#manon fluff

their skin was darker and their eyes were brown, they had the same silver locks and the same temperament. manon, anyway, had been born different from the rest of her family, different from what most considered normal. 

she had the beauty of a maiden, with the strength and virility of a warrior, she was, indeed, a god among others, and you had the luck to be promised to her when you reached fifteen years old. 

manon was seventeen at that time, but according to rumors, she already had a few little bastards of hers running through the halls and valleys of king’s landing. the maidens and the whores in the whole flea bottom would be delighted to birth a child lucky enough to have such blood running through its veins. just as all the others did. 

or that was just what the singers liked to chant about, between the small folk, never in front of her, never in front of royalty, they knew better than that, they liked their heads better on their necks, not on a spike.

still, according to the infamous singers, manon cared about the bastards she had left barefoot and crying in the dark alleys of king’s landing as much as she cared about their mothers — very little. 

but she cared about you. she cared so much. 

her beautiful young princess, wide lilac eyes so carefully looking for her in every crowd, not because you wanted to find her, but because it was natural, once you knew she was meant to be your spouse, you had a natural pull to her, you never stayed alone with your cousin for long, you never talked to her for too long even though encouraged by your father, but yes, the sound of her laughter from across the chamber warmed your heart in a way, and the teasing of your older brother, aemon, over your stupid infatuation for the lady always made you push him playfully. 

aemon was a boy too, a year older than you and still so immature, he had the same features as the rest of your family, lilac wide eyes, soft silver hair, but not the strong grip of your father, as the king reminded him so many times, one day aemon would be the king, and he would have to grow up and be the man and king the kingdom expected from him, for you, however, he would always be your stupid older brother, way too soft and sweet, way too kind and sensitive and for that, you were grateful. 

grateful as well for never having to become his wife, you loved aemon way too much to have him see you as a baby machine. 

“the velaryon will treat you well enough, sister.” aemon said to you in a cold morning, grabbing a piece of bread from the long table. “if not, she’ll meet the fire of the dragon.” 

“you sound silly, she has a dragon too, stupid.” you chuckled at him. 

but you knew aemon was serious and you loved him for it.

sadly, the fraternal nature of your love was seen by your father as a sign that the tradition must be followed, and that your brother deserved to be your husband. aemon tried to argue, but the king’s decision was final. a place on the small council was given to manon as an apology for breaking the promise of marriage, even though manon cared little about politics, at least as long as it didn’t affect her lifestyle, her brothels, her finest silks for the most beautiful gowns, and the good, rich wine from the southern lands, she barely went to the small council’s meetings by her father’s side, preferring to stay in driftmark most of the time.

or that was what you thought, anyway.

you were given to aemon in a beautiful ceremony, a celebration that lasted two days and that felt like your very funeral. aemon wasn’t much happier than yourself, he held your hand like a brother, he kissed your forehead like a brother and when the blade of the sword cut your palm open to share with him your blood, his eyes were dark with revolt. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. his heart belonged to another, and you belonged as his sister. if you were to be his wife, he should have known from the beginning. not that it would change anything, aemon was different from other men, still, he preferred to see it that way.

manon watched from afar among the crowd; when your eyes locked on hers, she gave you a gentle, sad smile.

when the night came and you entered your now shared chambers with him, aemon didn’t look at you twice, he couldn’t touch you, his wife, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. therefore you were his sister; therefore he loved another. on the very same night, manon took the smallest way through the dark alleys of king’s landing to her lover. her lover, perhaps; her friend, for sure. sophia was a woman of many talents who was brought from the free lands many years ago. a local merchant found her and gave her home and food in exchange for her work. her work, however, manon found so extremely satisfying and valuable that she kept her just for herself; for a good coin every month, the man kept sophia safe and sound in his house of pleasures but couldn’t sell her off like the others. she was special and belonged to the valyrian girl.

sophia’s skin was lighter than manon’s and she had no other name, nor other information; manon never knew her age or her true name, but she knew every centimeter of her soft body as much as she knew the palm of her own hand. the night was long; sophia had all her tricks and ways, but manon’s mind was far away, in the castle, with her pretty princess who had become a queen, with the one woman supposed to be hers and hers only, now laid in another’s arms, being maculated by another’s touch. how could she find peace in a whore when she could have a princess?

“what disturbs you, my love?” sophia’s voice always had a sultry edge with a thick accent; even after hours of sex, she still carried such elegance that made manon want to ruin her again. but the velaryon just rolled her eyes, naked and sweaty, and sat down by the window with a glass in hand, sipping the bitter liquid as if it were water. sophia’s steps were quiet and slow, like a cat.

“i could do better than this.” manon answered, she didn’t look at sophia when the girl sat down on her lap.

“better than me?”

“that, too…” manon wasn’t unusual to lies, but she hardly ever hid the truth from her sophia, just as she cared little for her feelings. “but i mean about my marriage; i was to wed a princess, now i have nothing. my father doesn’t know to whom i’m to be wedded.” she sipped the wine one more time, acknowledging the woman on her, passing an arm over sophia’s slim waist.

sophia’s pretty, dark eyes were full of something quite similar to understanding; even though sophia could never understand what burdens an heir of a powerful house would have, she always tried her best to understand manon, or she just pretended very, very well. sophia’s skills were way more than just for the bed, and manon left the other day with a much easier mind and a smile on her face, along with a sore, exhausted body.

while you, in the keep, remained untouched by your husband, which you did not worry about, aemon would come to his senses and see that you were no longer his little sister, but his wife, for him to love, care for, and have heirs with. that was your purpose, as it was his. the targaryen name shall continue, your father said, more than a thousand times, and on his very deathbed, that’s what he told you last.

“it’s your duty, you don’t have many, you must honor this.” he said. he kissed your forehead with trembling lips and called you his favorite child before closing his eyes. aemon never got to be called that, yet, he was crowned king the very next week; you were his queen consort, his sister-wife, and the whole of king’s landing bent the knee before their new king and queen.

weeks passed, and aemon couldn’t bear to sleep in the same bed as you. one night, you went to his chambers, the ones where he sneaked after dinner, in secret, when the lords couldn’t see the king refusing to bed his wife and delaying the dynasty's continuation. your steps were quiet as you walked to his bed; you could smell the faint scent of alcohol from his mouth—he had been drinking again—but even then, his sleep was light as you sat down beside him on the bed.

he looked at you with slightly confused, drunk eyes. in an act of courage and desperation, you leaned down without another word. you kissed his lips.

it lasted a second before he pushed back, eyes blinking, hurt, he couldn’t, he looked in your eyes and you knew it.

“they’re starting to ask, aemon.” your voice was a plea, barely a breath, but aemon heard you just fine, his face became merciful. “they’re wondering why i’m not with child yet.”

you watched aemon let his head fall on the pillow, he sighed, the scent of wine making you flinch slightly but when he finished pondering and leaned over to kiss your lips again, you let him. his lips were soft, yet unwanted, the kiss slow, just a brush of lips, your hand found his chest and he touched your face, for a minute, it seemed like it could work, perhaps, just perhaps, you were making your way towards your destiny, your purpose, the very reason you were born to. continue your lineage.

but aemon broke the kiss. his eyes were hazy, disgusted with himself.

