle down and stared at the securely stored dark liquid with pride, knowing that soon you’d be able to take a break from the unwanted attention. At least for a while just until you could figure out a permanent way to stop him,

You proceeded to clean up your station and returned some tools that you took from the inventory room, making sure that everything was back in its rightful spot. Because Merlin knew that you couldn’t take another chide from Professor Sharp about the importance of being responsible and organised.

Just when everything was about to be restored to its pristine state, you heard a loud retching coming from the other room. When you rushed outside, you saw your bestfriend, hands desperately grasping the edge of your station, body racked with violent gagging, and breath ragged in a grave attempt to gasp for air.

“Sebastian?” You exclaimed while rushing to his side, “Are you alright?”

“Came to—bleughh—look for you,” Sebastian managed to say in between his guttural heaves.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice trailed off when you saw your pumpkin juice bottle collapsed and empty. Right at that moment, your eyes widened at the realisation that Sebastian just drank your Revulsaroma. “No, no, no. You bloody, bloody idiot!”

Quickly, you summoned water from an empty jar that you found nearby and gave it to Sebastian who was still fighting the disgusting taste stuck in his throat.

Gulping down the entire water in a matter of milliseconds, Sebastian attempted to catch his breath, “Your pumpkin juice— is expired, by the way.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, Sebastian!” You ran your fingers through your hair in distress. What was already a pretty stressful situation just got a whole lot worse.

“What?” He was truly not getting your frustration. He gagged once more, recoiling whatever last bit of that disgusting liquid he's tasting.

“That’s not pumpkin juice!” You scowled and gestured abruptly.

“What is it, then? Poison?” Every muscle on his face seemed to tensed up, still.

“Why would you fucking drink that? It was meant for Leander.” You grunted.

His grimace was then taken over by disbelief for a moment, “Gods, killing Leander is a bit extreme, don’t you think? Even for me.”

“No—ugh,” You sighed heavily, feeling totally overwhelmed. Slumping on your station, you rested your head on it "This is bad. It's really bad."

“You're freaking me out. What is it?”

You lifted your head from the table, meeting his concerned gaze with a weary expression.

“It’s a potion called Revulsaroma. It is supposed to repel whoever drinks it.” You admitted.

Sebastian was still focused on getting the foul taste out of his tongue, but his eyes were quickly narrowed in the scrutiny of your last sentence, “And why exactly are you trying to repel Leander?”

Catching Sebastian's look, a twinge of guilt pricked at you. You winced inwardly, realising you'd never really spilled the beans to Sebastian about the whole Leander debacle. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and thinking that there was anything romantic going on between you and the Gryffindor boy.

The line on your relationship with Sebastian had always been blurry, if you could be honest. You’re obviously friends—best friends—but at the same time, the chemistry between the two of you would be such a waste to stay as friends.

You’d occasionally exchange innocent flirting, teasing each other and bantering in a way that felt more than platonic. You couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach that fluttered every time he smiled at you and the way you felt when he complimented you.

Things had been going very well lately, and you'd like to think you had a shot to turn it into something more.

But now, he’s consumed the one thing that was going to seal the chance you have with him. Because whatever feeling he was going to feel, the potion was supposed to make him feel it so strongly.

The thought of losing Sebastian terrified you.

“That’s not what we’re supposed to be focusing on.” You diverted the topic and reached out to your book, checking for things to look out for. Your eyes trailed the ink that explains the detail of the potion.

You noticed Sebastian had shifted his weight from the corner of your eye, moving somewhat uncomfortable in his feet.

"But what does that mean for me?" he asked.

You sighed, trying to collect your thoughts. "According to the potion's effects, you're supposed to start feeling aversions towards me," you explained, gesturing towards the brewing cauldron with a frustrated gesture. "and I have no idea how to reverse it.”

Your voice was heavy with disappointment. The same emotion was written all over Sebastian's face. There was silence as you both processed the fact that there was no quick fix to this mess.

“So, I’m supposed to hate you? Just like that?”

“That’s kind of the whole point of the potion.”

Sebastian's eyes scanned the cluttered laboratory, a look of resignation settling over his features. "Well, this is just great," he muttered under his breath. Sebastian's complexion turned paler, a nauseous expression crossing his features, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Sebastian stood there, his hand pressed against his stomach, unsure if the wave of nausea washing over him was solely due to the potion's effects or the unsettling thought of hating you.

But then he felt his body teetering on the brink of collapse. You grappled his arm to provide support but his condition worsened in an instant and he started to fall backwards. Using every ounce of your strength, you were struggling to keep him upright because damn this boy was heavy. And when his weight eventually bore you down, you lowered him down gently.

There was no response even after you called out his name and shook his body. His breathing was laboured and you were panicking. You didn’t know the potion would be this strong.

Spotting a group of students who were passing by outside of the classroom, you called out to them for assistance. Sebastian was then taken to the infirmary and was given proper treatment by Nurse Blainey.

You had to awkwardly explain what caused the brunette to lose his consciousness. Given the fact that you were practising and using potions for non-study purposes, disciplinary action was necessary and you were required to attend detention tomorrow.

When you returned to your room that night, all you did was shift around in your bed. Spending the entire night thinking about Sebastian and how he will wake up in the morning hating you.

But for now, all you could do was wait.

When the sun rose, you were quick to get back on your feet and head towards the infirmary to check on Sebastian before breakfast started. But to your surprise, he was no longer there. Nurse Blainey said he woke up all energetic and there were no signs of any disturbance so she allowed him to get on with school.

You were slightly relieved to know that Sebastian was feeling better. Although the question of his feelings towards you remained unknown.

So you ventured on, heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Moving along with a crowd of students who were also making their way to the venue you suddenly bumped into someone.

“Oh, sorry.” You glanced up to see it was no other than Sebastian, “Hey, I was looking for you.”

You’ve caused some traffic considering you abruptly stopped in the middle of a walkaway crowd. Some were bumping into you and muttered under their breaths in annoyance. It was a horrible time to be upsetting people—hungry and grumpy people.

So Sebastian dragged you away from the crowd. You were caught a little bit off guard at the sudden tug on your elbow. Your feet were almost stumbling around trying to catch up to Sebastian’s pace.

“Are you insane?” Was the first thing he said when you found a quiet little corner away from the bustling people.

Your stomach clenched.

This was it.

The memories you shared for the past two years dramatically flashed before your eyes— the adventures, the late night studies, the stupid unfunny jokes he made but you laughed at them anyway— fuck.

This was it.. he hated you.

“Why would you tell Nurse Blainey the truth about everything?” He sounded quite aggravated. Unexpectedly, it was not for the reason you thought it would be— albeit he should be angry towards you for no reason at all considering the potion.

Your mouth gaped open but you were struggling to find the words.

"You could've just said it was a bad batch for our assignment," He explained. "You didn't have to get detention for it."

“What?” You finally managed to sputter out.

“Blainey said she gave you detention.” He added, “I feel bad.”

You can’t feel bad for someone you hate unless they fall into lava and viciously die or something. Because to feel bad meant having empathy, and to feel empathy meant he cared, which meant he didn’t hate you and the potion never worked.

Right?

“So you don’t hate me?” You asked carefully.

His tensed brows gradually softened as realisation dawned on him. He was so focused on you that he never really thought of what the potion was supposed to make him feel.

“I don’t, actually.” He sounded relieved and as were you upon hearing his confirmation, “I guess the potion never worked after all.”

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze on a hot day. Though you started wondering if the potion didn’t work on Sebastian, it might’ve not worked on Leander either. Which meant you were back to square one, trying to figure out how to deal with his annoying arse.

But it was a problem you didn’t want to think about too much at the moment. You were just glad your friendship with Sebastian remained intact despite the unfortunate mishap.

“So what did Blainey assign you to do?”

“She said Scribner has been fussing over some organising issues.” You grumbled, “She told me to give her some assistance after classes.”

“Yikes.” Sebastian said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You retorted, “Are you really feeling alright?”

“As normal as I can be.” He smiled reassuringly, “Though, you still haven’t told me why you were trying to repel Leander.”

“He just..” You hesitated for a moment, annoys me.”

Technically, you didn’t lie. Leander’s entire antics had been nothing but annoying to you. Sebastian only pursed his lips and nodded. Be that as it may, his eyes were looking at you rather dubiously. But he didn’t pry further.

–

After breakfast, you had some time to kill before class started. You found yourself seeking solace in the quiet lounge area near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. With a book on Revulsaroma in hand, you sought answers in its pages that you might have missed. It explained further about its history and the past research on this potion. As you delved deeper, a particular section caught your eye that described a crucial detail—

The Revulsaroma potion's effectiveness in repelling a drinker is contingent upon the absence of strong positive emotions towards the potion-maker. If the drinker harbours genuine affection for the potion-maker, the potion's repelling properties may be nullified or significantly weakened. This phenomenon is attributed to the potent influence of positive emotions, which can act as a counterforce against the potion's intended repulsion.

Before you could dwell on it further, Leander plopped beside you out of nowhere and casually draped his arm around your shoulder, interrupting your thoughts.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He greeted you with a smile so charming if he wasn’t so pushy about it you could see yourself giving in to his cheesy escapades. You subtly shifted away from the sudden proximity, hoping he would take the hint some time.

“Good morning, Leander.” You replied politely.

He seemed to be undeterred by your subtle attempt because he leaned in closer, “So, I was thinking, with the weather getting nicer and all, let’s take a trip around the highlands.” He sounded so enthusiastic for a suggestion that’s so inappropriate, “We could explore the beautiful scenery. My family has this cosy little cottage just outside of Keenbridge that we can use. What do you think?”

You scrunched up your nose because it sounded bloody ridiculous, “A bit intimate, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of intimacy?”

“Nothing wrong with it, of course. If you’re a couple.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll love it.” Leander’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, if anything he sounded even more excited.

“It’s too much—”

He interrupted you with a tone so persuasive, “Okay fine, how about just a simple Hogsmeade date, then?”

You sighed at his persistence. It’s really getting too much.

“Leander, it’s really sweet but—”

Suddenly, your conversation was interrupted by a looming shadow casted over the both of you. Glancing up, you saw Sebastian standing there with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I’m going to count to three, Prewett, and you are going to stand up and get your arse the fuck out of here.” He demanded.

“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?” He was annoyed by Sebastian's sudden intervention.

The brunette’s gaze was focused on the way Leander had his arms wrapped around your shoulder and the way his hand was caressing your arm at the same time. Then he stared dead into Leander's eyes, “You don’t want to find out.”

Somehow you found yourself caught in the middle of the sudden hostility.

“Sebastian.” You warned him softly.

“Ignore him.” Leander didn't care for the threat. But Sebastian wasn’t having it and when Leander was ready to ignore him and continue his conversation with you, Sebastian grabbed him by his collar that it forced Leander to stand up, and he dragged the red haired boy away and slammed his back into a nearby pillar.

“I told you to fucking stand up and get out of here.” Sebastian scowled.

“Get your filthy hands off of me.” Leander attempted to shrug off Sebastian’s grip but it only grew tighter.

“Then you better get yours away from her.” His voice was so low and menacing. You had no idea what possessed him, because as aggressive as Sebastian could get he wouldn’t be so quick to resort to anything so recklessly physical unless it’s necessary— at least not anymore.

“Are you both out of your minds?” You stood beside the conflicting boys, “Stop being children or you will get into trouble.” The confrontation was drawing more attention from onlookers, and you could sense the tension rising.

A crowd started gathering around to see what the fuss was about. Students nearby paused and turned their heads, curious about the commotion. Whispers and side conversations began to buzz through the group as they watched the confrontation unfold.

You felt a bit awkward with the sudden attention. The whole thing was getting more dramatic than you'd anticipated, and you just wanted to find a way to sort it out before it got worse.

“What is your problem, Sallow?”

“You are the problem, Prewett. Can’t you take the hint?”

“It’s none of your business.” The Gryffindor boy was defensive— as anyone would be if someone just randomly shoved you into the wall and told you what to do.

“It becomes my business when you decide to harass her.”

“You are making a scene. Stop it.” You warned them, hoping they would steer away from the conflict. But they were still too busy with each other.

“Trying to be a big hero, aren’t you? Protecting her?” Leander was clearly taunting him. Sebastian wouldn’t usually allow himself to be bothered by whatever nonsense Leander would do. But this time was different, “She doesn’t need you. She can make her own decision.”

“And she did, when she said no.” Sebastian retorted sharply, “So back off.”

“If you are so worried about me taking her out then you should’ve asked her first. Don’t come here and act all heroic because you missed your chance.” Leander fired back, “If you weren’t such a coward—-”

There went the last cell of Sebastian’s brain that allowed him to think rationally when he decided to punch Leander in the face, sending the red-haired boy stumbling and his nose bleeding.

“Sebastian!” You stepped in between them, trying to push Sebastian back behind the line he just crossed. His eyes were glaring and breaths were rather ragged from the anger, “What the fuck are you doing?”

After being punched unexpectedly, Leander's pride and dignity were hurt. He wouldn't tolerate being attacked without retaliating. He mustered all of his anger and frustration to punch Sebastian with all of his force.

But before he could, Sebastian struck again, landing a second punch on his face. Leander stumbled backwards again, but this time he was quicker to get back on his feet and lunged forward, swinging his fists wildly.

Sebastian was able to dodge a few of his blows, but Leander managed to land a couple of powerful punches on Sebastian's cheek.

Sebastian stepped back, his face red from pain and anger. Now the two of them had no choice but to fight, and you had no choice but to look for some help. Luckily, it wasn’t long for you to reach Professor Hecat, because when you returned to the brawl, Leander was already pinned to the floor with Sebastian on top of him, landing more punches.

Professor Hecat swiftly casted a spell that immediately shoved both of them away from each other.

The two boys stood there with battered faces and were later sent to the same detention as you.

You had no desire in conversing with idiots, so when the three of you shared the space on one of the library aisle, organising books, you gave all your might to ignore them, especially Sebastian.

