#as someone who struggles with expressions and tone and being understood

[endearng]

Brave

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: You're left all alone, but now you can think of some you want to share your solitude — and food — with. WC: 5.9k (I am so sorry) Warnings: brief mentions of Penelope's parents arch, grief and depression. A/N: Hello! I struggled so much trying to find time to finish this one. Let me know what you guys think! Feedbacks are highly appreciated! neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

Honestly, hearing your name leaving someone's lip usually made Spencer eager to know what was going on, if it involved you — of course, he knew that you shared it with many people, after all, there are 8 billion people existing at the same time, so he could definitely come up with statistics regarding how many of them shared names with you. Furthermore, he worked with humans, dealing constantly with their data, names included, so yours could definitely be pronounced by someone close to him.

He just didn't expect to hear a chant. Something about you and him sitting in a tree as Penelope approached him in the bullpen kitchenette.

"What was that?" He asked, eyes wide, once he heard Penelope's voice. She snickered.

She repeated the chant.

"Garcia!" His voice came out in a squeak, frantically looking around. "Shut up!" It wasn't in his nature to be so rude, but he was desperate for her to be quiet, especially because someone could hear her.

Emily, apparently coming from thin air, creeped up on them. "Spencer and who?"

"G—ah! Nobody!" He jumped from where he was standing, not expecting someone else to join them anytime soon, almost spilling his coffee.

"I caught our boygenius with a friend." Penelope announced, proud of her discovery.

"What?" Emily asked, shocked.

Once Penelope noticed that she revealed something she certainly should not have and she saw the look on his face, she slapped her hand over her mouth, wide eyes looking at Spencer in an apologizing manner. She was just so excited to finally see Spencer in that scenario that she basically ignored his wishes to keep it — whatever it was — a secret. "Thanks a lot, Garcia," he deadpanned.

"What? What friend?" Emily pressed, a smile on her lips. Not teasing, surprised, perhaps, but she didn't have any traces of mockery in her expression or tone. She looked... proud?

Penelope had started feeling bad for running her mouth too easily, but once she saw Spencer's lips turn upwards in a small grin, she gushed, "Yes!!! I went over to her house to give her daughter's gift, I am her godmother, after all... So I was knocking on her door—”

"More like banging." He interrupted.

"And from my spot, I see our boygenius not so subtly trying to disguise something. Do not look at me like that," she squinted her eyes and pointed her finger at him threateningly when he opened his mouth to speak. "You were stuttering and basically left her all by herself because you got too embarrassed."

"Oh, no, Reid..." Emily couldn't help her remark, pursing her lips.

"What? What did I do?"

Truth was, Spencer was replaying the interaction in his head the entire time after Penelope had left. He had stood there, at the sidewalk, dumbfounded and mortified by her remarks in your presence, not really knowing if he should go back to your apartment. He was definitely enjoying getting to know you, but it just felt wrong to go back and act as if nothing had happened because he had just gotten awfully weird. The man had struggled with himself, his thoughts conflicting between going back to yours or keeping to himself in his apartment. He decided on the latter, not willing to put himself through more embarrassment.

What if you didn't like him like that and you thought he was a creep now? What if you just saw him as a friend?

Worse, as a neighbor?

"You should've stayed. I know you probably got nervous, but what if she got the wrong idea once you dashed out the door when you were seen with her?" Emily inquired, but Penelope, despite not being a profiler, understood right away that she was onto something.

Her eyes glimmered.

Spencer's stomach dropped. "Oh, no..." he whispered softly. "I have to go."

And he basically fled the room.

The women exchanged playful glances.

"I knew it!" Penelope stated. She turned her head in the direction he ran to. "For a profiler, for a genius, he sometimes is so dumb."

"And just like that," Emily snapped her fingers, "IQ of 187 slashed down to 60." she snickered. Reaching for the coffee pot and pouring some of the liquid into her mug, she remarked, "There is definitely something," Emily laughed. "Do you think we should help him?"

"Don't worry," she winked at her friend, "I've got a few ideas."

Later that day, you got a call from Garcia. You were in your car, taking deep breaths and willing yourself not to cry out of frustration. The work shift had finished, officially, nearly an hour ago, but your boss held you back to discuss some projects that you were involved in. You had to call your dad to ask him kindly to pick up your daughter at school — you didn't see it coming, so you called him after about an hour of Olivia waiting by herself at school.

The unexpected meeting made you incredibly late and it turned your mood sour, because you always loved the car rides with Olivia after you picked her up, not to mention that she probably thought you had forgotten about her. Never. You had just started the engine when you heard your phone ring. You put her on speaker as you drove to your parents to pick up your daughter, who was now there. "Hi, Pen!" You greeted.

Despite the disaster, a smile crept up on your face when you remembered the last interaction you had with her. With Spencer…

"Hi, sweetcheeks!" She said back. You could hear the faint sounds of computers and keys being pressed in the background. "How are you?"

"I'm good, I guess. I had a surprise meeting so I couldn't get Olivia," you replied, eyes on the road ahead of you. "How are you, Pen?"

"Oooh, I'm sorry that happened. I know you're probably berating yourself for it, but it's okay, it wasn't your fault." She tried to lighten up.

"Yeah..." You muttered, a certain tightness in your chest you couldn't keep at bay.

"She'll understand. You are doing a fantastic job showing her the real world." Penelope comforted you. You blinked away emotional tears, grateful that the roads were calm and you weren't a reckless driver. You couldn't really speak, so she continued, "Actually, she is the main reason I called you." She revealed, making you chuckle wetly. "I really miss Olivia and I'm truly sorry I missed her birthday. I haven't been the best godmother in the world..."

"Don't worry about it." You dismissed it. "I always tell her you're a tech fairy who does magic with computers to save people. A real life hero," you chuckled. "She understands it." You whispered. Trying to keep that feeling in. Not sure if you were speaking to her or to yourself.

"I know, but, still..." She retorted softly.

Penelope frequently complimented you and Olivia. You tried your best to raise her to be a good, kind and smart person. Unbeknownst to Penelope, her comments made you remind you of right after you were left all alone with your daughter. The tech analyst didn't hear a word from you for days, but once she visited you and saw the place without a single trace of Olivia's dad, she understood it all. You kept silent, still trying to adapt to a world where you were lonely again. Despite the odds and unwillingness to open up to her, you kept talking to your daughter, even if she didn't truly understand it all. From her early years, you made sure to provide her everything she needed to speak like she does now.

Your own personal chatterbox.

A titter broke through you, "I sure hope so." You replied, rubbing your eyes at a red light. "I also hope you know I'm driving and I can't cry right now," you joked.

"Ah, right! Sorry, baby!" She exclaimed clumsily, true Penelope style. "All of this to ask if I can spend some time with her on... on Friday! Yes!" She paused and then continued.

"Friday?" You asked, uncertain. "That's usually when we go out together."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry for taking it away from you, it's just that I..." second pause on her speech, "I wanna make it up for missing her birthday and I seriously hope that creepy guys give me a break so that I can spend some time with our Oli girl." She finished.

Still uncertain and the tiniest bit jealous, you relented. "Okay, Pen. May I ask you where you are taking her?"

"Well... it's a surpr—we are going to an amusement park!" She paused and then squealed and you could hear clapping.

You snickered, joking along, "It's your funeral."

"I'll die a happy woman. That's all, sweetcheeks! Thank you so much! Gotta go. Prrr."

And just like that, she hung up on you. Little did you know, she and Emily Prentiss high-fived and made ridiculous noises to celebrate the execution of their mastermind plan taking shape.

Penelope Garcia, the singular rollercoaster of emotions that you are.

Back in the bullpen, Spencer focused on his reports — not that it was a difficult task, but he felt cornered by Emily's outlook from earlier. Had he done the wrong thing? If he did, could he fix it? He wasn't the most experienced man in the world when it came to dating and women in general. He was on the brink of insanity, nearly going up to Hotch for advice. He ruled out Morgan immediately because he knew he couldn't get tips from someone who would definitely tease him, in a manner that felt lowkey demeaning.

Spencer had a lot of insecurities, and being socially awkward in his mid-twenties was one of them. Next to Morgan, he felt like a fourteen-year-old who didn't even know how to properly say hi to people. He needed some words from someone who understood him.

But who did?

Wrapping up one of his reports, his phone beeped.

Come to my lair. Treats are on the table :)

Penelope

Cautiously approaching the door, like there was a bomb inside, Spencer opened the door to Penelope's office. "Okay, so I know you were upset and maybe you still are a little because I spilled your... um... moment to Emily but I wanted to say sorry and ask you to please not be mad at me. I was just excited for you and I knew Emily would be, too." She blabbered once he closed the door behind him.

His ears turned pink and he tried playing it cool by reaching for one of the cookies that were in a bowl. "It's okay, Garcia. I was upset for a moment, but I know you didn't mean it."

She smiled. "Glad to hear that! Thank you, Reid."

He leaned his body on the desk adjacent to her, crossing his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat. "So, um, how do you know her?"

"We met in college. She had my back when my parents... you know."

A pause. He hated that he, sometimes, lacked the sensitivity to approach people and that, despite being brightly intelligent, often missed possible outcomes for more personal conversations.

"I'm... I'm sorry I asked. I know it can be a delicate topic." He offered her a sympathetic smile, even though he was berating himself on the inside.

"It's okay. Thank you." Garcia smiled. "She always checked on me, made sure I was eating properly, that I wasn't... harming myself... She even went over to my dorm to tidy everything when I was too depressed to get out of bed." She took a deep breath. "I swear, Spencer. She was there. And we had just met." She finished, softly.

If Spencer admired the person you were before, now he was almost tongue tied, not having the wits to come up with a comment of his own. It truly shocked him, because, one: his experience with college kids had been totally different, of course, but two: what kind of person goes out of their way, even when dealing with their personal burdens, to help someone they just met?

Garcia searched his face. A small smile on her lips starkly contrasted with her crestfallen eyes. "Shortly after her graduation, she got married and, later, pregnant with Olivia. I was still around, on and off. I joined the FBI and had less and less time to hang out, but I always had and always will have a soft spot for her. She was there for me."

He couldn't help but want to know more. He knows it should be better to learn about you from you, but, right now, he was handed an opportunity he couldn't deprive himself from grasping, "Wow. That's-That's a lot of history." He said, in a low voice, a little hesitant.

"Yes. And you will know much, much more." Penelope said, confident tone lacing her words.

"Why do I sense you're onto something?" He inquired, brows furrowing with worry.

"Because I am." She winked at him.

Oh, no.

"What?"

"Trust me on this one, loverboy." She snickered.

Penelope Garcia, the mess you'll make.

Friday rolled around with promises of a certain blonde bringing your daughter home by 9p.m. The feeling almost made you feel like a possessive mother who didn't let their kids have boyfriends. Or girlfriends. You were fine with it, by the way. Either. You just weren't currently fine with the idea of spending time away from her.

You reluctantly let Olivia go. Penelope stood behind her in your living room. You were crouching down to your daughter's height.

"Mommy, I'll be back before you know it," she said. Just like you did when she was first getting adapted to going to school. You scrunched your face, feeling like the most loved person in the whole universe.

You were.

"I'll bring you cotton candy." She promised, raising her pinky in front of you. You crossed your own with hers.

"Now you're just bribing me." You leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Is it working?" Penelope chirped in, an easy smile on her face.

You giggled, looking up at her for a moment. "Maybe..."

"Mommy loves you, okay?" You said. "I promise I can take you somewhere even cooler than aunt Garcia is taking you," you joked.

"Now you're just being mean," the woman frowned playfully.

"Yeah, mom! Don't be mean."

"I can't believe you're turning my own daughter against me. And she's scolding me. In my own house." You feigned offense. Garcia burst out in laughter with Olivia.

Two kids in your living room.

"Okay, mommy," she said, finally, giving you a kiss on each of your cheeks, just like you did with her. "Bye bye. Say bye bye to Aunt Penelope, too."

"Okay," you agreed. "Bye bye, Aunt Penelope." you teased. Olivia was already walking out, ahead of you two.

"Bye bye, mommy." Penelope joked as you walked her out. Olivia pressed the elevator button as you and Garcia stood in front of your apartment, side by side with you, watching your kid wait for the elevator. Then, she looked you up and down, a knowing look on her face.  "You're totally a hot mommy." She winked.

You didn't have an answer to that, the remark catching you off guard. Instead, you shoved her jokingly.

"Get outta here," you quipped, flustered, watching her as she entered the elevator with Olivia, holding her small hand.

You waved as the elevator doors closed. You sighed when they were out of your eyesight.

Coming back to your place, you looked around in hopes to find something to entertain yourself with. Truth was that without your daughter, you felt a little lost. Sometimes, you'd get lost in your own head, too sick with worry about losing yourself in order to be sufficient for Olivia. The remedy for those thoughts were usually doing something on your own for yourself. Tonight, you decided to cook something.

After a quick trip to the local supermarket and some embarrassment on the self-checkout cashier, you made it back to your home with everything needed to make pasta from scratch. Maybe you got a little excited by literally having your hands dirty and made enough pasta to feed the entire apartment complex. You cut them in different sizes and shapes and cursed your dad for a moment for having taught you your way around food.

Giving it a better thought, seeing your kitchen with pasta hanging to dry everywhere, maybe it was an opportunity. You turned the thought of feeding the families who surrounded you to simply feeding Spencer.

You smiled at yourself, pleased with the idea.

One, two, three eager knocks on Spencer's doors made him interrupt his Doctor Who's weekly (if no bad guys were forcing him to work) marathon. He looked through the peephole and found you, his neighbor, studying his door, probably to avoid looking directly into the hole, like it was an intricate work of art. A smile crept upon his face. He never thought he'd be so happy to be interrupted. Opening the door, he greeted, "Hi!"

A joyful "Hi!" was your answer.

You took a minute to look at him. He looked more relaxed, of course, but you came to the conclusion that he didn't own many casual clothes, because he was dressed in a dark blue Caltech sweatshirt and slacks. Funny matching, but it worked for you. Differently from what you usually saw him dressed in, he didn't appear so tired. He was glowing.

"Um, do you need anything?" He asked politely, scrunching his brows a little bit in concern as your silence became too long.

A sliver of doubt crossed through your features. "I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

"No, not at all." He lied.

He'd take your interruptions at any time.

"Oh, that's great. It's just... I miscalculated the amount of pasta that I was um... making." You struggled to find the words, a little mesmerized by the simple act of looking at him. "Do you want to, um, do you want to have some? With me? I've been told I'm good at cooking." You finally asked, with a little convincing on top.

Not that he needed any. You had him at hi. Spencer felt disarmed.

"Yes. I-I'd love to."

"Great!" You cheered. "Come on. You can help me cut them once they dry a little bit."

He followed you into your apartment. Today, the atmosphere felt a lot different. You had music playing softly and the highlight was in the kitchen, where strings of pasta hanged from basically everywhere. There was still a small piece of dough on the surface of your kitchen counter, which was surrounded by a big, sharp knife, a pasta maker machine and some other kitchen gadgets that, surprisingly, Spencer didn't know the name of.

"Wow. It's really a lot." He thought out loud.

"Yeah," you chuckled. "I usually make small amounts, but there's no problem in freezing them." You said, glancing briefly at your watch.

"Oh, okay." He replied meekly. "I'm not so sure if I can help, though. I'm not very good at cooking."

"No!" You feigned exaggerated surprise.

"Yes," he quipped, furrowing his brows playfully.

"But you have to work for it." You deadpanned, looking him dead in the eye. "I tricked you. I only called you here so you'd help me with it. If you don't, you won't get pasta."

He raised both hands, joining your banter. Easily. Despite, despite, despite. "No problem. I like learning."

You scrunch your face, giving him the most adorable grin. "Okay, doctor. So, this small ball here," you said, pointing at the dough and rolling up your sleeves, "needs to rest for a few minutes. It needs to dry a little bit to make cutting it easier. I'll tell you how to do it once you have an apron on."

"Oh, sorry, I don't have any at home. I don't really cook." He mentioned it again.

"I thought so." You grinned. "But don't worry about it. I have a collection. My dad's a chef and everything he gives me as a casual gift is related to cooking" you chuckled.

Okay, so the miscalculated amount was definitely an excuse to have him with you. His heart felt like giving out at any minute. You wanted him there. It was almost like you had it all planned out, and Spencer watched as you moved around your kitchen so confidently and calmly, very much unlike his mind that was running miles per second. Spencer usually had a hard time calming down, but this, this was something else. He was alone with you and he didn't even know how to say anything. Simultaneously proud and jealous of your easygoing chatter, he decided that it was better to follow your lead and try not to be awkward around you than doing anything else.

Slowly being pulled out of his self-conscious and overall sad thoughts, he busied himself with watching you, instead. He smiled to himself. Again, despite, despite, despite. You grabbed an apron from one of your drawers and Spencer watched you quietly. You moved so effortlessly that he felt inclined to just sit and watch you in your own scene. In that moment, you were not Olivia's mother, not a character from a novel he imagined, not a publisher, not Garcia's friend from college, just a woman doing something she enjoys doing. And he was delighted to be present to see it.

Moving back to where he stood, you stopped in front of him. You held it out in front of you, almost waiting for his permission to get closer. Spencer nodded eagerly and you smiled. You put the apron over his head and he raised his arms, almost automatically, so you could wrap yours around him to tie it in the back, bodies mere inches away from one another. He somehow had the courage to watch your face the entire time, but you bashfully avoided his gaze, choosing to concentrate on the task at hand. Once you finished, you looked up at him, though. To offer him a smile.

But what caught his attention was the fact that he finally knew, now, what the color of your eyes were. They seemed a lot different than when he first saw you. Different shades swirled around your pupils in such harmony that he decided that, from then on, he'd associate these colors with you and with you only. You aimed your gaze at him with something so distinguished he couldn't quite decipher what it was, suddenly and momentarily losing his profiling abilities. Spencer knew immediately that he could never shake that moment from his memory. Then, he also noticed that you had a smudge of flour on your cheek, but he didn't have the heart to tell you to clean it up, too stuck in the warmth of your gaze. He thought of it as a reminder of what you were doing, the moment you were sharing together.

He smiled back at you.

"Okay, I guess that's it, then," you announced, voice barely above a whisper, finally. He felt both relieved and deprived from the sweet torture you put him in. He wanted to be under your spell for longer, but he worried he would be too entranced and make a fool out of himself. "First, I'm gonna divide it in half. Oh, wait. What do you want to eat? I have shrimp, chicken and minced meat. But I can also try to do something vegetarian if you don't eat meat." You blabbered inconsistently, jumping from one topic to another, our eyebrows flying to your forehead in concern for a moment.

"It's okay," he soothed you, "I'll have anything." He added softly.

