#and if i don’t get the credit i don’t even care bc some of the history gen eds at the college i’m going to sound so interesting like i will | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thevirgincherry · 2 months

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BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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diorsluv · 3 months

Text

feather , part 25

“ not caring where you are tonight ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

lhughes_06

liked by yourusername, trevorzegras, rutgermcgroarty, and 99,376 others

lhughes_06 i got you blocked after this, an afterthought 🎶

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

markestapa YOU BLOCKED OUR SWEET AMAZING LIL DRIZZY??

→ lhughes_06 NO DUMBASS

→ markestapa HUH??

→ markestapa OHHHHHHH

→ lhughes_06 🙄🙄

yourusername hey that’s me!

→ lhughes_06 it’s you ☺️

yourusername also THE SABRINA CARPENTER REFERENCE??? i’ve taught you well

→ lhughes_06 yes you have

username24 the way luke is so blatantly professing his love

username48 i was a dryshughes supporter from the start 💪💪

trevorzegras atta boy

liked by lhughes_06

_quinnhughes fucking finally

→ lhughes_06 be quiet

dylanduke25 only took you 100,000,000, years

→ lhughes_06 did not

→ dylanduke25 did too

→ lhughes_06 liar

→ dylanduke25 truther

username38 oh so is that other girl finally gone

username79 y’all when i tell you i have the DRAMA

→ username64 don’t be shy share with the class

→ username79 apparently luke blocked her months ago but she keeps harassing the drysdales 🤷‍♀️

→ username22 the attention seeking is crazy ig

rutgermcgroarty fruity ass caption

→ lhughes_06 fuck off 🙄

→ rutgermcgroarty 🍏🍎🍐🍉🍇🍊🍓🍋🫐

mackie.samo did my pep talks finally get to you

→ lhughes_06 barely even pep talks but whatever helps you sleep at night

edwards.73 did bro finally do what i think he did

→ markestapa just found out he didn’t what a pussy

→ lhughes_06 I WILL I WILL just not rn 😔

jackhughes moosey grew some balls did he?

→ lhughes_06 stfu im telling on u

→ jackhughes was gonna say i’m proud but ig not

username40 other girl is out of the picture now

→ username59 she was never in the picture sweetie

username37 wait so was luke fr just fucking around w miss girl

→ username8 they probably jus hung out a few times but i don’t think they went that far

→ username13 but the smoochie smoochie posts????

→ username29 we’re all too deep in the dryshughes lore

jamie.drysdale yeah you better have blocked her

liked by lhughes_06

→ username66 protective jamie 🥹🥹

_alexturcotte AYEEE LUKEY BOY

adamfantilli YO????

username14 ITS FINALLY HAPPENING EVERYONE STAY CALM EVERYONE STAY FUCKING CALM

yourusername

liked by colecaufield, luca.fantilli, edwards.73, and 94,018 others

yourusername ridin in a getaway car 🚇

view all comments

trevorzegras is that not a fucking subway emoji in the caption of a post quoting our lord and savior taylor swift except the post is also in a FUCKING SUBWAY STATION

→ yourusername did not think this would evoke so much emotion from you trev

→ trevorzegras you used getaway car but it’s practically a damn train.

→ yourusername IM SORRYYY

→ jackhughes the paragraph…

luca.fantilli the yankees hat.

→ yourusername what r u gonna do abt it 🤨

→ luca.fantilli dont play w me 😒😒😒

_quinnhughes is that where u two went

→ username76 “u two” WHO

→ colecaufield was it a date 😱

→ yourusername it was not a date 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

username71 oh my god is this what love feels like

→ username43 ask luke he can confirm (probably)

username9 body goals ahhhhh

markestapa stay safe on subways bc there’s a criminal minds episode where someone got killed in a subway station

→ yourusername bro that was like season 3??? it literally came out when we were KIDS

→ markestapa IT WAS A TERRORIST GROUP

→ yourusername oh my god you’re insane

→ markestapa if you die in a subway station just know i was right

jamie.drysdale who bought that drink bc ik it wasn’t u

→ yourusername how do u know

→ jamie.drysdale i can still see your credit card history

→ yourusername STOP.

→ lhughes_06 i bought it

→ jamie.drysdale such a gentleman lukey boy

rutgermcgroarty i do not understand your obsession with green-colored drinks

→ yourusername this is a judgement free zone

→ rutgermcgroarty ✌️🤙✊

lhughes_06 solid pics

→ yourusername appreciate the compliment that was definitely meant for me

→ lhughes_06 but i mean that photographer just seems to be super talented

→ yourusername mhm!

→ lhughes_06 and super cute too

→ yourusername oh!! well!!!

→ lhughes_06 just overall a great person

→ yourusername ofc ofc!!!!

→ markestapa goddamn just say you’re fucking

username26 mother is mothering

username19 WHERE IS THE TOTE BAG FROMMM

username57 the outfit is so good!!

username65 i swear luke is putting his heart out on the line ready to risk it ALL

→ username31 i meannn i would do it too

edwards.73 you’re either real fuckin oblivious or real fuckin evil

→ yourusername maybe a little bit of both 🤫

dylanduke25 i swear to god if neither of you make a move i will do it for you

→ yourusername aw you’re no fun duker

→ dylanduke25 you’re killing me here

_alexturcotte i’m so damn invested in this relationship i’ve spent literal dollars on you two

→ yourusername LMAOOO

→ yourusername it’s okay tho ur rich

→ _alexturcotte is that all u see me as 😐

→ yourusername my rich, loving, amazing, kind, generous, honorary brother 🤗🤗

→ _alexturcotte there we go

→ jamie.drysdale i feel like i’m being disowned and replaced here 😕

next chapter notes ) i’m really milking it here w the luke being a simp but it’s okay because we love that do we not?? BUT THEY’RE NOT DATING YET and that last jamie reply.. i just realized that’s basically what just happened with the trade but uh! it’s okay bc he’s happy fairly short chap but i hope you enjoy it all the same

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys@loveforaugust

#luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #alex turcotte #jamie drysdale #adam fantilli #cole caufield #trevor zegras #luca fantilli #ethan edwards #mark estapa #rutger mcgroarty #dylan duke #mackie samoskevich

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xoxokaulitz · 10 months

Text

MORNINGS W GRUMPY BILL

no pronouns pacifically used can be seen as any gender

2006-2008 bill , will make a 2023 one i promise

Bill had a real busy schedule today, so you guys had to wake up early. Of course you knew Bill wasn’t a morning person, so it was hard with your mornings with him. You usually woke up earlier than him (if you don’t pretend shhh). You tossed and turned in bed and then yawned. You turned over and saw Bill sleeping. “How can someone be so fine when sleeping?” You thought. Only Bill Kaulitz can. You smiled and then got up and brushed your teeth before you went and woke up him.

“Bill?” You softly said while shaking him a bit. “Hmmm…” He whined while turning away from you. “Bill, we have to get ready. You have a very busy schedule today.” You said and Bill slowly opened his eyes. “A few more minutes.” He spoke and then fell back asleep. You chuckled and then hugged him. “Bill, come on..” “Schatz..Please..” He whined while wiggling around. “Fine, I’m gonna go get georg.” You smirked because you knew georg will definitely wake him up. As soon as he heard georg’s name he woke tf up.

“Meine Liebe you’re such a meanie!” Bill complained and then got up and went to brush his teeth and stuff. You also got ready and packed some of you guys stuff you’ll definitely need.

Once you guys had got on the bus, Bill was ignoring the fuck out of you. You knew he wasn’t a morning person, so of course he had his little tantrums in the morning. “Bill can you—“ “No!” “I didn’t even finish my sentence!!” “Nooo!” He whined while wiggling away from you and turning to the window. You sighed and shook your head. The whole ride he ignored you and when you tried to put your head on his shoulder he’d whine and shrug you off him. Bill didn’t care who he lashed out on, he just wanted to sleep more.

“That’s what you get for sleeping at 2 in the morning Bill.” You would say when he whined about wanting to sleep and being tired.

Of course his little tantrums and whiny mood disappeared once it was the afternoon. You would explain to him how he acted and he would be so upset at himself for pushing you away. “Meine Liebe!!” He whined while hugging you. “I’m sorry!! You know how I can act in the morning..” He pouted and you chuckled. “Don’t worry baby, I’m used to it by now.” No matter how your used to it, you found it cute every time.

requests open pls request

pic credit tokiosaturn0 dm to remove if owner only

rules for requests ⬇️

#bill kaulitz #tokio hotel #bill kaulitz x reader #fluff #nothing but fluff #request #requests open #2000s

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theholypeanut · 9 months

Text

★○★ Blue Lock Dere ★○★

Content: Which Blue Lock dere they become when they crush on you? Warning: toxic behaviour! Slightly swearing

Various bllk characters, gn!reader

Yandere

★○★○★○★

Before you guys even get to know each other more, he probably already knows everything about you. Your favourite drink? Consider it done. Ah, you usually forget your umbrella, here, we can share mine. Ah it’s very cold today, I have second sweatshirt, you can wear mine. He is always there for you, when you need him, and when you don’t know you need him (yet). If any other guy would show the slightest interest in you, he is quietly removed behind the scenes and you’ll never even know his name. Because why would you even want to know that, silly? You have him.

REO, NESS, Shidou (hear me out, possessive Shidou>>>), Aryu

Tsundere

★○★○★○★

Be careful, tsundere mode activated. Whenever this guy is crushing on you, he will tease you, be mean to you, and if you say anything remotely suggestive to them, they will just get red and deny everything. He acts like he doesn’t care for you at all, but whenever he does anything nice for you, he can feel his ears getting hot. He borrowed you his sweatshirt but don’t get any ideas, idiot. Uhhh okay, you can have some of his dessert, just stop whining. Him blushing is an actual gift from God - you’d never expect such a huge, manly guy getting flustered like a teenage girl.

KARASU, Kaiser, RIN, BAROU, Raichi

Kuudere

★○★○★○★

When this man has a crush on you, you wouldn’t know. He is always all cool and reserved around you, probably sometimes he would send you a polite smile, but he gives you no clues that he holds any romantic feelings towards you. He might borrow you the notebook, share an umbrella, but he looks like it’s another Tuesday for him. Only people around you might notice this tiny blush on his ears after your interaction, but they might just think they hallucinate, because his face is like stone.

Chigiri, SAE, Kenyu, Nagi, HIORI

Bakadere

★○★○★○★

That one adorable ball of sunshine who is always goofing around you, is absolutely disrespectful to your personal space, but in a cute, playful ways. He always puts his arm around you, hug you good morning, doesn’t feel bad just acting all stupid with you.

BACHIRA, Nanase

Deredere

★○★○★○★

The shy one. Around his crush he is an absolute mess - getting flustered for now reason, stutter whenever you ask him a question, getting nervous whenever you are a little too close. Probably need to mentally prepare himself for hours to act all cool and collected, while inside he is just screaming.

Tokimitsu, Iemon, KUNIGAMI, Isagi, Niko

No dere just smooth, bc this bitches just flirt with everything that moves

★○★○★○★

Okay, listen. This guy have no time to play dere games with you, he will just flirt with you like a God, and make you feel like in a shoujo manga (or Josei smut if you play your cards right). They are straightforward with their feelings, asking you shamelessly for your number and calling you baby girl in public. Playful flirty playboys don’t have time for dere bullshit.

AIKU, OTOYA (cheaters playboy VIP launch)

★○★○★○★

By slowlyholypeanut - please do not steal, put on other websites, share without credit, love u

#bllk #blue lock #I’m here to push Karasu tsundere propaganda #this account became an Otoya bullying account but I love him seriously #also Barou is a tsundere fight me on this #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bachira meguru #rin itoshi #barou shouei #kunigami rensuke #chigiri hyoma #reo mikage #isagi yoichi #karasu tabito #oliver aiku #otoya eita

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thelastofhyde · 5 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?”

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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filmofhybe · 4 months

Text

airport buddies.

🥥 pairing : ot7 x oc! 8th member of enha • GENRE : fluff

WARNING: mention of food , crowding , pushing , Profanity

; AUTHORS NOTE : sudden thought of me being the 8th member of enhypen hit my brain while watching Golden Disc Award. And obviously credit to @srjlvr bc her 8th members works inspired me!

MASTERLIST TO MY OTHER WORK

정원 jungwon

as one of the members in the hyung line, jungwon as the leader, still keeps his eyes on you as fans would be crowding you guys despite them keeping a distance. Because you guys was once mopped at the terminal before and you got really injured, he would tell you to grab onto his bag as you walk towards the exit. He would sometimes tell you to link arms with him, and these sweet moments are captured by fans, speaking up about how attentive jungwon is about previous situations and how he cares about his members safety. You feel really safe around him and your glad he’s taking care of you. (You would also guide him through the crowd if it gets to chaotic.)

“y/n hold onto my bag so you don’t get lost.”

“wonnie I’m fine trust me.”

“no I don’t trust the crowd after what happened. You deserve to stay safe around me.”

“If you insist, but one day I would need to stop doing it because you won’t be with me.”

“DONT GO ALL SAD NOW.”

“IM NOT IM JUST SPEAKING THE-“

“you both shut up please I’m too tired for this argument every damn time.” Your manager chuckled as he watched both of you having the “I need to keep you safe!” Argument every time before stepping out of the terminal.

희 승 heeseung

He treats you to food before you guys board the plane. He knows your morning temper is horrible, having to wake up in early in the morning to get to the airport, than having to deal with flashing cameras before checking in already made your day ten times worse. So when you guys are waiting to bored the plane, he will treat you to something sweet, like a chocolate cookie along with a blueberry muffin. Or just anything you want. He cares about your health especially your body is still growing. (Sometimes you would reject his offer, however he would still buy it just in case you start complaining about how hungry you are on the plane)

“y/n~ let’s go get food shall we?”