You thought he’d left his impetuous behaviour back in the catacombs two years ago, but clearly you were wrong. The way you aggressively shoved books into places allowed Sebastian to notice that you were furious.

“I know you’re angry at me.” He said, breaking the silence.

“Oh really? Didn’t think you’d notice. I was being subtle.” You replied sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what had gotten into me.” His voice was soft but outright, “You know I don't fight muggle-style.”

You remained cold. There was nothing about his apology that made you feel better. So you continued to ignore him and he tried to speak up again.

“Can we talk?” He pleaded but you ignored him. You picked up a stack of books and moved to the next aisle to shelve them in their proper places.

Sebastian followed you behind, not backing down, “I’m really, really, sorry.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic, but you were reluctant to give in. After all, his actions had caused this entire mess and resulted in the two boys getting detention.

You didn’t want to argue with him, but you couldn’t resist making a point.

“Tell that to Leander and his broken nose.”

Sebastian let out a scoff, “I’m not sorry about that.”

“Seriously Sebastian? You hit him first. He just reacted.” You turned to face him this time.

"He was harassing you," Sebastian defended himself, "I had to do something."

"Did you have to punch him in the face? Repeatedly?”

“Why are you defending him?” His tone was rising, "What do you expect me to do? Just stand by and let him flirt with you?"

“What is so wrong with that?”

“Because—” Then he stopped himself. Eyes flustered and flicked between yours like he was trying to gather his own thoughts. Then he let out a frustrated sigh, “Leander is a self-oriented, self-indulgent, arrogant, selfish, insufferable jerk.”

You shook your head in disbelief and stared dead at him in the eye, “Well, right now it sounds like you were just describing yourself, Sebastian.”

Before you could say anything else, you left him alone in the aisle and this time he didn’t follow you.

—

It was Saturday morning, and while you had no classes to attend, you were still stuck with detention for a portion of the day. Not only did this eat into your weekend leisure time, but you also had to spend it without talking to Sebastian.

You sighed as you placed books somewhere in the corner of the library right where they belonged.

Couldn’t help but think that spending your weekend somewhere in the castle, perhaps the undercroft, reading books and being alone together with Sebastian was where you belonged.

Time sure felt lonely without his presence.

Then as if he could read your mind from miles away he showed up, “Do you like Leander?”

Shocked and confused by the sudden question you turned to find Sebastian standing at the end of the aisle.

His face was a patchwork of bruises and cuts, a visible reminder of the fight he had gotten into with Leander. A purplish bruise marred his cheek, and a small cut above his eyebrow was still fresh. Despite his battered appearance, his eyes were focused intently on you, filled with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“What?” You asked.

“I spent the entire night thinking about you. I thought maybe you like Leander, because why did you defend him so much yesterday?” He rambled.

You opened your mouth to say something but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“But then I thought, if you liked him, why did you want to repel him with the potion?” He continued, “And why did you reject him when he asked you out? Five times, over the past month.”

You opened your mouth again, but this time every single word you have learned seemed to have fallen over your head because not a single thing came to your mind.

There were two things that surprised you.

One, Sebastian spent the entire night thinking about you.

Two, Sebastian knew that Leander had been asking you out.

And your brain did not know which one to stress about first.

“You knew about Leander?” You finally said.

“We share every class everyday. You don’t think I’d notice?” He replied with another question, “He wasn’t subtle about it either. Was I not supposed to know?”

You fell quiet, unsure of what to say next. The more you opened your mouth, the more you found yourself with nothing to say.

Sebastian waited for your response, but when it did not come, he continued, “Why did you keep rejecting him?”

You shrugged, slightly flustered, “Simply because I don’t want to go out with him.”

“Why did you not tell me about him, then?”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” you replied, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sebastian stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe your answer.

“It was pointless,” Your tone was rising slightly, “It’s not like I would ever date Leander. I wasn’t even giving him a second thought. So It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian was silent for a beat before he spoke again. “It matters to me.”

Your pulse raced, and the air suddenly felt tighter.

Sebastian was staring at you, his eyes intent and penetrating. The silence stretched on, and you had to force yourself to look him in the eye

“Everything about you matters to me. You’re my best friend. We’re supposed to share everything, right?” He added, “Isn’t that what best friends do?”

As you stood there, guilt was eating you inside out. Your decision to leave him in the dark unexpectedly hurt him more than you thought. The look in his eyes was so unfamiliar you couldn’t pinpoint his emotion.

He took a step closer.

“Why do you care so much? It’s just Leander.”

“Don’t you get it?” He said softly, “It’s not about Leander. It’s about the fact that he’s been asking you out, flirting with you relentlessly, being so close with you.. in a way that is supposed to be only for me.”

You stood there, stunned. His words hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you felt a mix of shock and confusion wash over you.

Sebastian took another step towards you, his gaze steady and unbreaking, and it was piercing through your soul.

“It’s supposed to be just for me” He repeated the phrase as if he was talking to himself. The look in his eyes was intense, and you could feel how important this was to him.

A moment passed until you realised that you should respond. The longer you stayed silent, the worse it felt. So you spoke up, “Are you jealous?”

“Yes.” He simply replied.

His response set your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“I was supposed to hate you, but instead I woke up that morning in the infirmary and I couldn’t be more sure that I am utterly and completely in love with you.” His voice dropped, “And when I saw you with Leander and hearing all the things that he said, I meant it when I told you I had no idea what had gotten into me but all I knew was every single cell in my body was on fire.”

You thought for sure your heart would explode as all of this sunk in. You had expected anything but a confession. Your heart was beating so fast and hard that you had to concentrate on breathing, or else it felt like you couldn't breathe.

“I spent the entire night thinking about all of the time we've spent.” He added, “I can't stop thinking about the sound of your laughter. The way you'd still genuinely laugh at the most unfunny joke I would tell. Or how your usual bright eyes would fall into a deep immersion when you read. And the way your delicate finger hovers over the edge of a page, turning it over.”

A smile tugged on the corner of Sebastian's lips as he recalled every little detail about you that only he would care about. The beat of your heart went faster with each syllable that came out of his mouth and every nerve in your body was shaking.

“I always wonder how the touch of those fingertips would feel on my skin,” There were so many things he wanted to say to you. Every detail of you that made him so desperately in love, “and how perfect your fingers would be intertwining with mine.”

For a moment, you were one-hundred percent sure this was all a dream. Because everything around you seemed so blurry and all of the sudden everything felt surreal. But when Sebastian took another step closer, and another until he was close enough to grab your hands and intertwine your fingers together, the haze dissipated. The way his touch alerted every single nerve in your body, you knew that this was real— he was real and he was in love with you.

The two of you stood there, inches apart, staring at each other with your emotions overflowing.

“We belong together.” You could see that his intensity and raw emotion was getting the better of him. His words were coming out quick and sudden, “I should’ve asked you out long before Leander did. Just another stupid mistake I made.”

He inched closer and closer until you felt Sebastian's breath on your lips, and your body trembled in anticipation. You took a deep breath and let yourself fall into the moment.

“You could’ve been too late, you know?” You whispered.

“Am I?”

You shook your head and smiled against his lips, “No, you’re not. I’ve been stupidly waiting for you.”

Sebastian's voice was soft and tender as he spoke again, “I’m glad we’re both stupid enough, then. And for many other things that make me glad you're finally mine."

“Even the potion?” You smirked.

“Especially the damn potion.” A smile spread across Sebastian's face.

Your breaths were laced with desire, and your thoughts went to the first kiss between the two of you were going to share. It felt surreal to have arrived at this moment that you had both anticipated for so long.

Your lips were close enough to touch. Your hearts were beating so loudly. And in this moment, it felt like a moment out of time.

When his lips met yours, the world seemed to melt away and everything else faded into the background. It was everything it had built up to be—hot and passionate and exciting.

You kissed him deeply and all was right with the world. Sebastian's hands wrapped around your back, and yours around his neck.

Your senses were all focused on Sebastian, on the kiss and the way he made you feel. This was what you had been waiting for, and it was everything you dreamed of and more.

When you pulled away, your eyes were locked and you found yourselves smiling uncontrollably. There was nothing left to feel awkward or unsure of, and it felt as if a weight had been lifted.

Sebastian brushed his fingers through your hair. You were finally getting your happiness.

"I love you," He whispered against your lips.

“I love you, too.” you replied softly, brushing your noses together.

You spent the rest of the day making out in the deepest corner of the library, neglecting your detention. And when Madam Scribner found the two of you some time later, all dishevelled, you were granted another detention time.

But neither of you cared. Because it was all worth it.

In an extremely rare case, the Revulsaroma potion could have an unprecedented effect, completely opposite to its intended repelling nature. Rather than nullifying or weakening, the potion might paradoxically amplify and reinforce any existing strong positive feelings that the drinker harboured towards the potion-maker. Due to genuine and deep-seated love for the maker, the drinker might experience a surge of intense emotions that can be both overwhelming and consuming, such as, jealousy, protectiveness, and overwhelming affection.

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lennadanvers · 4 days

Text

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

#fanfiction #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #lennadanvers #lenna writes #fanfic #task force 141 #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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ixveee · 1 month

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aaron warner headcanons anyone?

• He has a 15-step skin care routine

• and a twenty-seven step haircare one

• gets offended when Juliette just washes her face with cold water and calls it a day

• LOVES picking out his kids outfits for the day

• Gets a golden retriever (it looks more like him than his kids do)

• Actually enjoys work outs and running

• Juliette convinces him to go to therapy

• The first time he made the therapist cry

• He's actually a really good artist and designed all his clothes

• but his handwriting SUCKS

• and by that i mean like doctor handwriting, completely illegible. my boy can't even read his own writing

• once he accidently broke his jade ring and he cried for hours until Delalieu found him and had it fixed (without Anderson knowing)

• Sometimes he'll paint his nails for fun

• The only thing that could make him fall asleep before Juliette came along was a very specific blend of tea that he created himself

• When he first started applying the scar medicine, it was so difficult for him to reach his back he basically gave up and threw the bottle across the room, pouting

• Delalieu found him (cs of course he did) and helped him against his will

• Aaron prefers other people calling him Warner. Aaron is a special privilege reserved for Juliette

• He's actually really flirty and makes a lot of innuendos without realizing

• The first time he tried to kill his dad he had a panic attack at the doorway of Anderson's room

• He got his "Ignite" tattoo when he was 14

• and his Shakespeare on at 17

thats all i could think of. feel free to add ur own in the comments!!

#aaron warner #shatter me #warnette #juliette ferrars #delalieu #paris anderson #i love warner sm

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yeeterthek33per · 7 months

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In Your Head (And Out Of Your Heart) (Steph Catley x Caitlin Foord x Reader)

A/n requested

Also, I promise I've got others lined up. There was just a wave of Stephy and Cait lined up in my requests, and I'm just doing first come, first served rn 😅

Summary: Moments for the trio, complications, expectations, and satisfactory temptations. or all the times everybody but the three of you realise you love them a little more than friends do.

Sleek muscular lines run up the outside of her calves, defining themselves with every strain of the muscular legs belonging to the sweet and bubbly Australian.

Apparently, facing the treadmills away from the wall so that one could see the whole gym when doing their runs was what the interior designers wanted.

It also meant anyone doing hip thrusts was in your direct line of sight, facing off to the side.

The way her shorts ride up slightly, showing off toned thighs, was another problem.

You shake your head a little.

Why were you ogling... again..

Steph's your best friend. You don't want to make it awkward. Sure, all friends called each other hot and stuff, but they definitely don't check each other out in attempted subtlety.

The soft grunts as she lifts up the bar permeate through the music in your left ear leaving your cheeks to darken significantly.

Of course, in the midst of that, you make the mistake of taking a small sip from your water bottle whilst mid run.

Steph let's the weight settle back onto the ground away from her, but in the process of stretching out again, her shirt lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of the soft, newly tanned skin you'd been imagining feeling under your fingertips for months on end.

Water gets caught halfway down your throat as your breath hitches and with that a coughing fit that makes you end up in a piled heap on the ground.

A concerned hand patting your back, helping you regain your breathing, grabs your attention.

It's a familiar hand that you immediately recognise as belonging to the other call for your affection.

If your cheeks weren't already bright red from exertion and nearly dying, they would've darkened further at your treadmill buddy having been the one to spot you on the ground.

Though given the amount of racket you've just made, drawing attention from the whole squad and their trainers, Caitlin isn't the only one now watching you with a concerned look.

"You alright, Dahl?"

You nod, accepting the hand up from the brunette, brushing yourself off quickly.

"Fine, just water went down the wrong hole." You joke mildly.

A smile tugging at the corner of Caitlin's lips makes your stomach warm, and you have to fight every urge to run away in embarrassment as it quickly morphs into a smirk.

"Maybe don't drink water mid stride next time, cutie."

With an affectionate roll of your eyes, you quickly return to the treadmill once again, shooting the onlooking blue eyed striker a reassuring smile as she watches you return to position with a careful gaze, though doing so makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest.

With that, you resort to getting lost in thought instead of so blatantly staring.

You have to get your feelings under control and fast.

--------------------------

"Do you think she notices?"

Steph's head perks up from it's position resting on her propped up hand.

"What?"

Beth gestures to your shaking form, body rattling with laughter as you talk with your teammates during breakfast.

"Y/n."

"Does she notice what?"

Steph's confused look is met with a cynical one from the blonde.

"Does she notice it when you both give her 'fuck me' eyes?"

Caitlin just about spits out her food across from them, coughing to avoid choking, and then swallowing.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

Beth scoffs.

"Please, you both know exactly what I'm talking about. Steph, you were staring at the girl for exactly one minute and thirty two seconds before I had to call your attention away just then and Caitlin, don't act like you weren't ogling the poor girl while she was relying on you as her spotter when she was doing her squat sets yesterday."

Steph's face goes mildly pink as she shakes her head.

"Yeah, no. There's no 'fuck me' eyes. At all. I'm happily engaged to Dean. Beffy, I have no idea what you're seeing here."

"Yeah, Beth, this is weird, even for you. I'm happy as I am with Lia."

