𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝟷/?

You Tell Me You Hate Me, Baby (Yeah I Bet You Do)

FORGET ME TOO PART 1

Summary: When the faithful abandon their duty…what is it that remains? When Aemond return home from yet another visit to see Alys and their son, he finds that there are consequences to his infidelity. Consequences he not only did not expect, but does not like.

Note: This one came to me fast and I just started writing it. It aint perfect, but it sure is about the vibes here.

Part 2

Word Count: 5.2k+

I spoke in quiet tones with the Queen over the table as we broke our fast. Even with the room empty, one never knew who was listening in the Red Keep. The walls themselves seemed to have ears. And it was a fact that I had grown to dread more and more as I learned that just as much as the walls had ears, they had mouths too. Mouths that created rumors and malicious whispers, then caused them to run rampant. The types of rumors and whispers that would tear you apart to the very core of your being while you just had to endure it. The pain they caused was not allowed to matter - not if you wanted to act as though the words were not true. And I could not handle it any longer. I should not have to handle it in the first place. That much I was sure of. 

“I am asking you to understand, my Queen,” I said in a sharper whisper than I had before. “I can no longer do this. And it is cruel enough to me that I have been forced to remain in such a situation this long. Word has gotten out. Why should my reputation suffer further than it already has? Why should I continue to endure this humiliation as I have been? A humiliation that only grows worse by the day. My brother is already angry enough to storm south and take me home himself, even if that required your son’s head on a pike.”

“You cannot simply leave, Y/N, you must know that,” Alicent said quietly, voice closer to begging, to pleading, than it was to demanding. “There are rumors, yes, but there is no proof. The rumors will die down. They always do when given time. All will be well once more when that happens. I will talk to my son. I will make it so. This shall not haunt you forever.”

My hands clenched into fists where they sat on my lap. “Your son does not care for me any more today than he did on the day we met,” I snapped. “It will not magically be well. It cannot be magically well again when it never was - nothing could make it so.” I took a deep breath. Closed my eyes. Opened them again. “Alicent. I am begging you to hear me. He has a lover. His lover has had his child now. A son. He is never here because he is with them. He is with your grandchild.”

Her gaze darkened, my words troubling her and making her sad. But it didn’t matter how much she liked or cared for me. I wasn’t her son. And he was what mattered to her. I knew that. I prepared myself for whatever tirade she would go on, and still, as with every other time we’d had this unending conversation, found myself surprised.

“You cannot say such reckless things,” she insisted. “There is no proof. He merely takes Vhagar on rides and patrols as he must. He is not doing something so insidious as having another family. You should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking of such! A good wife does not put weight into such unsubstantiated rumors.”

I leaned against the table, then covered my mouth with my hands feeling utterly exhausted. “Alicent. He told me so himself,” I said shortly. “He told me that Alys Rivers is the one that he loves - the only one that he could ever love. He told me he loathed me for keeping him from the only family which he found to be true. He told me that they had a son and that she was the only one he’d ever see carry his children. That she was the only one he would be a true family with. The words came from his own mouth. And if you do not trust my own word, well then the next time he sees fit to show up I recommend you ask him.” I scoffed. “Better yet, my Queen, ask your Master of Whispers. I am sure he has information on it for you should you ask for it.”

Alicent’s hands were shaking and she started picking at the skin around her nails. I sighed and immediately intercepted her, grabbing her hands and holding them to stop her. She stilled in the destruction she was doing, but her hands still had a light tremor to them. She looked upset. Genuinely so. Part of me felt bad. Part of me understood the unending stress she had endured since she was a mere girl-made-Queen. Part of me, though - the larger part, in fact - had grown to be colder than the home I’d left behind in Winterfell and just didn’t care for her pain anymore.

“Let me…please let me just be a Stark once more. I don’t…I don’t even ask you to let me go home to Winterfell. I know that you cannot grant me such a thing. But implore the Septons to annul this wedding. We didn’t have a bedding ceremony. He has not touched me. I am a woman grown. Just let me go. I have no desire to remain in this sham and have to make both our lives so needlessly fucking miserable. Alicent…please. If you ever cared about Aemond. If you ever cared about me. Just…please let this end. I will speak no ill of him to others. Of any of you. Not even to Cregan - I will keep the truth from my own brother if that is what you require, my Queen. I don’t care. I don’t even ask for revenge or retribution as you of all people would know I’d be well within my right to do. So just…please let me go,” I pled. 

The Queen looked hesitant. But, I could tell that the tide was turning and she was coming to see my side. “You…you give up too easily on this, Y/N. You cannot do such a thing,” she said firmly.

“I do not give up! I have waited over three years of marriage for your son to even pretend he can stand my presence and he cannot even grant me that much respect,” I said, unable to help the tears of both frustration and humiliation from rising in my eyes. “He will chart the fucking constellations in her eyes and I doubt he could even name the color of mine. He knows nothing of me and cares not to. And to be frank? I have long since given up a desire to care for anything related to him. How could I not? I have been patient. I have been understanding. I have been kind. I have been loyal - to him, to the Targaryens, to the fucking Hightowers! And what have I gotten out of it? Less than nothing! Separated from my family and the only home I knew! With people who do not care for me at all! I am no fool who thinks life is fair, but I would think that maybe you could understand my frustration at all of this!”

“We cannot do such a thing,” she said. Alicent’s eyes were impassive and she looked me over. Analytical. Looking for weakness. The sharp, shrewd look was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Her mouth came into a line, veering just slightly into the territory of a frown. “We could not afford to lose the alliance with your house. I am sure you understand that, Lady Stark. I am…am sorry.”

My jaw clenched in anger. I couldn’t help it at this point. “If you are that concerned with maintaining the relationship with my family then you should listen to me, Queen Alicent,” I warned. “I mean it when I say that Cregan intends to march here himself with a thousand Northmen if that’s what it takes to free me from this. He is no fool. He receives word just as every other nobleman. I did not even need to tell him for him to know. He is furious that I have been held in such a situation this long. And I have no desire to stop any aim of his to retrieve me. Why would I?” I shook my head. “Your best bet to maintaining the alliance is by letting me go. Marry me off to your other fucking son and send me to Oldtown if your concern remains that great. I would take that - I would take anything - over the humiliation that I have already endured. We both know that the Targaryens do stranger things than switching wives.”

She blinked in shock. “Is that a threat?” she asked sharply.

I’d lost her, then. Her minor willingness to listen had evaporated into nothing. I let out a sigh and rose to my feet. “No, my Queen. It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of fact. A statement of the future that will quite literally storm the doors of the Red Keep if allowed to happen,” I said. “I shall leave you to think in peace, Your Grace.”

Without being granted leave, I exited. I nodded to Ser Cole, standing faithfully at the door as always. My own guard, Ser Rydan Carron,  appointed to me by the King himself upon my wedding to Aemond, stepped off the wall, following me not even a full step behind me. I nodded to those who greeted me with combinations of Lady Y/N, Lady Stark, and Princess. I kept my face impassive as I moved towards my chambers, looking bored and blank rather than upset. I heard their whispers, heard the words of my husband’s actions swirling behind me. I pretended to be oblivious as was always required. It was only in the peace of my room that I openly let out the curses I had been building up.