“I would love to but I’m tired…” you sigh as you cuddle into your hoodie more, keeping yourself warm.

“come on, let’s go get some food before boarding, you can pick whatever you want.” He smiled as he noticed you jump out of your seat after what he said.

Walking towards a small café, you picked out a cookie and a refresher. Heeseung picked something for each member and himself before paying everything. He watches you munch on your cookie, smiling once again to know that all he needs to do to make you happy is food.

박종성 Park Jeongseong

MR DRAGS YOU ALONG TO SHOP. He’s the person to shop at those designer shop before boarding in his spare time. Even though he has good style, he would always drag you along with him. He thinks you giving him opinions about what he should get makes his purchases worth it. Like he had said before “y/n has better taste than I do, people may not admit it but she really does. I’m glad she is always willing to come shopping with me.” Despite you being so tired, you still enjoy walking around with him. You guys usually come out with around 3 bags of stuff. Fans always assume you both have some spending problem at the airport 😭

does this sweater look better than the other?” Jay placed the black sweater in front of him, holding the other color beside him as he switch in between the two.

“I like the navy blue more. It suits you better… it also matches the Prada sunglasses I got you.” You suggested as you grab the navy blue sweater. Placing in front of his torso.

“Nevermind i agree with you. My jawline stands out more.” He smirks, before trying to escape from your slapping.

“We get it park jeongseong you have sharp ass jawline now get your sweater.”

“Jesus Christ I enjoy shopping with you BUT NOT YOU HITTING ME?!?”

심재윤 Sim Jaeyun

The “I can’t stop gossiping” duo. Oh my gosh you both just can’t stop yapping the moment you step out of the van. Is like you guys are high school best friends talking about the latest gossips. You guys would link arms and whisper into each others ears, but laughing extremely loudly after what you heard from the other. Is the media pressed about your interactions? Sometimes (because they can’t take good pictures of the group without you both not talking) however they enjoy watching you both laughing your ass off to whatever your laughing about at 5 in the morning.

“no because I heard that he’s really bad at singing..” Jake whispers as he links his arms with you. Leaning into you as he tries to tell you the latest updates on the entertainment industry.

“No way I thought she was good enough to make it..”

“bitch he was like iM sUpER sHyYYy iM sUpeR sHY.” Jake intimates whoever he was talking about, making you both burst into laughter behind all your members. The members were confused on the sudden laughter. Who on earth laughs this much at 5 in the morning with camera flashes in their face.

“But who are we to judge…? I mean he tried at least.”

“Stop we can’t be rude at least he tried…”

“Keyword tried..”

The ones to say they shouldn’t be judging after gossiping about it😭 just too unserious

성훈 Sunghoon

The matching fit duo. You both somehow always have matching airport fits. Making favs believe you guys did it on purpose (sometimes). But both of you never complain about it. Because of how good both your stylist it, fans always try to take lots of pics of you when you guys are standing next to each other. But sometimes it’s the opposite, you would accidentally wear his shirt while he is uses your bag. And fans loves how you guys share each others items for time to time. (Ps. They love to question you guys.)

“y/nnie!! Where is your bag from?”

“I don’t know, sunghoon got it. It was the first bag I saw so I took it. I’m so sorry!”

“Is okay!! Sunghoon! Are you and y/nnie matching today?”

“We didn’t mean to match again today. It was by coincidence. Do you guys like it?” Fans started agreeing that they love your matching outfits. You both thanked them for noticing and were both flattered by how cute your fans are.

선우 Sunoo

THE SERVING CUNT DUO!! Because both of your age are really close to each other and you both have basically the same brain cell. You both constantly like to tease each other and laugh at each other. You guys do not care if it’s 12 at night that your at the airport, you guys would do the must random shit ever. Eg. A catwalk while linking arms, or writing on your phones pointing towards each other. “SUNOO SPILLED MY COFFEE.” “I DIDNT YOUR FOOT KICKED IT!!” Sigh the members are tired of you both but I guess they find it kinda funny as well.

“WHY ARE YOU TRYNA EXPOSE ME?!?” You asked sunoo as you watched the younger boy laugh at the message - “Y/N FORGOT TO WEAR SOCKS TODAY!!” On his phone. Ready for fans and media to see.

“YOU ARE EXPOSING ME TOO!?” he gasped as he reads yours - “SUNOO CRIED ON THE WAY HERE BECAUSE HE FORGOT HIS DITTO DOLL!!” You shrugged your shoulders as you quickly stepped out of the van before he can reach you.

Fans and the media captures this funny moment as your members silently laughs at how immature you both are. But they don’t complain at all.

にしむらりき Nishimura Riki

The mother and son duo. Being one of the oldest of the group, and you promising to take good care of Niki. You constantly make sure he is alright and his passport is kept safe with him. Fans starts taking notice that you would hold onto his passport after hd lost it once, and he is comfortable enough to hold onto your bag as you make your way through the crowd. Some even noticed that he would buy you medicine before boarding because he knows you get ill easily while traveling. Lots of people treasure your relationship dearly and they always appreciate how you take care of each other very well. (You take Care of other members as well but most of the time Niki because he’s the youngest.)

Fans and media captures a brief moment of Niki handing you his passport. “y/n can you hold onto my passport so I don’t lose it again?” He whispered beside you. Nodding as you take his passport into your hand.

He grabs onto your purse as you walked through the crowd of people. You would look back at him from time to time to make sure he is behind you. Grabbing his hand when it starts getting more chaotic. His grip is now tighter around you, you look back reassuring him that your here and he would be okay. “Niki is okay I’m here your fine. Your passport is safe as well don’t worry.” He can sense you smiling at him, even though your mask covers half of your face.

Fans was touched by both of your little interactions at the airport. Knowing Niki still relays on his older members even though he just turned 18. They know he is still a baby at heart and still need caring. And they thank you for taking care of him like he’s one of your owns.

networks ~ @kflixnet @k-films @/k-labels @k-neighborhood

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yourpsicodelicbitch · 5 months

Text

short asteroid observations

nhidi

*whole sign + tropical

Cupido (763) 9H says you are attracted to someone you can learn a lot from, someone foreign, not necessarily in an obvious way but when’s about different perspective/mindset. also you could not fall easily? They have to look/think “different”. you could like dorks. you want to be understood, to debate.

Aphrodite (1388) 8H have this desire of being taken care of, to everyone be obsessed with them and they are but people it’s too scared and intimidated by their strong and mysterious aura, so they’re likely to be the goddess who seems unapproachable/too good to be true. they could feel lonely bc of these and they LOVE the power and influence they have on others.

Luda (1158) at 12° (pisces degree)/trine neptune are recognized by being artsy, in their own world, kind of hippie or full of creativity/imagination and with other world perspectives. I have these placement + aspect and EVERY TIME, people from every age recognize/identify me as the characteristics I mentioned. They have asked me if my family it’s full of artists bc I have that “vibe”. Asteroid “Luda” means “love of the people”, and being love by people could be interpreted as recognized -my interpretation-.

Narcissus (37117) conjunct Mercury could mean being too self absorbed about your mindset and opinions, “thinking your way of thinking is too good to be true”. I don’t really think narcissus have this effect permanently-duh😝-, it shows how at some point you are like this. you could have difficulties listening to others perspectives that can help you. you could have serious problems of trying to understand others, in this life you’ll have to learn no one thinks like you, even though your you from a moment ago, I don’t think they’ll think the same or etc., so don’t explode your mind trying so hard to have an answer on why others aren’t/think like you bc they won’t. also, your mindset it’s not correct or perfect so don’t frustrate about stuff you can’t control.

Bellona (28) trine ascendant, again, can tell people thought you were a total bitch -when they didn’t know you-, if they get in your way you’ll fuck them up without a doubt. I’m proud to say it’s not only appearance or supposition, once they know you they’ll still say you’ll fuck them up equally. Bellona is about someone who isn’t afraid of standing up for what they believe.

I was wondering why lately I’ve been so obsessed with this guy, then I checked my composite chart with him and saw Lovelock (51663) 12H. So practically it could signify this is a past life situation and I can’t fucking let go. I’m so tired 😭 idgaf if he’s obsessed with me, I want action and he’s not giving it and I’m afraid to be the one starting it -it’s different with guys and bc of him? idk 😒-. I feel stuck. HELP. also is conjunct Chiron so I have to learn about it? DONT. Chiron give me a break, no, I’m joking, I’m saying nothing. 12H means it’s gonna hit in a subconscious level…and it’s gonna be a secret?😭 -I don’t want to believe this-, so neither of us is gonna do something? FUCK

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡ (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

♡ Based on personal experience and I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

♡ English is not my first language.

♡ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

#astrology #astro observations #pinterest #astro posts #astro placements #astro notes #asteroids #asteroid astrology #birth chart #asteroid cupido #aphrodite #asteroid luda #narcissus #asteroid bellona #asteroid lovelock #mercury #neptune #ascendant #aspects

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years

Note

Someday can we get a dick grayson/virginity blurb bc I feel he would be the sweetest guy ever 😩 and you would write it so well!!

this has been MARINATING in my drafts for so long!! so nonnie, if you’re still ‘round, i hope you like this!

𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 ⎹ 𝓓.𝓖.

fandom dc / masterlist coming soon / @dollsdc-library

featuring dick grayson x reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning loss of virginity, protected sex ( dick is a gentleman! ), mild size kink, innocence kink, shy!reader, lots of praise

summary you knew you wanted him to be your first, but you had no idea just what to expect.

word count 2k / mini musing

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

bird brains writing event !

Dick was patience defined, and you were grateful for that, considering you had to take a moment in the washroom and give yourself one hell of a pep talk.

now, you were standing in the threshold, hiding your naked body behind the door, and staring at him. butterflies flap their wings in your belly as your gaze traces the shape of him. hands behind his head, he was sprawled out in the center of your bed, completely naked. his eyes were closed, as if you’d taken long enough for him to catch a quick snooze, but his lips were etched into a natural smile. you loved to look at it. of course, his lids part when he hears the creak of the door and he looks towards it, smile widening. “Ready, angel?”

you swallow, hard, around the lump in your throat as your eyes travel lower. his cock is already hard and waiting, sheathed in a clear prophylactic, the broad tip lain against his belly. he must’ve prepped himself while you were trying to swallow your nerves. you nod, but you haven’t moved yet. “I think so…” your eyes lingered on his size. was it a good idea to attempt to tackle this challenge?

Dick notices you staring, and his features soften, understanding. “C’mere,” he croons, and you find yourself obeying without a second thought. bashfully, you cover your breasts with both hands as you cross the room, looking anywhere but his face. “We go at your pace, like we agreed.” he says, shifting to hold his arms out for you. you’re immediately shy about having to leave your body completely exposed, but you take his hands, and he gives you the stability you need to crawl on to the bed and straddle his thighs. you’d just had to say you wanted to be on top. you thought it would give you some control over the situation. his hands leave yours only once you’re settled, and glide upwards over your biceps, to caress your shoulders. “Only take what you can.”

your cheeks were burning, but you look down at him and nod. your heart thumps quick and hard against your rib cage, but Dick has settled back into his original position, hands behind his head, giving you complete control. it was more daunting that empowering. you were wet just seeing him splayed out for you like this, incredibly wet, but your nerves were nearly overwhelming. your shaken hand takes his base with a tentative grasp, and you are hyper aware of how he snorts a breath through his nose, the muscles in his arms tightening. “Do we have to use this?” you ask, embarrassed, your thumb tapping the rubber against him. you were a bit disappointed; you wanted to feel him raw for your first time.

Dick chortles, but nods, one hand fleeing to your face, his thumb pressing against your chin. “Although it’s flattering that you think I’ve got enough self control to pull out, I don’t want to take any chances. Besides,” the pad of his thumb caresses your lower lip, and you pucker to kiss it, “I gotta take care of my baby girl, don’t I?” you didn’t want him to be, but you were secretly appreciative of just how reasonable he was. “Whenever you’re ready.”

you were. or, at least, you wanted to be.

your digit tips caress his base as you angle your hips upwards, inching until you’re hovering above his upright cock. the head of it kisses your clit and you shudder, but Dick is watching you, biting on his lip. you want to please him, to impress him, so you lower, slowly. just as his tip parts your folds, you feel your maiden entrance clench around air, he hits the snag and you stop moving. how embarrassing would it be if you couldn’t even get him in? you whine, trying to convince yourself to bite the bullet and sink down on him. you try again, pressing him against your cunt only to feel it tighten in protest. “I…”

he didn’t even seem to mind; his hand falling to knead your breast in slow circles. “Take your time, baby. ‘S okay.”

“I don’t know if I can…” you flush, trying again. you feel him start to open you up, a burning stretch, and you gasp. you couldn’t get him in; your mind couldn’t talk the nerves down. “Dick, can you…?” you pout, shameful. you couldn’t even finish the cry for help.

