Ggukiespace - Tumblr Blog

watching your beautiful boyfriend stand patiently, a bouquet of roses in his hand as he awaits your arrival.

you can only admire nanami’s handsomeness from across the street; taking in his height and wide shoulders that fit his winter coat perfectly.

his calm expression is immediately adorned with a soft smile as he spots you — taking a hand out of his pocket to wave. rushing to him, you take in his pink cheeks and the tip of his nose which had turned rosy, instantly feeling guilty.

nanami notices the small frown on your lips, his brows beginning to furrow.

“what’s wrong ?”

“i’m so sorry i took so long. you were here in the freezing—“

his low chuckle cuts you off — taking you by surprise — as you mentally capture the heavenly image of the look on his face.

“here.” he’s still smiling as he hands you the stunning bundle of roses and steps closer to press a kiss to your forehead.

“you don’t need to worry one bit about me waiting. i could stand in a blizzard for you.”

nanami can only leave you beaming as he takes his big hands and holds your cheeks.

“have i told you how gorgeous you look ?”

“nanami !” your grin is contagious as he lets out a warm laugh before lightly squeezing on your face with his palms.

send in a request !

politely… he needs to change careers to professional husband

oh my god, the fragment of your short story is very cool and your illustration looks beautiful😍😍😍. I'm always extremely happy when I see Slavic mythology somewhere (I'm from Slovakia). I keep my fingers crossed for your work, it will definitely be amazing

ps: I wish you a early recovery

Beloved Husband

Especially for you, the entire story is translated below

[ warnings: character death, violence, progressive madness, depression, mourning ]

Although it had been two springs since her beloved closed his eyes forever, it seemed to her that just a moment ago she was standing at his side in front of the altar in a small wooden church. She was clad that day in her new linen chemise and kaftan, under which stretched her skirt sewn from long, colourful strips, embroidered by her own hands over many nights.

That morning, her mother herself had collected fresh flowers in the field, from which she later wove a beautiful garland of daisies and forget-me-nots for her. The smell of baking cake spread throughout the room as her sisters helped her dress and prepare to leave her family home.

All her belongings, which consisted of several linen shirts and woollen skirts, two kaftans, one winter coat, two pairs of shoes − one for colder days, the other festive, only for church − hair pins, a set of bedding and a holy picture she had received as a gift from her godparents, fit easily into a small wooden chest decorated with painterly ornaments.

Her beloved was beautiful, joyful and kind, his lips curving into a lazy smile at the sight of her, for he had loved her ever since she could remember. He called out to her when she returned from the fair, when she left church with her parents, he made her laugh by looking at her over the fence as she fed her geese, by telling her made-up tales and legends.

He would come to her parents with gifts, wishing them to look upon him with a more favourable eye, as he was poorer than they were − she was the daughter of a respectable farmer, while he was the son of a simple serf peasant apprenticed to a blacksmith.

Although her guardians at first regarded him with disapproval and reserve, they eventually recognised his industriousness, which also brought him a tangible income. He spent days and nights in the forge, creating things that were not only useful and durable, but also beautiful, appreciated by the villagers and the heirs of the manor houses.

Without delay, he came to the aid of his future parents-in-law when the hinges of their doors and shutters began to loosen and fall off. He forged new ones for them, beautifully fitted, with indentations and swirls, which they later showed off to their neighbours. She watched it all from afar, daring to offer him only her warm, happy smile and a gratitude that filled his heart with fervent hope.

− Wait for me, pretty dove − he called out to her then, and she laughed, not even thinking of marrying another.

His approach full of patience and understanding eventually won the hearts of her parents. Her father decided, after some thought, that it was good to have such a swift, hard-working son-in-law, who, in addition, was cordial to the women.

He believed that he would certainly be a good and gentle husband, who would not hit or shout at his daughter, and who would also gladly drink vodka with his father-in-law, and would conduct a conversation well, as his mind was sharp and enlightened.

She knew that she had caught God by the feet when they finally agreed to give him her hand, and she did not hide her joy. She thanked her Lord during every evening prayer for the fact that she did not have to marry a drunkard, a scoundrel, but a kind, handsome, hard-working young man, at the sight of whom she felt warmth melt through her heart.

Not even one spring of their marital happiness had passed when her beloved fainted, having returned from the forge all hot and fiery. He coughed terribly and babbled, only making it home with the help of their neighbour. They laid him on the bed together, wondering what to do. Fear then overtook her and she immediately sent for an herbalist who lived a few huts away.

The woman arrived in the evening and, without saying anything or demanding payment, prepared water over the cooker by throwing dried leaves and herbs into it, muttering something at the same time. After these mysterious procedures, she gave her decoction to her husband, ordering him to drink.

She rejoiced, for the colours returned to his countenance, for life returned to his members, for he recognised her, calling her his pretty dove.

Her heart was filled anew with hope. Lying by his side at night, she prayed fervently, thanking God for his grace.

Only in the morning, when the first rays of the sun woke her up, wanting to attend to her daily chores and prepare his morning meal, did she feel that the body lying next to her was cold and stiff.

She was afraid to look at him, and when she finally did, she saw his face, pale and blue, his lips parted slightly, as if he were in fact still asleep. She tried to wake him, at first with a whisper, then with cries and wails, clamping her fingers over his body, but his eyelids never opened again.

She couldn't name what was happening to her. It seemed to her as if her speech had been completely taken away. Her body was left without strength, her mind became blank, dulled. She lay next to him, looking at his face, holding his cold hand in hers, unable to let go of the thought that the only thing left of him was his body.

She didn't understand what her mother was saying, stroking her cheeks and shoulders as they stood over his grave on the day of his funeral. She stared at the simple wooden cross stuck into the fresh, damp earth, listening to the women wailing and crying raucously around the coffin, chanting mournful hymns that only increased her despondency.

It seemed to her that her mind was foggy and sluggish. She drank, she ate, she did her chores, but she did not feel or experience anything. Her body was as if in a state of prolonged shock. In her mind there was still the conviction that her husband would cross the threshold of their home as he did every evening, that he would take her in his arms, speaking of his longing, that they would sit down to supper together, recounting what the day had brought them.

Her parents, seeing the impact of her bereavement and such a sudden loss, ordered her to return to the family home, which she did. From then on, she helped them with their daily chores, as she had done when she was still a maiden.

She would speak to them and be in their company, but her mind seemed to be out of her body, the emptiness that filled her began to be slowly replaced by a progressive rage and irritation, as she noticed that everyone had begun to forget about him. They laughed and smiled, got drunk and danced as he lay there, deep underground, alone.

Shrill thoughts flashed through her head as she lay alone at night under her quilt. Her heart squeezed with pain at the notion that perhaps the gravedigger had not buried him deep enough and his body would be desecrated by wolves or stray dogs or, God forbid, her poor beloved would wake up in his wooden grave and be unable to get out, driving his nails helplessly into the wooden lid.

She would cry aloud then, burying her face in her hands, holding her thoughts and pains deep inside her, feeling that no one else would understand her suffering, that only he, her dearest, if he were still alive, could comfort her.

It was then that she heard him for the first time since the day he closed his eyes forever: the loud, clear rustling of the grass and the quiet cracking of the branches beneath his feet.

She rose quickly, feeling the aggressive, chest-shattering pounding of her heart. A cold sweat ran down her back as she leaned out uncertainly to look out of the window.

There was no one in the courtyard.

She sat still for a moment, feeling a tightness in her throat at the thought that there was a graveyard beyond the woods overlooking her small room.

The next day she lay down to sleep faster than usual, excusing herself to her family for being unwell, feeling a pleasant tingling in her fingers and excitement at the thought that perhaps her beloved would visit her again, give her some sign, tell her what he needed. No one came, however, and salty tears of regret and disappointment ran down her cheeks as she lay, facing the window, watching the first rays of the sun.

She wandered off to the cemetery in the morning, explaining to her relatives that she wished to place fresh flowers on her late husband's grave. However, when she arrived at the site, she found to her disbelief and dismay that although grass should have grown on the grave long ago, the sand on it was still wet and fresh, as if he had been buried only the day before.

Walking back home along the dirt road, wrapping herself in a warm woollen shawl, she thought of her grandmother's stories. Of how people who had died, called wraiths, rose from their graves to haunt their families, peering down on their children and placing cold, corpse-like kisses on the lips of their wives and husbands.

At this thought she felt heat in her lower abdomen, a pleasant tickling sensation engulfed her fingertips and lips, and she imagined that her beloved had come to her then, that night, wanting to prove to her that he remembered her, that he loved her and could not leave without her.

The realisation that he could wander still in the world without knowing a holy rest both frightened and delighted her at the same time, that their love could be stronger than death, that his desire to stay with her was more important to him than the will of God himself, who had called him to join him.

She stopped and trembled as she heard a loud rustling in the depths of a field filled all around with tall, golden wheat. She lifted herself up on tiptoe, feeling the rumbling of her yearning heart, looking around carefully. Her breathing became raspy and loud, full of excitement.

− My love? − She heard her own trembling, warm voice, sounding as if a mother was calling her child, wanting to give him courage.

However, she saw nothing, nor did she hear any reply.

Nevertheless, the conviction that her husband was still prowling the earth and watching her was growing stronger within her. Candles would suddenly burn out in the rooms she was in, although no one passed by them, doors would open with a loud creak of old wood even though no one was standing behind them. She was awakened at night by a quiet tapping on the windowpanes that kept her awake. She had the impression that she heard someone's footsteps even when there was no one in the room but her.

She whispered to him each time, asking him to appear to her. She would convince him that his cadaverous, pale face would certainly not scare her away, that he still remained her beloved, her only one.

He did not answer.

It seemed to her that she was slowly losing her mind. She was getting thinner and thinner, her face becoming pale, bruises from dozens of sleepless nights surrounding her lifeless eyes. Her parents, worried about her behaviour and the fact that the slightest sound or movement made her flinch as she looked around the rooms, suggested that perhaps it was time to find her a new husband.

− You will have your children, and he too will comfort you with a kind word and a strong embrace of his arms − her mother said. She looked at her dully, feeling that her pale lips trembled parted in disbelief. Cold sweat trickled down her neck, her fingers clenched tightly on the material of her skirt.

That night, she cried aloud with her face pressed into her pillow, calling for her beloved, her kindest, cursing him and begging him to relieve her suffering, to prevent her from being given away to any other man, because they had promised each other that they would be together, now and for eternity.

It was then that she heard him again − the quiet crackling and rustling outside her window, someone's footsteps so clear that her heart leapt into her throat. She pulled herself up from her bed and looked out of the window, pressing her palms against the glass. A pitiful, low sob escaped from her throat as she spotted a male figure disappearing deep into the dark woods.

She got up quickly, putting a warm blanket over herself, and slipped out of her family home in only her nightgown, moving after the mysterious silhouette, wanting to shout for him to stop, fearing, however, that she would startle him. Seeing only the full moon and stars above her, she trudged through the tall shrubs, the needles of the pines and the sharp stones beneath her feet hurting her skin.

She knew that in order to reach the cemetery she had to walk straight ahead, and despite her fear, her heart was filled with courage, because for him, for her beloved, she was willing to do anything.

A loud sigh of relief left her lungs when she finally stood at the border of the forest, seeing clearly the outlines of wooden and iron crosses. She froze completely when she noticed a male figure leaning deeply into one of the grave pits. A broad smile appeared on her face for the first time since fate had separated them.

− My beloved! − She shouted with joy, with hope, with relief, drenched in tears, running towards him with confidence, thinking only of throwing herself into his arms again, of speaking to him again, of hearing his voice again.

My pretty dove.

She stopped halfway, feeling her heart freeze, shivers ran along her spine as the man she was running towards jumped out of the pit like a burned man.

She saw his terrified eyes, he was panting heavily as if he was some wild animal, raising his hands high in the air. She found to her horror that she did not recognise either his face or his figure, looking at him in the moonlight. He was older and taller than her husband, dressed in dark, dirty trousers and coat, his large hands black from the ground.

Only after a moment did she notice a long shovel lying next to his feet, a sack lay immediately next to it, she swallowed with difficulty recognising in its contents something that resembled shimmering gold jewellery in the moonlight.

The stranger moved suddenly towards her, grabbing earlier a shovel lying on the ground. She screamed loudly, throwing herself into flight, understanding her mistake, her stupidity, her naivety. She stumbled several times over tombstones and tree roots, her sore feet seeming to scream with every step she took.

Her voice stuck in her throat when suddenly something dull and hard hit her heavily on the back of her head, then again and again; she fell to the ground, panting heavily. Everything around her seemed to spin, she no longer recognised shapes or where she was, warm liquid ran down her forehead, the metallic taste of blood that had flooded her face melted between her lips.

She wanted to scream for rescue to her beloved, to her parents, but she was unable to get the words out. She cried out loudly and drew in a loud breath, bursting out crying when she felt his large, rough hands clamp down on her bare calves, pulling her back on the ground. Her fingers impulsively dug into the sand and grass, fruitlessly trying to resist him, something akin to a grunt escaped her throat.

My God, have mercy.

She was already completely limp when he threw her into the middle of the grave. No sound left her lips as the heavy, cold sand began to fall on her body. Her empty gaze, from which the life was slowly escaping, was fixed on the bright moon disc spreading over her head.

Before the last breath left her lungs, a thought flashed through her dying mind, from which she smiled gratefully at the stranger who stood high above her like death itself.

I will see him again.

_____

Illustrations and text are created by me. Do not repost.

i need more harry potter fics.

not marauders, not slytherin boys, just harry.

[ A LITTLE DEATH — FT. KINICH ]

synopsis: sometimes, he comes back to you with a beating heart. other times, his body is cold and limp until he reemerges from the flames. you never get used to kinich falling during the pilgrimage, but you’re certainly used to the feeling of his body

word count: 4.4k words of emotional porn. ty & goodnight

before you read: female reader ; major spoilers for natlan archon quest and kinich’s character story one ; kinich falls during the night warden war and resurrects so technical character death (but not for long) ; graphic descriptions of injuries and blood from war ; mentions of gambling, alcoholism and abuse (his father’s lore) ; slight exploration of mortality ; hand jobs ; orgasm delay (kinich to himself) ; cunnilingus ; fingering ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read because i wrote this all in tumblr drafts like the psycho i am

notes: this is an unhealthy progressing obsession. this boy is not good for my health unfortunately

“Will you stop crying?” He sighs softly, thumb tracing your cheek as it catches yet another rivulet of your sorrow.

You glare up at him, lips curled into a scowl as you sniffle and counter, “how about you stop dying?”

Kinich is no stranger to dying. He and death are good friends, in fact—he visits often, and in return, it houses him kindly for however short his visit may be.

He likes traversing the Night Kingdom, likes to speak to those who have borne his name before him. Dying isn’t so bad when you get a chance to see the things he does in the realm of the Wayob.

But you don’t like to see the aftermath. Blood. Bruises. Cuts. Gashes. Sometimes mangled limbs. Every time he falls in battle, the aftermath serves as a jarring reminder that revival is miracle you can’t take for granted.

Kinich doesn’t understand it, but he tries to. He holds you when he comes back, listening to you sniffle into his chest. He’s always silent as his hand rubs along your back, always unsure of what to say.

I lost you, you’ll always whisper first.

I was always going to come back, he’ll always respond.

The Pyro Archon, you think, loves fiercely enough to rival the God of Cryo herself. The Tsaritsa, God of Love, loves clearly. It’s delicate as it leaves chills, and yet, it is reserved, rare to find after she’s hardened herself. The God of War’s love takes form in the exact opposite. It’s blazing. Warm. Unrelenting. Irrevocably bright. It’s a flame that never dies out, that never needs a ceremony or ritual to keep burning like the contending fire.

She loves all of her children—you know that because you see it on her face, too.

The brief, fleeting flash of horror every time she sees a body. The bitter pride that comes with such a noble sacrifice. She loves her people, and that’s why, when your tears hit the ground as you cry for a fallen Kinich, she gives your hand a squeeze right before she brings enters the night kingdom to bring him back.

The people of Natlan are proud of their history. So much, that they find honor in dying for the cause.

You think you’re the only exception.

You and death are not good friends. You don’t like the way it mocks you with the limp hands of the boy you love and his beat-less heart. You don’t like the way it cozies up against him, dragging him away from you with its hand clasped firmly in his.

It never takes him away for too long before it gives him right back, but you don’t like sharing.

Not Kinich. Not with death.

Your broken out of your thoughts when his fingers gently press into your cheeks, squeezing them together as his hand tilts your head up from his chest to look into his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he insists bluntly, but never without that gentleness.

You’d laugh any other time. Always so straight to the point, you’d tease if it were some other day.

Instead, this time, you sniffle once more before you croak, “you don’t know what it’s like to witness.” Slowly, your hand creeps up his body, traveling over his abdomen before coming to a stop right over his heart. “This time…this time it was here.”

This pilgrimage, Kinich comes back to you with a stab through his heart. Other times, he’s returned pierced through his lungs from behind. Or perhaps with a bloodied head, split open by a blunt force.

It never gets easier. This time, however, you think it’s gotten even harder.

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s contemplating what to say before he decides to toss the idea of words out entirely. Suddenly, his hands find your waist, flipping you to sit on his lower belly, legs straddling his hips.

Kinich isn’t always good with words. He can count on one hand the number of people he’s had in his life to love. His life has not been kind enough to him to allow keeping all fingers up at the same time.

One for his mother. Down.

One for his father. Down.

And one for you. Up.

He’s sure one day, he might be able to lift a finger for Mualani and Kachina, too. He cares a great deal about them, of course. But love is a difficult thing for him to grasp—perhaps because it’s always been something he never got in full.

Not until you.

More than most people, Kinich understands loss. You know that. He understands it too well, in fact. Sometimes, he wonders if he’d lost his father’s love long before the body was limp and lifeless to show for it. Sometimes, he wonders if his mother ever loved him enough to count as a loss at all. Maybe if she had, then she wouldn’t have walked away. Maybe she never loved him quite as much as she loved herself.

But you’re different for him. You love him more than you love anything else. More than yourself, too. He’s never been loved more than anything else. His father loved gambling, maybe even the burn of alcohol on his tongue, too. His mother loved freedom, and more than that, she loved the idea of living in the absence of fear. Neither loved him more than any of those things.

So, you’re different. You know that, too. You’re a loss he can’t comprehend. Not that he’s ever had to, of course, but his brain cannot handle the idea of being without you.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t fully understand your pain. Maybe that’s why he wonders why knowing he’ll always come back from falling isn’t enough to soothe you.

He’s never loved someone who he knew would come back even in the face of death. It’s a luxury, he thinks sometimes—you get to love him with the luxury of a safety net. But you’re too precious to feel the weight of a real loss. He hopes he can shield you from it for as long as he can, one pilgrimage at a time.

His hands settle for your hips, squeezing once, twice, a third time before he sits up and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You kiss back easily. Drinking the breath straight from his mouth is best proof that he’s alive. You take it in greedily.

“I’m okay,” he repeats one more time. This time, it’s a much softer tone. Like a gentle reminder. Like a plead to understand.

His hand grabs yours, pressing it right over his heart so you can feel the erratic beating under your palm. Just from kissing you, it’s rapid enough that he almost feels he should be embarrassed. But you close your eyes and let out a shaky breath, making him watch you carefully as he takes in the relief in your face.

“You’re okay,” you nod slowly.

“I am,” he agrees.

You don’t know when it happens or who starts it first. One moment, your hand is traveling under his shirt to feel his bare skin, to have better contact with him so you can feel more proof he’s alive.

Warm skin. Flexing muscle. Damp sweat. When your hand finds his heart again, his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you into a heated kiss.

Clothes come off after that. It’s a blur. It’s not until you untie the bandana to uncover his forehead do you really take it all in.

Bare under you, Kinich is alive. The proof his body is breathing and pumping blood through his veins is right there before you—standing tall between his legs in the form of a flushed, red cock. Blood rushed there to prove his desire for you.

“Last time, it was here,” you whisper, thumb tracing a pale, faint scar over his ribcage, right where his lung is. “Did it hurt?”

“It did,” he nods, studying you as you don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t remember much of that, though.”

“Do you like it?” You whisper. “Is that why you do it?”

He’s silent. And then, quietly: “Sometimes.”

“Why?” You breathe, cupping his cheeks as you search his eyes for an answer.

Finally, in a rare moment, he chuckles. “Because it’s good to remember I’m alive,” he murmurs, “right before you die is when you realize you’re alive the most. Why you’re alive, too.”

“I don’t understand,” you furrow your brows in frustration. He smiles fondly, kissing your jaw as he lets out a low hum.

“I think of you,” he whispers, sucking sweetly into your skin, “and then I remember how you’re alive, too. Every time I die, you get to stay alive a little more.”

The abyss never goes away. Now, more than ever, he’s aware of that. It’s a war he has to see the winning side of, no matter the price.

There’s a loss this time that he’s unwilling to pay. Can’t bear to witness. Can’t allow to happen.

You decide you give up trying to understand—much like you do every year. Instead, you throw yourself into feeling him, pulling him into a heated, deeper kiss as your tongue glides against his. You give into the battle fast, letting him take the lead and taste you.

You’re not one for battles, not like Kinich is. You’d rather relish in peace than remember the cruelties of war.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’ve never lost me,” he argues.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you admit quietly.

“Then let me show you I’ve always been right here.”

As if on cue, his cock twitches between your bodies, hot and throbbing as it presses against your lower belly. You reach between your bodies, wrapping around the thick girth before your thumb grazes the tip.

He shudders, stifling a groan as you slowly smear the dribbling pre cum along his length, taking gentle care to make sure you don’t hurt him.

You’ve seen Kinich hurt enough times.

“Does that feel good?” You grin slightly, watching his eyes flutter shut as you stroke him up and down, fisting around him in a tight squeeze.

“Feels great,” he breathes, “like I’m very alive.”

“Good,” you nod.

“Fuck,” he chokes when you squeeze around the tip, pace quickening as you glide your palm up and down along him faster.

Faster.

The faster he cums, the faster you’re proven he’s living once more.

But he stops you—right before he can spill into your hand, a shaky wrist comes to force yours to stop moving. You look at him questioningly, and he closes his eyes and takes labored breaths to calm himself from the slow, fading orgasm that would’ve shaken through his body.

“What are you—oh,” you gasp, when your body is flipped to lay on your back, Kinich hovering above you as he stares down at you.

You think love is the look in his eyes when he sees you like this, every time. That longing in his pupils, desperate and almost pained even though you’re right there.

Loving something is always a double edged sword. It hurts just as much as it heals—the scabs forming around your heart from his temporary departure is proof of that.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing along your neck.

I love you isn’t something Kinich says often. You feel his love in other ways. The fresh fruit he brings you on his way back from a commission. The small kiss between your brows he always greets you with, and the delicate kiss to your mouth when he leaves. The hand on the small of your back as he guides you along places, never letting you feel his absence. The pillow he shares with you every night when you invade his space and take up his side of the bed.

You know he loves you. Being reminded is a good feeling, though. Your body shivers as you feel a familiar ache building up between your legs at his sudden confession.

“More than anything?” You ask.

“Yes,” he responds, amused.

“You better not be lying,” you warn playfully.

He chuckles—you’re slowly coming back to your usual self. Causal teasing and playful flirting. You’re all the things he’s not. Open. Vulnerable. So inexplicably bright. You smile and something in him heals. Something in him itches to do better—be better.

“When have I ever lied to you?” He challenges.

You pretend to think for a moment before caving and stretching your lips into a wide grin. The first real smile of the night. You pull him close, kissing him again. Just to kiss him. There’s no heat or desire this time around.

He kisses back sweetly. Just to kiss you.

“What did you see this time?” You whisper when you pull away. “In the Night Kingdom.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, tracing shapes into your hip with his thumb, “I think I was too busy thinking of you.”

Kinich is only flirty when he avoids something. He’s only ever indirect when he doesn’t want you to know something. It takes form in less honest, more playful banter that he learns from you.

You sigh, rolling your eyes half-heartedly as you whisper, “don’t lie to me.”

“I did think of you,” he insists. “It’s not a lie. I always think of you.”

He decided to prove it by dropping down to busy himself between your legs, gently spreading them enough to press his nose against your clit as he breathes you in.

Sweet. You’re always sweet. You taste and smell it. You drip of honeyed, saccharine desire. When his tongue presses between your folds, he thinks he’s dipping it in gold.

“K-kinich, wait—”

“You say that every time,” he raises a smug brow. His fingers press into you, spreading you open as he inspects your fluttering walls. “But you never mean it, do you?”

Filthy, you think. He’s got an air of pure obscenity to him that you’re sure comes only when he’s tired of feeling alone. When he needs to know you’re here for good and not just for the moment.

“You play dirty,” you scowl, twitching when his tongue swirls over your clit, the smooth rumble of his chuckle vibrating against the sensitive bud. His fingers curl into you, pressing against a very delicate, very responsive spot in the back of your walls.

“Is that so?” He drawls, “you don’t exactly seem to mind it,” he murmurs.

And then his lips wrap around your clit, sucking as his tongue rolls in circles against it as you writhe. You can feel the tips of his digits bully into that same spot over and over, making your back arch as you whine.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “baby, please.”

You don’t know what you’re pleading for. He’s giving you what you want exactly how you want it—maybe that’s why you always say it, though. So you can never stop having him. Asking and asking and hoping he’ll give you everything without pausing.

He does, too. Kinich never gives half of himself into anything. For the right price, you get all of him. You pay the price in gentle kisses along his cheek and soft fingertips in his hair. In a warm lap under his cheek when he’s tired and a soft voice to remind him he’s not alone. In a worried look every time he’s scuffed and a soft smile every time your eyes meet his.

You pay the price of your love, and he compensates you with the reward of his. It’s a fair trade.

The only difference is that unlike his other deals, Kinich would still pay his love to you even if you stopped paying yours. He couldn’t stop if he tried. It’s an exception he doesn’t exactly choose to make, but doesn’t necessarily want to change, either.

Lucky for him, you don’t show any signs of pulling away.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, whispering the words into your cunt like he’s speaking directly to your desire, “and mine.”

“G-gods,” you moan, hand flying to grasp at his hair and tug as his fingers quicken their pace, fucking into your heat mercilessly as his tongue rolls over your clit.