You happily nodded at him. "Alright. So I'm gonna be a good teacher and tell you to use the machine to open it first, but a cook must be skilled enough to know how to open and cut pasta without one of these gems," you said.

He grinned. Cooking classes were not in his weekend bingo, but here he was. Not wishing for anything else. "I'm glad you're walking me through it." He said. "I can hardly boil an egg."

"What? I couldn't tell." You said, faking earnestness, while opening a piece of dough with a roller. You had your eyes on it, rolling the dough on the counter to make sure you'd open it completely. He was mesmerized by your focused expression. Looking at your skilled hands. Watching.

"Really?" He asked, lighting up.

"Yeah, I could. Sorry." You said, snickering, folding the dough on itself to start cutting it. The result was thicker strings of pasta, like fettuccine. "You look like the kind of guy who only eats outside."

"I am." He confided, trying to mimic your previous actions. "Maybe you're the profiler."

"Nah, just a real observant neighbor." He laughed. "Hey, you're doing alright." You told him once you saw what he was doing. Your stare was on his hands. Oh. His deft hands, albeit not accustomed to the task, worked dexterously, flexing the veins on his forearm. You shook your head lightly as an attempt to get rid of the thoughts, glad he wasn't paying attention to you.

Being with you, he realized, was easy. He condemned himself for overthinking the advice Penelope had given him earlier about asking you out today, because she planned on taking Olivia out. He had decided not to under the excuse that a case might pop at any second, but the truth was he was too afraid to be rejected. 

"Okay, so you can open the dough, Doctor. Good job!" You teased as you watched him use the machine instead of the rolling pin like you did.

"I'm decent at it, yeah," he quipped.

Spencer Reid being able to take and to crack jokes about himself. He decided then that he liked jokes, he liked your banter, but because you weren't mean to him.

Something in him finally started to heal.

"Alright." You placed yourself beside him. He gulped at the closeness. "See how I'm doing with my hands." Was it appropriate to answer that he hadn't looked away not even for a second? "You wanna fold it over and over. Careful not to stick it, though, so be gentle. You can use a little flour to help you. Wanna give it a try?"

He only nodded and you helped him fold it. He wasn't as skillful as you were — hell, your movements seemed rehearsed from how much ease you had at doing them. He was a little slower, but he moved in an effective way. "Careful not to cut yourself, Spencer." You whispered to him, to which he hummed weakly.

"Is there a right way to hold the knife?" He asked, turning his head to look at you.

Your reply was to touch his right hand, the one holding the knife, and closed his fingers around its base. Grabbing his left hand, you curled his fingers on top of the dough, and, slowly, pushed the knife down to cut it. "See?" You pulled the cut dough, revealing a string.

He wondered hastily if he could have some more time with your hands on top of his. Your delicate hands, even dirty, beat every single texture he had felt on top of his. Spencer couldn't answer anything. "Okay! Now we can set them to dry."

"Where?" He asked, robotically. You grinned.

"We gotta find somewhere." You chuckled. "By the way, it's best if we keep them away from the others." You advised.

"Why is that?" He inquired, intrigued look on his face.

"I, um, made some with eggs, you know, the traditional one." You bit your lip. "I also made a recipe with no eggs in case you had any restrictions."

Usually, he'd be speechless, not used to being treated like this. Not being one people usually thought of so intentionally, so dearly, so full of carefully. He noticed, though, that as he spent time with you in your kitchen, every one of your actions peeled away some of his issues. Then, "Oh, wow." He said, a hint of a cocky expression dancing around his features. If you kept that attitude, he might even become greedy. He remembered about your so-called miscalculation for the second time.

You finished up the meal in an instant, too fast for Spencer's liking. He was observant, of course, and you made sure to tell him about what you were doing and why you were doing every step of the way, like he was a child acquiring language. He was a grown man learning how to be around you, studying your every movement and engraving it to his memory, trying harder than he ever did when learning English (or other languages). Those came to him naturally. You, on the other hand, were full of patterns he didn't quite know yet — not that he wasn't dying to.

"Okay. We're done." You said, softly, plating the meal on two white plates. "Do you want to sit with me on the balcony?"

"Yes."

"Be there in a second. Make yourself at home."

His face lit up. Joy and embarrassment fighting to control him.

As he left with the plates in hand, which was a little funny to you, you cleaned up the mess in the kitchen as much as you could. You glanced at Spencer, meticulously placing the plates on the table to help you out. You couldn't control the sigh that made its way out of you, out of the very depths of your being.

Sitting down with him after you both ate to your heart's content, he complimented you. "It's not very often that I get to eat this well." He chuckled. "And you're a good chef. You make things efficiently and neatly." He said, looking at you. You looked straight ahead, longingly, into the city.

You shrunk your shoulders, a little embarrassed. Was he flirting? His words were completely different from what you used to consider flirting. Too analytical, too technical. "Thanks!" You exclaimed, albeit meekly.

Silence.

Spencer was rummaging through his big brain for something to say. You were, sort of, deflating from basically carrying the interaction all night long. Letting too many thoughts consume you all at once. "I'm not really an interesting person, so I'm not sure what I should say," he chuckled, a little disappointed by having your attention somewhere else.

Your heart probably doubled in size.

You crossed your legs on the chair. "I think you are an interesting person," you said softly, looking at him. "And I think there's no shame in being silent. It's nice. I know you like it."

His heart was making somersaults in his chest.

"Yeah..." he chuckled. “But I’d like to talk to you.”

"Try me! Penny said you can do magic, good ice-breaker. It's so nice, but so baffling!" You gushed. "I can't even do the classic trick, that one that you're supposed to be pretending to pull your thumb off. Olivia says I'm not convincing enough." You laughed, shooking your head and squinting at him. "Can you believe that?"

"She's a very bright kid." He said, amused. "It must be hard tricking her."

"Yeah, it is."

"Where is she, by the way?"

"Penelope asked to take her out. Pasta time was supposed to be time spent with her. But I guess you're a good substitute."

Again, Penelope was onto something. That was when he knew for sure that his theory from earlier was correct.

"Can I tell you something?" He decided to be honest, instead.

"Is everything alright?" You ask, searching his face for something that told you if there was something wrong.

"Yes! Yes! Everything's fine." He blurted. "It's just that, earlier, Penelope was, ahem, encouraging me to ask you out on a... date. I kept thinking about it and maybe I actually overthinked everything and ended up making excuses not to ask you out.”

You were taken aback by his words. You blinked once, not expecting his words, those words, and failing at trying to slow the racing of your heart and at stopping the smile creeping up on your face. “It's… it's no problem. Don't worry.”

Spencer couldn't help but glance over, listening attentively to your reply. Your words struck a softer tone, a side of you that was filled with warmth and genuine affection — he was estranged to it, not being used to being so understood. It caught him off guard. He watched from his seat, his heart still aching from feeling scared, but filled with a new emotion he couldn't quite pinpoint yet. “Would you, um, would you say yes?”

“To what?” You faked coyness, but you knew he could see right through you. You weren’t a good actress.

He smirked, encouraged by your playful mannerisms. “If I asked you on a date.”

“Well, yes.”

Oh, so it was bravery. He felt it completely, now.

A deep breath from his end. “Would you like to go out with me?”

“There's nothing I would want more.” You replied, tone full of mischief, but your eyes held all the truth he needed to confirm that he was actually going to spend time with you in a more… romantic, perhaps private setting. “Does that count as a yes?”

Spencer was hyper-aware of himself and his reality. Therefore, used to his own little life and the trauma and suffering that came with it, he had grown accustomed to the thought that romance was far out of his reach—  stories only told by books and didn’t, couldn’t exist in real life, in his life; writers were just too idealistic. Thus, being used to those thoughts, but secretly refusing to take them as the sole truth of his life, romance came to him in the shape of silly scenarios to help him fall asleep. Now, he was suddenly changing his mind, relieved to see that it could be real.

He was immensely glad for your bravery. He wanted some of it. Needed, even.

“It's the prettiest yes someone has ever said to me.”

“Glad to hear that, Spencer.”

“I just feel a little embarrassed by not having the courage to ask you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, again, with an adoring look in your eyes, gazing at him, “we can share courage when things get too much.”

“Hey!” Olivia greeted once Spencer opened his door after her persistent, but gentle knocking. He looked around, but you were nowhere to be found. He crouched down to her height. “Here’s a sticker. Mommy said you were very brave last night.” She placed the adhesive on his vest, a star shaped sticker. “Here’s other sticker. Mommy also said you were helpful.” She said, adorning his vest once again.

Oh, my God, he thought, even her daughter knows.

He chuckled, not having it in himself to let the opportunity to joke go. “Oh, so we get rewards for good behavior?”

Olivia nodded. “Yes, we do. When I get five, mommy gets me something I want. Usually cookies.” She replied, sounding satisfied with herself.

“Thank you, Olivia. I'm gonna make sure to keep them so I'll know when it's time to ask for my gift.” He said, ruffling her hair playfully.

At the conference room, Aaron Hotchner couldn't help but frown at the sight of the extra accessories on one of his agents’ vest, almost interrupting his briefing in order to address the topic to quench his curiosity. “Reid, why do you have star stickers on?”

He shrugged, failing at disguising his happiness, the corners of his lips curving up. “These were a gift.”

He was brave.

[girllblogging777]

𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐷𝐿𝐸𝐷 𝐵𝑌 𝐴𝑁𝑋𝐼𝐸𝑇𝑌

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader with anxiety (drabble)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0,7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : your bf’s brother really seems to hate you, but thankfully mattheo is here to comfort you (tw : slight panick attack ?)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“riddle literally changed my life.” those words had always carried a special meaning for you, being related to mattheo, the boy who made you feel complete. ever since the two of you started dating, life seemed to be unfolding perfectly and the two of you were the happiest together.

you never imagined that those words would take on another signification. when mattheo’s older brother, tom, transferred to hogwarts, things became different. where mattheo was warm and understanding, tom was the opposite : cold, arrogant, and always looking for ways to make others feel small. mattheo hadn’t even mentioned his brother until tom showed up on the first day of sixth year, and you quickly understood why.

even though they were brothers, mattheo and tom couldn’t have been more different. while mattheo tried to shield you from the world, tom seemed determined to break down whatever walls you’d built. you’d always struggled with anxiety, but you’d learned to hide it behind a mask of confidence. it worked with most people, but your boyfriend saw right through it and unfortunately, so did his older sibling.

it started with little comments here and there , barely noticeable at first but enough to make your smile drop. tom seemed to enjoy aiming for your weaknesses, knowing exactly where to strike, obviously not fond of his brother being in love with someone. mattheo tried to keep him away from you and threatened him so that he’d stay away from you, but tom always found a way to make his presence known.

one morning in the great hall, you were sitting with mattheo and trying to focus on your breakfast while pretending you weren’t hyper aware of every person around you. it was one of those days where the anxiety felt more present than usual, making you fidget with the rings on your fingers and bouncing your knee under the table. you forced yourself to smile and act like everything was fine, but your boyfriend’s reassuring hand on your thigh was a proof that he saw right through you.

tom walked in, looking as sinister as usual. his dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on you and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he approached, looking . “morning, mattheo, morning…” he spoke roughly, pausing as if he’d forgotten your name on purpose. “you look… different today,” he said, his tone dripping with false politeness. “trying a new look, or just didn’t have time to put in the effort?”

the words hit you like a slap. feeling too anxious today, you hadn’t bothered paying as much attention to your hair and makeup as usual. still, you looked dashingly beautiful in the eyes of everyone here, except yours and well… tom’s. your mask of confidence cracked but you quickly forced a smile, trying to brush it off. “just felt like being casual,” you said with a steady voice but mattheo knew better.

he could see the way your hands were trembling slightly and how your eyes flickered with unease before you quickly looked away. mattheo’s expression darkened as he turned to his brother. “knock it off, tom,” he growled, his voice low and firm. “stay away from her, she doesn’t need your comments.”

tom raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the tension he’d caused. “just making conversation,” he said innocently, though the glint in his eyes told a different story. mattheo shifted closer to you and interlinked your fingers together under the table, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “ignore him,” he whispered, his voice gentle. “he’s just trying to get under your skin.”

you nodded, being grateful for his support but the anxiety still gnawed at you. “i’m fine,” you lied, trying to keep up the facade but he wasn’t fooled. “you don’t have to be,” he said quietly as he brushed over your knuckles gently with your thumb “not with me.”

his words broke through the wall you’d put up, and you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. “it’s just… hard, and your dickhead brother isn’t making it easier.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i know,” mattheo replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “he just hates to see me happy,” he admitted to you, “we weren’t raised to believe we could be loved, he doesn’t like the fact that i have you now.”

tom had moved on, losing interest when he didn’t get the reaction he wanted but mattheo stayed by your side grounding you in the moment. with him there, the anxiety slowly began to fade, replaced by the comfort his presence and love for you. you chuckled, “i’m glad i picked you… although why is he kinda… ”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : i decided to mix two different requests so i hope you like it ! please reblog/like/comment and leave other requests xx

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[majinael]

You’re not going anywhere.

Michael Kaiser and I met during the final years of my high school. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was captivated. I became his biggest supporter, his unwavering believer. In time, he fell for me too, even if it took him longer to realize it.

But as we grew together, doubts began to creep in. I found myself wondering if he saw a future with me. He never spoke about moving in, marriage, or anything remotely long-term. At first, I dismissed it, thinking it was normal for someone who struggled with emotions, especially romantic ones. But as time passed, I started confiding in my closest friends. Listening to them talk about their partners planning apartments and futures together, I couldn’t ignore the sharp sting of jealousy.

That night, I sat alone on the couch in his dimly lit room, wrestling with my thoughts. Should I bring it up? Or bury it like I always had?

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulled me from my reverie. Michael stepped out, fresh from the shower, a towel slung carelessly over his neck. He glanced at me, sensing the tension in the air immediately.

“You’re quiet,” he observed, slipping into a pair of shorts.

I sighed, avoiding his gaze.

He crouched in front of me, resting a hand on the edge of the couch to meet my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

I muttered a weak, “Nothing.”

He didn’t buy it.

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

I slid past him, standing up and putting distance between us.

“I feel like…” I hesitated, then took a steadying breath. “I feel like you’re not taking this relationship seriously anymore. We’ve been together for three years, Michael. Three. And yet, we haven’t moved in together, you never talk about the future. Is this… not what you want?”

The silence that followed was heavy, deafening.

“Do you even imagine a future with me? Or are you just waiting to.. leave?” I added, my voice cracking despite my attempt to stay composed.

He stepped closer, his hand gently landing on my shoulder, trying to turn me toward him in vain.

“It’s not that,” he rectfied “You know my career doesn’t allow me to think about that kind of stuff yet, princess.”

His words only fueled the fire burning inside me. I pushed his hand away, my fists clenching as anger and despair warred within me.

“Then I don’t want this,” I snapped, my voice sharp and unforgiving.

Michael’s eyes widened in shock, his usual composure slipping. Anger flickered across his face as he grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His piercing gaze locked onto mine, but I turned away, unable to hold it.

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, his voice carrying a faint tremor of pain beneath its intensity.

Tears threatened to spill as I bit my lip, cursing myself for letting frustration drive my words. I didn’t mean it. Not truly. But it was already out there, and I couldn’t take it back.

He pulled me closer by capturing my wrist in his hand. Lifting it to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss to the back of it.

“You’re not going anywhere, not because of this stupid fucking reason” he murmured, his tone firm , commanding.

I yanked my hand away, my movement harsh. For the first time, I saw uncertainty flicker in his expression, a rare crack in his confidence. He was losing control of the situation, and it was unfamiliar territory for him.

I understood his reasons. Deep down, I knew he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. My desires, my expectations, felt so far away, and the bitterness was suffocating.

In one swift motion, Michael cupped my face in his right hand, forcing me to look up at him. His touch tilted my balance, leaving me on my tiptoes as he leaned in.

“Stop being unreasonable,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “You’re smart enough to understand.”

I squirmed in his grasp, the position almost unbearable, a frustrated moan escaping my lips. His, curled into a grin -a maddening, knowing grin- before he closed the distance between us, capturing my lips in a searing kiss.

And just like that, my resistance crumbled. His kiss melted away every ounce of rebellion in me, leaving only the raw ache of love and longing.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against my lips, breaking the kiss only to claim them again.

My back met the wall as he deepened the kiss, his desperation palpable.

“You're not going anywhere.” he murmured, his lips brushing against my jaw, trailing down to my ear in soft, butterfly kisses.

“Tell me you’re not going anywhere.” His voice trembled, a faint whimper betraying his vulnerability.

I couldn’t fight him anymore. Wrapping my arms around him, I pressed myself against him, burying my face in his shoulder.

“I’m not,” I whispered, my voice shaky but resolute.

[chosaraki]

Being a pregnant wife.

————————————

You were in the room, arranging some papers that were scattered on the table, when you heard Gitae's familiar steps. He entered the room with his firm posture, but something in his gaze had changed. The expression on his face was less impassive and more... tired.

"You're standing again," he observed, the tone of his voice loaded with a concern you rarely saw. He knew that, despite your strength and determination, you needed rest. The pregnancy was at an advanced stage, and he somehow worried about his well-being, but he would never know how to express it in a conventional way.

You smiled softly at him, aware of the way he balanced the emotional distance with an almost discreet care. "I just wanted to end this," you answered calmly. "But I'm already going to rest."

Gitae approached and, with a strong hand, took your shoulders, gently forcing you to turn towards her. His touch, although possessive and firm, had a gentle and cautious touch. His dark eyes were fixed on you, and there was a visible internal fight on his face.

"You've been trying too hard," he said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I can't... I can't lose you or our son. I don't know what I would do without you."

The vulnerability he expressed was rare, a loophole he only showed when he was alone with you, away from the eyes of his subordinates or rivals. The power and control he always exercised over his life and others were momentarily suspended, and he seemed, for a moment, just a man who loved his wife and feared for the safety of his family.

You looked at him, feeling the seriousness of his words. Even if you knew that Gitae did not show his emotions easily, you understood the weight he carried. He was unbeatable for others, but with you, he allowed himself to be more human, more fragile.

"You're doing all this for us," you said, putting your hand on his that was still on your shoulder. "I know that, Gitae. But you also need rest. You don't need to carry the world on your back alone."

He was silent for a moment, as if pondering his words. Gitae's expression was no longer so rigid, and his eyes seemed deeper, as if they wanted to say more than he was able to verbalize.

Finally, he gently pulled you into a hug. The gesture was unexpected, but it was one of his ways of showing that, despite his hardness and his position, he also had a vulnerable place in his heart - a place reserved for you and for the future they were creating together.