“Of course I can,” he coos, and sits up, taking himself from your grasp with one hand, while the other glides down over your belly. he leans forward, kissing your lips, slow and soft, with his parted. “Let me in, angel.” he breathes into your mouth, thumb finding your clitoris and caressing it. mewling, you grab both of his arms, grip them tight. “Open up for me, it’s okay.” once again, his warm cock splits your folds, but with just enough force behind his push to stretch you open. you wince, scraping at his muscle pads with your nails. “That’s it, almost in. You’re doing so good.” your eyes met his when he rubs your button, trading the grip on his manhood for a tight hook around your waist to bring you closer. his tip slides inside of you, finally, and you cry out, eyes wide and tearful. you hadn’t expected so much pressure on your lower belly, or the extent to which you’d be forced open. Dick kisses you again, stifling a moan of his own, pressing on your clit with two fingers. “God, you feel good, angel. I could cum just like this.”

you nibble on your lip, hands grasping at his wrist. the attention he was giving your clit was just a little overwhelming. “Dick,” you breathe, weakly, “too much…”

you didn’t have to tell him twice, both of his hands left your body, and found yours to envelop instead, lacing your fingers together as his open mouth travels down over your chin to your throat.

you take in a shaky breath, holding tight to his hands and using the leverage to experiment in wiggling your hips. the initial sting had faded, but there was still so much of him, the prospect of taking the remaining inches was nearly dizzying. with a little jut of your lower half, another inch slips inside and you moan. spasming walls welcome the girthy intruder with frenzied fluttering. “O— oh, my god,” you expel a shaky breath, allowing a fraction more inside. that was your limit, you realized, and instead, focused on riding what little bit of him you could. your bodies were tangled together already, hands bound at the fingers, and his mouth was glued to your neck, leaving sugary kisses around your pulse point.

“You’re doing amazing,” he mumbles, and you can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s trying not to take over; he wants to fuck you, bad, but he’s keeping himself in check. the thought alone gives you a surge of euphoria, “you feel incredible. So tight, so warm, fuck, I could live in this pussy.”

you rut faster, base desperation fueling your need to cum. you still can’t take his entirety, but you’ve engulfed plenty of him to feel a poke at your insides. you squeeze his hands tighter.

“That feel good, angel?” he asks, just as needy, “Do you love riding, using my cock to please that sweet cunt?”

you nod, your thighs starting to shake. you were cramping up, too, but you tried your best to ignore it. “Dick… I’m gonna… I’m going to cum…” you’re groaning, back arching, smashing your bare breasts into his waiting countenance. he draws one into his mouth and suckles on your nipple until your head falls back and a breathy grunt erupts from your parted lips. “Ahh… Dick, please— please—“ you didn’t even know what you were begging for, but you couldn’t stop.

“I— I need— you to— I can’t—“ you were beginning to realize that your climax was slipping, because you were too uncomfortable to chase it. the muscles in your legs had gone taut and ached, and you needed him to take over if you had any hope of finding relief for the pressure built up in your lower belly. “Help me, please.” you plea, hopelessly.

Dick smiles against your flesh, pushing himself up on to his knees. his cock slips free and you whine in discontent. one arm cradles your lower back whilst the other retrieves a pillow from behind him and slides it beneath your head when he lowers you on to your back. it was the graceful, fluid way he does this that convinces you he was all too experienced in being in control. you didn’t mind, however, because you felt instant relief in your legs as soon as you could straighten them again, and wrap them around his hips. he doesn’t lean over you, but stays propped up on his knees, chest rising and falling as he stares down at you. you must’ve looked mighty flustered, because he smiles, licking his lips, and mutters. “Adorable.” before he guides himself back to your treasure. you flush, one hand up by your face, partially covering it, and the other gripping the sheet underneath you.

he slips in much easier this time, but you still tighten your hold on the sheet and arch your back, because that damned thumb of his has found your clit again, rubbing in slow circles as he watches your reaction. you don’t try to pry his hand from your core this time, and instead, you moan in gratitude, fingers flattening over your eyes when he rolls his hips. “Don’t hide that beautiful face from me,” he mutters, free hand now reaching to catch yours again, pulling it from your countenance. “Much better.”

“More,” you whimper, hips stuttering, “please give me more.”

Dick groans, just hearing you, and pushes a fresh inch into you. “How’s that, angel?”

it was hard not to stare at his abs, contracting when his hips oscillate, as if they were dancing under the skin of his belly, and you found yourself utterly mesmerized. “G—good…” you croak, that climax of yours on the horizon again. “Dick, ah, please don’t stop!”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.” he replies with a soft pant, hips bucking at the same, steady pace, his thumb working your clit in tandem. “Fuck, I wanna watch you cum so bad, pretty girl. Get there for me.” but he didn’t have to tell you; you were already there.

once you were swept away by your orgasm, he didn’t ease up, not even when you whined his name and reached for his wrist. he was determined to watch you ride every wave of pleasure he had to send your way. each sensation was a brand new one, the tightness in your belly, the way it erupted into a powerful release that left you breathlessly calling his name, and the sensitivity that followed. his hips began to slow to a graceful stop as you came down. you shivered, taking hold of his wrist to pry it from your cunt when you felt like another moment of his skillful massaging would send you spiraling into madness, and this time, he lets you. he’s breathless, but smiling, aquamarine eyes only on you.

“You’re so pretty when you cum.” he purrs, slowly pulling himself free. his shoulders hunch and he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lower belly. “How did I get so lucky?”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #nightwing smut #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing #dc x reader #dc smut #dc comics #dc x you #dc imagine

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luveline · 2 years

Note

hey I couldn't find if your reqs are open or not so if they're closed feel free to ignore this lmao!

I'm in love with the way you write steve 💙 I was thinking of a scenario where reader gets into a fight bc of some guys messing with/talking shit about Steve and how he would react to that? have a great day ily <33

sorry i keep softifying him in reality he'd probably fight <3 ily tysm for requesting lowkey highkey shy reader too

Dustin bursts into Family Video, brown curls bouncing.

"It's Y/N," he says. Steve shoots Robin a look and rounds the counter at record speeds. It surprises him when Dustin bursts out of the store and turns straight into the Palace, holding the door open.

You’re towards the back of the arcade. Mike stands at your side with his formidable, protective expression in place. You're pushing into his arm held out in front of you, looking upset and uncomfortable.

"Shut the fuck up, don't talk about him! Don't fucking talk about him, you don’t know anything!" you're saying.

Steve feels his eyes go wide, startled at your uncharacteristic display of both volume and aggression.

The two guys in front of you Steve recognises quickly from your classes. They look about as shocked as Steve does but handle it with less care, laughing loudly in your face. Your frown deepens, angry tears on your face evident as he draws closer.

"Is there a problem?" Steve asks, coming to stand in front of you.

His appearance only makes the guys laugh more. "It's the King!" one says.

"King Steve!"

Completely unoriginal, overplayed and pathetic, Steve's heard this shit a thousand times. He rolls his eyes and goes to pull you away, hand careful on your arm. You won't let him, standing your ground even as Dumb and Dumber's senses of bravado grow.

"It's worse than I thought," one begins.

"Look at his cute little vest."

"And what do you do, Sammy? We all know you're still living in Mommy's basement. The mould spores are getting to you, clearly," you say scathingly. It's a valiant effort though arguments and comebacks aren't something you have any practice with.

"I work," Sammy says defensively.

"Work what? The muscles in your left bicep? Fuck you, thinking you're better than anybody, especially Steve!"

Steve likes that one and Mike does too, spluttering into laughter at your side.

Sammy takes a step forward and Steve takes one too, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, distinctly unimpressed. To the guys credit he doesn't do anything but smirk. It's all very high school and Steve's over it, rolling his eyes as turns to you and takes your shoulder into his hand.

"Stevie," you say, startled.

He pushes you, never disrespectful but definitely guiding, out of the arcade even as the boys repeat your pet name in high voices. "Stevie, oh Stevie!"

"Steve," you say again, crossing the threshold and out into the parking lot.

He doesn't really know what to say yet, a vestibule of too many emotions. He takes your hand and leads you to his car, encouraging you to sit on the hood in front of him, squeezing your clammy hand.

The silence is long but not awful, nothing but the sounds of passing cars and your joined hands, his thumb rubbing your knuckles.

You sniffle with an annoyed frown on your face, staring hard at his abdomen. "They were calling you a loser."

Steve brings his hand to your face and angles you up, looking over your expression for anything he should be alarmed by besides your wet lashes. He wipes the back of his hand over your face, careful but with a firm pressure, your eye and cheek dragging under his touch as he cleans away your tear tracks. It makes him smile.

"It's not funny," you murmur weakly.

"I'm not laughing at you… Babe, I am a loser. A huge loser."

"No, you're not," you say, glaring. You look cute, he thinks, not that he'd ever tell you that right now.

He does laugh at that, not demeaning, more like startled you'd care so much. "Babe."

"You're not a loser, Steve. You're my boyfriend."

"And that makes all the difference," he says lightly, dipping his face to yours, tilting his head to one side. He flicks his gaze from one eye to the other, watching as water wells and then spills. He's softened instantly. "Don't cry, Y/N. Everything's okay. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm so angry. How can they say that about you?" You wipe at your cheeks meanly. "How can you think that?"

His chest aches with how much he likes you. Loves you. You're exceedingly wound up right now, though Steve would never call a lady hysterical, squeezing your hand again. He bends at the waist so his face is well below yours, looking up so you can’t avoid his gaze.

"Alright, I'm not a loser," he says warmly, and feels like it's true. If you think it, it must be.

Dustin and Mike emerge from the arcade, looking quickly at the intimacy and then away, Dustin with a look of sheer disgust.

"You need a ride home?" Steve asks them, standing at full height.

"Nah, you're good," Dustin says, looking like he'd rather die. The two young boys collect their bikes from the rail and say their sheepish goodbyes.

You're gazing sullenly at your knees.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he asks.

You come back into yourself, blinking up at his face owlishly. "Shit, you're working. I was coming to see you. Then I heard those idiots and I followed them in…"

"Thank you for sticking up for me," he says.

You wince. "Of course."

"What was that, you said? About a left bicep? I need to add that to my repertoire of smackdowns."

"Shut up," you say, laughing reluctantly.

He's relieved at the sound of your laughter, chuckling himself as he tucks you into the cage of his arms, chin hooked over your head. You're warm, quieting as you reciprocate the hug and your hands bunch in his shirt.

He rubs your back like he's brushing you down. "You're funny. You should use some of those zingers on me next time. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Stop."

"I'm serious. 'Mould spores'? What's next, 'mouth breathers?"

"You're a total mouth breather."

"You should be embarrassed to be with me," he says agreeably, kissing the top of your ear, the first bit of skin that he sees before pulling you in tightly, arms rigid around you. He pats your back. "Thank you," he says again, sincerity burning his throat.

Being defended isn't new for Steve but it isn't common. And the passion you'd shown, your angry tears, he can't say thanks enough for that kind of love. He can only return it, and he would.

"Steve," you say, sighing. "Don't say thanks. I'd do a lot worse."

"Yeah? Like what?"

You push him away, used to his teasing and his theatrics by now.

"Homicide?"

"Steve."

"I'm just asking."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things x reader

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venuscnjunctpluto · 1 year

Text

Astro pt 3.

Credit: @venuscnjunctpluto

(I’m on spring break and literally have 50 other things I should be doing but we’re back at it again folks😝)

Venus conjunct saturn women 🤝 men w mommy issues

The worst moon square moon beef I’ve seen is Taurus and Aquarius. Both won’t let it go like the Taurus moon thinks they’re making sense while the Aquarius moon wants to seem unbothered it’s a mess.

Taurus Venus people are so beautiful (ex: Victoria Monet, Ariana Grande, Leighton Meester, Cillian Murphy, Matthew Gray Gubler, plus my mom💕)

There are three types of Aquarius risings: one who walks around in pajamas and chokers, one who is legit a model, and the one who wears graphic t shirts and multiple finger rings)

Also I notice a lot of aqua rising women love dressing masculine (ex: Zendaya, Nicki Minaj, and Aaliyah) if you see a girl w her pants sagging with her hat turned backwards w every color of the rainbow on. just know she’s a aqua rising.

Sag Venus women are bisexual ex: Erica Mena, Nicki Minaj, and me lol

Most kpop stans have libra placements and this is coming from a libra moon

Underdeveloped Men w Fixed sign placements are such incel. Leo esp mars when their ego gets hurt they cannot take it. Aquarius thinks they’re too good and smart for women so they can’t understand why no one wants to be around them. Do I even need to explain Taurus and Scorpio?😭

Pieces Venuses are down bad ex: the men crave a manic pixie dream partner and when they can’t live up to the natives fantasy; they cheat. The women are usually loyal but they are blind asf and will neglect and abandon their relationships w others just for their partner who may or may not be trash. On a good note; they are very very very giving in relationships and so sweet but just because y’all can give doesn’t mean you have to constantly.

Brent faiyaz and Jungkook have Scorpio Mars😮‍💨 I don’t know what it is but I wanna date one so bad. What’s y’all experiences?

Certain signs and placements date people w similar charts. Like I notice Taurus suns usually date eachother bc who else is about to put up w them (just kidding…no I’m not🙂) also Scorpio placements (ex: future and Ciara, Megan fox and machine gun Kelly, Karruche and Chris brown…these are terrible examples😭)

As far as Venus conjunct ascendant synastry…I honestly only feel the tension when I’m the ascendant. Whenever my Venus conjuncts someone’s asc it doesn’t really move me like I don’t think they’re unattractive I just don’t really gaf. Their personalities are fun because my sag Venus and mars knows they can take a joke. I think Scorpio/8th house doesn’t really care too much about looks and appearances. In fact I notice Scorpio Venus men view the people they date as beneath them in some way and they do that to feel comfortable as if that person can’t get better and leave or cheat.