It’s hot. It always is in the Pyro Nation. But hotter is the growing desire in the pit of your belly, and the heat between your legs that only one person can ignite. The flames lick at your sanity before something erupts in your system and all you feel is a gush of pure, white hot pleasure.

“That’s it,” he praises, working you through your orgasm as you let out a soft cry of his name.

Kinich is alive. You know that because only he could make you feel this way, and he is. He’s making you feel like there’s love between your legs as he coaxes the height of pleasure from you, buried into the apex of your thighs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be. You’re reminded that instead of blood dripping from his fingertips, it’s the essence of your arousal.

You’re reminded that when you need him, he’s never not there. Never leaving you behind from this world into another.

“I love you,” you blurt out in a post-orgasm haze.

He looks up at you with a toothy grin. It’s so rare to see him smile so freely. It’s like a child’s, sometimes. Something youthful and joyful and almost innocent enough that it makes your heart ache a little more than it does feel full.

Only a little, though.

“You say that a lot when I make you cum,” he laughs smoothly, a boyish and sweet little sound. You huff with a roll of your eyes.

“You do too,” you counter. “Maybe we only love each other when we feel good.”

“I always feel good with you,” he grins.

“I can make you feel a whole lot better,” you wink, wriggling your brows in a playful, tempting offer.

He takes it. With another soft laugh, he climbs up your body to hover his face over yours, admiring the sweat clinging to your forehead like it’s proof of his good work.

“Go on then,” he whispers. “Make me feel better. I just died today, you know.”

“I know,” you grumble only slightly, “I remember that very clearly. It was very rude of you.”

“My sincerest apologies,” he offers.

When Kinich was young, love was transactional. His father loved him with a box of sweets when a gamble of wages doubled. His mother was happy enough to afford him her gaze when there were flowers in the vase. He knew from early on not to expect any of it unless the proper price was offered.

And then he learned necessities were transactional, too. To exist is to pay a price. He watched as strangers took away his home, the remainder of his family’s belongings packed away as his mother wiped her tears. Food is not free when she is not there to tend to crops. Clothes don’t come easy when your father spends his days drinking away instead of working.

Without mora, you survive more than you live.

He hated it. Hated not having enough. Not being enough. He wasn’t enough to make his father want to be good and he wasn’t enough to make his mother want to stay. Didn’t have enough to offer for something as simple as unconditional love.

Love with you feels a lot different than what he’s grown up learning. You love him even when he’s closed off and a little cold. When his blunt words are a little too blunt and his words press hard into you with force. When he’s tired, and can’t offer you proper company, you love him, too. When he’s gone for days at a time for a commission further away, you still love him as you wait.

It’s always enough for you even when what he gives really isn’t enough at all.

He stopped trying to understand a long time ago. He’s still human—not everything can make sense with the logic of equal transaction. Sometimes, he just wants. Sometimes, he can’t give enough for what he wants. You always give it, though.

He’s stopped trying to make sense of it all for the sake of finally knowing joy. Peace. Possibly even comfort.

“Why do you love me?” He asks softly, rubbing the tip of his hard cock against your thigh. You rub along his bare back with a gentle hand, feeling the goosebumps raise along his skin under your palm.

“Because it’s easy to,” you answer.

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t life hard enough?” You shrug, “it’s nice having something simple. Loving you is easy, and that’s enough.”

“I don’t understand,” he mirrors your words from earlier. “But as long as you don’t stop, I think it’s okay.”

You want to tell him you’ll never stop loving. Every flame in Natlan will have to burn out before you stop loving Kinich. You’re confident that it’s impossible that will ever happen. But instead of words, you gently reach between your bodies to grab at his cock—it’s been hard and neglected for long enough that he lets out a soft, needy sound at the sudden touch.

You bring him to brush against your entrance, murmuring a soft, “I want you,” before he groans in response.

“Fuck,” he says shakily, “me too.”

And then, finally, he presses his tip into you, pushing past your folds and nudging into the deepest part of you.

He’s alive. You know that because you can feel him in the most rawest, purest way. Bare skin to skin. Warmth on warmth. Sweat against sweat. Body tangled into body. He’s alive and here and you can feel all of him at once.

He’s everywhere. He’s in your lungs as you kiss him and steal his breath. He’s in your heart as you feel it skip a beat for him. He’s in your soul as it burns at the very idea of him. And he’s in your cunt as he presses himself into you with a roll of his hips.

You love him when he’s alive.

You love him when he’s dead.

You love him when he’s resurrected.

You love him when he’s yours like this.

“Kinich,” you gasp, letting out a breathless moan as his tip slams into that spongy spot in your walls, “there—y-yes, like that.”

“I know,” he murmurs, grinning a little smugly enough that you feel embarrassed to already be this fallen apart. “I know exactly where.”

“Smooth talker for someone who ruined my whole day,” you huff.

“I told you I’m okay,” he grunts lowly. He kisses your throat, right over your pulse as he whispers, “I’m right here.” You whine as he rolls his hips particularly harshly to slam his cock into your most delicate spot.

“Knowing something is coming back doesn’t mean you like losing it,” you argue. “I don’t want you anywhere but here.” He gasps when your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as you squeeze tighter around him.

You hate seeing Kinich fall because you’re reminded it’ll happen one day for real. There’ll come a time where he won’t be resurrected. You don’t like being reminded of this simple truth.

He doesn’t understand it because he’s always too busy denying your fall. He’s too busy making sure he fights every battle to win this war so you can live beside him. So you don’t have to succumb to the cruel likes of the abyss.

Neither of you can seem to grasp the other’s mortality very well. So you try to forget in the feeling of being lost in each other’s bodies. Where proof of life blooms in every inch of skin. Every labored breath and drop of sweat, every flex of muscle and rapid thrum of a heart.

You’re alive, and so is Kinich.

He’s not alone, and neither are you.

No one has had to bear a loss, and that’s all that matters. For now, at least.

“You feel so good,” he says hoarsely, letting out a soft, low whine when your walls flutter around him at the praise. “C-can’t…can’t live without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you sob, reaching your limit, “enough talk about living. I’m tired of it.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “then just cum again for me. I want to feel you do it around me this time.”

Your second orgasm makes you forget Kinich is alive. You’re too busy feeling the rush of life yourself. Your body burns with pleasure through every nerve, the familiar snap of pressure between your legs that has your entire form spasming under Kinich.

“’M c-cumming,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, muffling your sounds into his mouth as he swallows them whole.

“For me,” he hums.

“F-for you. Always for you.”

And then he cums too. Hard. For the last time, you’re hit with the evidence that he’s here with you and not somewhere else. Somewhere unreachable. Somewhere in a world apart from you.

He’s spilling warm, sticky cum into your walls with shaky arms holding him up above you, desperate rolls of his hips as he lets out choked sounds.

Skin slaps against skin and a combination of your arousals leaves a mess smeared between your legs, spilling down your inner thighs.

“Fuck—ngh. I’m…I’m…” he trails off.

He’s never been good with words like you. So instead, he buries his head into your neck and presses his nose into your skin, letting you cradle the back to his head so he knows you’re there.

“I know,” you pant, letting him fuck himself into you and ride out the high of his orgasm.

I know you need me. I need you too.

When he slumps over your body, you can feel his heart beat against yours. Rapid. Erratic. Harsh. Pounding. All of it is proof you’re both painfully mortal as you are alive.

“I love you,” you both whisper at the same time, utterly spent.

“You’re alive,” you breathe out a sigh of relief as your eyes close tiredly.

He hums, lifting his head to press a soft peck to your lips before he slumps into your neck against. “And so are you,” he murmurs in exhaustion.

You both fall asleep together with another year behind you.

Writing an emotional Kinich is actually really hard I’m not sure I even got it right bc we haven’t seen nearly enough of him but 😭 I hope this was not ooc enough that it was slightly believable. IDK I had a hard time deciding how he’d be in an emotionally charged moment of intimacy

I just saw tiktok with that girl at the gym and she was showing her back muscles and biceps god damn.

i love women so much, can someone please squeeze my hea—

Hii, are requests open??

Yes, it definitely is!!!

The Dragon's Treasure

pairing | young aemond targaryen x niece!reader

word count | 6.7k words

summary | when you were but four years old, your mother had declared jacaerys as her heir, despite the fact that you were born first. in truth, it was a measure born of love; she knew you, with your striking silver locks and lilac eyes—her sweet daughter—would be safe, whilst her sons would not.

tags | FLUFF, FLUFF, targaryen incest, reader is described to have silver hair and lilac eyes (that's all), very very soft aemond, and after fluff comes ANGST, ANGST and more ANGST, also reader is a sensitive queen.

a/n | wrote this in 2 days 💪, and there will DEFINITELY be a PART 2

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Duty and shame. These were the threads from which you were woven—not love, nor passion, but the heavy fabric of obligation and regret.

The firstborn of Rhaenyra Targaryen came into the world not as a son with dark hair and brown eyes, but as a daughter, blessed with ethereal lilac eyes that mirrored her mother's lineage and the shining silver curls that heralded her Velaryon heritage.

Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen had fulfilled their solemn duty to conceive an heir. For Rhaenyra, each night was steeped in a prayerful longing to erase the memory of her wedding night—a night marked by discomfort and tears. The truth was evident to all: Laenor's heart was not inclined towards her nor any woman; his desires lay with men. Yet, their obligation demanded they play their parts.

After their hurried nuptials in a clandestine ceremony, they found themselves confined within a chamber, the weight of expectation pressing down upon them. When the act was done, the silence that enveloped them was shattered by Laenor's grief; he collapsed into Rhaenyra’s arms, his body wracked with sobs as he mourned the loss of his beloved, wishing loudly that he could be “normal.” It was in that moment, as she held him close, that the young princess, overwhelmed by the weight of her fate, found herself wishing she could shed her identity, to become someone else entirely.

But when Rhaenyra beheld her daughter for the first time, it was as if the world shifted. A spark of profound love ignited in her heart, banishing the shame that had once gnawed at her spirit during her pregnancy and the painful hours of labor. There had been moments when she had cursed the very life growing within her, moments steeped in bitterness toward the infant she carried. Yet now, cradling her sweet babe—her precious dragon treasure—Rhaenyra understood that she would willingly endure a thousand painful pregnancies for this singular joy.

What a delight you were, a soothing balm for Rhaenyra amidst the swirling intrigues of King’s Landing. It was your voice that first captivated her heart, from the moment your tiny lips could form sounds, you babbled with delight, engaging your mother in joyous conversations, even though she could scarcely grasp what you were saying. Your smiles were a sunbeam that brightened her darkest days; the first time you graced her with a radiant smile, it became a memory she would hold dear until the end of her days.

But as the tides of fate turned, life grew more intricate. Once Rhaenyra and Laenor fulfilled the sacred duty of securing an heir, they were free to pursue their pleasures separately, allowing Rhaenyra to take Harwin Strong into her bed. To Rhaenyra, her time with Harwin had never felt like a mistake, nor the first child they conceived together —Jacaerys Velaryon.

Yet, his hair—dark as the raven's wing— and eyes — brown as the earth—set him apart from Rhaenyra’s lineage, with none of her ethereal silver locks or striking violet eyes. Instead, he bore the unmistakable mark of his mother’s sworn protector, a truth whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, even as Laenor publicly embraced him as his true son and the rightful heir of Driftmark.

Alas, Rhaenyra found herself repeating the same error. Another son came forth from her union with Harwin—a second boy with hair as dark as night and eyes of rich brown. Lucerys Velaryon. Whispers began to flutter through the court, dark murmurs and scornful jibes accusing her children of being bastards. It was the painful truth, yet Rhaenyra, fiercely protective as any mother, longed for her sons to live free from the burdens of her choices.

And so, Rhaenyra was faced with the most harrowing decision of her life, a choice that would weigh upon her heart for years to come. When you were but four years old, she declared Jacaerys as her heir, despite the fact that you were born first, and had Laenor declare Lucerys the heir of Driftmark. In truth, it was a measure born of love; she knew you, with your striking silver locks and lilac eyes—her sweet daughter—would be safe, while Jace and Luke would forever need her protection in a world that could be mercilessly unforgiving.

In the quiet confines of the Red Keep, a yawning silence enveloped the lesson, a silence only broken by the steady, droning voice of Septa Agertha. As a ten-year-old princess, you found your patience with such tedium wearing thin, particularly in the tedious recitation of the Faith of the Seven—each doctrine blurring into the next, sapping your spirit with every word.

Beside you, your beloved aunt Helaena sat in her own world, her delicate hands guiding the needle in and out of the fabric, her gaze distant as though the colors and threads offered more solace than the dull teachings of the Sept. You could see it in her eyes; the spark of interest had flickered away, leaving a solemn stillness where interest once danced.

Embroidery, you thought, was a most tiresome endeavor—how many times had you pricked your own fingers accidentally? It seemed the needle was always too eager, as if it shared your disdain for the task at hand. Your heart longed for the vibrant strokes of paint on canvas, the joyful freedom of creation, but Septa Agertha had sternly deemed such messiness unfit for a princess of House Targaryen.

"Focus, my princess," Septa Agertha’s voice broke through your wandering thoughts, pulling you back from your reverie. In that moment, you wished for nothing more than a dragon's flight, high above the clouds, far from the confines of the castle and the constraints of your title.

You glanced at your Septa, your expression hesitant as you mustered the courage to speak. “Septa Agertha,” you began, your tone dipped in respect, “mayhaps I might be excused to inquire if my mother has finished her labor?”

The Septa regarded you with a mixture of exasperation and fondness; her demeanor softened as you widened your eyes and pouted just enough to tug at her heartstrings. “Very well, my princess,” she relented with a heavy sigh, “our lesson shall conclude for today.”

A joyful smile bloomed on your face, and you offered a swift, sincere thank you, excitement bubbling within you. Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss on Helaena’s cheek—a fleeting farewell—before darting toward the door. Your sworn sword, Ser Rowan, steadfast and vigilant, attempted to match your youthful enthusiasm, but your spirit was unbridled and wild, leaving him struggling to keep up.

You raced breathlessly down the corridor, your heart racing with exhilaration, until you reached your mother’s solar. As you reached for the door’s latch, you hesitated, hearing the comforting jingle of Ser Rowan's armor behind you. With a bashful grin, you withdrew your hand, glancing back to find him nearing, his breath coming in measured puffs as he opened the door with a respectful bow.

But as you stepped into the warm chamber, your excitement began to wane. A sudden twinge gripped your young heart at the sight of nearly everyone gathered within your mother’s solar, unbidden thoughts swirling as to why you had not been summoned.

Yet those troubling questions were swiftly banished as you cast your gaze upon your mother, weary and glistening with the exertion of childbirth. Ignoring the soft coos of the newborn cradled in your father’s arms, you dashed toward Rhaenyra, laying your small hand against her damp cheek. “Mother, are you well?” you asked, concern threading through your words.

A tender smile softened Rhaenyra’s features at your worry, and she grasped your hand gently, kissing your palm in a soothing gesture. “I am better now that you are here,” she replied, her voice warm like the sun breaking through the clouds.

You turned at the sound of your brother Luke's voice, a warm smile stretched across his face. "We selected an egg for the babe, and for you as well, sister," he announced, his eyes bright with excitement.

"Ahh," your mother’s voice came softly from your side, laced with affection, "Those look perfect indeed."

"I let Luke choose," Jace declared with a hint of pride.

With a nod and a grin, Luke acknowledged his brother's words, "Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess," Ser Harwin Strong intoned, his hands clasped thoughtfully before him. "I deemed it fit to escort the lads."

Rhaenyra turned to him, her voice gentle, "Laenor and I thank you, Commander." Her gaze shifted slowly to you, warmth radiating from her eyes. "What do you think, my love?"

Your eyes were drawn to the two shimmering eggs nestled snugly in the hatching pot. You should have felt joy, perhaps excitement, yet a shadow of sadness draped over your young heart. "Why was I not included?"

An uneasy silence fell over the chamber, heavy and palpable. Ser Harwin broke it first, offering a sympathetic smile, “You were busy with your lessons, princess. We did not wish to disturb you.”

"But surely Jace and Luke were occupied with their dragon lessons as well," you replied in a soft voice, the undertone of hurt evident in your words.

Rhaenyra immediately noticed the glimmer of tears pooling in your lilac eyes and the tremble of your lips, as she rushed to uplift your spirits. "Look, my love, it is purple, your favorite color."

No sooner had Rhaenyra spoken than Laenor interjected enthusiastically, “I have a good feeling about this one, my darling. You know what they say—third time’s the charm.”

Third. This was to be your third dragon egg. The first, a vibrant orange, had turned to stone in your cradle, a cruel fate none could have foreseen. The second, a deep crimson egg, had been bestowed upon you with the birth of Luke, yet it too remained unhatched. As you gazed at the violet egg in the pot, hope eluded you, replaced instead by the grim certainty that this egg too would not awaken.

“Now I am certain you would like to meet your new brother,” Rhaenyra murmured, wrapping an affectionate arm around you.

“A boy?” you whispered, your eyes lifting to seek the babe cradled in your father’s arms.

“Yes, my love.”

“Oh.”

Rhaenyra could instantly see the disappointment which weighed heavy on your features at the prospect of yet another brother, and it became ever clearer in your silence. Rather than springing toward your father, you chose instead to nestle deeper into your mother’s embrace, seeking comfort in her warmth.

As you reclined against your mother’s side, you gazed at Ser Harwin, who now cradled your newborn brother, Joffrey. At merely ten summers, you could discern the affection in Ser Harwin's gaze as he looked at Joffrey—a tender look reminiscent of the affection he often bestowed upon your mother. It was a gaze filled with adoration, one he also offered to your other brothers, yet curiously, yet it never seemed to touch you. How curious this felt, a wonder mixed with a hint of sorrow.

When your father ushered your brothers from the chamber, it left a stillness that enveloped you, your mother, Ser Harwin, and the tiny new life nestled in his arms.

“Mayhaps you should return to your lessons now, my love,” Rhaenyra said, her voice soft and melodic, turning her gentle gaze towards you.

A twinge of sorrow flared within you once again, and you glanced up at her, barely able to protest. “But—I just arrived,” you murmured, the longing in your tone betraying your desire to remain by her side.

Ser Harwin, ever the loyal knight, defended your mother, answering with a reassuring tone, “I am certain it is merely that your mother seeks rest, my princess.”

Reluctantly, you eased away from your mother’s embrace, turning slightly so she wouldn’t witness the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “I’ll go find Helaena,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

You heard her sigh, a sound laced with affection and understanding. Then, you felt her hand encircle your wrist, drawing you back to her warm side. She pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, her love wrapping around you like a cloak. “If you wish to keep me company whilst I rest, I shall never protest, my treasure.”

And so, you settled back against her, safe and cherished, while Ser Harwin gently rocked Joffrey to sleep. Your mother cast the same tender look upon him that Ser Harwin had, her eyes shimmering with a light of love—a look you noticed she had never bestowed upon your father. With this curious thought lingering in your mind, you surrendered to the soothing comfort of your mother's embrace, drifting gently into a blissful slumber for an impromptu nap.

“This one has rings...and two pairs of legs on each,” Helaena whispered, her voice a gentle hum as she held a slithering black insect close to her face, its glossy body glinting in the soft light.

“That makes two hundred and forty,” she concluded, her gaze fixed on the peculiar creature, while you regarded it with wide, curious eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” the Queen murmured thoughtfully from her perch beside Helaena.

You had awoken to find your mother still lost in slumber after drifting off beside her. With utmost care, you slipped away from her warm embrace, seeking out Helaena as you waited for the boys to finish their dragon lessons — and by boys, of course, you really meant Aemond.

“It has eyes...though...I don't believe it can see,” Helaena continued, bringing the strange creature nearer to you. Instinctively, you leaned back, wary of its closeness.

“And why is that so, do you think?" Queen Alicent inquired, her brow cocked in gentle curiosity.

Helaena merely shook her head, a mystique in her expression. “Some things lie beyond our understanding.”

“I suppose you are right,” Queen Alicent replied in a soft tone, a touch of wisdom in her words. “Some things simply are.”

"That sounds quite scary," you ventured, finally chiming in.

Both heads turned to your direction, and Helaena regarded you with a gentle curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

You offered a slight shrug, your finger gliding over the peculiar, scaly texture of the insect before you. "I suppose I’d feel so helpless, not being able to see anything. It would be a sad too, not to behold colors or shapes."

Queen Alicent regarded you with a softened gaze, her expression a mixture of contemplation and warmth. While her heart held a shadow of disdain for your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, and your brothers, who bore the stigma of bastardy, she recognized the innocence in you. A precious blend of Targaryen and Velaryon blood, you were a vision of purity akin to a delicate flower springing forth amidst thorns. It certainly didn't hurt that your sweetness was reminiscent of the ripest strawberry tart.

"Well, since it has never encountered colors or shapes, my dear princess, it has no reason to feel sad," she said softly.

Your brow furrowed, the Queen's words weaving through your mind like threads of a tapestry, before a radiant smile broke forth on your cherubic face in understanding.

The calm of the Queen's solar shattered abruptly as the heavy door swung open, revealing Aemond, forcibly ushered inside by a stern Kingsguard. All eyes, filled with concern, turned toward the commotion, “Your Grace.”

Alicent sprang to her feet, her voice laced with accusation. “Aemond. What have you done?”

You trailed closely behind the Queen, keeping a respectful distance as she unleashed her frustration upon Aemond, who stood there, cloaked in ash from head to toe. “After how many times you've been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?!"

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of your friend’s distressed expression. “They made me do it!" he pleaded, desperation lacing his tone.

"As if you needed encouragement," Queen Alicent rebuked him, her hands firm upon his shoulders. “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding."

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond’s voice rose, indignation spilling forth, and you flinched at the raw hurt echoing in his words.

Alicent paused, her brow furrowing in confusion. “A what?”

He turned his gaze away from his mother, the shame evident, but when his violet eyes fell upon you, they swiftly darted back, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “They said it was a dragon… but it was a pig.”

The stern lines of the Queen’s face softened, and she spoke with conviction. “You will have a dragon one day. I know it."

“They all laughed at me,” Aemond murmured, his sorrow palpable in the air.

You yearned to bridge the distance and offer solace, for in that moment, you understood his pain more profoundly than anyone else in the room. Yet, you recognized that he needed his mother’s embrace more than your support. As Alicent enveloped Aemond in a tight hug, his violet gaze met yours once more, and all you could offer him was an understanding look, a silent promise that you would be there when he needed you.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting amber rays that danced across the ornate shelves of the Red Keep’s library, you found yourself seated beside your uncle, who had only just tidied himself after that unpleasant encounter. His eyes remained fixed on the pages of the book detailing Aegon's Conquest, but the tense silence between you weighed heavily in the air.

The heavy silence lingered, thickening the air around you. Restlessly, you glanced up at your uncle and whispered, "I am truly sorry."

He did not lift his gaze from the book, his tone icy as he replied, "Why do you say you’re sorry? You bear no blame in this."

Your heart ached for him, as you said softly, "I am sorry for what happened, for the pain it brought upon you. I will speak to my brothers about their behavior, I promise."

Aemond’s expression hardened, his lips pressing together in frustration. "I don't need you to save me, niece," he retorted, the sharpness of his words echoing in the quiet library.

Your heart sank, and you instinctively dropped your gaze. You could sense his turmoil; and you understood the pain and inferiority he was feeling. You had only wished to help, yet somehow, your kindness seemed to have been misread. You recognized when your presence was unwelcome, so with a small, resigned 'alright,' you began to rise from your seat, intending to leave him in peace.

Yet just as you turned, Aemond’s head snapped up, a wave of guilt crashing over him. He realized harshly that he had been unfair to you—his darling niece who was merely being her sweet, caring self. In a swift motion, he reached out for your hand, "Wait," his voice softer this time, “I did not mean to be cruel. I...I apologize.”

A warm smile crept across your face as you met his earnest eyes. “I accept your apology, uncle." You furrowed your brows playfully, a hint of mischief in your voice. "Come with me."

Before he could protest, your fingers intertwined, and you pulled him along with a gentle urgency. Aemond, caught off guard, found himself captivated by the warmth and softness of your hand in his. In the innocence of your youth, holding hands and being with each other everyday all day had felt natural, but with each passing day, as you both grew older, the simple act took on an air of unspoken indecency. Still, he let himself be led, wrapped in the comfort that his niece eagerly offered.

Aemond hesitated as you guided him into your chambers, pausing at the threshold, uncertainty written on his brow. However, any tension was quickly vanquished as you drew him inside. Your quarters brimmed with the elegance one might associate with a princess; the canopy bed was adorned with delicate pink linens and plump pillows, while vases scattered throughout the room overflowed with a lush assortment of pink and purple roses, their fragrance sweetening the air.

Yet, it was the object resting on the small table before the crackling fireplace that truly seized Aemond's attention. Nestled atop the table was a warming pot, housing a radiant violet dragon egg that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. "A dragon egg," he murmured, his fascination palpable.

You guided Aemond to kneel beside the table, where the two of you were drawn into the stillness of the moment. With a tender whisper, you began to recount the story behind the egg. "My brothers retrieved it when they sought an egg for my newest brother, Joffrey."

"Joffrey?" Aemond asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his tone as he met your gaze, "That name sounds far from Targaryen."

Your focus remained on the egg, brushing aside his remark. After a moment of contemplation, you finally shared the weight that had settled in your heart. "I fear it won't hatch."

Aemond's reaction was immediate; his head snapped towards you, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Do not speak such things."

"It is but my opinion, Aemond," you replied gently, undeterred by his sharpness. You understood that his frustration was not truly aimed at you; it never was.

“Why do you believe such a thing?” His voice softened, a hint of curiosity threading through his concern.

You averted your gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “It is foolish,” you murmured, hesitant to reveal the depth of your fears.

“And so?” he pressed, his intensity unyielding.

Drawing a steadying breath, you finally revealed your heart. “In my mind, the egg shall only hatch if I do not care for it deeply.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, understanding dawning. “So, you do care, then?”

“No, I do not!” you insisted too quickly, casting a furtive glance at the egg as if it had heard Aemond's words.