“Gods, Y/N,” Rydan chuckled, “Based on that ladylike tirade, I take it that the conversation did not go to your liking.”

I leveled him with a glare. “Fuck you, Rydan,” I said simply. I scoffed and shook my head. “Of course it didn’t. The Queen would rather we all be fucking tortured than do what will ultimately be the best choice for everyone involved.”

Rydan hummed in acknowledgment. “Good as your stupid husband is with a blade, he remains untested in true battle. I do not. I could run him through with a sword the next time he returns and have us safely on the way to your brother before they’d even notice his body had gone cold.” A kind offer, if entirely impractical. He smirked then. “Or if that doesn’t suit your fancy, I could just kill you. Frame him for your death. Cregan will well and truly wage war upon them if I do that for you.”

I laughed at his words, the sound startled from my lips more than anything intentional. I reached out and squeezed his arm in appreciation. “Most kind of you to offer, Ser. But alas, I think that is a terrible idea so I will have to refuse. The both of them,” I said. My lips fell back into their half frown. I gestured to one of the couches in my antechamber, sitting in one myself. Rydan took the one opposite me, a look of vague amusement on his face at my lackluster refusal. “I wish I could accept it though, in truth. The first one. It would be well deserved but I…I cannot.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “Stark honor,” he said, with faux wisdom in his voice. He gave me a goofy smile and I rolled my eyes. He reached over to the table in front of him, picking up the book he’d set there the day prior. “Shall I continue off where we were yesterday, Princess?”

“Never call me that,” I said after fake gagging. I relaxed on the couch until I was more laying than sitting. I allowed my eyes to drift up to the ceiling and tucked my feet under myself. I looked at him. “Go on then, read to me.” 

Rydan opened the book, a long tale that one of the foremost authors of Westeros had written. A rare first edition with the author’s notes. My favorite book, and a gift from the King at my wedding. A generous gift. A well-loved one. Far more generous and well-loved than his son, even. I listened as Rydan’s voice washed over me, capturing the cadence of the story expertly. I smiled and laughed at all the right parts - even more than expected with the humor and personality he managed to inject. A few chapters in, I was already more relaxed than I had been through the rest of the week. I was enjoying myself as much as I allowed myself to while in King’s Landing. Right as we reached the point where the hero was going to agree to fight our villain, I stopped him to call for a light lunch for us. We spent time eating, chatting in half-sentences about mindless topics, and then returned to the story. I was far too exhausted to give energy to anything real today. He knew that. He was kind enough to oblige. Rydan always was.

Yet, at the peak of the story, right as the hero and villain were ready to clash, there was an insistent, impatient knock on my door. I turned my head into the fabric of the couch and let out a short, cathartic scream before sitting up. I gestured to Rydan with my head. He placed the book down and snorted at my dramatics even as he rose to his feet and walked to the door. He opened it slowly and I watched as the ease on his face died. His eyes became pinched, his lips turned downward, and he looked generally annoyed if you knew what such a thing looked like on him. Regrettably, I did, which meant I knew just who it was.

“Prince Aemond,” he greeted, tone just shy of icy.

My eyes widened and I sat up more, my feet touching the ground. My brow furrowed as he walked into my chambers. He did not greet or even acknowledge Rydan. He had an annoyed look and a determined stride. That was never a good combination with my dear husband. I did not bother to keep the cringe from crossing over my face as I looked at him. 

“Dear husband,” I greeted, dull, emotionless. “What a surprise it is to see you. I had no idea you returned. What can I do for you?”

His expression fared no better, nor did his own voice. “I just got back,” he said shortly. “Come. My mother is summoning us both I’ve been told.”

I glanced over to Rydan, eyes dark in irritation. “Of course,” I said, rising to my feet. “I would not dream of keeping the Queen waiting.” I was proud of myself for keeping my icy rage out of my voice, and my sarcasm too. I gestured him to the door with my hand. “After you, husband.”

Aemond openly glared at me, forcefully taking my hand and wrapping it around his arm. “What kind of husband would I be to not escort you,” he said, voice acidic in a way that he clearly could not stop.

“Oh just yourself, you bumbling idiot,” Rydan muttered quietly in a coarse version of the trade tongue he’d taken the time to painstakingly teach me solely for the chance to insult my husband. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. “Lead the way, my Princess.” Didn’t even acknowledge Aemond. “I go where you lead me as your faithful servant, my Lady.”

I smiled at him, acting as though he had said nothing of consequence, even as he laid it on thick. I looked over to Aemond then who was busy glaring at Rydan, suspicious of what he said. I tugged at his arm once, raising an eyebrow. Aemond glanced back at me and rolled his eyes openly before harshly tugging me down the hall forcing me to lengthen my stride to keep up with him. Both he and I ignored the greetings around us as he forced me to near-sprint down the corridors back to his mother’s chambers. I nodded to Rydan as a silent instruction to remain outside of the door next to Ser Cole who remained faithfully at his post as he always did. 

After we entered and the door closed, I released Aemond’s arm as though it burned my skin and took three steps away from him. Aemond did the same. I didn’t spare him a look. Instead, I looked to the Queen, who sat, a troubled look on her face as she gazed into the fire. There was a Septon at her side, and Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, on her other side. My eyes widened, breath catching in my throat. Upon seeing us, the Septon and Lord both stood, bowed to us, and then left. Aemond looked puzzled, I tried my best to not appear as though I felt any particular way seeing the religious man and the Master of Whispers in the Queen’s quarters on a seemingly random day. 

“Mother, you wished to see us both. And I’ve brought…her. So here we are” Aemond asked with open animosity in the way he spat her. He dropped into the chair beside his mother in waiting. Cautiously, I perched on the couch across from them, folding my hands in my lap. “What do you need to discuss?”

“Tell me, son,” Alicent said, turning her eyes to her son, “do you enjoy making a fool of your family? Your house? Your name?” I was shocked at the venom in her voice, but Aemond looked more surprised in truth. “Tell me, where do you go when you leave your wife here alone for weeks on end as you have since you married?”

Aemond stiffened at her words, back straightening. He sat up straighter, looking still and unnatural as a shadow. “I have explained to you, mother, I must take Vhagar for regular rides. She does not enjoy being still for so long,” he said.

“That dragon is well over one hundred and fifty years old, son. I am not a fool. It is not some fledgling that needs to stretch its legs,” Alicent snapped. “Do not treat me as a fool, Aemond I warn you. So tell me the truth of these rumors I have been hearing. Do you have a…a lover in the Riverlands? Did you father a bastard with her?” Her fury was palpable. Evidently, the Master of Whispers had told her something she did not wish to hear. “Do you defile your wife’s reputation and honor? That of your mother? That of your family?”

Immediately, the Queen was no longer the only one angry. Aemond followed, and his anger was an incandescent rage that made the room stifling. “I told you that I did not wish for this, mother,” he said, as if things were that simple. As if it absolved him of his sins. “I told you that my heart belonged to another and I had no plans to be a part of this marriage. You and father are the ones who did not listen to me when I told you such. This is not my fault.”