I always tell people I don’t have a type which I kinda don’t aesthetically but: Virgo rising, moon-Pluto or Scorpio moons, Virgo mars, Taurus suns w aqua moons, air venuses or mars, libra risings, Scorpio mars😚

Blueface and Chrisean have Venus square pluto synastry. When I say they are the most exaggerated example of this synastry it’s crazy. She clearly seems trauma bonded and believes she’s truly in love with this man (Venus). While he’s using her for money (pluto) and maintaining control over her at all times. That’s another thing w Venus Pluto synastry the venus person looks worse in the public eye because we’re always outwardly vulnerable (the good and bad) while Pluto doesn’t show just how insane they are overtly. But he’s the jealous one because peep how mad and aggressive he gets when she gets any sort of attention outside of him (ex: when Drake followed her and he twisted it to be related to him) Pluto really thinks they OWN the Venus person like that Brent lyric “they only wanna fuck with you cause they know I fuck with you” that’s their mentality. (They’re both physically abusive to eachother and need to breakup asap)

Also everyone talks about how much she’s changed for the worst since she got w him. Her missing tooth and getting multiple tattoos of that man. I’ve seen this guy w his Venus square his ex’s Pluto and he looked terrible while w her and when they broke up he got hisself together. My conjunction synastry took me from wearing bold colors to black for months😭

Sag placements esp Venus or mars men are bow legged asf

Lana Del Rey’s catalog is the epitome of 8th house stellium. Constant changes, a certain loneliness that doesn’t go away, learning and growing, but also never giving up hope.🦋

Cancer mars men and their pregnancy fetish…lil durk has like 5,000 kids and his ex India said that she wanted another baby because of how affectionate he was when she was pregnant.

A lot of football/soccer player have air mars. (Ex: mason mount, kylian mbappe, phil foden)

Women w sun-Neptune, Uranus, pluto may have terrible relationships w men bc of their relationship w their father

Aqua, sag, and cap placements are funny asf😭 I’m one of them and I don’t even try but people are always dying laughing around me

I’ve been in two “lust” triangles and both pairs had one Taurus placement friend and one Scorpio placement friend. The Taurus friend (literally both of them had birthday two days apart) liked me and had their Scorpio friend (one was a Scorpio Venus and the other was a Scorpio mars) spy on me or maybe they just offered😭 long story short the Scorpio friend ended up liking me in both situations I just✨felt✨ it. Taurus and Scorpio are both sneaky and possessive they have opposite energy and it’s very likely they could like the same people. It gets complicated because Scorpio is more likely to keep their crush a secret which can cause unintended overlap.

Capricorn mars: I don’t get mad like I rarely get upset😐

Us all hearing them yell behind closed doors and come out like nothing happened:

#astro notes #venus pluto #synastry #taurus venus #aquarius rising #astro observations

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bihanspookies · 2 months

Note

Can you please write NSFW headcanons with our gilf Victor Chevalier?

I SURE CAN

Gif credit @eurodynamic

• This guy??? This GILF??? Treats you like absolute royalty. I know these are supposed to be nsfw hc’s but this must be said. Treats you to the fanciest dinners, the most expensive clothes, beautiful jewelry (even if you don’t wear he’d get you a pricey watch or brooch).

• Victor has money, we all know this. Which means he’s going to buy you the fanciest and most expensive toys to keep you occupied when he’s not around.

• He’s very confident in his skills in the bedroom don’t get me wrong, but for the times he’s not with you he wants to make sure you’re being satisfied.

• When he IS with you, he won’t use toys bc again…. He knows what he’s doing lmao. He’d only use them if you specifically asked.

• Personally I feel like he’d be open to using toys on himself, but again only if you brought it up. Use that vibrator on him! Put those nipple clamps! Bc I know Victors freaky ass is into a little pain!

• I think he’d like very minor masochism. Yes he can be dominating but he loves when you take control every now and then. ESP if you’re sitting on his chest, raking your nails down his torso and leaving bright red lines and denying him any sort of touch on his cock? He lives for it.

• He’d have that charming yet smug smirk as he looks up at you with those pretty blue eyes, challenging and almost daring you to go a little harder. Not too hard though, he wants that perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

• Yes he will say the most sinful shit in French and even if you don’t speak it at all you WILL understand what he’s saying bc he does it as he talks.

• He’s got the perfect tone for dirty talk bc it’s kinda raspy and will shiver your timbers yfm.

• Likes to choke but just enough to feel pressure around your neck. He likes to keep his thumb on your pulse so he can feel how it speeds up as he fucks you.

• Missionary man, doggy man, against the wall man, shower man. His favorite is when he puts on of your legs over his shoulder so he can hit deeper.

• Hair long enough to grab/fist? He’s yanking to keep you from looking away.

• No hair/not long enough? He’s gripping your jaw or neck instead.

• He will slap your ass hard enough to make it red.

• He wouldn’t be into public public sex but he likes to have in open places if that makes sense. Aka on top of his building on the helicopter pad after he set up a nice romantic dinner for y’all two, on his yacht, on his private beach, the balcony of your hotel room that’s on the top floor.

• He makes sure you cum at least twice before he even thinks about himself finishing. He wants to satisfy you and make sure you’re being taken care of.

• I think he’d like finishing on your stomach and chest, but his second fav is cumming all over your cunt/cock.

• He’s not opposed to finishing inside you but after making sure it’s okay with you like 5 times.

• Oral oral oral, he loves making you fall apart with his tongue. He is a SERVICE DOM‼️

• He could spend hours between your legs and be there for so long that you get fucking chaffed from his beard 💀

• Aftercare KING. Makes sure you’re okay after finishing, gives you some comforting touches and gets up to start a bath with the nicest oils and bath salts.

• He’ll carry you if you need it and will wash you but more than likely you’ll go one more round while bathing.

• Victor Chevalier may be old but he definitely 100% still has the stamina and endurance to fuck you silly.

BONUS:

• Victor would get off on watching his subordinates fuck you and commanding them on how to touch you and treat you. He’s not a jealous man so he’d be all for watching the way you come apart on his soldiers cocks.

• Strokes himself as he watches and keeps a watchful eye to make sure you’re okay.

• He secretly loves when they cum all over you but will cause a scene if anyone finishes inside you.

• In the end he knows you’ll always come back to him 💕

#victor chevalier #victor chevalier x reader #tekken #tekken x reader #my writings

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moonlisid · 1 year

Text

THE CONQUEROR'S CROWN

MASTERLIST | Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4

GIF CREDIT

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x FemOC!Velaryon (Strong)

Summary: The secret of their relationship is out in the worst time possible, but Visaella does not seem to care. Drown into her own madness, the rage of her grief blinded her and left her thirsty for vengeance. Now she will not rest until she gets her revenge.

Tags/TW: death of multiple characters, blood mention, murder, angst, sexual content (nothing too explicit), death threats, grief, mentions of forced marriage, typical sexism of the time, visaella lost her mind, insanity (?), violence, cursing, aegon is emotially attached to the oc, if there's anything else, pls let me know!

Author's Note: we reached the end. everything that is written with cursive are memories, just so you know. firstly, i'm sorry. secondly, the gif is how i imagined Visaella while writing the story, but you are free to picture her as you wish. thirdly, perhaps i will write some blurbs about the happy moments between these two bc it will be a closure to me lmao. lastly, thank you for reading this story and enjoying it as much as i enjoyed writing it, i hope the end make justice to the rest of the story.

Word Count: 16.1k

Taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @clairacassidy @alexandra-001 @stormgirlfriendd @kravitzwhore @poppyflower-22 @bellameshipper

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Two tired and sweaty bodies were laying on top of a big blanket in the middle of the woods. They were smiling and throwing breathless laughs to the air, exhausted and overwhelmed. They were lost, living in their own world as they usually did whenever they were alone. The fire beside them made them feel warm so their naked bodies did not feel an inch of cold.