Frustration etched across Aemond’s features, he clenched his fists tightly. “It is unfair that your brothers possess dragons while we remain without, since they are—”

“What?” you interjected softly, concern lacing your tone. “They are what?”

Your earnest look tugged at the fragile threads of his heart. He couldn’t assume you were unaware of the whispers that painted your brothers in shadows, nor could he believe you were deaf to the harsh truths woven through courtly gossip. Yet, he would never voice those words to you. Instead, he muttered grudgingly, “Not as special as us.”

A small pout formed on your lips, drawing his attention away from the dragon egg that lay neglected between you. “You do understand that it was most likely Aegon who orchestrated that prank, yes?” you pressed, your voice laced with a gentle resolve.

Aemond scoffed and turned away, the weight of your words lingering in the air like an unwelcome specter. “Are you truly defending them?” he challenged, though he felt the shake of his conviction.

“No, Aemond,” you replied, your voice as sweet as summer rain, “What my brothers did was wrong. But more often than not, you never hold Aegon accountable, despite him being the leader of their little group.”

His back remained turned to you, pride keeping him rooted as he mulled over your words. Deep down, he recognized the truth in them, though he loathed to concede, for Aegon was his elder brother. He longed for the bond that appeared so effortless between you and your siblings, and it felt far more convenient to direct his ire toward them instead.

As Aemond continued to brood, you glided closer, resting your chin on his shoulder, your presence as warm as the sun’s rays. “If my egg should hatch, perhaps we could share the dragon?” you suggested brightly, seeking to lift his spirits.

He let out a disdainful scoff, turning to face you so closely that your noses nearly brushed. “Now, that is simply absurd.”

“Aemond,” you admonished softly, undeterred.

“Never has there been a dragon with two riders,” he rebutted gloomily, his voice laced with skepticism.

“So we would be the first,” you retorted, rising to your feet with animated gestures. “There must always be a first, for only then can things be normalized. Just wait and see, Aemond—one day, a Targaryen will claim more than one dragon!”

He regarded you with an unreadable expression and replied matter-of-factly, “That is entirely selfish, niece.”

You huffed in exasperation, settling back down beside him, your patience wearing thin. At moments like this, Aemond’s stubbornness made him seem dreadfully dull. “You fail to see the vision, uncle."

It was curious how swiftly the tides of life could turn. You had often confided in your mother about your aversion to change, and her response was always the same: "Change is inevitable, my love." You were not certain what that meant, but you understood now, as the world around you shifted in the blink of an eye. The sudden sadness that gripped your heart was puzzling, especially since you were so young. Just like that, you had been whisked away from the familiar streets of King’s Landing to the distant shores of Dragonstone, all because of your mother’s choices, which felt like a shadow beyond your grasp.

Dragonstone loomed before you, ominous and strange. You had never set foot on its rugged shores, but a sense of dread weighed heavy in your chest, telling you you would despise it here. The library would be smaller, you thought—if Dragonstone even had one at all—and the gardens could not possibly rival those sprawling ones in the Red Keep. Most troubling of all was the thought of being separated from Helaena and Aemond.

Helaena, your sweet aunt, sometimes it felt as though you could almost imagine her as your sister. Though her peculiar musings often escaped your understanding, it was her delightful oddities that you cherished most, setting her apart from all the other court ladies.

And Aemond—nothing in this vast world could rival the bond you shared with your uncle. You both understood one another in a way that few could fathom. The two dragonless Targaryens united by the same unspoken grief, felt the weight of their inferiority hanging over them like a storm cloud. Yet within that shared pain grew a deep-rooted connection. Aemond was your anchor in a world that often felt lonely and overwhelming. With him, you never felt truly isolated; you were never alone.

As the time arrived for your departure, Aemond attempted to mask his feelings with indifference, but you could see beyond his brave facade. The glimmer of tears in his violet eyes and the strength of his embrace told you everything: he would miss you just as fiercely as you would miss him.

Once again, the sea had darkened, mirroring the heaviness in your heart. The next time the two of you would gather would be under the shadow of sorrow. Your Aunt Laena had passed, and your family was bound for Driftmark to honor her memory. Despite having never met her, a sharp ache coursed through you, all the more intense for the grief etched across your father’s face. Laena had been his twin, after all. Then there was the loss of Ser Harwin Strong as well, which weighed heavily on your mother and brothers. Yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite grasp, your own heart felt strangely untouched by sadness.

The funeral had drawn to a close. Your mother gently encouraged you and Jace to offer words of comfort to your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. But Jace spoke without thinking, a clumsy remark about how you all should have been at Harrenhal instead of Driftmark. You felt a rush of frustration rising in your throat, longing to assert that his pain didn’t lessen the tragedy of the day. After all, he was only voicing his own hurt.

With a quiet huff, you had marched away in silence, finding your perch beside a jagged stone wall, where you could observe your father from a distance. He stood in the shallows of the ocean, the waves lapping at his knees, as if being closer to Laena might ease the sorrow that weighed upon his heart. It pained you to witness him so downcast; the truth was, you had always thought your father impervious to sadness, having never seen his face devoid of a smile before this moment.

“How fares Dragonstone?”

A smile began to bloom on your lips at the familiar sound of Aemond's voice, bringing warmth to your gloomy thoughts.

"It is cold and windy," you replied quietly, shifting your gaze toward him.

Aemond paused, taking in the sight of you. It had been merely weeks since you left the Red Keep, yet in your absence, the loneliness had curled around him like a thick fog. Seeing you now felt like sunlight piercing through gray clouds after a long storm. He regarded you for a moment longer before nodding subtly toward your brothers. "My condolences for Ser Harwin. I assume that is what had your brothers weeping."

“The bond between him and my brothers was indeed strong,” you admitted, a furrow forming in your brow as Aemond stifled a laugh with a cough. “I am sad he has passed, just as I mourn Aunt Laena. But the sorrows I feel mostly arise from witnessing the devastation their losses have cast upon my mother and father.”

Your lilac eyes shifted back toward your father, worry etched across your youthful features. You bit your lip, glancing at the water below. Surely it had turned icy, “I wish I could help him, to see him smile once more. But I’m not sure what to say.”

This was a curious moment for Aemond. Throughout his life, he had cherished you as his dearest friend, his beloved niece. Yet, recently, he began to view you in a new light—the way your silver curls captured the sunlight, glowing as if spun from starlight, or how every gown you wore magnified the beauty of your lilac eyes.

He licked his dry lips and spoke gently, “I reckon there’s little you could say that would ease his pain. Instead, find a way to show him you stand with him. That might be enough.”

You nodded thoughtfully at Aemond's words, your gaze drifting toward Rhaena and Baela. "I feel so awful," you confessed, your voice scarcely above a whisper. "I could never imagine losing my mother."

"Me neither," Aemond replied softly.

After a moment of silence, you added, "I think I would die from the heartbreak." You could sense Aemond’s eyes upon you, a question hanging unspoken in the air between you. A small sigh escaped your lips as you said, "It didn’t hatch, if that’s what you were thinking?"

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Aemond's head lower slightly. "Oh," he murmured, disappointment lacing his tone.

You lifted your chin, trying to display strength despite the disappointment gnawing at your heart. "I suspect I am not meant for a dragon," you asserted, forcing a brave smile.

"Don’t say that," Aemond insisted, his voice firm yet gentle.

Turning to face him, you allowed your hopelessness to seep through your facade. "Three times, Aemond. Three times my egg has failed to hatch."

"There are many unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone," Aemond suggested with a hint of resolve. "Perhaps you could try with them?"

"At the risk of my life?" you replied, arching an eyebrow at him. But then, your lips curled into a playful smile as you reached out to take Aemond's hand in yours. "But really, why would I seek a bond with a dragon when my bond with you is far more precious to me?"

Your words made Aemond’s cheeks flush a deep crimson, his heart thudding like the wings of a dragon. Though you seemed to find comfort in his friendship over the absence of a dragon, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of urgency. If a dragon was to be claimed, it would be up to him—the time had come, for both of your sakes.

He remembered that at this very moment, there was the legendary Vhagar, unclaimed and free, somewhere on the island, waiting for someone worthy to forge a bond with her. And he would do it in your honour.

You were jolted awake from your slumber, the sound of your name ringing insistently in your ears as someone gently shook your shoulders.

Opening your eyes with heavy lids, you frowned to see Jace’s eager face hovering over you, his hands gripping your shoulders.

“Jace, what is it?” you mumbled, pushing him away with tired reluctance as you struggled to sit up.

“Vhagar has been stolen! We must find out who did it!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with urgency as he tugged at you to rise from your bed.

“We?” you replied slowly, letting the word hang in the air. Your gaze drifted past him, landing on Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, who stood ready to storm out.

You groaned and collapsed back into your pillows, muffling your voice as you protested, “Can this not wait until the sun graces the sky?”

Once more, Jace insisted, pulling you upright, even as you felt something being slipped onto your feet. You turned your bleary gaze to see Luke kneeling beside you, fastening your boots with surprising urgency.

“No time for that! We needed a person of age to accompany us,” Jace declared, lifting you to your feet with determined hands.

You froze in place, fixing him with a look that was a blend of disbelief and exasperation. “Jace... I’m ten, and you’re nine.”

Yet your protest went unheard as Jace and Luke eagerly dragged you through the castle’s dim corridors, Baela and Rhaena leading the way with purpose. A terrible knot of dread twisted in your stomach, and you murmured under your breath, “Perhaps we could find a guard.”

“That would take far too long,” Rhaena replied sharply, her steps firm as the twins guided you deeper into the shadowy tunnels beneath the castle.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and your mouth gaped open as you caught sight of Aemond standing before you, his hair tousled and a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

“It’s him,” Baela exclaimed, realization dawning on her.

Aemond's smirk widened, and he drawled, “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon,” Rhaena said, her voice trembling with indignation.

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now,” Aemond shot back, his words sharp as a dagger. You flinched at the cruelty woven into his tone.

“You claimed Vhagar?” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. Aemond’s gaze met yours, filled with an expectation of pride, but instead, he found only shock and hurt reflected in your eyes.

But before you could gather your thoughts, Rhaena’s voice pierced the air, filled with anger, “She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should’ve claimed her!” Aemond roared, his voice echoing through the tunnel. “Perhaps your cousins can find you a pig to ride. That would suit you better!”

Disgust twisted your features at Aemond’s taunts, yet your attention shifted as you saw Rhaena charging toward him. “Rhaena, wait!” you cried out, but it was too late.

In a heartbeat, Rhaena slammed into Aemond, pushing him with all her might. In response, he shoved her to the ground, and the chaos spiraled out of control. Everything happened so swiftly that you barely registered Baela darting past you until the sharp crack of her fist meeting Aemond’s cheek rang in your ears. He retaliated in an instant.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond roared, fury lighting up his features.

A gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively shouted, “Aemond!”

“She hit me first!” Aemond yelled back, his frustration spilling out around them like wildfire.

Just then, you felt a rush behind you as Jace charged forward, his own fury ignited. He struck Aemond squarely on the nose. In the blink of an eye, the fight erupted around you, with Jace, Luke, Rhaena, and Baela striking Aemond from every side.

It was only when you felt that surge of panic return to your mind and body that you tore yourself away from your stunned silence, sprinting toward the melee. “Stop it! All of you, stop!” you cried, your voice rising above the clamor.

But your pleas fell on deaf ears as the thrashing continued. In the fray, Jace’s elbow inadvertently crashed into your face, sending you spiraling toward the stone wall. Your head thudded sharply against the rough surface, pain blooming as darkness threatened to close in.

Time seemed to slow, and suddenly, the fighting ceased. Jace’s wide eyes met yours, filled with shock. “I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, guilt clouding his features.

Through the ringing in your ears, you attempted to open your eyes, focusing on the concern etched on your brother's face. “I know you didn’t mean to, Jace,” you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper.

Yet the fury of the confrontation did not relent; the struggle surrounding Aemond grew more fierce, spurred on by your injury. As blood trickled down your forehead, thick and unwelcome, Aemond's anger erupted. “You hurt her!” he roared, his voice laced with venom.

A throbbing pain radiated through your skull, swelling with every clash of voices and yells. Gritting your teeth against the discomfort, you finally opened your eyes wide enough to glimpse Jace, knife in hand. A pang of urgency surged within you, prompting a weak plea, “Jace, put that away.”

You longed to retreat into darkness, to let the cacophony fade away, but the din continued to swell. Jace unleashed a handful of sand, blinding Aemond momentarily, while Luke, with fierce determination, rushed forward carrying Jace's knife. “Luke, no!” you cried, though your words were nearly drowned in the chaos.

And then, before you could breathe another word, the world faded away into shadows, consumed by the horrifying scream that sliced through the air — Aemond's anguished cry as Luke struck at his eye.

To Be Continued...

i want to watch thunderbolts* but only bucky scenes so badly oh god

Jaehaera: Mummy there’s a monster under my bed

Helaena: Sweetie, there’s no such thing

Jaehaera: It keeps whispering “take your dragon with me and commit war crimes”

Helaena:

Jaehaera:

Helaena: Aemond get out-

*sounds of Aemond banging his head on the bed*

a million lost goodbyes [H.P]

[A/N: i'm back baby and we're starting her off with an angsty one which has been in my head for months and months, it's mildly based on Hugh's character in haunting of hill house, please let me know what you think :) words: 1.7k warnings: ANGST !!! battle of hogwarts memories, sad harry, bruise mention, there's an inaccuracy i know harry's sacrifice was meant to protect everyone and that's why no one died post the forest but this way was more fun to write *MAJOR SPOILER* reader is dead taglist join one here: @thisismynerdyself, @breadqueen95 , @hufflepuffhaze, @j-amespotter, @bwbatta , @omghufflepuff , @potters-heart , @lumos-barnes, @theoreticslut, @frecklesandfirecrackers, @cupids-crystals + golden era: @rcwena, @0x0spunky-monkey0x0

Harry Potter placed his coat on the hook by his doorway. He kicked off his shoes and straightened his glasses before absent-mindedly checking that his wand was in his pants pocket, a habit he had picked up since he was seventeen and lost it for a miserable time.

“Hello, love,” A voice from the living room called and Harry found himself smiling as he made his way into the room.

“Hey,” He greeted and took a seat on the love seat in front of the fireplace.

“How was Ron and Hermione’s house?” She asked curiously.

“Ron and Hermione have their hands full. Rose is so excited for her brother to chase her around but Hugo’s barely the size of a loaf of bread,” Harry laughed and shook his head. He hardly believed Ron and Hermione had two little ones until he saw them each time. Half the time Harry still envisioned them as the pestering sixteen year olds running circles around each other before they finally got into sync. War had a habit of doing that for people like them.

“They sound so lovely,” She responded with a far away look that she often wore on her face.

“Hugo is already clearly the biggest mom’s boy, he only has eyes for Hermione but Ron swears that he’s the only one who can successfully put him to bed for the night,” Harry continued, “And Rose is so funny. I think Hermione thought she’d be more like her but she’s almost all Ron except for her mother’s knack for finding solutions. She lost a muggle toy car under the couch and used a train to knock it out to the other side. They might have a Ravenclaw on their hands.”

“The Weasley family needs a Ravenclaw representative, I’ve always said that,” She flashed a smile at Harry, turning her full attention on him.

“You would’ve loved them,” Harry mumbled so that she couldn’t hear him from across the room at her spot by the wall. Her spot on the wall.

The painting of (Y/n) (Y/l/n) had hung on Harry Potter’s wall once he officially moved out of number 4 Privet Drive. Of course, his stuff was still sitting there collecting dust along with the rest of the Dursley’s things until May 1998. Once the war was over he moved his things into a London apartment in order to be closer to the Ministry where he started what would become a miserable job as an Auror — Harry figured since he spent his whole teenage years fighting the greatest dark wizard of all time he would be accustomed to doing it for the rest of his life. He quit four years later.

What little of his belongings was something of his life he could get back once the war was won and Voldemort no longer threatened everything he held dear. Still, he managed to take one last piece of Harry before he was buried in the dirt.

(Y/n) didn’t go on the Horcrux chase. He knew she wouldn’t believe it when he disappeared without a trace at Bill and Fleur’s wedding right after they slow-danced.

“Harry I’m going to be honest with you,” She said with the hint of a mischievous smile on her red lips.

“Lay it on me,” He raised his eyebrows that weren’t really his own. She leaned into him so that she could whisper in his ear.

“You don’t suit being a ginger,” She teased, before laughing to herself. Harry began to chuckle right as the patronus flew into the room.

Harry thought of that moment every night before he went to sleep in the tent the following months. Not because it was his favourite memory of her, but because it was the last time he had truly been happy once they were separated. He remembered her smile, the feeling of her breath on his neck. That maddening quirk of her lips he could never forget if he tried. She was the moment he thought of getting back to as soon as this terrible game of chase was over. His last true moment of happiness. That fact would remain true for a lot longer than he had expected.

The next time he would see her should have been a grandiose reunion if they weren’t in the Hog’s Head Inn about to stage a coup on Snape for Hogwarts. If they weren’t about to search for the remaining Horcrux’s and eventually fight in a battle.

She followed the painting of Ariana and the very real Neville Longbottom from the portrait. Harry often thought in hindsight of the bitter irony that the first time seeing her again after being away so long was in a portrait.

Harry had a hard time believing she was really there until her body slammed into his in the tightest hug. She held onto him like he might float away if she wasn’t careful. Which, Harry believed in her defence, could have been true because the last time they were this close he did leave her.

“Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye again,” She whispered so that only Harry could hear.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry could only say. She broke the hug enough so that she could look into his eyes. Harry noticed how tired she looked and could only imagine that he didn’t look much better. She had a bruise on her cheekbone.

“I don’t want an apology, I don’t need one, look at everything you’ve done, just please, don’t leave again without saying goodbye or taking me with you,” She reiterated, her voice shaking.

“I promise,” Harry nodded, unsure if he could keep that promise and still keep her safe. He looked over her shoulder to Ron, Hermione and Neville, the latter of which jerked his head towards the portrait.

“We have a lot of explaining to do,” He said. The five of them left for Hogwarts. Harry never let go of (Y/n)’s hand.

Harry thought of her as he went to sacrifice himself to Voldemort. He thought of his promise to her about never leaving without saying goodbye that it tore at him only some hours later.

There were two reasons that kept him from keeping it despite every bone in his body itching to see her one last time. The first was that she would go with him. She would and he wouldn’t be able to stop her. He couldn’t die knowing that she would also be dead, he had to die knowing that his sacrifice would be to protect everyone he loved. Especially the one he loved most of all.

Secondly, he didn’t think he was strong enough to do it if he looked into her eyes one last time. Strong enough to say goodbye at all despite him knowing in his heart it was the only way.

It turned out to not be his broken promise but hers.

Harry, himself, survived the forest that night. He fought the so-called Dark Lord in the Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the only place he was sure enough to call home. He survived and killed Voldemort. But she didn’t.

When the room stopped stirring, the prophecy was completely and the world was saved, Harry’s came crashing down all over again when he saw her laying there. Barely fifteen feet from where his duel took place. Hermione was sobbing beside her, Ron doing his best to console her behind the tears running down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted her to jump back into his arms like she did at Hog’s Head. Tell him not to worry, that she would never go anywhere he couldn’t follow.

But even as he approached he knew. Hermione sobbed harder as he approached.

“It’s my fault,” She wailed, shaking from head to foot only steadied by Ron’s arms, “She took the brunt of a curse before I could stop-“

“It’s not your fault,” Ron said it before the last word had left Hermione’s lips.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry echoed, wanting to soothe his best friend as much as he could. But he didn’t take his eyes off her body.

It wasn’t Hermione’s fault, because it was his fault.

Harry wanted to flee the scene but he stayed.

He wanted to return to the forbidden forest, go on his hands and knees and find the resurrection stone and bring her back, but he didn’t.

Instead he held his hand in hers and wept. He didn’t even care that everyone was watching. He wasn’t even just weeping for her. He was weeping for all the people they lost in the battle, all the people he’d lost in his life. A

He imagined her moving his hand to his face. Her own hand on top of it and thumb wiping the wetness off his face. A frown on her lips as her own eyes filled with tears.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” She would say.

“I could have done everything,” He would reply. She would shake her head no and let out a small laugh. Not to make fun of him, but because this is exactly what she expected.

“I loved you, and you loved me, that’s all that matters,” She would reply.

These memories flooded back to Harry almost every time he looked at her. Even the one he imagined was as real to him as if it happened. At times he wished he had a muggle photo instead of a wizard’s portrait of her, but he shook the thought out of his mind because he didn’t know if he could handle never hearing her laugh again, even though it wasn’t really her laugh.

Nearly 10 years had passed since the battle. 10 years since he lost her. 10 years of waking up with a dulled pain in his chest and the only one who could soothe it was unfairly buried in the ground.

He could never take her painting down because at least it was a piece of her he could keep to himself. Something he could always say goodbye to when he left.

ㅤㅤ  i like me better when

⠀⠀ 　 i'm with you 📄　۪ ׄ

────────────────────

｡ 𖠵 ۪ 정재현 장미 ┈─🌹

i should read books now, oh well…

i finished watching game of thrones and i don’t know what i should do with myself right now

i finished watching game of thrones and i don’t know what i should do with myself right now

Loveee the edits where alicent goes “plain featured sons” only to get mogged by jacaerys chalamet after the beat drops

HERE ME OUT PLEASE Spider-Man!cregan x reader. Cregan bump into reader at school when he is not in disguise and they became from then on, maybe? and meet reader again when he is in disguise (he could save her from being rob or save her while fighting villain.) which they also form a bond. They both sort of develop a crush on each other from then on Cregan is just smitten and reader is just like “I like this Spider-Man dude but I also like this Cregan guy”. Then one day spider!Cregan is injured and come to reader for help and reveal himself as Cregan. He confess to her that he just inlove with her since day one. Overall just fluff and cliché stuff.

(I’m srsly sorry if I made no sense at all😭🙏)

Between Masks and Moments

spider-man!cregan x reader

words: 13.5k

notes: this was longer than i intended it to be 😭 i thought i was about 6k words in and when i checked the word count it was already at 12k… but i hope you like it!

The first time you truly noticed Cregan Stark, it was because he nearly knocked you off your feet.

As you rounded the corner of the science building, lost in thought about the upcoming lecture, you collided with something solid. No, not something – someone. Your books tumbled to the ground, pages fluttering in the damp breeze, and you stumbled backward, nearly losing your footing.

"Oh, shit," a deep voice muttered. "I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

You looked up, ready to brush off the apology with a quick 'no problem,' but the words died in your throat. Standing before you was Cregan Stark, the quiet, brooding guy from your biochemistry class. He was already crouching down, gathering your scattered belongings with large, careful hands.

You'd never been this close to him before. Sure, you'd stolen glances during lectures, admiring his strong jawline and the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he took notes. But now, mere inches away, you could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the slight stubble on his chin that gave him a rugged appearance.

"It's okay," you finally managed to say, kneeling down to help him. "I wasn't really paying attention either."

Cregan's eyes met yours for a brief moment before quickly darting away. Was that a hint of a blush on his cheeks? No, it had to be the chill in the air.

"Here," he said, handing you your books. His voice was gruff, almost annoyed, but there was a gentleness in the way he handled your things that contradicted his tone. "Sorry again."

You took the books from him, your fingers accidentally brushing against his. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you, and you quickly pulled your hand back. "Thanks," you murmured.

Cregan stood up, and you couldn't help but notice how he towered over you. You'd always known he was tall, but up close, his presence was almost overwhelming. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the entire world behind him.

You straightened up, clutching your books to your chest, and for a moment, you were both frozen in the narrow hallway, caught in a strange, tense silence. Cregan shifted his weight, his brow furrowing even more, as if he was trying to decide whether to say something else or just walk away.

He settled on the former.

"You're in my biochem class, right?" His tone was still a bit gruff, but there was an underlying softness.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up. "Yeah, I am. You're Cregan, right?"

He gave a short, almost reluctant nod. "Yeah."

There was another pause, and you felt the awkwardness creeping in. But before it could fully take hold, Cregan surprised you by speaking again.

"Do you need help with that stuff?" He glanced at the stack of books in your arms, his expression hard to read. 

You hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. "I mean, if you're not in a hurry, I wouldn't mind."

Cregan exhaled a short breath, almost like a sigh, but he reached out anyway, taking half the books from your arms. His hands were warm and strong, and for a moment, you wondered what it would be like to hold them longer, to feel that warmth without the excuse of fallen books.

"Where to?" he asked, his voice softer now, less annoyed. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, something almost shy, though you'd never describe Cregan Stark as shy.

"The library," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was going to study before the next class."

Cregan gave another one of those short nods and started walking beside you, his long strides forcing you to pick up your pace. As you walked together, the silence between you wasn't as awkward as you'd expected. In fact, it was almost comfortable, as if Cregan's brooding presence somehow grounded you, made the chaotic noise of the school fade into the background.

When you reached the library, you stopped by one of the tables near the back, where it was quiet and the light was softer. Cregan set your books down, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at them, then at you, like he was debating something in his head.

"Thanks for helping me out," you said, breaking the silence.

Cregan's eyes flicked up to meet yours, and there was that flicker of something again – a hint of warmth beneath the gruff exterior. "No problem," he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "See you in class."

You watched as he turned to leave, his broad back disappearing into the rows of bookshelves. It was only after he was gone that you realized you were still holding your breath. There was something about Cregan Stark that made your heart beat just a little faster, something that lingered in your thoughts long after he'd walked away.

As you sat down to study, you found it hard to focus. Your mind kept drifting back to the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his voice had gentled, just for a moment. 

For Cregan, that collision in the hallway was both a dream come true and his worst nightmare.

He'd noticed you on the first day of class, drawn to your quiet intelligence and the way your eyes lit up when you understood a particularly difficult concept. Over the weeks, he'd found himself stealing glances at you during lectures, admiring the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating, or how you'd bite your lip when you were deep in thought.

But Cregan had never allowed himself to entertain the possibility of actually talking to you. His life was complicated enough without adding romantic entanglements to the mix. Between his duties as Spider-Man, his studies, and the constant struggle to make ends meet, he'd convinced himself that he didn't have time for a relationship. Besides, he reasoned, what could he possibly offer someone like you?