His hug was not like the others you had already received from him. It was not controlled, nor authoritarian. It was a hug from someone who allowed himself to be weak, someone who, for the first time, felt the weight of responsibility for the life that was about to begin with his son.

"I just... don't want to lose you," he whispered against your hair, the pain in his voice something he rarely expressed.

You felt the sincerity in his words, and although you knew that he would continue to be the ruthless leader he always was, at that moment, Gitae Kim was just the man who loved his family and wanted to protect her at all costs.

You gently stroked your back, offering a comforting smile. "You won't lose me, Gitae. We're together in this, always."

The silence that followed was comfortable, with only the sound of the rain falling outside, and you knew that, despite the emotional storm that sometimes took over him, he would be by your side - your authoritarian "king" and your vulnerable man at the same time, struggling to balance everything, but willing to share with you the heaviest burdens.

—————————————————————————the tension between Gitae's power and vulnerability is more palpable. He remains the man of strength, but opens up in a way that he rarely does, revealing his fear of losing his family and his desire to share the burden with you. Interaction is a balance between affection and the weight of your responsibilities, and it is precisely this contrast that makes your relationship so intense and full of emotional layers.

—————————————————————————

[scribblue]

Like Father, Like Son [A Bitten!Lloyd Fic]

"He was trapped inside himself, forced to bear witness to the loss of his own identity."

Lloyd Garmadon's life, and the fate of Ninjago itself, is altered forever when he is bitten by the Great Devourer.

2,416 Words ☆ Angst, Canon Divergent AU, Lloyd Garmadon needs a hug ☆ Rated T, no major warnings

This is the first of several oneshots I have planned for this AU, detailing important milestones in Lloyd's post-bite life!! Read it below, or on AO3!

𓆩✧𓆪

In a single agonizing instant, Lloyd understood his father.

As the Great Devourer’s fangs pierced through his sleeve and infused its villainous venom into his veins, as he was shaken like a ragdoll and left to bleed on the desert floor, as the first wave of inner turmoil overtook him, he understood it all. Somewhere in his half-awake stupor and blackening heart he found it, a glimmer of empathy at the end of the tunnel. So, this was the reason for his father’s fall from grace. For his poor choices. For his lengthy absence. It was something Lloyd had long been aware of, at least as much as a young child could be, yet nothing could have prepared him for the reality of his experience. 

Pure, unfiltered hatred and vile thoughts clouded an already swirling mind. He felt his morals being corroded away as though he'd been injected with acid rather than venom, stripping him of all sense of self. It was a metamorphosis of the soul he was powerless to stop, and his body was the cocoon he couldn’t escape, forcing him to lay still in the sand no matter how hard he willed himself to move. He was trapped inside himself, forced to bear witness to the loss of his own identity. 

No. No, he had to fight. He had to. Lloyd couldn’t let the venom win. He was the green ninja. He had the choice to be good. He couldn’t let everyone down. He couldn’t let his father down. He had to do better.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear the cries of his friends, the crack of wood as the Great Devourer went back for seconds. The bounty would surely not survive another attack by the giant snake. Lloyd hoped…he hoped…

It was like grasping for a fleeting memory. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for, if anything; it felt so far away. His body was burning hot and wracked with chills at the same time. His vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Was the wetness on his face sweat or tears? 

Someone called out to him. He couldn’t tell who it was over rushing blood in his ears and the violent storm that raged inside him. When he tried to respond, all that came out was a mangled groan. A hand took him by the shoulder and gave him a shake, which he barely registered; in his loss of blood, consciousness, and identity, this body no longer felt like his own. And it put up no fight as his consciousness was finally claimed.

𓆩✧𓆪

You’re a monster now. 

“How is he doing?” 

Despite a soft tone, the broken silence was enough to startle Wu from his trance. He whipped his head up to face Nya, who had entered the room as quietly as she’d spoken and now met his gaze with a worried expression. Wu wordlessly beckoned her closer and she complied, joining him by Lloyd’s bedside. The young boy was swathed under heavy blankets to sweat out a fever, though an elevated temperature was the least of his problems. He tossed and turned fitfully with eyes squeezed tightly shut, muttering gibberish.

“He is as stable as possible,” Wu said. “I wish we could offer more comfort but…I’m afraid we’ve done all we can do.”

Your friends will never trust you again. Your father will be so disappointed. 

“No, no…” Lloyd whined under his breath.

“You can’t wake him up?” Nya said, worrying the hem of her top with anxious fingers. “It’s been a whole day now.”

Wu let out a resigned sigh. “Lloyd is fighting against the venom as my brother did many, many years ago… this is just the beginning of a lifelong battle. If we do not allow him to emerge victorious from today’s struggle, he may never have the strength to fight it at all.” The words were true, despite Wu’s desperate wishes for the contrary. Seeing Lloyd in such a condition brought a wave of traumatic memories to the surface, and threw salt in wounds that never had a chance to properly heal. Wu couldn’t help but blame himself for Lloyd’s condition, as he had for Garmadon’s. If only he had been there.

You cannot fight the darkness in your soul. You must surrender to it. This is who you were always meant to be. 

Nya pulled up a stool next to Wu and settled into it, keeping her gaze trained on Lloyd. “There has to be something we can do.”

“I wish it as much as you do. But I— we were too late.” Wu cleared his throat to banish a slight tremble. “The venom cannot be removed now. He must learn to coexist with it.”

The world will pay for letting you down, and you will be the means for their demise. Pave the path for your future with their early graves. 

Lloyd yelped and began to toss more violently, tangling the blankets with his thrashing limbs. Wu rose to his feet and stepped forward to gently tug the coverings free of his flailing body, then fetched a washcloth from a dish of cold water at his bedside. He wrung out the excess and placed the cool material across Lloyd’s forehead. The relief was immediately apparent. The boy ceased his thrashing and settled into a state of relative calm, and Wu let out a sigh of his own moderate relief, settling back in his seat.

“What does it mean for the prophecy? Is he still the Green Ninja?” Nya asked with marked hesitancy.

That same question had weighed heavily on Wu’s mind in the past hours, and unfortunately, no amount of meditating brought him closer to an answer. “That will be revealed in time. I’m afraid the fate of Ninjago is uncertain, even to me… that said, one thing is clear: we must focus our efforts on Lloyd’s training tenfold. He will need extra guidance to not only hone his elemental powers, but to hone the darkness inside. We must help him find the light.”

Fighting back merely delays the inevitable. Give in. Give up. Accept your fate.

“No!” Lloyd yelled. He lurched upright with swinging arms, an outburst that elicited a jolt from the pair sitting beside him. He maintained the offensive stance for a moment, panting and surveying his surroundings with wide, fearful eyes. 

"Easy, Lloyd," Wu said gently. "You're safe now."

"Yeah, it's alright Lloyd– it's just us," Nya chimed in with a small, somewhat unconvincing smile.

Lloyd looked over at them, expression softening and fists lowering as recognition kicked in. “What…what happened? Where am I?”

Wu rose from his seat and approached Lloyd with a tentative gait. He studied him closely, as though a thorough enough examination would reveal the depths of the venom's effect. “You are in Ninjago City. Tell me, how do you feel? What do you remember?”

“I feel… awful.” He peeled the towel off of his forehead and Nya reached forward to take it from him, dipping it back in the water dish. “I had a horrible nightmare where I was bit by…the…” His eyes widened in a state of sickening realization, which he aimed at his bitten arm; bandaged tightly below the elbow and surely still sore. Faded patches of blood and venom stained the inner layers of cloth. “…I was bit by the Great Devourer.”

So, he was aware. At least that was one less bandaid for Wu to rip off, for lack of a less ironic metaphor. “Yes, I’m afraid your nightmare is reality,” he said. “I’m sorry, Lloyd. The Great Devourer’s venom now courses through your veins as well.”

Nya offered Lloyd the compress, which he stared at blankly before rejecting with a slight shake of his head. She set it aside. “I’m sorry too. We all are. I can’t even imagine how hard it is for you right now. Don't worry though, okay? We’re gonna get through this together. All of us.”

Lloyd averted his gaze to some far off corner of the second-rate apartment building they were holed up in, though his vacant stare was clearly not one of judgment for their living situation. There was anguish behind those eyes, anguish that Wu was most familiar with. That he dreaded the sight of. “Where’s my father?”

Wu and Nya shared a knowing glance, and Nya took it as her queue to exit. “I, uh…think I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said, sparing Lloyd another sympathetic smile and slipping out of the room. 

With Nya gone, Lloyd’s full attention snapped to Wu. “Where is my father?” he repeated with increased insistence.

Wu stroked his beard as he gathered the words to explain. His conflicting feelings about his brother's conflicting actions made it a particularly difficult task, especially with Lloyd’s intense scrutiny. Not that delaying the news made it any more bearable. “...When your father heard of the bite, and your compromised condition, he took the golden weapons and used them to defeat the Great Devourer in your name. His act of bravery saved us all. However... once the dust had settled, he was nowhere to be found. Along with the golden weapons.”

Lloyd’s face fell. In the silent room, one could hear his heart shatter from within. "He...left?” 

Wu didn’t respond. The answer was already evident and hung heavily in the air between them. Garmadon’s decision was not one Wu agreed with, but he wagered that speaking ill of him would not offer any solace; instead, he reached up under his hat and procured a scrap of paper curled into a roll. “I found this at the scene of the Great Devourer's demise. I think you need to read it.” 

Lloyd accepted the paper gingerly and unfurled it with equal caution. His eyes flitted across the messily scrawled ink. 

To my brother,

Take care of Lloyd for me. He will need someone to guide him through this, and, despite our quarrels, I can think of no one better suited than you. My own venom has run too deep, and I fear my presence would influence him in the wrong direction. I cannot allow that to happen. Please continue his teachings in my absence.

To my son,

I love you. I hope you will understand my decision one day, and possibly even forgive me, though it is certainly not owed. I am so sorry, Lloyd. I never wanted this for you. I know how terrifying and isolating it all is. No matter what happens, never lose sight of who you are at your core: a strong, adventurous young man with a heart of gold. Do not let the venom take that away from you. 

You must maintain balance within yourself, rely on your companion's wisdom when yours fails, and keep moving forward even when the road gets difficult. One way or another, I will be there by the end of it. And I will be so proud of you.

It's not your fault, Lloyd. 

Your father always,

Garmadon

Wu had reread the message enough times to nearly memorize it himself, so when Lloyd’s eyes began to well up with tears, it came as no surprise. He was taken aback, however, by the sudden shout of frustration as Lloyd balled the paper in his fist and threw it across the room. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!!” he cried, green eyes blazing red like a forest overtaken by flame. “How could he do this to me? How could he leave me again when he knows how much I need him? Doesn't he know how much I need him?!” 

Wu stumbled backwards and instinctively reached for his staff, realizing the mistake too late as Lloyd’s furious expression landed on him and twisted in betrayal. The fire behind his eyes extinguished, leaving a wounded child in its embers. “...You think I’m a monster like him.” His once furious tone was now trembling and dejected.

The staff fell to the floor with a hollow clatter. “Lloyd, no, it’s not like that. I was simply startled. Neither of you are monsters, this venom, it— it isn’t you. I would never– er, I know you would never...” Wu heaved a sigh. His tangled tongue was doing him no service. "I'm sorry, nephew."

Lloyd held his gaze for a beat before dropping his attention to his wounded arm, curling and uncurling his fingers wordlessly. He didn’t appear convinced, and Wu didn't blame him. Further placations surely couldn't ease such a troubled mind, so the pair remained in uneasy silence, accompanied only by a ticking clock on the wall and blooming dread inside Wu’s chest. He willed himself to fight it, just as Lloyd was fighting his own darkness. Strength was a skill he must model.

Wu turned to survey the room, eyes landing on the crumpled page. He plucked it from the floor and began carefully smoothing it out to the best of his ability. The words were still legible, if a bit creased and stained with teardrops. For this, Wu was grateful. They were important words, ones Wu hoped would one day soothe Lloyd's heart rather than break it. He rolled it back into a makeshift scroll and set it on Lloyd’s nightstand. 

“I’ll still have to fight him…won’t I?”

It was nearly whispered, as though the reality behind the statement was too heavy to bear fully. Wu considered Lloyd thoughtfully, taking note of his puffy, tear-stained face with a frown. “Hm…perhaps,” he admitted. “Although, that is a battle for another day, and one we have ample time to prepare you for. Tonight, allow yourself to rest, Lloyd. Your body and mind are still healing and need time to recover."

Lloyd sniffed and wiped his face into his sleeve. "Okay," he said, and Wu had never heard him sound so defeated. He eased back into bed and closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh.

Wu lingered in the doorway for just a moment longer before turning off the light and slipping out to update the others on Lloyd’s condition. He wished he bore more hopeful news. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, to himself or the ninja, their situation had become far more dire. At this time, he could only pray external guidance would be enough to tip the scales of balance back to a steady equilibrium, lest all of Ninjago pay for Wu’s neglect.

Lest the vicious cycle continue.

[narutoandanimearemyheart]

GOOD WITH WORDS: PLATONIC KAKASHI X FEM STUDENT! READER

Despite being seemingly aloof, Kakashi Hatake was a very observant man. Especially when it came to his students. He instantly knew when something was wrong with any of them, even if they tried to pretend as if they were okay.

That’s how he instantly noticed that you weren’t okay. Your downtrodden expression always said everything. It was written all over your face. Now Kakashi wasn’t the best at dealing with emotions, but if he cared about someone enough, he would try his best, and you were one of his students so of course he would comfort you.

He had found you in the woods all by yourself throwing a kunai at a target on the tree angrily, you looked so frustrated. He had expected you to feel that way, you had embarrassed yourself during training, and you were the last of your teammates to understand a new jutsu technique.

He came up to you and you jumped as you saw him, “Oh! Kakashi-Sensei, I didn’t notice you..” you said in a startled tone. He gave you a closed eyed smile behind his mask and you could see that was smiling due to the way his mask shifted and how his eyes still crinkled. You personally didn’t understand why he didn’t just take off his mask. What on earth was he hiding behind that mask?? That’s what you, Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto were all trying to figure out, but had been rather unsuccessful.

“You seem to be rather down in the dumps after this mornings training session.” You frowned, of course he noticed. You hated feeling like you were the last one to understand things on the team, and you hated failing. You were a bit of a perfectionist and always wanted to get things right, you hated failing and you always pushed yourself to extreme levels. That’s why when you couldn’t master this one chakra control technique you were beating yourself up over it, and resorted to throwing kunais at a target until you felt better.

“Because I failed.. I was the only one who didn’t understand the technique. Even Naruto understood it before me.” Kakashi chuckled and spoke “Ah that’s rather odd isn’t it, but you have to give it to Naruto, he’s very persistent and hardworking, which you also are, but your downfall is that your belief in yourself is low. You can’t become a full fledged Shinobi if you don’t believe in yourself. Believing in yourself is the key, because even hard work and determination can only get you so far.” You sighed, you knew that you had low belief in yourself, and that a pessimistic and negative mindset would never get you anywhere as a Shinobi, however you couldn’t help, you just had a pretty bad self esteem. Kakashi spoke softly “You know, I used to have a teammate just like you.. well not similar in personality, similar struggles. He always struggled with the Shinobi arts, however he got better, you know why? Because he always believed in hard work. He proved himself at the most crucial moment, and so can you. All he did was just believe in himself and have some guts. At the end of the day that’s really what you need in the end.”

You slowly nodded, belief.. no wonder all of your teammates were improving so quickly, because they believed in themselves. You really had to get your act together if you wanted to achieve your goals. Belief was so important, all of the great shinobis of the leaf would have never gotten to where they are today if they hadn’t believed in themselves, even Naruto himself wouldn’t be improving so much without the unshakeable faith he had in himself.

While you were still uncertain you took your sensei’s words to heart and nodded. “Thank you Sensei.. I’ll try to believe in myself more.. I can’t make any promises but I will try and do my best.” You spoke confidently. “You’re a strong kunoichi Y/N and you have a lot of potential, don’t let your insecurities get the better of you, you wouldn’t want all that talent and hard work to go to waste.” Even though Kakashi wasn’t the best at dealing with emotions, when he tried to be, he was a rather good comforter.

Kakashi had to admit, you teminded him of his former teammate Obito. Obito in the sense that you were determined and hard on yourself when you didn’t live up to your expectations, and be insecure about your strength and falling behind your teammates. You however just needed to have belief in yourself, and you’d shine, just like how Obito did in his last few moments.

“Thank you Sensei. I promise I won’t let you down.” He glanced over at you. “I know you won’t..” He then walked away humming softly to a tune you didn’t quite understand, but you felt a new sense of determination within you. You could master this technique, and you would. While you were still uncertain you knew you had to take a chance. As Naruto always said hard work meant nothing if you didn’t believe in yourself.

Who knew that your seemingly aloof and nonchalant Sensei could be so good with words. That man was truly full of surprises. With the wind in your hair, you felt more confident than ever before.

[gothicxreylover]

Hello! I thought of this scenario that I'd love to make a request to you. I have this weird obsession with the Hashiras (and Tengen's wives) so I'd like to go with them this time as well. Everyone in the scenario below is members of the Corps.

「After coming back from a long mission that took several days, the Hashiras found y/n, their object of adoration, looking somber and refusing to look at them. Many questions and words of comfort later, y/n reluctantly turned to them, revealing a swollen dark bruise on one side of their face, a teary eye and a slight bloody lip.

Truth revelation: the bruise came from a powerful smack/slap to the face but it was y/n defending another person, who happened to be a friend y/n made in the Corps. Y/n just wanted to stop a petty, meaningless fight between them and the mean assailant (a typical bully) in peace. But the bully decided to attack their friend so y/n acted without a thought.

In the end, the whole ordeal was stopped but ended with pain and spilled blood. However, y/n understood their beloved's yandere traits too well as they were lowkey scared for the bully's sake if they knew. Hence y/n trying to hide the whole thing and tend to their injuries by themselves.」

Haha this random idea stemmed from a scene from a drama I saw long ago. Anyway, take your time and no need to rush. I'm sure it will turn out amazing with your writing. Have a nice day!

Ahhh! This is a good scenario! Here’s your story and I hope you enjoy it! I wrote Tengen and his wives separately.

[Scene: The Corps’ Headquarters, Late Evening]

After days of grueling battles and endless travel, the entire Corps had finally returned to headquarters. The familiar corridors and quiet moments usually brought relief—but tonight, something was off. You were seated quietly on a low bench near the entryway, your eyes cast downward. A dark, swollen bruise marred one side of your face, your lip was slightly bloody, and a single tear glistened as if it held all the unspoken worries of the night. The Hashiras—and Tengen’s wives—gathered around you, each reacting in their own distinctive way.