"You guys... seriously?"

They both nod, Steph quickly changing the subject with a final glare at Beth so she doesn't protest for the rest of the meal.

They both finish up their food swiftly, taking off separately.

Beth groans, sliding her hand down her face. This was gonna be harder than she thought. There was no way she'd be able to get one of you to admit your feelings, let alone all three of you, by herself. She needed help.

And she knew just who to ask.

--------------------------

"No."

"But I haven't even-"

The captain holds up her hand, silencing the englishwoman.

"I'm not getting involved with whatever you've got planned."

"But Kimmy!"

The striker whines, latching onto the older woman hoping she'll give in to the puppy dog eyes.

"Beth-"

"I need help getting Y/n, Cait and Stephy to admit they're in love with each other."

That makes Kim's brows raise.

"Hell no. I'm not getting involved in other people's love lives. That's a definite fucking no. Also what makes you so confident in this information anyways?"

"You mean aside from Y/n nearly breaking something tripping on the treadmill yesterday after watching Stephy do her hip thrusts? Or Caitlin being the first one by her side?"

Assuming her power pose, Kim gives her a sceptical look.

"You mean when she was drinking water and choked? Or when Caitlin, the closest person to her, checked on her?"

Beth groans.

"No! It's not just that. It's the constant staring at each other. You should have seen the eyes Y/n was giving Cait in the locker room the other day. Not to mention the constant teasing from Cait as well. Steph is a like magnet when it comes to those two. The serious heart eyes she had this morning during breakfast were so ridiculously telling. I-"

Kim sighs and puts her hand again, pointing a finger at the striker.

"No, Beth, that's enough of that, honestly, I will not be getting involved in that, and you certainly shouldn't either. If I see you interfering at all."

It's a silent threat, but Beth doesn't need to hear it. Unfortunately, much like a team mother would, Kim would very much ground her. And would very much enforce it, too.

Okay, so maybe Kim wasn't her best option. She'd try Viv, but there's almost 100% chance she'd say no. Steph would normally be her next best option but obviously that's out of the question.

So she resigns to sighing and nodding, leaving the Arsenal captain alone to do her stretches.

Maybe Jen?

--------------------------

"No, absolutely not."

"But Jen, it's imperative we fix this issue, otherwise, all we'll be stuck with is longing looks for the rest of their lives."

"Beth, there's no issue to fix. Steph is getting married, and Caitlin is in a relationship. You're forgetting Lia is our friend too."

Beth paused for a moment. Jen's right. She hadn't even thought of the repercussions this would have on Lia. She was one of her oldest friends, too. God, she was an ass.

But still, she'd be an ever bigger ass if she couldn't help her friends out a little, right?

"Beffy, I know what you're thinking. But the answer is no. It's not worth it. It'll just create more drama than it's worth, I won't entertain the idea. It's gonna hurt someone, and what, then?"

"I know, I know. But you've gotta admit, there's something there, though, isn't there?"

Jen sighs softly.

"If even there might be an astronomical possibility that they're all magically single and available to mingle, and also completely fine with this. There's an off chance that they might work, given they're all so obviously at least girl crushing a little. But even then, it would still hurt someone."

Her shoulder's deflate, and Jen wraps her arm around her.

"Come on, Beth, just let it go. If it's meant to be, they'll work themselves out. Leave it alone. Now, come on, help me with this cleaning."

--------------------------

Steph's eyes trail across the pitch, taking but a few mere milliseconds to analyse your next run before sending a cross your way.

The perfectly timed lead allows for a perfectly timed header and a perfectly timed goal, equalising in just the second last minute of reg time.

The crowd erupts, and you bounce over to the defender, arms wrapping tightly around the woman in elation.

"Let's go, babygirl!"

Her hands settle underneath your legs, holding tightly so as to not drop you while your hands hold her face, forehead pressing to hers as you yell victoriously.

The final was Arsenal's for the taking now, thanks to your brilliant header.

The moment only serves to heighten your energy, and you drop from her grip only to jump into the waiting arms of your favourite striker.

"That's my girl!"

Your grin widens, and you shake her shoulders in excitement. Normally, you wouldn't brush aside that sort of comment, but it's in the middle of a game, so it's swept away to never be heard from again.

Returning to positions, Man United get the game underway once more, now downtrodden that they have to get another goal too.

Your heart races when you're given but another opportunity in the second stoppage minute. Or really, it's not much of an opportunity, more like a hail mary.

The ball has left your boot in an attempt at a last-minute miracle to give Arsenal the win.

From nearly fifty yards out, the ball sails far over the defensive line, passing a caught off guard Earps, who you'd spotted off her line just moments ago.

When it ricochets off the woodwork and into the net, you can hardly believe it, dropping to your knees in disbelief that it actually worked.

The noise from the crowd is almost unbearable.

Bodies pile onto yours, forcing you onto the pitch. Screaming and cheers from your teammates leave you matching their excitement and disbelief in your limited wiggles underneath the pile of Arsenal players.

The pile eventually pulls off you, and with several hugs and hair ruffles, you immediately feel the tightest hug between your two favourite people. You throw an arm up at the crowd from between Steph and Caitlin, both of them singing your praises into your ear as loud as they can.

The crowd cheers louder at your gesture, the feelings wash over you finally.

Relief. Happiness. Mild disbelief still.

"You fucking beautiful woman!"

"That's our fucking girl right here, baby!"

You grin up at the two women, squeezing both of them tightly and running back to position with one final wave to the crowd.

Two pairs of eyes watching the interaction exchange looks.

The moment play is restarted, the whistle blows for full time, leaving you and your teammates screaming in celebration.

Steph is the first one to you, jumping into your arms, wrapping tightly around you, and legs wrapping around your waist as you quickly grab them to avoid dropping her.

Your heart beats hard and fast, not sure whether it's the win or Steph's hands grabbing your face and kissing your forehead that does it.

A part of you wants to assume it's the win.

A part of you knows it's both.

That doesn't stop you from relishing in the moment, though, thoroughly enjoying her hands on you, which are now squishing your cheeks adorably.

The moment is gone the moment she leaves your arms, but it doesn't last long.

Caitlin is quick to pile on you next, fingers threading through your hair. While unintentional, it makes you buzz just that little bit more.

When her grin makes your whole body warm, you realise at that moment just how screwed you are.

And if anyone were to ask about your blush at them both kissing your cheeks in a pose for a photo with the trophy, well, you'd just deny it to the ends of the Earth.

--------------------------

Steph doesn't think about the little things too often. Moments here and there that aren't even so much as waved off, they're that insignificant.

Small touches. Friendly hugs. Little gifts. Every little detail that she normally ignores.

She doesn't think about all the times she's hugged you just that little bit tighter than she does with Beth or Lia.

She doesn't think about the bag of her favourite lollies being left in her cubby after practice that was most definitely planted by you.

She doesn't think about the way her eyes drift to you naturally, watching your form move across the pitch gracefully.

She doesn't think about the way her mood always brightens when she sees you, even if you'd already seen each other five times that day.

She doesn't think about the kiss she leaves on your forehead or cheek when you say hello or goodbye.

Except she does.

At least now that Beth's pointed it out to her.

Truth is, as much as she denied it that day at breakfast, her eyes were locked on you in every spare moment.

Realising just how much you actually invaded her thoughts and senses, well...

It's a startling revelation.

It scares the crap out of her.

She loves Dean and would do anything for the man she's planning to marry. He's a sweetheart. He keeps her on her toes. He takes care of her better than all of her previous partners ever could.

It's a startling revelation when she realises how much time she spends with you and Caitlin over him.

Caitlin.

That one comes out of left field. It definitely worries her, though, her best friend entering her trail of thought, too. That one catches her a little more off guard than she likes.

So, she leaves that one for another time, shoving it back into what was supposed to be a deadbolt box of intrusive thoughts in her head.

She hates how much you invade her head.

When she thinks back on what started it, she can't pinpoint it. Just that you'd always been the sweetest friend to her. Friend. She hates that her stomach turns at the term.

It'd always been you to comfort her in moments of doubt. It was always you she wanted beside her when victory came the team's way.

Steph feels helpless when she realises how much she actually cares for you.

She feels helpless when she realises how screwed she truly is.

"Babe, dinner's ready!"

Dean's voice brings her out of her head, echoing from the kitchen of their shared flat in London.

As she makes her way over to the table, the plate already set out for her, a small kiss pressed into the bearded cheek of her fiance, her mind wanders back again.

What the hell is she gonna do?

--------------------------

Beth doesn't leave it alone in the end. She's determined to at least get something out of you if she can't get something out of Steph or Caitlin.

Though with Kim now watching her like a hawk during training, she has to be subtle about it, so getting you alone during a night out without Kim or Jen is a little too difficult, especially since you're glued to Caitlin and Steph's sides constantly.

Viv being there is out of the question, so she had to come up with an excuse to get you out with her, on your own.

"N/n pleeeease, I need you to come with me, shopping."

You groan into the phone in annoyance at the blonde. You'd just wanted to enjoy your day off without the stress of having to socialise like an adult.

"Why can't you go on your own? Or with literally anyone else but me? Steph or Viv, or literally any one of the 23 other women in our squad?"

"Because you've got the day off, Steph is busy, Viv is out of the question because I'm shopping for a gift for her, and I want it to be a surprise and you're the only other one that knows her almost as good as I do."

You can hear the pout from your side of the line, and when you sigh softly into the receiver, Beth knows she's won.

"Fine, but I really wanna be back home as soon as possible. I have some serious me time planned, and I wanna get back to that as soon as possible."

"Gross Y/n, I know you're single and all but-:

"Shut the fuck up and get over here."

It doesn't take her long to come kidnap you and drag you around to nearly every store in the shopping centre, and it's a miracle you're only stopped once for pictures.

"Beth, why are we here? Why do you need my opinion on this? Why am I even here?"

Apparently, her final chosen store was a lingerie store. It also means she's trying to get you to purchase something as well. Why? You don't know.

"Because you're the next best judge for me. Also, you need to get out. You've been way too busy lately and need to do some shopping for you and for you only."

"For god sakes, I'm literally you're only single friend, I'd be the worst judge for this."

Punctuating your sentence with dropping into your seat once again with a tired groan.

"Also, I know I've been way too busy, that's why I was at home in the first place. Now, can we please hurry up and go, Beffy?"

You whine, now getting fidgety under the pile of bags you've been made to carry around for her.

Tossing another pair back over the curtain to you, telling you to toss her the next pair, she chuckles at your exasperation.

She's been stalling as long as she can to try and get the opportunity to talk to you but hasn't found the right words this whole time. She knows if she doesn't ask soon, she'll up losing her only chance.

"Just give me a couple more minutes to try these on, and I'll take you to go get some nando's?"

Huffing softly, knowing she's got you with the offer of food, you sit back down again, waiting for her to finish browsing.

"Fine, but hurry up or you'll be dealing with hangry Y/n, too."

"Got it, Sweetpea. Now, pick out a set, too."

Your loud groan of annoyance makes her laugh.

It's only in the car on the way home that she finally manages to ask.

"So, Y/n, I've been noticing some things over the past couple months."

Swallowing the mouthful of chicken, you look over at her suspiciously.

"And what would that be?"

"You've been giving Stephy and Cait eyes."

Turning your head, you roll your eyes at the same time, though there's a sting in your eyes as you fight back the oncoming rush of emotion.

"Beth, you're gonna have to be specific. I kinda have to look at them to converse with them. Ya know, best friends and all."

Giving emphasis to the word friends, you're hoping she'll let what you know she's about to say go. Of course, this is Beth, and of course, that's not happening.

"N/n, that's not what I meant, and you know it."

It's said a little softer this time, with the hopes you don't scare away entirely.

"It's not happening, Beffy. There's nothing there, and nothing will ever be there."

Her heart breaks for you at the crack in your voice and she can see tears peaking out of the corners of your eyes.

She pulls over in an isolated carpark, so she can fully look at you.

"Doesn't mean it hurts any less."

"If it means I don't lose them, then I don't care how much it may or may not hurt. I can't lose them."

You've fully curled up in her passenger seat now, legs pressed to your chest as you pick at the cuticles on your fingers.

"I can't do it. I can't let them see it."

She sighs, resigning to letting you work this out for now. She knows you're stubborn. She knows you won't let her intervene under any circumstance.

"I'm serious, Beffy. You can't tell them, they can't know about this. I won't lose them."

"I won't tell them. If that's what you want, I won't tell them. They still deserve to know, though. It's not fair on you or them to keep this bottled up. It'll kill you in the end if you don't tell someone."

"So be it... I'll figure something out. Maybe take some time away. The only way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?"

It's said in half joking tone, but Beth knows otherwise. She's seen how you coped with your previous relationship ending. You nearly killed your reputation entirely with the constant one night stands.

How you cope is up to you, and she still respects you as a person, but she also wants you to be happy, both with yourself and your life.

She never judged you. She never seriously complained at having to come get you every other night for three weeks straight every time you called her for a lift home.

She did get sick of it though, and she finally managed to get you to leave that behind fairly swiftly after your position on the team was threatened by the incessant news articles with leaked images of you with a new girl on your arm in every single one.

The others hadn't entirely seen that side of you, you pushing them away to avoid scaring them away too.

Beth was the only one who didn't take your attempts at pushing her away.

"Just, take it easy, alright? Don't let it risk your career as well. I'm not letting that happen again. You're my family, sweet girl."

She punctuates the sentence by pulling you to hug her over the console, and you let her, letting the tears fall finally, holding your best friend tightly.

"It's gonna be okay, Y/n. It might not feel like it, but you'll make it out okay eventually."

Would you?

--------------------------

Caitlin, to her credit, doesn't acknowledge what Beth had said until much later. It takes a whole two months until she even realises her heart had been elsewhere.

Until her current relationship with Lia becomes a past one.

When she realises she should feel more devastated than she does.

When she realises that she feels way more comfortable about the breakup than she should.

Her thoughts don't fully drift to you until she feels her heart race when you hug her after she tells you about the breakup.