So he'd contented himself with admiring you from afar, treasuring those small moments of connection when you'd make eye contact across the lecture hall or exchange polite nods in the hallway. He told himself it was enough, that his crush was just a harmless distraction from the weight of his responsibilities.

But now, as he walked away from the library, his heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with his spider-enhanced physiology. The memory of your touch, brief as it was, sent electricity coursing through his veins. The scent of your shampoo lingered in his nostrils, and he couldn't shake the image of your eyes looking up at him, wide with surprise and something else... interest, maybe?

Cregan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. There was a chemistry lab to prepare for, and after that, he had to patrol the city. The weight of his responsibilities settled back onto his shoulders, and he felt his expression harden into its usual brooding mask.

But as he pushed open the door to the science building, he couldn't help but glance back towards the library. For the first time in a long while, Cregan allowed himself to wonder: what if?

_________

The next few days passed in a blur of lectures, lab work, and late-night patrols. You found yourself paying more attention to Cregan in class, noticing things you'd overlooked before. The way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating, the slight twitch of his lips when the professor made a particularly bad science pun, the graceful strength in his hands as he manipulated lab equipment.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you too. His gaze would quickly dart away, but not before you noticed a softness in his eyes that contrasted sharply with his usual gruff demeanor. It made you wonder what was going on behind that brooding exterior.

You'd exchanged a few more words since your collision – a quiet "hey" as you took your seats, a muttered "thanks" when he held the door for you. Each time, you felt a little thrill of... something. Anticipation? Curiosity? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

It was Friday evening when everything changed. 

The streets were unusually quiet for a Friday night. Most people were already indoors, safe from the impending downpour. You turned down a narrow alley, a familiar shortcut you often took when in a hurry. The light from the streetlamps barely penetrated the shadows here, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. You told yourself it was just your imagination, that the looming storm and the empty streets were playing tricks on your mind.

But as you reached the halfway point of the alley, you heard it – a soft rustling, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickened your pace, your breath catching in your throat.

"Hey, where are you heading so fast?" a voice called out. You didn’t dare look back, your instincts screaming at you to keep moving.

The footsteps grew closer, the tension wrapping around you like a vice. You were almost at the end of the alley when a figure stepped out of the shadows ahead, blocking your path. He was tall, with a lean, wiry build and a predatory grin that sent a shiver down your spine.

"What's the rush?" he asked, his voice mockingly sweet. The way he stood, arms loose at his sides, suggested a confidence that chilled you to the bone. You were trapped.

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but the options were grim. You could scream, but who would hear you? Your phone was buried in your bag, useless in the face of such immediate danger.

As the man stepped closer, you took a shaky step back, only to feel a solid wall of muscle behind you. Another one, you realized with a sinking heart. You were cornered.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for whatever was to come. But before the situation could escalate, a sound split the air – a sharp, almost imperceptible *thwip*. 

And then, everything happened at once.

A blur of red and blue dropped down from above, moving with a speed and precision that left you breathless. The man behind you was yanked away, a startled yelp escaping his lips as he was thrown against the wall, his hands and feet bound by sticky webbing. The other barely had time to react before he too was disarmed and pinned to the ground, a web cocoon forming around him in seconds.

You stood frozen, eyes wide with shock, as Spider-Man – the Spider-Man – landed lightly in front of you. His eyes, hidden behind those iconic white lenses, seemed to scan you for any sign of injury. The air around you crackled with tension, but now it was a different kind – the kind that came with knowing you were safe, even if only for the moment.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice muffled but unmistakably concerned.

You nodded numbly, unable to find your voice. Up close, Spider-Man was even more imposing than you’d imagined, but there was something comforting in his presence, something that made the terror of the last few minutes begin to ebb away.

"Good," he said, his tone gentle now. He hesitated, moving to place a hand on your arm but not quite reaching you before he pulled back. “Do you need water or something?”

You glanced at the two thugs, now securely webbed to the walls, and couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude mixed with disbelief. You’d been saved by Spider-Man – a hero who was as much a myth as he was a reality in your mind. Unable to find your voice, you shook your head. 

"Thank you," you finally managed to say, your voice shaky but sincere.

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying you. "It’s no problem. But it’s not safe to be out here alone, especially this late. Do you need a lift home?"

The offer caught you off guard. A lift home? With Spider-Man?

You hesitated, then nodded. "That...that would be great."

Without another word, Spider-Man stepped closer, slipping an arm around your waist with surprising ease, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Your heart raced – not from fear, but from the sudden closeness, the way his presence seemed to envelop you.

"Hold on tight," he instructed, his voice calm and reassuring.

Before you could fully process what was happening, he shot a web into the night sky and the ground disappeared beneath you. You clung to him instinctively, your eyes squeezing shut as the wind rushed past your face, cool and refreshing in the humid night air.

All too soon, after you’d instructed him the way to your home, the flight ended as Spider-Man landed gracefully on the fire escape outside your apartment window. He set you down gently, his arm lingering around your waist for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.

"Home sweet home," he quipped, his tone light.

You took a step back, trying to steady your breath. "Thank you," you said again, your voice softer this time. "Really, I don’t know how to repay you."

Spider-Man didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he seemed to hesitate, as if debating something internally. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he asked, "Mind if I hang out here for a bit? The view’s not bad."

You blinked in surprise. Was Spider-Man asking to stay? With you? The night was full of surprises, it seemed.

"Sure," you said, moving towards the window and gesturing for him to follow. "I’ve never had a guest on my fire escape before."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a strange warmth through you. "First time for everything."

You both settled onto the metal platform, the city spread out before you like a living, breathing canvas. The air was cool now, the storm holding off for just a little longer, and for a moment, you simply sat there in silence, letting the night speak for itself.

"You live here alone?" he asked after a while, his voice quieter now, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing over at him. His mask hid his expression, but there was a certain softness in the way he held himself, a relaxation you hadn’t expected. "It’s not much, but it’s home."

He nodded, seemingly lost in thought. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "It must get lonely sometimes."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You weren’t sure if he was talking about you or himself, but either way, you felt an odd connection in that moment, a shared understanding of what it meant to be alone in a city full of people.

"Sometimes," you admitted, your gaze drifting back to the city skyline. "But I guess that’s just part of life, right?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice almost lost in the breeze. "Part of life."

For a while longer, you both sat there, the city a quiet hum in the background. And in that silence, there was a comfort, a sense of companionship that neither of you had expected but both seemed to need.

“Do you want pizza?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. At the mention of food, his head shot up. 

“You’ve got pizza?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, I do. It’s leftover from earlier. It’s probably cold by now, but–”

Spider-Man’s enthusiasm seemed to overflow. “Cold pizza is fine! In fact, it’s the best kind of pizza!”

You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the night air. It felt strange, yet oddly comforting, to share such a simple moment with someone who seemed so larger-than-life.

“Alright then, let me grab it,” you said, moving toward the window. As you opened it and stepped inside, you could feel Spider-Man’s eyes on you.

You retrieved the pizza from the fridge, the box still warm from its earlier stint in the oven. Returning to the fire escape, you offered it to Spider-Man with a shy, almost playful grin.

“Here you go,” you said, handing over the box. “Cold pizza and all.”

He took it eagerly, setting it down beside him on the metal ledge. 

You took a seat next to him, the cool metal beneath you grounding you after the adrenaline of the earlier encounter. The city lights below twinkled like stars, and for a moment, the chaos of the evening seemed to fade away.

Spider-Man popped open the pizza box, revealing a slightly congealed but still appetizing array of toppings. He pulled out a slice with deft movements and took a large bite, pulling up his mask just enough for you to not be able to make out his identity, his mask making the act look both humorous and oddly endearing.

"So," Spider-Man said as he took another bite, "late night at the library?"

You blinked, surprised by the casual conversation. "How did you know?"

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "The stack of textbooks in your bag was a pretty big clue.”

You laughed, the sound mingling with the distant rumble of thunder as the storm prepared to make its entrance. "I guess I should have guessed you'd notice something like that."

Spider-Man nodded, a playful glint visible in the sliver of his eyes. "It's kind of my thing to notice details. Helps with the whole hero gig."

You bit into a slice of pizza, the cold cheese and slightly chewy crust a comforting contrast to the evening’s chaos. Spider-Man’s relaxed demeanor made it feel like you were just two friends sharing a late-night snack, not someone in need of rescue and the rescuer himself.

"What's your favorite topping?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation to something light.

He looked at the slice in his hand, contemplating. "Pepperoni. Classic choice, but it’s hard to beat."

You grinned. “Pepperoni?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Really? I have to say, bacon is the superior topping.”

Spider-Man’s eyes widened behind his mask, and he mock-gasped, holding his pizza slice up as if it were a shield. “Bacon? How could you betray the classic pepperoni like that?”

You chuckled, leaning back against the fire escape’s metal railing. 

“You can’t be serious,” Spider-Man said, feigning outrage. “Pepperoni is a staple. Bacon is great, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a well-cooked pepperoni slice.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling at his animated reaction. “Bacon adds a crispy, savory kick that pepperoni just can’t match. And don’t tell me you haven’t had bacon on pizza before. It’s like a flavor explosion.”

“Flavor explosion?” Spider-Man’s voice was incredulous, but there was a hint of laughter in it. “More like a greasy mess. And don’t get me started on how bacon can overshadow the other toppings. Pepperoni complements the cheese, the sauce – it’s harmonious.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Spider-Man’s dramatic reaction. The absurdity of debating pizza toppings with a superhero in the middle of the night struck you as hilariously surreal.

“Oh, come on,” you said, shaking your head. “Bacon doesn’t overshadow. It complements! It’s like having a surprise party on your pizza. You take a bite, and bam! – there’s the crispy, smoky goodness.”

Spider-Man pretended to shudder. “A surprise party?” he chuckled. “Agree to disagree. I’m sticking with my classic.”

You smiled, “I’ll take that as my win.”

You couldn’t quite believe it. There you were, sitting on your fire escape, and locked in a passionate debate about pizza toppings with Spider-Man. Spider-Man. The same superhero who swung through the night, fighting villains and saving lives. And here he was, playfully defending pepperoni against your undying love for bacon.

It felt like a scene plucked from a dream – a surreal interlude where the chaos of the night melted away into a shared moment of absurdity and connection. Inside your tiny apartment, the city was a backdrop, a distant hum of life and noise that barely intruded on this bizarrely intimate conversation.

The superhero was right there, his masked face only partially visible in the dim light, but clearly animated and engaged in a debate over something as trivial as pizza toppings.

"I might have to swing by more often just to change your mind about that pizza."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Oh?" you managed, trying to keep your voice steady. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

Spider-Man tilted his head, and even though you couldn't see his face, you could almost feel the grin behind his mask. "Well," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I could always bring you some properly topped pizza. Show you the error of your bacon-loving ways."

You felt a flutter in your stomach at his words. The thought of Spider-Man swinging by again, just to bring you pizza, seemed both thrilling and strangely domestic.

"I'd like that," you said softly, surprising yourself with your honesty. "Though I think you'll have a hard time converting me."

Spider-Man chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "Challenge accepted," he said, his voice tinged with a playfulness that made your heart race.

For a moment, you both fell silent, the weight of the evening's events settling back over you. The pizza box lay empty between you, a testament to the strange normalcy you'd managed to carve out of this surreal situation.

Finally, Spider-Man stood, stretching as if preparing to leave. "I should get going. There’s always more to do."

You nodded, a pang of disappointment tugging at your heart. "Thanks again, for everything."

He turned to face you, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of a smile beneath his mask. "Anytime," he said, his voice warm. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Before you could answer, he gave a final nod, and in a graceful, practiced motion, he leaped off the fire escape. For a moment, you watched as he soared into the night, his silhouette briefly illuminated by the distant streetlights. Then, with a soft whoosh, he was gone, disappearing into the urban tapestry of lights and shadows.

That night, as you laid in bed, your mind raced with thoughts of both Cregan and Spider-Man. The quiet, brooding boy from your class and the witty, heroic figure who had saved you – they couldn't be more different. And yet, there was something about both of them that drew you in, that made you want to know more.

Little did you know, across the city, Cregan was having similar thoughts about you. As he peeled off his Spider-Man suit, wincing at the bruises from his earlier fight, he couldn't shake the memory of holding you close as he swung through the city. He'd been drawn to you for weeks, admiring you from afar in class. But tonight, he'd gotten a taste of what it might be like to be close to you, to talk to you without the awkwardness that always seemed to plague him as Cregan.

As Spider-Man, he could be confident, even flirtatious. He could say the things he'd always wanted to say to you but never had the courage to. It was liberating, but also terrifying. Because now, more than ever, he wanted to know you, to be close to you. But how could he do that without revealing his secret? How could he be both the Cregan you knew from class and the Spider-Man who had saved you tonight?

_________

The week following your encounter with Spider-Man was a strange blend of normalcy and surreal anticipation. You went about your daily routine – attending classes, studying, grabbing coffee with friends – but there was an undercurrent of excitement, a constant awareness that at any moment, you might spot a flash of red and blue swinging between buildings.

For Cregan, the week was a torturous exercise in self-restraint. Every time he saw you in class or passed you in the hallway, his heart rate spiked. He found himself torn between an overwhelming desire to talk to you and a paralyzing fear of giving himself away.

The first few days, he limited himself to small, careful interactions. A wave as you entered the lecture hall. A nod of acknowledgment when your eyes met across the cafeteria. Each time, he felt a surge of warmth at your answering smile, but he always pulled back before he could do or say anything more.

At night, as he patrolled the city, Cregan found his thoughts constantly drifting back to you. He'd catch himself swinging past your apartment building, telling himself he was just checking to make sure you were safe. But deep down, he knew he was hoping for another chance encounter, another opportunity to talk to you as Spider-Man.

By Thursday, the tension was becoming unbearable. Cregan knew he couldn't keep this up indefinitely. He had to make a decision – either find a way to approach you as Cregan Stark or risk losing any chance of a real connection.

It was Friday afternoon when he finally worked up the courage to act. He spotted you entering the library, arms full of books. Taking a deep breath, Cregan followed you inside.

He watched as you settled at a table near the back, the same spot where he'd left you after your collision the week before. For a moment, he hesitated, second-guessing himself. What if you didn't want to be bothered? What if you preferred the quiet, grumpy Cregan from class and were put off by any attempt at friendliness?

But then he remembered the way you'd laughed with Spider-Man, the easy conversation you'd shared over cold pizza. He wanted that – not just as his masked alter ego, but as himself.

Squaring his shoulders, Cregan approached your table. When you didn’t look up, he cleared his throat. 

"Hey," he said softly, mindful of the library's quiet atmosphere. "Mind if I join you?"

You looked up, surprise evident in your eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, Cregan thought you might say no. But then your expression softened into a smile. "Sure," you replied, gesturing to the empty chair next to you as you cleared the table for him. "There's plenty of room."

Cregan sat down, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. Up close, he could see the flecks of color in your eyes, the same ones he'd admired from behind his mask. He cleared his throat, searching for something to say.

"Biochem midterm?" he asked, nodding towards the textbook open in front of you.

You nodded, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "Yeah. I'm still struggling with some of the enzyme kinetics concepts."

Cregan felt a flutter of excitement. This, he could handle. Science was his element, a language he spoke fluently even when words failed him in other areas. "I could help, if you want," he offered, his voice gruff but tinged with genuine eagerness. "I've got a pretty good handle on that stuff."

Your eyes lit up, and Cregan felt his breath catch. "Really? That would be amazing. I've been staring at these diagrams for hours, and they're still not making sense."

As Cregan leaned in to look at your textbook, he felt some of his nervousness begin to ebb away. This was familiar territory – explaining scientific concepts, breaking down complex ideas into simpler parts.

You shifted your chair slightly closer to his, your shoulder brushing against his arm as you both peered down at the open textbook. Cregan felt a jolt of electricity at the contact, his skin tingling where you'd touched. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made his heart race even faster. 

He focused on the page, the neatly printed equations and diagrams suddenly feeling more daunting than they'd ever been in his own studies. But you were looking at him expectantly, and Cregan knew he had to push through the nerves that threatened to steal his voice.

"Okay, so," he began, his voice just above a whisper, "enzyme kinetics can be tricky because it’s all about how the enzymes interact with the substrates. Think of it like... a dance. Each enzyme has a specific partner, and the speed of the reaction depends on how well they fit together and move in sync."

You nodded, leaning in closer, your brow furrowed in concentration. Cregan’s eyes flicked to your face, catching the way your lips pursed slightly as you tried to grasp the concept. He found himself lingering on the curve of your mouth, the soft glow of your skin under the library’s dim lighting.

As he explained further, your questions came, your voice soft and inviting, drawing him deeper into the conversation. Each time you spoke, Cregan’s heart would stutter, your words weaving into the atmosphere between you. He would catch himself staring at your hands as they moved across the page, slender fingers tracing the diagrams he described, and wonder what it would feel like to hold them.

The tension from earlier began to melt away, replaced by a quiet intimacy that neither of you had expected. Cregan leaned in even closer, his shoulder now pressed fully against yours. You didn’t move away – instead, you tilted your head towards him, so close that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his cheek.

The library seemed to fade around you, the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant shuffle of pages and whispers all but disappearing. It was just the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of soft words and shared focus. Cregan felt his guard lowering, the lines between Cregan Stark and Spider-Man blurring as he let himself enjoy this simple, honest moment with you.

Every time you asked a question, Cregan felt a little more of his confidence return. He could see the frustration in your eyes begin to ease, replaced by a spark of understanding that made him want to keep talking, keep sharing this part of himself with you. 

Finally, after what felt like both a brief and endless stretch of time, you smiled – a real, bright smile that made something in Cregan’s chest ache with warmth.

“That actually makes sense now. I don’t know how to thank you, Cregan.” you said, leaning back in your chair, though still close enough that your knees brushed his under the table.

Cregan's breath hitched at the sound of his name on your lips, soft and full of gratitude. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he replied, "I’m glad I could help. It’s, uh, nice to talk about this stuff with someone who gets it." His words trailed off into a nervous laugh, his gaze flicking between your eyes and the textbook.

You laughed softly, a sound that made Cregan’s pulse quicken. "Well, I’m lucky to have found the best tutor around," you teased, the warmth in your tone making his cheeks flush.

Cregan’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all centering on the impossible closeness of you, the way your laughter wrapped around him like a soft blanket. He wanted to say more, to tell you how much he’d been thinking about you, how every time he saw you, he felt a pull he couldn’t explain. But he held back, scared to break the delicate balance of this moment.

Instead, he settled for a simple, "Anytime," the word heavy with everything he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. 

As the silence stretched between you, neither of you moved away. Cregan's hand rested on the edge of the table, fingers inching just a bit closer to where yours lay, as if testing the waters, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

But you didn’t. 

“Would you tutor me for biochem? I can pay you,”

Your question hung in the air between you, and Cregan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected you to ask, and the offer of payment made something in him twist uncomfortably. You were offering him something concrete, something logical – an exchange of services – but that wasn’t what he wanted. Not really.

He hesitated, searching your eyes for any sign that you were asking out of more than just academic need. But all he saw was sincerity, a touch of hopefulness, and maybe, just maybe, something else – a faint flicker of warmth that made him wonder if you felt the same connection he did.

Cregan swallowed hard, feeling the tension rise in his chest. The last thing he wanted was for this to become transactional, something that would reduce your time together to a simple tutor-student dynamic. He didn’t want your money. He wanted your company, your laughter, the way your presence seemed to quiet the rest of the world.

“No, you don’t have to pay me,” he stammered, his voice softer than he intended. “I’d be happy to help. Really. I mean, it’s kind of fun, right? We can just, uh, study together whenever you need. No strings attached.”

The words tumbled out awkwardly, but he meant every one of them. He watched you carefully, nervous about how you’d react. For a split second, he worried that maybe you’d misunderstand – that you’d think he wasn’t taking you seriously, or that he was brushing off your offer.

But then you smiled, a slow, warm curve of your lips that made Cregan’s pulse quicken again. “Are you sure?” you asked, though there was a lightness in your tone now, as if you’d already guessed his answer. “I don’t want to take up your time for nothing.”

Cregan shook his head, his own smile starting to form. “It’s not nothing,” he said, feeling a bit of his confidence return. “Besides, I could use the review too. Biochem’s always easier with someone else to bounce ideas off of.”

You laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. But I owe you a coffee at least. No arguments. That’s non-negotiable.”

Cregan’s heart soared at the thought of spending more time with you, of sharing something as simple and normal as a cup of coffee. It wasn’t a date – not exactly – but it felt like a step closer to something more, something real. He nodded quickly, eager to accept any excuse to see you outside of class, outside of these quiet, studious moments.

“Deal,” he said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic, though he knew he was failing miserably. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck, his nerves returning in full force.

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, charged with an unspoken understanding that went beyond the words you’d exchanged. Cregan’s hand was still on the edge of the table, close to yours, and he wondered if you’d noticed just how near they were.

But before he could overthink it, you shifted slightly, your fingers brushing against his as you adjusted your textbook. It was the smallest of touches, but it sent a shiver up Cregan’s spine, his skin buzzing with the sensation.

“Tomorrow?” you asked, your voice soft but steady. “For the coffee? We can meet after class.”

Cregan nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “Tomorrow,” he echoed, feeling like it couldn’t come fast enough. The thought of seeing you again, of sitting across from you with a cup of coffee, made everything else fade into the background. 

As he watched you disappear around the corner of a bookshelf, Cregan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow, to the coffee shop, to the prospect of spending more time with you outside of the confines of the classroom or library.

But as the initial rush of excitement began to fade, a familiar anxiety started to creep in. How was he going to balance this? His life as Cregan Stark, college student and potential friend (maybe more?) to you, with his responsibilities as Spider-Man? What if there was an emergency during their coffee... not-date? What if you started to notice his frequent disappearances, his unexplained bruises?

You found yourself replaying your conversation in your mind, smiling at the memory of his shy smiles and the way his eyes lit up when he talked. There was something about Cregan Stark that intrigued you, a depth that you were eager to explore further.

But as much as Cregan occupied your thoughts, you couldn't shake the memory of your encounter with Spider-Man. The masked hero's wit and charm had left an impression, and you often found yourself glancing up at the sky, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of red and blue swinging between buildings.

It was a week after your encounter when your path crossed with Spider-Man again. You were walking home late, having stayed at the library longer than intended, your mind still buzzing with biochemistry formulas and the lingering warmth of your interactions with Cregan.

The street was quiet, the air cool and crisp with the promise of autumn. You were so lost in thought that you almost missed the soft thud behind you. Almost.

"You know, it's dangerous to walk alone at night," a familiar voice called out, playful but with an undercurrent of concern. "Even in this neighborhood."

You spun around, your heart leaping into your throat. There, perched on a nearby lamppost, was Spider-Man, his masked face tilted towards you in a way that suggested he was smiling.

"Are you following me?" a mix of surprise and excitement coloring your voice. 

He chuckled, the sound sending a small shiver down your spine. "Just keeping an eye on the city," he replied, his tone light. "But I have to admit, I'm glad I ran into you again. How've you been?"

You couldn't help but smile, the tension in your shoulders easing. "I've been good," you said, taking a step closer to the lamppost. "No more late-night alley adventures, if that's what you're asking."

Spider-Man laughed again, dropping down from the lamppost to stand in front of you. Even with the mask, you could sense his amusement. "Good to hear. Though I have to say, I was hoping for an excuse to swoop in and save the day again."

There was something in his voice, a hint of flirtation that made your pulse quicken. You raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Oh? And here I thought you had plenty of other damsels in distress to rescue."

"Ah, but none quite as intriguing as you," he quipped, his head tilting in a way that made you wonder what expression he was wearing beneath the mask.

You felt a blush creep up your neck, thankful for the dim streetlight that probably hid it. "Intriguing, huh? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or worried."

Spider-Man took a step closer, and you were suddenly very aware of his presence, the way he seemed to radiate a mix of confidence and nervous energy. "Definitely flattered," he said, his voice softer now. "Trust me, it takes a lot to catch a spider's attention."

You laughed, the sound slightly breathless. "Well, consider me honored then," you replied, surprised by your own boldness. "Though I have to say, you're pretty intriguing yourself, Spider-Man."

He seemed to stand a little straighter at that, and you could almost imagine the grin behind his mask. "Oh yeah? Care to elaborate on that?"

You pretended to consider for a moment, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "I hear you have excellent taste in pizza toppings."

Spider-Man laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Ah, so my reputation precedes me. Though I still maintain that pepperoni is superior to bacon."

You gasped in mock offense. "And here I thought we were getting along so well. Clearly, I was mistaken."

"Maybe I could change your mind," he said, his tone playful but with an undercurrent of something more. You didn’t know how you hadn’t seen the pizza box he was hiding behind his back until he held it up. “Might just change your mind.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the pizza box. "You brought pizza? Were you planning this encounter, Spider-Man?" you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice.

He shrugged, the movement oddly graceful. "Let's just say I had a hunch I might run into you. And I never pass up an opportunity to prove the superiority of pepperoni."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "Well, far be it from me to turn down free pizza. But where exactly are we going to eat it? I don't think the sidewalk is the most romantic spot for a pizza date."

The word 'date' slipped out before you could stop it, and you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. Spider-Man seemed to pause for a moment, and you wondered if he was blushing too, beneath that mask.

"Date, huh?" he said, his voice a mix of surprise and pleasure. "Well, if it's romance you're after, I think I know just the spot. Do you trust me?"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'm not sure if I should trust a man in a mask, but..."

Spider-Man stepped closer, and your breath caught in your throat. "Hold on tight," he said, his voice low and warm.

Before you could fully process what was happening, his arm was around your waist, pulling you close against his side. You barely had time to wrap your arms around his neck before he shot a web upwards, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The city rushed by in a blur of lights and shadows, the cool night air whipping past you. You clung tightly to Spider-Man, your heart racing from a mixture of adrenaline and proximity. His body was warm and solid against yours, and even through the suit, you could feel the strength in his arms as he held you securely.

After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, you landed softly on a rooftop. Spider-Man gently set you down, his hand lingering on your waist for just a moment longer than necessary.

"You okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

You nodded, slightly breathless. "Yeah, I'm... wow. That was incredible."