Giyu Tomioka’s Perspective:

Giyu’s usually calm, inscrutable expression shifted the moment he noticed your injury. He approached slowly, every measured step heavy with concern. “Y/N,” he said in his low, steady tone, “please, let me help.” Internally, Giyu felt a quiet surge of protectiveness. Though he rarely voiced his emotions, his mind raced with worry over why you’d hide your pain. He suspected you might be trying to shield someone from the fallout—a thought that made his heart ache in silent understanding.

Shinobu Kocho’s Perspective:

Ever the perceptive one, Shinobu’s gentle eyes took in every detail—the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the slight tremor in your hands, the bruise that told a story of sudden violence. “My dear,” she murmured softly as she knelt beside you, offering a delicate handkerchief. Her mind whirled with concern and curiosity. “There’s more to this than meets the eye,” she thought, recalling the hint of a struggle in your hesitant glance. Determined to soothe your pain without prying too much, she resolved to help you tend to your wounds—both physical and emotional.

Kyojuro Rengoku’s Perspective:

Kyojuro’s fiery spirit softened at the sight of you in distress. He practically bounded over, his usual exuberance tempered by genuine worry. “Y/N! I cannot bear to see you hurt!” he declared, voice brimming with passion. In his heart, the flame of protectiveness burned fiercely. He knew that you would never risk your well-being lightly—and if it meant defending another soul, you would do so without hesitation. Yet, the idea that you felt compelled to hide your truth stirred a mix of admiration and concern within him. “I will ensure you’re safe,” he vowed silently, his spirit ignited by the need to shield you from further harm.

Tengen Uzui’s Perspective:

With his flamboyant flair, Tengen strode into the room, his gaze instantly locking onto your injured face. “Oh my—what misadventure has befallen you?” he exclaimed, though his tone was laced with unmistakable care. In the glimmer of the overhead lanterns, he noted every detail—the bruise, the tear, the stubborn way you avoided his eyes. Tengen’s mind raced with protective instincts and a tinge of possessiveness that he rarely admitted aloud. “No one shall harm you again, not while I’m here,” he promised, his dramatic tone softening as he regarded you with a mixture of pride and worry.

Mitsuri Kanroji’s Perspective:

Mitsuri’s heart immediately went out to you. The sight of your pain—a token of your selflessness—filled her with both love and anxiety. She rushed forward, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out to gently brush away a stray tear. “Sweetheart, why won’t you let us take care of you?” she asked in a tender whisper, her voice warm and nurturing. Internally, Mitsuri’s mind was a storm of emotions: admiration for your bravery, sorrow at your silence, and a fierce desire to mend not just your wounds but your heart. She promised herself that she would hold you close until you felt safe enough to share your burden.

Muichiro Tokito’s Perspective:

Typically reserved and often aloof, Muichiro’s eyes nonetheless flickered with concern when he saw your condition. He paused at a distance before stepping forward in his characteristically understated manner. “Y/N,” he said quietly, “I noticed something was amiss.” Although his words were few, his thoughts were anything but indifferent. Muichiro analyzed every small detail—each bruise and hesitation—wondering why you had chosen silence over confession. In his reflective mind, he resolved that once your wounds were tended to, you might find the strength to trust him with your truth.

Obanai Iguro’s Perspective:

Obanai’s sharp gaze hardened momentarily as he took in the sight of your injuries. There was a flicker of irritation mixed with concern; he could not fathom why you would hide something so important. “You mustn’t keep this to yourself,” he said, his tone clipped but earnest. Underneath his stern exterior, Obanai’s heart pounded with the fierce desire to protect you from any further harm. He suspected that your silence was meant to spare someone else—and though that choice might have been noble, he feared it would only invite greater danger. He vowed internally that he would not let anyone, bully or otherwise, threaten your well-being.

Sanemi Shinazugawa’s Perspective:

Sanemi’s rough demeanor cracked as he took in the evidence of your struggle. His first instinct was anger—anger that you had been hurt and anger that you’d chosen to hide it. “Damn it, Y/N,” he grumbled, stepping closer with a protective scowl, “you shouldn’t have done that.” Beneath his abrasive words lay a genuine care that few ever witnessed. He bristled at the thought of a bully taking advantage of your quiet sacrifice, and though his approach was blunt, his intent was clear: you were too precious to be left in harm’s way. His internal promise was simple—he would ensure no one ever dared to hurt you again.

Gyomei Himejima’s Perspective:

Gyomei’s deep, resonant voice was filled with sorrow as he approached. “Child, your pain weighs on my soul,” he intoned softly, his enormous presence radiating a calm reassurance. His eyes, wise and empathetic, took in every mark of your suffering with a reverence usually reserved for sacred things. Gyomei believed that every wound told a story—and tonight, your silent narrative spoke of a courage that demanded both healing and understanding. He knelt beside you with gentle care, promising silently that your spirit would be nurtured as diligently as your body was mended.

Makio (Tengen’s Wife) – Her Perspective:

Makio was the first of Tengen’s wives to step forward, pragmatic yet fiercely tender in her concern. “Y/N, you know you can’t hide from us,” she chided softly, her eyes both warm and inquisitive. In her mind, the marks on your face were not just signs of a physical scuffle but evidence of your brave heart. She admired your instinct to protect a friend, yet worried about the toll it was taking on you. “Let me help patch you up,” she offered, determined to ease your pain before you could even consider keeping secrets that might only lead to more hurt.

Suma (Tengen’s Wife) – Her Perspective:

Suma approached with a quiet, calming presence. “I understand that you wanted to protect someone,” she said gently, placing a soothing hand on your arm. Her calm exterior belied a mind that raced with both empathy and concern. Suma knew that behind your silent defiance lay the weight of responsibility and unspoken fear—the fear that revealing the truth might unleash a tempest of emotions in those who loved you fiercely. “Please, trust us enough to let us care for you,” she murmured, her voice as soft as a lullaby, promising that no harm would come from honesty among those who cherished you.

Hinatsuru (Tengen’s Wife) – Her Perspective:

Hinatsuru’s eyes shone with maternal warmth as she gently took your hand. “Your sacrifice is not lost on us,” she said, her tone imbued with a tender urgency. In her heart, she understood the delicate balance between protecting others and protecting oneself. Hinatsuru worried that your reticence might lead you down a dangerous path of silent suffering. “Sometimes, being cared for is the strongest defense,” she whispered, as she carefully inspected your injuries. Her thoughts danced between admiration for your valor and a desperate need to shield you from the internal torment of keeping secrets.

Epilogue (Y/N’s Moment):

Surrounded by those who cherished you, each with their own hopes, fears, and promises to keep you safe, you felt the weight of isolation begin to lift. Though the truth of that day’s events still trembled on the edge of your tongue, the unwavering love in every gaze urged you toward trust. In that shared moment—where fierce protectiveness met gentle understanding—you realized that no secret was too heavy when borne by hearts united in care.

[cynic-spirit]

Dragonsoul v

For the first time in his life, Aemond Targaryen felt a sense of peace he had never known he craved. His days had once been filled with duty, power, and an underlying current of anger, but since Y/N had entered his life, everything had changed. She had brought something into his world that he didn’t even realize he needed—an anchor, a gentle warmth that soothed the storm within him.

Y/N had become the calm in his life, a beacon that guided him through the darkness he had long accepted as his reality. With her, he found a balance he had never known existed. It wasn’t just love; it was something deeper, something that made him feel whole in a way that even his most treasured victories never had.

They had settled into a routine that had become the most cherished part of Aemond’s day. Every evening, no matter how busy or chaotic his day had been, Aemond made it a point to meet Y/N. He would arrive at her apartment, sometimes with a small gift in hand—a rare book, her favorite flowers, or simply something that reminded him of her. It was his way of showing her that she was always on his mind, no matter where he was or what he was doing.

Their time together was simple, yet it filled Aemond with a profound sense of contentment. They would spend an hour or two in the music room, where Y/N would sit at her piano, fingers dancing over the keys with an effortless grace that never ceased to mesmerize him. The room was bathed in soft light, the notes of the piano filling the space with a melody that felt like it was just for them.

Aemond would sit nearby, sometimes watching her with a quiet intensity, other times closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him. It was in these moments that he felt truly at peace, the tension that often gripped him easing away as he listened to her play. They didn’t need to fill the silence with words; the music spoke for them, a language only they seemed to understand.

Occasionally, they would talk, their conversations flowing easily and naturally. They shared stories, dreams, and thoughts, their words weaving together like the notes of a song. Y/N had a way of drawing out the softer side of Aemond, encouraging him to open up in ways he had never done before. He found himself telling her things he had kept locked away, sharing parts of himself that he had thought were lost.

For Aemond, these hours with Y/N were the highlight of his day. They had become his sanctuary, a time when he could let down his guard and simply be himself. It was a rare gift, and one he never took for granted.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, Aemond realized that Y/N had not only brought peace into his life—she had brought purpose. She had shown him that there was more to life than power and control, that there was a beauty in the quiet moments, in the simple act of being with someone who truly understood him.

Each evening, as the last notes of her piano faded into the night, Aemond would take Y/N’s hand and press a gentle kiss to her fingers. It was his way of thanking her for bringing this light into his life, for showing him that he was capable of more than he had ever believed.

And in those moments, with her by his side, Aemond knew that he had found something priceless, something that made all the battles and struggles worth it. He had found love, and with it, a happiness that he had never dared to dream was possible.

Aemond paced back and forth in Y/N’s apartment, his frustration barely contained. He had broached the subject of bodyguards again, knowing exactly how the conversation would go but unable to help himself. The very thought of her walking around without protection made his blood run cold.

Y/N sat at the piano, her fingers idly brushing the keys as she watched him with a bemused expression. “Aemond, we’ve talked about this,” she said gently, her tone patient but firm. “You’re paranoid.”

Aemond stopped in his tracks, his one good eye narrowing as he looked at her. “Paranoid? Y/N, you don’t understand the dangers. My world—our world now—isn’t safe. There are people out there who would hurt you just to get to me.”

She tilted her head, offering him a soft smile. “But I’m not a part of your world, Aemond. I’m just a pianist. No one is going to target me because of who I’m dating. Your enemies don’t care about a harmless musician.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. He knew she was trying to lighten the situation, but it only served to deepen his concern. He walked over to her, his hand reaching out to cup her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “You’re not just a pianist, Y/N. You’re everything to me. If anything happened to you…”

She placed her hand over his, squeezing gently. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I know you worry, but I’m careful. I don’t draw attention to myself, and I don’t go to dangerous places. I don’t need bodyguards.”

“But you do,” Aemond insisted, his voice low and urgent. “You don’t understand the lengths people will go to. You’re my greatest weakness, Y/N. They’ll find out about you, and they’ll use you against me.”

Y/N sighed, pulling his hand away from her face but holding onto it. “Aemond, I don’t want to live in fear. I don’t want to look over my shoulder every time I step outside. I trust you to protect me, but I can’t have my life dictated by your enemies. I refuse to be paranoid.”

Aemond’s heart ached at her words, torn between his desire to keep her safe and his respect for her independence. He knew she was right—she wasn’t a part of his world, and it wasn’t fair to drag her into its darkness. But he couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at him, the terrifying thought of her being vulnerable, unprotected.

He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I understand, Y/N. I don’t want you to live in fear either. But promise me you’ll be careful. Please.”

“I promise,” she said, her voice softening. “I’m not reckless, Aemond. I know how much you care about me, and I won’t do anything to make you worry more than you already do.”

Aemond nodded, though his worry didn’t ease. He pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close as if that alone could protect her from the dangers he knew lurked in the shadows. His heart beat heavily in his chest, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. She felt so small in his arms, so precious, and the thought of anything happening to her made his stomach churn with anxiety.

As much as he wanted to respect her wishes, Aemond couldn’t bring himself to leave her unguarded. He needed to know she was safe, even if she didn’t realize it. So, unbeknownst to Y/N, Aemond arranged for her to be watched from a distance. The bodyguards were discreet, blending into the background, never drawing attention to themselves. They kept a vigilant eye on her, ensuring that she was protected without her ever knowing.

Aemond justified it to himself as a necessary precaution, a way to compromise between her independence and his need to keep her safe. He knew she wouldn’t like it if she found out, but he couldn’t take any chances. His love for her was too deep, too consuming, to allow him to act otherwise.

And so, each day, he would meet her, spend time in her comforting presence, and silently thank the unseen guardians who ensured she remained safe. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but for Aemond, it was the only way he could find any peace of mind in a world where the stakes were always too high.

Y/N was far more perceptive than Aemond gave her credit for. Though she often appeared lost in her music or absorbed in the simple pleasures of life, her keen eyes and sharp mind were always at work, noticing the subtle details that others might overlook. She was the kind of person who could read a room with a single glance, who could sense when something was out of place even if she couldn’t immediately pinpoint what it was.

It didn’t take long for her to notice the two figures who seemed to be a constant presence in her life. They were always just on the edge of her vision—a man and a woman, both with similar faces, both blending into the background with practiced ease. They appeared in different places but with an unmistakable sameness that eventually caught her attention. At first, it was just a fleeting recognition, a sense of familiarity that she couldn’t quite place. But as the days passed, she began to see the pattern.

They were there when she went to the market, standing casually by a flower stall. They appeared when she took her morning walk, one of them lingering near a bench, pretending to read a newspaper. Even at the concert hall where she practiced, they would be present, always in different disguises but always unmistakably the same. They never approached her, never spoke to her, but their presence was constant, a quiet shadow following her every move.

Y/N’s curiosity was piqued, and it didn’t take much to connect the dots. She knew Aemond well enough to understand that he wouldn’t simply let go of his need to protect her, no matter how much he respected her wishes. She could almost picture him arranging for these bodyguards, ensuring they were just distant enough not to intrude on her life but close enough to intervene if anything went wrong.

One afternoon, as she sat by her piano, absently playing a few notes, she caught sight of the familiar figures outside her window. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head, laughing softly to herself. “Oh, Aemond,” she whispered, amused by his predictability. He had tried to be so subtle, so careful, but Y/N’s perceptiveness had seen through the veil.

The realization didn’t anger her. In fact, it filled her with a warm affection for him. She understood his fears, his need to protect her, even if she didn’t agree with it. But there was also a part of her that found the whole situation somewhat amusing. He had underestimated her, thinking she wouldn’t notice the extra eyes on her. And for a while, she let him believe it, going about her days as if she were completely unaware of the silent guardians he had placed around her.

But Y/N had always had a playful streak, and after a few weeks of letting the game play out, she decided it was time to have a little fun.

One day, while walking through the park, she noticed the familiar figures trailing a safe distance behind her. The man was pretending to check his watch, while the woman seemed engrossed in her phone. Y/N’s mind raced, concocting a plan to outsmart them just for the thrill of it. She picked up her pace slightly, leading them deeper into the park where the paths twisted and turned among the trees.

With a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm they were still following, she suddenly darted down a side path, one that was narrow and partially obscured by overgrown bushes. She moved swiftly, her heart racing with excitement, but she kept her footsteps light, barely making a sound as she slipped through the trees. When she reached a small clearing, she paused, ducking behind a thick cluster of shrubs.

She watched as her bodyguards hurried past the path she had taken, their eyes scanning the area, clearly searching for her. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a laugh, her heart thudding in her chest from both the exhilaration and the absurdity of the situation. After they had moved on, she quietly doubled back, retracing her steps until she reached the main path again. Once there, she resumed her walk as if nothing had happened, her laughter bubbling up as she imagined the confusion that must have set in.

Later that evening, when Aemond arrived to see her, Y/N couldn’t resist teasing him. She looked at him with a playful glint in her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “So, tell me, Aemond,” she began casually, “do your bodyguards often lose their charges, or was today a first?”

Aemond froze, his expression a mix of surprise and chagrin. “You knew?” he asked, his voice tinged with both admiration and a touch of exasperation.

Y/N laughed, the sound light and musical. “Of course, I knew. I’m more observant than you think, my love. But don’t worry, I didn’t go far. I just wanted to have a bit of fun.”

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his lips curled into a reluctant smile. “You scared them half to death, you know.”

“Serves them right for underestimating me,” she replied with a grin. “And you, too.”

Aemond couldn’t help but chuckle, pulling her into his arms. “I suppose I’ll have to give them a raise for putting up with you.”

Y/N smiled, leaning into his embrace. “Or maybe you could just trust me a little more.”

Aemond pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice softening. “I do trust you, Y/N. But I also love you too much to take any risks. I need you safe.”

“I know,” she murmured, her playful tone giving way to sincerity. “But I promise you, Aemond, I’m not as defenseless as you think. And I’ll always come back to you.”

Aemond held her a little tighter, the weight of his fears easing slightly in her presence. He knew she was right—she was strong, capable, and far more resilient than anyone else he had ever known. But even so, he couldn’t help but feel that constant need to protect her, to shield her from the dangers of his world.

As they stood together, the playful tension between them dissolved into something deeper, a shared understanding that, no matter what, they would always find their way back to each other.

From that day onwards, Y/N accepted the presence of the bodyguards with a quiet resignation, no longer trying to evade or outsmart them. She understood that their presence wasn’t just about protecting her—it was about easing Aemond’s fears, giving him some peace of mind in a world where so much was beyond his control. The bodyguards, in turn, had come to appreciate her playful nature, finding themselves amused rather than annoyed by her antics. As long as they stayed in the background, not intruding on her life, she didn’t mind their silent watchfulness.

Whenever Aemond would bring up the topic, perhaps with a hint of apology in his voice, she would simply smile and reassure him. “Only for you, Aemond,” she would say softly, her eyes holding his with a warmth that spoke of her understanding and love.

She knew how much it meant to him, how deeply he cared for her, and how his need to protect her stemmed from a place of genuine love and concern. It wasn’t just about power or control—it was about the way he cherished her, the way he saw her as his everything.

Aemond, for his part, felt a mixture of relief and gratitude. He knew how much she valued her independence, how hard it must have been for her to accept this small compromise. But hearing her say those words, “Only for you,” made him realize just how much she cared for him, how much she was willing to bend for the sake of their relationship.

And so, their routine continued—Aemond still meeting her every day, spending those cherished hours together where Y/N would play her piano while they talked. But now, there was a new layer of understanding between them, a mutual respect for each other’s boundaries and a deeper connection forged by the little sacrifices they made for one another.

It was another one of those tranquil mornings, the kind Y/N had come to cherish. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light across the sprawling college campus. The early hours were her favorite—quiet and serene, with the world still asleep and the air cool with the remnants of night. The only sounds were the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird waking with the dawn.

Today, Y/N was on her way to practice her piano in the grand hall, a place she had come to know intimately over the years. The building itself was a masterpiece of architecture, with towering columns and ornate carvings that lent it an air of old-world elegance. Usually, she would take the main route, winding through the corridors that she could navigate with her eyes closed. But recently, construction work had closed off several paths, forcing students to take longer, more circuitous routes to reach their destinations.