“Not your fault?” the Queen asked, voice quiet with an anger that she was trying to conceal and was faring very poorly at doing. “Tell me, son, how your vile actions are not your own fault? You…you sleep with another woman who is not your wife. You have a child with a woman who is not your wife. These choices are yours entirely! So tell me how it is not your fault! Tell me how you’d explain it as appropriate to Y/N’s brother if he were to ask. Because oh, my son, he is. Cregan Stark is ready to march down from the north to take your head and I have half a mind to let him!” 

Aemond shot a furious glare at me. As though I had anything to do with this - which generally I did, but specifically I did not. “Mother,” he said, voice harsh. She stopped him though, unwilling to let him speak yet.

“You have shamed us. And moreover, you did not have the decency to try and conceal such things. Instead, you decided that ruining the reputation of your poor wife was the better of choices.” Alicent shook her head, furious, and began ripping at the skin around her nails again, blood coming easily with the tearing. “I am disgusted with your actions. With your lies. You thought nothing for the consequences of your actions, that much is very clear. I thought you better than that.” She glared at her son. “The kindest thing that you did was leaving poor Y/N’s virtue intact so she may yet still find a husband who will treat her well.”

At those words, I sat up straight, looking solely at Alicent. I did not care to see Aemond’s reaction to her declaration. I only needed to know for certain what it was that her words meant. “You…you mean?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

The Queen nodded once, lips turned down in a frown, tears in her beautiful, sad, exhausted eyes. “The Septon is going to figure out what he can do to make this happen as quietly and quickly as possible. For both of your sakes,” she said, nodding. She clenched her jaw. “The Hand will be writing a letter to your brother explaining such things so he will have no need to…to march on King’s Landing.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And the letter will beg forgiveness, and assure him that we had no clue what was happening.” My lips turned up in a bitter half-smirk that almost immediately disappeared. “It will ask what we may do to maintain our alliance as it should have been initially.”

“I see,” I said. Her words ripped a pressure off of my shoulders that I was aware of, but not cognizant of the extent of. I felt suddenly weightless. I could have laughed, giddy, if I weren’t entirely aware of how inappropriate it would be to do so. I let out a half laugh and leaned back into the cushion of my seat on the couch. “In all honesty, my Queen, I know exactly what Cregan will say to you. And I will tell you so. Bring Daeron home as I said, and warn him very carefully about how he must act and…conduct himself in his new role. And ensure that he listens to you.” I look away. “Starks are loyal. They’re honorable. But they are not fools.”

“What are you talking about?” Aemond snapped, his voice positively venomous. “What are the Septons working on?”

“Annulling the farce of the marriage that I foolishly allowed Y/N to stay in this long. Working to ensure that your stupidity does not ruin the peace and partnership that we are trying to forge with the Starks,” his mother replied.

Aemond scoffed. “You will take my wife?” he asked, mocking. “And what will the people say about that?”

“She will no longer be your wife, Aemond,” she said sharply. Alicent looked at her son with no attempt to conceal her anger. “The people will say more about you than they will about her. The Starks will be seen as benevolent and generous for not taking action to counter your transgressions against such a noble house. And the Starks will be noble and generous for considering marrying Y/N to Dareon and maintaining the alliance that we are trying to build. We, Aemond, will be the ones who are talked poorly about. We will be the ones that are negatively whispered of. We might only pray that Daeron is able to counter it by being gallant and noble.”

“You would marry Y/N to my brother? You think that Daeron marrying my wife will help in those rumors?” Aemond spat, clenching his fist in anger.

“Daeron is known to be a man of his word, kind, and daring. A well-suitable match for a Stark. Chivalrous and duty-bound. A man dedicated to family and to his responsibilities. There will be no doubt that he shall be a good match for her,” Alicent stated, slipping quickly into her persona of the Queen, firm and unyielding, even to her own children. “And I will hear no argument, least of all from you.” She glared at her son. “And do not think this changes anything. You will still not be allowed to marry your…your whore.”

I let out a shallow gasp at her words and the way Aemond immediately rose to his feet, fists clenched. His chest was heaving with his anger. This was the most emotion I had ever seen out of him. I wasn’t at all surprised to see that it was rage. He hardly seemed capable of experiencing positive emotion.

“Do not speak ill of Alys, mother. I love her and she is the mother of my son. I will allow none to speak ill of her,” he said dangerously. He turned then to me, a frantic look in his eye. “And what do you say to this, wife?” I turned my head, observing him. It was to the point that he could lay his hand on me right now and I wouldn’t care. So, risking it, I Iet myself bark out a laugh. This only served to make him look angrier. “You dare laugh?”

“I think, Aemond, that this is the smartest decision that the Queen and the Hand could’ve hoped to make on behalf of the King,” I said simply. “Perhaps a bit later than they should have, but, they can be credited for eventually coming around to see sense.” I raised an eyebrow. “I am confused by your anger, Aemond. You have made it clear since the moment that we met that you’d rather die than be married to me, much less touch me. I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me and be rid of the title of husband. Happy of me being rid of my title as your wife.” I let out a hum, lips pouting slightly. “I suppose you must be disappointed that it is your reputation that will suffer for this and not mine. A pity. Truly.”

“Y/N,” the Queen said shortly. A warning to not push him when he was this angry. A warning that I did not need. A warning that I had never heeded before and certainly would not need now.

“Bold words from a woman who could not please her husband,” Aemond said, taunting and unkind.

I openly laughed at his words, while Alicent gaped and tried to scold him. “Please,” I snorted, “when I am married to your brother, by all accounts feel free to ask him if I can please my husband. Until then, don’t be afraid to mind your own words or I may just have my brother come to take your head anyways.” I offered him a saccharine smile. “Even as a Prince you are no heir to the throne. And you have still offered my house - a house that you require the allegiance of - a great offense in your treatment of me. I dutifully endured it as long as I could. You are in the wrong by all accounts.”

He stepped forward, a menacing, cold smile on his face. Still, I did not break. I was far too cold myself to care for the depths or chill of his cruelty. I, in fact, rose to my own feet and smiled up at him, bright and cheery. His height advantage was no longer intimidating to me. He was no longer intimidating to me. It seemed that at that moment, he was finally recognizing the fact that I held no fear of him, no concern for him at all, really. And as he noticed, I saw a flicker of confusion and concern in his eye. I couldn’t help but smile brighter. I stepped to the side of him, one closer to the door.

“I assure you that I will write my own letter to my brother, Your Grace. All will be well,” I vowed. She looked visibly relieved at that assurance. I felt a sick sense of satisfaction at that power. “I thank you for your help in this. Thank you for listening.”

“What?” Aemond asked, reaching out and grabbing my arm, tightly. “What do you mean thank you for listening? Are you responsible for this, wife?”

My own bright smile grew colder as I wrenched my arm from his hand. “Do not put your hands on me,” I warned. “None will take to it kindly. And I am going to tell Ser Carron that if you do lay your hands on me that he may do whatever it may take to get your hands off of me.” Alicent’s breath caught in her throat. I did not care.

“You threaten a prince,” he said, jaw clenched. “Your husband.”