It's not that she never thought about you, really. It's more that she never realised she was thinking about you a lot more than was acceptable.

The gifts she'd get you, whether it be fresh coffee in the morning or even flowers after your previous breakup just a year ago.

The small cheeks kisses she'd get from you in return that make her cheeks flush a little.

She begins to wonder in that moment.

Had you noticed the way her heart sped up a little when you hugged her, ear pressed to her chest as you both embraced?

Had you noticed the pink hue her face took on when you smiled that gorgeous smile that only appears when you're genuinely happy?

Had Lia noticed any of this?

It makes her feel both guilty but also flustered at the thought of being so dimwittingly obvious.

In the final conversation between her and her ex, Lia had cited her lack of presence in the relationship.

"You're just not in it anymore, Caitlin. I can't be with you when you aren't here, with me."

She does feel guilty for it. Knows how crap Lia must have felt not having her girlfriend there for her, but she knows it's for the best.

What she does notice is your sudden absence. She sees a lot less of you than she'd like. You disappear from rooms that she's in. If you're forced to be in the room, you're seated far from her and Steph.

Training is much the same, only interacting to keep it professional. It makes her heart ache more than anything. Had she done something? Was she too telling?

Her stomach drops at the thought.

What if you knew? What if she was too obvious?

What if-

"Hey, you alright Cait?"

Steph's hand on her shoulder is comforting, and it sends soft tingles through her skin beneath the fabric of the training jersey.

She has to avoid jerking away from the feeling.

"Fine. Do you..."

She pauses, trying to work out if she wants to even bring Steph into this.

"Is there something up with Y/n?"

Steph hesitates at that, an unsure look on her face.

"Have you noticed it too? She's been avoiding us a bit. It's like that time a year ago. When she..."

Caitlin nods, understanding saturated on her face now.

"Maybe something's happened?"

"It's weird, though. It feels like it's just us she's avoiding."

Steph nibbles at her lower lip nervously, looking around the pitch. She notices, though, that they're not the only ones keeping a close eye on you. Beth is looking over to you every so often, concern laced in her gaze and the way her eyes follow your movements.

It makes sense, though. You'd always been closest with the blonde striker. You'd clicked the moment you'd joined Arsenal four years ago, right before the other two aussies had.

"It's probably just something going on. She'll work it out. She's got Beth looking after her, it seems."

The striker nods and moves to continue the drills, though the worry doesn't ebb at all.

In fact, it only increases the closer to the world cup they get. What were you going to do once the World Cup came around? Maybe they would have to keep an eye on you themselves.

--------------------------

Steph, it turns out, is right. It is just them you're avoiding.

It's the why that has them worried.

Their best friend, their favourite person, was now actively avoiding their presence.

You seemed fine chatting away to everyone else in camp. In fact, they'd found you in cuddle piles with some of the youngins more often than not. Something you'd do with Steph and Caitlin without hesitation normally.

She finds herself missing you more often than not, her heart wrenching itself at the thought of them losing you now.

She thinks back on what she'd realised just a month previously.

It becomes clear that she just has to ignore it if she wants things to go back to normal.

Plus, it has to go away. It's already had her second guessing her own relationship. And Dean's starting to notice her hesitation, too. It has to stop. If not for her sake, then for his and yours as well.

It's just a silly little crush. She has Dean, and she has Caitlin and you as friends. Well, only if she can work out why you're avoiding them.

Meanwhile, you're doing everything you can to push down the pain of not having properly spoken to Caitlin and Steph.

It hurts like all hell to not be near them but you need the time to settle before the opening game, which is creeping ever closer with every hour you spend working out what the fuck you're gonna do.

You can't avoid them forever. You aren't sleeping properly anymore and it's affecting your performance.

Beth has been messaging you constantly, checking up on you, but she hasn't been able to see you at all, given she's still in London doing her rehab. Though she does promise to fly over for a few days to come see you and the girls when she can, knowing the other England girls would want to see her as well.

Unfortunately, she knows you a little too well as well, and she calls out the tiredness in your voice one day, it's 9am and you've not trained for the day, so she knows you have no excuse to be tired yet.

You brush her off, but the mild scolding you get in return is enough to have you spilling the beans.

"Just not sleeping too well is all. I'm fine, Beffy. I'm just adjusting to the environment again. It's been a while since we've been in camp."

"You and I both know that's not the reason. How are coping over there? And be honest with me. I have my sources."

Rolling your eyes slightly, you huff down the phone.

"Your sources need to mind their own business. And I'm fine, I'm serious. I'm taking my time and everything, just like you said."

"I didn't mean to explicitly ignore them altogether either. Steph's worried about you. She's already messaged me asking if you're alright and that you'd been acting weird even before international break started."

"Shit."

"Caitlin, too. Said you've been distant but doesn't wanna scare you away. Y/n, please, for the sake of your sanity and theirs. Just talk to them."

"Beth...."

"I'm serious lovey, you need to talk to them, even if you don't outright say, 'I'm in love with you both', just tell them you're dealing with feelings at the moment. They're missing their best friend, not just you missing them here."

There's a soft knock on your door that grabs your attention.

"Look, I'll think about it-"

"No. Talk to them. I'm serious. I can't play buffer when I'm not there. You need to talk to them. Not me."

"Alright, I'll do it at some point. I have to go, someone's at the door."

"Y/n-"

"Love you, bye."

You hang up with a soft growl of frustration, the knocks on the door getting more persistent now.

"For the love of- I'm coming, calm down!"

Swinging open the door, you're met with a sheepish looking Steph and Caitlin.

Not who you're expecting. But at the same time...

"What's up?"

You keep it calm, not wanting to totally panic now that the exact people you were avoiding are at your door.

"Can we talk?"

Shuffling your feet slightly, you step aside, gesturing for them to come in.

They stand there awkwardly for a minute before you walk up to them, poking Steph in the shoulder lightly with a small smile.

"Stop being weird, y'all can sit down ya know."

A slight smile tugs at her lips and they both chuckle softly, conceding to sit on the edge of the single bed while you pull up the chair, resting one foot on the set, knee pressed up to your chest.

"So what's up?"

They exchange a look for a moment.

"We were hoping you'd tell us that."

Feigning ignorance, you tilt your head slightly.

"About...?"

Steph sees right through you though, a raised brow in your direction.

"You know what about. You haven't spoken a word to us since before we even left london. What's going on? Is something happening?"

You scratch at the back of your neck slightly, head ducking to avoid eye contact that you know will probably mess you up in trying to not confess your undying love.

"Just a small thing... it's not really major. I just figured I had to deal with it on my own for a bit."

"And that includes completely avoiding us and only us?"

Caitlin's words have a bit of bite now, frustration leaking through.

Swallowing softly, you look up at them.

"It's not- You guys know me better than the others, figured if I avoided you both, it would be easier to avoid having a conversation about it."

Steph moves from her spot towards you, kneeling to take your hands, which are now propping up your head on both knees.

"Talk to us Sweetheart, what's going on in that head of yours?"

Feeling tears well up in your eyes, you tilt your head back slightly, not wanting them to streak down your face in front of them.

It hurts so bad. You want to tell them, but you can't risk it.

What you don't see but hear is Caitlin moving to crouch by your side, hand resting on your leg, concerned look making it's way onto her features.

"Talk to us darlin', we just want our friend back."

There it is, the word you hate so much. It makes your stomach drop, and the tears flow freely down your cheeks. Looking down at them, you shake your head.

"I can't tell you that."

A shaky breath wracks your chest and you turn your head away, avoiding the worried blue and brown eyes of the women in front of you.

A hand settles on your chin, bringing you back to look at them.

"Why not? You know you can tell us anything. Please, we just want to make you're alright."

The feeling of their hands on you is overwhelming. Between your heart and your head, everything is racing and feels so heavy.

Standing abruptly, you step back away from them both, moving away from their outstretched hands when they reach for you.

"I just can't."

Cutting Caitlin off before she can say anything else, you move over to the door, opening it.

"Just please leave. I can work it out on my own. I can't tell you just yet, alright? I love you both, but I need to get my head straight before I can talk about it. I'll be fine, just... please...."

Sighing softly, Steph moves towards the door, but not before cupping your cheek softly and kissing your forehead.

"We're here for you. Whenever you feel like talking. Don't forget that."

You nod softly, and she steps out the door.

Caitlin does the same, hand lingering a little longer on your shoulder, though, squeezing softly.

There's something in her eyes you don't quite recognise, but you don't question it as she she leaves, muttering a soft goodbye to you.

Shutting the door behind them, your form slides down the wooden panel, sitting knees to your chest as you rest your head on your knees, listening as their footsteps echo further down the hallway in synchronized steps.

You are such a coward.

Why didn't you just tell them?

Everything would be so much easier.

It would hurt too much to lose them, though.

They'd hate you forever.

You'd ruin everything.

The thoughts running through your head are loud, and they don't leave room for much else, so you do the only you know to try and calm yourself.

You pull out your phone, dialling Beth's number and wait with bated breath.

The moment she picks up, its like it all just blurts out at once.

"Hello?" It's said in a tired voice.

"I couldn't do it!" Choked sobs from your end immediately make the blonde shoot up from her spot in bed, her girlfriends arm suddenly moved from its position around her waist.

"What? Y/n, talk to me."

"I tried to tell them, and I just broke down and told them to leave! They're gonna hate me!"

There's a concerned hand on her arm from a half asleep Viv, and she gives her an apologetic look, mouthing your name to her.

"Oh sweet girl, they could never hate you. God they lovd you way too much to hate you."

"That's the problem. They'll never love me like that. Not the way I do. They'll hate me if I tell them. It's basically a lose-lose situation either way."

It's loud enough that the dutchie hears it from her position behind the englishwoman, and her brows furrow. When had this occurred?

"Babe, what is she talking about?"

"Uhhhh.. gimme a minute." She turns back to the phone.

"Alright, it's okay, you couldn't tell them. I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? You're gonna send yourself into a serious hyperventilation if you don't breathe for me, alright?"

You take a moment to let your chest muscles relax, trying to keep them from constricting in your chest too much.

It doesn't quite work, though, and everything just comes crashing down around you, your sobs just becoming harder.

"I c-cant. It hurts!"

Shit.

"That's okay, I want you to do something for me, okay? Put a hand to your chest for me."

Doing so, you set down the phone, putting it on speaker, knowing the drill by now, having done this many times before.

"Five things you can see?"

Squinting up into the now dark room you scan the place, trying to focus on the various items in the darkness.

"Uh, c-curtains, a chair.... my bed, a pile of clothing... myself in the standing mirror."

"Good, that's it. Four things you can hear."

"You, Viv, my pulse in my ears, the cleaner down the hallway."

"Good, three things you can feel."

Swallowing lightly, you rest your head against the cool wood of the door, allowing it to ground you a little better.

"Cold, the carpet is cold. The wood of the door. Sweaty, and snotty. I feel gross."

Ignoring you joking softly, she continues.

"Two things you can smell, sweets."

Taking one more shaky breath, your pulsd starts to lessen off from its incessant beating in your eardrums.

"Uh, carpet cleaner and Steph's perfume."

"That's it, one more. One thing you can taste."

"The peanut butter cup I ate earlier."

"There you go, take a few more breaths for me."

"Someone want to explain whats going on now?"

Viv's voice sounds from your phones speaker, and you sigh softly. Now another person probably knows.

You hear some muttering over the line followed by a small hum.

"Ah, so you're finally admitting it then?"

Huh?

"Wha-"

"It was kind of obvious, really. You really weren't subtle about it."

Of course, she's right. Who were you kidding? It was so blatanly obvious. It was painful to anyone observing it. You couldn't imagine what the other two might have seen.

"I can tell what you're thinking, sweetheart. As obvious as it is to the rest of us, those two knuckleheads have no clue. Thats on them for not noticing you're struggling."

"That's the problem. They know something up. They came to my room to work out why I was avoiding them, Beffy. They're gonna work it out sooner or later, and I don't think I wanna be stuck around them if they do. I don't want to think about having to witness that. The disgust on their faces because they're own best friend is in love with both of them."

On the other side of the line, Beth and Viv exchange a look, Beth sighs softly, her partners fingers carding through her hair, helping relieve the stress headache she can already feel coming on.

"Love, you need to tell them. I know you're struggling. They could never hate you or be disgusted by you. They love you. And they just need to realise it."

"You and I both know that's not true, though."

The frustration bubbling up in Beth's chest has it spilling from her lips before she can really stop herself.

"It is. You're just too blind to see it. Those girls are obsessed with you. The love in their eyes for you is honestly kind of sickeningly sweet. Too bad you're all too dumb to see it, though. It's so damn obvious to everyone but you. You literally just need to talk to them, please, for the sake of your mental health and ours. Talk. To. Them."

"Okay? Even if that were remotely true. Steph's getting married. There's no way in the world she'd even consider leaving that behind. The man treats her better than I ever could. We're just better off as friends. It needs to stay that way."

"Y/n-"

"No, Beth, I'm done with this. Look. I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

Beths protests are cut off by the click of you hanging up.

Even if she was right, so were you. Steph wouldn't leave Dean. She loves him far too much. He's her safest option, and she knows it.

Caitlin wad a whole other story.

Sure, she's single now. But what makes her any more available to you than Steph? She's still your friend. There's no way she'd want you the way you want them.

Letting your head hit the door once more, you sigh, wondering how the hell you'd fix what you're already damaging.

--------------------------

It starts off slowly. She doesn't even realise she's doing it. Little things here and there.

Picking at the little issues she finds.

Poking and prodding at the soft spots, pushing buttons she wouldn't normally push.

Apparently, it's pretty easy to start fights when you know what buttons to push.

Why? She has no clue.

In her head, though. It's staring her right in the face.

The little comparisons she makes.

You'd never get upset over her leaving her boots in a heaped pile beside the door.

Your cooking was always so much better whenever she went over to your place.

You'd never have left her to find travel home on her own after a World Cup.