This morning, feeling a bit lazy and not in the mood for the extra walk, Y/N decided to take a shortcut. She knew the construction site well enough—after all, she had passed by it countless times in recent weeks. There was a gap between some of the equipment, just wide enough for her to slip through without much trouble. It seemed like a harmless idea, just a small detour that would save her a few minutes.

As she stepped off the main path and made her way toward the construction area, the atmosphere around her shifted. The bustling energy of the campus faded away, replaced by an eerie stillness. The sounds of the waking world were muffled here, and the early morning light seemed to struggle to reach the shadowy corners between the scaffolding and stacks of building materials. The once-familiar campus suddenly felt foreign and empty, as though she had stepped into a different realm entirely.

Y/N felt a slight unease prickling at the back of her neck, but she shook it off, telling herself that she was being silly. It was just the stillness of the early hour, she reasoned. After all, who would be around at this time of day? She kept walking, her footsteps echoing softly against the cold concrete floor. The narrow path wound between piles of bricks, planks of wood, and other construction equipment, forming a labyrinth that seemed to grow darker and more oppressive with each step.

As she moved deeper into the construction zone, the silence became almost deafening. The usual background noise of distant voices, footsteps, and the hum of traffic was conspicuously absent, replaced by an unsettling quiet that made Y/N feel more alone than ever. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of dust and damp earth, and every now and then, a cool draft would snake through the gaps in the walls, causing her to shiver.

Y/N quickened her pace, eager to reach the grand hall and the safety of its familiar walls. But just as she rounded a corner, something unexpected happened. Her world seemed to tilt on its axis, and before she could process what was happening, a rough hand grabbed her from behind. Panic surged through her, and she opened her mouth to scream, but before any sound could escape, a cloth was roughly pressed over her face.

The fabric was soaked with something sharp and pungent, a chemical odor that burned her nostrils and sent her senses spiraling. Y/N struggled, her limbs flailing as she tried to fight off her attacker, but her strength was quickly ebbing away. Her vision blurred, the edges of her world darkening as the substance took hold, pulling her down into unconsciousness.

The last thing she heard before everything went black was the rapid pounding of her own heart, echoing in her ears like a distant drumbeat as she slipped into the darkness.

The atmosphere in Aemond's study was charged with an ominous tension, thick with the kind of fear that paralyzed even the most seasoned of men. The room, usually pristine and orderly, was now a scene of chaos. Papers were strewn across the floor, shards of glass from shattered picture frames glinted under the dim light, and priceless artifacts lay in ruins, their splintered remains littering the room. The large oak table, once a symbol of his authority, now lay on its side, the contents that had once adorned it scattered and broken.

Aemond stood in the center of this destruction, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. His single eye, cold and sharp as a blade, flicked dangerously between the two bodyguards who cowered before him. These were men who had seen their share of violence, who had stood firm in the face of danger many times before. But now, they trembled like leaves in a storm, their faces pale with dread. They had failed in their duty, and they knew all too well what that could mean when it came to Aemond Targaryen.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Aemond’s voice was a roar that reverberated through the walls, the sheer force of it making the two men flinch. His rage was a living thing, tangible and suffocating, filling the room like a dark cloud. The fury in his voice was matched only by the fire burning in his eye, a seething, unstoppable blaze that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Without warning, Aemond turned and grabbed the edge of the table, flipping it with a violent motion. The wood cracked against the floor, the sound like a gunshot in the confined space. Objects clattered and broke further as they tumbled off the table's surface, adding to the mounting debris.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GUARD HER!” he yelled, his voice hoarse with the force of his anger. He spun around, fists clenched, his knuckles white. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the silence that followed, punctuated only by the occasional crunch of broken glass beneath his boots.

Unable to contain his fury, he lunged at one of the bodyguards, grabbing him by the collar with a grip that was ironclad. He yanked the man close, their faces inches apart, and for a moment, the bodyguard thought his life might end right then and there. Aemond’s eye, dark with an almost predatory intensity, bore into the man’s, searching for any hint of deception or incompetence.

“What happened?” Aemond whispered, his voice low and dangerous, like the calm before a storm. The tone was more terrifying than his earlier shouting, a quiet promise of the violence that would come if he did not get the answers he wanted.

The bodyguard, swallowing hard, tried to steady his trembling hands. “We… we followed her, sir, just like you instructed,” he stammered, his voice quivering. “She was heading to the grand hall for her practice, as usual. But then… she decided to take a shortcut through the construction site.”

Aemond’s grip tightened, his knuckles turning even whiter. The bodyguard winced but continued, his words spilling out in a rush as he tried to explain. “We kept our distance, like always, but then… she went out of sight for just a moment, behind some equipment. We thought it was just a quick detour, nothing unusual. But when we rounded the corner… she was gone. We searched everywhere, every possible exit, every shadow… but she wasn’t there. It was like she vanished into thin air.”

The explanation did little to quell the storm brewing inside Aemond. If anything, it only fueled his anger. He released the man with a shove, sending him stumbling backward, and turned his fury on the room once more. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts clashing at once. She was gone. She was taken. And they had failed her—he had failed her.

With a guttural growl, he grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it across the room with all his might. The heavy wood splintered against the large window, shattering the glass into a cascade of glittering fragments that rained down onto the floor. The cool breeze from outside rushed in, but it did nothing to cool the fire within him.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of the dread gnawing at his insides. Fear, a sensation he rarely allowed himself to feel, now gripped him tightly. The very idea that Y/N, his Y/N, could be in danger—that someone could have taken her—was unbearable. It made his blood run cold even as his temper burned hot.

He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Not her. She was his light, the one person who had brought something vital into his life—something he hadn’t even realized he needed until she was there. She had softened his edges, brought warmth to the cold void within him. And now, that warmth was at risk of being snuffed out, and it was all he could do to keep from losing control completely.

His voice, now barely more than a growl, rasped out as he turned back to the guards. “Find her. I don’t care what it takes—find her. And if anything has happened to her…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the threat was clear, hanging in the air like a sword over their heads.

The bodyguards nodded, their faces ashen, and hurried out of the room, leaving Aemond standing amidst the wreckage. As the door closed behind them, Aemond finally let out a breath, though it did little to ease the tightness in his chest. His hand trembled slightly as he ran it through his hair, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But the fear remained, gnawing at him, whispering dark possibilities in his mind. His world had just been thrown into chaos, and until he had Y/N back, safe in his arms, he knew he would find no peace.

Aemond’s resolve was like steel, unbreakable and unwavering. The moment Y/N was taken, everything else in his life ceased to matter. His usual meticulous attention to detail, the business dealings, the power plays—none of it held any significance anymore. There was only one mission now, one goal that consumed every waking thought: finding Y/N.

He stood at the head of a room full of his most trusted men, his expression a mask of cold determination. The fear and fury that had gripped him in the initial moments had now solidified into a dangerous, single-minded focus. The room buzzed with tension, every man there feeling the weight of Aemond’s wrath hanging over them. They knew failure was not an option.

“No work,” Aemond’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “No other business, no other operations. Everything is on hold until she is found.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, his eye moving over each man in the room. They shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, understanding the gravity of the situation. They had seen Aemond angry before, but this was different. This was personal.

“I will turn this city upside down for her,” he continued, his voice low and deadly serious. “I don’t care what it takes—find her. Use every resource, every contact, every means necessary. She is out there somewhere, and I want her back.”

The men nodded, some muttering their affirmations as they began to move, preparing to set the plan in motion. They knew the stakes. Aemond was not a man to make idle threats, and they had all seen what he was capable of when crossed. The entire city would soon feel the impact of his fury.

As his men dispersed, Aemond remained where he was, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The fear still gnawed at him, that sickening sensation in his gut that wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t shake the image of her, scared and alone, possibly hurt, and it made him want to destroy everything in his path until she was safe in his arms again.

But he pushed the fear aside, channeling it into action. He wouldn’t let himself be paralyzed by it. Not now. There was too much at stake.

He imagined the city—his city—falling under the weight of his search. Every alley, every corner, every darkened room would be scrutinized. No stone would be left unturned, no lead unpursued. The people of the city would soon learn just how far he was willing to go for her. And when he found the ones responsible—when he finally had them in his grasp—there would be no mercy.

Aemond turned toward the window, looking out over the city skyline. The lights flickered in the distance, unaware of the storm that was about to be unleashed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening with resolve.

“You’ll be back with me soon, my love,” he whispered to the night. “And I’ll make them pay for every moment you were gone.”

The city was about to become a warzone, and Aemond Targaryen was ready to lead the charge.

Y/N slowly came to, her head pounding as if a heavy weight had settled behind her eyes. She tried to move, but something was wrong. Her wrists ached, the skin raw where it had been rubbed by coarse rope. As her vision began to clear, she realized with a jolt that she was tied to a chair, her arms bound tightly behind her back, her ankles secured to the legs of the chair. Panic surged through her chest, sharp and overwhelming.

She blinked rapidly, trying to piece together what had happened. The last thing she remembered was walking through the quiet, early-morning corridors of the music building, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty halls. She had been headed to practice, taking a shortcut through the construction zone—a decision she now regretted deeply. The memory was hazy, fragmented. She had felt a sense of unease, the air heavy with silence, before something cold and damp was pressed over her mouth and nose. The sickly sweet smell of chemicals had overwhelmed her senses, and then—darkness.

Now, the dim light of the warehouse cast eerie shadows on the concrete walls. It was a large, empty space, the kind that seemed to swallow sound and hope alike. The floor was dirty, littered with debris, and the smell of dampness and rust filled her nostrils. There were no windows, only a few flickering overhead lights that offered little comfort.

Where am I? How did I get here?

Her heart raced as her mind scrambled to fill in the blanks. The bodyguards—where were they? What had happened to them? She had seen them just moments before she decided to take that shortcut. They had been trailing behind her, watching her every move. She had even been aware of their presence earlier, noting their familiar faces in the crowd, always close, always vigilant. But now… now there was no sign of them. Had they been overpowered? Were they hurt—or worse?

Fear gnawed at her insides. She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists, wincing as the rough fibers bit into her skin. It was no use; the knots were too tight, expertly done. Whoever had brought her here knew what they were doing. She forced herself to breathe, to think, to stay calm.

Aemond’s face flashed in her mind, and with it, a surge of both fear and determination. He would be searching for her by now. He would turn the city upside down if he had to. She knew how fiercely protective he was, how deeply he cared for her, even when she teased him about being paranoid. But this—this was beyond anything she had ever imagined. This was real, and she was utterly helpless.

She looked around the warehouse again, her eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of life, any clue that could tell her where she was or who had taken her. But there was nothing—only the oppressive silence and the slow drip of water from somewhere in the distance.

Every noise seemed magnified in the emptiness. The creak of the chair as she shifted, the distant hum of machinery outside, the faint rustling of rats in the shadows. She tried to focus, to keep her mind sharp, but the lingering effects of whatever they had used to knock her out made everything feel hazy, like she was trapped in a half-dream.

Why? Why would anyone do this? I’m just a pianist, just… me.

But she wasn’t just a pianist, she reminded herself. She was Aemond Targaryen’s soulmate, and that made her a target. She had always known, deep down, that his world was dangerous, filled with threats she couldn’t even begin to understand. But she had never imagined it would touch her so directly, so violently.

She swallowed hard, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over. This wasn’t the time for fear. She needed to stay strong, to think of a way out of this. Aemond would come for her, she knew that with every fiber of her being. But until then, she needed to survive, to keep her wits about her.

She flexed her fingers, testing the bonds around her wrists again, wincing as the rope cut into her skin. There had to be a way out. There was always a way out. She just had to find it.

As she sat there, alone in the cold, dark warehouse, Y/N made a silent vow to herself. She would fight. She would survive. And when Aemond found her, they would make whoever did this pay for every second of fear, every ounce of pain.

But for now, she had to hold on.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the reality of her situation began to weigh heavily on Y/N. The cold air of the warehouse seeped into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably. The rough ropes binding her wrists and ankles chafed her skin, but it was the crushing sense of isolation that truly threatened to undo her.

Her thoughts drifted to Aemond. She could picture him so clearly in her mind—his intense gaze, the way his lips curled into a rare smile just for her, the warmth of his embrace when they were alone. He had become her safe haven, the one person who made her feel truly understood and protected. Now, in this dark, desolate place, she longed for him more than she ever had before.

A wave of emotion surged through her, a desperate yearning that made her chest tighten. She missed him so much it hurt, like a physical ache deep within her soul. She could almost feel his presence beside her, could almost hear the steady rhythm of his breathing as he held her close. How she wished she could be with him now, to feel his strong arms around her, to hear his soothing voice telling her that everything would be alright.

"Aemond..." she whispered into the stillness, her voice trembling with fear and longing. "Please... save me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she squeezed them shut, trying to block out the terror that threatened to consume her. She knew he would come for her—he had to. But until then, all she could do was pray. Pray that he was safe, that he was already on his way to find her, that he would burst through those doors at any moment and take her away from this nightmare.

She thought of all the moments they had shared, the way he would look at her with such intensity, as if she were the most precious thing in his world. She remembered the way he would brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the tenderness in his touch despite the fierce reputation that preceded him. He was a man of contradictions—ruthless in his world, but gentle with her. And now, more than ever, she needed that gentleness. She needed him.

"Please, Aemond," she whispered again, her voice cracking as a tear slid down her cheek. "I need you... I need you to find me."

Her mind clung to the thought of him, imagining the lengths he would go to in order to bring her back. She knew how determined he could be, how nothing would stand in his way once he set his mind to something. He was probably already tearing the city apart, searching for her with a ferocity that only he possessed. The thought brought her a small measure of comfort, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the fear that lurked at the edges of her consciousness.

The silence of the warehouse pressed in on her, amplifying the loneliness that wrapped around her like a shroud. She felt so small, so vulnerable in this vast, empty space. All she wanted was to be with him, to hear his voice, to feel his presence. He was her anchor, her rock, and without him, she felt adrift, lost in a sea of darkness.

"Please, Aemond..." she prayed silently, the words repeating in her mind like a mantra. "Please find me... Please come for me..."

She could almost hear him answering her, could almost imagine his voice in her ear, telling her to hold on just a little longer. And so she did. She held onto the hope that he would find her, that this nightmare would end, and that she would be safe in his arms once more.

Aemond’s fury was a storm, unrelenting and all-consuming. He paced the length of his office, his movements erratic, as if the very air around him were charged with his rage. The usually immaculate room was a mess, papers scattered across the floor, furniture overturned. The sheer force of his anger was palpable, radiating outward like waves crashing against the shore. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and his eye burned with a fierce, almost otherworldly intensity.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions—each one more destructive than the last. He was angry, yes, but more than that, he was consumed by a profound sense of helplessness. The thought of Y/N in danger, alone, and frightened was a knife twisting in his gut. He could scarcely think straight, the only clarity he had was the unshakable determination to find her, to make those responsible for her abduction pay dearly.

Aegon and Helaena stood on the periphery, their concern etched deeply into their faces. They watched Aemond with a mix of apprehension and sympathy. Aegon’s usual nonchalance was replaced by a rare seriousness; he understood the gravity of the situation and the depth of Aemond’s feelings for Y/N. The normally irreverent younger brother now stood with arms crossed, his face set in a grim line. He could see the toll the situation was taking on Aemond, both physically and emotionally.

Helaena, always more perceptive and intuitive, was particularly distressed. She knew how much Y/N meant to Aemond, how she had brought a light into his life that was rare and precious. Helaena’s normally calm demeanor was replaced by worry. She moved about the room, her hands wringing together as she tried to offer whatever comfort she could. Her eyes frequently darted toward Aemond, her heart aching for both her brother and the woman he loved.

The atmosphere was thick with tension. Aemond’s rage was almost tangible, a force that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. His anger was not just at those who had taken Y/N, but at himself, for not being able to protect her, for allowing this to happen despite all his power and resources. It was a raw, almost primal form of fury, and it made the room feel as if it were vibrating with the intensity of his emotions.

Despite his overwhelming anger, there was an undercurrent of despair in Aemond’s demeanor. He would occasionally stop pacing, his face crumpling with frustration and worry as he stared into the distance, as if hoping that Y/N would appear out of thin air. His hands would move to his face, as if to rub away the anger and fear that was etched into his features.

Aegon and Helaena knew better than to approach Aemond directly at such moments, understanding that any attempt to intervene would likely be met with more fury. Instead, they worked behind the scenes, mobilizing their own resources, reaching out to contacts, and providing whatever assistance they could. They knew that finding Y/N was of utmost importance and that they needed to support Aemond in his mission, even if it meant navigating through his storm of anger.

The search was relentless. Aemond’s demands were sharp and unyielding. Every resource at his disposal was mobilized, every lead followed up with an intensity that left no room for error. He wasn’t just looking for Y/N; he was making it clear to everyone involved that failure was not an option. He needed her back, and he would stop at nothing to ensure her safety.

In the midst of all this, Aegon and Helaena did their best to keep him grounded, offering whatever reassurance they could, while silently sharing their own fears for Y/N’s safety. They knew how much Y/N meant to Aemond, and they could see the strain it was putting on him. It was a dark time, but the bond between them was strong. They would stand by Aemond through this, hoping that their combined efforts would bring Y/N home safe and restore a semblance of peace to their troubled world.

As Y/N sat tied to the chair, the oppressive silence of the warehouse was intermittently disturbed by distant sounds—rustling, dripping water, and the occasional creak of the building settling. The wait was agonizing, each minute stretching endlessly, filled with a gnawing sense of dread and uncertainty.

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard footsteps approaching. The sound was slow, deliberate, echoing through the cavernous space. She strained to see through the dim light, her breath catching in her throat as the footsteps drew nearer. The warehouse’s shadows seemed to stretch and twist, heightening the sense of foreboding.

The door creaked open, and a figure emerged from the darkness. Y/N’s breath hitched as she recognized him immediately. The man who stepped into view was silver-haired, his face strikingly familiar yet unsettlingly different. It was Daemon Targaryen.

Y/N's mind raced, struggling to reconcile the sight before her. Daemon, with his long silver hair and commanding presence, was a figure she had heard about in whispers and seen in occasional news stories. His resemblance to Aemond was unmistakable, yet his aura was entirely different—more chaotic, more volatile. He was a known rival, a name associated with danger and unpredictability.

Daemon’s gaze locked onto her, and a smirk played at the corners of his lips. He moved with a languid grace, as if every step was calculated to unsettle her. The smirk grew as he took in the sight of her, tied up and vulnerable.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Daemon's voice was smooth, almost mocking, carrying an edge of amusement. He approached Y/N with an air of detached interest, his eyes gleaming with an inscrutable mix of curiosity and disdain.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to maintain her composure. Her mind was a flurry of questions and fears. Why was Daemon here? What did he want with her? How did he even know she was here?