“I threaten a wastrel,” I corrected with a mocking smile. “And you should take that word out of your vocabulary. You shan’t be my husband for much longer, thanks to the mercy of the gods old and new, and the wisdom of our dear Queen.” I made to walk towards the door. Then, I turned back. “And yes I am responsible for this, Aemond. I had no desire to deal with you any longer than I already had. You should be glad to have so much more time freed up for your princely duties and your rides upon Vhagar! Take heart!” I offered another malicious smile. “And it is as your mother said. You left my virtue intact, the kindest thing you could have done. I do so appreciate it. And I am sure that your brother shall as well when the time comes. No one likes a person with…loose morals, do they?” I walked to the door then, leaving the pair in stunned silence. I turned back a final time. “Thank you, Your Grace. Truly. I will deliver a missive to you today. For a raven to send to my brother. This I promise you.”

“And I…I will send word for Daeron to return from Oldtown,” she said, slumping back in her seat, looking exhausted and a little bit defeated. Again, I got a sick little sense of delight from it - from the power. She looked directly at me then. “And, Y/N, thank you…for your generosity and understanding in sorting this. Yours and that of House Stark.”

“Of course, my Queen,” I said, bowing my head dutifully before pulling the door open and leaving. The shouting behind the door started almost immediately. Louder than the Queen even shouted at Aegon. I bit my cheek to keep from smiling. Ser Cole’s face was impassive. Rydan looked curious. I smiled shortly at him, innocent and fleeting, unseen by another, and pat his arm. “Come now, Ser Carron. I have a letter I must write presently. We should make haste. It will need to go out today.”

The words were innocent enough. But Rydan clearly knew what they meant. He chuckled as he stepped of the wall, gesturing forward with a hand. “Lead the way, my Lady,” he said with a wolf-like grin.

Are we still friends? | Masterlist

Summary: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw and you have been friends since you could remember, just friends (unfortunately) but when you are called back to Top Gun everything changes.  You have to keep on the down-low that Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell is your father. Rooster, who you’d been able to read since you were young, seems unreadable to you now. Other pilots that are usually lining up for you, don’t seem that interested (much to your dismay). You are apparently now unable to keep your feeling at bay and oh, right. You have a life-and-death mission in your hands, which is the icing on the cake. Lots of angsty discussions, lots of jealousy, and even dog fights. What else can you expect from a mission on Top Gun?

bradley 'rooster' bradshaw masterlist

playlist

prologue | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine* | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen | chapter fourteen | chapter fifteen| chapter sixteen | chapter seventeen (scheduled a weeks from now- read early on my ko-fii!!!)

updates on monday, wednesday, friday

also, smut: *

˚ ༘♡. 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 ೃ࿐

a 7 part jjk drabble series based on the explicit version of ‘seven’. release tbc.

how it will work: each day of the week is assigned a different lyric from the single ‘seven’ by jjk. each drabble will feature its own environment & kink(s) that correspond to the associated lyric.

series masterlist:

1. monday: sęx in the workplace - “got you skipping work and meetings”

2. tuesday: sęx in a car - “its the way that you can ride”

3. wednesday: sęx outside - “i kiss your waist and ease your mind”

4. thursday: sęx in a hot tub / bathtub - “you know night after night, i’ll be fuckin' you right”

5. friday: sęx in a secret space - “so break me off another time”

6. saturday: sęx while gaming - “you wrap around me and you give me life”

7. sunday: sęx in the kitchen - “wind it back, i’ll take it slow, leave you with that afterglow”

pairing: seven!jungkook x f!reader (afab) genre(s)&au(s): non idol, slice of life, established relationship, smut, fluff, minor tiny angst warnings & smut warnings: all drabbles will come with their own warnings upon release w/c: all drabbles will come with their own word count upon release rating: 18+ banner: @caelesjjk

taglist [open]: - comment below! - ageless & empty blogs will not be included & minors will be blocked. update: AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE IGNORED

note1: this is something new that ive never tried before, so i do hope people will show it some love ♡ note2: thank you to my sarah for not just the banner but for also listening & sharing ideas over the last 2 days to create this series

My 2nd week as a senior high school student and all I can say is that I'm stressed af..

Tame the Dragon

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!reader

Summary: Daemon has asked you to marry him, but you have to wait to talk with King Viserys until Rhaeneyra and Laenor's wedding takes place. As you and Daemon try to hide the affection you feel for one another, everything gets more complicated with you being betrothed to Jason Lannister.

Warnings: I’m not a native English speaker, strong language, incest, mention of sexual abuse, no smut but Daemon is such a tease

Taglist: @disneydaddyevans @mirandastuckinthe80s@xicesam@mariamyousef702@eddiemadmunson @dont-try-pesticide @sweetybuzz25 @hc-geralt-23 @schniiipsel @ttae-yong @syrma-sensei @asiludida164 @kaitieskidmore1 @irmavanity-blog @pax-2735 @trickrtreatart @shanzeyxsyed @random-human02 @scarwicht @xcallmetaniax @instabull

A/N: This part only has Daemon and the reader, I hope you enjoy it!

|Part 6|

Another sob echoed inside the Dragonpit.

Wrapping your arms around your torso, you rested your head against Caraxes’ neck as he laid on the ground with its eyes closed. You, too, was sitting on the ground, your knees pulled against your chest.

The way Jason Lannister had tried to assault you was enough to leave you crying and shaking for the rest of the night, but the way your mother had reacted affected you even more. You caressed Caraxes’ cold, hard scales as you tried to control your crying -you hated how vulnerable you were feeling. But, at the same time, you were burning with rage.

You wanted to take out your anger on someone -on Jason Lannister, to be more precise -but you knew you had to wait for the morning so that the King could decide on whichever punishment he seemed fit. Hence, the only thing you could do was to imagine how it would satisfy you if you could let Virion burn him slowly, hearing the screams of agony.

“Everything could have been easier,” you muttered, you were talking to Caraxes, “if I could just marry Daemon and get the fuck away from all this shit.”

Thinking about Daemon seemed to calm you down a little bit as your crying slowly faded away, leaving its place to deep breaths and, most likely, bloodshot eyes. At that moment, you craved to feel the heat of his body more than ever, for you knew that only he could wash away the stains left by Jason Lannister.

“You make this little game of hide-and-seek rather too easy, Princes.” Daemon’s voice came from behind you, causing you to swiftly turn your head back to look at him. “I suggest you get more creative.”

You watched him as he walked towards you. He was wearing a black vest with a crimson shirt underneath and the shadows caused by the torches on the walls -which didn’t cast enough light to illuminate the space at all -created eerie figures on his handsome face as he kneeled next to you.

Wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks, you rested your forehead against Caraxes, your eyes closed. “He brings me to ease,” you spoke with a low voice. “I cannot think of a better place but his side when I wish to hide from the nightmares haunting me.”

You could imagine Daemon raising an eyebrow at your words. “The said nightmare being your mother, I assume?”

“Well, she is the biggest of them, that’s for sure,” you muttered as you opened your eyes and looked at Daemon. Some strands of his short, silver hair were curled in way that made them fall in front of his eyes. “Daemon, there is something you should know,” you began to speak after taking a deep breath. “Tonight, Ja…”

Before you could even speak, Daemon placed his right index finger in front of your lips. “I know what happened, Y/N, you needn’t speak those words.” Even though he gave his best to seem perfectly calm, you could easily notice the way his jaw clenched. “Ser Harwin told me.”