“i can’t.” he whispered.

you nodded. you understood.

your head then rests above his chest, and you fall asleep in a few minutes; aemon took an hour. it wasn’t supposed to be this way, none of it.

in a matter of days, he found some matters to attend to in the north of dorne, far, far away from you, from the throne, from everything that suffocated him, he left his hand in command and drowned himself in matters of the crown, perhaps in big jars of wine too, as you have heard from the gossiping court.

he left you alone.

alone to walk around the cold corridors of the red keep, listening to the whispers and being questioned about children that it seemed like you would never have, you had none of your kind, you become standoffish for most, a spoiled young queen who has been left alone in the solitude of your keep, the stories of the old nan didn’t entertain you any longer, the hollow demonstrations of talent from the court jester hardly made you laugh, the private dinners turned boring and the words “your grace” became your personal hell.

until the day she came.

manon came from driftmark in a small ship, enough just for a few servants and her natural crew, your cousin, usually in company of many friends and beautiful, shameless women, came alone, leaving the carriage after the small travel from the port to the keep, she bowed her head softly with her characteristic side smile.

“my queen.” she said. “i've come for a visit, i trust your grace could use some company while our king is away.” it sounded like an excuse for matters you could not understand at the moment, but manon was a beautiful, comforting face, she represented family, and that you needed. your father was dead, your brother was gone and you would hardly push away your own kind.

you didn’t question her reasons any further, only welcomed her in your keep, your table, and as the weeks went by, in your heart.

manon was easy, kind, she knew what cheeky comment to make, she knew how to make you laugh, and the memory of the life you could have been by her side was too fresh, too uncomplicated to have when she was there all of the time. once, during a walk in the gardens, when the sun was burning hot and she had her beautiful, long mane in pretty braids, questioning you if the weather was way too warm for your grace, you could no longer hold your tongue.

“y/n.” you corrected, her brown eyes widened slightly as she stopped walking. “i haven’t heard my name in many weeks; only my father called me by my name, then my bro- husband.” you missed the way she smiled when you almost mispronounced the words. “we are family, cousin; therefore, you shall call me by my name.”

“you honor me, your grace.” her voice was sweet as silk in your ears.

“i will have your tongue cut off if you call me that again, manon.” you chuckled; she wasn’t offended or scared; she laughed along with you. 

call the queen by her first name was an interesting type of intimacy, a type that perhaps only your husband should have, since it made your stomach feel like a thousand butterflies were floating around. she said it so casually, at dinner, asking if the duck was to your taste; in the morning, asking you if the gardens of the keep had grown overnight or if you just liked to see the same thing over and over; in the evenings, when you both went to have a fly on your dragons, moondancer and moonfyre dancing all across the sky, having the children of the servants crowding the courtyard with their heads turned upwards and their mouths open as they watched like a show; or perhaps at night, when she had only her nightgown covering her tanned body, her white hair loose on her shoulders as she read you a book by the fireplace. 

“you make it sound interesting," you commented, she looked up at you, sat there, thin silk covering your body, eyes on the burning fire, body relaxed on the chaise.  

“do you think it’s boring?” she asks, never judgemental.

“not many things have entertained me later, cousin.” you were honest. 

perhaps, being the queen really did get into your head, and you allowed yourself to speak your true mind from time to time… at least with manon. 

“you must miss the king. he will come back soon, i trust.” her words of comfort did little to ease the situation.

“my husband would rather be in a desert, circled by savages, than be with his wife.” 

“our young king is known for his kind heart, not yet for his wisdom," she said with a sweet voice, so casually offending her own king. “he will see reason soon.”

you looked at her, the comfort she provided, the soft strength in her words, the way she was nothing like the tales you heard, seducing women like trophies, careless, heartless, inconsequential… she was just free, unapologetic about it, beautiful, and sweet.

“see what?” 

“what a beautiful queen he has.” she finished.

after years since the blossom of your teenage years, you should no longer feel your cheeks blush at being called beautiful, yet you couldn’t help it as a small, shy smile emerged on your face. 

the silence was comfortable, even comforting; there was no need for further words and explications, which you found enjoyable enough. manon wasn’t like the others; she was your kin, your family, she called you by your name, and she knew you by your mind, not by a title. perhaps if you had wedded her, things would be better; perhaps you wouldn’t find yourself alone and waiting for something that it seems like would never come; perhaps she would make your days safe and filled with joy, your bed warm, and your house full with children to call your own… perhaps that’s all you kept thinking about on the last days.

“you ever wondered how it would be?” it slipped past your lips before you could stop yourself. “if you had wedded me instead of aemon. if I had never become queen...” the sentence sounded so foreign in your tongue, your voice just a whisper in the chamber, nothing but the sound of the burning fire echoing, like a confession you shouldn’t speak.

“everyday.” she said, shamelessly. you looked at her careful, yet peaceful, brown eyes staring back at you. 

“manon…”

“i think i could treat you so much better; you would want for nothing. i would be loyal, kind, loving.” her body leaned forward, just a bit, like a secret dripping from her lips, you were hypnotized by the soft, raspy sound of her whisper. “i would be very passionate, too.” 

you shouldn’t indulge this. no, you should stop those fantasies from taking root in your mind and your heart more than they already have… but her words clouded your judgment. how could you stop her when she looked at you with those big, mischievous dark eyes? when her curly locks fell so perfectly on her shoulders, when her instinct was to know your soul?

“passionate?” you breathed.

“yes.” she leaned closer, close enough for you to feel her breath on your cheek; she had chewed mint earlier, and it felt cool. “very much, your grace, you would want for nothing. absolutely nothing.”

it happened before you could tell. 

at some point, the promises of another life had mixed with this very reality, your desire to be seen by who you were, to be wanted and not rejected, and to be touched and not denied, manon looked at you like a jewel, not because of her personal interests, not because of the power you held, but just because of the small, fragile, and wavering made-up memory of what could’ve been. 

you kissed her.

she kissed you back.

not like aemon did, with trembling drunk lips and guilty eyes… she kissed you like you were her very oxygen; her tongue invaded your mouth, and her hands grabbed your waist. while you were shy and learning, she seemed like your teacher; she pushed you closer, and suddenly you were straddling her thighs, one of her hands ran up your back, undoing the ropes of your beautiful gown, not that you noticed, so focused on kissing her.

it felt so good to be wanted, desired, craved, even, to have your lower lip bitten and the very air being taken from your lungs. until manon pulled back, tilting her head back just out of your reach, you leaned forward, addicted already, craving more; she pulled back again, and you opened your eyes. 

“iksā gevie"—you're so beautiful. she breathed, a whisper in a language long forgotten in westeros, used only by your kind, a secret only both of you could share. “ñuha perzys…” my fire. 

you’re her fire… you were supposed to be. 

she gently guided you to stand up; you did, unsure, your gown was slightly mussed and your cheeks red, your eyes curious as she kneeled in front of you. 

“my queen.” she whispered, the sound of the fire crackling before you mixing with the sound of her ragged breath as she let her hands travel up your body, from your calf until your soft thighs, yanking the silk up your legs until your thighs were bare for her; your breath seemed to come in small pants now, your cheeks were flushed, your skin warm… a feast for manon. then you become tense for a second, too self-aware. you weren’t used to being seen like this, not by anyone but your maids who bathed you before bed and by morning, not by your husband, long forgotten by you at this moment, not by anyone but yourself, let alone be touched. 