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you gasped softly. The rooftop offered a stunning view of the city skyline, lights twinkling like stars against the night sky. It was beautiful, peaceful in a way you'd never experienced the city before.

"This is amazing," you said softly, turning to look at Spider-Man. "How did you find this place?"

He shrugged, setting the pizza box down on a nearby ledge. "I swing by a lot of rooftops. This one's always been a favorite. It's quiet, and the view... well, it speaks for itself."

You nodded in agreement, moving to sit on the ledge next to the pizza box. Spider-Man joined you, his movements fluid and graceful.

"So," he said, opening the box and revealing a steaming pepperoni pizza, "ready to have your mind changed about the ultimate pizza topping?"

You laughed, reaching for a slice. "We'll see about that. I'm not easily swayed."

As you both ate, you fell into easy conversation. Spider-Man was witty and charming, his jokes making you laugh even as you rolled your eyes. But there were moments, brief flashes when his voice would soften or he'd tilt his head in a certain way, that reminded you startlingly of Cregan.

You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the surreal experience of sharing pizza on a rooftop with a superhero. As the night wore on and the pizza dwindled, you found yourself relaxing, leaning slightly closer to Spider-Man.

"Okay," you admitted finally, "I have to say, this pepperoni pizza is pretty good."

Spider-Man pumped his fist in victory. "I knew it! Another convert to the pepperoni side."

You laughed, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Don't get too cocky. I still maintain that bacon has its merits."

He turned to face you, and even though you couldn't see his eyes, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. "Guess I'll just have to keep trying to convince you," he said softly.

His words hung in the air between you, charged with an energy that made your heart race. You found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by the warmth of his presence and the intimacy of the moment.

"Is that a promise?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spider-Man's hand twitched, as if he was about to reach out to you, but he caught himself. "It might be," he replied, his tone a mix of playfulness and something deeper, more sincere. "If you're interested in more rooftop pizza, that is."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I might be," you echoed his words, your eyes never leaving his masked face. "Though I have to warn you, I'm not easily won over. It might take a lot of convincing."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I'm up for the challenge."

For a moment, you both sat in comfortable silence, the city sprawling out beneath you like a living, breathing entity. The cool night air carried the faint sounds of traffic and distant sirens, reminding you of the world beyond this rooftop.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally, turning to face him fully.

Spider-Man nodded, his posture shifting to give you his full attention. "Shoot."

You hesitated, wondering if you were crossing a line. "What's it like? Being... you? Having all this power, this responsibility?"

He was quiet for a long moment, and you worried you'd overstepped. But then he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "It's... complicated," he said finally. "It's exhilarating, knowing I can make a difference, save lives. But it's also terrifying. There's always the fear of not being fast enough, strong enough. Or, well  –  death."

His honesty caught you off guard. You'd expected a quip, maybe a lighthearted deflection. Instead, you got a glimpse of the person behind the mask, vulnerable and achingly human.

Without thinking, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm. "That sounds incredibly difficult," you said softly. "But for what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job. This city is lucky to have you."

Spider-Man looked down at your hand, then back up to your face. Even through the mask, you could sense the intensity of his gaze. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "That... means a lot."

You smiled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before pulling your hand back. As you did, you couldn't help but notice the firm muscles beneath the suit, the strength coiled just beneath the surface.

Clearing your throat, you looked back out at the city, trying to calm your racing heart. "So, um, do you bring all the girls you save up here for pizza, or am I special?" you asked, aiming for a teasing tone to lighten the mood.

Spider-Man laughed, the sound lighter now. "Oh, definitely special," he said, bumping his shoulder against yours playfully. "It's not every day I meet someone who can challenge my pizza topping supremacy."

You grinned, feeling the tension ease. "Well, I'm honored.” 

Before you could dwell on it, a distant siren pierced the night air. Spider-Man's head snapped towards the sound, his body tensing.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning back to you with obvious reluctance. "I have to..."

You nodded, understanding. "Go," you said softly. "It’s okay, I’ll find my way back."

He stood, hesitating for a moment. Then, in a move that surprised you both, he reached out and squeezed your hand gently. "Thanks for... this," he said, gesturing vaguely at the rooftop, the remnants of your pizza dinner. "It was nice to just be... me for a while."

Your heart fluttered at his words, at the warmth of his hand on yours. "Anytime, Spider-Man," you replied, meaning it more than you'd expected to.

With a final nod, he stepped to the edge of the roof. "Hold on tight," he said, and before you could ask what he meant, he had scooped you up in his arms.

The journey back to street level was a blur of exhilaration and barely suppressed laughter. When your feet touched the ground, you felt oddly bereft, missing the warmth of his arms around you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Would you want to do this again? I mean, maybe not the rooftop pizza – " you laughed lightly, “ – but just, you know, hanging out. Talking. I like it. I like… getting to know you."

He seemed to pause, his head tilting slightly as if he was considering something. Then he nodded. "I’d like that," he said, his tone softer, almost hesitant.

You found yourself smiling, a real one that reached your eyes, as you nodded back. "Great. Maybe... Thursday? Same time? We could meet on the fire scape, like last time.”

He mirrored your smile, though his was a little crooked, like he wasn't used to showing it. "Thursday works."

Neither of you moved to leave just yet. There was a comfortable silence that hung between you, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. The cool breeze tousled your hair, and you felt the weight of the evening settle in, a sense of contentment mixing with the anticipation of what was to come.

But eventually, reality seeped back in. He straightened, his hand gripping the railing as if grounding himself before he stepped back.

"Stay safe," Spider-Man said, already preparing to swing away.

"You too," you called after him, watching as he disappeared into the night sky.

As you made your way home, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The quiet, brooding Cregan Stark and the charming, mysterious Spider-Man occupied equal space in your mind, leaving you more confused than ever about your own feelings.

As Cregan swung through the city, responding to the siren's call, he couldn't shake the memory of your smile, the warmth of your hand on his arm, the way you'd spoken about him.

He knew he was walking a dangerous line, but in that moment, with the wind rushing past him and the city spread out below, Cregan couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of the evening he'd just shared with you.

_________

Cregan’s fingers drummed repeatedly on the paper cup in front of him. Your notes were scattered over the table, formulas and equations that had been giving you grief for days now. 

He glanced up from the problem you were stuck on, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Let’s go over it one more time. You’re getting tripped up in the same spot.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the frustration that had been building all week. “I know, it’s just… it doesn’t make sense in my head. I don’t see the connection.”

Cregan paused, his fingers halting their drumming. He leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a reassuring smile. 

“You’re overthinking it. You’ve got the basics down, you just need to trust yourself. Here,” Cregan pointed to a specific equation on your notes, his fingers brushing lightly against the paper as he spoke. 

"See here? This is where you’re losing the thread. You’re thinking too far ahead instead of focusing on this step. Just break it down."

His voice was calm, steady, almost like a grounding force that pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. You nodded, trying to absorb his advice. There was something about the way he explained things that made it easier to understand, like he knew exactly where you were getting lost and how to guide you back.

You worked through the problem again, this time more slowly, following his guidance. Cregan watched you intently, his gaze unwavering, as if he could tell you would find the answer just by being there. And then, finally, it clicked.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, the solution suddenly clear as day. “I get it now. It was just that one step throwing me off.”

A small smile tugged at Cregan’s lips, the kind of smile that was rare from him, but when it appeared, it felt like the sun breaking through clouds. “Told you. You’ve got this.”

You grinned back, the weight of your earlier frustration lifting. “Thanks, Cregan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal, but you could see the flicker of something softer in his eyes. “You’d figure it out eventually. I’m just here to make it easier.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence that settled between you as you sipped your coffee. Outside, people bustled by, unaware of the quiet connection forming at your little table in the café.

You glanced at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. “You know, you’re really good at this. Helping people, I mean.”

Cregan looked almost embarrassed by the compliment, his gaze dropping to his cup. “I just… I like helping you. That’s all.”

His words hung in the air, simple yet heavy with meaning. You felt your heart skip a beat, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you simply smiled, letting the moment stretch out between you, full of unspoken things.

Eventually, Cregan cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, uh, you ready for the next problem?”

You nodded, grateful for the distraction but also for the time you had with him, these small moments that seemed to mean more than you could fully understand. 

As you worked through the next set of problems, you found yourself more attuned to Cregan’s presence than the equations in front of you. His focus was sharp, eyes scanning your notes with an intensity that seemed out of place for something as mundane as math. Yet, that intensity was what made him so good at this, at seeing what you missed and guiding you through it.

You started the conversation, your voice warm and inviting. "So, Cregan, what else should I know about you? Besides being a whiz at biochem, that is."

Cregan felt a flush creep up his neck at your teasing tone. "I, uh, not much, really," he mumbled, his eyes darting around the coffee shop before settling back on you. "I'm kind of a boring guy, to be honest."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Somehow, I doubt that," you said, leaning forward slightly. 

Cregan's eyes met yours for a brief moment before he looked away, a faint smile breaking his usual reserved expression. “Well,” he started, his voice low and thoughtful, “I guess I’m into photography. It’s more of a hobby, but it helps me clear my head sometimes.”

You leaned in closer, intrigued by this small revelation. “Photography? That’s really cool. What do you like to photograph?”

Cregan shrugged, a little more at ease now that the focus was off the math and on something more personal. “Mostly cityscapes. Sometimes, I’ll catch the sunrise or sunset if I’m up early – or late – enough. I like capturing moments that people usually overlook.”

There was something almost poetic about the way he spoke, as if he saw the world in a different light, a way that made you want to see it through his eyes. “That sounds… peaceful,” you replied, trying to imagine him in those quiet moments, camera in hand.

“Yeah, it is.” Cregan paused, as if considering how much more to share. “It’s… calming.”

You smiled, feeling a new level of connection with him. “I’d love to see some of your photos sometime.”

His eyes flicked back to you, surprised. “You would?”

“Of course,” you said, your voice earnest. “I think it’d be amazing to see the world through your perspective.”

Cregan hesitated, but there was a softness in his expression, a slight warmth that hadn’t been there before. “Maybe I could show you, then. If you’re really interested.”

“I am,” you assured him, your tone gentle yet firm. “I really am.”

The conversation took on a new rhythm after that, a quieter, more personal tone as you both opened up, bit by bit. Cregan asked about your own interests, your goals, the things that made you tick outside of the classroom. He listened intently, his focus unwavering, and even though his responses were often short and to the point, they were always thoughtful, as if he was carefully choosing each word.

You talked about books you loved, places you wanted to visit, dreams you had for the future. And in turn, Cregan shared more about himself – his love for science, his fascination with how things worked, and the quiet joy he found in those moments when he could just be himself, away from the pressures of school and life.

As the afternoon stretched into early evening, the café started to empty out, the bustle of the day giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere. The baristas began their end-of-day routines, but you and Cregan remained, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

At some point, your hands brushed across the table, and though it was brief, it felt like a spark of electricity passed between you. Cregan didn’t pull away, and neither did you. Instead, you both let the touch linger for just a moment longer, a silent acknowledgment of the growing bond that was forming.

Finally, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the café floor, you realized it was time to go. You packed up your notes, the weight of the day’s work feeling lighter than it had before.

“Thanks for today,” you said, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I really appreciate it.”

Cregan stood as well, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Anytime,” he said softly. “Same time next week?”

“Definitely,” you replied, smiling at him. “And maybe we can talk more about photography, too.”

Cregan’s smile returned, shy but genuine. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As you walked out of the café together, the evening air cool and refreshing, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you and Cregan. It was subtle, a quiet deepening of the connection you shared, but it was there, undeniable and strong.

You parted ways after Cregan insisted on walking you home and you refused, he opted for telling you to text him when you were at your door. His cheeks burnt red when he read the screen, with your newly added number and a ‘home ;)’text.

Cregan's phone buzzed again, and his heart leapt, wondering if it was another message from you. But as he looked at the screen, his expression darkened. It was a news alert: a robbery in progress just a few blocks away.

He hesitated, torn between the urge to respond and the desire to hold onto the warmth of the afternoon for just a little longer. But he knew he couldn't ignore it. With a sigh, Cregan ducked into a nearby alley, quickly changing into the suit he always kept with him.

As he swung through the city, the cool night air whipping past him, Cregan couldn't help but think about you. About the way your eyes had lit up when he explained a particularly tricky concept, about the soft brush of your fingers against his as you reached for your coffee cup. He thought about the promise of next week, of more conversations about photography and life and all the things that made you both who you were.

The robbery was dealt with quickly – a couple of petty thieves who were more surprised to see Spider-Man than they were prepared to fight him. As Cregan webbed them up for the police, he found himself wondering what you would think if you could see him now. Would you be impressed? Scared? Would it change the way you looked at him?

By the time Cregan made it back to his apartment, it was late. He collapsed onto his bed, still in his suit, feeling the familiar ache of exertion in his muscles. But as he closed his eyes, it wasn't the faces of the criminals he'd caught that he saw. It was your smile, the way you'd leaned in close as he explained a problem, the warmth in your voice when you'd said goodbye.

His phone buzzed one more time, and Cregan reached for it, his heart racing. It was you.

‘thanks again for today. you really are my hero when it comes to biochem.’

Then another.

‘see you in class!’

Cregan read the message several times, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He wanted to say so much – about how much he'd enjoyed spending time with you, how he was already looking forward to next week, how beautiful you looked, how you made him feel like just Cregan, not Spider-Man or anyone else.

In the end, he settled for something simple: ‘Anytime. I had a great time too. Can't wait for next week.’

He knew it wouldn't be easy. Balancing his life as Cregan Stark with his duties as Spider-Man was already a constant struggle. Adding a potential relationship to the mix would only complicate things further. But as he remembered the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes had met his across the coffee shop table, Cregan found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, patrols, and stolen glances across lecture halls. Every time Cregan saw you, his heart would do a little flip in his chest. Sometimes you'd catch his eye and smile, a small, secret gesture that felt like it was just for him. Other times, you'd be deep in conversation with friends or buried in a textbook, and Cregan would find himself watching you from afar, marveling at the way you moved through the world.

In class, Cregan found himself hyper-aware of your presence. He'd catch himself stealing glances at you, watching the way you chewed on your pen when you were thinking hard about a problem, or the way you'd tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you leaned over your notes. More than once, he nearly missed a question from the professor, too distracted by the simple fact of your nearness.

But it wasn't just in class that you occupied his thoughts. As Spider-Man, swinging through the city at night, Cregan found himself taking routes that would bring him past your apartment building. He told himself it was just to make sure you were safe, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was a way of feeling close to you, even when he couldn't be Cregan Stark.

As Cregan swung away into the night, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had to give. He couldn't keep living these two separate lives, couldn't keep holding you at arm's length while simultaneously yearning to be closer. But what was the alternative? To tell you the truth and risk everything? To walk away and protect you from the dangers that came with being close to Spider-Man?

He didn't have the answers. But as he made his way back to his own apartment, Cregan knew one thing for certain: he was in deeper than he'd ever intended to be, and there was no easy way out.

_________

As the days passed, you found yourself drawn more and more into Cregan Stark's orbit. What had started as simple tutoring sessions began to evolve into something more. You'd catch yourself looking for him in the crowded hallways between classes, your heart skipping a beat when you'd spot that familiar mop of brown hair. 

During your tutoring sessions, you started to linger longer, engaging Cregan in conversations that went far beyond the subject matter at hand. You discovered a shared love of obscure sci-fi movies, and soon found yourself suggesting meetups outside of your usual study time. When you had first asked him to come over to watch a movie, trying to keep your voice casual even as your pulse quickened, Cregan felt like his chest was about to explode.

Cregan seemed both delighted and nervous at these invitations, always accepting with an endearing mix of enthusiasm and awkwardness. You couldn't help but find his slightly fumbling manner charming, so different from the easy confidence you saw in many of your classmates.

But it wasn't just Cregan Stark who was occupying your thoughts. Your encounters with Spider-Man had been increasing in frequency as well. It started innocuously enough - you'd be walking home late from the library and suddenly he'd be there, offering to make sure you got home safely. Or you'd be grabbing a quick bite at a food truck, and he'd swing by, pausing just long enough for a quip and a smile that made your stomach flutter.

These brief encounters slowly became more frequent, more prolonged. Sometimes he'd perch on a nearby rooftop, and you'd find yourself talking for hours, sharing your hopes, your fears, your dreams. There was something freeing about talking to someone whose face you couldn't fully see, whose identity remained a mystery. You found yourself opening up to Spider-Man in ways you never had with anyone else.

As your connection with both Cregan and Spider-Man deepened, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something you were missing, some connection you weren't quite grasping. 

The day had been long, stretched out with a kind of silence that felt unnatural. Usually, Cregan would find some way to pop up – whether it was a quick text about a class assignment or a casual joke that made you smile. But the past three days, there was nothing. The hours ticked by, and with each passing minute, a sense of unease settled in your chest.

You missed Cregan, he’d become a constant presence in your life.

The evening of the third day rolled in, you tried to distract yourself with a book, but the words blurred together, your mind too bored and restless to focus. Every so often, you found yourself glancing at your phone, hoping for a message, some sign of Cregan.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across your apartment. You stood by the window, watching the city come to life with its usual rhythm – the distant hum of traffic, the occasional blare of a car horn, the murmur of voices drifting up from the street below. But something felt off, a tension in the air that you couldn’t quite shake.

You were just about to turn away from the window, resigning yourself to another hour of waiting, when a sudden noise broke through the quiet. A thud. Heavy and sharp, it resonated through the walls and made you jump.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun toward the sound. It had come from the fire escape just outside your window, the metal groaning slightly under the weight of something – or someone.

With a shaky breath, you approached the window, your hand trembling as you reached for the latch. You hesitated for a moment, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. Then, slowly, you pushed the window open, the cool evening air rushing in.

And there he was.

Spider-Man.

But not the agile, confident hero you’d seen swinging through the city’s skyline. This Spider-Man was slumped against the railing of your fire escape, his red and blue suit torn and stained with dirt and blood. He was breathing heavily, each breath a ragged gasp, his masked head tilted down as if the effort of holding it up was too much.

“Spider-Man?” you whispered, your voice shaky with a mix of disbelief and fear. 

He didn’t respond at first, his head still bowed, but you could see his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. Panic surged through you as you realized just how badly he was hurt. Without thinking, you climbed out onto the fire escape, the metal cool beneath your hands as you knelt beside him.

“Hey,” you said, louder this time, reaching out to touch his arm. “What happened?”

At your touch, he flinched, his head snapping up. For a moment, you saw the white lenses of his mask narrow, as if he was trying to focus on you through a haze of pain. Then, with a weak, shaky movement, he lifted a gloved hand to his mask, pulling it up just enough to reveal the lower half of his face.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw it – Cregan’s familiar jawline, his lips cracked and dry, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. His eyes, half-hidden behind the mask, were glazed with exhaustion and pain.

“Cregan,” you breathed, the name slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Fear and worry tangled in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You could barely recognize the boy who’d sat beside you in the library just a few weeks before, explaining enzyme kinetics with a shy smile. Now, he looked so vulnerable, so fragile, it was almost unbearable.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost too quiet to hear. His attempt at a smile faltered, his lips trembling. “Sorry... didn’t mean to drop in unannounced.”

You shook your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Cregan, what happened? You’re hurt – Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

He winced as he tried to shift, his hand tightening on the railing. “Just... ran into some trouble. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Just... just need a minute.”

But it was clear that he needed more than just a minute. His skin was pale beneath the grime, and when he tried to move again, his body sagged against the railing, his strength all but gone.

“Cregan, you need help,” you said, your voice urgent as you scanned his injuries, not knowing where to start. You could see the gash on his side, the dark stain of blood seeping through the fabric of his suit. “You can’t stay out here – come inside, please.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but another wave of pain seemed to wash over him, cutting off his words. You didn’t wait for him to argue. With gentle hands, you slipped your arm around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles as you tried to support his weight.

“Come on,” you urged softly, “I’ve got you.”

With a groan, Cregan let you help him to his feet, his body heavy and unsteady against yours. Together, you managed to maneuver him through the window and into your apartment, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

You guided him to the couch, easing him down onto the cushions with as much care as you could manage. He slumped back, his head lolling to the side as he tried to stay conscious. You could see the strain in his face, the way his eyes fluttered open and shut as he fought against the overwhelming exhaustion.

“I’m gonna get some supplies,” you whispered, brushing a hand across his forehead. “Just hang in there, okay?”

Cregan’s hand caught yours as you started to pull away, his grip weak but desperate. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes met yours, filled with a depth of gratitude and vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You squeezed his hand gently, your voice soft but firm. “I’ll be right back.”

As you hurried to gather what you needed – first aid kit, towels, anything that might help – you couldn’t shake the image of Cregan lying there, hurt and vulnerable. This was the same boy who’d laughed with you over coffee, who’d explained complex science with an ease that belied his own brilliance. The same boy who now sat on your couch, barely holding on.

When you returned, Cregan’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but steady. You knelt beside him, your hands trembling as you began to clean his wounds, doing your best to be gentle. Each time he flinched or winced, your heart clenched, wishing you could take the pain away, even if just a little.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you worked. 

Cregan didn’t answer right away, his lips pressed together as you dabbed at the cut on his side. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice rough and tired. “Missed you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you paused, meeting his gaze. “Cregan,”

The words seemed to hang in the air between you, thick with emotion. Cregan’s eyes softened, his expression crumbling into something raw and unguarded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want to drag you into this... but I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your heart ached for him, and without thinking, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. “You’re not dragging me into anything, Cregan. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as if trying to draw strength from your presence. For a long moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled in a web of trust and unspoken feelings, holding on to each other in the quiet safety of your small apartment.

Cregan’s eyes fluttered open as he leaned into your touch, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the pain etched into his features. 

“Hey, don’t look so worried,” he murmured, his voice soft but with a familiar hint of playfulness. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got this whole… accelerated healing thing going on. Perks of the job.”

You tried to smile back, but the worry still lingered in your eyes. “I know, but that doesn’t make seeing you like this any easier.” Your voice wavered slightly, and Cregan’s hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Come on, don’t I always bounce back?” he said, trying to inject some of that Spider-Man charm into his voice, though it came out weaker than usual.

“I’ll be okay,” he murmured at your silence, his voice a rough whisper, as if he was trying to convince both of you. “I... I heal fast. It just takes some time.”

You frowned, your hand still cradling his face as you studied the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. “Fast or not, you’re hurt, Cregan. Let me help.”

He managed a small, weak smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was full of appreciation. “You’re already helping.”

You started with the worst of his injuries, cleaning the gash on his side with careful, deliberate movements. He hissed at the sting of the antiseptic, his muscles tensing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and tried to relax, his eyes fixed on your face as if drawing strength from your presence.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand how you could be so kind, so caring, even after seeing him like this. The world knew Spider-Man as a hero, invincible and strong, but here he was, laid bare and vulnerable, and yet you didn’t flinch, didn’t turn away. Instead, you stayed, your hands steady as you patched him up, your heart open and unafraid.

Once you’d finished with the worst of the injuries, you turned your attention to the smaller cuts and bruises, dabbing at the dried blood on his cheek, his neck, his hands. The silence between you was comfortable now, filled with the quiet rustle of bandages and the soft rhythm of your breathing.

Cregan’s eyes drifted shut as you worked, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

You shook your head, your fingers brushing gently over a bruise on his temple. “You don’t have to apologize, Cregan. I’m just glad you came here, that you trusted me.”

His eyes opened again, and this time, there was a softness in them that made your heart ache. “Of course, I trust you,” he said, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I just... I didn’t want you to see me like this. Didn’t want you to think...”

He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. But you understood what he was trying to say, the fear that had been gnawing at him, the worry that you might see him differently now that you knew the truth.

You offered him a small, reassuring smile, your hand still resting on his cheek. 

He closed his eyes again, leaning into your touch as if it was the only thing keeping him anchored. You could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on him, the way his body sagged against the cushions, his strength nearly spent.

“Get some rest,” you urged softly, your fingers brushing through his hair in a soothing gesture. “I’ll stay right here. You’re safe.”

Cregan nodded, his breathing evening out as he let the exhaustion take over. His hand found yours, his grip weak but steady, and he held on as if afraid to let go.

As the minutes stretched into hours, the tension in Cregan’s body began to ease, his breathing becoming slower, deeper. The silence in the room was peaceful, broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond the window. You stayed beside him, your hand still holding his, your thumb brushing gently over the back of his knuckles in a soothing rhythm, trying to also calm yourself down.

Then, just as you thought he’d fallen asleep, Cregan’s voice broke the quiet, a soft murmur that tugged at your heart. “I missed you these last few days,” he whispered, his eyes still closed, as if the words were pulled from him in a moment of vulnerability.

Your breath caught in your throat at the confession. “I missed you too,” you replied, your voice just as soft, filled with all the things you hadn’t been able to say. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been waiting for this moment, for the chance to be close to him again, until now.

Cregan’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. There was something raw in his gaze, a mix of relief and longing that you hadn’t seen before, something that made the air between you crackle with unspoken emotion.

“I kept thinking about you,” he continued, his voice low and rough around the edges.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung in the air. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that made it impossible to ignore, a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the bruises and cuts marring his face.

Cregan’s lips, cracked and dry from days of struggle, curled into a weak but genuine smile. His eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion but alive with a mix of mischief and longing, met yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, “since you’re already being so kind and caring, maybe… just maybe… a kiss for the wounded hero?” He tried to make light of his condition, the playful tone in his voice belying the pain he was in.

Your lips twitched into a small, incredulous smile despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You could see the effort it took for him to joke, the way he was clinging to his usual charm even when he was at his most vulnerable.

“I suppose I could,” you said, leaning closer, “if you’re sure it won’t make you faint from excitement.”

Cregan’s laughter was a soft, pained exhale, but it was there, and it was real. “I think I can handle it.”

With a tender smile, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment as you took in the rawness of his expression. He looked at you with such intensity that it felt as if he was seeing right into you, beyond the superficial and straight into the heart of what mattered.

You leaned in, your breath mingling with his as you closed the distance. His lips were warm and dry against yours, and the kiss was gentle, almost tentative. 

Cregan’s lips, cracked and trembling from his injuries, felt delicate beneath yours. Despite his pain, there was a surprising gentleness in his kiss, a fragile vulnerability that made you want to hold him closer. The contact was brief, a fleeting brush of warmth and tenderness, but it was charged with unspoken emotions – fear, hope, and the deep relief of finally being close again.