Your eyes widened with surprise, you didn’t expect him to hear about the incident so soon. “I… What… Did you do something?” You asked with a low voice.

Daemon moved his right hand to cup your face, his touch was warm against your cold skin. “To that fucking cunt of a lord? I intended to cut off his cock and shove it in his mouth; however, I was reminded that you, Y/N, wished my brother to punish him as he sees fit.” Daemon responded to your question, and it made you realise that his violent side somehow turned you on even during such a time. “Thus, I simply made sure that the pretty blue of his eyes would be wider visible all around his face.”

With a confused expression on your face, you held his left hand and raised it in the air, only to see the bruises on his knuckles. Daemon was watching you carefully as he waited for a reaction. Slowly, you let his hand down and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to drag him down there and let Virion burn him as he screamed in agony.” You confessed, “but I know I should avoid any further political complications -I assume the King wouldn’t really appreciate it if it came to be known that the man, whom he personally betrothed to his niece, has tried to…”

Not letting you finish, Daemon pressed his lips against yours. “I never want to hear those words leaving your lips, Y/N, do you understand?” He whispered in between kisses before pulling himself a little back. Feeling his lips against yours made you realise that you wanted him at that very moment. You wanted to drown the disgusting memories from the night in your desire for him. “What did your mother tell you?”

You followed Daemon as he slowly stood up. “She thinks that I am responsible for what he tried to do to me.” You spat out the words, rage building up within you once again. “She makes me sick!”

“Hey,” Daemon cupped your face with both hands as he leaned into you, his breath caressing your face every time he exhaled. “Y/N, darling, look at me.” You raised your head to meet his violet eyes. “I promise you, I will help you get rid of her and that cunt of a lord, soon, but I need you to at least try to keep your calm until then.”

You gulped before speaking. “I want you, Daemon,” you whispered as you pulled him down into a kiss. “I just want to be yours.”

“You are already mine, Y/N,” Daemon whispered against your lips as he slid his hands down to rest them on your hips. “Only mine.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you parted your lips to deepen the kiss. Daemon let his tongue slide into your mouth, causing you to sigh into the kiss as it met yours. Every time he kissed you, the horrors were beginning to fade away ever so slowly as new memories with Daemon took their places.

You could feel the heat between your legs growing while Daemon’s hands wandered around your body.

“Did he hurt you?” Daemon asked, slowly parting your lips. You nodded reluctantly. “Show me.”

Taking a small step back, you gathered your silver hair on your left shoulder, only to expose an ugly bite mark which made the little love-marks from Daemon seem like simple dots. Even though the Dragonpit was dimly lit, the dark purple spot could be easily recognised on your pale skin.

It wasn’t hard to realise how much effort Daemon gave to keep himself calm.

With slow steps, Daemon walked behind you and rested his hands on your waist. Then, he laid his lips on the exposed side of your neck, leaving gentle kisses until reaching your collar bone. You closed your eyes and let your head lean against his chest as you left yourself completely to his kisses. Your breath got heavier each time his lips met the sensitive skin of your neck once more and you could hardly resist the urge to rub your thighs against each other.

“Daemon,” you breathed out his name as he let his tongue touch your skin. “Take me.”

He chuckled against your neck before raising his head to have his lips on a level with your ear. “You need to be more precise with your wishes, Princess.” He whispered, it was obvious that he was, once again, up for teasing you.

Quickly, you turned around inside his arms, your bodies still pressed against each other, his hold firm on your waist. He was looking down at you. “I want you to take me,” you spoke as you rested your hands on his chest. “Here. Right now.”

A smirk found its way to Daemon’s lips. “In front of Caraxes?” he asked while he pointed at his dragon with his head. However, you didn’t really pay attention to him as you raised to your fingertips and pressed your lips against his. He kissed you back, just as passionately as you were, only to part your lips short after. “We’ll miss the dessert.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the dessert,” you whispered as you tried to capture his lips once again, but he clicked his tongue, pulling his head back.

“And you wish to kiss me with that mouth, Y/N?” You rolled your eyes, which made Daemon let out a soft laugh for he loved how impatient you were becoming. With a sudden movement, he pulled you towards him so that your bodies were pressed against each other. “I will take you, Princess, but not now and not here.”

You whined, which brought a cocky smirk to his lips.

“Even though I quite enjoy seeing how hard you crave me, I have rather different plans for tonight which do not involve fucking you in the Dragonpit.” With slow movements, he pushed a strand of silver hair behind your ear, which had fallen in front of your face. “Further, your mother should better be reminded that her fucked-up plan was never enough to tame a dragon.”

You let your look linger on his lips for a while before moving it to his purple eyes. “You think we should go back to the feast?” You asked, only to earn a nod from Daemon. With slow movements, he took out a black, silk scarf from his pocket and wrapped it gently around your neck. Then, he pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was short but it was full of longing and desire, which left you aching for more after Daemon took a step back. You were already missing the heat of his body. “Come now, we have one more role to play tonight,” he told you, walking towards the exit. “After that, I shall have you in my chambers.” With that, Daemon sent you one last lustful look, “and let the whole fucking castle know whom you really belong to.”

Hi! I'm Callista and I'm from the Philippines!!

YOU‘RE THE ONLY THING I PRAY FOR.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

You’re King Viserys oldest daughter, hardly a year older than Rhaenyra, but it was Queen Alicent that has taken you under her wing after your mother died birthing your late brother, strengthening your very being with her own faith. You’re pious, though all your prayers resolve around one thing: being married one day to provide your husband with a healthy heir. A betrothal has already been made, but what if you want the opposite of your pious nature? Something that would make you feel alive just as much as riding your dragon does? You’ve been so faithful to the Seven, so it is only right they finally offer you something in return.

WARNINGS: See each chapter for individual warnings. Both chapters will include sexual content and canon typical incest between uncle and niece.

WORDS: —

NOTES: Yes, I know Aemond won the corruption poll (shocker, I know 💀), but the Daemon option hasn’t left my mind for a few days. The Aemond thing is in the works, too, and will probably be a mini-series as well! Based on this request. This won’t really be a series and more a One-Shot split into two parts because I hate posting things that are longer than 4K words. 🫠 Part 1 basically is the smutty bit and part 2 is the Valyrian wedding and a smutty bit.

Part 1 — coming 01/10/24

Part 2 — coming 01/19/24

His Love |Aegon II Targaryen x FemReader| Master List

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen.

You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

Part Twenty

Part Twenty-One

Spotify Playlist

YouTube Playlist

All typical Game of Thrones/House of The Dragon warnings apply to this story, but I will put specific ones above each chapter.

is it just me? but I kinda see a resemblance to Jules Bianchi😭😭😭😭 I should probably sleep at this point

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Tinder is not a great place to look for boyfriends, but neither is the workplace.

Gavi x Physiotherapist! reader. Slow burn. I can't make things fast he's gotta work for it. Smut? Not in this part but maybe eventually.

A/N: Hi everyone! Not super new on Tumblr but I have never been brave enough to post a fic despite my constant maladaptive daydreaming about imaginary scenarios. The stress of being sick and not wanting to write my personal statement have lead me to actually write this and post it online. Please be nice, hope you enjoy!