Anyone can start again Not through love, but through revenge. Through the fire, we're born again, Peace by vengeance brings the end.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Aegon turned in order to kiss her delicately, muttering sweet words against her lips, touching the soft skin of her legs while suspiring, utterly enamored by the girl under him. He leaned back afterwards, only to see her rosy cheeks and glossy lavender haze. A soft smile was made on her face once he saw the messy hair of her lover, produced by her own hands. They were like that for a couple minutes, with silly smiles decorating their faces while staring at each other with complete devotion.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“I never thought we would be able to do this outside the castle.” Aegon confessed, biting his lip trying to hide his excited smile. “I thought I wouldn’t see you until my father’s next name day.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“But here we are.” She said, “Together, and alone. And for the first time, without being scared of someone finding us.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“You’re a genius, my love.” He left multiple kisses on her face, she chuckled due to the tickles his soft peachy lips produced. “How did you even find this place?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“I saw it on the map on Dragonstone.” She shrugged, “Then, one day, I took Vermithor here and found that cave where he perfectly fits with Sunfyre. It’s right in the middle of Dragonstone and King’s Landing, and far from the Kingsroad. It’s perfect.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“It is as if the Gods gifted this place to us.” He spoke with a dreamy voice. Visaella nodded, tangling her legs between her lover’s.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“I guess we should thank them.” She muttered, kissing him once again.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Aegon cupped her face, starting to leave subtle kisses all over it. Her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. Every single part of her face was kissed by him while she only could hum and whimper delicate words to him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He pulled away and stared down at her, his eyes glistening with a glow that she had never seen in another man's eyes, but she liked the way it made her feel.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“What?” She asked teasingly.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Aegon shook his head softly,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“I don’t think I'm ever going to get tired of seeing your face.” Aegon whispered. The silence of the night was only interrupted by the sound of his voice, and the breathing of the two large dragons inside the cave; Vermithor and Sunfyre. “You are too beautiful.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Visaella just laughed, and Aegon fell in love with her all over again. It was such a magical sound, so special and unique. It was the most beautiful sound in the entire world, he was sure of it.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“You are too kind, my sweet prince.” The girl said, wrinkling her nose and brushing Aegon’s hair with her fingers. “I would bet there are a thousand girls who are more beautiful than I am, and I can assure you that because I’ve been witness to their beauty.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Aegon’s mouth dropped in a gesture of offense, frowning.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Are you confessing to eyeing other women, my love?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Of course I do,” She shrugged, and Aegon started to kiss her collarbones. “And I know you do it too.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Why would I spend my valuable time seeing other women when the most perfect one is already mine?” He muttered against her skin, marking her neck and leaving wet kisses that made her sigh. “It’s nonsense.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“You are lying.” She raised her torso, leaning on her forearms, getting closer to Aegon’s lips and kissing them softly before he went back into marking her breasts. “You are a liar.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“I’m not lying.” His tongue swirled around one of her nipples before going lower to her stomach. Visaella bit her lip. “I have eyes only for you. You’re the only woman that I will ever worship.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Worship?” She asked teasingly, looking down at Aegon’s face buried on her abdomen, filling her with kisses and soft bites. “I’m no goddess for you to worship me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Of course you are.” His lips started to mark trails down her hips, each time he would get closer to her core. “And I will always be on my knees for you.” He gave a soft kiss on the inside part of her thighs, making her shiver under his touch. “Now, let me prove how well I can worship my goddess. Let me serve my queen.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her head fell back the instant she felt his warm mouth against her. Aegon hummed against her wet skin after feeling her sweet taste. She opened her eyes, putting her gaze on the darkened sky that was the only witness of their love.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Visaella.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The princess was too lost in her memories to even notice her step-father’s voice calling her. The ring on her heart finger was spinning around it while she stared at it with lost eyes; the black band covered with beautiful rubies was the only memory of Aegon she had on her. She tried to get rid of it by throwing it at the wide and open sea, but she could not bring herself to do it.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Visaella.” Daemon repeated.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The eyes of the girl looked up and saw all the lords looking at her, expecting an answer for whatever they might have been talking about. Jacaerys was at the other end of the table, staring at her with worried eyes. Visaella lifted her chin and quickly hid her hand behind her back, as if she was embarrassed to show the ring decorating her finger.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Pardon me, my lords.” She said, clearing her throat and putting on a smile. “I’m afraid my mind has been a bit lost these last hours.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your grace, I was expecting an answer from you.” Lord Corlys said, “The fleet will be ready to sail on the morrow from Driftmark to King’s Landing.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Remember that the fleet must arrive after me.” She indicated looking at the giant map carved on the table. “We need to make it appear as if I’m there to bend the knee in the name of my mother. Otto will be the first one to die if everything goes to plan.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Perhaps you should send the fleet at least an hour before Your Grace leaves on Dragon back.” Daemon indicated. “Or, we can find a place to hide near King’s Landing to settle while you go on your fleet.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Isn't it too risky to get closer to King’s Landing?” A lord asked. It was Lord Tully. “With all due respect, your Grace, I think two large dragons are not quite easy to hide.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ But they were. Visaella knew about it because she had been witness to it before. She knew it was possible to hide a dragon, because she knew the perfect place to do so; a site that was full with memories that she would rather forget.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “There is a place.” Visaella spoke, walking around the table. The men moved to let her walk freely. She grabbed a wooden symbol of a dragon and put it on top of the part of the map where it said Duskendale. “The woods of Duskendale.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Daemon looked at Visaella with an raised eyebrow, remembering that name from the letter she had written to Aegon a few nights ago. She just ignored his judgemental stare and looked at the rest of the guards and lords in order to keep explaining herself,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “There is a cave between the shore and the woods.” She explained. “Large enough to fit at least three adult dragons. Vermithor being one of them.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “And the other one?” Jacaerys asked, curiously.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella just ignored the question and kept talking, “The woods is right in the middle between Dragonstone and King’s Landing, besides it is also quite close to Driftmark and far enough from the Kingsroad. It is the perfect spot.” Her eyes looked down in the instant those words came out of her mind, having instant flashbacks.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It is decided then.” Lord Corlys, concluded. “On the morrow, Your Grace and Prince Daemon will fly with their dragons towards Duskendale, our fleet will take all the armies toward the place and then, when the time arrives, we’ll begin the attack to the Greens.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “That sounds perfect.” Daemon complimented, “Although, I’m afraid we aren’t thinking about something important. Who kills the beast?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What beast?” Visaella asked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Vhagar is a threat to all of us.” Daemon warned, “We cannot risk being attacked by her, we would lose.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “There is no need to kill Vhagar. Besides, killing a dragon of her size is almost impossible for a common human being.” She said, “Killing Aemond will be enough to get rid of her, she would be a riderless dragon.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Then we need to avoid Aemond from going to Vhagar.” Jacaerys added, “Leave that to me, I will kill him-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No.” The eldest daughter said, “Alicent, Aemond and Helaena will be killed under my command, they will die with the flames of Vermithor as traitors to the crown. Leave them to me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What about Aegon?” Daemon asked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella looked at the table for a minute, brushing her fingers against the wood and taking a deep breath. She turned around to see the older man,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I will kill Aegon with my bare hands.” She decided, “You can have the rest if you like, I heard you’ve had some tense encounters with Ser Criston, you can kill him if you want. I do not care about him.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What about me?” Jacaerys asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You are staying here, in Dragonstone.” His older sister informed him. He was about to complain, but she spoke first. “You are my heir now, Jacaerys. Me going to King’s Landing is a big risk as it is, I will not allow you to go too.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “But I have a dragon, Ella. I- I can help you, I want to help you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You will help me by staying here, by protecting our home.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The boy was ready to keep insisting on the subject, ready to give a reasonable argument to make her change her mind, but he was interrupted by the words of his grandsire,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your grace,” Lord Corlys spoke again, taking all the attention. “That is a matter we must talk about.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What matter?” She asked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your line of succession.” Visaella clenched her jaw, and she gave Daemon an uncomfortable look, trying to search for help. He only looked down at his feet, avoiding her eyes. “You are not married, and you need an heir.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her hand unconsciously reached her stomach, specifically where her womb was located. She thought about the hundred times when Aegon promised her to give her a child as beautiful as her. She dreamt about it almost every night that now the thought of having a family with any other person feels wrong, even after everything that has happened.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Jacaerys is my heir.” She clarified. “And after Jacaerys comes Joffrey, or Jacarys’ future children. I have four alive brothers, my lord. I suppose the line of my succession is not at risk.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You need a son.” He said, “Or a daughter.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “And what are you planning to do about it?” Daemon jumped into the conversation, looking at him with a serious semblance, “She is not married, and at least you have a proper suitor, I don’t think there will be any children from her any time soon.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What about Prince Jacaerys?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella felt her body tense, and her breathing stopped for a second. She looked up at her brother who was already staring at her with widened eyes and his frown slightly wrinkled. The princess later laid her eyes on Lord Corlys, glancing at him with a clearly incredulous face.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What?” Daemon was the first to speak, also shocked by the proposal.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Targaryens have been marrying between brothers and sisters long before the conquest of Aegon.” He explained, “If I remember correctly, Prince Daemon, even your parents were brother and sister, were they not?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “They were.” He agreed, reluctantly. “But Jacaerys is already betrothed.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “A betrothal is just words, there’s nothing done yet. We can call off the betrothal and marry him to Your Grace.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The fact that they were talking about her as if she was not in the room listening to their words made her furious. Other Lords started to agree with the idea, and Visaella felt sick with just the thought of marrying Jacaerys. She could not do it, and she will not.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I don’t think it is a good idea.” Visaella said, “Jacaerys is my heir either way, I don’t see the need to marry.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You need children, Your Grace.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What about Cregan Stark?” Daemon proposed, “His wife passed away a few years ago.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “He already has children of their own.” Lord Corlys said. “I insist, the best option right now is to marry you both in order to continue the line of succession.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “That’s enough.” Visaella stopped them before any other person could keep adding reasons to defend the matter. “I will not stand here, hearing how a bunch of men talk about what is best for my reign by trying to sell me away to a husband I do not need.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your Grace-” Ser Corlys said, but she cut his words.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “We shall talk about this matter once I become queen.” Visaella answered fastly, “There is no need to worry about those foolish things now when I don’t even have a crown to claim my rightful position.” Her voice sounded angry and annoyed, Lord Corlys nodded, “Once I sit in the Iron Throne we will discuss my succession. You’re all dismissed.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Not wanting to talk any more about the matter, she left the council room and walked away. Ser Erryk, as loyal as always, followed her lead. She was heading towards the beach, finding that bench where she used to sit and watch Lucerys train against Jacaerys. Ser Erryk gave her the space that she needed, standing a few feets away from her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She sat there, releasing a big amount of air that was trapped in her lungs. She looked down at her shoes, playing with the sand under them. The sound of the waves felt empty without the voice of Lucerys. Everything felt empty without him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She tried not to look forward, knowing that the memories of her brothers training would come to her mind only to make her cry. Visaella allowed herself to let go a couple of tears, she needed to find some kind of relief from all this agony that had been inside of her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Baela left with the boys.” A male voice informed behind her back. “Although Joffrey insisted on traveling on his own dragon.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Now they are safe.” She was quick to brush off the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks, looking up to find her brother’s face. “Thank you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jacaerys sat on the empty spot beside her sister and looked at the waves crashing against the shore. Visaella just went silent, not knowing what to say. She could perceive how Jace wanted to say something, but the words were struggling to come out of his mouth.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella, I- I’ve been trying to find the right words to talk to you since I came back.” He spoke softly.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Talk about what?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jacaerys tilted his head, looking at her with a softened haze, “About Lucerys… and mother.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “And what do you want to say about it?” She shrugged, “He’s gone now. He’s not coming back, neither is our mother.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It’s not good that you keep all those bad feelings to yourself.” He grabbed her hand, trying to comfort her. “I saw what you did to those men, Ella. It wasn’t their fault, they-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You know nothing, Jace.” She chuckled with sarcasm, “Those men made me lay in bed, unable to go to Storm’s End in Lucerys’ place. It should’ve been me, not him!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What did you do?” He asked, “Why did they try to stop you?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It does.” He insisted, “What are you hiding?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Nothing, just leave.” She muttered.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I will not. Tell me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Jace…” She begged, “Please, stop asking questions.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You never tell me anything.” He spoke, hurted. “You barely speak to me. I know your relationship with Lucerys was different, but I really hope we can live through this grief together… she was my mother too, he was my brother too.” His eyes started to get teary with threatening tears, Visaella’s gaze softened, “Right now, right here, we are every we have left. We need to stick together.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “And what do you want me to do?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I want you to, at least, be honest with me.” He brushed his tears from his face with a careless gesture. “Please, tell me what is going on with you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She knew he was right. In that instant, there was only them left. There was no point in hiding the truth from him, no use in lying anymore. One of the biggest regrets was the fact that she did not tell Lucerys the truth before he was gone, he deserved to know it.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ And now she realized that Jacaerys also needs to know.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She nodded slowly, understanding what she needed to do. However, she was having an incredibly hard time in finding the words and sorting out her own thoughts to give him the news. A part of her knew that there was a big possibility of Jacaerys starting to hate her for it, but it was the right thing to do, so she just tried,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I had a thing… with- uhm, with Aegon.” The words were crashing against each other, but Jace was able to understand.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “A thing?” He asked, confused. “What do you mean? Like a- like a rivalry or-?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “We were together, Jace.” She interrupted him, “In the same way that our mother was with Daemon, in the same way Lord Corlys is with Princess Rhaenys. We were-” She stopped herself before finishing the sentence and corrected herself. “I was in love.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jacaerys leaned back, straightening his posture and looking at her with astonishment, as if he had not understood what she had said. Visaella did not look him in the eye, too embarrassed to even dare to look up, and too scared to face him. She was staring at their hands.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella…” Jacaerys whispered, “Since when?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Since Aemond’s accident, I think.” She shrugged, “I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You’ve been with him for six years?” His voice was demonstrating how shocked he was, it was a bit funny how his expression would change so quickly, “Why? How?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I don’t know.” She shook her head.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “That’s why those men took you, right?” Jacaerys asked, “You were going to see him and that’s why you were treated as a traitor.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella nodded, “Perhaps, if I hadn’t been so blinded by the love that I had for him, none of this would’ve happened.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Why would you say that? It’s not your fault.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “He always told me he didn’t want anything related to being King. He even told me that the only reason why he hasn’t escaped yet is because he wanted to escape with me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “And did you want that?” He asked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I thought about it… multiple times.” She confessed, “Everytime he would say those things, I would spend the entire night thinking about escaping with him to Essos.” She laughed, but it was a bitter one. “Now that I think about it, perhaps it was all an invention in order to take me out of the picture and steal the throne. Aemond has always wanted it.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It’s a bit shocking, if I’m honest.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You didn’t see it coming?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I mean,” He chuckled, “Sometimes I would catch him staring at you from head to toe, but I thought he was only being a pervert.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Well, I don’t blame you. He has quite the reputation.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Both siblings went silent once again. Their hands were still tangled while Visaella was caressing him with her thumb, just how she used to do with Lucerys whenever he –or herself– was anxious or nervous. It was a small gesture that brought both of them lots of comfort. It appeared to work with Jacaerys too.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You will kill him now?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jacaerys voice sounded so soft and low, it was barely audible and easily blended with the sound of the sea. That question brought a hundred of emotions to Visaella, who only managed to mumble some words.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I guess I’ll have to.” She muttered. “He is the usurper. He stole my mother’s birthright.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “But will you be able to do it?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I really hope so.” She bit her lip, nervously. “I trust in the rage I feel, that it will not let me get blinded when I see him.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Let me go with you.” He begged, “I will help you, I swear.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You will be more useful here, Jace. Taking control of Dragonstone, this place cannot be left alone in case they decide to fly over here.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella, please-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I can’t lose you too, Jace.” She spoke harshly. He frowned his lips looking down at his shoes, “It’s enough with Lucerys and with mother, you cannot leave too. You already said it, it’s you and me right now. We are all we have left.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What if you don’t come back? Then what will I have left?” He raised her voice, “The boys are too little to even understand what is going on, how am I supposed to live with that burden by myself?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Then what? Do you want me to stay here and send Daemon alone?” She scoffed, “To leave my own army on their own? No way.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I want you to take me with you, I want to fight by your side. We are siblings is what we are supposed to do.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It has already been said, Jacaerys. Enough with that.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella stood up, but her brother’s hand grabbed her wrist, making her stop. She turned around and saw the sadness in his eyes, which caused a slight pain on her chest.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I sent Lucerys to Storm’s End.” He said, Visaella’s heart stopped, reviving all her inner pain. “Lucerys is dead because I wasn’t there to protect him. Mother is dead for the same reason.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Jace-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Please, at least let me protect you.” He begged, “Please, Visaella.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The girl stared at him with the same look as him; one filled with sorrow. She frowned her lips, thinking about what is the right thing to do on that occasion. His begging eyes reminded her of Lucerys’, and then it was impossible for her heart to deny something to him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She nodded, and Jacaerys hugged her tightly. She felt the pain of her inner wounds, but she decided to ignore it. She hugged him back, stroking his hair and closing her eyes. She felt his tears falling on her shoulders, and his soft sobs were not easy to ignore.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jacaerys was everything she had left right then.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You’re going to spill the wine inside the tub!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella laughed, her vision was already blurry due to the effect of alcohol on her body. Aegon hid her face in the crook of her neck, chuckling softly. “Aegon, stop- You’re making a mess!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Pardon me, my love.” He said between laughter, leaving a delicate kiss under her ear. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Give me that,” She said, grabbing his cup and filling it with wine. She stole a sip from it before giving it back to him. “There you go, my sun.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aegon grabbed her and hugged her tightly against his chest, loving how intimately it felt to have her bare skin against his. Visaella leaned her head back, resting on his shoulder. Aegon started to leave soft strokes on her belly, sighing in her ear.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “How I wish I could be here forever.” He muttered, “All my problems would be solved if you were here with me every day.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella could not help but smile, “Soon we’ll get lucky enough to do it.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What if we don’t?” He asked, his voice sounded worried. “My mother is quite eager to marry me off with Helaena.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She turned around, making a mess on Aegon’s bedroom floor. He chuckled after hearing the water splashing against the carpet, and his smile only widened once he saw her face staring at him. She sat on his lap, and soon he was touching the skin covering her waist and hips. Visaella started washing his hair with care, being completely careful and loving. Aegon started to hum without even noticing it.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Don’t be so pessimistic, my sun.” She said while pouring water on his platinum hair. “We will be able to be together one day. We’ll just have to wait a bit.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “How long?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “My eighteenth nameday is a few moons away.” She thought a bit, “Perhaps, you can come to Dragonstone with that excuse and present to my mother your wish to marry me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I don’t like waiting.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I know you don’t.” She laughed, “But be patient for me, please?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aegon pouted his lips before nodding. Visaella smiled and kissed him gently, tasting the flavor of wine in his mouth. He held her tight, caressing her back and playing with her wet hair strands.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I love you.” He whispered against her lips.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella rubbed her nose against him, making him chuckle. “I love you too, my sweet prince.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The princess took a big breath once her head was out of the water. Her hands quickly went to her face, brushing off the hair strands that were covering it. She looked around her room and she found an empty bed. She looked through the window at her side and noticed that the sun was already up in the sky, announcing the arrival of a new day.