In fact, you'd actively made sure she had a ride home, her reassuring (lies) left you feeling relieved that she wouldn't be on her own after the exit the Matildas took at the World Cup.

Whatever it was that had you avoiding them, you'd figured out how to deter it. Returning to conversing with the two brunettes like nothing had happened.

It was a little unsettling how much she noticed you putting on a mask with them.

As hard as you'd tried to fake being fine, she could read you like an open book. Or at least to a fair extent.

For one, your smile never quite reached your eyes, save for the one or two times of victory during the games. The most honest one you give is the win over France.

It was another thing she noticed. She found herself breathing a little easier with you by her side, even with a shell of a smile.

She doesn't push you, though. Not wanting to scare you away again.

Caitlin was very much of the same opinion. Even though you'd stopped avoiding them, you still weren't your usual cheery sunshiney self around them.

The striker doesn't bring it up, though. Only encouraging you with silent smiles of encouragement and occasional soft brushes of her hand against your back, shoulder, or arm when she's next to you.

So Steph does the same. Seeing you both tense but also relax under their, although gentle, not so subtle ministrations.

In the early hours of another chaos filled weekday, mainly filled with silent frustration built up between her and Dean. The latter not knowing what's going on with his Fiancee, he eventually has to poke and prod her enough to spill it.

Though, stubborn as the Australian is, she doesn't give too much, only snapping that she's fine and to let it go.

It sparks an argument that ends up with him storming out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

It started over a simple question over that nights pumpkin cous cous salad.

It takes her but five minutes of seething to realise what she's starting and why.

She feels sick to her stomach.

She was sabotaging her relationship with Dean.

And for what? A silly crush on her friend?

What the hell is she doing?

It's in the early hours of the evening that she gets a text from Dean saying he's at a friend's place for the night and that she needs to cool down and work out what her problem is before he'll return home.

With a defeated sigh, she sends him a sincere apology, telling him she was just frustrated at everything lately and to take the time he needs and that she would work on herself in the meantime.

Not that she does, really. Apparently, she doesn't learn her lesson, instead pushing down the already bottle necked emotions she's experiencing.

She knows it'll blow up in her face eventually. But what can she do? Admit she's secretly in love with you and destroy an already sinking ship of a relationship?

Probably.

But why do that when can sabotage ever having a more peaceful break up.

It seems like she's doom spiralling at this point.

It was a petty fight that blew up. Not that uncommon or that bad that it would suggest either of them should be ready to give up on everything they worked for together.

But that's the thing.

It's taken until she's blown up at him to realise how much they're fighting for it here. All of that pressure to be together. To work out.

To be the perfect it couple.

To want to work out.

It feels like they're both constantly giving 110% but when does the relief come? When do they get their due release. When does it get easier?

She'd thought love was supposed to be easy between two people. For couples to know each other. To read each other without even really trying.

Yet here he was, struggling to realise his own fiancee was falling for another woman.

And that she was letting it happen.

Like an idiot.

The more she ruminates, the more she sees the signs herself.

She's been pulling away from him more and more. Avoiding talking about you, unlike before when she'd bring you up at least once a day to him. Always eager to gush about her best friend like a teenager.

Now, even the remote mention of you leaves twists in her guts, and she has to try and subtly change the subject without letting on that she's hopelessly not in love with him anymore.

Oh.

She's loves Dean.

Right?

No.

Yes.

She loves him.

But she's not in love with him.

Not anymore.

It scares her.

He's always been her safety blanket.

But maybe that's the issue.

He was too comfortable. Too much of a safety blanket. Shielding her from what she should have been acknowledging this entire time.

Maybe. Just maybe.

She's been in love with you this whole time.

That's what scares her the most.

And now that she's finally realising it, she realises there's a conversation to be had.

And feelings she needs to communicate. Even if it hurts both of them. Because in the end, it'll hurt worse if she tries to fight it anymore than she already has. She's already hurting Dean too much by leading him on like this. She can't take it anymore, she has to tell him.

Any fairytale story would tell you that it went surprisingly well. That Dean says he knew all along. That he knew Steph was secretly gay and had been waiting for her to tell him so he could comfort her and encourage her to go for the girl. To go for you. To finally acknowledge that those lingering stares from you might mean something.

Unfortunately, this isn't a fairytale.

And he doesn't take it well.

In fact, he's pretty furious when she timidly brings it up.

She doesn't blame him though.

"Are you fucking serious right now, Steph?"

She winces at that.

"You want to ruin what we have because of that bitch?"

Anger flares up in her chest at that, and she shoots to her feet suddenly, coming to your aid despite you being blissfully unaware and not present for this.

Yes she fucked up but he has no right to call you that.

"Don't fucking call her that. This isn't her fault. She didn't do anything wrong. Yell at me, blame me, call me the bitch but do not insult her. Ever."

He chuckles darkly.

"I should have fucking known. How did I not see it? We've been fighting an uphill battle this whole time. All we do is argue, argue, argue at this point. And you don't even try anymore. Fuck, you had a go at me over pasta the other week. You've been finding excuses to insult everything I do. Everything I've achieved. Apparently, I can't even get dinner right anymore. Nothing is good enough for you. Now I know you've just been comparing me to your teammate this whole time."

Her head falls at that.

He's right.

She's been the worst partner to him. There's no excuse.

"Now I know that you've just been lying to me this entire time. And by the looks of it, yourself too."

The following silence as she tries to gather her words only serves to tick him off more.

"Fuck you Stephanie. I hope she treats you well."

The slam of the front door as he grabs his packed luggage and walks out the door with it, taking the last of the relationship with him, makes her collapse back onto the couch.

The tears, the frustration, the anger, at herself more than anything for letting it get this bad. All of it just crashes down on her and for the first time in a long time, she let's her emotions take over and she just cries.

Grieving the loss of a relationship doomed from the start. Grieving the major fuck up on her part.

Crying because she knows it's gone now.

Crying because even if she does end up with you. She's lost a friend in the man she once thought she loved. And that's on her. She knows that.

For now, though, she allows herself to cry it out, knowing the acceptance will take a while to come before she can fully move on from that.

--------------------------

Giggling as you shove Caitlin lightly, her arms tightly wrapping around you and wiping her sweaty forehead all over your face, you blush as she presses a kiss to your cheek with a small wink as she jogs off to the locker room, you following behind with a shake of the head.

It seems you'd finally started to let go a bit. With Caitlin now doing everything in her power to get you to smile daily, you start to let your guard down at your own behest more and more.

It seems easier, though, considering the sudden icyness from a certain defender that has you being pushed into the arms of the striker instead, literally.

It feels like she's latching onto you every minute she can. You can feel the stares from the other side of the training grounds. Feel the burning stare as she watches you with her best friend. The one she's now also trying to grapple whether or not she's falling for too.

You don't pay it much mind during training, but you do attempt to pull Steph out of whatever has her this down suddenly.

Leaving her little notes of encouragement after particularly gruelling sessions where Jonas had let his frustration out pretty badly on her after some major mistakes on her part.

Making sure she's always hydrating during the particularly warmer sessions.

Making sure she's been eating correctly by leaving her homecooked meals on top of her car when she goes to leave for the day.

Making sure she knows you're there even though she never stopped knowing that in the first place.

She'd tried pushing you away to sort everything out, but in the end, you make it a little difficult with the loving you're unknowingly (or maybe knowingly, she doesn't know) giving her. Even in a time when she's trying to make it clear, she wants to be alone.

You and Caitlin don't let her, though.

The forward always grabs the girl by the arm to pair up for training, forcing her to chat way about what's been going on.

She doesn't tell her that she's harbouring feelings. She does tell her that her and Dean have broken up though.

That was a shock to the striker.

She'd thought the woman was perfectly happy, but it seems everything was just bubbling away under the surface.

Caitlin does feel a little guilty for being happy about it, knowing the girl is going through heartbreak and all she can selfishly think about is how she's single now too.

She tells the forward not to tell anyone for now, not wanting to affect the rest of the team with more drama than what usually occurs. Even you, much to the younger brunettes protests.

She doesn't tell you that session.

In fact, it takes her a whole month before you manage to break her walls down enough again to spill the filthy secret she's been harbouring.

"Oh, Steph, I'm so sorry."

Your hug after she tells you is warm. Warmer than she'd realised. The feeling of your arms around her brings a surprising amount of comfort for something that, although she was still grieving, was mostly over with the thought that it's over, that's that.

"S'fine, it was a mess anyways. Both of us were struggling to keep it civil in the end. It was my fault anyway. I just stopped loving him and refused to acknowledge it for so long. It blew up on me."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt either. You're allowed to be upset about it. Sometimes, we can't control how we feel, Stephy."

But oh how right you were.

Despite her scrambling to lock down her feelings and keep her heart from latching itself onto you, it had done so with an eagerness to rival Katie in a no rules match. (Which after a couple weary tackles, had to be vetoed by Jonas and the medical staff).

"I know, jus' can't not feel guilty. I treated him like shit towards the end."

"Steph, from what you've told me, he only fired right back, too. Think about it. He got pissed when you tried to communicate that something needed to change. Maybe it hit a little closer to home for him, too."

What?

Wait a minute.

Oh god.

It wasn't entirely her fault.

It all makes sense now.

That's all it takes for her to finally pick up her phone again to check social media.

And what do you know. He's suddenly got a new girl on his arm, not even a month later.

Now she's pissed. She has every right to be.

Why, you ask?

The new girl on his arm was the clerk at his gym that he ran. The one that he said was only being friendly when Steph got mad about her being flirty.

That asshole.

You can see the thought process play out in her facial expressions, from the moment of realisation to the reaction to it.

"That lying cheating dick."

The evidence?

'Happy Six month anniversary baby'

One title on one post.

She feels so much pressure on her chest drop off with the discovery. Despite the anger, she feels freer than before. The crushing weight of the breakup is now firmly off of her shoulders, and she feels like she can breathe again.

Well, now she can let it all go and not feel guilty about wanting to move on.

Now, all she has to do is work everything else out, too.

"Oh god, he didn't."

Your face is one of concern, and frankly, she just about laughs, the ridiculousness of the situation almost bubbling over. So when she does laugh, you only look more concerned for the brunette.

"He did. I've never felt more relieved, to be honest with you. I felt so damn guilty for ending it the way things did. Turns out he's been screwing his work admin for the past six months. I hope that dick is happy. Those two are perfect for each other."

Despite the situation, you laugh with her, her arm slips around your shoulders.

"So I'm ready to get over it, dunno 'bout you, but I feel like celebrating."

"Ice cream and movie night."

"Absolutely, mind if I let Cait come too?"

"You better."

She grins at the smile that crosses your lips at the mention of the striker.

--------------------------

"Oh my god, I can not believe she let him do that. I swear these chicks are so stupid romance movies."

You groan out at the main character once again, falling for lover boys' false apologies, and Steph and Caitlin chuckle from either side of you, ceramic bowls in hand.

"Babe, it's a romance movie. What do you expect? It's gonna be cheesy and stupid."

Despite your cheeks flushing in the half lit up darkened lounge room in your house, you shake your head.

"Damn, if only she actually knew how to be treated, she might not go back to his dumb butt every time. Woman needs to learn to love herself more."

The pair exchange an amused look over your head, your form slumped into the cushions as they sit sideways on the lounger, arms holding up their heads as they watch you criticise the movie more and more.

What you miss is the shared look of affection over your head, a silent agreement as they both move to press themselves onto either side of you.

Cut back to this afternoon after training.

The pair of them had been chatting away, Steph having told Caitlin about your movie night when the striker got a look on her face. Like something clicked.

"So we were thinking- what? What's that look?"

"I just remembered something."

Steph gestures for the girl to continue.

"So.. when were you planning on telling me you ARE in love with Y/n."

Her cheeks flush bright red, and she stumbles over an explanation.

"It's still so fresh.. a-and I wasn't entirely sure and..."

The laugh that escapes the forward has her a little confused.

"Thank god. I thought I was imagining things. You're not the only one, Stephy. She's pretty great, huh?"

"You're not... I don't know, upset that I love her too?"

"Hell no. Steph. Puddin'. Babe. You can't control how you feel and if I'm being honest. I don't mind at all. Like, I kind of like that you do."

Caitlin's cheeks warm, and she looks down, scuffing her boots slightly against the turf.

There's a small pause as Steph observes the forward. She looks around and sees that everyone else has already made their way back towards the change rooms.

"Caitlin..."

The girl looks up again, finding dilated pupils staring back at her and she whines at the look.

"Steph..."

"Can I...-"

"Please."

That's all the indication the older woman needs to tug her into a harsh kiss, hands finding her cheeks.

Hands tangling in her hair make her whimper into the kiss, and a flush creeps up her neck to her ears as their lips slot together easily.

It feels so much softer, but also more passionate than anything she'd ever shared with that piece of garbage.

She practically melts when she feels the other woman's tongue lazily drag across her lower lip, knees just about buckling as the hands move to slip under the edge of her shirt, trailing across the skin of her stomach.

Eventually, they both pull away, gasping and air intermingling their puffed breaths.

"Oh. My. God."

Caitlin chuckles, hands moving back to settle on the woman's jawline.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that."

Both of them are pressed tightly to one another, allowing their shared warmth to wrap around them, cocooning them for but a few short moments.

"I kept denying how much I realised I was falling for you both."

"Both?"

The hopeful glint in the striker's eye makes her melt further into her, lips grazing hers once again.

"You both made it so ridiculously hard not to. You've always cared more than anyone. And you do so much more than you realise for me, too."

The grin that crosses the strikers face as she leans her forehead against Stephs is mirrored by said woman.

"I may or may not have fallen for you both, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What do you say we go put the girl out of her misery, too? I hate to say it, but we totally missed the way she's been pining this whole time."

"That's an ego boost and a half."

"Like you need it."

An affectionate eye roll.

"Shush you."

And she slots their lips together again once more before sneaking back to the locker room.

The feeling of the two of them cuddling into suddenly makes you jump slightly, two hands resting on your stomach, shirt riding up slightly underneath their touch.