Song inspo: Just Pretend - Bad omens

Writing inspo: Plot inspired by @zeegaazeegaah and their amazing Gavi x physiotherapist imagine. Other inspirational accounts will be tagged at the end.

TW: None

Word count: 4.8K

"So what do you do?"

y/n hated this question. Even being asked for nudes might be preferable to being asked about her job. y/n had been on 12 first dates since moving back to Barcelona, and without fail every one of them had been ruined by this simple question. She considered lying - she could pass as a student or a waitress or even a model (ok maybe not a model): there were literally thousands of jobs she could pretend to have. But, being the idiot hopeless romantic that she was, she decided to be honest with the man across from her. What if Thiago from Tinder was her soulmate? She didn't want to ruin it by lying.

"I'm finishing my sports medicine and physiotherapy certification, so I am working with one of the football clubs here to do practical training and gain experience."

"Oh that's cool! Which club? You can tell me, I know most of the 3rd and 4th tier Catalan clubs, so I'll probably know it even if it's really small."

Wow. Thiago from Tinder was an overachiever: he messed up before she even said which club she worked for, which was faster than every other man she had been out with in the last four months. y/n took a deep breath and resisted the urge to leave before confessing where she worked.

"I actually work at a pretty well known club... F.C Barca. I think you might of heard of it?" y/n watched this man's jaw visibly drop. His eyes got wide and lit up, like someone had told him he had just won a brand new car.

"You're a physio at Barca?? No way! That's my team! I think I would actually commit manslaughter if Pedri asked me to. So you get to see all the players every day? And Xavi! Have you ever spoken to Xavi? Do you know he won Spain their first world cup? You might be too young to remember. That's so amazing!"

y/n felt all the muscles in her head tense as she focused all her energy on not rolling her eyes. A fanboy. Typical. This was the most common response she got when she said her place of work out loud. 6 of the last 12 first dates had been major fanboys for the club, talking endlessly about how they would steal and kill and get on their knees for Barca. One had even been so bold as to ask if she had ever seen Lewandosky naked, to confirm if some measurements he had seen online were true. While the fans were annoying, the haters were even worse. 4 different dates had said they felt bad that she worked at a "dying club", throwing up football statistics, and going red in the face when she said she could not possibly care less about who had more Champion's League wins.

Then there were those that went out of their way to offend her. You would think that a man trying to get laid would have some more common sense. But that didn't stop one of her tinder matches from calling her a liar in the middle of a restaurant. He was still on his first glass of wine, leaning back cockily in his chair when he said that La Liga would never allow female physios to work with the first team because women couldn't "handle the intensity of football injuries." She should have gotten up and left when he said that, but he was 6'3 with a brand new Porsche, so she let him buy her dinner and drive her home before telling him that she genuinely hoped he never interacted with a female doctor ever again, even if it was to save his life.

The worst had been when she went out with Jose. He had invited her to a pretty expensive spot in central Barcelona. They were having an amazing conversation until the fated job question. She had downed a good amount of wine at that point, and wasn't as cynical about the reaction as she usually would be, so she spoke about her role with pride. Big mistake. He perked up, then threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so loudly it startled the waiter clearing plates from the nearby table. "21 years old and working as a physio for F.C Barca... Who did you have to sleep with to get that job, hm? Xavi? La Porte himself? Or maybe someone at the university? Regardless, you must fuck like a pornstar to have landed a job like that. Can't wait to try it first hand." y/n said some choice words about Jose and his micropenis, and promptly left, seeking to avoid assault charges that night.

The truth was that y/n was extremely talented at what she did. She grew up watching football with her father and brother, developing an interest in working in sports professionally. She worked herself half to death during high school to be accepted into a sports science program in the U.S. She interned with the college teams there, learning about sports injuries and treating them. She finished her program in three years, and despite programs across Europe fighting for her, she came back to Barcelona to finish her physiotherapy certification. She would be lying if she said it was just for her family and friends. The program in Barcelona advertised opportunities to work with F.C. Barca, her favorite football club since birth. It was a love she inherited from her father, as shown by all her childhood pictures in the Blaugrana uniform.

The program was harder than expected. She was one of 7 female first year students, and the only girl in her year that wanted to work with the first team. y/n was made aware that this might work to her advantage now that professional football was pushing for more female representation (in referees, coaching staff, and now on the medical team). The guys in her class either hated her guts or wanted to sleep with her (sometimes both) - it really was like legally blonde without the law.

In the middle of August, close to the beginning of the new season, all the applicants for the Barca placement were called into the university on a Sunday. Their professor introduced Dr. Gonzales, the head physiotherapist for the club. y/n started to sweat despite the air conditioning hitting her directly. She was terrified to even breathe wrong in the presence of this man.

"It's a pleasure to be here with you all today. Thank you for your hard work in submitting to fill the assistant physiotherapist position at F.C. Barcelona. Now, there have been rumors that we are hiring a student to fil this position because it is cheaper and we are broke, but I would like to assure you all now that it's not true."

The two boys in front of her snickered quietly, one whispering a "yeah right" to the other. Dr. Gonzalez looked up at the boys. "You two giggling in the back. You don't seem like the type we need at Camp Nou. You can leave now." Everyone in the room sat up straighter after that. Everyone was on military behavior, not wanting a wrong look or a chair squeak to blow their chance. "As many of you know, one of our strikers, Ousmane Dembélé, presents with consistent right hamstring tightness, leading to frequent injuries."

As Dr. Gonzalez turned to face the screen, y/n found enough bravery to pull out a pen and paper to take notes. The doctor continued to describe the player's condition, his playing style, and the current course of treatment being used. After speaking for 25 minutes (while facing the screen instead of the students), he turned around and addressed them. "Your project is to develop a continuous muscular therapy treatment for Dembélé in the next two days. The best and most cost effective method gets the job placement. You at the back," he pointed at y/n, "Smart choice to take notes. I advise you not to share."

Y/n drove home that evening checking her rear-view mirror every few seconds. The possibility of being followed by one of her classmates so they could steal her notes was low, but never zero, and so she did both of the locks tightly on the door. She sat at her computer and got to work right away. Truth be told, she felt like the whole assignment was kind of a trick. Dr. Gonzalez had told them the current treatment plan for Dembélé, which had obviously been working seeing as they kept using it. She made a few adjustments based on leg dominance and the anticipated excess strain of playing more minutes each game, and then she decided to facetime her friend Angelika while she made the PowerPoint look pretty.

"Good evening Dr. y/l/n, finally ready to ask for my hand in marriage? My parents always wanted me to marry into medicine." y/n rolled her eyes and smirked. She had met Angelika when she was living in the US through a Facebook group for Spanish students studying abroad. Ever since then, not a day had gone by where they hadn't spoken (except once when Angelika had dropped her phone into a pint of beer and couldn't get it fixed for three days).

"You know I'm ready when you are gorgeous, just send your ring size. What're you up to?"

"Nothing much, just scrolling on the internet trying to find clubs that are no cover for ladies tomorrow. You're still coming out with us right?" y/n looked away from her computer and looked at Angelika with the "I'm about to bail on plans look" that was all too familiar. "Y/n!! You cannot be cancelling plans with us again! You haven't been anywhere except your house and the university in like six weeks! People will start to think you're with child and in hiding."