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She felt the coldness of air on her shoulders and she hugged herself for a couple of minutes. Lately, every single action has been a reminder of something that she has done with his company; even a simple activity such as taking a bath would be enough to see his face once again. He was carved in her memory, and there was no way to escape from him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella stood up from the bathtub, covering her naked body with her silk robe. She let her hair loose afterwards, and started to brush it in front of a mirror seeing the water dripping from her head to the floor.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Soon, she got dressed, and she did not wear her typical attires; she wore a black vest that was covered with metal details imitating the scales of a dragon, it was hard material that shielded her whole torso and shoulders, along with black leather pants. It was similar to her rider’s clothes, but this had way more protection.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Later, a maid braided her hair enough to leave her face uncovered. Then she gave her something to eat; it would probably be the first and last meal of the day, so she enjoyed it as much as she could. Perhaps it would be her real last meal.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ After finishing it, and before leaving her room, she looked at the ring on her finger, and she made it spin around it. She thought about letting him there, in some random place inside of her chambers. Instead, she just put it back on her heart finger and left the room with her scabbard around her hips, which had her sword and two daggers.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ser Erryk received her in the hallway, bowing his head in a subtle move.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your Grace, Prince Daemon is waiting for you in the dunes along with Prince Jacaerys.” He informed her, “The dragons are ready and the fleets have already left for Duskendale woods.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella stopped walking and turned to him, looking confused. “Why are you still here, then?” She asked, “Shouldn’t you be in one of the ships, leading an army?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Prince Jacaerys commanded me to stay here, protecting the castle.” He replied.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Nonsense.” She shook her head, “You will be my Lord Commander, they need to see you there.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Prince Jacaerys-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I don’t care what Jacaerys said.” She interrupted him, “Ser Erryk, you are my most loyal guard, I will need your presence in the battlefield. You're coming with me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She started walking again, but soon the guard’s voice made her stop. “But, your grace, all the ships are gone.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You’ll be riding Vermithor with me.” She said, shrugging as if it was not a great thing.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your grace, I don’t think I could-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Grab your sword, Ser Erryk, we need to hurry.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She ordered him, and the man only nodded and followed her trace. People would bow whenever she passed by them, they would stop doing whatever they were doing only to do that small action. Visaella did not like it, she did not feel like a queen yet. She barely lets them call her ‘your grace’, and it was only because Daemon persuaded her by telling her she was now representing their leader.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She managed to see the three dragons and the dragon’s keepers holding them in their place. Jacaerys was talking with Daemon, who seemed to be giving orders and explaining something. Both men turned around to see her, but only Jacaerys smiled while Daemon only bowed his head as a greeting.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella walked towards Vermithor, and started to caress his bronze scales. Her head leaned against his and she whispered, “Rytsas, ñuha pazavor valītsos (Hello, my loyal boy.)” Vermithor sighed as a response, “Kessa sagon iā bōsa tubis (It will be a long day)”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “He is very fond of you.” Daemon spoke behind your back. “He is a loyal dragon, not everyone can have that. ”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “He is.” She agreed, “I’m lucky to have him.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Daemon’s hand fell onto her shoulder. She looked at him, and he smirked. It was the first time since the day of the feast that she felt some comfort in him; perhaps it was because he was the only parental figure left in her life, and she felt like she needed some kind of guidance in her life from now on; a guidance that he could provide.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your mother and Lucerys would be proud of you.” He said, Visaella haze softened. “I am proud of you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Why?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He laughed, as if she had just asked something terribly obvious.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Look what you’ve done.” His hand cupped her face and she did not feel the need to take a step back in order to stay away from his touch. She thought it was rather reassuring. “You are eager to defend your mother’s legacy until your final breath. You finally opened your eyes and saw the Greens for what they truly are; a group of traitors that deserve their punishment.” He spat the last words with rage, while a grin filled with disgust crossed his face. It faded as soon as he looked at her again. “You will be a great Queen, Visaella, as long as you don’t let your feelings blind you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She nodded, as if she was wordlessly promising him to follow his advice. And then, Daemon hugged her tightly. It was an odd action coming from him, but she doubtfully accepted the gesture by patting his back.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When they separated, Visaella looked at her side, seeing Jacaerys staring at them with a confused expression on his face. He quickly walked towards them, and stood beside them trying to find some explanation.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Did something happen?” He asked, addled about the prior scene he had witnessed.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No, everything’s fine.” Visaella answered. The boy looked at Daemon and then looked back to her sister.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Why is Ser Erryk coming?” He pointed to the man, “I told him to be here protecting the castle.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I told him to come with us,” She replied, “He is my Queensguard, my most loyal guard. I need him in battle with me, not here.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Then who will stay to protect Dragonstone?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I sent a raven to your grandmother Rhaenys.” Daemon stepped in the conversation, “She will settle here along with Baela. Meleys and Moondancer will be guarding it, with a small group of guards.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Problem solved.” Visaella muttered, “Now, stop wasting time, we should leave before it gets late.” She ordered. Daemon and Jacaerys immediately obeyed, walking to their dragons. “Ser Erryk, it is time!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The knight walked towards the dragon with care, too scared to even stare at it. He saw how Visaella just caressed his scales while using a rope ladder to climb onto the black and golden saddle on top of Vermithor’s back. Ser Erryk reluctantly followed her path and nervously climbed onto the dragon, seating behind the princess.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Vermithor stood up when his rider gave him the instruction to do it, “Sōvētēs, Vermithor.” He shook the sand off of his body in a harsh movement that did not even alter the princess, but terribly frightened the brave guard. He gave two steps before starting to fly in the direction of a very well known place for him; the woods of Duskendale.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ During the whole flight, Ser Erryk did not say a word, too terrified to even move. The landing was the worst part; due to his big size, Vermithor was not so delicate, so he always had a hard time arriving on the ground. Visaella was already used to it, but Ser Erryk almost fell.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “How was the trip, Ser Erryk?” Daemon teased him while he was getting off the dragon, smiling mockingly at him. The knight did not answer him, and Visaella rolled her eyes.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The three dragons were kept in the cave resting. Visaella looked around, feeling an uncomfortable sensation in her gut. Thousands of memories came to her mind and it made her shiver.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Lord Corlys was arriving at the shore once they got to the cave, and a few hours later, they joined them to rest and eat before the big attack on King’s Landing.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella was starting to get anxious, a bit nervous too. The pressure might be too much for her, but she knew it was too late to regret the decisions she had made; the day could end on her death or with her being the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, no inbetween.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The idea of having Jacaerys by her side brought her some comfort. He was sitting on a trunk beside her while eating a piece of deer one of the guards had hunted. He was looking around, moving his legs nervously; Visaella put a hand on his leg trying to calm him down, Jacaerys looked at her with his mouth filled with meat.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You are nervous.” Visaella claimed, “We will be okay.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I know that,” He said with difficulty, trying to swallow the food in his mouth,”It’s just I’ve never been in battle before, what if I do something that costs our lives?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No need to think about those things, Jace.” She tried to smile, but nothing came out on her face. “We will do fine, we will win this. I promise you.” Jacaerys nodded and he smiled at her. The sweetness of his gesture reminded her of Lucerys and she got teary eyes almost immediately.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When the sun started to set, everybody started moving. The ships were ready to sail, the dragons were fed and it was almost time for the attack to start. Daemon was busy giving orders and revising the plans and strategies with Lord Corlys and Ser Erryk, while Visaella was walking around, trying to compose herself before exploiting.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She walked away from the big group, around the trees and the bushes. She leaned against a tree while trying to take deep breaths of air, a knot formed on her stomach and suddenly she felt overwhelmed; as if she had just realized what she was about to do. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, she felt her heart fastened so her hands grabbed the tree behind her, in an attempt to feel the texture of its trunk and get distracted by it. It barely worked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She opened her eyes and saw the sky. The stars were starting to come out, she counted them. Aegon always used to say that whenever he was feeling overwhelmed about anything he would count the stars to relax. So she did, and she felt her breathing starting to regulate.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She looked at her hands for the millionth time and saw the ring on her finger; she took it off.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The ring started to spin between her fingertips while her eyes looked at it, observing every detail, color and relief in it. She clenched her jaw, knowing that the ring was everything he had left of the memories she shared with Aegon. She thought about throwing it away for many days now, thinking that it would be better if she could get rid of every piece of him. Perhaps, it would be easy to move on that way.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She saw a hole in the tree behind her, it was small and it was empty. She looked at the ring for the last time before putting it inside. The memories of Aegon will be staying there, in the place where they used to freely show their love towards each other.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It was the right thing to do, she thought.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella!” Jacaerys' scream made her jump. She moved her head to see between the trees, and Jacaerys was moving his arm in order to catch her attention. “It’s time, we’re leaving!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She saw the ring shining inside the tree’s hole, she covered it with some dirt to avoid someone else to see it and then she walked back towards her brother. Jacaerys was beside Vermax, caressing him while seeing his sister approaching with a fastened pace. His eyes widened with surprise when she hugged him tightly. She closed her eyes and buried her face on his shoulders. He did nothing besides hugging her back.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Please, be careful.” She muttered against his shoulder, “I beg you, please, be safe out there.” Her voice sounded shaky, as if she was trying not to cry. “If you see things getting complicated, I need you to promise me you will fly to the Eyrie to meet the children, to take care of them.” She pulled back and grabbed his face with both hands. A motherly look was seen in her eyes, “Please, Jace, promise me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I- I promise you,” He nodded, and Visaella kissed his cheek before hugging him once again. “I thought ‘we will do okay’.” He joked, “You said that yourself.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It’s a battle, Jacaerys.” She spoke softly, “We never know what might happen.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Everything is going to be fine.” He said, copying her own words. She tilted her head, and Jacaerys remembered, “But if things get ugly, I will escape. I promise you that.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Good.” She nodded, “Now, it’s time to go.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She stroked his hair one last time before going towards Vermithor once again. Once she was already seated on the saddle, she gave one last look back to the woods. It was probably the last time she would be there.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When Vermithor landed on the main entrance of the Red Keep, the guards took off their swords immediately, pointing them to the giant beast in front of them. Visaella smiled proudly at her dragon, before starting to go down the rope ladder.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She walked in front of Vermithor, presenting herself to the knights and watching them getting close. They never let their guard down.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “My name is Princess Visaella of House Velaryon, and I’ve come in the name of my mother, Princess Rhaenyra, in order to speak with the King’s Hand.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ One of the guards stepped forward and looked at her from head to toe. He intended to move closer to her, but Vermithor moved his head, scaring him away.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What do you want to talk about with him?” He asked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “With all due respect, Ser.” She spoke with a fake politeness, “I don’t think that something of your interest. Please, tell him to come.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “The Hand will only accept a reunion in his chambers.” The guard explained, “We can guide you to him if you wish.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Vermithor might have felt the despair she felt when she thought everything would come out in the wrong way, because he put his head closer to the guard, in an attempt to intimidate him. Visaella let herself enjoy his terrified face before controlling her dragon.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Lykiri, Vermithor.” She commanded him. He took a step back before laying down once again. “Now, please bring the Lord Hand, tell him it’s important.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The guard walked inside the castle while Visaella waited there. The nervousness was consuming her body and soon she started scratching her own fingers, trying to free some of that tension.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her whole body stiffened up when Otto came to her sight. He had the nerve to walk towards her with a smile, as if they had done nothing wrong, as if Lucerys was not dead because of them. The rage suddenly took control over her body, and her jaw clenched as her eyes darkened.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Princess Visaella,” He greeted her with a small bow, “I didn’t expect your presence around here.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I’ve come to talk.” She declared, “There are some important matters that need to be discussed.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Otto nodded lightly, “Perhaps we should go inside, I would be more comfortable if-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No.” She hurried to say, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable in a room with only your presence. Not under the circumstances of our present.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Well then, so tell me, Princess.” He said, “What have you come to talk about then? Did Daemon change his mind about our terms?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She frowned, not knowing what he was talking about. She held back the urge to ask him, knowing that she needed to follow a script written in her mind.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I came to bend the knee,” She confessed, Otto looked at her strangely. Visaella looked quickly at the sky, waiting for Daemon's signal.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Why?” He asked, doubtfully.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Beg your pardon?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Why are you bending the knee now?” He said, “After your brother’s murder, why?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She swallowed hard after hearing him pronouncing his name, as if he had the right to do it after everything he had done.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She thought about her answer and she almost bit her own tongue for it.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Because my love for Aegon is bigger than anything else” The words felt so bitter, so filled with lies. She had to blatantly lie. “I came here to serve him, as- as her loyal friend.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Otto did not seem to be convinced at all, it was the opposite actually. He stared at her with pure confusion on his face. Visaella gave up then, the thought of her being caught immediately came to her mind while Otto was observing her with an intense gaze, showing how much he did not trust her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Allow me to doubt you, Princess.” He looked to a guard and tilted his head. The guard started walking towards her. “But, I must speak with King Aegon before letting you in.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Vermithor roared when the guard was close enough to touch Visaella, and the man fell backwards to the ground. Otto frowned,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Princess-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The sound of Caraxes’ singular shrill roar was heard while he flew above their heads. Visaella felt something in her chest, Daemon heard Vermithor and flew over there to check on her, ruining the entire plan.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Fuck, fuck, fuck, Visaella thought.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What is he doing here?” Otto asked, raising his voice.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Vermithor stood up, spreading his large wings and roaring once more. Otto looked at her, now he was scared, and she gained back the control of the situation. The look of pure terror on the old man’s face will be carved on her memory until the day she died,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Tell him to calm down!” Otto demanded.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella did not say anything, she just stood there while Vermithor was getting as angry as her. Suddenly, an arrow flew beside the princess and hit the dragon’s scales. It did not do him any harm at all, it barely tickled him, but the Princess saw this as a threat towards her beloved dragon, and she would not allow that.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What is going on?” Otto asked again.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You all killed Lucerys,” She said, “You killed my mother and two of my siblings.” She spat, her eyes filled with hatred. “And yet you feel entitled to smile in my presence.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Otto started to walk backwards, knowing that he was in great danger. Another arrow passed beside her, hitting Vermithor's thick skin once again. She looked up and saw two men preparing their archers to shoot him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You stole my mother’s throne, you killed my sweet boy.” She walked, positioning herself under Vermithor’s neck, “Now you will pay.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Princess-” He was looking up at the dragon and giving swift glances to her, scared of taking his eyes away from the beast.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I will burn every single one of you.” She threatened him, “I will burn this entire castle and city if I have to.” The guards were starting to walk towards the entrance door. “My mother did not want to be Queen of the Ashes.” She spoke softly, “But I do.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Visaella-!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Dracarys.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Vermithor spat a cloud of fire on the men in front of her, and the ones that were stupidly throwing arrows at her. She started hearing their screams, watching them squirm in the ground trying to put out the flames that were burning their flesh, and she could not take her eyes off of Otto’s burning body. She felt a big relief when she saw him kneel in front of her out of the pain, it was better than any other feeling.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It brought her greater pleasure than any night she spent with Aegon, and that is when knew how good it would feel to kill every single one of them.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She walked between the burning bodies, her chin lifted with pride as she walked inside the main door of the castle and started to make her way towards wherever Aegon was. There were thousands of maids and servants running and screaming while she was walking up the stairs.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ They deserve to be scared, Visaella thought, they bent the knee for the usurper and betrayed your mother.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella sneaked inside the castle without being seen. The commotion and panic of the people were quite helpful as less people were paying attention to her. She tried to walk with her head down, always paying attention to her surroundings in case someone would recognize her, but no one did.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She was almost chanting victory when she saw Ser Criston Cole trotting in her direction and being followed by at least twelve other guards. Visaella panicked, and she opened the first door she found, hiding in an unknown room.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her movements were quiet and stealthy; the door did not make a sound and her steps were barely heard. She went unnoticed, remaining silent until she heard some voices near her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I told you this would happen!” She heard a whine from someone she could not recognize. “It was just a matter of time after what the Prince did to that poor boy.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella peeked from where she was hiding, and saw two maids hiding behind a big piece of furniture. One of them seemed as if she could not stop crying. They had not noticed her presence in the room yet.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Poor Princess Rhaenyra,” One of them lamented, “I can only imagine her pain when she found out.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “The worst thing of it all, it’s what the people are saying.” She whispered, “I’ve heard in the corridors that Prince Aemond took Prince Lucerys’ eyes and gave them to his betrothed back in Storm’s End.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A hole was installed on her chest, and the whistle on her ear came back. Her brow lowered and her lips became a line showing her serious semblance. Her body started to heathen up, and her hands became fists, one of them surrounded the sword handle on her scabbard.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I heard that the King celebrated with him.” One of them continued, now Visaella’s heart stopped. “He threw a feast for his brother.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “How terrible-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The princess made herself seen by the maids, who widened her eyes scared after noticing her presence. Visaella was shaking, she was crying and her face was red. She looked down at the maids with pure abhorrence on her darkened eyes. They saw her hardened stare filled with rage and they closed their eyes, thinking she might kill them.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Where is Aegon?” She asked, her voice sounding deeper than usual.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “He- he was- he was walking…” The maid was stuttering, deadly scared of Visaella, whose knuckles were starting to get white thanks to the strength of her grip around the hilt of her sword. “He was walking to his chambers…”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Was he alone?” The maids nodded, “Good.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella drew her sword before opening the door abruptly, stumping outside the room and starting to walk fastly towards Aegon’s chambers. Raging tears were escaping her eyes, she was fuming; breathing too fast.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A guard caught her, but she was quick enough to cut his throat with her sword. Then came another, and another. Visaella was letting all her anger take control of her senses, being completely numb by it, by the end of the fight she was already covered in blood and her arm was bleeding due to a deep cut.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She knew the path very well, so it was quite easy to arrive at the hallway where Aegon’s chambers were located. She peeked through a corner at the end of the corridor and saw a guard standing outside the room. Visaella picked a stone and threw it on the floor in order to make noise and caught the attention of the guard. It worked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The guard walked towards the corner with the hilt of his sword in his hand. Visaella waited for him as he slowly went forward. She grabbed one of her daggers, and once the guard was close enough, she stabbed him on the neck in a quick movement, without even letting him react.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His dead body fell onto the ground and she used his white cloak to clean her dagger’s blade. Then, she got inside the chambers.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A certain feeling unbeknownst to her positioned in her gut. She closed the door behind her and looked around, trying to find him. His scent reached her nose and it was a triggering sensation that almost made her cry, it drove her mad and her mind was engulfed with the tons of memories that came to her mind. She even was able to feel his touch on her hips once she closed her eyes.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She shook her head and woke up from the tortuous trance that her own mind put her in, and quickly tried to compose herself. Only then, she had the strength of going inside the room. Her eyes were scanning around trying to find him, until her eyes fell onto his messy bed.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ There he was.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aegon was sleeping, he was shirtless and only a pair of thin pants covered his nudity. His hair was spreaded on the white pillow, and his milky skin was still covered with marks; marks that she had done. He was sleeping on the right side of the bed, leaving the left side completely empty. There was an empty bottle of wine on the nightstand. She looked around and she was surprised to see her red gown with a wine stain on one of the sofas.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her haze softened a little, but then her mind started poisoning her feelings again. He was there, sleeping safe and sound, seeming so relaxed and calm, while she barely had enough sleep these last days. She had been living in a nightmare, and yet Aegon seemed to be so content in his bed. It was not fair.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He made a feast, Visaella thought, and the madness started to succumb her once again. You were grieving and he was having a feast.