“it’s just a kiss.” she whispered, hot breath fanning over the skin of your thigh, calming your nerves. “just a kiss, just a kiss…”

she leaned in closer; she gently guided one of your legs to her shoulder, still repeating the words like a mantra before her tongue found you, through the fabric still, just a small taste for her intense hunger.

your eyes closed immediately, a broken moan escaping through your lips… it was like you'd been waiting for this feeling for your whole life; you could feel the warm wetness of her tongue through the fabric, yet the friction against your sensitive clit had your excitement pouring from your pussy, your hand found her beautiful locks in a mane of white curls so beautifully falling down her shoulders, but you would make quick work to muss her beautiful hair as your hips started to roll over her face. unconsciously, you had no longer complete control of your body… she had.

her hands gripped your thighs harder, not before her fingers made quick work to push your panties to the side, and the second her tongue touched your pussy directly, your back arched. this was so wrong, let yourself be touched by another one than your husband, but not even the thought of the burning heat in the deepest part of the seven hells was enough to stop you now, not when her tongue explored you with a hunger fit for her reputation. 

slow, like a kiss, she let her tongue run freely through your folds; the soft pressure against your clit had your eyes almost rolling back, her name falling from your parted lips like a prayer, her nails scratched your burning skin, just a little harder when your fingers gripped tighter between her locks; you felt it when she groaned against you.

and then it was over; you whined as she pulled back, her adoring eyes looking at the mess she had made herself, you could feel the wetness dripping down your thighs at this moment, her own saliva and your own pleasure. 

“you… manon…” your voice came in a mere whine, a pathetic sound for her ears only, so lost in desire to be anything more than a pleading little thing. 

but she looked at you as if you were a goddess above her, finally standing on her feet again, chin still covered by your juices. she didn’t say a word; she didn’t ask for permission, she was sure and firm as she kissed your lips again, and you melted into her hands as if you were made to be in her arms. 

her fingers started to lose the ropes of your gown once more; they did quick work to bare you this time, and soon the fabric slipped down your body, revealing it to her. you could feel shy; you would feel shy with anyone, but manon looked at you like the very maiden made flesh, a blessing for her to witness and touch. 

“ao ñuha perzys as, zȳha daor.” you’re my fire, not his. 

she laid you down on the floor; the rug was soft and comfortable against your back, she treated your body as if made of glass, part of you wanted to tell her she could treat you like one of the girls she'd been with in those houses of pleasures during the hottest nights in king’s landing, how you'd had thought about this more times than you could count, how you’ve thought about being one of her girls… but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything when you felt her. 

she lay on top of you, between your thighs, still dressed, your warm bare skin against the silks of her body; she kissed your lips again as she started to yank her gown up her body… and then you felt it. its presence was enough for you to break the kiss and look down; she was all over you, you could no longer be too nervous or tense, not when all you could feel was her body against yours. her lips kissed your cheek as she guided herself to your center; her blunt tip brushed against your sensitive cunt. 

“you want me?” you heard her breathing against your face, your body called for her as if it were instinct, as it belonged to her since the very day you were promised to be her wife. 

“yes, please.” you barely recognized your own voice now, but it sounded like you, begging to be taken by her.

manon didn’t deny you; how could she ever deny her queen? she forced her tip inside, just enough for your untrained walls to accommodate the first inch; it was too much, like you were being filled beyond your limits, it burned and stretched, she was so thick, but she held you still as your body squirmed with a mind of its own, even if you still wanted her so much.

“it’s so good; you’re going to take me so well, my queen.” she pushed another inch inside, and you felt the pressure bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. it poured from them; your cheeks were now wet as more tears ran freely on your face, she stayed still; she held your trembling thigh open, she pulled back just enough to watch your face, contoured by the pain but taken by desire, the casting light of the fireplace reflecting on her face, her features looking ethereal, her tanned skin glistening with sweat. 

“just a little more… just a little more.” she whispered, eyes tender, you nodded, feeling the words die in your throat, replaced by a sweet moan as she pushed another thick inch inside. “ao ñuhoso as vēttan.” you’re only for me. 

she kept murmuring praises, sweet words under her own pleasured sounds as she forced herself inside, it was painful, but you wanted her so bad, before you could tell, she was thrusting, slowly, just a roll of hips, letting you get used to her sheer size, you could feel the weight of it inside you; it felt like she could break you in half if she went hard enough. luckily for you, she didn’t, after a few slow, controlled thrusts, you finally felt yourself starting to accommodate her; it wasn’t so painful anymore, the pressure became a strange, newfound pleasure, almost a tentative feeling. 

“so perfect.” she said, feeling your body relax under her; she couldn't hold back any longer, she put both hands beside your head and started to move her hips, she went deeper, faster, you whined out her name and gripped the fabric of her gown with such force that it turned your knuckles white. “so good, just a little more, my heart.” 

she wasn’t lying; she didn’t need to. you’ve been taking the pain like a good girl, and she knew you would keep taking it. a few more moves and she was all the way in; you didn’t even notice through the overwhelming sensation, she didn’t mind telling you; she just kept going, your body would surrender to the building rapture, she knew it, you could sense her technique when she hilted inside, your nails buried themselves into the flesh of her back, and she kissed your tears away. 

she brought a hand down to your throbbing clit, two fingers finding your point of pleasure, she started to rub it along her thrusts, her cock hitting a spot inside you that just made a switch flip.

she’s been trying hard to maintain her rhythm, maintain her thrusts controlled and still, careful with your virgin, untrained body; she wanted to give you pleasure, to make you hers—that was her goal—but when you started to actually move your hips up, moan carelessly, and nod with your head, lips swollen, eyes begging, thighs trembling… she lost it. it was too much; it was too good to be true. 

it was supposed to be like this every night since you came of age; she should be having you, not aemon, not her weak cousin who couldn’t handle a crown on top of his head, and neither a woman like you on his bed, she hammered her hips faster, now chasing her own bliss, looking into your glossy eyes. 

you were writhing underneath her, calling her name like a prayer, now even the pain felt like it was heaven, the burning stretch, the overwhelming way she filled you, hitting that spot you didn’t even know it existed, you never thought it could be that good, that incomparable. you’ve grown a princess, circled by delights, by luxury, by riches, and yet, not a single pleasure you’ve had in your life had come closer to what you were feeling. 

and then… something changed. 

“it’s too good… too good… i can’t – gods –” 

she pulled out. 

she was shaking now, trembling, groans leaving her mouth freely, you felt a thick, hot liquid painting your skin, your pussy, your inner thighs, and even a few jets over your tummy. you couldn’t care less.

“no– no– don’t stop… manon–” you cried out, your waist undulating under her, trying to find her, have her again inside you. 

“i came… i can’t– what–” she cut herself when she felt your hand, quick and clever, guiding her semi-hard cock back inside you, lowering your body to take her in again, it was even better; she was completely soaked in your juices, in her own cum, and you both moaned, she was still so sensitive, her head tilted back, and you wrapped both legs over her waist, giving her no other choice but to stay inside you. 

“don’t stop.” 

“my heart…” she whined, so sensitive.

“don’t disobey your queen," you said slowly.

she chuckled softly with her eyes closed, but she didn’t dare disobey, going back to her previous rhythm, eyes unfocused and glossy as she lost herself in the overwhelming pleasure, lowering down a hand to rub your clit again. 

“you want more, your grace?” she whispered between her harsh pants. “i will give it to you, everything.”

your eyes rolled back now; you listened to the wet sounds every time she hilted inside, you were drenching her cock in your pleasure, you looked at her, a few silver curly strands glued to her forehead, her still fabric-covered breasts jiggling as she pounded you, she was so beautiful, like the light of hope she has been in your boring life. 

“you want a child, don’t you?” her whisper was slow, low, like she was confessing a sin, a sin that you welcomed like your own, tightening your legs around her hips. 