"I didn't know I was the new virgin Mary." y/n quipped, trying to make her presentation equally professional and cute. "You're not, because that would require you being a virgin. I know it feels like it's growing back because you haven't looked in the direction of a man in centuries." y/n could only shake her head. It was not a lack of trying. "Well, I'm presenting to the Barca head physio Wednesday morning, so if you ever want a chance at seeing the inside of that locker room, you need to let me skip out on tomorrow."

Angelika sighed and threw herself on the bed dramatically. "Fine, but you need to be our DD and come pick us up after. Shockingly, it's really hard to order an Uber while drunk." y/n agreed to pick the girls up from the club at the end of the night, an spent the rest of the evening chatting idlily with her friend, living vicariously through the stories she told.

The following day, y/n spent all morning refining her presentation. She spent over an hour watching videos about the Barca training facility to see if there was any equipment she had overlooked in creating her treatment plan. The day progressed as normal - cleaning, cooking, practicing her presentation, watching TV on the couch. As 1am rolled around, she still hadn't received any communication from Angelika. While she was not an inconsiderate person, Angelika did have her moments where she would completely forget about the world around her: that was when she met a man who showed interest in her. Despite being gorgeous and intelligent, Angelika, like most girls in their early twenties, suffered from a condition known as "Nothing is true about me unless an attractive man says it". y/n also suffered (mildly) from this affliction, but being surrounded by weirdos all day in university had helped substantially. She knew that if she did not leave then, she would never get any sleep, and so she grabbed her car keys and headed to the address of the club that she had been sent earlier on.

She parked several blocks away from the club, and called Angelika for a record 41st time. y/n knew she wasn't going to receive an answer, so she changed into a tight satin top and a pair of heels that she always left in her car in case of emergencies (What if Joao Felix decided to take a random trip to Barcelona and she was unprepared?). She could feel the street practically vibrating beneath her as she walked towards the club. She was let in easily - it was a Tuesday night and the establishment needed female patrons. She kept close to the bar, and asked the girls working there if they had seen her friend. Once y/n pulled up a picture of Angelika, the girls laughed to one another.

"Oh yeah, she's up in the VIP section. They've dropped like 6k on bottle service already."

y/n felt the vein in her forehead start to pop out. Of course Angelika had found herself a man that would take her to the part of the club that was the hardest to get into. Especially on the night when y/n really needed to get home. Because why wouldn't that happen? She made her way over to the VIP section, where she was promptly stopped by two large bouncers, who obviously didn't believe that she just wanted to grab her friend. While standing there deciding whether she should just make Angelika order an Uber (or have this new lover order one for her), she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned around and was met by a very attractive man (boy? His age was hard to determine in the dark).

"Hey, do you need to get into VIP? Are you here alone? " "That's a really creepy question to ask a girl in a club." y/n yelled back over the thumping music. What were all these people doing out on a Tuesday? "No not like that. I can help you get in if you want." "I don't really want to get in, I just want to get my friend and leave." The man (boy?)'s eyes lit up. "Perfect! My tea- friend. My friend that I'm with is pretty drunk and the person that drove us is in VIP. I can't leave him by himself because he's kind of rowdy even when sober. Could you watch him while I go grab them?"

y/n didn't want to look too deeply into a good thing, but the offer felt suspicious. She scanned the boy (she had decided that he was young), looking for any indication that he could live up to his end of the bargain. She looked down at his feet, noticing the white Alexander McQueen sneakers. She decided that she could trust him, and if not, she was still in a public place, and someone would notice if she was being dragged out of a club kicking and screaming. She walked over to where the friend was and had to stifle a laugh. Another boy was sprawled across two high bar chairs, legs up and head rolled back. He was wearing a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses despite it being the middle of the night and them being indoors. His white button up had the first two undone and the collar popped, like he was Pitbull in 2011. He was in a pair skinny jeans (because, as y/n discovered quickly, everyone in the world had moved on from skinny jeans except for Spanish men) and some white Dolce and Gabanna sneakers. Where were these kids getting all this money?

"Pablo! Look who I brought you! This is..." The first boy looked back at you expectantly. "y/n". "y/n! She's really great and going to take care of you while I go get Pepi so we can go home." The drunk one (now Identified as Pablo) lifted his head, and tilted the sunglasses just enough to get a good look at the girl. "Wow Angel, nice job." The first one (Angel apparently) apologized to y/n, explaining that Pablo was a "really flirty drunk" but that he was never like this sober. y/n showed Angel a picture of Angelika, and off he went back into the beast that was the club. y/n stood awkwardly by Pablo, who appeared to have fallen asleep. Suddenly, he sprung up and asked her, "so what is a pretty girl like you doing in the club by herself?"

"I'm not here to go clubbing, just picking up a friend." "You're dressed like you're going clubbing." "Right, because they wouldn't let me into the club in my scrubs." "Scrubs? You look too young to be a doctor." The music was starting to take a toll on y/n, the thumping rhythm giving her a splitting headache. "You don't look old enough to be let into the club, but everyone is full of surprises." Pablo did not take this comment well. He stood up, feeling all the blood rush to his head as he rested his weight against the bar. He pushed his glasses up his head, and looked straight at her.

This was the first opportunity y/n had to admire how gorgeous Pablo was. The glasses pushed his hair back on his head, showing off his striking eyebrows and cheekbones. His eyes were wide and glassy, making him look like a teenager who had gotten drunk for the first time. For all y/n knew, that could be the case. His nose slopped downward, a subtle bump in the bridge like it had been broken before and reset. His discontent made his bottom lip poke out, and y/n suddenly was overwhelmed by the urge to treat him like a child: make him feel better with a kiss. "I'm 18, and this isn't even my first time in a club. You want to see my ID?" Pablo had gotten much closer to her than she had expected. In her 4 inch heels, y/n was looking him straight in the eyes. He was mere inches away from her face, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the anger of being called a child. She couldn't stop her gaze from flipping between his eyes to his pouting lips. 'This is normal,' she thought to herself. 'I'm overwhelmed because no man has been this close to me in a while. Even if my scumbag cheating ex was standing this close I would want to kiss him. I am simply in desperate need of affection.'

This internal monologue ended just as another club patron bumped into Pablo, causing him to lose balance. He put his arms around y/n and rested weight against her, head pressed into her shoulder. "I feel like dying. I shouldn't have drank that much." He muttered. She just held him there, scared that he would hit the floor if she shifted. "Then why did you keep drinking?" She asked. It couldn't hurt - in the state he was in, she would be surprised if he even remembered his name in the morning. "So my brain would be a little quieter." y/n's heart ached at the statement. However old the boy in her arms was, he was being burdened by something far beyond his age.