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Just as if he was able to feel her presence, he started to move. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and stretched his body. His heart stopped once his vision cleared and saw Visaella standing in front of the bed, he sat up and his eyes softened instantly; he was so bewitched by her presence that he did not notice the stains of blood on her armor. He did not even notice she was wearing an armor.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her skin shivered, and she did not know if it was for the cold breeze that came inside the room, or the intense haze of Aegon on her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “My love…” He whispered, astonished. He crawled desperately over the bed until he got close to her. “My sweet love, is that really you?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He stood up from the bed and walked carefully towards her, as if he was scared she was some illusion of his imagination. He tried to touch her face, but she grabbed his wrist with a strong grip, Aegon widened his eyes, taken aback by her unexpected action.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You made a feast.” She claimed. Aegon frowned, confused at her words.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Wh-what?” He muttered.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Lucerys died… and you made a feast.” Her voice sounded so hollow, so monotone.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aegon looked at her eyes, and he saw it again; the same hatred that she used to hurt him the last time they saw each other. He leaned backwards, and just then he woke up from her spell and realized that she was covered in blood.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Are you hurt?” He asked, worried.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You lied to me.” She accused him, “You used me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What are you saying?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You trick me… you used me to take my mother’s crown.” A tear fell from her eye. Aegon tried to wipe it off, but Visaella leaned back. “You fucking liar.” She whispered.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella, I did this to protect you- They forced me to do it.” He explained, frowning, “I’ve never lied to you, why are you saying those things?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Protect me?” She scoffed, “Lucerys is dead for what you did… My mother is dead. How dare you call that ‘protection’?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It seemed as if the news of his half-sister’s death had shocked him more than Visaella expected. His eyes looked confused, almost lost.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Rhaenyra is dead?” He questioned, astonished.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Because of what your brother did.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What happened with Lucerys was an accident, Ella. Just let me explain everything-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aegon’s words stopped once Visaella’s hand started to squeeze his throat. He looked at her with horror reflected on his face while his mouth dropped open trying to breathe. Her grip was strong, even Aegon was surprised by her strength; her eyes seemed to be lost. He tried to escape from her grip, but he could not do it. Then he just closed his eyes, being unable to bear that malignant stare on him again.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Don’t you dare to say his name.” She spat, “Don’t you fucking dare to defend your murderer brother.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I did this-” He spoke breathlessly, searching for air, “I did this so we- so we can marry.” He whined.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella freed him from her grip, and she started to push him. “Stop lying!” She yelled at him, while he was trying to make her stop. “Fucking liar!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Stop it.” Aegon said, grabbing her arms and putting them behind her back, she kept squirming trying to escape. “Stop it!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She started to cry all over again, breaking down in front of him. Aegon noticed the ache of her heart by seeing through her hardened haze. He leaned his forehead against hers, and he felt the warmth of her breath.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “They told me I’ll get to marry you if I accept the crown.” He whispered, “I did it so we can be together, why don't you believe me?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You killed Lucerys…”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I didn’t.” He shook his head, desperately trying to prove his innocence. “Aemond did.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Under your command.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I didn’t order him to kill him. Please, my love, you have to believe me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You stole the crown, Aegon!” She yelled, her face was covered in tears by then, and burning with rage. “If you would’ve rejected it, Lucerys would be with me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “They forced me-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You have a dragon…” She interrupted, “Why didn’t you fly to Dragonstone?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I sent you a letter.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Stop lying!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I am not!” He raised his voice, tired of the situation, “Stop fucking screaming and listen to me!” Visaella whined, “I fucking love you, I would leave everything for you, I would do anything for you! How can you not see?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her lip trembled, “And yet you did nothing to prevent Lucerys’ death.” He went silent, “You didn’t even punish Aemond for what he did.” She cried, “You knew how much I loved Lucerys, you knew how much this would ruin me, and yet… you did nothing.” She looked right at his eyes, wanting him to see her face once she pronounced the following words, “You ruined my life, Aegon.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His grip around her hand weakened, her hurtful words made him close his eyes. He wished to be dreaming, he begged to wake up with her between his arms that day when everything started to go down. He pledged to the gods.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You don’t mean that.” He mumbled.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I do.” She spat. Her words were venom, and it was burning Aegon’s heart. “You ruined everything! You ruined me!” She managed to get out of his grip and she pushed him far from her. Aegon stumbled, “Look how miserable I am now, and it’s all because of you!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Don’t say that.” He whispered, shocking his head while his teary purple eyes looked at her. “Please, don’t.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I wish I hadn’t believed in your words, in your lies.” Aegon hummed in pain, “I wish I had never let myself be with you. I was a fool.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ella…” Aegon begged.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “And I warned you, if you ever touch them again I will kill you.” She remembered him. “You didn’t listen, so now I'm here to keep my word... I will kill you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her words were harsh, they pierced through his heart like a dagger and it made him feel miserable. The worst thing of it all is that he wanted to be angry at her, but he couldn’t. He wanted to scream at her, tell her to fuck herself for treating him this way after everything he had done for her, he wanted to yell a thousand of atrocities at her face so she could feel an inch of his pain, of what he was feeling right then. But, he could not bring himself to do that. He had felt abandonment a long time ago by his own parents, being neglected and left aside from his family. No one showed him what love truly was until she arrived in his life to save him. He could not afford to lose her, not after he had tasted her sweetness and devotion. Not after everything they have been through.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ So, instead of getting mad, he begged her. He fell onto his knees and hugged her hips so tightly that Visaella gasped. She tried to push him away but he was too strong, and she was weakened by her own sorrow.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Please…” He whined, “Please, my love, please. I love you, you need to believe me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You don’t love me.” She cried, “You don’t do these things to someone you love.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I’m sorry!” His voice broke between his screams, “Please, forgive me!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her knees felt weak, they were shaking. Aegon’s face was buried on her belly, not caring about crushing his nose against the cold metal of her armor. He wanted to be as close as he possibly could. Visaella was sobbing loudly, everything started to ache. It was too much, it was too painful.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Too many emotions were drowning her body.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I love you, I love you.” He repeated. “I’m sorry. Please, love me.” He whined, “I can lose you, please. Tell me you love me too.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I can’t.” She spoke. “I can’t love you anymore.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No! No, no!” He stood up and he grabbed her face. “Look at me, my love. Please, please!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Stop it.” She muttered.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I love you!” He screamed at her face, touching her skin.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Aegon, shut up.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I love you, my sun. I love you, please!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Shut up!” She closed her eyes, not being capable of looking at his eyes.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Forgive me, my love. I can’t lose you, I love you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Stop it!” She screamed, “Stop it!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I love you-”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her lips smashed against his, and Aegon moaned out of relief and pain. His lips were dry, but they were still as soft as always. Visaella whimpered against him, feeling Aegon’s hands grabbing her body and bringing her closer to his. It was desperate, intense, it was a kiss that made it count for all those agony days without each other’s presence. Aegon felt consolation, he devoured her mouth shamelessly, whining and sighing against her tongue and feeling her taste. Visaella’s hands were tangled on his platinum hair, feeling his softness one last time.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When she pulled apart they were breathing fast, their lips swollen and wet. They stared at each other’s eyes, Aegon’s were filled with love but she could not see it. He smiled at her, feeling unburdened by having her back into his arms.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His eyes were glistening, his purple eyes were softened. Until a shook look took over his face.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His hand covered his throat while the blood splashed on his naked chest and on her clothing. Aegon’s eyes were filled with horror while he started gulping and choking with his own blood. Visaella looked at the front with a lost stare, trying to ignore the sound of Aegon’s body falling dead on the floor.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She was shaking, and her legs were trembling desperately. She fell on the ground and looked at the lifeless eyes of her lover. She let out a loud sob, starting to cry desperately. She hated him, she hated him for making her do this. For forcing her to despise him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She looked up, staring at her reflection through the mirror; she was covered in blood. Aegon's blood. Her chest was moving fast, she was sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes displaying the hatred she felt. There was no mercy in them, she was blinded by the rage and vengeance. Those sweet eyes were no longer there, there was no kindness left. She went mad, and killing Aegon was the livid proof of it.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella crawled to the balcony, still whimpering and crying, she felt the smell of smoke reaching her nose and once she reached the door frame, she used it as a support to stand up. Her shaky hands grabbed the railing, and she observed the view; everything was burning, screams were heard. The heat of the fire felt so close to her that she could feel its warmth. She looked at the sky and saw Vermithor flying on top of the Red Keep, he stood on a burning building and roared.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She was just starting to get worried about Jacaerys and Daemon when a cold blade was positioned on her neck. She gasped out of impression, and a laugh was heard against her ear.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Prince Aemond will be thrilled to see what you’ve done to the King.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He grabbed her carelessly, almost dragging her outside the chambers, forcing her to keep up with his fastened pace. Her legs were not steady, they were crashing against each other making her drag her body around the corridors.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The man never let the knife go, constantly putting it against her flesh and even cutting a little of her neck. Visaella did not fight him at any time, knowing that she was at a big disadvantage, and that she would probably lose any kind of fight at that moment; she was still shaken with what had happened; with what she had done.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “When Daemon finds you, he will kill you.” She muttered.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Not if Prince Aemond kills you first.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She did not recognize where they were going, the big castle seemed like a maze and it appeared that not even the guard knew where he was taking her. He was just walking around, as if he was trying to find something –or someone.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The presence of a familiar face came in her way. He stood up in front of the both of them and she frowned; it was one of the twins guards, but she was not able to recognize which, as the light was too dim. She only begged for him to be the right twin.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Where are you taking her?” The guard said, looking at her covered in blood and then to the other guard holding her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “To Prince Aemond.” He replied. “Why don’t you do me a favor and tell me where he is, Arryk?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She tensed after hearing the name, starting to feel unsafe once again.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No.” He shook his head. “Give her to me, I know where Prince Aemond and Queen Alicent are, I’ll take her to them.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Or you could just tell me.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No.” He denied again, “Only me and Ser Criston know where the Queen is hiding, I will not give that information to a strange guard.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The man behind her clicked his tongue with annoyance before removing the dagger from her throat and throwing her to the ground, just by the feet of the guard. He looked down at her at the same time she looked up, he grabbed his flail and Visaella covered her head once he raised his arm.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She closed her eyes, expecting the impact but instead she heard a body falling next to her. The guard's body. The man was continuously beating his face until it was unrecognizable, and it left a huge blood stain that almost reached the princess.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She crawled away from him, and the twin kneeled by her side.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Your Grace, are you okay?” He spoke softly.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Ser Erryk…” She answered with relief.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I was looking for you.” He said, “Prince Daemon wants to see you, he claims to have a surprise for you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He offered his hand, and she took it without even thinking twice about it. She stood up with his help and he guided her through the castle. She looked around, and there were dead bodies of white cloak guards laying around on the cold floor. It was a gruesome view, but it was proof that they had won. That thought made her feel some kind of peace within her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ However, Ser Erryk did not let his guard down until they reached the main entrance of the Red Keep once again, Vermithor was the first thing she saw through the open gates, and later she managed to see three wooden poles with three people tied on them. As she was getting closer, she finally recognized the silhouettes of Aemond, Alicent and Helaena.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Daemon turned around and watched her approaching him with a victorious smile. Jacaerys was by his side, standing up straight with his arms behind his back. He seemed to be unharmed, and that made Visaella feel relieved.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Finally Your Grace is here.” Daemon announced once his daughter reached his side. “That one was tough,” He said pointing at Aemond, who was staring at them without expression at all. Next to him was Alicent, who could not stop shaking, “Ser Erryk was able to catch him before he could escape to find Vhagar.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Where’s Aegon?!” Alicent asked, almost screaming in despair. “Tell him I want to see him!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella ignored the woman’s words and kept talking with Daemon, “Ser Criston?” She asked after not seeing him among the others.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I took my liberties with him.” He said with a malicious smirk, “But, I assure you he will not be an issue for you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Good.” Her eyes traveled to her brother’s face, “Are you okay?” He did not verbally answer, but he nodded.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Bring me Aegon!” Alicent insisted, “I want to see my son!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella turned around at her, expressionless. Alicent looked at her state with eyes filled with terror. The princess’ eyes were orbitated by madness, her whole face changed. The fact that Alicent thought that she would let Aegon live after what he had done to her family was just too insulting for her not to react. She took her words as if Alicent did not think she was strong enough to kill him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Visaella, please!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Aegon is dead.” She spoke coldly. The woman frowned and her lip trembled, “I sliced his throat open and watched him bleed to death.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “No…” She denied, incredulous. “You wouldn’t do that. Not to him.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “But I did.” She shrugged. “The usurper is dead.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I don’t believe you.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The princess walked towards her, nothing was found beneath her purple eyes. Alicent was frightened by her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Do you want me to bring you his head?” She asked teasingly. “He still lays in his chambers.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “He loved you!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She scoffed, taking a step back and whispering, “No, he didn’t.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Behind her back Daemon smiled pleasantly.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella walked towards Helaena, who remained serene even after everything she had seen. The silver haired girl looked up to her, she had teary eyes but there was no sign of tears on her cheeks.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I’m really sorry, Helaena.” She said softly, “You were the kindest of them all… Perhaps you do not deserve such a cruel and ruthless death,” She clenched her jaw and looked down. “But neither did Lucerys.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Helaena whispered, “The emerald kinship will prevail, a small child with his sire’s face.” Visaella ignored her words, walking towards Aemond.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Being in front of him was as if a wave of rage washed over her body. Her breathing turned sharp as soon as she saw his face, the despise on her eyes was easily seen and her hands were itching to grab her dagger and cut his throat. However, she held herself back by taking a deep breath and say,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “After what you did, I dreamt of many ways to kill you.” She confessed, “I hoped the Gods would make your life miserable, I hoped you would die in the most painful and horrible way possible.” She laughed, “You will die last, because I want you to see. I want you to see while your mother and sister die screaming, so you can feel an inch of my pain.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aemond tensed. He tried to make himself look careless, but Visaella knew he was growing desperate as there was nothing he could do by now.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Was it worth it?” He spoke with a deep and raspy voice, looking down at her. Visaella frowned. “Killing Aegon,” He clarified, “Was it worth it?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella knew he was trying to touch her nerve and make her break in front of everyone, but she would not let him get the pleasure to see her cry. Instead, she smirked.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Put him aside,” Visaella ordered, “And make sure he has a good view.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She walked back towards Daemon and Jacaerys while Ser Erryk along with other guards started to take Aemond off the wooden pole. He was positioned in front of Visaella, watching the scenery in the first row.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Soon, Vermithor started moving towards the women. Alicent closed her eyes the minute she saw the beast getting closer; Visaella watched her as she started to pray to the Seven, and hummed pleased by seeing her despair.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Queen Alicent Hightower, Princess Helaena Targaryen. I, Visaella of House Targaryen, first of my name and rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you to die.” Helaena muttered the same words as before, but once again Visaella ignored her. Alicent took a deep breath and watched her children for the last time. “Dracarys.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The fire brought warmth to the cold night. Visaella looked down at Aemond who was kneeling in front of her with Ser Erryk holding a knife against his throat in order to keep him still. She smiled, pleased with herself after seeing the despair in his eye. She felt an inner peace after seeing him suffering; she had the same look on her face once she found out about Lucerys, and it was such a pleasant feeling to see the same distress reflected on him.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Once the fire started to fade out, Visaella made a subtle sign to the guards and positioned Aemond between the two calcined bodies. He looked completely wrecked, his hardened look now was a defeated one. If he was going to die, he was glad he would die along with his family.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I will not even justify your murder by giving you a reason… we both know why I am doing this.” She put her hands behind her back and straightened up her body, “But I will ask you something, and you shall answer; why did you do it?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He did not speak back.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You owe me an answer, Aemond.” She spat, “Why did you do it?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It was an accident.” He muttered, his voice sounding raspy and low. “I never meant to kill him.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She scoffed, shaking her head and looking at him incredulously. “An accident.” She repeated, “You fucking liar.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I’m speaking the truth.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “How can I trust in the words of a kinslayer?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He laughed, bitterly, “You are one too.” He said, looking at her through his eyelashes.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella pouted her lips, and nodded softly. “Yes, I guess I am.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her loyal dragon prepared himself once again. Aemond straightened up his body and lifted his chin, showing himself unafraid of what she may do. They were staring at each other’s eyes without breaking eye contact, filled with hate and resentment. Visaella did not bend, she remained still in her position without letting him intimidate her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She smiled, and Aemond frowned confused at her reaction. “Ipradagon zirȳla. (Eat him)”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The silver haired man widened his eyes after hearing her voice, realizing that he would not have the same death as his mother and sister. Vermithor growled loudly, taking his time. Aemond looked up at him just when he opened his mouth and swallowed him fully. The look of shock on his face will probably be carved forever in Visaella’s mind, as a gratifying memory.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She turned around only to find everyone looking at her. She looked to the faces of the present people, she managed to see fear in some of them. She walked towards Daemon, who arched his eyebrow when he saw her expressionless face, expecting her to be broken and crying until her eyes felt sore. But she was intact, with just a few dry tears on her face.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Gather the Green Tropes that are left.” She commanded, “Send ravens to every single Lord and Lady in the realm. Tell them to come to King’s Landing to bend the knee to the rightful heir to the throne, or else they will suffer the same consequences as them.” Her head moved pointing at the place where the burnt bodies were. Daemon bowed his head as affirmation.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Visaella looked at Jacaerys who was staring at the floor without being capable of looking at her. She grabbed his face between her hands and forced him to do it; he was crying.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She reached his forehead and left a soft kiss in it, “We won, brother.” She whispered, “Now we can finally live at peace.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jacaerys saw her eyes and nodded assuringly. She gave him a soft smile before starting to walk away to the inside of the castle that now belonged to her at the same time that Vermithor flew away.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ As she was getting further from the rest, her smile started to get bigger. She had fulfilled her duty, she kept her word and avenged her family, gaining back what belonged to her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Her smile just showed how relieved she felt. It was over now, she finished the war before it could even start. She knew very deep inside her that her mother would be proud of what she had done for her. Now she could finally live in peace.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Two months later all the Lords had come to King's Landing, with Lord Stark being the last one to arrive. They were gathered in the Throne room, along with servants, some peasants, and the guards. They were all waiting for her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When the gates were opened, everyone turned to see her delicate frame, and a silence took over the place. She was wearing a black gown, with metal ornaments that imitated a dragon’s scales; it seemed like an armor. Her hair was perfectly braided, not a single hair strand was out of place. She was looking completely gorgeous.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The princess started to walk in the large hallway that divided the two big groups of people that were there to witness her coronation. She saw the front, at one side of the throne was the Maester Gerardys along with Daemon, and at the other side was Ser Erryk and Jacaerys. The last one was looking proudly at her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She saw around the audience the faces of many lords and ladies that she could recognise. Some of them as Lord Stark and Lady Arryn were staring at her with subtle smiles, while others as Lord Lannister and Lord Baratheon were caught with scared hazes; they had supported the usurper after all, and they were afraid of what she might be capable of doing with them.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She felt the weight of everybody’s stare on her, that made her feel nervous. Her nails started to pinch the flesh of her hand, trying to make her calm down and relax. She needed to enjoy her big day after everything she went through to get there.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Once she arrived right in front of the throne, she kneeled before the Maester. He took a vase filled with liquid and started the ceremony. Two stomps were heard before the Grand Maester spoke,