“yes, my love, like it should have been, please.” 

this only made her go harder, mustering up enough energy to fuck you like her very life depended on it, tearing you apart from the inside. no more of her gentle, controlled thrusts; she filled you now like you were one of her girls, one of her whores at the brothels, like you were no queen, no royalty, no targaryen with pure blood and a dragon to ride, no, she defiled you, making your eyes tear up and whorish moans and sobs leave your mouth; you were finally one of her girls. 

then she passed both arms through your legs, yanking them up to her shoulders, you gasped loud; you were so open for her now, completely at her mercy, she hammered into you with such force and pressure; you were folded underneath her, and gods, it felt good, she was just as good as the singers had chanted about, and if that's how it felt to be her girl, then you would never want to stop; you would rather be that than the queen. 

“you want me to breed you? give you the child you’ve been needing? your grace wants me to give her a bastard?” 

the words were more than sinful; they were ungodly, a crime against decency, against the seven themselves, you should argue with her; you should stop this at once; you should kick her away and beg the gods for benevolence and forgiveness, hoping they would be gentle enough to even consider you worthy of pleading. instead, you nodded again. 

“yes, please, please, i beg you.” 

that was her undoing; she was way too sensitive, way too deep inside you, too gone, but not enough to leave you by yourself one more time, she started to rub your clit at the very same rhythm as her harsh, unforgiving thrusts, it was rough, dirty; you loved every second of it, every vein and ridge of her hard cock every time she hilted again inside you.

you felt an unfamiliar, building pleasure in your lower belly; it was like nothing you’ve felt before, you just knew you had to have more; you had to finish whatever this was. you clenched around her, and her nails buried themselves in your thighs. you came, and a long moan that your sworn sword at your door definitely could hear left your mouth, your back arching, your eyes crossing in your head, and your body shaking and shuddering as you felt it, and with a high-pitched moan, you gushed all over her pistoning cock, barely having any time to digest it before you feel her filling you up and unloading inside you, a few jets of cum that reach even deeper than her cock did, though you find it impossible to happen. 

your body is still trembling with aftershocks as she lets her body fall on top of yours, letting go of your legs so you can let them rest on each side of her still-trembling body. she kisses your cheeks, your chin, your neck… soft lips pressing against your skin as if soothing the heat of your body. her cock is still inside you, soft this time. when she pulls out, you both hiss at the same time. you know you will be aching for days to come, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to regret a single moment, a single touch, a single kiss. 

“ñuha perzys…” my fire. 

you could get used to this, to the sweet whispers in high valyrian, with the upcoming soreness of your entire body, with the usual feeling of guilt churning your insides, with the weight of the sin. if the sin meant that, you would always be destined to this gentle sin. 

manon fell asleep within seconds, too tired and overstimulated to even clean her mess, you stayed awake for a little longer, watching her beautiful, peaceful face. the face of the woman who should be yours before destiny—or your father—had decided you were unworthy of such delight.

perhaps you were now with her child, and once aemon came back, he would put your head on a spike and guarantee her a slow and painful death; perhaps he would punish just her, perhaps tomorrow, you both could take your dragons and fly away to beyond the seas; the free cities, essos, even the dothraki sea or the slave’s bay could sound good by manon’s side. 

but at the moment, before the sleep took over your senses and your eyes became heavy, you kissed the top of her head and murmured what now seemed like a prayer to the gods.

“manon, are you sure this is a good idea? they’re cameras everywhere today.” you didn’t bother letting concern pour out to manon. “anyone could see us and take a picture, or worse.”

manon continued driving, humming to the radio with no ounce of fear in her body. “what do you mean, ‘is this a good idea?’ i’m just taking you shopping baby.”

“yeah.. to the most known and busiest malls in the city..” you looked out of the window with a small pout of anxiousness.

“and?” manon’s eyes didn’t leave the road yet, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “i don’t see the problem, baby girl. i really don’t.” manon shrugged.

“manon you’re a global popstar…with the most craziest fans i’ve seen thus far.” you huffed, finally turned to look at her, once the car finally ran into a red light.

manon’s eyes finally met yours, “well, thankfully i’m crazier.. for you.” she started with a grin. “i don’t care who sees us, baby. you know this! i’m not hiding you from anyone.”

“i know, but-”

“no, no. i don’t want to hear any more of it. we’re going shopping, in the biggest and busiest mall, in front of everyone. let them see!”

you plopped back in the seat in defeat, knowing that whatever you had to say about the topic to manon was going in one ear and out the other. you knew this, no matter how many times you complained, manon’s decision never changed.

arriving to the mall, manon helped you out of the car. “m’lady.” she grinned, taking a playful bow, as her lips puckered and met your hand. “what store are we off to first?”

you tried removing your hand from manon’s grip, but oh, manon’s too quicker. her hand squeezed yours, “where you going, doll? not running away from me i hope.” she teased, bringing you closer.

“manon!” you whined, “we’re in public, you can’t do this!” your hands going to her chest. “oh, don’t fight it, princess. that’ll only make it worse.” her face crept closer to yours. “it’ll only make it worse.” she repeated, eyes flickering from your orbs to your glossed lips.

“don’t you-”

manon’s lips met yours, just a small and sweet kiss. nothing too serious, but enough to let you know she doesn’t give a damn about who’s watching her or if she’ll be over the headlines today.

“i’m sorry? you say something? i was too distracted..” kiss. “too busy..” another kiss. “showing my girl some love..” a final kiss.

“you’re insufferable.” you whined, hiding your face in her neck, shaking your head as your cheeks couldn’t help but to heat.

“insufferable for you, baby girl. now c’mon, we got some money to spend.”

the late october air bit at y/n’s cheeks, but it wasn't the cold that made her shiver. it was sophia. sophia, with her perfectly styled chestnut hair and a smile that used to melt y/n’s heart but now just felt like a premonition of doom. she was everywhere. at y/n’s favourite coffee shop, "accidentally" running into her at the bookstore, even showing up at mutual friends’ gatherings with a mournful look that screamed, we were meant to be. it had been six months since the breakup, and sophia’s haunting presence was quickly evolving from a nuisance into a full-blown psychological operation.

y/n sighed, stirring her lukewarm latte. her friend, megan, across the small cafe table, watched with a familiar look of pity. “she’s going to make a collage of your face and put it in a shrine, y/n. you need to do something drastic.”

“what? change my identity? move to antarctica?” y/n grumbled, burying her face in her hands. “i’ve tried everything. ignoring her, being polite, giving her the cold shoulder. she just… interprets it as deeply repressed love.”

megan tapped her chin thoughtfully. “you need a distraction. a very public, very undeniable distraction.” her eyes lit up as if a cartoon lightbulb had just appeared above her head. “you need a girlfriend.”

y/n snorted. “thanks, i’m aware. but finding a real one amidst sophia’s emotional wreckage is proving somewhat difficult.”

“no, no, not a real one. a fake one,” megan corrected, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “someone utterly unobtainable, completely out of sophia’s league. someone who would make sophia back off, purely out of sheer intimidation.”

y/n looked up, intrigued despite herself. “and who, pray tell, is this mythical creature?”

megan leaned in conspiratorially. “manon bannerman.”

y/n choked on her latte. manon bannerman. the manon bannerman who commanded attention in every room, whose sharp wit was legendary, whose reputation for being utterly unflappable preceded her. manon, with her striking features, her perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and eyes that could dissect your soul. manon, who y/n knew vaguely through university circles, always a few steps ahead, always radiating an aura of untouchable confidence.

“manon bannerman? are you insane? she barely knows i exist past a cursory nod in the hallway,” y/n whispered, aghast. “she’d laugh in my face.”