“Daemon,” she managed to say, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound firm. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

Daemon's smirk widened, his gaze lingering on her bound form with an unsettling mix of pity and intrigue. “Oh, it’s not about what I want,” he said casually, pacing around her. “It’s more about what’s happening now. I suppose you’re curious about that.”

He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he inspected her closely. Y/N could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his presence a stark contrast to the familiarity of Aemond’s warmth. Daemon exuded a different kind of intensity—one that was sharp and unpredictable, and it made Y/N’s skin crawl.

“Your Aemond,” Daemon began, his tone dripping with a mix of derision and amusement, “he’s quite the determined fellow, isn’t he? I’ve heard he’s turned the city upside down looking for you. Quite the spectacle, I’m told.”

The mention of Aemond only heightened Y/N’s anxiety. She had faith in his determination, but the thought of him being so consumed by her disappearance, the danger he might be facing—it was almost too much to bear.

“Why are you telling me this?” Y/N asked, her voice cracking. “What do you gain from this?”

Daemon chuckled, a sound that sent chills down her spine. “Oh, nothing much. I’m simply curious to see how this little drama unfolds. It’s always fascinating to watch the players in a game of power, especially when they’re so… emotionally invested.”

He turned his back to her, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly elsewhere. Y/N watched him, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, of what Aemond might be doing, and the fear that she might never get out of this situation.

Daemon seemed to sense her distress, his smirk fading slightly as he glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t worry too much,” he said, his tone softening with a hint of mockery. “I’m sure your precious Aemond will find you. He’s nothing if not tenacious.”

With that, Daemon moved further into the shadows, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts and her fears. The sound of his footsteps eventually faded away, replaced once more by the eerie silence of the warehouse. Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of her situation, but the mention of Aemond’s efforts was a small glimmer of hope.

She clung to that hope, even as she remained tied to the chair, determined to stay strong for Aemond and for herself. She knew he would come for her, and that thought was the only thing that kept her going amidst the overwhelming darkness.

Daemon’s presence seemed to fill the warehouse with a menacing energy as he continued to circle around Y/N. His silver hair caught what little light there was, making him appear almost spectral. The casual cruelty in his tone as he spoke made Y/N’s blood run cold.

“Oh, and by the way,” Daemon said, his voice carrying a hint of malicious amusement, “there’s something you should know. Aemond has a choice to make—one that involves more than just finding you.”

Y/N’s heart sank. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice quavering with a mix of fear and confusion.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of satisfaction and cruelty. “We’ve been negotiating,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “You remember, don’t you? During the party, when you were playing that beautiful music on stage. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a part of the game.”

The mention of the concert seemed to cut through Y/N’s disorientation, bringing a painful clarity. She remembered the night clearly, the tension, the subtle power plays, the sense of being a pawn in a larger game. But hearing Daemon speak of it so coldly, as if reducing it to a mere negotiation tactic, made her shiver.

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to steady her voice. “What’s Aemond’s choice?”

Daemon straightened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Aemond has been given an ultimatum,” he explained, his tone dripping with disdain. “He has to give up a significant portion of his territory—his power, his influence—if he wants to secure your release. It’s a steep price, but it’s the only way.”

Y/N’s mind raced. The thought of Aemond being forced to give up so much was a heavy blow. She knew how important his position and his empire were to him. The idea of him sacrificing so much just to get her back was both heart-wrenching and infuriating.

“No,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “He can’t—he won’t do that.”

Daemon shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not about what he wants or doesn’t want. It’s about what he has to do to get you back. I’m sure he’s already weighing his options, trying to figure out how to save you without losing everything he’s worked for.”

He paused, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of pity and contempt. “You see, this is the nature of the game we’re all playing. Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. And sometimes, those sacrifices are more than just material.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought of Aemond being put in such a position. She knew how fiercely he protected what was his, and the idea of him having to choose between her and his power was a devastating blow. She couldn’t bear the thought of him losing so much on her account.

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking, “don’t make him do this. There has to be another way.”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly, but the cruel smirk remained. “I’m afraid the choices are limited,” he said, his tone almost pitying. “Aemond will have to decide how much you’re worth to him. And in the meantime, you’ll stay here, waiting to see what he decides.”

With that, Daemon turned and began to walk away, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. Y/N watched him go, her mind reeling with the implications of what he had said. She felt a deep sense of helplessness and fear, knowing that Aemond was facing an impossible decision.

In the stillness that followed, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the thought of Aemond. She hoped that despite the terrible choices he faced, he would find a way to overcome this challenge. And as she held onto that hope, she prayed that their love—and his resolve—would be enough to see them through this dark time.

Daemon’s call was as cold and calculated as the man himself. He dialed Aemond's number with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment before the call was answered. The line crackled to life, and Daemon's voice, smooth and taunting, emerged from the other end.

“Aemond,” Daemon began, his tone carrying an air of amusement and menace. “I trust you’re still searching for your beloved. I hope you haven’t grown too frustrated.”

Aemond's voice was low and dangerous. “Daemon. What do you want?”

Daemon chuckled softly, a sound that made Aemond’s blood boil. “It’s not what I want, but what you’re willing to do. You see, I’ve been thinking. Your precious Y/N, she’s quite a pianist, isn’t she? It would be a shame if she couldn’t play anymore.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, and Aemond’s eyes narrowed as he listened, his hands clenched into fists. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Daemon continued casually. “Just a little reminder of what’s at stake. I’m not planning to kill her, no. That would be too easy. But imagine this—what if I were to… let’s say, damage her hands? Cut her fingers so she could never play the piano again. A musician’s greatest tool, rendered useless.”

Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest. The thought of Y/N being hurt, unable to play the piano that was so integral to her life, was a torment beyond words. His mind raced with the implications of Daemon’s threat, and the fear of what might happen to her if he didn’t act quickly and decisively.

“Daemon, you fucking bastard,” Aemond’s voice was a dangerous whisper, trembling with barely contained rage. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

Daemon’s voice was calm, almost soothing in its coldness. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of hurting her. Not yet, anyway. But I need you to understand the gravity of the situation. You have to make a choice, Aemond. Your territory or her well-being. You can’t have both.”

Aemond’s breaths came in sharp, ragged bursts. The pressure of the situation, the fear for Y/N’s safety, and the unrelenting threat from Daemon were pushing him to his limits. His mind was consumed by the need to protect Y/N and the impending sense of loss if he couldn’t find a way out of this impossible dilemma.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Aemond said, his voice a strained growl. “Just don’t hurt her. Please.”

Daemon’s tone remained infuriatingly calm. “I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to make sacrifices. But remember, the more you delay, the more you risk. Time is running out, Aemond.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Aemond seething with a mixture of anger, fear, and desperation. He slammed his phone down, the impact sending it skidding across the floor. The threat Daemon had made was more than just words—it was a weapon, designed to break Aemond’s resolve and force him into a corner.

With a furious determination, Aemond turned to Aegon and Helaena, his face pale and drawn but his eyes burning with an intense resolve. “We need to find her,” he said, his voice a strained command. “And we need to do it now. No matter what it takes.”

The urgency in his voice was palpable, and both Aegon and Helaena nodded, their own worry mirrored in their expressions. They knew the stakes had never been higher, and they would do everything in their power to help Aemond in his desperate search for Y/N.

Aemond’s mind was a storm of dark thoughts and fierce determination. He would not rest until Y/N was safe and the threat hanging over her was dealt with. The weight of Daemon’s threat was a heavy burden, but it only fueled his resolve to save her from whatever fate awaited.

Aemond’s fury was palpable as he paced the floor of his office, his mind a whirlwind of anguish and anger. Daemon’s threat had crossed a line, a violation of the unspoken code of honor that even the most ruthless in the mafia adhered to. In the criminal world, there was a certain respect, a recognition of boundaries and rules—even among those who thrived on violence and power.

Daemon’s willingness to harm Y/N, to inflict irreversible damage on her, was not just a threat but a grave insult to Aemond. It was an affront to the very principles that governed their world. Daemon had acted dishonorably, and Aemond knew that such a breach demanded retribution—swift and decisive.

As the realization settled in, Aemond’s anger transformed into a cold, calculating resolve. He could no longer afford to be bound by any previous agreements or restraints. Daemon had made it clear that he had no intention of honoring any code of conduct. Therefore, Aemond would retaliate in kind, but with a ferocity and finality that would ensure Daemon would never threaten anyone again.

He turned to Aegon and Helaena, their worried expressions reflecting his own inner turmoil. “Daemon has crossed a line,” Aemond said, his voice a controlled growl. “He’s violated the honor that governs our world. This is no longer just about territory or negotiations. This is personal. We need to end this. Now.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed, understanding the gravity of Aemond’s words. “What do you plan to do?”

Aemond’s face hardened with resolve. “Daemon’s actions have forfeited any right to mercy. We will find him, and when we do, we’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done. This isn’t just about reclaiming power or saving Y/N. It’s about setting things right and ensuring that no one else ever dares to break the code like this.”

Helaena, though visibly distressed, nodded in agreement. “We’ll do whatever it takes to help you. But we need a plan. We need to move quickly before Daemon can cause any more harm.”

Aemond’s mind was already racing through strategies, assembling a network of allies, and planning a coordinated strike against Daemon. He knew it wouldn’t be easy; Daemon was a formidable adversary with his own network of loyalists and resources. But the line had been crossed, and Aemond’s resolve was unyielding.

As he prepared for the confrontation, Aemond’s thoughts were consumed with a single, driving purpose: to rescue Y/N and deliver a punishment so severe that it would serve as a warning to anyone who dared to breach the honor code. He would not rest until Daemon was brought to justice, and Y/N was safe.

The weight of his decision was immense, but Aemond’s determination to protect Y/N and restore the balance of honor within their world drove him forward. Daemon had made his move, and now it was time for Aemond to end it, once and for all.

Daemon’s presence in the dimly lit warehouse was almost oppressive. The bare, concrete walls seemed to close in around Y/N as she sat tied to a chair, her wrists bound tightly, and her eyes glazed with exhaustion. The remnants of her once-composed demeanor were now marred by the effects of 24 hours without food or water. Her throat was parched, her lips cracked, and her energy was nearly depleted.

Daemon, on the other hand, was a figure of unsettling calm. He sat casually in a worn-out armchair facing Y/N, his silver hair casting an eerie glow in the scant light that filtered through the dirty windows. His demeanor was a disturbing contrast to Y/N’s state. Daemon’s smirk was cruel and satisfied as he watched her suffering with a kind of detached amusement that seemed to enjoy the discomfort and helplessness in front of him.

He had enjoyed the power this situation gave him, savoring every moment of Y/N’s weakening state. The sight of her thirst and hunger, the way her body slumped with fatigue, brought a twisted pleasure to him. To Daemon, this was not just about the negotiation or the power play—it was about the sadistic enjoyment of breaking someone down, physically and mentally.

“So, Y/N,” Daemon’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and mocking, “how are we feeling today? Still holding on, I see. You’re quite resilient for someone in your position.”

Y/N's head hung low, her eyes struggling to focus on Daemon through the haze of weakness. She wanted to respond, to show him she was not entirely defeated, but her throat felt like sandpaper. She could barely muster the strength to lift her head, let alone speak.

Daemon leaned forward, his gaze scrutinizing her with a predatory gleam. “You know, this could all be over if Aemond simply agrees to my terms. But he’s being stubborn. It’s almost amusing how he’s willing to sacrifice everything for you. It makes me wonder—what makes you so special?”

The question was rhetorical, and Daemon’s tone was more for his own amusement than an actual inquiry. He enjoyed seeing Y/N’s discomfort, her struggle to stay conscious despite her dire condition.

He stood up and walked around her slowly, like a predator circling its prey. “You’re not making this easy on either of us, you know. If only you’d just convince Aemond to make the right choice, this could all end quickly.”

Daemon’s words were punctuated by the faintest hint of cruelty in his voice, the kind that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. His presence was a constant reminder of her vulnerability, and his sadistic pleasure in her suffering made the situation even more unbearable.

“Think about it,” Daemon continued, almost in a whisper, leaning close to her. “If he doesn’t give up his territory, you’ll continue to suffer. And if he does, well, I might just decide to be merciful. But there are no guarantees.”

The uncertainty in his tone was deliberate, adding to Y/N’s despair. He wanted her to feel the full weight of her situation, to be acutely aware of her helplessness and the precariousness of her fate.

As Daemon returned to his chair, his eyes remained fixed on Y/N with an unsettling calmness. He took a sip from a glass of wine he had beside him, savoring it with exaggerated pleasure, as if relishing the stark contrast between his comfort and her suffering.

The hours stretched on, each moment a testament to Daemon’s sadistic control over Y/N’s fate. And as Y/N endured the torment, her mind remained focused on one desperate hope: that Aemond would come through, that he would find her before Daemon could cause any more harm.

Aemond and Aegon were hunched over a map in a dimly lit room, their expressions grim and determined. The urgency of their situation demanded a plan that was both precise and cautious. The standard approach of a violent confrontation or a direct assault was too risky; it could endanger Y/N and potentially alert Daemon's men, making their rescue more complicated.

After a tense silence, Aegon broke the quiet, his voice low and purposeful. “We need a plan that minimizes the risk to Y/N. Bullets and guns might cause collateral damage. We have to find a way to incapacitate everyone in the warehouse without raising alarms.”

Aemond nodded, his jaw clenched with determination. “We’ll use something more subtle. If we can get close enough to their water supply, we can introduce a drug that will make everyone unconscious. It’s the safest way to ensure Y/N isn’t harmed in the process.”

Aegon’s eyes lit up with understanding. “We need to identify their water source and figure out the right dosage. It has to be potent enough to knock everyone out but not so strong that it risks harming Y/N.”

They spent the next several hours coordinating their plan. Aemond used his network to gather information on the warehouse’s layout, including the location of the water supply and any possible entry points. Aegon worked on obtaining the necessary sedative, ensuring it was both effective and safe.

As they prepared, Aemond’s thoughts were solely focused on Y/N. The idea of her suffering under Daemon’s cruel control was unbearable. He had to get her out, and he needed to do it without risking her life. The thought of her being hurt, even accidentally, drove him to be meticulous in their approach.

The plan was to infiltrate the warehouse discreetly. Aemond and Aegon would have to move quickly and carefully to avoid detection. They arranged for a team of trusted allies to assist them, ensuring everyone was briefed on the importance of the operation.

The night before the mission, Aemond found a moment of quiet in his office, his mind racing with thoughts of Y/N. He clutched a small, silver locket that Y/N had given him, a token of their bond. The locket was a constant reminder of what he was fighting for, and he drew strength from it.

Aegon approached, breaking the silence. “Everything’s ready. We’ve got the sedative and a plan to get in and out without raising alarms.”

Aemond looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and anxiety. “Let’s get this done. I want her safe, and I want Daemon to pay for what he’s done.”

Aegon nodded, sharing Aemond’s resolve. “We’ll make sure she’s safe. Daemon won’t know what hit him.”

The operation was set into motion. Aemond and Aegon, along with their team, made their way to the warehouse under the cover of darkness. They approached the water supply with the utmost caution, ensuring they didn’t alert any of Daemon’s men.

With practiced precision, they introduced the drug into the water, ensuring it mixed thoroughly. Once the task was complete, they retreated, ready to execute the next phase of their plan.

As they waited for the drug to take effect, Aemond’s mind was solely on Y/N. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and he was determined to bring her back safely. The stakes were high, but Aemond’s resolve was unwavering. He would do whatever it took to rescue her and put an end to Daemon’s reign of terror.

The warehouse was eerily quiet after hours of tense waiting. Aemond and Aegon, along with their team, had successfully introduced the drug into the water supply, and now they were poised to act. The silence that settled over the facility was a promising sign that the drug had taken effect. It was time to move.

Under the cover of darkness, Aemond and Aegon moved stealthily through the warehouse, their footsteps almost imperceptible on the concrete floor. They had outfitted themselves with silenced weapons, knowing that any noise could jeopardize their mission. Each member of their team was carefully briefed to maintain complete silence and efficiency.

As they approached the warehouse, the scene was just as they had hoped: guards were slumped over or collapsed in their posts, rendered unconscious by the drugged water. The air was thick with the tension of their carefully executed plan. Aemond’s heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He was desperate to find Y/N and ensure she was safe.

One by one, they methodically eliminated the remaining guards. The silenced guns fired with barely a sound, each shot precise and deliberate. The guards who had managed to stay awake were swiftly dealt with, leaving no room for error. The entire operation was executed with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

Aemond’s focus was unwavering as they advanced deeper into the warehouse. The corridor they navigated was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the walls. His mind was set on one goal: reaching Y/N. The thought of her bound and alone was a driving force behind every step he took.

Finally, they reached the hall where Y/N was tied. The sight that greeted them was a stark reminder of the urgency of their mission. Y/N was slumped in a chair, her body weak from hours of deprivation. Her appearance was distressing—her face was pale, her lips cracked, and her eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. The sight of her in such a vulnerable state ignited a fierce protectiveness in Aemond.

Aemond moved forward, his expression a mix of relief and anguish. He knelt beside Y/N, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His touch was tender, his hands shaking slightly as he worked to untie her bonds.

“Aemond…” Y/N murmured weakly, her voice barely audible. The sound of his name was enough to break through the haze of her condition.

“Shh, I’m here,” Aemond whispered, his voice filled with both reassurance and determination. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

He carefully worked on the ropes, his movements precise yet gentle. Aegon and the rest of the team maintained their vigilance, ensuring no threats remained. The warehouse was now a scene of controlled chaos, with their mission nearing its end.

As the ropes fell away, Aemond lifted Y/N into his arms, holding her close. The exhaustion was evident in her frail form, but the fact that she was safe was a comfort that outweighed the turmoil of the moment.

“We’ve got you,” Aemond said softly, his voice filled with an intensity that conveyed just how much he meant those words. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

With Y/N safely in his arms, Aemond led the way out of the warehouse, his heart a storm of relief and anger. The mission was far from over, but the most crucial part was complete. They had rescued Y/N, and now their focus was on ensuring her safety and bringing justice to those who had wronged her.

As they emerged into the night, Aemond’s resolve hardened. Daemon would face the consequences of his actions, and Aemond would make sure that Y/N was protected and cared for. The warehouse behind them was now a grim reminder of the lengths he would go to for the ones he loved.

Aemond’s focus was solely on Y/N. Despite the significant victory of capturing Daemon, his thoughts were consumed by the condition in which he found Y/N. She was the priority, and he could not afford to be distracted by anything else.