"I-... can I help you both? Are you okay?"

Both of their eyes on you makes you shrink in on yourself a little, worried something might be wrong.

"Perfectly fine gorgeous."

"Doing pretty, thanks, baby."

Your cheeks are glowing beneath the light of the television and both of them are still watching you intently.

Swallowing softly, you turn to meet Steph's eye.

"I- Can I tell you two something?"

"Of you can, babygirl."

A nod of affirmation from the striker has you nervously picking at your cuticles.

"It's about why I was avoiding you both back in camp. I was... nervous. I didn't want you to know something so I was trying not to spill it."

A soft chuckle from Steph.

"We know, sweetheart, that part was obvious."

Your cheeks flush a little more.

"And, I might have realised something and I've been scared to say anything. Because you're both my friends, and I don't wanna ruin what we have-"

"We know gorgeous."

"We could tell. You weren't overly subtle. It just took us a while to see it."

You duck your head a little, but a set of two fingers lifts it up by your chin again to face the older of the two.

Immediately, you whimper, spotting the way her eyes have darkened significantly.

"Kiss me. Please."

"With pleasure sweet girl."

And so they do. First Steph, claiming your bottom lip between hers, sucking at it, tugging it and letting it go with a soft pop, before pressing back to you again, hand sliding up under the fabric of your tshirt.

A pair of hands gently pulls you away from the defender, and another pair of soft lips quickly takes your own again, leaving you whimpering into it.

Parting your lips at the now hasty swipe of Caitlins tongue, she slips it into your mouth, moulding with your own, leaving you a forever breathless, whimpering mess. Literal putty beneath their fingertips.

Pulling away enough to speak, your chest rises and falls harshly, but you're beaten to it by the forward.

"We've fallen for you as well, sweet girl. We put off acknowledging it for so long, I don't know about you, but I dont feel like wasting anymore time. Be ours?"

Without a single moment of hesitation, you nod eagerly, quickly pulling Steph back into you, allowing your hands to rest on the nape of her neck and as Caitlin's hands trail up to the hemline of your sports bra, you subconsciously breath a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of several tonne trucks fall off your shoulders again.

They loved you too.

You could cry right now.

But you dont. Instead, you focus on the way they touch you like they'll never get to feel you ever again. You focus on the way they kiss you, stealing your breath away with every lock of their lips to yours.

In the end, you're so glad you listened to Beth for once. And she's very glad when she's you walk into training sporting new hickeys and two hands in your own, followed by mild regret now that you're all disgustingly in love, too.

Deep down, she loves it, though. She loves you, and she's glad you've finally got what you deserve.

--------------------------

She's done, but I'm delirious, so I'll come back and edit tomorrow 😭

#woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord imagines #caitlin foord x reader #steph catley imagine #steph catley imagines #steph catley x reader

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koiiiiijiii · 15 days

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since nobody asked anything in comment section in THIS post i decided to came up with something by myself. now i know you little rogues not reading author notes🤨

Nightly Rituals

LOOKISM & WINDBREAKER BOYS WHILE YOU DOING YOUR SKINCARE ROUTINE BEFORE BED

Gun

Park Jung Gun likes your presence in his apartments, it’s always little bit more warmer and cozy with you. Especially he likes time before bed, and both of you small routines. well, he could call his routine small - just stealing some incomprehensible bottles from you, he doesn’t bother his head to read it, as long as it seems to smooth his skin he use it! also, maybe reading some book or answering to forgotten messages while he waiting for you from the shower - that’s his usual routine before bed.

he could hear the water in shower stop flowing, you wrapped yourself in a towel and slipped out of the bathroom. picking and putting on your pajama the inescapable process has been started. Jung Gun learned your skincare routine perfectly - you always start with your face adding toner, letting it dry while you adding extra products on your hair, then you using millions of bottles - moisturizers, essence, serums, creams on your face, then switching to your body, and finally drying your hair and final step - adding that tasty smelling oil on your hair and boom! you are ready for… bed… “Hun, admit it honestly, you really enjoy all this stuff and not getting tired every time?” he said, getting comfortable and pulling you towards him “It’s one of the ways of meditation you know, Gun?” you murmur softly into his chest

Ma Taesoo

Taesoo enjoys 100% of time when you staying in his apartments. he honestly asked you few times to move in with him, but you politely rejected this idea (i headcanon that Taesoo live in stereotypical bachelor designed apartment… imagine bathroom with no place to put all your bottles? and rooms with cold/neutral lights? brrr, my horror honestly)

and here he are - sprawled out in bed, with his hands behind his head and leaning on the headboard, watching you. in turn, you occupied the table in his room, laying out your makeup bag, hair dryer and some other little things there, and now you were fussily rushing from the bedroom to the bathroom to wash your hands, looking in the mirror with this terrible cold-white lighting in the bathroom. Taesoo chuckled softly, when he saw how you add another cream on your body - specifically on your thighs, saying with his husky voice “Chill woman, enough marinating yourself in all that jojoba creams, im not gonna eat you alive, while you sleep” he grinned at you and pulled you into your shared bed. “Maybe not gonna eat, but you know sweet” he said hugging you from behind, burrowing his nose into your neck “You smell so good and nice that i might change my mind.”

Vinny

it was nice to came to Vinny in apartments that Juwon give to him, honestly better than his previous home. the soft glow of bedside lamps cast a warm ambience across the room, painting shadows that danced along the walls. Vinny lounged in bed, his attention divided between a phone in his hands and the anticipation of your return. you finally took your time after preparing for final exams, allowing yourself to indulge in the luxury of self-care, a small act of kindness to soothe both body and soul. you slowly going through your skincare routine, gently massaging essence into your cheeks and admiring yourself in mirror.

Vinny shifted against the pillows, his gaze drifting to the doorway as he eagerly awaited your return. the soft shuffle of footsteps drew his attention, and his heart skipped a beat as you appeared in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of the moon and city lights outside the window. as you settled beside him, he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch gentle against your skin. "Hey," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth. "I've missed you." you leaned into his touch, your heart overflowing with love for the man beside you. "I missed you too," you replied, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. in that moment, as you curled up together beneath the covers, everything seems right in the world, every problem just disappeared.

Wooin

he always like to violate and invade your personal space. not that you were against it, like now, when he flatly refused to wait for you in bed while you completed your six-step skincare routine and chose to join you. he insisted that he wanted that black mask be put on his skin, while you muttered that he should clean his skin first and then add serum and only after put that mask on. "Babe, why so many unnecessary steps, you know that this mask won't make big changes anyway, right?" he whine like a child who tired of shopping for groceries, when he only agreed to came because his mum promised to buy him some chips. "Because it's the whole thing about skincare, hun!!! You doing it not because of effect, but for the process!! Trust the process you know??!" you said turning to him with annoyed face and that funny crab hair band that Wooin bought for you last time he went to shopping center. he said it looked cool and reminded him of you when you blushing.

after the last five minutes of him hovering around you like an annoying fly, whining about how he wanted a mask too, you finally gave up. going to the refrigerator and deftly pulling out a black bubble mask, you went into the room. and Wooin looked out of the bathroom in bewilderment - where did you go if he was in the other room? as you returning to bathroom, you made him sit on the side of the tub and pulled the same hairband over his head, only green in the shape of a toad, “They didn’t have anything with snakes, so i thought another amphibian would be a good idea too.” you said pulling his hair up and putting that most wanted black bubble mask on his face.

༘⋆🌷🫧💭 ⋆˙

⊹ xo - xo ⊹

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madaqueue · 16 days

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manicured

synopsis: painting their nails

featuring: choso kamo, satoru gojo, suguru geto

a/n: see i can write fluff guys i promise (just don't look too hard at geto's lmao)

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ choso kamo ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

choso absolutely loves your nails, he’s honestly fascinated by them. he’s never really understood the purpose of something like this, as it doesn’t serve any functional use and is only temporary, but that only intrigues him further. whenever he sees you posted up on the couch he sits next to you and just watches intently, observing the way you gracefully and precisely glide the polish across your fingers.

“could you…do mine?” he asks hesitantly.

a grin forms on your face at his request. “of course, cho,” you smile.

you paint both of his pinkies a dark, rich black. he loves the way it looks with his rings, and he can’t help himself from staring fondly at his hands and blushing when he catches a glimpse of your work.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ satoru gojo ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

satoru enjoys being pampered, often making comments about how lucky you are to get to spend time getting your hair done or eyebrows touched up. he sees it as self care, a way to make yourself look as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside. when he finds you getting ready in the bathroom before one of your dates, seated on the floor with a bottle of nail polish next to you, he immediately wants to be a part of your little routine.

“ooooh me next!” he chirps, plopping down next to you on the cool tile and holding his hands out.

he initially picks out a bright blue to match his eyes, but after you tease him - “isn’t that a bit self-centered, toru?” - he instead opts for one that matches your irises, a way to remind him of you whenever you’re apart.

at dinner, he forces everyone to look at his nails, holding them out with a toothy grin. “aren’t they pretty? my amazing perfect girlfriend did them for me,” he boasts through a smile to anyone who will listen.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ suguru geto ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

suguru thinks your nails are cute, that it’s sweet how delicate and dainty they always make you look. whenever you come home from an appointment he inspects them closely, complimenting the design or color you picked out. his favorites are french tips, mostly because they look so classically feminine when they’re wrapped around his cock, but he also loves the surprise of seeing what you choose each time.

as he’s admiring your fresh set, he jokes, “how come you never do mine?”

“i didn’t know you wanted me to,” you can’t help but giggle.

“you never asked,” he teases back.

he lets you choose a color for him, landing on a light pink that nearly blends into his skin but is just noticeable enough. he only does his pointer and middle fingers, sneaking in a joke about how those are your favorites, too, when he’s knuckle deep in your pussy, displaying them subtly, knowing it’s just for him.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 5: Turn Off The Lights And Turn Off The Shyness]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, Otto being the worst (per usual), violence, serious injury, cryptic Helaena prophecies, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), dragons, demented flirting, a late-night surprise, Larys Strong returns. 😞

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Of All The Gin Joints In All The World” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.3k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

The sun would burn him, but moonlight is kind. You’re on the balcony of Aegon’s bedchamber, two chairs, two cups of wine, another full pitcher on the table between you, a glass bottle of warm rose oil like amber, like gold, freckled with curled ruby petals. You’re dressed in your usual attire, simple designs and neutral colors, greys and creams and dusky pinks; tonight your gown is a flat, inky blue that matches the night sky. Aegon is wearing his unpretentious cotton trousers—stained with splotches of pomegranate juice, his recompense before you allowed him the wine—and a tiny braid in his shaggy, silver hair.

“I look like your house’s sigil,” Aegon says as he massages rose oil onto his forearms, his palms moving in large sloppy circles over a patchwork of scar tissue; you would do a better job, but he says he wants to learn how to care for his wounds on his own. His dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—gleams in the cool, ghostly moonshine. His words are teasing, but his tone is dark, troubled, weary. “Some red, some white. All ugly.”

You smile. You aren’t agreeing, just playing along. “Our motto is better than our flag.”

“I might have been inebriated during that lesson.”

“Perpetual Resurrection.”

Aegon looks at you, confounded. “Quite the mouthful.”

“Crabs molt throughout their lifetime. They crack their own skins open and climb out. If they get stuck, they die. If they get attacked before their new shell hardens, they die. But if they live…they’re a brand new version of themselves. Larger, wiser, more powerful.”

“Spiders,” Aegon says. “You’re trying to placate me with some rousing metaphor about what are essentially aquatic spiders.”

“They’re tasty too,” you say, grinning. “Especially when their shells are still soft. The cooks would serve them fried and us kids would sit around the table ripping the legs free and throwing them at each other.”

“What, you can eat the crab whole?!”

“Yes. Once the faces are cut off and the organs scooped out.”

He pretends to be repulsed by you. “Harrowing. Revolting. This is why Targaryens have always refused to breed with your kind.”

It’s funny, but it isn’t, because it’s a little too close to what you’re both thinking. Under the moonlight, you watch Aegon with the words caged behind your teeth: What do you want most? Who are you in your bones? Where would we be if the world wasn’t crashing down around us?

He slathers rose oil on his scarred right cheek—carelessly, distractedly—and accidentally pokes himself in the eye. “Ow.”

You ask: “Why do you want to do that yourself now?”

“To prove I can. To feel ever so slightly less like an invalid.” He takes a swig of his wine and gazes out over the nightscape ocean, stars in the sky, stars reflected on waves. “I am a study in irony. I spent my whole life waiting for it to be over. I poisoned myself, wasted years, resisted any semblance of usefulness. And now I finally have things I want to accomplish, I finally have reasons to live…and I’m trapped in the flesh of some pathetic, deformed, calamitously weak stranger.” He shakes his head, despondent, still not looking at you. “I can have a body that works. I can have a soul. But I can’t have both at the same time. It’s so fucking unfair.”

“I like you exactly as you are. Body and soul.”

“Everything I own, everything I’m given…” He stares down at his palms, open and empty. “It is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I think I’m going to be ruined either way. I’d rather you be the one responsible.”

“Angel,” he says, low and serious. And now his gaze comes back to meet yours. “Who are you supposed to marry?”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want it to be true. Your voice is a whisper, almost lost in the night wind. “Cregan Stark.”

His eyes shoot wide, not just startled but terrified. “Stark?!”

You nod miserably. “My father took me and my sisters to Winterfell as part of a trade mission. Cregan decided he wanted me. I never encouraged it, I never desired it, I swear I didn’t—”

“No, I believe you,” Aegon says. He swallows a gulp of wine noisily, his hand shaking. “You were right. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop it. Not unless I win.”

“You don’t want the Iron Throne,” you tell Aegon, already knowing it’s true.

He snorts, a harsh derisive sound. “Who would?”

“Lots of people, I think. But not you or Rhaenyra.”

This intrigues him. “She doesn’t want it either?”