“she might,” megan conceded, “but she also loves a challenge. and she’s incredibly loyal to her friends, even if you’re just a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend. and, let’s be real, she probably finds sophia just as annoying as everyone else. it’s perfect.”

the idea, crazy as it was, started to worm its way into y/n’s desperate brain. it was a long shot, a ridiculously dangerous one, but what did she have to lose? sophia was already driving her insane.

the next day, y/n found herself waiting nervously outside the library for manon. when manon arrived, a stack of books tucked easily under one arm, she looked utterly composed, as always. her dark hair, usually loose, was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, highlighting her sharp jawline. she raised an eyebrow at y/n’s visible anxiety.

“y/n. megan mentioned you wanted to talk. i assume it’s not about overdue library books, because you strike me as a rule-follower.”

y/n managed a weak smile. “no. no, it’s… bigger than that.” she took a deep breath, plunging in. “i need your help. with sophia. she won’t leave me alone, and i’m going a little crazy. megan, um, she suggested… well, she suggested that maybe you could… pretend to be my girlfriend.”

manon’s expression didn't change immediately. she simply blinked, her gaze steady, unreadable. y/n braced herself for the inevitable rejection, the amused smirk, the polite but firm refusal. instead, a slow, predatory grin spread across manon’s face. it wasn’t unkind, but it was certainly intimidating.

“sophia, you say?” manon asked, a hint of something unholy in her tone. “the sophia who cornered me in the student union last month to 'warn' me about your supposed commitment issues, despite us never having spoken more than three words to each other?”

y/n’s jaw dropped. “she did what?”

“oh, darling, she did,” manon confirmed, her grin widening. “she clearly overestimates her own charm and underestimates my tolerance for nonsense. very well, y/n. i’m in. consider sophia dealt with.”

y/n stared, relief washing over her in a dizzying wave. “you… you’re serious?”

“deadly,” manon said, pushing off the wall. “but on one condition: we make it utterly convincing. no halfway measures. we’re madly in love, got it? hand in hand, lingering glances, maybe even a public kiss or two. are you up for it?”

the thought of actually kissing manon, even for show, sent a jolt through y/n that had nothing to do with sophia and everything to do with the unexpected heat that flared in her stomach. “i’m… up for it,” she managed, slightly breathless.

“good,” manon said, a knowing glint in her eyes. “let’s draw up a battle plan.”

their first public "date" was strategically planned for the bustling campus quad, known to be a hotspot for sophia’s daily patrols. y/n felt like an actor in a play she hadn’t rehearsed enough for, her palms sweating as manon approached, looking effortlessly cool in a tailored trench coat.

“deep breaths, y/n,” manon murmured, taking y/n’s hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. her fingers were long and surprisingly warm. “remember, we’re smitten. tell me about your day, anything, just keep talking.”

y/n babbled about a frustrating philosophy lecture, trying to meet manon’s gaze and hold it for the prescribed amount of time, feeling an unfamiliar flush creep up her neck. manon listened, head tilted, a soft, indulgent smile playing on her lips. it was a perfect performance. when sophia finally appeared, looking startled to see y/n so… engaged, manon squeezed y/n’s hand, then draped an arm possessively around her waist.

“hello, sophia,” manon said smoothly, her voice a low purr. her eyes, usually sharp, seemed almost… soft as she looked at y/n, who nearly swallowed her tongue. “fancy seeing you here.”

sophia floundered, her practiced mournful expression cracking. “y/n, who is this?”

manon chuckled, a rich, genuine sound that sent shivers down y/n’s spine. “oh, we skipped that part, didn’t we, darling? sophia, this is y/n, my girlfriend.” she punctuated the statement with a soft, lingering kiss to y/n’s temple.

the touch, light as it was, ignited a spark. y/n’s breath hitched. it felt… nice. too nice for a fake kiss. she stole a glance at sophia, whose face had gone from startled to utterly bewildered, then to a shade of sickly green.

“girlfriend?” sophia repeated weakly.

“yes, girlfriend,” manon affirmed, her lips brushing y/n’s ear as she spoke, sending another jolt through her. “we’ve been seeing each other for a little while now. quite intensely, actually.” she winked at y/n, a private joke that made y/n’s stomach flutter.

sophia mumbled something about being late for a class and scurried away, a defeated wilt in her usually confident posture.

y/n let out a shaky laugh. “it worked! she actually left!”

manon’s arm lingered around y/n’s waist for a moment longer than necessary. “i told you. a challenge. and sophia, bless her deluded heart, is easily intimidated by actual confidence.” she finally pulled away, though her fingers brushed y/n’s as she did. “but this is just the beginning, y/n. she won’t give up that easily.”

over the next few weeks, their fake dating escalated. they held hands constantly, manon’s thumb often stroking the back of y/n’s, a small detail that became surprisingly comforting. they had coffee dates where they would discuss their ‘relationship backstory’ in hushed, intimate tones, manon’s knee occasionally brushing y/n’s under the table. they exchanged coded glances and inside jokes that, at first, were part of the act but slowly started to feel genuinely shared.

y/n found herself looking forward to their “dates” with an eagerness that had nothing to do with sophia. she discovered that manon, beneath her intimidating exterior, was fiercely intelligent, possessed a dry, witty humor, and had an unexpected soft spot for stray cats. she noticed how manon’s eyes crinkled at the corners when she genuinely laughed, how her focus was absolute when y/n spoke, making y/n feel truly heard.

one evening, they were at a mutual friend’s party – a prime sophia hunting ground. manon was leaning against y/n, her head on y/n’s shoulder, lazily swirling a drink. sophia, after several failed attempts to corner y/n, had resorted to trying to subtly flirt with manon, clearly attempting to drive a wedge.

“manon,” sophia purred, leaning closer, her hand reaching out as if to touch manon’s arm. “you know, you seem like the type who enjoys adventure. maybe we could grab a drink sometime, just us?”

manon slowly lifted her head, her gaze flicking from sophia’s hopeful face to y/n’s. y/n felt a sharp, unexpected pang in her chest. her grip tightened on manon’s hand, almost unconsciously. it was just part of the act, she reminded herself. but the thought of manon actually saying yes, even just for a friendly drink without y/n, made her stomach clench.

manon, sensing y/n’s sudden tension, simply smiled, a cool, polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “that’s very kind of you, sophia. but i already have all the adventure i need right here,” she said, turning her head slightly to press a soft kiss to y/n’s temple. “besides, y/n gets jealous.”

the words were playful, but there was an underlying current of something else – possessiveness, perhaps? y/n’s heart hammered, both at the implication and at the quiet thrill of hearing it. she knew it was a performance, but the warmth spreading through her veins felt undeniably real. sophia, defeated once more, retreated.

after the party, walking home, the autumn air crisp around them, y/n couldn’t shake the feeling. “i’m not… i’m not actually terribly jealous, you know,” y/n said, her voice small. she felt a need to clarify, to remind them both this was fake.

manon stopped, turning to face her. the streetlights cast long shadows, making her features seem even sharper. “aren’t you?” she asked, her voice softer than y/n had ever heard it, almost a whisper. her eyes searched y/n’s, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

y/n looked away, suddenly shy. “it’s… it’s pretend, manon.”