When you pulled back, you barely heard Cregan’s joke about ordering some good pizza, too focused on his cheeky smile and the few strands of hair that had fallen back to his face. 

can i go (where you go?) | j.v

summary:

“Hey, it’s me.”

After a short beat, you opened the door to look at him, your hair wet around your shoulders, water droplets wetting his shirt you were wearing. Despite the early morning hours, Jace felt a some rush of excitement running through him seeing you standing in his shirt in his bathroom.

“You good?”

“I think I just met your brother,” you said lightly, your cheeks pink.

OR; 5 times Jace’s family meets you (and the one time you meet them)

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: just incredibly tooth rotting fluff. i’m actually in love with them. in this modern universe, Alicent is married to Rhaenyra’s younger brother Baelon, Rhaenys and Viserys aren’t related, and Addam and Alyn aren’t Corlys’ sons. I think I solved the inbreeding, lol. Also, Harwin and Rhaenyra are happily married <3 (there will probably be more fics in this universe🤭)

word count: 7,2k (HOW)

author’s note: everyone knows i love a good 5 + 1 fic. this was born out of @eldrith and me just coming up with modern au headcanons and modern!jace consuming my thoughts at work. happy happy reading, I hope you're obsessed! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I Luke

“Jace… Hey, Jace.”

Jace let out a groan, burowing deeper into the cushions, hoping to drown out the voice.

“Jace!”

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him violently and Jace groaned, his eyes fluttering open just to see his brother peer down at him, his damp hair plastered against his forehead. Jace knew it was entirely too early for him to be awake with the way his body still felt too heavy. He glared at Luke, his annoyance clear as day.

“Luke, what the fuck.”

“Hey, I’ve just come from the gym, the showers in my dorm were blocked off because a pipe burst, can I shower here?”

Jace whined, turning his head to face the pillow, hoping it would smother him. Anything to be unconscious again.

“Couldn’t you just have showered at the gym?”

“I have a class at 10,” Luke replied, as if that answered the question.

It didn’t.

Jace didnt react, hoping that Luke would just leave if he feigned falling back asleep, but Luke grabbed him by the shoulders again.

“Jace.”

“Oh my god, just go use the shower, you’re here already!”

“Thanks, you’re the best!”

The mattress dipped again and footsteps receded before Jace was finally alone again, falling back into a slumber.

Wait, had he been alone?

He could distinctly remember you coming home with him the night before but the bed was empty when Jace reached his hand out looking for you. You must have snuck out in the early hours of the day. Jace would definitely confront you about that as soon as he was awake enough to do it.

Just as he was about to drift back to dream land, a high pitched squeal woke him right up, and he shot up in bed, wide awake.

“Oh my god, I am so so sorry!”

A door slammed, hurried footsteps came towards his bedroom before Luke barged through the door with wild eyes; shutting it behind him.

“There’s a girl in your bathroom!” He said, his voice accusatory as he glared at Jace, with his back against the door. Luke’s cheeks were red, and Jace wasn’t sure if it was the remaining flush from the gym or because he was embarrassed.

Jace only blinked at him, before wiping his palm over his face.

“Fuck.”

Luke frowned at him. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“She’s not-“ Jace broke off, sighing. “It’s not important.”

He got out of the bed, shooing Luke away from the door and padded towards his bathroom, trying to make sure his younger brother hadn’t completely scared you off. The bathroom was locked and Jace leaned against the doorframe, rapping his knuckles against the door.

“Hey, it’s me.”

After a short beat, you opened the door to look at him, your hair wet around your shoulders, water droplets wetting his shirt you were wearing. Despite the early morning hours, Jace felt a some rush of excitement running through him seeing you standing in his shirt in his bathroom.

“You good?”

“I think I just met your brother,” you said lightly, your cheeks pink.

The corner of Jace’s mouth tugged up and he flexed his hand around your waist, pulling you closer. Luke was lucky he met you so early in the day, your temper still subdued from sleep. Had it happened in the afternoon? Luke would’ve gotten an earful.

“Are you okay? I can make him leave if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No it’s fine,” you huffed, hiding your face in his shoulders. “I was not prepared to meet him.”

Jace wrapped his arm around your waist, leaning his chin on your head with a grin. “You don’t have to be prepared to meet Luke. You just meet him and go “what a dork”, there’s not much else after that.”

“Yo!” Luke crowed outside. “I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!”

“Can I just take a shower please!!!”

Jace rolled his eyes, his hand dropping down to lace his fingers with yours. “Come on, I’ll make you a coffee.”

He pulled you into the kitchen, turning his coffee machine on, meanwhile hearing Luke flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. By the time his younger brother emerged again, his hair towel damp, you and Jace were sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in hand, your feet in Jace’s lap.

Luke stood in the door way like a deer in headlights as you and Jace looked at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you said lightly; Jace only snorted into his bowl.

“Sorry again… About earlier. I’m Luke,” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck, but you only waved it off as you introduced yourself. Luke glanced between the two of you, the wheels in his head must be turning a mile a minute. Jace did not look forward to whatever he was going to say.

“So… Are you guys like going steady?”

You pulled a face and Jace only sighed. Of course he chose to be a dick.

“Get out.”

Luke grinned, having expected the reaction. “Kay. Thanks for letting me use your shower,” he called over his shoulder, “Bye Jace, bye shower girl!”

The door fell shut in its hinges and Jace welcomed the silence that followed.

“I should’ve never given him the spare key,” he muttered, but you only pressed your heel into his leg.

“Stop it, he’s sweet.”

“He’s a menace.”

“He’s your little brother,” you laughed, pushing your empty bowl on the coffee table. “He’s supposed to get on your nerves, it’s literally in the job description.”

His bowl soon joined yours on the table as Jace wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his lap. You grinned at him, tucking his hair behind his ear, as he played with the hem of his shirt you were wearing.

“I like that you feel comfortable enough at my place to take a shower,” he mumbled, nosing along your neck.

“Shut up.”

II Rhaena

“Man, that was way too close,” Addam groaned as they walked into the locker room. Their game against the Stags of Stormlands University had ended with 2:1, which was criminal. It should’ve been at least 3:1 and Jace wasn’t even being arrogant. That one goal they scored against them was pure luck.

“Coach is gonna be on our asses during the next practice,” Alyn said as he tugged off his jersey.

“As if he needs a reason to make us run suicides,” Cregan pointed out and Jace shrugged.

“It wasn’t entirely our fault, though. The audience was crazy today. What happened after half time? There was some commotion in the stands.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” Alyn snickered. “Apparently some girl punched Criston square in the face after he made some of his usual comments.”

“What?” Addam asked, his eyebrows risen as Jace only laughed.

“No way. That girl’s my hero.”

“I’m buying her a drink,” Cregan declared. “Do we know who it was?”

Alyn shook his head in no. “Nah, I just overheard some guys talking about it…” he then turned to Jace. “You coming to the bar with us?” Alyn asked. “My treat.”

“I can’t,” Jace replied, but before he could elaborate, Cregan wrapped his arm around his shoulder, squeezing him.

“Lover boy is meeting his girlfriend, he told me all about it.”

Jace’s cheeks tinged pink and he shoved Cregan off, huffing.

“Fuck off.”

“Leave him alone,” Addam said lightly from the bench, untying his shoes. “If I had another choice, I wouldn’t go to the bar with you either.”

“Thank you Addam,” Jace said, giving Alyn and Cregan, who were snickering to themselves, a pointed look. He grabbed a towel and his shower caddy from the locker, turning back to his friends.

“Have fun at the bar. I’ll see you guys around.”

Jace ignored how they made kissy sounds after him, rolling his eyes at them fondly. After taking a quick shower, and getting dressed, he made his way to the spot you had agreed to meet him. He passed a few familiar faces who congratulated him on the win, but he made no attempt to stay in a conversation too long, not wanting to keep you waiting. When he got to the gates of the football field, you were nowhere to be found though. Maybe you were held up by your friends. Jace shot you a text, telling you where he was, then pulling up his family group chat. His parents and Joffrey had gone hiking over the weekend, but his dad had received updates on the game via the uni’s newsletter, both of them sending him well done’s. Luke had watched the game with his friends, and Jace had no doubt he was now at the same bar his team mates were headed to. Jace then pulled up the text chain with you, but his texts to you went unanswered. With a sigh, he opened Find my..? frowning when he saw your icon float over the building that held the student med center.

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself, shoving his phone into his pocket, walking to the student med center in quick strides. The building was dark when he arrived, but the door was unlocked when he pulled on it. Jace stood in the dark for a while, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, when he heard voices coming from somewhere. Following the sound, he reached the examination room, the voices becoming more distinctive.

“-never punched someone, why has no one ever told me that it hurts so much? He’s the one who should be hurt, not me!”

“You’d be surprised. You can actually break something while punching someone.”

Jace paused in the doorway, watching as you sat on the bed, ice pack in your hand, while another girl was rummaging in the cupboards with her back to him. You looked up when he called your name, and the smile on your face nearly made him forget how worried he was.

“Hey,” you said, “Rhaena, this is my-“

“Jace?”

Of course it was Rhaena. Out of all the student meds, it had to be his cousin tending to you. You glanced between them your eyebrows high.

“You guys know each other?”

“Rhaena is my cousin,” Jace explained, distracted, his focus on your hand. “What happened?”

“Supergirl over here punched Cole in the face.”

“Criston Cole?”

“The one and only.”

Jace sighed, sitting down next to you to lift the ice back from your knuckles, frowning when he found them bloody.

“She’s bleeding!”

Rhaena rolled her eyes, holding up some gauze and disinfectant spray. “Yes, I was looking for the gauze, thanks for reminding me.”

Jace frowned as Rhaena sat on your other side.

“This is probably gonna sting,” she warned you, before spraying disinfectant on your wounds, but you winced anyway. Jace watched as Rhaena patched you up, the frown on his forehead not easing.

“Alright, we’re all done,” Rhaena said, balling up the wrapper. “I want you to keep that ice pack on for twenty minutes, it can reduce the swelling. And maybe try to keep it elevated, and lots of resting!”

“Okay,” Jace said, matter of factly.

Both you and Rhaena looked at him - you looking amused, while Rhaena looked exasperated - and he only shrugged.

“What? You know damn well you’re not gonna do anything she just said,” he argued and you grinned, turning to Rhaena.

“Duly noted, thanks Rhaena.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Rhaena said, throwing the wrappers in the trash before shooeing you and Jace out of the building. As you walked outside, you and Rhaena seemed to be get along like a house on fire as Jace held your purse, and by the time you were standing out front, you had exchanged numbers.

“Hey, so really come by when I’m working, and I’ll treat you for a coffee,” you said while Rhaena locked up.

“Sure, that’ll be nice,” Rhaena replied, packing her keys away. “It was really nice to meet you.”

You beamed at her. “You too!”

His cousin smiled at you before turning to Jace. “I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yep. Thanks Rhae.”

Jace gave her a hug, and she quickly hugged you as well, before waving in good bye.

“Bye, see you guys!”

“Bye Rhaena!”

Jace pulled you close as you walked, his forehead still creased. You were supposed to go out for dinner, but by now your reservation had probably fallen through, so Jace might as well just cook you dinner at home. He couldn’t help but glance at your hand, which you noticed immediately.

“Jace, I’m fine,” you insisted with a laugh, grabbing his hand to reassure him, but no dice.

“I know Cole is a pain in the ass, but why did you punch him?” he asked, his forehead creased. “You could get in trouble. And on top of that, you got hurt!”

“It’s just bruised knuckles and a little blood, it’ll be healed before you know it,” you promised him. “Besides, Cole had it coming. He was sprouting bullshit about how he should’ve made the team instead of you and was just being a dick.”

Jace froze mid step, and you were dragged back by him, not having expected the sudden stop.

“You were defending my honor?”

You glanced at him, lips quirking in a smile.

“I’ll always defend your honor.”

In that moment, Jace was so overcome with emotion, he thought he might do something stupid like tell you that he loved you, so he just pulled you into a deep kiss. You sighed softly against his lips, before you pulled back, looking at him in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“Can’t a guy thank his knight in shining armor?”

You snickered, lacing your hands with his.

“You can thank me by getting some food in me, I am starving.”

III Joffrey

“It’s nice here.”

The sun was shining, reflecting its rays over the surface of the water. It was rather still today, a stark contrast to the strong waves that usually lapped at the shore of Driftmark. The small coast town was only an half an hour drive from uni and since you had never been here before, Jace had decided to take you for an impromptu trip, armed with a blanket and some snacks, but not much else. The two of you were sat on said blanket, you sitting between his legs, head resting on his chest. Jace wished it could be like this forever.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to Driftmark,” he said, amused. “My parents used to take us every weekend when we were younger. Luke and I used to fly kites, but his always fell nose first into the sand.”

You laughed, pressing yourself closer into Jace.

“That’s sweet,” you mumbled softly, your voice trailing off. “So how many girls have you taken here?”

Jace rolled his eyes fondly, his finger tracing your arm. If only you knew. He hummed, as if in thought.

“Let’s see, there was that one girl from Lambda Psi, then Jessica from my International Relations class…”

You laughed, squirming in his arms as you smacked his hand away.

“You’re an ass.”

He tightened his hold on you, a grin on his face. “You started it!”

Giggling, you settled back into him and Jace let out a happy sigh, but the moment was quickly interrupted by his phone ringing. He had half a mind to decline the call, but he paused when he saw the caller ID.

“Why is my mum calling me?” Jace said, frowning at his phone before picking up the call. “Hey mum, is everything okay?”

“Jace, thank god,” his mother sighed in relief. The background was noisy, if Jace had to guess, she must be at work. “My meeting is running longer than expected and I won’t be able to make it in time to pick up Joffrey from school, is there any way you could make the drive down here to pick him up?”

Jace glanced at his watch. It was almost 3 in the afternoon and on a good day, it took 25 minutes to get from Driftmark to Joffrey’s school in King’s Landing. But that meant, you’d have to tag along, because there was no way he’d make it in time for Joffrey’s school’s out if he dropped you off beforehand.

“… Mum, can you give me a second?”

His mother paused. “… Sure.”

He muted the call from his side and you had already turned around to face him, your eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s going on?”

“My mum is stuck at work and she asked me to go pick up my brother from school,” Jace started. “I’m not going to make it in time if we’ll make the drive back to Oldtown-”

“Jace, oh my god, it’s fine, let’s go,” you exclaimed, already standing up and collecting all the things you had brought.

Jace stared at you for a second, slack-jawed, before he dipped his head, smiling to himself. He quickly unmuted the phone call while he got to his feet.

“I’ll pick him up mum, it’s not a problem,” he said, while helping you put away the blanket with one hand.

“Thank you, Jace,” his mother said, her tone hesitant, like she was holding back a question, but before she could ask it, another voice called for her. “I’ll call the school and let them know you’re coming,” she said distractedly.

“Okay mum, thanks. Have fun at the meeting!”

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turned to see you with everything packed.

“Come on, let’s go!” you hurried him, taking his hand to drag him to his car, missing the blinding smile Jace had on his face.

The drive to King’s Landing was quicker than expected, with the streets being free and Jace made it to Joffrey’s school right around 3:30, the cars from several other parents already lined up to enter the pick up zone.

“Are you okay waiting in the car?” Jace asked, turning to you, “I’ll be in and out in no time.”

“Yeah, of course,” you assured him, patting his knee.

Jace couldn’t help but lean over to press a kiss on your cheek, nearly missing his turn to find a temporary parking spot, but the security guard waved him along.

“Keep it moving, son.”

“Isn’t this the pick up zone for school?” Jace asked, unbuckling. “I can park here, right?”

The security guard eyed his license plate, before checking his clipboard. “Don’t see your license plate on my list, you gotta keep it moving.”

“You’re joking.”

The man blinked at him, clearly not joking.

“I only need to go in and grab my brother, it won’t even take five minutes,” Jace argued but the security guard shook his head, unrelenting.

“Can’t make an exception, rules are rules.”

Jace opened his mouth to try to make another argument, but behind him, the cars started to honk their horns at him, parents impatient to pick up their kids. Jace’s ears grew hot but before he could lash out at the security guard, you laid your hand on his arm.

“Jace, I can go get your brother.”

“Are you sure?” Jace asked, frowning. He felt bad for making you go along, ruining the day he had planned. You didn’t sign up for this and he didn’t want to make you go into a school full of kids to pick up his brother.

“Yes, I promise,” you said, a smile on your face as you squeezed his hand and he sighed, nodding.

“Okay.”

He gave you a rough description of the way inside the school and Joffrey’s classroom number, before you got out of the car, as Jace exited the pick up zone, but not without giving the security guard a dirty look. He drove around the block, parking his car next to the curb when his phone rang announcing a facetime from you.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Jace asked as he picked up. The screen was blurry, and you were barely visibly as you stared at something behind the camera

“Hey, no, Joffrey just wanted to make sure I wasn’t lying,” you said, distractedly. “Alright Joffrey.”

The camera panned away from you until Joffrey came into view. His baby brother looked sceptical, clutching the straps of his red backpack, but his frown eased when he saw Jace.

“Hi Jace.”

“Hi Joff,” Jace said, his voice soft. “I know mum was supposed to pick you up, but her meeting ran long so she asked me to get you. I’m waiting in the car, alright? Are you going to be okay walking with my friend?”

Joffrey looked off camera, assumedly at you before turning back to Jace, scrunching his nose. “Mummy said I shouldn’t go with strangers.”

“And she’s right!” Jace quickly interjected, knowing his mother would kill him if he unraveled all the things she had been teaching Joffrey ever since he was old enough to talk. “But this is my friend, right? Not a stranger.”

With a purse on his lips, Joffrey seemed to think his words over before nodding.

“Okay.”

Joffrey waved at him through the camera before looking up.

“Can we go now?”

Jace heard you suppress a laughter as the phone shook. Joffrey didn’t look phased.

“Yes,” you said. “Come on, let’s go.”

You offered your hand to him, before you quickly panned the camera on yourself again. “See you in a bit, Jace.”

The call ended and Jace quietly laughed to himself as he tossed his phone on the passenger seat, driving back towards the school. He didn’t wait long in front of the curb when you and Joffrey came walking out, you carrying his backpack and Joffrey carrying a booster seat.

“Alright, now let’s get your backpack in here-” you said, opening the door to put Joffrey’s backpack on the backseat, then scooching it over to put the booster seat on as well. “And then you go into the booster-”

“Hi Jace!”

Jace turned around, smiling as he watched Joffrey settle into his booster seat comfortably while you fussed over him.

“Hi Joff.”

“Okay, now the seatbelt… Is this too tight?” you asked as you buckled Joffrey in, but he shook his head. You gave him a thumbs up, before shutting the door behind him, climbing back into the passenger’s seat so Jace could pull away from the curb.

“How was school?” Jace asked Joffrey with a quick glance at him through the mirror.

“Good,” Joffrey replied, “We learned about shapes.”

He then fully launched into a retelling of how his classmates thought circles and triangles are the same and Jace meant to give you an apologetic look, but to his surprise, you seemed to be listening intently.

“No way! I bet his mind was blown when you told him about rectangles!”

“He thought I was lying!”

Jace quietly snickered to himself and you grinned at him, as Joffrey continued to babble on in the backseat. Without thinking much, Jace had started the drive back to Oldtown.

“Is it okay if I drop you off at home?” Jace asked, his voice quiet, even though Joffrey was humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar to Jace as he looked out of the window, content after telling you about his school day. “I think I’ll drive back to King’s Landing and spend the night at home.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said, smiling at him and Jace’s heart did a stupid flip in his chest. He reached over to squeeze your hand, forgetting about his brother in his backseat for a split second.

“What kind of friends are you?”

His neck grew hot and he almost reflexively pulled his hand back, but you tightened your hold.

“The bestest friends,” you said, turning around to look at him with the most serious expression you could muster. Joffrey pressed his lips together in an attempt to bite back a smile, but a giggle escaped his lips.

“Bestest is not even a word.”

“Well, I made it up because Jace and I are bestest friends.”

“You’re silly,” Joffrey laughed and you gasped, faking affront.

The rest of the drive continued about the same until Jace pulled up in front of your building. Your hand was on the door handle, but you threw a look to the back at Joffrey, clearly reluctant to go.

“Bye Joffrey, it was really nice to meet you,” you told him with a smile.

“Bye!”

Your eyes turned to Jace, who desperately wanted to kiss you, but he wouldn’t, not in front of Joffrey, so he only inclined his head at you, hoping you knew.

“Bye,” you said softly, cheeks pink as you got out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

“Bye!” Joffrey called, waving at you through the window until you disappeared inside your apartment building. His baby brother then turned to him, a smile on his face.

“I like her.”

Pleased, Jace settled back into his seat, putting the car back in drive, his eye on his brother through the mirror.

“Me too, buddy.”

IV Aegon

“I don’t get why you won’t just make it official when you’re obviously so into her.”

“Can we not talk about this?”

The music coming from inside was loud, but Jace wished it was louder so he didn’t have to talk about this. Of course he’d rather officially call you his girlfriend than… Whatever it was he was calling you right now. But it was complicated, the both of you starting out casually, no labels.

That was almost four months ago and things had changed. For him at least.

Cregan kicked his foot, forcing Jace to look at him.

“I’m serious, Jace. You’re insanely into her and she obviously likes you too.”

Jace pretended like hearing that didn’t make him happy, looking around for you.

“Where is she anyway?” Jace asked and Cregan only sighed at the obvious attempt of changing the topic.

“Last I saw, she and her foxy friend were trying to get drinks.”

Jace rolled his eyes, pushed himself up from the chair.

“I’ll go look for her,” he said, taking a few steps before turning back to his friend. “And don’t call Alysanne foxy.”

Cregan’s bellowing laughter made Jace grin, and he only shook his head, opening the patio door to head inside. The air was stuffy and smelt of alcohol, but he was used to it as he squeezed past a kissing couple, craning his head over the crowd to try to spot you somewhere in the crowded house. He usually didn’t like splitting up with you at parties because it was a pain finding each other again. You also had an habit to make so many friends in a short amount of time.

When Jace finally made it to the kitchen, he saw the back of your head and he let out a sigh of relief. His face blanched however, when he saw who you were talking to. Calling out your name, you turned around with a cup in your hand as he walked up to you.

“Jacey!”

His cousin grinned widely at him as Jace joined you and Aegon by the kitchen island, as you slotted yourself against his side. You seemed content, like you were enjoying yourself. Jace took that as a good sign.

“Hi Aegon,” Jace greeted him lightly, before turning to you. “I see you’ve met my cousin.”

“Rhaena‘s brother?” You asked, eyebrows raised.

“You met Rhaena?”

Aegon’s brows were even higher than yours as his eyes flitted between Jace and you curiously, sipping on his drink. Jace already knew this would make it into the cousins’ group chat in a matter of minutes.

“Aegon’s from the other side. Kind of,” Jace answered, pulling a face. “It’s complicated.”

You smiled at him and Aegon’s grin only widened. Jace wished he would disappear the way he always did when their grandpa asked for help in the garage.

“So how did you guys meet?” he asked, voice nonchalant. “You don’t look like a PoliSci student to me.”

“I’m not,” you replied, laughing. “Jace always gets coffee at the coffee shop I work at.”

“Oh, which one do you work at?”

“Blackwood’s, the one on 50th?”

Aegon’s eyes widened and he nodded his head quickly. “Yes, I know that one. Do you think you could give me the recipe for the almond croissants? I’ve tried recreating them so many times and they never turn out like the one’s at the coffee shop.”

“I can ask my friend, if you want me to,” you offered. “It’s her uncle’s coffee shop, he’s gotta have the recipe.”

“Oh and what about the syrups, are those-”

“Alright, this isn’t 20 questions,” Jace interjected, knowing there was no stopping Aegon if he started talking syrups. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Aegon?”

Aegon pressed his lips together in a grin, shaking his head. “Fine, Jace, I’ll leave you guys alone. But only because I know I’ll have other opportunities to ask for recipes.”

Jace narrowed his eyes at his cousin, but he had turned his attention to you.

“Nice talking to you,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you at one of our family events, yeah?”

“Bye Aegon.”

Jace could hear Aegon cackling to himself as he lead you away, his hand on your lower back. He was mortified. Out of everyone at this party, you just had to run into Aegon. To Jace’s luck however, you seemed mostly amused by his erratic cousin.

“I like him,” you said and Jace huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to lie. I don’t like him either.”

You snorted, shoving him playfully. “I’m not lying. He’s very outgoing, but I like him.”

Jace pressed closer to you as you made your way out of the pation and you turned your head over your shoulder, glancing at him.

“So is your entire family just enrolled here?”

“Basically, yeah,” Jace sighed, “The only cousin of mine who’s not at this uni is Daeron but apparently he’s transferring next term.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet all of them.”

Jace let out a laugh, wrapping his arm around you when you finally made it out of the house, Cregan still sitting on the sun chairs, Alysanne next to him as they talked. Jace had wondered where you had left her.

TARGTOWERS 2.0

Aegon [01:21 am]: have y’all met jace’s new gf yet??

Jace left the chat.

Aegon added Jace to the chat.

Jace [02:04 am]: I hate you

Aegon [02:05 am]: <3

V Harwin

“If my husband doesn’t look like that like 25 years down the line, I definitely did something wrong.”

Jace only caught the tail end of the conversation, but knowing you and Alysanne, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what you were talking about. The two of you found the most bizarre things to talk about, it was astounding.

“What are we talking about?” he asked nevertheless, pulling out a chair next to you.

“There was this hot guy at the coffee shop earlier today, trying to find a good restaurant for dinner with his son,” Alysanne explained and you nodded.

“Super hot.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special.”

You quirked a grin at him, leaning over to kiss him, your hand on his leg. Eagerly, Jace returned the kiss, deepening it which might be a tad inappropriate for the library, but he didn’t care. He never did when it came to you.

“Eurgh,” Alysanne said, rolling her eyes. Jace paid her no mind, already used to her antics, but you pulled away before it could any less PG13.

“Hi,” you mumbled, licking over over lips and Jace resisted the urge to kiss you again. “Am I seeing you tonight?”