As Aemond carried her out of the warehouse, he was acutely aware of how frail and vulnerable she looked. Her skin was pale, her lips cracked from dehydration, and her body was visibly weakened by hunger. Her breaths were shallow and uneven, and it was clear that she was barely clinging to consciousness. The sight of her in such a state cut through Aemond with a profound sense of urgency and guilt.

Once outside, Aemond carefully laid Y/N down on a makeshift stretcher that had been prepared for her. His hands were gentle but determined as he checked her vitals and made sure she was as comfortable as possible. The team had prepared water and medical supplies, and Aemond’s primary concern was to rehydrate her and tend to her immediate needs.

He looked at his men with a fierce intensity. “Get her water and something to eat. We need to stabilize her now. She’s been through hell, and we can’t afford any more delays.”

Aegon, who had been monitoring the situation closely, quickly moved to get the necessary supplies. He handed over a bottle of water and some high-energy food, which Aemond administered to Y/N with careful precision. He held her head gently as she sipped the water, his eyes never leaving her face.

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered as she tried to focus on Aemond, her expression a mix of confusion and relief. The first few sips of water seemed to revive her slightly, bringing a faint color back to her cheeks. Aemond could see her strength slowly returning as she managed to swallow small bites of food.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Aemond said softly, his voice soothing despite the raw edge of worry. “You’re safe now. We’re going to take care of you.”

As Y/N’s condition improved, Aemond’s mind briefly shifted to Daemon, who was now in custody. But his thoughts quickly returned to Y/N, driven by the overwhelming need to ensure her recovery. The guilt of not being able to protect her from the ordeal weighed heavily on him, and he was determined to make it right.

Aemond stayed by her side, his attention solely on her well-being. He monitored her as the medical team attended to her, ensuring she received the care she needed. Every slight improvement in her condition was a small victory, a testament to the strength of their bond and the care he had for her.

As Y/N began to regain her strength, Aemond’s resolve grew stronger. The ordeal had only deepened his commitment to protecting her and ensuring that nothing like this would ever happen again. Daemon’s fate was sealed, but for Aemond, the real victory was seeing Y/N safe and recovering in his arms.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her vision still clouded by exhaustion and dehydration. As her gaze focused, she saw Aemond’s face, a beacon of familiarity amidst her foggy mind. Despite the pain and weakness, a weak smile formed on her lips.

“Aemond, is that you?” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. The sight of him felt almost unreal, like a dream she wasn’t sure she was truly experiencing. “Am I hallucinating?”

Aemond’s heart ached at the sight of her so fragile. He gently cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek with a tenderness that belied the storm of emotions raging within him.

“It’s me, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of relief and anguish. “You’re not hallucinating. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes locked onto hers with a fierce protectiveness. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here sooner. But you’re safe now, and I’m not going to leave your side.”

Y/N’s strength was waning, but she managed to squeeze Aemond’s hand weakly. Her eyes softened, though they still carried the weight of her ordeal.

“I… I knew you’d come,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I just... needed to hear you.”

Aemond’s eyes filled with unshed tears, the depth of his relief mingling with the pain of seeing her so vulnerable. He gently helped her sit up slightly, offering her the water and food with careful hands.

“Drink this, Y/N,” he urged, his voice a soothing murmur. “It’ll help you feel better. Just take it slow.”

As she sipped the water, Aemond watched her with an intensity that spoke volumes. His every movement was filled with a desperate need to make things right, to heal the wounds inflicted by Daemon and ensure that Y/N felt safe and loved.

With Y/N slowly regaining her strength, Aemond remained by her side, providing constant reassurance and comfort. The ordeal had been harrowing, but the sight of her beginning to recover was a testament to the strength of their bond and the determination to protect her at all costs.

In a darkened room of the warehouse, Aegon was fully immersed in his work, his demeanor a stark contrast to the compassion Aemond showed Y/N. The room was filled with the low hum of machinery and the occasional, muffled sound of Daemon's struggling. The air was thick with tension and the unmistakable scent of danger.

Daemon was bound to a chair, his face a mix of defiance and fear. Despite his arrogance, the reality of his situation was beginning to set in. Aegon loomed over him, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he toyed with various instruments of intimidation.

“You know, Daemon,” Aegon began, his tone dripping with a dark amusement, “Y/N reminds me a lot of my sister, Helaena. Innocent, pure, and completely out of her depth in this world of ours. You did wrong, and you know it. You broke the code, a code that even we—despite everything—hold sacred.”

Aegon paced slowly around Daemon, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mixture of satisfaction and malice. The dim light cast long shadows, adding an extra layer of menace to his presence.

“We don’t just act on whims here,” Aegon continued, his voice carrying an edge of finality. “There’s honor in what we do, even if it’s twisted and dark. You violated that honor by hurting someone like Y/N. Someone who had no place in our world but was dragged into it by your recklessness.”

Daemon’s eyes darted around, trying to gauge his options, but the fear was palpable. He knew the rules, and he had broken them in the most egregious manner possible. Aegon’s words cut through the room, a harsh reminder of the consequences of his actions.

“You’re not just paying for your crimes against Y/N,” Aegon said coldly, “You’re paying for breaking the unspoken laws we live by. Now, we have every right to retaliate, to show that there are lines you don’t cross.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. The room was filled with the sounds of Daemon’s ragged breathing and the clinking of metal. Aegon took a step closer, his smile widening as he relished the fear in Daemon’s eyes.

“We’ll break the code, Daemon,” Aegon said softly, almost conversationally. “Just as you broke it. And when we’re done, you’ll wish you’d never crossed us.”

With a final, lingering glance at his captive, Aegon turned away, his mind already drifting back to the task at hand. Daemon’s fate was sealed, and the vengeance exacted would be a stark reminder of the consequences of defying the unwritten rules of their world.

The past week had been a grueling ordeal for Y/N. Her recovery was slow, and every day seemed to stretch on endlessly. Through it all, Aemond had been a constant presence by her side. His vigilance was almost suffocating; he never left her room and refused to let her do even the simplest of tasks. His every movement was marked by a palpable tension, and his eyes never left her, filled with an unspoken guilt and anguish.

Aemond’s behavior was a stark contrast to his usual composed self. He hovered around Y/N with an anxious intensity, his normally sharp gaze softened into one of deep concern. His hands, usually steady and deliberate, now trembled slightly whenever he touched her. He seemed almost afraid to leave her side, as if any distance might somehow undo the progress she had made.

Noticing his distress, Y/N decided to lighten the mood. With a small, reassuring smile, she teased, “Looks like your bodyguards failed, Aemond.”

Aemond’s eyes, usually so fierce and commanding, softened as he met her gaze. His expression darkened slightly, and his voice held a note of seriousness as he replied, “You think what happened was a joke?”

Y/N could see the strain etched into his features, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes were filled with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. “I was one step away from setting the entire city on fire,” he added, his voice tinged with a hint of a threat, though it was clear that the anger was directed inward.

Y/N’s smile widened as she continued, “It would have been a lot of ashes to clean then.”

Aemond’s face remained stern, but a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes. “Yn, stop it. This... What happened... It’s not a joke. It wasn’t—”

Y/N tilted her head playfully. “Hmm... Do you want me to cry?”

Aemond’s voice softened further, his frustration giving way to desperation. “No, I want you to be happy.”

Y/N’s teasing smile grew wider. “Do I look happy now?”

At that moment, the dam within Aemond finally broke. His eyes, which had been brimming with unshed tears, overflowed. He moved swiftly to Y/N’s side, enveloping her in a tight, desperate embrace. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, the weight of his guilt and fear crashing down on him.

“There, there, Aemond,” Y/N whispered softly, her voice tender and soothing. “I’m here, and I am here because of you.”

Her words seemed to be the balm Aemond needed. He clung to her, his tears soaking into her shoulder as he let the release of his emotions wash over him. For the first time since Y/N’s ordeal, he allowed himself to break down, finding solace in the knowledge that she was alive and in his arms.

As Y/N held him close, her own heart ached with a mixture of sadness and love. She knew the toll this had taken on him, and though her own recovery was far from complete, she found strength in comforting him. The bond between them, though tested by the events, was undeniably stronger, forged in the fire of their shared trials.

Aemond pulled back slightly, his tear-streaked face softening as he looked at Y/N. Her gaze was steady, filled with warmth and reassurance.

“Can you let this go now?” she asked gently, her voice soothing.

Aemond nodded slowly, his emotions still raw but his resolve firming.

Y/N offered him a small, comforting smile. “And I promise something,” she continued. “You can have as many bodyguards on me as you want. But please... don’t stop smiling.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a faint, hesitant smile despite the lingering sadness in his eyes. The promise in her words, her insistence on seeing him smile, was a beacon of hope in the midst of the turmoil.

He took her hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’ll do my best, Y/N,” he said softly. “I promise.”

With that, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, a silent vow to cherish her and the happiness they still had, despite everything they had endured.

[moonstarsunflower]

I Think I'm in Love with You

by moonstarsunflower

pairing : minghao (the8) x fem reader

summary : you and minghao have been close friends since college and you deeply care for each other—maybe in a level deeper than you would've expected—but you just didn't know it

genre : fluff, just cute & tooth-rotting fluffidy fluff, non-idol!au, a little hurt & comfort perhaps

notes: photos not mine, credits to rightful owners!

warnings : minghao is an ice prince, drinking & getting drunk, implied jealousy, reader has a serious case of self-doubt 💀

word count : 4.2k

a/n : new york in winter ❄️☃️

You sat right across an annoyed Minghao while the girl next to him talked his ear off.

And you couldn't help but laugh because he looked rather cute trying not to roll his eyes too excessively at the girl.

Meanwhile, the guy next to you tried to get your attention as well.

It's a cold winter day, and you were on a double date: you with your co-worker, and Minghao with your co-worker's friend.

Initially, it was only supposed to be you and your co-worker, Isaac. But his friend, Abigail, wanted to tag along and asked if you knew someone who she could have as a date.

You had Minghao on your mind, since you knew he was single. But you weren't sure if he wanted to go.

However, Abigail was adamant, and she had you call Minghao on the spot.

"Hey, it's me!" You said on the phone.

"Hi, Y/N! Why'd you call?"

"Well—uh..."

You really didn't want to bother him, but your co-worker's friend was too excited.

"Do you wanna go on a double date with me?"

Abigail was rather too excited, talking about how she wants you to convince Minghao to go while you struggled to hear his reply.

"Sure, why not? Just text me the time and location."

He agreed, to your surprise. And you weren't sure why.

You knew he wasn't really the type to just go on double dates—or dates in general, for that matter.

"Oh, okay. Great! I'll text you the details soon." You told him before ending the call, then you turned to Abigail. "He said yes."

Abigail shrieked in excitement.

Unfortunately, you had forgotten to tell Minghao that you weren't his date.

So now back to the café of your choice.

If you were being honest, you were just trying to see if you would click with your co-worker outside of the working place, which he understood.

He, too, wasn't really looking for anything serious when he asked you. If things between you go well on the date, then why not try, right?

But the date wasn't as exciting as you'd expected, and Isaac felt the same.

Oh, well—you both tried anyway.

No hard feelings, really.

Your co-worker's friend Abigail, however, was way too enamored at your dear friend Minghao.

But he wasn't having any of it.

The date, in question, finally ended after two hours. And the moment it did, Minghao was quick to say, "Y/N and I are neighbors, so we'll go home together."

You didn't have time to protest because then Isaac just shrugged and said that he'll accompany his friend home.

"It was nice meeting you, Minghao. Anyway, see you at work, Y/N!"

"Bye, Minghao! Hope we'll get a second date!"

"Bye, nice meeting you."

"Bye! See you at work!"

Soon, the two of them were on their way, and you were with Minghao.

"Since when were we neighbors?" You asked him, a light-hearted laugh escaping your lips.

"Since you didn't tell me that I had a different date." He said in a deadpan tone.

"Yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you about that part. Forgive me?" You apologized, giving him a pout.

His sharp expression turned soft and soon, he was chuckling softly. "Sure. Let's get you home."

"Yey!" You jumped a little as the two of you walked down the snow-filled New York streets.

When you shivered, Minghao noticed how you weren't wearing gloves in this cold weather.

So he took off his own from his hands and gave you his leather gloves.

"Oh—you don't have to—"

"Just take them, Y/N. You're gonna freeze."

You smiled gratefully at him as you took his gloves, feeling a little bit of warmth when you wore it.

And just like he said, he took you home to your apartment.

♢

You met Xu Minghao at college, during freshman year.

He was known to be cold and straightforward by most people—except you.

You knew him to be very friendly and rather sweet.

So, you were a bit skeptical when some mutual friends asked you how you were close with him.

"What do you mean? He's actually pretty friendly."

You shrugged.

"Maybe to you, but not to everyone else."

When your friend, who was a classmate of his, spotted him at the locker area putting some stuff in his locker, she called onto him.

"Hey! Minghao!"

You saw how Minghao turned towards your friend with a cold stare, but the moment he saw you, his face lit up.

"Hey, Y/N!"

You waved back at him, then continued to walk with your friend.

"See! I told you! Did you see how he ignored me but not you?"

You laughed at her and just said, "well, we're pretty close. Maybe you just need to talk to him more so you'll get closer too."

"Yeah, right. Already tried that. He just doesn't like talking to people unless it's you."

Those were your college days.

When you and him graduated, you stayed close and had the same circle of friends.

Sometimes, when these friends ask to hang out, Minghao is always present as long as you are.

And even when he's already friends with some girls from your circle, you noticed how he doesn't like them being touchy with him.

You would laugh when he'd literally dodge the girls from your friend group whenever they try to get close to him.

And he would just display an icy glare towards them, as if saying, "don't even dare."

Oh, but you.

You were special.

You didn't know it, but you definitely were.

Because you were the only girl he chooses to not ignore.

You were the only girl he chooses to smile at.

You were the only girl he chooses to talk to for hours when these hangouts would occur.

But you didn't notice it, because you were close with everybody else, and you talk to literally everyone.

There was one time in those hangouts where you got drunk.

Not too much since you still remember the happenings—or so you thought—but it was obvious you were incapable of standing up anymore.

It was one of those hangouts where everyone stayed up until 3 in the morning, just drinking and talking about life, laying down on the floor and falling asleep.

You, Minghao, and two other people were still awake.

As the four of you talked, you could barely sit up straight.

So Minghao, who was next to you on the floor, moved behind you so you could lean on his torso for support while he continued to drink and talk.

The other two teased him for acting so sweet towards you while he openly rejects other girls.

He had an uncontrollable grin on his lips, to which he blames the alcohol, and just said, "she's my closest friend since freshman year."

Meanwhile, you laughed out loud because everything was just funny when you're drunk.

You didn't really remember any of that happening, or the next thing that happened. You weren't sure at which part of the night you fell asleep.

You just remembered waking up next to Minghao.

Some of your friends were still asleep on the floor while two of them were awake already.

"Hao," you shook him, waking him up. "Hao, wake up."

When he did, you told him about your headache.

He gathered his senses for a bit, before standing and helping you up.

Minghao then told the other two that he'll take you home.

He wasn't really that drunk, just a little groggy.

So you both bid goodbye to them and hailed a cab going to your apartment.

You were having the worst headaches that time, and when you'd told Minghao, he decided to stay for a while.

You were glad the both of you had the day off from work.

Minghao, despite not feeling okay as well, took care of you that time.

He just drank a painkiller for his mild headache, then proceeded to take care of you.

He cooked some soup, prepared you a bath, and he assisted you with the medicine for your headache.

You, on the other hand, were so tired and a little out of it.

After taking a bath, eating soup, and drinking medicine, you asked if Minghao could stay with you.

He said yes with a soft smile, and he sat on an armchair next to your bed.

The sleepy smile you had as you talked yourself to sleep made him smile.

You didn't know it, because you fell asleep fast, but you make him very happy.

♢

Years have passed since college, and you were still close with Minghao.

You had different works, different schedules, different daily lives.

You couldn't always hang out with friends, but you and Minghao could still find time for each other.

Your co-worker, Isaac, had asked if Minghao was already your boyfriend, to which you denied.

"We're just really close." You had told him.

He didn't really believe that. But he just shrugged, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Yeah, sure. It's quite obvious, though."

"What's obvious?" You asked, clueless.

"You know, you and him." He replied, giving you a playful look.

The moment he said that, something in you suddenly changed.

You didn't know what it was, you just felt like there was something different.

If you were being honest, you never really thought about dating Minghao. It just never crossed your mind.

Until now.

And ever since then, something in you just clicked.

It wasn't that clear yet. You'd gone to a couple of usual hangouts with only Minghao before you realized it.

Going to art museums because he finds it fun, the way you admire paintings and artworks in utter and complete awe.

Visiting libraries and bookstores because he finds it cute, the way you jump up and down in excitement of seeing new books to read and research about.

Relaxing at cafés because he likes the way you smile whenever you're drinking hot coffee, especially in the winter.

Of course, all of that were unbeknownst to you.

The whole time, you thought it's just because he wants your casual company whenever he does those things.

You had no idea about all of that.

Right now, it was all about you just looking at him, through the lenses of a wonderstruck being.

He was just reading a book across from you at one of your favorite cafés, drinking his hot cup of tea.

But you were in awe of him.

After that, he just walked you to your apartment with his usual sweet smile—one that he doesn't like showing to people that weren't you.

But you were in a daze because of him.

It was one of those regular days where he's not with you because he already went home, and it's not like he stays at your apartment after the two of you hung out.

But you were saddened at the absence of him.

Wow.

How come you never noticed it before?

You like Xu Minghao.

Very much.

♢

Ever since your co-worker pointed it out—and you figured it out—you've been feeling down.

Lately, you just felt sad at the fact that you like Minghao, but it's probably not the same for him.

Granted, he's very closed-off from most people but is very nice and sweet when it comes to you.

However, you chalked it up to him being just the way he is.

He's very straightforward, he doesn't like people getting too close to his comfort zone, and he has an ice-cold personality that wards off most people—you just happened to be lucky for being a friend from college.

After figuring out these feelings, you became self-aware.

What if you were too much for him sometimes?

What if he actually doesn't like it when you ask him to hang out?

What if he's just feeling forced to go with you because you and him go way back?

"Hey, Y/N! Do you wanna hang out? I got you something for the winter season."

His tone was that of excitement.

"Hello, Hao."

But yours wasn't.

Not after your realizations.

"Oh, are you alright? Why do you sound sad?"

"It's nothing. I think I'll pass for now. I don't feel too good to go outside."

"Is that so? Well, okay. I hope you feel well soon."

Half an hour after the call, someone rang on your doorbell.