“is it?” manon stepped closer, so close y/n could feel the heat radiating from her. manon’s hand reached out, lightly cupping y/n’s cheek. her thumb brushed gently beneath y/n’s eye. “because when she was talking to me, i watched your face. and you looked very much like you were about to start a territorial dispute.”

y/n’s breath hitched. the touch was feather-light, yet it set her entire body alight. she swallowed, trying to find her voice. “i… i just don’t want the whole charade to fall apart, that’s all.” it was a weak excuse, even to her own ears.

manon’s gaze was intense. “y/n,” she said, her voice a low murmur, “i think this charade stopped being just about sophia a while ago for both of us.”

the air thrummed with unspoken words, with the sudden, terrifying weight of acknowledgment. y/n’s gaze flickered to manon’s lips, so close, so tempting. the urge to lean in, to close the minuscule gap between them, was overwhelming. but fear, cold and sharp, held her back. what if she was wrong? what if manon was just a brilliant actress, playing her part perfectly, even now?

manon seemed to read her hesitation. her hand slowly dropped from y/n’s face, taking the warmth with it. she cleared her throat, stepping back. “right. well. it’s late. i should head home.” her voice was back to its usual composed tone, a wall slipping back into place.

“right,” y/n echoed, feeling a profound sense of loss, even though nothing had truly happened. “goodnight, manon.”

“goodnight, y/n.”

they parted ways, leaving y/n with a heart that felt both painfully full and achingly empty. the confusion was a tangible thing, swirling inside her. was it pride? was it just the thrill of the chase? or was it something real, something deeper than a convenient solution to a sophia problem?

the fake dating continued, but now, a new, fragile layer of awareness had settled between them. every touch, every lingering glance, every casual compliment was scrutinized, dissected by y/n’s overthinking mind. was that real? did her hand just hold mine a little tighter?

sophia, blessedly, was starting to fade. her appearances became less frequent, her attempts at sabotage less enthusiastic. she was finally conceding defeat. the primary purpose of their charade was nearing its end.

one afternoon, manon intercepted y/n outside a lecture hall. “sophia just posted an instagram story,” manon said, holding out her phone. it was a picture of sophia with a new person, captioned, finally moving on to someone who truly appreciates me.

y/n stared at the screen, a surprising mix of relief and… something else. an unexpected pang of nostalgia, perhaps, for the relationship that had been. but mostly, pure, unadulterated relief. “she’s… she’s actually moving on.”

manon nodded, her expression unreadable. “it seems so. our work here is done, agent y/n.”

the words, meant to be liberating, felt like a punch to the gut. our work here is done. the contract was fulfilled. the fake dating could stop. the touches, the glances, the shared laughter – they could all cease. y/n suddenly realized with a sickening lurch that she didn’t want them to.

she looked at manon, whose face was carefully neutral. was manon relieved? free? or was she feeling this same hollow ache?

“so,” y/n started, her voice sounding unnaturally high. “i guess… this is it then?”

manon met her gaze, and for the first time in weeks, her eyes were no longer guarded. they held a vulnerability y/n hadn’t seen before, a mirror of y/n’s own burgeoning fear. “i suppose it is,” manon said, her voice soft, almost regretful. she ran a hand through her hair, a rare sign of nerves. “we… we did a good job, y/n.”

“we did,” y/n agreed, suddenly desperate to keep the conversation going, to find an excuse to prolong this connection. “you were… you were really convincing. the best fake girlfriend a person could ask for.”

manon’s lips quirked into a small, sad smile. “you too. you sold the ‘madly in love’ part perfectly.” she paused, then took a step closer, her gaze intense. “too perfectly, perhaps.”

y/n’s breath hitched again. this was it. the moment of truth. “what do you mean?” she whispered, though she knew exactly what she meant.

manon reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the line of y/n’s jaw, a repeat of that night on the street, but this time, there was no hesitation, no pulling back. her thumb brushed y/n’s lower lip. “i mean… i think i fell in love with you.”

the admission hung in the air, a delicate, terrifying confession. y/n felt tears prick her eyes, not of sadness, but of overwhelming relief and a sudden, fierce joy. this wasn’t just her. this was real.

“i think,” y/n managed, tilting her head into manon’s touch, “i think i fell too. maybe even before the fake dating started.”

manon’s eyes widened slightly, a beautiful, vulnerable warmth flooding them. her hand slid from y/n’s jaw to cup the back of her neck, pulling her gently closer. “then maybe,” manon whispered, her voice husky, “we don’t have to stop just because sophia’s gone.”

and then, finally, their lips met. it wasn't a fake kiss to deter an ex. it wasn’t a casual peck on the temple. it was slow, tender, tentative at first, then deepened with a sudden, unleashed passion that had been building between them for weeks. it tasted of relief and unspoken desires, of confusion finally settling into clarity, of a slow burn igniting into a roaring flame.

when they finally broke apart, breathless, manon rested her forehead against y/n’s. a soft smile graced her lips, a genuine, unguarded smile that made y/n’s heart ache in the most wonderful way.

“so,” manon murmured, her eyes still closed, “does this mean you’re my real girlfriend now, y/n?”

“Baby, as much as I love standing in the snow, it’s freezing and I don’t want you catching a cold,” you called out, eyeing Manon as she threw a snowball at Daniela. You watched the ball explode into white powder across the Latina’s chest, the girl’s mouth flying open in shock while your girlfriend erupted into giggles.

“Just five more minutes!” Manon called back. You looked next to you at Sophia with an exasperated look in your eyes. Your leader simply shrugged in response, smiling when she saw Yoonchae and Megan put the finishing touches on their snowman. 

With surgical precision, the Korean placed two small pebbles on the front of the figure, marking the snowman’s eyes. Megan cheered with her as they took a selfie in front of it, bringing a smile to your face as well before your eyes locked in on Manon’s face again. 

“She’s gonna get sick,” you murmured, rubbing your gloved hands together in an attempt to drive some warmth into your fingers. 

Sophia hummed, her eyes drifting over to Manon. “She might… but she deserves to unwind after tour. We all do.”

You sighed and looked up at the darkening sky, watching the flakes slowly drift down towards you. “Yeah,” you breathed out, the puffs of air visible in front of your face. “And how is that unwinding going for you, Ms Leader?”

The Filipina rolled her eyes at your nickname. “I’m getting there,” she said. “It’ll be easier once I’m back home. Like I love LA and I love being here with you guys but I miss it sometimes.” You hummed, giving her a soft smile. Sophia smiled back appreciatively, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Thank you for checking.”

“Any time,” you whispered. “You know I’ll always be here to check in on you, right? We all will be. Just because you’re the leader, doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to rest in front of us.”

“Don’t make me cry today, Y/N,” Sophia whined.

You laughed at her response before a flurry of movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention.

“Oh my god, Lara!” Manon screamed as the girl stuck snow down the back of her jacket. “What the fuck!” You grimaced as you watched Manon struggle against the melting snow running down her spine.

“And that is my cue,” you muttered walking over. Your arm wrapped around her waist as you used your other hand to brush the snow off her torso. “Five minutes is up,” you whispered, pulling her closer to you. Manon pouted up at you, her pout turning into a scowl the second Lara mentioned something about being whipped.

“Is that your way of complaining that you’re single?” Manon shot back, cuddling closer into your side. You watched Lara roll her eyes, the Indian girl turning away to direct her attacks at Daniela instead. Daniela immediately ran in the other direction, almost tripping over Megan’s crouched form as she did her best to sprint in the snow.

“Come on,” you murmured in Manon’s ear, pulling her attention away from the pair. “Manon, please, I don’t want you getting sick,” you added when her feet remained rooted in place.

“Fine,” she muttered, letting you pull her back towards your car where you immediately turned the heater on full blast. 

You turned on the ignition and watched Manon relax into her seat before driving the short distance back to your shared apartment. The streets of Los Angeles faded into each other, some light music from yours and Manon’s shared playlist drifting through the space between you as you drove. The air was calm but you could see Manon shifting slightly in her seat. “You okay, baby?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“Yeah of course,” she replied quickly, but you could hear the slight shiver in her voice and the shudder in her shoulders.