“Not from what I’ve seen and heard. Or, at least, she didn’t until Luke was killed. It changed her. I’m still not convinced she wants to be the queen, but she wants vengeance. And absolute power is a sure path to it.” And so the suffering continues, it goes around and around like a wheel, it is a debt that is never satisfied but only spread like plague.

“I don’t understand why Aemond did that,” Aegon says. His words are hushed, like he’s never spoken them to anyone but you and never will. “When he returned from Storm’s End, I held a feast for him. I had to, someone had to, someone had to pretend it was a victory instead of a murder. But it didn’t make any sense. Arrax was an inconvenience, not a threat. Luke was far more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. Aemond has always been the disciplined brother, the strategic one. I won’t claim to be clever. But I can’t find any strategy in what happened there.”

“Aemond has a temper. He is haunted, I believe. He is not above reckless fury.”

“No, evidently not.” Aegon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair; again, his dragon ring glints under the moonlight, silver reflected off gold. “I’ll try to win,” he says. “For my family. For you.” Then he smirks, a grim attempt at humor. “Though I pity Cregan Stark for the paradise I will deprive him of.”

You do not return Aegon’s smile. “Don’t have too much pity for him. I have no expertise and I’m scared to death of it. I’d probably end up hiding under his bed, gripping the legs for dear life. He’d have to drag me out and tie me down.”

Aegon is alarmed; his storm-blue eyes are now focused, seeking. He is aware that he has wandered into a quagmire. He treads carefully. “When you say no expertise, you mean…none at all?”

“None.”

“But what about all of those anatomically-correct cock illustrations in your medical books?”

Another joke you can’t bring yourself to laugh at. You drink your wine to stop your lips from quivering, smooth the silk of your gown with a trembling hand. You see it no matter where you look: the pool of red on Theodora’s bedsheets, the dawning and inescapable realization on her face. This is her life now. This will always be her life.

Aegon says gently: “You have no expectation of pleasure.”

“It seems…inherently violent. For the woman. Even if it isn’t meant to be. Being overpowered, being invaded. The man decides when and how it happens. The woman endures.”

Aegon stares at you—biting his full lower lip, deeply somber—but doesn’t speak. He gives you the impression of someone with so many thoughts swimming around in his skull he is struggling to choose just one.

You smile dimly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”

“I’m, um…” Aegon pauses to collect himself; he drains his wine cup and sets it back on the table. He is uncharacteristically cautious, like he thinks one unwise word will break the spell of whatever exists between you, this temptation, this need. “I’m saddened by the fact that you think of it that way. Because it doesn’t have to be…distasteful. Frightening. Coerced. It shouldn’t be, in fact.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if the Blacks win this war and Cregan Stark comes to claim me.”

Again, Aegon is exceptionally circumspect. “You’ve never wanted any man?”

“No. Never. Not in that way. Until…” You look at him, willing him to understand. I want you, but I’m so goddamn afraid to. I’m afraid of this world, I’m afraid there’s no hope left in it.

Slowly, Aegon smiles, soft and warm. And without any grasping, animalistic greed, he reaches over to rest a palm on your thigh, night-dark silk draped over skin that doesn’t flinch away from him, doesn’t even have to fight the instinct to. You place a hand on his. Your fingertips trace the gold wings of the green-eyed dragon ring he never takes off. And it is sealed like a covenant under the stars, this allegiance that neither of you could begin to explain to anyone else.

Footsteps are coming through Aegon’s bedchamber, heavy and purposeful. Otto Hightower appears in the balcony doorway. He fills the space like storm clouds flood a clear sky, like blood saturates linen. “You’re getting fat,” he tells Aegon gruffly.

“You’re getting ever more wrinkly and close to the afterlife.”

Otto glances to where Aegon’s hand still rests on your thigh and snaps: “If you’re well enough for that, perhaps you would deign to join us in the council chamber. You could shock everyone by actually acting like a king.”

Then he’s gone, taking those last echoes of the moment with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“They know she’s here,” Larys Strong says. His audience is gathered around the table: Otto, Criston, Daeron, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, the knights of the Kingsguard, Aegon slumped way down in his seat and you beside him feeling his forehead worriedly for fever. Because Aegon and Daeron are in attendance, the council chamber is one chair short. Aemond has elected to be the person to stand; he lurks, severe and silent, in a corner of the room half-lit by torchlight. Daeron is dressed in a vibrant teal, Aegon in black; Aemond wears green, dark and brooding like envy.

Criston Cole asks: “How is that possible?”

Otto sighs irritably, rubbing his forehead. “We have spies. I’m sure Rhaenyra does as well.”

“Someone apparently glimpsed the prince regent…um…” Larys searches for the diplomatic word. “Escorting her through the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Dragging is what he did,” Aegon says, glaring at Aemond. “Abducting. Attacking. Imprisoning.” Aemond, arms crossed over his chest, studies his boots and pretends not to have heard him.

Larys continues: “The Blacks don’t believe that she is here of her own volition.”

Otto’s eyes narrow. “What, they think we’ve detained her as some sort of…healer? Hostage?”

“No, my lord,” Larys says, hesitantly, awkwardly. “They don’t imagine the king’s motivations to be that honorable.”

Otto is losing his patience. “Meaning?”

Larys toys with his restless, rodentlike hands. “They think she is being…violated.”

A stilted, scandalized hush falls over the table. “Good,” Aegon says, invoking gasps and gapes. “If Green supporters believe her to be my captive, they won’t harm her. And if the Blacks think she is being held here against her will, she would be safe with them as well. No matter who wins, she is not in danger.”

“That is hardly beneficial for your own reputation, Your Grace,” Tyland Lannister says.

Aegon grins beneath cold eyes; he shows his teeth like a wolf, like a dragon. “Was my reputation so pristine to begin with, Lord Lannister?”

“No, perhaps not,” Tyland mumbles. Still, he should not have said it aloud. Otto huffs another sigh and rolls his eyes.

“So you intend to keep a Celtigar daughter in your service?” Otto says to Aegon.

“I have no doubts concerning her loyalty.”

Larys adds: “My lord, I must say, I cannot see a tactical advantage in her saving the king’s life if she retains any loyalty to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Then why save him at all? Why bother? He was lying there half-dead, soon to be properly dead, and she brought him back practically singlehandedly. Why?”

“Mercy,” Aemond says quietly from the corner, and everyone turns to look at him. “Many people have none of it. She perhaps has too much. And now they have grown…” He gestures vaguely, perhaps bashfully. “Attached to each other.”

Jasper Wylde is dismayed. “But the king has a wife.”

Daeron snickers. “Yes, and that has always proved to be such a deterrent in the past.”

“Daeron,” Aegon cautions mildly.

The youngest Targaryen brother obediently sobers and shows the palms of his hands in contrition. “My apologies.” He hides his face with a slurp of his wine cup.

“And what about Cregan Stark?!” Otto exclaims. “You’d encourage his outrage, his Northerner savagery? Seven hells, he thinks you’re spending your days raping his betrothed, do you imagine that will not invoke fiercer wrath, put all of us at greater risk?!”

“Lord Stark was never a reachable ally to our cause, in my estimation,” Larys says calmly.

“That’s not the point, Larys! The point is—!”

“I can offer you something in return for the heightened danger you have assumed,” you interrupt, and these men stare at you as if suddenly remembering that you are here in the room with them, not a phantom or a myth or a cautionary tale but someone real. Aegon glances over, one eyebrow raised on his drawn, perspiring face. He doesn’t know what you’re going to say either.

Otto peers menacingly across the table. “What could you possibly have to barter with? The king is well enough now. He will live with or without you.”

“I have information. I know the workings of Rhaenyra’s council in the leadup to Rook’s Rest.”

“You attended her council meetings?”

“No, but I spent evenings with my father and brothers as they discussed them.”

Otto sits back in his chair, pondering you. After a moment, he nods. “Go on then.”

“I want one concession before I reveal what I know.”

“Besides being permitted indefinite room and board in the Red Keep, which you are in no way entitled to?”

“Not negotiable,” Aegon says.

Otto chuckles, humorless, incredulous, shaking his head. “Fucking insane. Alright. What is it you want, girl?”

“If any member of House Celtigar is taken captive, I want them to be given the opportunity to swear fealty to King Aegon and receive a full pardon for their sins. If they refuse, they are to go to the Night’s Watch, not the scaffold.”

“That’s your price? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Otto is amused. “Nothing for you? No gold, no land?”

“No.” The prospect hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Not very self-serving. So unlike a Celtigar.” Otto grins, not kindly at all. “Your terms are accepted.”

You begin. “The Greens possess great wealth, now split for safekeeping between Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and the Iron Bank of Braavos. But Rhaenyra’s funds are far more finite. My father has enriched her coffers in part with taxes placed upon houses of the Crownlands. You are always seeking new allies, people you can turn from her side to yours, Corlys Velaryon, the Dragonseeds. Thus far, you have been unsuccessful.” Otto frowns, but he is listening. “I know there are families who have compelling grievances concerning my father’s taxes. Families who have become disenchanted with Rhaenyra’s leadership…or lack thereof, they might say. Rosby, Stokeworth, Cave, Langward, Bourney, Boggs, Hardy, Chyttering. Probably others as well now. They occupy a tactically significant position, being so near to Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I believe if you wrote to them, they would answer.”

“I’ll send ravens,” Otto says. He marvels at you, like a puzzlingly strange creature, a luminescent fang-toothed fish from the depths of the ocean, a direwolf from beyond the Wall. “You don’t want your side to win this war?”

“I want the killing to stop. For both sides.”

“Well, you won’t get that. The bitch will never surrender. That hope died with little Luke Strong.” Otto glowers bitterly at where Aemond stands in the shadowy corner, but he addresses you. “That is your impression as well? She was entertaining the possibility of a truce before he died at Storm’s End?”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond, and you are struck by an unexpected stab of sympathy for him, compassion that feels like a betrayal of your knowledge of the torture he had planned for you. But what is there to say but the truth? “Rhaenyra was considering it very seriously. She and Daemon quarreled over the subject.”

“Of course they did.” Otto looks at Criston, then back to Aemond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Criston answers for the prince regent. “Very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Otto spits like venom, and everyone else averts their eyes.

“My lord,” Larys intercedes. “There is one more matter to discuss, and I believe it will be of great interest to His Grace the king.”

Aegon is struggling to concentrate. He blinks groggily at the Master of Whisperers, his brow creased with pain. You smooth his damp, white-blond hair back from his face, threading his braid through your fingertips; you refill his wine cup and give it to him. When Aegon lifts it to his lips, his hands shake so badly he spills scarlet beads like blood down his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve. Grand Maester Orwyle offers him a small glass bottle of milk of the poppy, but Aegon refuses it.

“Is he alright?” Daeron mutters to you.

“He’s fine. He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Waste no time, Lord Larys,” Aegon says. “I fear Grandsire’s ire has exhausted me. He’s more ferocious than a dragon. We should find a saddle that fits, perhaps Criston could ride him to the Riverlands.”

“Keep guzzling wine, I’m sure that will improve your condition,” Otto bites back.

Larys continues: “It concerns Rook’s Rest.”

Now he has everyone’s attention. “What about Rook’s Rest?” Aegon says. Instinctively, he’s begun twisting the golden dragon ring on his left hand.

“I received word one hour ago that the Blacks have retaken it.”

“What?!” Otto shouts; the rest of the table is in uproar. Criston stands and goes to conspire with Aemond in the corner of the council chamber, urgent indecipherable whispers.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon says frantically. “I have to go to him, I have to get him out—”

“He is already gone, Your Grace,” Larys replies.

“Gone…?”

“Lord Walys Mooton went down to the beach to slay the dragon once his men had taken the castle. He was burned alive.”

“Perfect,” Daeron says, beaming radiantly.

“Lord Mooton’s men fled for their lives, and when they returned, Sunfyre had disappeared. He could not be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rook’s Rest. Moreover, his footprints in the sand stopped abruptly. Which means he must have departed—”

“Into the water…?” Tyland Lannister says, perplexed.

“No,” Larys corrects him. “Into the sky.”

“Sunfyre is flying again?” Aegon asks, his face childlike, astonished.

“That’s impossible,” Criston says. “His wing was broken, I saw it.”

Larys drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I cannot conceive of any other explanation.”

“Then he’ll find me.” Aegon smiles. Sweat snakes down his temples; his face is white, bloodless, barren like the moon. “When Sunfyre is ready, he’ll find me and we’ll be together again.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Otto exhales. “The Old, the New, that ghastly Drowned one…” He waves a hand at you. “And do you have any to add, Lady Celtigar? Some crab deity your traitorous people worship?”

“I regret to disappoint you, my lord. To my knowledge we have none.”

“Three useable dragons,” Otto says, mostly to himself. “Three is good. With three, we have a chance. And if I can recruit Vermithor or Silverwing…”

“I should go with you when you and Criston march north,” Daeron tells Aemond.

“No,” Aemond returns immediately.

“If you’re going after Daemon, you could use me,” Daeron insists. “Tessarion and I can help.”

“You are needed in the Reach with Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” Daeron realizes, exasperated. “You want to be able to say that you were the person to neutralize the Blacks’ greatest asset, that you won the war—!”

Criston says: “He’s not going on some suicide mission chasing Daemon and Caraxes all over the Riverlands. He’s staying with me and the army. He’s using Vhagar logically, responsibly. Right, Aemond?”

“Of course,” Aemond answers, entirely toneless.

Otto whirls to Aegon. “And when will you be able to fight again? Soon, I hope. Surely the culmination of your existence is not one single instance of utility before lapsing back into being some drunken, idiot degenerate.”

In reply, Aegon moans and crumples to the floor. Grand Maester Orwyle and the men of the Kingsguard rush to him, but Criston gets there first; when you cannot rouse the king, Criston throws him over one shoulder—increasingly difficult with each pound Aegon gains, softness and health that you consider a great victory—and ferries him back to bed. As you follow after them, you hesitate in the doorway of the council chamber. Now that Criston is gone, Otto has crossed the room and pinned Aemond to the wall. His large hands, heavy with rings, are pressed to Aemond’s chest; his face is snarling, wicked, callous.