“I might come over a little later than usual,” he said with a sigh, playing with the straps of your top. “Luke said he wanted to meet me for dinner.”

“Can you guys please go to Jace’s?” Alysanne interjected “I’d really love to have one night without hearing you guys have sex.”

“Oh come off it, Aly,” you laughed, swatting at your friend and she snickered. “You’re literally on the other side of the apartment and we barely hang out at our place.”

Alysanne stuck her tongue out at you and you only flipped her off before turning back to Jace.

“So eleven?”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he said, nodding. “But I’ll text you, yeah?”

You hummed, and Jace pulled your chair closer to his, almost forgetting he had come to the library to study for a test. Next to you, Alysanne was rolling her eyes but he could tell that she was pleased by the way she let her hair fall over the side to give you privacy.

Well, as much privacy there was in a university library.

“How did you find out about this place anyway, dad?” Jace asked, reaching for his beer.

Turned out, Luke didn’t want to get dinner. Their father did. He had a work thing in Driftmark and decided to make it to Oldtown for a quick visit, surprising Jace. His dad felt bad for missing Jace’s first game of the season; he had always made it to Jace’s first game of the season ever since he started playing football when he was 7 years old. It was like an unspoken tradition.

Harwin Strong was a man of tradition and loyalty, and even though Jace had promised him it wasn’t that much of a deal, he had felt guilty either way.

“This nice girl at the coffee shop recommended it to me,” his father said, and Jace nearly spat out his beer all over the table. So it must have been his father you and Alysanne had been talking about earlier in the library. God really loved to play games with him.

“What coffee shop?” He asked as nonchalantly as possible. Maybe it was just a coincidence, right? There were lots of coffee shops in Oldtown.

“Blackwood’s I think? She said this was her boyfriend’s favorite restaurant,” his father explained, glancing over the menu. Jace’s heart stuttered in his chest at the word boyfriend before his father grimaced. “Well, she paused between boy and friend. It seemed like there was more to the story but I didn’t want to pry.”

“How funny,” Luke said, peering over his menu. “This is Jace’s favorite restaurant, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jace pressed out, glaring at his brother while kicking him in the shins.

“Ow!”

“Boys, please.”

Jace and Luke exchanged dirty looks, before turning their attention back on their menus.

“You know what I don’t understand?” his father started, but Jace interrupted him before he could continue.

“The steak sizes are their thing, no one actually orders the 14 oz steak.”

His father furrowed his eyes at him, confused.

“What? No, I’m going to order the fish,” he said, shaking his head. “What I was trying to say is, what is it with your generation and casual dating?”

Jace’s ears grew hot and Luke howled in laughter, nearly falling off the chair. His father glanced between them.

“Did I miss something?”

“No,” Jace said pointedly in Luke’s direction before turning back to his father. “I’m not saying that casual dating is good, or whatever, but sometimes it’s… Complicated.”

“Complicated?” his father echoed. “Either you love someone or you don’t. When I first met your mother, I knew immediately that she was the one for me. I wasn’t going to waste my time on casually dating her.”

“That sounds really smart,” Luke said, nodding earnestly, but Jace only rolled his eyes. What an idiot. “Sounds like something a lot of people our age should do.”

“How was Econ 101, Luke?” Jace asked, his voice low and Luke narrowed his eyes at him.

“Wimp!”

“Narc!”

“So!” their father said, clearly ignoring their exchange, laying his menu down as he looked at his two eldest sons. “Are there any people in your life I should meet, Jace?”

Jace only sighed, leaning back in his chair while Luke burst out in laughter again.

“Dad, come on.”

+ I

You had been quiet for the most of the drive, which made Jace nervous. You hadn’t been his girlfriend long before his grandpa’s birthday rolled around. Actually, Jace had finally broke down and asked, begged, you to finally go out with him for real the night he got home from dinner with his father and Luke. Something about the way his father spoke about him and his mother just made Jace realize he hated this unlabeled, uncertain situationship he had with you. He wanted something real.

He was scared shitless when it took you a good minute to reply God, it took you long enough!

About a month later, his mother had texted him about the plans for his grandpa’s birthday and he had decided it was about time you met his family. You had met most of them already anyway.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” you suddenly said, eyes darting outside the window.

“What? Why?” Jace said, glancing over at you. He had half a mind to stop the car, but it was less than 2 minutes before he’d be home.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Babe.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

Despite being one turn away from his house, Jace pulled up to the curb, turning off his car. Uttering your name softly, he reached over to grasp your hand.

“You don’t need to worry, I promise,” he assured you. Your hands were clammy, you must be so much more nervous than he had initially thought, which was endearing, really. “You’ve already met most of them, remember? And they all love you.”

“So far,” you corrected him and he sighed in exasperation, giving you a fond smile.

“You’ve already met the worst person in my family and Aegon still spams our groupchat with pictures from the pastries he’s baking with the recipes you gave him. The rest of my family is harmless compared to him.”

You quirked a smile at him, letting out a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jace hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He squeezed your hand, not letting go as he started his car again. Even when you walked up to the front porch, past all the cars in the drive way, you were still holding onto his hand, like a lifeline in a storm.

It didn’t take long until the heavy wooden door opened, and Luke stood before them, grinning.

“I was wondering when you guys would get here,” he said, turning to his side. “Mum, it’s Jace and his girlfriend!”

“Thanks for that, dummy,” Jace hissed, punching Luke’s arm as he passed him. Luke winced in pain, glowering at his older brother, waving at you with a smile. Jace lead you through the entry hall into the living room when Joffrey came running around the corner, latching himself to your legs as he called out your name.

“Hi Joffrey,” you laughed, ruffling the young boy’s hair. “How are you?”

“So good!”

Your nerves seemed to calm as you chattered away with Joffrey, having dropped Jace’s hand for his brother’s, but Jace didn’t mind. Your feet came to a slow stop however, when you reached the living room.

His mother was fixing up the flowers on the table, beaming when she saw you come in.

“Jace!”

“Hi mum.”

Jace hugged his mother in greeting, before taking your hand. “Mum, this is-”

“Oh, welcome to the family,” his mother said, pulling you into a hug as well, surprising you as you let out a laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” you said shyly, smiling at his mother when she pulled away to look at you.

“And you! I have been waiting for the day Jace finally introduced us! I just knew that he was with a girl when I asked him to pick up Joffrey,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “He was so defensive when I tried to ask for details.”

“Mum,” Jace protested and his mother only waved him off.

“Your father must be wrangling with your cousins in the kitchen… Honey, Jace and his girlfriend are here!”

“I’m coming!”

His father walked into the living room with a strawberry cake in his hand, a smile on his face when his eyes laid on you, before turning to Jace, then back to you, realization dawning on him.

“That’s the boyfriend?”

You flushed, nodding with a laugh.

“Yes.”

His father only shook his head, giving you a brief hug before glancing at his son.

“I taught you better, son.”

“I know dad,” Jace sighed, ducking his head when his father reached out to ruffle his hair.

His mother seemed confused, though it didn’t help when his cousins and Luke tumbled out of the kitchen, bickering. As usual.

“- stop it! You’ll ruin the cake!” Aegon lifted the cake out of Baela’s grasp, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Oh, hey! Told you we’d see each other at one point!”

“Supergirl, how’s the hand doing?”

“Supergirl? She’s obviously shower girl.”

“… Do I even want to know?”

His mother glanced around the room, starting to connect the dots.

“Am I the only one who hasn’t met you yet?”

“I haven’t met her yet!”

The rest of his cousins rushed forward to introduce themselves and you nearly sank into a wave of white hair with Joffrey still hanging off your arm. You seemed to be doing well, though, Baela and Helaena laughing as Rhaena recounted the story of how you met and Aemond and Daeron trying to give you tips on how to punch someone without getting injured.

“I like her,” his mother said as she bumped his shoulder.

Jace’s chest warmed, though he shrugged. “You barely know her yet.” Even though he knew his family would like you no matter what, it felt good to hear it spoken.

“She seems to be handling herself well around your cousins and it looks like to me she already won half of them over,” his mother pointed out. “Most importantly, she makes you happy.”

“Wait, you punched Criston Cole? But I like him.”

“Of course you like him, Aegon.”

Your laughter rang out between the bickering, and you turned to catch Jace’s eyes, beaming at him. He smiled, ducking his head. God, he was so in love.

“Yeah.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: what are we thinking???

Behold, my wife

i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.

i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.

some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.

for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.

members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.

i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.

let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.

ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.

maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.

let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.

sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!

love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3

❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.

we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.

we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.

HOTD Season 2 Appreciation Week Day 2: Costumes → Jacaerys Velaryon,

a beginner's guide to stealing a heart modern jacaerys targaryen x fem!reader.

synopsis: opening the most popular flower shop in town came with its perks — everyday business and a cute regular customer who comes in every week with a new excuse for the sake of new flowers or so he says. tags — fluff, loser jace, aged-up characters. jace is 25, reader is 23. slight cursing, florist au. benji/davos and aeron are little matchmakers. confessions through flower meanings, slow burn. love at first sight, soulmate au.

a/n: thank you to @jacesvelaryons for the inspiration and for those that dragged me out of my jace drought era. this one is for my flower girls.

jace nation taglist (open!) : @jacaerysgf @hxtd @benjinotes @imissyoudarling @rinisfruity14 @ambrosia-v-black @littleblackcatinwonderland @smurfelle @nanaldy @bryscorner @star611 @astrxq @reyndaisy @intheheartoftheking @gracexthoughts @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @chuuritoz @melsunshine @frombloodandfire @still-jon-snow @velaryonbastard @vee-mage @vividxpages

The sign was now flipped, shining against the rays of sunlight, you took a deep breath as you stepped back — the welcome-in sign now staring right back at you. You smiled, your fingers interlocking in front of you as you bounced on your feet, the joy running through your veins.

“Alright, you can stop bouncing now, let me take your picture!”

The sound of your best friend of many years made you turn, your cheeks still blazing with the amount of laughter and smiling you were emitting all morning.

“I won’t take it if you’re not with me Benji,” your tone sounded demanding, but Benjicot knew better than to know you were serious. He rolled his eyes, the camera in his hands was now in someone’s ownership. He snapped his head towards the thief finding himself face to face with his boyfriend, Aeron Bracken.

“Alright now! Get closer!”

Benjicot playfully nipped his boyfriend’s finger causing Aeron to burst out laughing, you smiled from the sidelines, your heart pounding as if it was ready to jump out of your chest. This moment, you wish you could frame it forever.

Benji threw you over his shoulder causing you to laugh as you started to throw weak insults at your best friend who laughed with you, Aeron did not hold back and used the opportunity to snap multiple pictures.

In the middle of September, when the sun was setting and the chill of the wind began to pick up, to you it felt the warmest. You had your best friends help you open a business you sacrificed so much labor in — Everlast, was now yours and open for business.

The flowers scattered around your desk as your rummaged through the mess of your laces and twirls. You began to curse under your breath when you couldn’t find the note your client had left you, indicating instructions of what flowers they wanted and by when.

“Ha! I found you,” you muttered as you looked through the invoice, mumbling again you began to work. The flower shop had a soft, welcoming aura that made anyone that walked through the door smile. You worked quietly and quick, humming to the song that currently played through the store.

Dringgggg!

You heard the door of your shop open, “I’ll be right with you in a minute!” you exclaimed as you snipped off the bottom of a rose with scissors. You did not hear a reply, you took it as the client was looking into the flowers.

You stood, taking off your thick gloves off, facing the stranger that walked through the door with a smile on your face you paused before welcoming them.

In front of you stood a man, he had short brown curls that reached his chin, and his eyes sparkled like rare gems, if you looked closely, you would see the way his eyes had a mixture of different shades of brown. He was tall, average, but taller than you are slightly. His lips were plumped and shiny as if he applied lip balm. He was very handsome which caused you to clear your throat as you shook off the mid-pause you had made.

He stood in front of the front desk moving side to side as his fingers tapped silently onto the glass of your desk. He seemed nervous.

You bit your lip slightly, your smile never falling off your face, “Hi, welcome! How can I help you?”

His eyes widened, and quickly darted around the room as if looking for something, he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it. You noticed his cheeks got red as it spread across his nose. You tried hard not to laugh, so you spoke, saving him from any more trouble.

“Are you looking for a particular flower? I have many that can suit your tastes,” you spoke softly, leaning forward just a little to show the now red-faced male some of the popular bouquets you had.

He suddenly raised a shaky hand and pushed his hair back, licking his lips he spoke, his voice bringing you to a state of comfort, you found it odd that this stranger had such impact on you. His voice touched you deep, wrapping you in warm hug.

“I u-um,” he cleared his throat, coughing, “I’m looking for flowers f-for my um…” he paused as he yet had not looked towards you, his eyes still looking around, searching.

“M-my mom. Yeah! My mom. I’m looking for flowers for her, an arrangement of a sort,” he spoke fast, stumbling over a few words. You quirked up an eyebrow, finding him adorable.

You opted to saying a thought you should’ve kept in your head, but your mouth ran quicker than your brain, “Your mom?”

The tip of his ears to the bridge of his nose became so red his eyes became more brighter, as if the blush on his skin enhanced the color of his eyes. You pressed your lips tighter holding in a giggle that was threatening to erupt — the stranger was too cute.

You smiled, your lips stretching wide as your chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, “Alright, Mr. Buying - Flowers - For - His - Mother on a Wednesday morning, let me show you our arrangements”

He followed behind you in stumbling steps, his fingers fidgeting, the curls that sat on top of his head spread forward covering the caramel eyes you were starting to enjoy.

“Okay, so we have these, they do range from a reasonable price, but it does change due to the flowers you’ll want to add or the decoration of course,” you were smiling, explaining the flowers you created for display, Jacaerys only looked down on you, his heart thumping in a rhythm that made him feel invincible.

You picked up a bouquet, smelling the fresh aroma of its petals, the smell of fresh lilies, and sunflowers wrapping you like a summer evening. Jacaerys only thought you looked beautiful, as you stood with a flower bouquet in your hands, your hair spread behind your shoulders, the jumper you had on, you were a dream.

“Is it for a special occasion? Birthday?” your voice knocked him out of his thoughts as he scrambled to think of another excuse, he used the most generic one he could think of.

His eyes avoided yours as he looked behind you at the rows of flowers, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice sounding like a haunted door, he cringed — clearing his throat he spoke again, “U-um, just because. F-Flowers should show how one feels n-no?”

You bit your bottom lip again - a habit you were trying to get over -, your eyes narrowing, the stranger in front of you was strangely attractive, odd but you couldn’t help feeling a flutter inside your stomach.

“They do actually. A color and a flower explain what we feel, every flower speaks its definition, it’s delicate, fragile and if given with true emotion, the flower lasts longer than its expectancy.”

You spoke with longing, Jacaerys tilted his head trying to read you. He did not know why he came into the shop in the first place, he just wanted to connect with you someway. You always opened the shop with steps that made you look as if you flew against the wind, a smile so bright it bought warmth in his heart.

Every morning as he went for a cup of tea and coffee for his best friend, he saw you across the street, flipping the welcome sign towards the street with a bright smile, it was then one day he decided to answer the curiosity of an unknown connection he felt towards you, to tighten his hold on the magnetic pull that pulled him to stand where he is now.

You sighed, shaking your head at the thought of your mother’s voice as she reminded you how every flower held a story yet to be told by the owner that bought them. You faced the stranger again, smiling softly.

“Any ideas what you’d like to purchase today?”

The stranger gulped as he yet again avoided your eyes, searching around he sighed, “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Finally, you released a laugh bringing Jacaerys’ poor heart to skyrocket, “That’s fine, most men don’t know what they’re purchasing when they enter a flower shop — you’re in luck however.”

Jacaerys knew if he looked at you, he would never look away anymore, so he leaped forward, taking a chance. He faced you, his eyes capturing the beauty of your eyes, as if the force that connected you both wrapped him, he gasped softly. You were more than beautiful, your eyes spoke of stories he wanted to know, a mystery he would spend hours trying to understand.

You were also mesmerized, the caramel eyes that now locked with yours had you gripping your flowers. The breeze of the AC you had on the store suddenly felt warm. The stranger captured you in ways you weren’t sure if it was meant to happen.

“Why?” he asked, the flush on his skin still kissed his entire face.

You breathed in, before smiling again, “You have me.”

His cheeks were now blazing with a red color you grew to fall in love with, he looked away with a small smile on his lips.

“Truly, I am in luck then.”

You nodded, tapping your fingers into the glass table for a couple of seconds to think of your next move. Finally, you moved around your desk standing in front of him.

“Okay, so I made these fresh bouquets just this morning, because they are for your mother, I can give them to you cheaper than usual, a gift from me to you, as well for first time purchase!”

Jacaerys with blazing cheeks, quirked his lip in a small smirk, he found you beyond adorable, special with a heart full of dedication for the passion over flowers and aiming for success.

“You’re amazing,” he mumbled, dazed. You stopped mid-sentence, your eyes wide as the same color he had on his cheeks spread on your own.

“What?”

Jacaerys paused, then as quickly as the flush on cheeks came, the paleness overtook it, he took a step back. He was cursing himself for speaking his thoughts out loud. He ruined the chance to talk to you more, dammit.

“What?” he repeated after you to disguise what he had said. You were blushing; your stomach filled with endless flutters. You watched as he struggled to make a cover for his embarrassment his curls did no effort to help him hide, however. The blush on his face was now a cherry red, if it was not for your own blush and struggle to hide your shyness, you would have started laughing or joked about it.

"I-I'm sorry, I was talking about the flowers, how they are beautiful and amazing, yeah," he spoke fast again, he had now relied on grabbing a random bouquet beside you, examining it, smelling it, hiding the fact he wanted the ground to bury him alive.

You ignored the way your heart was beating miles per second, the way your smile never wavered from being stretched softly across your face. This stranger had you feeling so... warm.

You leaned against the wood of your flower stand, nodding, your mouth opening to a silent 'ah.'

"Well, um... what's the occasion? That way I can help you organize the perfect flowers," you muttered, your cheeks feeling hot, so your hand waved some cool air that made no change.

Jacaerys lifted the bouquet, "This is perfect I think," his voice wavered, unsure, curiosity peeking through the thought. He stopped when he heard you laugh, a sweet sound that almost made him start giggling as well.

You wheezed, "I think not."

He paused, his head tilted to the side, "Why not?"

Between the giggles, you acknowledged the bouquet he had in his hands, "Unless you want to let your mother know you are so sorry and are in a deep grief, then I strongly suggest you put it down and let me help you find something different."

His eyes widened, and he rushed to put the bouquet that held red-spider, and red poppies down delicately back onto the shelf, if Luke had seen this, he would have never let it down, "I did not know... it meant that."

You chuckled, "It's not your fault, many don't know but you have me to walk you through the process," you cleared your throat to stop the giggles, "Okay, so what's the reason, is it her birthday? What do you want to convey?"

You saw him struggling again, his eyebrows creasing, his lips forming a small pout, in his thoughts, you allowed yourself to observe him; he was tall, beautiful, and his entire face was still blazing, held constellations of freckles that had you admiring how befitting it was.

"How much I love her," he spoke shyly, "I haven't seen her for a month due to work, so I want to tell her I love her."

Your heart tugged at his explanation, yearning for the love he felt for his mother, longing for your own mother that you knew was not there for you to wrap your arms around. Your eyes stung, blinking the aching away, you spoke as you moved towards your desk again, "I know the perfect flowers."

Your eyes that once held a brightness to it, faded to a sad glint. Jacaerys wondered what story conveyed behind your sad eyes, in the moment he decided the glimmer that your eyes had looked so much better than the dullness making a home in your gaze.

You prepared a bouquet of 14 tulips and peonies, wrapping them in a scented butcher paper with your store's logo. You sprayed a special fragrance to enrich the color and scent, finally tying a white ribbon around the bouquet.

Your smile returned, feeling wholesome again, looking at your work you admired the beauty before catching the stranger's eyes again who was observing you entranced in your element. Jacaerys never felt this feeling before, you were calming, patient, dedicated to your craft, loving and you never faltered a smile - you were perfect.

"There you go, all ready to be hugged by your mother," you sighed in completion.

Jacaerys never took his eyes off yours now, it was evident he wanted to know more about you, to discover your quirks, to know what made you sad and what didn't. His nose was suddenly enamored with a sweet scent - the flowers you prepared.

"Why these?" he softly questioned, it was as if the flowers spoke to him, he admired every detail your soft hands put into it.

You smiled, looking away you talked as if you were looking into a memory, "Tulips represent perfection, royalty, a mother's job is to look after us, struggling quietly to see our dreams come true, I think the tulips represent your mother's patience, as she knows you work hard, and she is rooting for every step you take."

Jacaerys heart felt as it stopped, as if a force pushed against his chest making him short of breath, your words hitting him deep within the walls he tends to keep up. The love he held for his mother was underestimated, they always disagreed over his future, his mother always wanting the best for him and Jacaerys, holding an ego of wanting to show he could do anything comes into play. You unintentionally read through the dynamic his mother and he had. He had never admired and fell for someone this quick before.

He stood, saying nothing as you spoke again, "Peonies mean beauty and elegance, it never hurts to remind your mother how beautiful she is, and how she holds herself with such class guiding you and if you have siblings forward."

He breathed in, his thoughts consuming how admirable you were, "Wow... well um," he began to stutter again, "Th-thank you."

You proudly smiled, "No, thank you for letting me help you."

Jacaerys matched your smile, both of your hearts beating fast, cheeks covered in a similar hue of red. Time did not exist in the moment, as you stared at him with wonder and him with endless admiration and love. Jacaerys knew it was too early for love, but he welcomed the feelings that came knocking on his door like summer taking over the coldness of winter. He welcomed the warmth, the flutters that occurred in his body, the urge to suddenly go outside and scream from happiness.

The bell of your door rang, you did not bother to check who it was as you continued to look at the male in front of you, a question on your tongue urging to spill out.

"Y/n! Let's go to lunch, Aeron cooked a fancy dish he wants you to try!" Benjicot dragged his feet towards you, his arms stretched out to gather you in his arms to lazily lean against your back.

You snapped out of your daze, as Jacaerys jumped from the loud voice of your best friend, clearing his throat he took out his card to pay for the flowers. Benjicot whistled lowly, "Damn, you must be filthy rich huh?"

Your eyes widened, and in a reflex you through your elbow back to hit your best friend in the stomach, a smirk crawling into your face as you heard your Benji released a loud yelp.

"I am so sorry for my best friend, he clearly was not taught manners," you hissed the last word towards your groaning best friend who whined about how harsh you were with him, "I'm sorry again..."

Jacaerys felt relieved knowing that you both were just friends, however, the question still remained, was your heart taken? He shook his head as he waved you off, "It's okay, no harm done."

You ran his card on the tab, and you felt Benjicot leaning against your back again, ignoring his whining you faced the smiling man, "Do you want your receipt?"

Benjicot observed the situation rather quickly, making it a conversation he would have with his boyfriend about how adorable you were with your first crush in a while. You probably did not even know you were growing an affection towards the rich man as Benji called him now. He smirked, a plan forming in his head, he just needed to consult his lover.

Jacaerys shook his head, the curls moved slightly across his eyes, and your fingers twitched to run through them, "It's okay. Thank you again for all the help."

You smiled softly, "It's no problem, please come again, and let me know if she likes them," you nodded your head towards the bouquet, "Give them to her with a lot of love, okay?"

He did not want to leave, wanting to stay to talk to you, to listen to your soft voice and hear you talk about flowers if that was all you wanted to talk about. But he saw the way your best friend was eyeing him, inspecting him with his narrowed eyes, almost like a lion eyeing his prey. Jacaerys suddenly felt naked. He definitely did not want to cross your best friend if he wanted to get to you.

"Definitely, thank you again."

Smiling brightly, you waved as he took small, longing steps towards the breeze of the peak of winter.

"Have a good day!" You shouted as he waved at you outside the shop.

Benjicot mocked you, "Have a good day!"

He enjoyed the small stutter you began your nagging with, as well as the deep flush your cheeks had. So, you did develop a crush. He chuckled evilly; this was certainly gossip he was going to have a blast telling Aeron before bed tonight.

You slapped his shoulder, "That was rude Ben!

He whined again, "Ow! I didn't mean for it to be a loud thought!"

Your eyes glared at him but held no ill intention, “You could have scared him away!”

Benji stopped his whining before he slowly looked at you, his eyes now holding suspicion, with a glint of mischief, “Oh yeah? You sure that was it? Suddenly so protective of him…”

You paused, caught red-handed, swallowing to get rid of your suddenly dry mouth, “Okay…” your hands started to wave around another habit of yours when you got nervous, “He was kind of cute…”

Benji laughed loudly, boasting so loud that had you shying away as you smacked his shoulder again, now it was your turn to whine, “Stop!”

“Oh, wait until I tell Aeron!” Tears pooled in his eyes as he continued to laugh loudly, “You have a crush on a client!”

You shushed him as you moved to lock the door of your flower shop, making a note to customers you were off to break and will be back.

“Shut up! I just thought he was cute!”

“Yeah, so cute that you gave him a big discount, right…”

You rubbed your eyebrow, your face covered in what felt like hot fire, you wanted the floor to swallow you. You pushed him out the door as both of you welcomed the chilly evening. Your whining echoing through the air as your best friend’s loud laughter bought warmth to the cold giving it a perfect combination.

༻❁༺

You never saw him again, your heart yearned to see the handsome stranger again. It felt as if it was forever since you saw him, you were tempted to search social media to find him. However, you were exaggerating, it was only a week since you saw him, a week and a half. You truly were in deep for a stranger who probably forgot all about you.

You mopped the floor of your ship with hips swaying softly to the beat of your favorite band playing. Too entranced with the errand you were doing, the stranger you longed to see again walked in again, he leaned lightly on one of the flower shelves, his face holding a soft grin.

Jacaerys couldn’t wait anymore, he had to see you again, to talk to you more. He cleared his throat, watching as you jumped, your eyes wide capturing the whole of his heart. Oh, you were so beautiful.

“Seven hells…” you muttered, holding tightly to the mop, “I am sorry! I didn’t see you.”