“Manon,” you said, your tone low with a warning. “You gotta be honest with me.”

“I’m just cold,” she said, waving you off. You shot her a glance, causing her to backtrack. “My shirt is wet.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see her struggling like the shirt was clinging to her skin.

“Take off your jacket.”

“I’m wearing a seatbelt!”

You huffed loudly as the car came up to a red light and you reached over the console to pull the zipper of her puffer jacket down. “Damn, Y/L/N, at least take me out to dinner first,” she drawled and even though you maintained a poker face, you couldn’t help the blush that was slowly creeping up your neck.

“I did that a year ago,” you deadpanned, pulling the jacket off each of her shoulders, threading it through the seatbelt and chucking it in the backseat, just in time for the light to turn green.

Manon sighed in relief. “Can I take the shirt off too?” she asked. Again, you shot her a glance. “What? I got a new tattoo, you know.” She raised an eyebrow at you, mischief clear in her eyes.

“When did you have time to do that on tour?” you asked as you continued to drive. “Why haven’t I seen it before?” You thought back to your shared moments on tour, recalling the point where she would stop letting your hand drift under her shirt or hoodie and instead guided your touch to stay above the fabric

“You wanna see it now?” she responded, already pulling up the hem of her shirt.

Your eyes flicked down to her hip where you can see the ink intricately marking her body. The tattoo caught your gaze a second longer than you would have liked but you focused back on the road in front of you. Your hands tightened slightly on the wheel, your jaw clenched, and your eyes darkened. “Are you trying to make me crash?”

“You like?” she asked, leaning closer to you so that her mouth was practically next to your ear.

“Shirt comes off as soon as we get home,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way her perfume invaded your senses, the scent wrapping around you with anything but pure intentions.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replied, a wide, satisfied smile growing on her face. 

You woke up the next morning to a furnace shivering on top of you, immediately setting off alarm bells in your mind. “Manon?” you whispered as you tried to shake the girl awake. “Manon, baby, wake up.” She groaned as she buried her face further into your neck, the heat from her face immediately lighting up your skin. “Manon, wake up for me, baby.”

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbled, gripping your waist tightly. 

In any other circumstance, you would find the sight of clutching to you like a koala endearing. You would hold her closer and tease her and she would push you away dramatically before nuzzling her face in your chest again. But this wasn’t that. Your girlfriend was shivering in your arms and she wasn’t cuddling closer to you because she wanted to have a slow morning, she was clutching your form because her body was seeking the comfort she didn’t consciously know she needed. 

“You have to,” you whispered as you carefully moved her body to the side so you could sit up.

She peeked her eyes open but squeezed them shut again almost immediately. “‘s too bright.”

“The curtains are closed,” you murmured as you glanced back at the windows, resting the back of your hand against her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I know I’m hot,” she replied before she twisted her neck to face away from you, eyes still closed.

“And now you're delirious,” you muttered, shaking your head. 

“You don’t think I’m hot?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken as she peered back at you.

“I think you’re very hot, my love,” you said, reaching out to brush her cheek with your thumb. “I also think you’re very sick.” You kept one hand on her at all times, almost like she would disappear if you dared to leave her alone for a second.

“‘m not,” she grumbled, her lips turning into a pout. “You don’t get to say that I’m sick when I’m not.”

You frowned at her. It wasn’t that Manon had never gotten sick in the time that you had known her. No. She was probably the most prone to sickness person you had ever met in your life. The problem was that you usually had someone to back you up. Sophia whose leader voice would immediately force Manon back into her bed without a second thought. Daniela whose sweet voice could coax her into eating soup within a heartbeat. You had always struggled a little more with getting your girlfriend to relax, both before and after you started dating, but with the other girls supporting you, everything felt more doable. Now though, with Manon in front of you, shivering and burning up and with no back up in sight, you felt more helpless than you had in years. You couldn’t even convince your own girlfriend to let you help her.

You sighed and stood up from the bed, adjusting the blankets so that Manon was at least half covered before you left the room and moved into the kitchen. If she wasn’t going to accept she was sick, you would have to find another way to take care of her. You raised the blinds around the living space, bathing the area in a soft morning light that was almost enough to lessen the worries in your mind about Manon. You were distracted as you moved through your morning routine, the coffee tasting more bitter than usual on your tongue, your toast a little more dry.

You fixed Manon something simple that would go easy on the throat she was too stubborn to admit was sore. You took your time preparing a bowl of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon before you moved on to cutting up an orange. The movement of the knife slicing through the fruit and the dull thump of the blade of the blade against the chopping board created the rhythm you needed to centre yourself. 

Quietly, you moved back into the bedroom, holding the bowl of oatmeal in one hand and the plate of oranges in the other. You set both dishes down on Manon’s bedside table and crouched down next to the bed until you were eye level with her face.

“Hey baby,” you murmured, reaching out to brush your thumb over her cheekbone again.

“I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice muffled by the blanket she had pulled up to her chin.

“I’m not going to argue with you on this,” you whispered back as you rested your hand on her cheek. “I made you some food, do you think you’re up for eating?”

She nodded and slowly pushed herself into a seated position, weakly pushing you away when you tried to help. You let your hands drop to your sides and watched her get comfortable, feeling every bit as useless as she had rendered you to be. Before you could offer her the bowl, she picked it up off the nightstand herself, leaving you crouched on the floor next to the bed.

“You made it with cinnamon?” she asked, looking at you.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Just the way you like it.”

She smiled slightly. You let the room settle into a more comfortable sense of calm, sitting next to the bed as you watched your girlfriend stomach some food. Even if she wasn’t letting you in, even if she wouldn’t admit that she was sick, it gave you some relief to see her eating.

“Thank you,” she whispered, setting the bowl down.

“I cut you some oranges too,” you said softly, leaning the side of your head against the bed. “Vitamin C.”

“Can I have them later?” she asked.

You nodded. “Of course.” Carefully, you reached out to clasp her hand in yours, squeezing gently. “Manon?”

“This is humiliating,” she muttered instead of replying.

“It’s not–” you started.

“It is,” she groaned. “I’m a global fucking star stuck in my bed a week before Christmas.”

“Manon,” you said gently.

“What?”

“There’s nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love,” you whispered, bringing her hand up to your lips so you could kiss her knuckles. 

“I don’t deserve this,” she sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world and more,” you said, smiling up at her like you had assured yourself that you were going to be the one to give it to her.

“I’m sick, Y/N,” she said, her voice dejected.

“I know,” you replied. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m not super sick though,” she said and you almost face palmed right in front of her. “Can I go outside?” she asked, shocking you even further.

“You need to rest, baby,” you told her, gripping her hand like it would stop her from leaving.

“Just for a minute, please, I need some air,” she said, looking at you with those doe eyes that had you caving in seconds.

“Just for a minute,” you conceded, shaking your head like you already knew it was a bad idea.

Manon did not stay outside for just a minute like she had said. You had bundled her up in a shirt which was underneath a sweater which was underneath a jacket, topped off with a beanie, scarf, and gloves. She ended up wandering down the street while you were cleaning up in the kitchen. Once you realised that she had strayed further than she should have, you locked the door, knowing that she had left her key with you. 

“Y/N!” you heard her call as she knocked on the door. “Baby, unlock the door, I know you’re home!”

You chuckled to yourself a bit as you walked over to the door. “And why should I do that?” you called back. “You’re the one who wanted to stay outside.”