“You have to fix this. You have to end it.”

“I know,” Aemond replies softly.

“Everything that’s happened is your fault.”

“I know,” Aemond says again, then rips free from Otto’s grasp and flees the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Criston leads his army out of the city. They will meet reinforcements on the road between the capital and the Riverlands. There is infantry on foot and cavalry on horses; above them in a blue sky cluttered with vast, cottony clouds are Aemond and Vhagar. As they head north, Daeron and Tessarion fly south towards the Reach to rejoin Ormund Hightower and his men. In Winterfell, Cregan Stark is receiving word of where (and with whom) his betrothed currently resides. At Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are kindling rumors like dry wood in a fire. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is nursing her rage and paranoia like a hungry child, like a wounded man who has milk of the poppy poured down his throat. And you remain static here in King’s Landing, anchored, steadfast, something immoveable like the ocean or the shore it meets.

You can see Aegon’s bedchamber windows from the beach. You keep glancing up at them, though you know he won’t be there; the sunlight is too harsh today, the potential damage to his skin too great. In a month, he may be able to venture outside as he used to. In two or three, he might be able to fight again. He might be able to kill more than just one errant Norcross boy who dared to touch you.

“Helaena wouldn’t come down to join us?” you ask Autumn. You’re walking with her in the surf, the hems of your held aloft so the froth of the waves can wash over your ankles. Perhaps ten yards away and out of earshot, Alicent is kneeling in the sand and playing with Jaehaera and Maelor. They are her great comfort now; they are not the only purpose she has left, but they are the kindest. Their tiny hands are preoccupied with building a sandcastle and adorning it with seashells, pebbles, shards of driftwood, strings of seaweed like green ribbons. You’ve started to notice how much Jaehaera resembles Aegon, his murky blue eyes and his high cheekbones and his gentleness that no one else seems to recognize. You’ve started to see him everywhere you look.

Autumn shrugs, her face apologetic. Her hair is more than just copper in the afternoon daylight; it is fire, it is blood. “I really tried. You know how she is.”

“I’ll visit her afterwards.”

“She unnerves me,” Autumn says, stroking her round belly and shuddering. She earns her keep here by helping to look after Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Aegon treats Autumn the same way he treats his wife and children, which is to say he generally ignores her; on the rare occasion he is subjected to her presence for more than a fleeting moment, he becomes uneasy, irritable. Autumn does not appear to be offended. She says this is the best job she’s ever had. “She’s always muttering the strangest things. Caterpillars and crabs and dragons and only the gods know what else. Yesterday she told me not to dance with the half-year queen. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Helaena’s a bit different,” you admit.

“She’s inbred, that’s what she is. I can’t imagine what those kids are going to grow up to be like. A brother and sister for parents? It’s a wonder they don’t have feathers or tails.” Autumn taps the swell of her belly. “At least this one—if it’s a Targaryen after all—has had its bloodline thoroughly diluted.”

You watch her standing there in the fiery late-afternoon light, this body that has comforted, consoled, satisfied, suffered, known so many men. “What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

“What? Being with child?”

“No, the…um…the act that led to it.”

“Oh, yes.” Autumn stretches with her hands on the small of her back and smiles vaguely, nostalgically. “That’s the strange thing. It can feel like heaven or hell or nothing at all. If the man knows what he’s doing, and cares enough to try, he can make it better for you.”

“Better how?”

She furrows her brow, shoots you a skeptical sideways glance. She is aware that you are inexperienced, but the extent of your blind spots continuously shock her. It occurs to you that perhaps naivety is a privilege; some cannot recall a time before they were acquainted with truths of the world that others consider forbidden. “You know. He’ll use his hands or his mouth to get you ready. Or better yet, both at once.”

“Ready,” you repeat, not understanding.

“Well, you see…” Autumn takes a moment to decide how best to explain. “Men change when they are aroused, yes? Women do the same. It takes longer, and it is not always so obvious. But it is vital. The more ready you are, the more comfortably he will fit inside you.”

“And what if he doesn’t get you ready? If he doesn’t have the skill, or he doesn’t believe it’s necessary, or he doesn’t even know that’s something women require?” Or he just wants to hurt you. He just wants to watch you bleed like something he goes into the woods to kill and gut and devour.

Autumn smirks cynically. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The sizes involved. Some men are bigger than others, and women have different dimensions as well. Couples can be well-matched or not. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it feels like you’re being ripped apart. And that doesn’t necessarily stop after the first time either.”

“And you can’t say no.”

“You can say no all you want. But he doesn’t have to listen.”

You peer out over Blackwater Bay, sunbeams flashing on wave crests and gulls swooping in the reddening sky. But you don’t really see it. What you see are fingerprints of dirt or ash on your thighs, snow in your hair, books laden with dust, fur coats and evergreen trees, rust-stains of blood on bedsheets.

“I’ve heard that Lord Stark is a very large man,” Autumn nudges. She knows, everyone knows.

“He’s massive,” you say forlornly. “He’s taller than Aemond and twice as broad.”

“The king isn’t so big,” she says, pretending that the thought has just popped into her mind, as if she hasn’t noticed the way you and Aegon look at each other, speak to each other, find excuses to touch each other.

“No,” you agree in a whisper.

“And he’s not a brute. I can’t fairly speak to his skill, I never had him anywhere close to sober. But he has no appetite for women’s pain. That’s a valuable gem in a man, it’s like stumbling across a ruby or a pearl.”

You nod; but you don’t want to think about Autumn lying with Aegon. You don’t want to think about the child they might share. In a world so dark, it seems cruel to begrudge people creating life where none existed before. But when you picture Aegon touching someone else, that darkness seeps in through your skin like rain soaks the earth and can’t find its way out. “We’re going to the library together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Autumn groans. “Did I agree to that? I don’t believe I did.”

She did not, this is true; you badgered, she deflected. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I am illiterate.”

“I told you. I’ll teach you how to read.”

“Why would I want to stare at ink marks in a book all day when I could be outside in the sunshine listening to the ocean and herding inbred little freaks like sheep?”

“Because books can take you anywhere,” you say.

“I like where I am. I’ve never seen anyplace better.”

“Okay, Autumn,” you concede, smiling. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

“Say hello to Helaena for me,” she says, meandering back towards Alicent and the children. Her footprints in the sand are erased when the gurgling waves roll over them. “Maybe one of those fancy books can help you translate lunacy into the Common Tongue.”

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helaena is standing in front of an open window. It doesn’t offer a view of the ocean; it is positioned over a courtyard of sandstone and chatting courtiers. Helaena does not seem to hear them. She gazes out into the sunset, celestial rage on her impassive face.

“He’s leaving soon,” she says, not turning to look at you.

“Who, Helaena? Aemond? He left days ago. He’s already gone, he’s on his way to the Riverlands. But he’ll be back soon.” You don’t know if that’s true—it probably isn’t, in fact—but you’re certain that Helaena misses him. Her children do too; he is more of a father to them than Aegon has ever been, not in body but in soul.

She only repeats: “He’s leaving soon.”

“Helaena, what—?”

“He’ll leave you. Then you’ll leave him. He��ll make you.”

At last, and very slowly, she revolves like the stripe of shadow across a sundial. In her cupped palms is a butterfly, shimmering gold wings and spiderlike black legs. It takes flight, flutters aimlessly through the vermillion air, escapes out the open window.

~~~~~~~~~~

A peculiar twist of fate: his palm on your forehead, his whispers through your hair. Now he is the one who has stolen into your bed when the moon and stars hang high in the darkness outside. There is a noise somewhere beyond him, disembodied and hazy, that reminds you of torrential rain: omnipresent, thunderous.

“Angel,” Aegon is saying. “Wake up. Please wake up. I have to go.”

Go? Go where? You murmur, still half-asleep: “You can’t leave.” He isn’t strong enough yet. He can’t fight, he can’t run.

“I have to. They’re here.”

“Who…?”

The answer comes from the sounds that you are only now awake enough to understand: screaming, pounding boots, slamming doors, the ravenous crackling of fire, the shrieking of dragons. You have learned all of their unearthly voices. That’s not Vhagar or Tessarion or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre… It flashes by your windows, a comet of gold and flames.

You bolt out of bed. “Rhaenyra—?!”

“Rhaenyra, Syrax, Daemon, Caraxes.”

Daemon shouldn’t be here. He should be losing battles to Aemond and Criston. “But he’s at Harrenhal!”

“Not anymore.” Aegon takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, the hem of your nightgown billowing around your legs, his short silver hair flying behind him. There are servants and guards rushing by you, weeping, shouting, searching for places to hide. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles towards the rookery to send out ravens. Several rooms away, you can hear Helaena wailing and Autumn trying to soothe her. Larys Strong intercepts Aegon and gives him a hooded cloak; Aegon yanks it over his bare, mutilated chest, whimpering as the rapid movement strains the red-and-ivory disarray of scar tissue that used to be his skin. “You have everything?” he asks Larys hoarsely. You notice now that the Master of Whisperers has a satchel slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace. Milk of the poppy, rose oil, the crown.”

“Wine?”

Larys produces a bottle. Aegon gulps down half of it, then passes the rest to you. You hesitate before finishing the wine, red like the sigil of House Celtigar, like fire, like blood. “They are closing all roads out of the city,” Larys tells Aegon, speaking swiftly. “King’s Landing will be taken. We will surrender. We cannot fight a dragon, let alone two.”

“Aemond and Criston—?”

“Daemon must have outflanked them.”

Aegon grabs your hand again and does not let go as he trails Larys through corridors and down claustrophobically tight spiral staircases. “The roads are blocked,” Aegon explains to you breathlessly. “But there are secret passageways beneath the castle. I know them. Larys knows them. Daemon probably knows them too, but he has other places to be.”

And through a window of a staircase, you see him: Caraxes spiraled around the apex of the Tower of the Hand, screaming fire into the sky before descending the length of the tower towards the hoards of hysterical courtiers fleeing below, his claws jostling loose bricks that rain down on them.

The bottom of the stairwell opens up into a large, dusty, dirt-floored chamber with stone tunnels leading in every direction like spokes of a wheel. Alicent is there, sobbing wildly, and so is Otto. Otto is telling Jaehaera that she must be a brave little girl and go with Sir Willis Fell. Alicent is giving little Maelor over to Sir Rickard Thorne, your once-alleged-kinfolk. The child is panicked and crying, flushed face and white hair. Aegon glances at the scene and then keeps moving, towing you along with him.

“Princess Jaehaera will go to Storm’s End,” Larys says. “Prince Maelor will go to Oldtown. They face execution if they stay. We must risk smuggling them out of the city.”

“What about Aegon?” you ask as the three of you hasten into a corridor thick with cobwebs and illuminated by torchlight. The stone ceiling is arched and perhaps seven feet tall; faintly, you can still hear the muffled turmoil of King’s Landing falling to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I’m going Dragonstone.” And it does not elude you that he didn’t say we. “If Rhaenyra is here, that likely means Dragonstone is vacant. I will go to the Crownlands families that you believe to be willing to betray her and beg them for support. I will take Dragonstone and prepare a counterassault from there. Hopefully Sunfyre will find me. Hopefully I’m not killed on the way.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going too.”

“You’re staying in King’s Landing.”

“No.” You stop dead, wrenching your hand out of Aegon’s. “No, what if you get hurt, or sick, or what if you get really bad again—?!”

“Listen!” he shouts with dire intensity, his eyes wide and pleading in the torchlight. “I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself. There could be bandits on the road, there could be Black soldiers, there could be animals, there could be fucking anything. I can’t take you with me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to Dragonstone. But I know if I stay here Rhaenyra will murder me. I don’t have a choice. I have one option, and it’s not good. But you’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

“Aegon, no—”

“The Blacks don’t think you’re here by choice. They think I’ve imprisoned you. Tell them that’s what happened and they will welcome you back. Your family will protect you.”

“Aegon, please don’t—”

His palm on your cheek, his braid coming unraveled in his hair. “You will wait out the war with them. And when it’s over I’ll find you.” Tears glistening in his eyes, his voice going soft and tender. “If I’m still alive, I’ll find you. I swear to all the gods I will.”

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “What can I do?” you ask, your words strangled; your throat is burning, your eyes wet. “What can I do to help you?”

And you expect him to say things you already know: Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard in the Greens’ council meetings. Instead, Aegon grins as he says: “Try to get one of your three superfluous sisters to seduce Cregan Stark.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off ancient, filthy stones.

“My mother and Otto are waiting for you. You will be with them when they are taken to Rhaenyra. They are high-ranking prisoners of war, they will be spared the brutality of the Black soldiers and so will you. They will corroborate that you were my captive.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go now,” Aegon says like an apology, swiping tears from your face with his thumbs. He breaks away from you and follows Larys Strong down the tunnel. They are shadows under the torchlight, cloaks and whispers.

“Aegon,” you call after him, and he stops. I never told you what I wanted. I never told you what I feel for you. “What if I never see you again?”

You don’t know what you want him to do or say. There’s nothing that could make this right. But he soars back to you, takes you roughly and desperately, buries his hands in your hair and kisses you deeply, tasting like wine and heat and the smoke filling the world outside. He means for it to be quick, but he can’t stop. His tongue darts between your lips, his hips press to yours, you arch into him wanting more, infinitely more.

What was I so afraid of? you think dizzily. How could I be afraid of anything with him?

“Your Grace,” Larys appeals regretfully. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

Aegon twists off his dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—and slips it onto your left hand. And you’re still staring down at it, mystified, as Aegon disentangles himself from you and vanishes into the darkness.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader

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hiraeth-sonder · 2 months

Text

Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even.

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters.

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years.

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise.

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart.

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so.

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you.

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction.

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light.

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood.

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content.

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else.

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment.

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery.

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips.

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman.

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush.

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family.

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome.

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken.

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one.

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image.

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious.

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough.

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state.

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes.

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed.

He nods.

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news.

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him.

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings.

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever.

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath.

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand.

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart.

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere sunday #hsr sunday

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