You rushed to look presentable, suddenly regretting you didn’t wear something better than your overalls. He continued to smile softly, ignoring the blush that spread across his face again. He walked towards the glass table again, this time with a better excuse to why he was there.

“It’s okay, I came in quite unexpectedly and quiet, I’m sorry for scaring you,” he stumbled with his words, mentally slapping his head for sounding so nervous around you.

“Ah…” your smile trembled; you were nervous to see him again. Suddenly you remembered, “Oh! Did your mother enjoy the flowers?”

He looked at you with a gaze that made you want to hide, and it was not out of fear, but rather you couldn't explain why his gaze made you feel so... full. As if he laughed at an inner thought, he released a small chuckle, looking away to look at your store, surprised you added twinkle lights making the shop look more welcoming.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "She loved it a lot, thank you."

Your body felt liberating, feeling a surge of pride. You clapped your hands together as you jumped lightly on your toes, "I am so glad she loved it."

He locked eyes with you again, this time, the stranger that you now needed to know his name, held glasses over his eyes. You figured you loved to see him this way, his glasses were made for him, and his curls were tussled as if he was constantly running his hand over and over through them.

He wore beige loose jeans with sneakers, his muscular upper body covered by a white t-shirt wrapped with an embroidery vest. He looked beautiful.

Your words suddenly blurred as you couldn't figure out what you wanted to say next, so stupidly you asked, "Um... why are you here?" You slapped your cheek lightly realizing that came out rude, "Oh my, I am so sorry... I did not mean it that way!"

Jacaerys laughed, this time he was more confident, he was going to make it a mission to know you more even if it meant drowning his and Cregan's shared apartment with flowers.

"It's okay, um so I truly loved the flowers and was wondering if you had flowers for..." he paused as he thought for an excuse, "... my younger brother... he won his baseball tournament."

You tilted your head with a million questions that occurred at that moment, the stranger was odd - but you never neglected service especially when the stranger smiled timidly towards you.

"Of course, roses will be your best friend! I hope your um... brother, enjoys the bright red color."

Jacaerys felt like a child again, crushing on his first-ever person, at this rate, he was going to make you think he was weird for buying flowers every week. But, if this meant he was going to see you more often, talk to you, hear you talk about flowers, and watch your face light up with so much devotion, he was open for the challenge.

Biting the inner side of his cheek, he nodded, "I know he will."

Yeah, Lucerys will definitely tease him and probably eye the bouquet of flowers with disgust, questions in his eyes as to why his older brother gave him flowers. Not to mention, Lucerys did not play baseball, and he definitely did not win any tournaments. He played guitar and was in a band.

You moved to the fridge where you kept fresh flowers ready to be prepped. As you took out twelve roses to wrap them in your regular butcher paper, Jacaerys leaned too close to watch you, not watching the weight he was pressing onto your desk.

One moment, he was watching you with a small smile, his heart overwhelmed with the beauty you beheld as you worked quietly. And one moment after the other occurred, the weight of his elbow shattered the desk.

You screamed and snapped out of your bubble. You scrambled to grab your flowers before you looked at the male who began cursing loudly, jumping side to side as he held his bleeding arm.

"Oh my god, oh my god," you panicked watching the blood that seeped out of his arm. You breathed in and held your breath to avoid the nausea that was crawling up your system, you and blood were never a good combination.

You moved to grab a clean rag and rushed towards the male who now held teary eyes. Pressing a warm towel to his wound you grabbed his hand to press it against your hand, "Hold still! Press the rag towards your wound!"

He whimpered, embarrassed out of his mind, he could not believe he made a fool out of himself in front of you to make matters worse.

You grabbed your keys and rushed to push him out the door. You winced as you saw the puddle of blood on the floor of your shop. You would make Benji clean it for you, your mind was occupied with the injured male.

Jacaerys protested he was okay, but with the adrenaline that was running through his body, he did not see the big chunk of glass in his arm. However, you did, and you felt wobbly.

"Oh god..." You wanted to puke now.

You drove fast to the clinic nearby, rushing to get the still protesting male out of the car to the lobby, his face was pale but if you looked enough, he was completely embarrassed. You breathed hard through your mouth, avoiding breathing through your nose.

If this did not make you run for the hills and ban him from ever stepping into your shop, he would not know what to do. Cregan and Lucerys would have a field trip teasing him for being this idiotic.

As he sat in the clinic bed, his arm now wrapped in gauze, the color of his cheeks now returning back to normal, he groaned slamming his hand against his face. He had ruined his chance with you.

You knocked on the door softly, walking in with soft steps towards him. Jacaerys had his eyes wide open, his mouth opening to a small 'o'.

"How do you feel?"

Jacaerys wanted to bury himself deep inside the earth's crust and never appear, "U-U-Um, idiotic? Embarrassed. I promise to pay for the damage I caused. I am so sorry! I promise to pay you!"

You snorted when you heard his fast scattered speech again, he was too cute. You placed a hand on his shoulder stopping his apologies, "How about you heal first and then we'll talk about how to hold your strength back Mr. Hulk."

Please kill me, Jacaerys thought as he watched you chuckle, shaking your head as you tapped his shoulder softly.

༻❁༺

Benjicot and Aeron laughed loudly together. Benji had his arm wrapped around his boyfriend's neck, Aeron giggled into his chest as you drank your glass of wine, cheeks red again.

"So, wait, after that, he ran away?" Aeron questioned as he giggled.

You groaned into your hands, before nodding, "Yes! I went to fetch him some snacks because you know blood loss or something, and I was told he paid for everything and left!"

Benji scoffed, "Well at least he paid but," he snorted, a laugh building in his throat, "Shattering a glass table? You truly had him mesmerized darling."

You threw a piece of your garlic bread at him, he laughed as he moved to the side to miss your hit, "Oh shut up! He was just embarrassed, besides glass tables are fragile! It was bound to break anytime soon."

"Right, right. Calm down, protective girlfriend, I was only teasing," Benji stuck his tongue out, blowing a raspberry. You imitated him, flipping him a finger instead as he winked, "You wish darling but unfortunately, I don't like sharing."

You moaned in disgust, "Ugh Benji! Keep the bedroom stuff private!"

He snickered, "What? I'm only saying!"

Aeron who watched in the embrace of his boyfriend smiled softly at the childish antics of you both. There was nothing better than being in the presence of both of your energies, this was home to him.

"What are you going to do when you see him again?" Aeron asked quietly watching carefully how you blushed and shrugged your shoulders.

"Attend to him like a regular customer? I don't know."

Benji made eye contact with Aeron, and a silent agreement came across their silent conversation.

༻❁༺

"Thank you so much for coming Fleur, I hope your wedding is the best dream. I will place an order on those arrangements you asked for and I will deliver them to the reception first thing in the morning!"

Your regular customer smiled as she hugged you, thanking you for everything you have done for her. You will never ask for anything better than to watch the happiness on your client's faces with every rose you gave them.

As you waved her goodbye, a tall male entered behind her, he was blonde, with a short stubble. You were confused as to who this was, you had never seen him around before. The male looked at you up and down, a small smirk forming.

Eyebrows scrunched together, a frown forming on your face, you calmy and politely asked, "Hi, how can I help you?"

"So, you are the girl that has my good old friend freaking out that he made such an idiot of himself?"

Your face features switched from a slight anger to confusion to realization, "Oh? Oh!"

Cregan smirked, "I came on behalf of him to bring you a brand-new table, before you protest, Jace had said to physically fight you if you denied his apology. So please, allow me to bring it in, I truly do not want to lock you in the bathroom or something."

You started to argue as he moved towards the door to grab the desk, "Hey! No!"

Cregan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Ay. Let me bring it in, please. Allow my fool of my best friend to get a piece of calamity, he has been embarrassed for two weeks now, and trust me, he gets annoying with that ramble of his."

You bit your lip, "Okay... fine. I will allow you to replace my table, but please tell him there is no need. And I send all my friendly encouragement for him to get better."

Cregan thought you and Jacaerys would definitely make the cutest couple, he can spot all the similarities already. His foolish friend just needed to grow a good set of balls to ask you out. He simply waved you off, "Will do."

Cregan moved fast and quietly, he never said a word to you after that. He did however observe you, he was curious to why his best friend was so deep into you, and then he realized, the way you handled yourself, spoke, and thought… made you stand out to the many girls that threw themselves to Jacaerys.

With a final push and a wipe across the clean glass, Cregan stretched his arms upwards to release the balls of stress that formed in his shoulders.

“Alright, there you go. If you see Jace, please tell his clumsy little self to stay away from glass and anything breakable.”

You laughed, so that was his name. Jace.

“Will do, please let him know it’s okay. It was an accident, and I will be happy to see him again if he plans to pick up the flowers for his brother’s tournament present.”

Cregan’s face turned confused, tournament? Luke did not play sports. He paused to question what you were talking about until he realized the stunt his friend did. His face turned from confused too humorous. He laughed as he nodded, walking out the door not saying a thing to you leaving you more confused than ever. Cregan and this Jace were truly odd people.

Jacaerys was truly a lovesick idiot.

༻❁༺

It was now December; you were thankful of your business blooming upon everyone. You had business every day, especially with formal events coming up, and everyone wanting to decorate their homes with pretty flowers for the festivities. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

Jace, who you finally found out his real name, Jacaerys, was a regular. After overcoming his embarrassment and shyness of coming face to face with you after breaking your desk — came by every week for fresh flowers. You wondered if he truly had a big family, as every bouquet was for an aunt, uncle, brother, half brother, sister who was also a cousin… you were confused by his odd family tree but never questioned it.

On a Thursday afternoon, before it was time to close, he came by again, excitedly you welcomed him. Your heart never failing to beat fast as you saw him walk in.

“Hi Jacaerys, how are you?” you watched as he sighed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose slightly. Your finger twitched to fix them.

“Alright, a lot better now that I am here though,” he muttered shyly, you grinned hiding your blush behind your hair.

“Right, so what can I do for you?” You pulled your regular butcher paper, and some scissors ready to prepare flowers for him.

Jacaerys was now running out of excuses, Cregan was beginning to get annoyed with the excessive amount of flowers that now consumed their home.

Rhaenyra was constantly confused to why her son always walked in with a dazed smile on his face and a new fresh of bouquet. She was beginning to question if he was stealing these bouquets but she knew better than to assume her son stole anything. Her mind automatically went to the question of whether his son was in love and she hoped that you were a kind girl with a big heart because Jacaerys needed someone to love him massively, and with Jacaerys came a big family that meant the world to him.

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday tomorrow and you’re the best at making the best flowers. He needs some color in his office,” he said, his smile trembling as a glint of mischief flashed across his eyes.

As you moved to grab the perfect flowers you paused, “Wait…” You turned towards him, your head titled to the side with a very confused expression, “Your dad? You said two weeks ago that it was your dad’s birthday?”

Jacaerys entire face couldn’t get anymore redder than it already was, he began to stutter, “Yeah. It was my step dad’s birthday, now it’s my other dad’s birthday, biological!”

Your expression did not falter, “So you have three dads? Because you also mentioned before that you wanted flowers that spoke of the ocean, your father Laenor loved the sea.”

Please kill me, seven hells please. Jacaerys did not know what to say then, “Yeah well… you see… my mom remarried a lot,” he chuckled nervously.

You raised an eyebrow, “Huh… well the more dads the better no?” You poked jest at him, pursing your lips to hold in a grin.

He nodded fast, “Yeah, amazing!”

Jacaerys loved his family but it was quite chaotic with many family members running around.

“Hm…” You hummed as you moved to prepare the flowers, a regular routine that Jacaerys never got tired of. He enjoyed watching you be in your element.

For a while, in a comfortable silence, you held the bouquet out towards him, “Here we go!”

Jacaerys did not know how much more excuses he can come up with just to come to talk to you. He was going to make every second of it be worth it.

“They are beautiful, thank you for being amazing yet again.”

Your cheeks became warm again, you waved your hands around to push his compliments away, “Ah, no you’re exaggerating. I simply enjoy flowers and making people happy, it’s no problem at all.”

Jacaerys put money on the counter, smiling he shook his head, “You’re amazing, never forget that.”

As you were going to give him a receipt, the lights turned off, the music coming to a stop. Your face held an expression of shock, “What the -“

If you took time to observe the situation you would have seen the way Aeron and Benjicot ran with keys in their hands, having locked the door shut, with the lights off — all the while giggling.

You sighed exhaustively, rubbing your eyebrow you looked at Jacaerys ashamed, “I’m sorry… might be a power outage. I’ll give you a receipt when you come around again.”

He waved it off, his eyes scanning around, “It’s okay. Do you need any help in here?”

You moved to the power grid hoping to fix the problem, shaking your head you responded, “No it’s okay, I’ve got it! Thank you Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys hesitated but he sighed inevitably, he had to yet again leave you. He moved towards the door finding it locked. He tugged the handle with more force finding it completely shut. Jacaerys opened his mouth to question why it was closed till he held you yelp loudly. He rushed towards you.

“What? What? Are you okay?!”

You hissed as you stuck your index finger in your mouth to help relief your finger of the sting. Wincing you looked at Jacaerys whose eyes looked panicked, worried.

“Just got zapped by the electricity I’m guessing.”

Jacaerys pulled you away from the power box, “I think you shouldn’t touch it anymore, and just wait till a professional comes to check it.”

You sighed, slightly pouting, “I can’t stay without power…”

He looked down your lips, tempted to place a kiss on them. He breathed deep through his nose to avoid thinking of you that way. He had to take it slow.

“Jacaerys?”

Jacaerys hummed, his hand covering your injured fingers, playing with your soft hands unintentionally. You did not find it weird but rather inviting, you enjoyed heavily his touch on yours and you wanted the feeling to be permanently, but you did not want to scare him away. You shyly muttered under your breath.

“Why are you still here?”

He looked at you calmly, he scratched his eyebrow, pushing his glasses upwards, “The door is locked.”

“It can’t be I don’t have the keys… Benjicot took them.”

Jacaerys shrugged, "Well... the door is locked and there's no way out I'm guessing?"

You groaned loudly; this day could have never been worse than it was already. You were very scared to be this close to Jacaerys, you did not want to explore the feelings you felt for him. The feeling was euphoric and wholesome, and it made you listen to love songs and automatically think of his caramel auburn eyes that reminded you of fall. What made this whole situation more terrifying was the possibility of your feelings not being reciprocated.

Boyfriends, love in general never ended well with you. It was rather disastrous, being reminded of your ex who Benjicot broke his nose so bad he had to get surgery to fix the broken bones. You winced rethinking your experience with your ex-lover.

However, that made you appreciate the friendship you had with Benji, he protected you where you couldn't, he was your shoulder, your shield, and most definitely your soulmate in the form of a best friend. Having his friendship never had you lonely, and with him came Aeron, who you would never trade for anything in the world.

Aeron was your calm, your best friend who took you on car rides and cried with you to songs on the radio or songs that you connected with the aux. Aeron was the one who took you in his arms and held you until your system was relieved of all the pain and stress it had going on. While Benji was the vengeful one, Aeron was the one that said, "karma always comes back to kick ass."

You took Jacaerys into your small office, which was decorated with small plants, your office was warm, the small rays of light from what winter greedily would give as compensation for the cold.

"I'm sorry it's messy, I usually don't have time to clean in here," you moved some of the files out of the couch you had inside your office.

Jacaerys took the time to observe the space, it matched you. It was soft, loving, and warm, as were you. He felt a pride surge him, he got to know another piece of you without trying. You loved working and you were independent. You liked to have your own space and to be alone at times.

"It's alright, I don't mind," he said as he went around to look at the photos you had around the room.

He stopped to look at the photos of you and your parents, to the photo when you first opened your shop. He looked at your smile, the way it lit your entire face making it more ethereal, the way your eyes crinkled full of youth and innocence. The relationship you had with your best friend was special and if he was to compare, he would automatically think of his relationship with Cregan.

Another trait of yours, he captured. You were devoted. You loved hard and with your entire being.

He huffed a small laugh as a loving grin splattered on his face, his heart couldn't have picked a better person to be protected with.

He heard you talk in hushed whispers through the phone, whoever it was, he figured had you stressed as you tugged your hair back in a chunk hold. He felt the urge to run his hands through your hair, to soothe your worries. He made himself comfortable on the couch as he watched you pace back and forth.

"Ben, you come in here right now!" You whispered harshly hearing the small giggle he released, Aeron in the back was giggling heavily.

"Confess, ask him on a date, and stop the constant back-and-forth flirting you guys have every time he comes in," Benji said as Aeron yelled over him.

"There's no way a guy would buy his family flowers EVERY week, either the guy is planting a whole damn garden for Landing's townsfolk or he's actually insane."

You peeked at the said man, your heart giving a short stop when you realized he was already staring at you, his face gave no emotion but his eyes, he was observing you, taking every detail of you in.

You cleared your throat, "C-can you give me a minute?"

Jacaerys noticed your stance became hesitant compared to the confidence you always had. He stood slowly, "Yeah, of course."

As soon as he closed the door behind him, you watched as he leaned by the window of your office, his eyes scanning around again. You shook your head stopping yourself from gawking at him as you turned towards the call again.

"You have 10 minutes to get over here and give me my power back as well opening the door!"

Benji snorted, "And you have 10 minutes to get your shit together and ask him out, he seems like a nice guy, weird but he matches you."

You began to protest as you heard Aeron in the background again, the voice bringing you calamity as usual, "He likes you. No other guy would spend $40-$60 every week for flowers, it's like Ben said, either he's insane or he's planting a garden for the town to see."

You sighed loudly, your eyes following the male outside your office, the sound of your heart thumping loudly through your eardrums. Jacaerys was odd, but he was dedicated, he was funny, kind, and clumsy but something inside you wanted to know every layer that made him who he is now. You wanted to run your hands into his curls, to have him wrap his muscular arms around you, to kiss those pink plump lips of his.

He spoke very little of his chaotic family, and you wanted to know more. He was loyal and dedicated, he was soft-spoken, and he had a heart so big that only spoke wonders of his family. For once, you wanted to know if the harmony of your heart could match his, if for once the quietness of your home could be filled with his laughter and random chattering.

"I'm scared," you whispered to your best friends who chuckled simultaneously.

"You are ready, your heart is ready, allow it to be loved. Take it slow, at your pace, he seems the guy that would do anything to see you happy. Before you ask, I approve, I will just let him know that if he fucks up, I will beat the shit out of him," Benji warned through the phone.

You could not see, but if you did, you would have seen the way Aeron slapped his boyfriend's head to Benji whining before leaning down slightly to kiss his boyfriend's lips.

"Okay," you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

Aeron encouraged you, "Anyone would be happy to have you in their life, if I wasn't gay and dating this big loser next to me, I would have fought to have you."

You laughed as you heard Benji exclaim a loud, "Hey!"

Aeron continued, "We will be there soon, we're actually in the cafe next door, so we will be there. But y/n?"

You were distracted as you locked eyes with Jacaerys who never took his gaze from you. Blinking with flush cheeks you answered with a waver in your voice, almost in a soft squeak, "Yeah?"

"Try. Allow yourself to be happy and to share your adventures with another that isn't us okay?"

You did not give him another answer as you hung up the phone, you took a deep breath and walked confidently toward the taller male. Opening the door, you leaned against it as you spoke lightly your eyes never leaving his, "Benji, my best friend will come in a second."

Jacaerys nodded softly, not speaking a word as he continued to see you.

"What do you do with all those flowers you get every week?" you boldly asked him; you licked your bottom lip as you slowly bit into it. Jacaerys went from your eyes to your lips, a carnage urge rising.

Jacaerys had two options, either he lies, or confess his true intentions. Cregan over a round of drinks on a Saturday night teased him as to why he was suddenly reading books about flowers and their significance. He avoided your deep stare for a second before he confidently turned towards you.

"I keep them, as for some, I actually do give them to my family members. By the way, they love the special touches you add to every single bouquet."

"So, every bouquet is for a different family member?"

He hesitated, "Uh..." the tips of his ears turned red, his fingers beginning to twitch, "Yeah?" He answered unsure how to answer the question.

You nodded, not believing him. You recalled Aeron's words about Jacaerys and how no man would ever put effort into buying flowers for every member of their family.

"As we wait, I can prepare you the flower bouquet for your um..." You paused, testing the waters, "I forgot, for who was it again? What was the occasion?"

Jacaerys is oblivious to the test you are giving him, "My sister! She loves flowers, so anything I know she would love them."

Your nose crinkled as you held your laugh, gotcha.

"You're a good man Jacaerys."

He beamed, his cheeks blooming to the regular red color you have fallen for.

Aeron and Benjicot had arrived at the shop, they were each sporting little mischievous smiles. You only shook your head at them, they walked into your office shouting a small hello to Jacaerys who took a step back at the glare Benjicot was giving him as he looked at him through the window of your office.

You wrapped two bouquets this time, Jacaerys was confused.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, Jace?"

"Why are there two flower bouquets?"

You were in the middle of writing a note before placing it inside of the bigger bouquet. Your stomach was turning itself inside out as you took a small breath in before locking eyes with the boy that now lived in your dreams, making you wake up every morning in hopes of seeing him stumble through your door.

"This one is for your sister," You chuckled thinking how you caught him in the middle of his excuses, "... And this one is for you. A gift of a sort, for coming in and purchasing from me."

"Y/n, I can't accept this, let me pay you for it," he was talking so fast you laughed, stopping his hand that struggled to get his wallet to pull out his card.

"You can and you will," you affirmed as you pushed the bouquets into his hands, his eyes looked as if it was ready to fall off his sockets.

"I uh-I uh, uh, uh," he stuttered to the point he almost fell straight into the flower shelf behind him.

Laughing you held him by the elbow, "It's okay. Take it as a token from me please?"

Aeron and Benjicot were having the time of their lives, laughing loudly behind the closed door of your office. This was better than watching a sit-com at home.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, grabbing the flowers, he walked hesitantly towards the door.

You walked him out, and as both of you welcomed the chill cloudy day, both of your noses began to blossom with frost, and your insides never felt warmer.

"Take care, Jace."

His name never sounded heavenly than your mouth, he wanted to surround himself with your warmth. He wanted to gather you in his arms and press a deep kiss that left you breathless. Slowly, time will have him holding you in his arms as he proudly pronounced everywhere how lucky he was.

He turned towards you, shyly, with a small voice asking, "Can... Can I hug you?"

You did not hesitate to slightly move your head up and down, and it was as if the world stopped rotating. If this was how heaven felt like, you would live in peace. He was calm, and you were erratic, it was like the moon hugged the sun and made an explosion to loud and beautiful. Two different souls combine together.

You hugged him tightly, smelling the fresh scent of lavender, and fresh laundry, with a touch of cologne that almost made you bury your face into his chest. As for Jacaerys, he held you closely, burying his face into the crook of your neck, smelling the floral scent with a touch of vanilla. Almost, like a small whisp, a soft sound of relief came out of his lips. He was the happiest man in the world.

You both let go with an intention that you never wanted to let go.

Jacaerys smiled with a new touch, it brought you to smile back at him, both of your hearts connected in a way that neither of you was scared to explore what beautiful harmonies it would create.

Unwillingly, a string that wrapped both of your fingers together, separated. You knew that he would return, and till then, you hoped with an open heart ready to love, you'd be expecting him.

༻❁༺

As he gave Baela her bouquet, his smile never left his face. Baela looked confused as to why Jacaerys would give her flowers.

"Uh, Jace? What's the occasion? Am I dying?"

Rhaena laughed, "Relax sister, Jace has been giving everyone flowers as of late."

Baela raised an eyebrow, a confused look still on her face, "Um? Why?"

Jacaerys held onto his bouquet until he spotted the cream envelope stuck between the flowers. Rhaenyra who watched her children debate why Jacaerys was suddenly a flower boy, smiled internally, her boy was too adorable.

He ran up to his mother, gave her a kiss on her cheek, rushed to say goodbye to everyone, and jumped into his car to drive back home.

Luke sneezed, "I don't know about you all, but this corny version of my brother and him constantly smelling like flowers is making me feel so... grossed out."

Rhaenyra tsked, "Wait until you find a partner that will make you become a fool, then we can talk about being gross darling."

Baela shrugged, "I truly don't care however I will say, whoever got his heart in twists and turns, makes the most beautiful arrangements and I want more. He better not fuck this up."

Rhaenyra hissed as small Viserys yelped out a small 'duck'.

"Baela! Language!"

༻❁༺

Cregan was sitting by the couch, a can of beer in his hand as he calmy watched the sports channel. Jacaerys quickly opened the door, slamming it shut as he ran down the hallway into his room, the bouquet of bright, pretty flowers in his arms left a flowery scent in the room.

Cregan eyed his best friend in confusion, before he sneezed, "Oh for god's sake Jace!"

All he got in return was a loud, "Sorry man!"

Cregan only muttered to himself, finding himself eyeing all of the floral arrangements around the sitting area. He shook his head, snorting.

༻❁༺

Jacaerys sat by his bed, the flowers now sat in a vase by his bed. In his hands sat the cream envelope that he was too afraid to open.

"C'mon Jace, open it."

With trembling fingers he opened the envelope, your nice cursive writing welcomed him, and immediately he began to smile widely. As his eyes scanned the words you wrote, his eyes began to look at the arrangement you had given him. His heart never felt this way, if he could give you the world, he would gladly do it, some way. You were the best flower of all the garden, and by the gods, he loved you.

The note that you made held a phone number, and with a small note that explained your heart best, had Jacaerys throw himself onto the bed, all the while screaming a loud 'YES!"

Flowers are meant to describe what we feel, and every flower has a meaning and a reason why we gift them. And for you, I feel so many things that it is impossible to choose what flower fits you. If you get a chance, find the meaning of the flowers and then come find me.

PS: Next time, remember what excuse you came up with to get flowers, you're a terrible liar. with so much adoration, Y/n.

As Jacaerys rolled around in his bed with a big smile on his face and small laughs escaping his mouth, the flower arrangement you made blossomed, finding a home in a chilled season. Lilies, Lilacs, with bright Camellias sat on his desk with a confession of love from you who waited patiently for him to crack your code.

Hugh Jackman was made for the female gaze

i just watched the red wedding episode and i knew what would happen in it but it was happening so fast and it left me with my jaw on the fucking floor on ending titles im so dumbfounded rn