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “We gather here, to be witnesses of this great event.” His voice echoed around the room, it sounded loud and clear. “The rightful heir to the Iron Throne, has defeated the usurper!” He dipped his thumb in the water and marked her forehead with it. “May the Warrior give her courage, may the Smith lend strength to her sword and shield.” She looked at Daemon, who was smiling down at her, and then she looked at the hand-shaped pin decorating his vest. “May the Father defend her in her need, may the Crone lift her shining lamp and light her way to wisdom.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The Maester slowly gave the vase back to Jacaerys, and then he grabbed the crown; Aegon’s crown. He passed it to Ser Erryk, who took a step forward, grabbing it and lifting it up for everyone to see.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “The Conqueror’s Crown passed down through generations, and now it will lay on our Queen’s head.” She held her breath once she felt the weight of the crown on top of her head. “Let the Seven be witness: Visaella Targaryen defeated the usurper, and claimed her position as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He offered his hand, she delicately took it and stood up. He was the first one to bow, followed by the Maester, Jacaerys and lastly, Daemon. She sighed deeply, and she turned around. Joffrey, Viserys and Aegon were on the front row looking at her with excitement; their sister is now the queen, they might have thought. Baela and Rhaena were next to them smiling slightly at her. Everyone seemed pleased to see her with the Conqueror’s Crown on her head.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ They were all signs that she had done the right thing.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The Maester cleared his throat, “All hail the Queen!” He yelled. “Visaella of House Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhyonar and the First Men, lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A silence was taking over the room, until Ser Erryk screamed, “Long may she reign!”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ In unison, all the presents repeated his words, creating a deafening echo in the room that made her feel shivers down her spine. Visaella stood up tall looking around with her jaw clenched, and proud of what she had achieved.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ However, in a subtle movement, she touched her belly. A small, melancholic tear fell down her cheek knowing that the last piece of Aegon was growing inside her.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The emerald kinship will prevail, a small child with his sire’s face.

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