Before she could ask anything else, she was tapped on the shoulder by Angel, who signaled for her to follow out of the club. She put one of Pablo's arms around her neck and began shuffling through the crowd. Once they left the club, Pablo quickly separated from her to throw up on the side of the street. "At least he waited until he was off of you to do that," a male voice echoed from behind her. y/n turned around to see Angelika clinging to a tall brunet. "Thank you so much for carrying her out. I think I can take it from here." y/n said, trying to get Angelika to remove herself from the nice man. "It's ok, I can walk her to your car. It might be easier than you carrying her." y/n smiled apologetically, and turned around to the sound of Pablo continuing to wretch his guts out. She ran over to make sure he wasn't puking blood and didn't need medical attention. "Come on Pablo let's go." Angel said from the curb. "No no, don't rush him. Let him get it all out before he gets into my car. Otherwise he'll have to start taking the city bus to matches." y/n looked up at the new voice. He walked up and stood by Angel, glancing at his phone before looking up at his friend and the girl making sure he didn't die. "Thanks for looking after him. I hope he wasn't too bad, he's a tag aggressive." y/n stood there speechless. The man thanking her for taking care of his drunk friend was none other than Pedri Gonzalez, one of the young stars of F.C. Barca. He was an absolute magician with the ball, and quickly becoming a favorite in y/n's household. She wanted to let out a scream: jump up and down and tell him that she was a huge fan and ask for a picture. But she had her presentation tomorrow. The last thing she needed was to make a bad impression on the player by causing a scene. So she took a deep breath and insisted that it was no problem.

Pablo had finished puking out his guts by that point and stood up straight, gripping his head from the dizziness. "Alright hermano, time to go." Pedri said, turning his back to y/n, Angelika, and the main carrying her. "Wait." Pablo said rummaging through his pocket. He pulled out his wallet, and clumsily pulled a card from it. He turned to y/n and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her close to him. There were shouts from his friends to stop whatever he was doing, but nothing was registering in his liquor-filled brain. "y/n think's I'm a little kid, so I just wanted to show her my ID." y/n shifted her gaze from his deep eyes to the card in his hand. She didn't look at the age. She didn't have to. Her eyes landed on the name: Pablo Martín Páez Gavira. One of the best young football players in the world had just used her as a banister. "Now that you know I'm not a kid, next time, you should let me buy you a drink." Pablo said, pushing a strand of hair from y/n's face before walking (wobbling) back to his friends.

y/n could not process everything going on in her head at that moment. She turned around and faced the man holding a half-asleep Angelika. "You don't play for Barca do you?" She asked, half joking and half fearful. "No. I play for Real Sociedad. I'm Martin." "Zubimendi??" "Yeah." This was too much. y/n, 7 hours before the most important presentation of her life, was surrounded by so much football royalty it made her dizzy. Martin looked like he was going to say something else, but y/n put her finger to her lips and shushed him. "Please, not another word. Just bring her to the car."

They walked silently to y/n's tiny car, Martin helping to carefully place Angelika in the back seat. "So are you the guy she was with while ignoring my calls?" "Oh no, that was my teammate Ander. He was also kind of out of it so I offered to help her out." "Why is everyone getting drunk out of their minds on a random Tuesday in August?" y/n said in frustration, causing a laugh to erupt from Martin. "It's the last week before training for the new season starts. Not a lot of opportunities to black out after this. People like to take advantage." y/n thanked Martin and got into the driver's seat. He stopped her before she drove off. "Do you think I could maybe get your number? Just to make sure you get home safe?" y/n rolled her eyes at the lame excuse for a pick-up tactic, but surrendered her phone number anyway. She drove back to her apartment with her head reeling, as she tried to rehearse her speech in her head instead of thinking of the events of the night.

The next day, y/n looked perfect. She had work her best school-approved scrubs and coat. and slicked her hair back to make her look more professional. She was in her business attire Nikes. Her note cards were neatly written and organized. She sat in the lecture hall waiting to be called on. The students would be presenting in random order. As all the student filled in to present, the tension was palpable. Everyone side-eyed each other, trying to intimidate the "competition". The door swung open and in walked the professor, as well as Dr. Gonzalez. He stood at the front podium, stern as ever, and began to speak.

"Good morning students. Thank you all for the effort you have put into the presentations you will share today. We look forward to all you assessments and insights. As the new season quickly approaches, we want the new assistant to become acclimated to the workplace quickly. Therefore, the decision about the position will be made today following the presentation." The entire room stopped breathing. "In order to do so efficiently, please welcome our other guests and evaluators, Mr. Xavi Hernandez and Mr. Ousmane Dembélé." The pair walked in, and the room engaged in the most "I wish I was dead" sounding clapping known to man. y/n started sweating profusely. If she had known that Xavi and Dembélé were going to be watching her presentation, she would have made Angelika take the Uber. Hell, she would have made her ride a Donkey back home and gotten a full night's sleep.

Dr. Gonzalez drew names for the order, and because y/n has the worst luck, she was presenting last. She did what she does best: panicked immediately. She tried to think of ways to present the information differently than the 6 students before her had. As she listened to the presentations, the more nervous she got. None of the other students had treatment plans remotely similar to hers. Antonio, one of the smartest in their batch and the presenter right before her, even suggested he get surgery.

It was time. y/n stood up at the front of the room and pulled out her slides. "Good morning everyone. Today I will be presenting my comprehensive treatment plan for player Ousmane Dembélé's right hamstring." She got through the whole thing without stuttering or having her knees give out. As she finished her last slide, she let out a sigh of relief. The hard part was over. She asked if their were questions and Xavi's hand went up. "So Miss y/n, the treatment plan presented is very similar to the one we have currently implemented, with a couple changes in training and every day life. What is the anticipated recovery time for this treatment?" Everyone else in the class had said 8-12 months. But no - of course y/n had to be differently. "6 weeks sir." "6 weeks? No one else has given a suggestion that would take less than half a year." "Yes sir, however, if you take into account the availability of daily therapy, cryotherapy, and the current play style and strain distribution, he can be on the field in 6 weeks. He might not be comfortable playing all 90 minutes each game, but that's not the same as being completely out for injury." Xavi nodded and said nothing more. That was the end of the questioning.

It took them 8 minutes exactly to decide who go the job. Dr. Gonzalez, Xavi, and Dembélé came back into the room, thanking everyone again for their hard work. "We are please to announce," Xavi started, "that we will be offering the assistant physiotherapist position for the 2022/2023 season to," he turned to Dembélé, who finished the thought, "Miss y/n y/l/n." All the men in the room turned to face y/n at once as she struggled to breathe from the shock. "We look forward to having you this season."

And that's how it happened. y/n was now the assistant physiotherapist for the first team at F.C. Barcelona during the day, and entertainment for the absolute worst men in Spain in the evenings. She left her disappointing first date with a headache and leftovers, and drove home listening to her "Maybe Love is a Social Construct" playlist. As she walked into her apartment, her phone chimed with a text notification. She let her hair down and grabbed her phone, preparing to update Angelika about the latest in the tragedy that was her love life. Instead, she had two separate text notifications.

[Unknown number]: Hey, is this still y/n's number?

[Gavi]: I need to see you urgently. Tomorrow morning 6:30 am. I'll be waiting outside your office.

To be continued...

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If you got this far, thanks for reading! I have had this idea for a long time and have been writing snippets of it down. I will continue to update whenever I can, as this really is a passion project for me (so it's ok if no one reads it).

GIF credit to @gavidaily

Huge thanks to the following for heavily inspiring me to start writing this on the internet: @missgavi @kyiiansmbappe @julianalvarez9 @milawritesstuff @leeamorgan (there are a couple others I'm forgetting)