“Because it’s cold,” she insisted. You did feel bad for her and you almost caved until you heard her grumble. “Just say you hate me.”

“Sorry, I know you’re sick but your Swiss ass is gonna have to get used to the cold,” you said. “Gotta build up the immune system, baby. Don’t worry, I believe in you!”

You giggled when you heard her groan as she slumped against the door. Your smile quickly faded when you heard her dial someone, Sophia’s voice cracking through the phone speaker.

“What’s going on, Manz?” she asked.

“Hey Sophia, Y/N is bullying me,” Manon whined.

Your mouth dropped open. Not only had she called Sophia but making false accusations…

“How exactly?” the leader asked.

“I’m helping her immune system and forcing her to touch grass!” you said loudly.

“Very necessary, continue,” she stated before hanging up the phone.

“No wait!” Manon shrieked.

You shook your head, laughing as you unlocked the door and opened it. Manon, who had clearly been leaning against it, promptly stumbled straight into your arms. “So what have we learned today?” you asked, smiling down at her.

“That you and Sophia are meanies,” she grumbled, standing straighter but not quite moving out of your grip.

You made a sound like an incorrect buzzer. “Try again.”

“Rest when sick, don’t push limits,” she sighed, collapsing against you again.

You held her up with ease and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “You gonna rest with me now then, princess?” you murmured. She nodded against your chest as you closed the door that was still open behind her. “Alright, let’s go.” You pulled off her beanie, gloves, scarf, and jacket before the two of you slowly shuffled over to the couch where you let Manon rest on the cushions. 

Before you could step away, she tugged lightly on the sleeve of your hoodie. “Don’t leave me,” she said, her voice so impossibly quiet and soft that it almost broke your heart.

“I’m not leaving you, baby, I promise,” you assured her, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I’m just getting you some things.”

“Be quick?” she asked.

You smiled down at her. “Of course.”

True to your word, you were back in a few minutes having grabbed the orange slices from earlier, a hot cup of peppermint tea, and a couple of fluffy blankets. You kept Manon tucked into your side as she nibbled on the oranges and sipped the tea. Her fever had broken early on, something you were both incredibly thankful for. “Thank you,” she murmured as she leaned down to rest her head in your lap. Your hand instinctively came up to bury your fingers in her loose curls, running them through her hair. “Don’t stop,” she mumbled tiredly. 

You hummed quietly, the sound reverberating in your chest like a question.

“Your fingers in my hair,” she continued. “Feels really nice.” 

You smiled and continued running your fingers through her hair while your other hand came to rest on her arm, absentmindedly drawing patterns on her skin. “You can rest,” you told her.

“It’s only midday,” she said, but her argument was weak when her eyelids were already drooping.

“And I’m telling you that you can rest,” you said with a soft smile as you looked down at her.

“You’re not mad at me?” she asked, looking up at you with vulnerability in the brown eyes you had fallen in love with.

“No, baby,” you whispered. “Never.”

That reassurance was seemingly all it took for her to accept your comfort, accept your offer of a place where she could rest. She sunk further into you, one hand moving to rest on your knee. “I love you,” she murmured. “So fucking much, Y/N.”

“I love you too, princess,” you said, smiling as you watched her eyelids flutter shut. “No matter what, I’ll always be here for you.”

“Promise?” she asked.

“On everything I hold dear,” you whispered back. “Let me hold you close and kiss it better.”

“I like that plan.”

relationships these days — yikes.

you hate your last relationships, the way they linger longer than they should and rewrite how you move through things now. you catch yourself bracing for disappointment, expecting silence where there shouldn’t be any. you aren’t bitter about love, just exhausted by the versions of it that taught you to doubt yourself.

until you meet manon.

shes a girl in your psych class who’s the definition of a gentlewoman. she’s kind, thoughtful, holds doors for you, knows her manners — and she asked you out!

before the first date, you stand there longer than usual, fixing nothing and everything at once. your mind drifts to old endings, but you push them aside. you take a breath, unsure but hopeful, and decide to show up as you are anyway.

it was just a random wednesday night.

nothing special.

but it still got you thinking about what your ex would think right now.

he always hated the shoes your wearing. the ones with the little black bow that looked like they stepped out of a paris magazine.

he hated heels in general.

but heels are for walking, so you walked into the cafe.

you expected her to be late, or stand you up, but manon was right there.

she’s dressed in a casual sporty outfit, a black jersey-style top over a white collared shirt, with small hoop earrings.

she waves at you with a huge smile.

you smile back, and start to walk.

before you can even reach the table, she’s up and pulling out a chair for you.

“thank you,” you said with a smile as you sit down.

“you’re welcome,” she said as she sat down, “you look gorgeous.”

“thank you, you do too!”

as you guys talked, it felt strange in the best way. the way you laughed without holding back, like the world hadn’t taught you to be careful yet — for the first time in a while. for months you had convinced yourself that love only ever ends in damage, that it fades or burns out and leaves you picking up the mess alone, but sitting there in the middle of an ordinary day, everything shifted.

nothing dramatic happened, no grand moment, just a simple conversation and the feeling that maybe starting over doesn’t have to be loud or painful. maybe it can happen softly, in small moments, when you least expect it, and maybe that’s how hope sneaks back in.

hope you you.

hope for you and manon.

“so, i heard you’re crazy about music?” manon said, “tell me about it.”

“what, music?” you said surprised she asked.

“yeah, music.”

“music is the feeling of something finally understanding you without needing words, like a hand on your back when you don’t know what to say,” you said with a smile, “helped me a lot when me and my ex broke up — it’s just always been there.”

“i love that,” she said with an honest expression, “you have records?”

“how do you know all of this,” you asked her with your eyebrow raised, “you stalking me, bannerman?”

“i asked your friend dani,” she said with a shrug, “she said you liked music.”

“dani?”

“mhm.”

“the girl who hates everyone?”

“but you, suprisingly.” manon said with a laugh.

“fair, fair.” you said laughing too.

the rest of the night you spend laughing. not just polite giggles, but full on throwing-your-head-back type of laughs. you found it strange that she found you so funny, while your ex never did. and instead of thinking about the last eight months, and how love only ends,

you sat there.

on that wednesday.

in a cafe.

and you watched it begin again.

manon payed and started walking down the block with you, and your mind started to slip back to the times you walked with him.

but manon noticed — like she always does.

“every christmas me and my family watch three wishes for cinderella like a damn cult.”

“what?” you said bursting out in laughter.

“we all huddle up with blankets and watch it at 8:00pm that night. no earlier, no later,” she said with a smile, “i didn’t make it home for christmas this year, which sucked, but they weren’t mad that i missed christmas.”

“wait- why not?”

“because they were too busy being mad that i missed three wishes for cinderella!” she said with a laugh. “so now i’m on strike, and i refuse to watch that damn movie.”

you guys both stopped in the middle of the side walk for a split second, before bursting out in laughter.

you guys stand on the cold sidewalk, breath puffing white in the air. manon almost slips, which makes you both laugh harder. the sound is sharp and warm against the quiet street, echoing between bare trees and parked cars. their laughter lingers as they walk on, boots crunching softly, as you finally make it to your car.

manon opens the car door for you, and you get in.

“thank you so much, for today.” you said was you started up your car.

“don’t thank me. i had so much fun,” she said with a smile, “so.. can we do this again?”

“i’d love that, bannerman.”

you close your car door and drive off, and you can’t help but get that warm feeling in your stomach.

because something sparked, and grew.

new beginnings.

and you didn’t think about your ex on the way home, or when you got home, or that night when you were laying in bed.