And you were surprised to see Minghao at the door, a bag of groceries in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

"Hao—what are you doing here?" You asked, wide-eyed.

"I thought you sounded sad, so I came here to cheer you up. And like I said, I got you something."

Minghao was quick to work in the kitchen with the ingredients he bought at the grocery store.

Since he thought you were sick, he made you a special soup.

You two ate it as you watched snow fall from your windowpane at 6 in the evening.

When you looked at Minghao, he had that really cute smile that you deemed your favorite as he talked about his day.

But all you could do was smile back sadly, because he doesn't feel the same way you do.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing. Just tired from work." You lied, so he woudn't worry.

"Well, I have just the thing to make you happy."

He got the paper bag and took out a brown box. When he opened it, a nice-looking night lamp appeared before you.

It was a black cylindrical-shaped lamp, with multiple small holes on its shade.

You stared at it, wondering what the color of the light inside was.

Minghao plugged in the night lamp and put it on the floor, signaling for you to sit down there as well.

You did, despite having no clue what for.

He then stood up to turn off all the lights in your apartment, before sitting next to you.

When he's snuggly sat on the floor, he then told you to look up at the ceiling, to which you followed, before turning the light of the lamp on.

Your eyes widened in awe of the sight.

Your ceiling and walls were full of blue stars, and you couldn't help but stare in wonder.

Minghao's lips curved upward in a smile at the sight of you.

"Wow."

"I remembered how you told me that there are always no stars during winter, so when I saw this at the department store, I bought it for you."

"Really?"

You looked at him, even more surprised. He had that favorite smile of yours.

For a moment, you just let yourself bask in his presence.

It didn't matter if he didn't like you. This moment with him was enough.

"Thanks, Hao. I love it."

You said with a grateful smile, while he displayed a soft one.

"I'm glad."

You both laid down on the floor, heads touching as you watched the faux stars around you, the snow outside falling silently.

"You can change the settings to different colors..."

♢

You had gotten over your sadness of your unrequited feelings for Minghao.

It had been two weeks since that night he visited you and gifted you the lamp. Since then, you always turned it on before going to sleep.

You were fine now. Just happy to be one of Minghao's closest friend. Just happy that you get to hang out with him on a regular basis.

Just wonderfully fine.

Until you weren't.

Abigail, your co-worker's friend from that double date, had asked for Minghao's number. Isaac informed you one day at the office.

And when he said that, your world shattered.

Why was she asking for Minghao's number? Is she going to ask him to go out again? Why was she interested in him?

You weren't even sure if she enjoyed the double date last time.

So why was she asking for his number?

You didn't want to give it to her. But that would be rude. Not to mention, you weren't even his girlfriend.

You had no reason to gatekeep him.

Reluctantly—and rather heartbroken—you gave Minghao's number to Isaac, to which he then passed onto Abigail.

You also texted Minghao, telling him that Abigail got his number from you.

At first, you were shocked when he texted you back.

"Why did you give her my number?"

You weren't sure at the tone of his message since it was just a text, but to you it sounded as if he was angry.

You texted back an apology, and told him why you couldn't refuse Abigail's request.

To which he replied back, "Never mind. She got it already."

Now you were sadder than you were before.

What did he mean by that message? Was he still mad at you for giving Abigail his number? Or was he glad that Abigail got his number?

Does he like Abigail?

You weren't sure. All you knew was that he didn't reply anymore after you apologized again.

The next day was Friday. And you heard from Isaac that Abigail asked Minghao out on a date tomorrow.

That was all you knew. Isaac didn't really elaborate. So during work, all you had in your mind was Minghao going on a date with Abigail.

And you couldn't focus.

You went home in a downcast mood. You ate dinner sadly, you watched TV but you couldn't feel happy.

You and Minghao were close, but it's not like you texted or chatted daily.

You both just regularly checked on each other.

So you were just completely heartbroken when no texts or messages from him came up.

Not even an update about him and Abigail's date tomorrow.

Sigh...

You couldn't tell Minghao how you felt, so now that somebody else tried to, it felt like you lost.

It felt like you lost a game that you didn't even know you were playing.

So, you sulked yourself into sleep.

And in doing so, you didn't notice the unknown number that texted you a little after 8.

The next morning, you woke up sad.

You remembered it was Saturday, no work. But it was Minghao and Abigail's date today.

You didn't get up, even after waking up at 12 in the afternoon. You didn't even look at your phone.

You just stared at the ceiling, then at the snow outside your window.

You ate brunch very late, only getting up on your feet at 2.

Then you just watched TV.

But nothing can take your mind away from Minghao.

You wondered what time they met up, if he was smiling at Abigail the way he smiles at you, if he was having a good time with her.

Minghao didn't seem like he enjoyed the double date last time. But it was strange that he didn't text you about his date today.

Maybe, he didn't feel like telling you. It's not like he was required to. There must be at least some limits to your friendship.

His romantic relationships must be one of them.

So you just continued to sulk for another hour and a half. You didn't even look at your phone, you didn't have the heart to check it.

Even the unknown number that has texted you more than five times went to the list of things you chose to ignore.

It must be one of those scams, you thought.

Lately, you've been receiving a lot of scam messages from unknown numbers, so you learned to ignore it rather than deleting them one by one.

At half past 4 in the afternoon, you were so miserable, lying on the carpeted floor of the living room, when the doorbell rang.

You suddenly felt alert, quickly sitting up straight.

Who could be ringing your doorbell at this moment?

You weren't expecting any parcels or food deliveries. And it's not like your friends would just unexpectedly turn up at your door.

You weren't expecting anyone at all, so you were skeptical as to who it was ringing your doorbell.

"Just a minute!"

You shouted as you quickly tied your hair in a bun, trying to look presentable for the unexpected visitor.

When you opened the door slightly, you were shocked to see Minghao.

Hurriedly, you unlocked the chain and opened the door wide.

"H—Hao? What are you doing here?" You asked, a feeling of deep surprise washing over you as you let him in.

You then saw the bouquet of flowers he was holding, and the first thing you thought was, "Oh, so he's on his way to his date now. But what is he doing here?"

Your face immediately turned solemn, and this didn't go unnoticed by Minghao.

Instead, he presented the bouquet to you and said, "this is for you, Y/N."

What?

"What—wait—but—"

You struggled to form coherent words.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a date with Abigail today?"

His face turned skeptical.

"Who told you that?"

"My co-worker, Isaac. He said you and Abigail are going out on a date today."

You answered with an uninterested tone, looking to the side.

"Well, he didn't tell you that I rejected her."

At those words, your ears perked up.

You couldn't look at Minghao, too shy to face him. And even more so when your eyes turned to the bouquet of flowers in front of you.

"So this is... for me?"

Slowly, you took the bouquet from his hands and smelled it.

It was still fresh, arranged with a light blue wrapper.

"I've been texting you, Y/N."

Your soft and shy smile turned to surprise when he said those words.

"Really? But I haven't received any messages from you."

Minghao chuckled at that.

"Yeah, I figured. I changed numbers, I was the one texting you multiple times since last night."

Oh...

If your cheeks weren't red earlier, it was now.

You didn't know it was him. You thought it was a scam, so you kept ignoring it.

"Sorry... I thought it was one of those scams so I didn't even look at it." You admitted sheepishly.

But moreover, you were shocked at the fact that he changed his phone number.

Minghao just smiled softly at you. "Sorry about that. Abigail blew up my phone when you gave her my number. I had to change it."

The sudden revelations kept coming, and you kept being shocked from them.

"But why are you here, Hao?"

Even if you had an idea, you didn't think it was true.

It was too good to be true, too much of a wishful thinking on your part.

But Minghao just shook his head as he chuckled at you.

"Isn't it obvious?" He said in his usual calm voice. "I rejected Abigail because I care for you."

Oh, you thought, well thanks for that, I guess.

"Deeply."

Maybe it's not what I'm thinking.

"Maybe even more than that."

Wait, wha—

"Um, I didn't know if you noticed, but I actually like you."

Minghao blushed at his confession, making you look up at him with deep surprise.

He likes me? Is this for real?

"Since... Since when?"

You asked, rather stunned at his revelation. But deep inside, you couldn't believe what he just said. You even thought it was a joke.

But the bouquet of flowers said otherwise. They were red camellias, your favorite kind that blooms in winter.

Minghao had turned into a blushing mess, a sight that you never thought to see in your years of friendship.

"Since college," he confessed. "I wasn't just cold to the other girls because of my personality. I didn't like most of them, but... it's also because they don't make me feel the way you do."

And then all of those things suddenly made sense to you.

The way he rejected the girls who liked him back in college, the way he also didn't like some of your mutual female friends getting too close with him, and the way he blocked Abigail permanently.

All because of you.

Honestly, you thought it was just in his nature to avoid girls.

It was strange, but you always assumed it was involuntary—like he just does it without giving much thought to his actions.

After all, he was infamously known as the ice prince back in your college days.

And you always assumed that you just happened to be very lucky to get on his good side, that's why you were close with him.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't think you were interested in me. Especially after you said that you weren't looking for a boyfriend until after you graduate."

"But... but I thought..."

Minghao waited for you, but when you didn't speak, he started to laugh softly.

"I stayed friends with you because I wanted us to be closer. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, and I thought that time was now."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Your brain might've short-circuited, because you couldn't reply.

But that was until your body moved uncontrollably.

Or maybe you were in full control, but you just weren't thinking straight.

Because then you tiptoed to reach him, and gave his left cheek a short peck.

It wasn't until after your action that you realized what you just did.

Minghao was deeply surprised, eyes wide from your cute little action.

"I like you too, Hao." You confessed sheepishly, looking down to the ground. "Since... well, I just realized it recently."

Minghao gave you a gentle pat on the head, and when you glanced up to him from the weird action, that's when his lips touched yours.

A soft, gentle kiss.

"I'm glad, Y/N."

He said with that favorite smile of yours.

just imagine ; svt | masterlist

🌻

a/n: so, i know the story didn't mention anything about minghao x fem reader being in love with e/o but i think the plot itself feels that way 😆

also, title is inspired by mark's line in nct 127's song designer, and this was totally inspired by a dream i had of minghao himself haha 😆

another also, this is one of my favorite moodboards that i've made so far 💖

questions? send your thoughts! feedbacks are much appreciated!

🌻

©️ 2024, moonstarsunflower. All rights reserved. Do not copy, repost, or use without permission.

[gyusimp]

idea: Gyutaro with someone who has a very hard time expressing their emotions outwardly due to being neurodivergent and depressed. Not that they can't, they just was never able to try, or figure out how. They are very blunt, but have been trying to do better with their words and often talk too fast or forget what they were going to say. is this me describing what its like to be neurodivergent? the world may never know- ty if you can do this!

°•𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 [ᴳʸᵘᵗᵃʳᵒ̄ ˣ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ]

• Thank you for your request, it was a little different than what I usually write because it was a more serious situation so I hope I did it right. I hope you like it and I apologize if there are any errors 💜

The streets of the Entertainment District were a labyrinth of chaos, but amidst the noise, you found solace in the shadows. It was easier to blend into the background, to watch the world pass by rather than participate in it. Expressing emotions had always been a puzzle for you an unsolved one that left you feeling like an outsider in your own mind.

But he noticed you.

Gyutaro, with his sharp eyes and twisted smile, had a way of seeing through the façade you wore. His presence was overwhelming to most, but to you, it was strangely comforting. There was something about his unfiltered, raw nature that felt... honest. In a world where you constantly struggled to communicate, where words slipped away before they could form, Gyutaro's bluntness was a relief. You sat beside him now, the two of you nestled in the shadows of a deserted alley. The sounds of laughter and revelry drifted in from the distance, but here, it was just the two of you.

"You’re quiet tonight," Gyutaro observed, his voice a low rasp. He was never one for small talk, but he didn’t need to be. His presence was enough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words tangled up in your mind. It was frustrating, knowing what you wanted to say but not being able to find the right way to say it. You frowned, looking away, feeling the familiar sting of inadequacy.

"I’m… trying," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt clumsy, like they didn’t quite fit together.

Gyutaro tilted his head, his sickle-like fingers tapping against the stone wall. "Trying what?"

"To… say things," you said, the words spilling out faster than you intended. "I want to—no, I need to—talk more, to express things, but it’s like there’s this wall, and I can’t—" You stopped, biting your lip in frustration. It was happening again. The more you tried to explain, the more tangled up your thoughts became.

He watched you silently, his green eyes narrowing as he seemed to piece together the jumbled mess of your words. "You don’t have to force it," he said finally. "Not with me."

The simplicity of his statement took you by surprise. You turned to look at him, searching his face for any hint of mockery, but there was none. Gyutaro was being sincere in his own gruff way. You weren’t used to that—someone who didn’t expect you to conform to some social norm you barely understood. "It’s not that I don’t want to," you said slowly, trying to articulate the thoughts that were always so hard to put into words.

"It’s that I don’t know how."

He nodded, a slow, deliberate motion that made it clear he was thinking. "I get it," he said, his tone softer than usual. "I’m not good with that stuff either. Emotions. Words. They just come out… wrong."

You couldn’t help but smile at that. "Yeah. That’s it. Exactly."

Gyutaro shifted, his bony frame hunching forward as he rested his elbows on his knees. "You don’t have to be something you’re not. Not with me. You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to. Just… be here."

It was such a simple thing, but it meant more to you than you could express. You nodded, feeling a strange warmth in your chest—an unfamiliar but welcome sensation. It wasn’t happiness, not exactly. But it was close. Maybe it was enough.

"Thanks," you murmured, the word feeling foreign on your tongue but necessary.

Gyutaro grunted in response, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Don’t mention it."

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, the noise of the district fading into the background. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel pressured to speak or to fill the gaps with meaningless chatter. You could just exist, here in the quiet, with someone who understood the struggle of finding the right words. And for now, that was more than enough.

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 29: THE PERFORMANCE

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Pregnancy Loss, Infertility

Chapter Note:

This chapter explores the next six weeks from Cillian’s Point of View.

Cillian’s POV

A few days following your latest encounter at Cillian’s apartment, Dermont and Cillian sat at the pub, drinking pints of Guinness. The dimly lit room echoed with the sound of lively conversation and clinking glasses. Outside, rain drizzled down on the streets of Dublin, adding to the gloomy atmosphere that matched the melancholic state of their minds.

Cillian took a long sip from his pint, contemplating the weight of recent events, including the break up with you and the fact that, again, Nina was struggling with his separation from Danielle.

While Nina’s mental health was something Cillian and Danielle had addressed in recent days, following her having run off from his apartment, the breakup with you still had left him shattered. It was something he could not come to terms with and struggled to accept.

"You know, Dermont," Cillian began, his voice tinged with melancholy. "I can't stop thinking about her. It's driving me mad."

Dermont took a swig of his Guinness, his eyes narrowing as he studied his troubled friend. "You are still caught up on her? Jesus, man," he spoke.

"I can't help it," Cillian confessed. "She's all I think about,” he admitted in the midst of being somewhat tipsy and Dermont leaned back and crossed his arms.

"I have to admit, Cillian, I never understood why you let her go in the first place,” his friend pointed out, causing Cillian to sigh.

"It's the age difference, Dermont," Cillian lamented. "She is half my age, for God's sake. It felt wrong,” he explained and Dermont tilted his head, a sceptical expression on his face. "Age is just a number, my friend. If there's love, it transcends all that rubbish.”

Cillian snorted and took a sip of his Guinness. "You make it sound so simple, man."

"Because it is," Dermont affirmed. "Besides, you're not getting any younger either, mate."

Cillian glared at his friend playfully. "Thanks for the reminder, Dermont,” he said before asking his friend what to do.

“You should try and resolve this. If you want her back, then tell her,” Dermont pointed out and Cillian's face contorted with uncertainty. "I don't know, Dermont. I don't even know if she'd want me back after the way I ended things."

Dermont scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, the classic self-deprecating Cillian Murphy. Trust me, mate, shoot your shot. You never know until you try."

Cillian chuckled, his eyes lighting up with a newfound determination before remembering something else that, just days ago, you had told him about when you were made to resign.

Cillian, of course, then told Dermont all about it, including the fact that there had been an email that was sent to the dance academy, signed off by a “concerned parent”.

“I thought me and Connie were the only ones who knew at the time?” Dermont acknowledged, resulting in Cillian to nod.

“From the parents, yes…” he determined as the discovery of someone sabotaging your career had ignited a fiery determination within him. He couldn't let this stand and wanted to know who did this to you.

Dermont, ever the curious friend, frowned as he listened to Cillian tell him about the email that had, apparently, given rise to your forced resignation. "Who could have done it then, you think?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Cillian sighed heavily, the lines of worry etched deep on his forehead. "I don't know, Dermont. I can't think of anyone who would stoop so low," he replied, frustration evident in his voice.

Dermont's eyes narrowed as a thought struck him like a lightning bolt. "What about Kit? She knew…" he suggested, causing Cillian's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

"Kit? Why would you suspect her?" Cillian questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. Kit had always seemed loyal.

Dermont leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Think about it, Cillian. Kit knows how much you still love Y/N, and you fucked her. Perhaps she grew jealous and decided to take matters into her own hands” he suggested.

Cillian's mind spun with the possibility, a flicker of doubt igniting within him. Could Kit have orchestrated this? He mulled over Dermont's theory, his eyes clouded with suspicion.

“It was just sex, man. Kit said so herself,” Cillian pointed out though while running a hand through his unruly hair. “I just can't imagine her doing something like that,” he then told his friend.

Dermont leaned back, resting his pint on the table. "Are you sure about that, mate? Kit's been acting a bit off lately. She knew how much you love Y/N, and let's face it, jealousy can turn even the sweetest of assistants into vengeful email-senders,” Dermont said jokingly, causing Cillian to chuckle momentarily.

"Don't ruin Kit for me, Dermont. She's been nothing but supportive and she is a pretty good assistant,” he pointed out as he could not believe that it may be her who sent the email.

 Dermont leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But what if she's secretly in love with you and can't bear the thought of you being with someone else? People do crazy things for love, mate. Crazy things,” he pointed out.

Cillian stared at Dermont, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or just pulling his leg. "You can't be serious. Kit has been with me for years,” he said.

Dermont shrugged, a devilish grin on his face. "Hey, I'm just saying. It's worth considering. Love can make a person do all sorts of mad stuff,” he argued.

Cillian rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his Guinness. "You watch too many telenovelas, Dermont. Kit is not the culpri-" he began to say and, just as Cillian was about to finish his sentence, his phone buzzed, signalling a new message. He pulled it out of his pocket and unlocked the screen, eyes widening as he read the name on the display - Kit.

"Speak of the devil," Dermont chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Go on, mate. See what she wants,” Dermont told him and Cillian hesitated for a moment before opening the message. His eyes darted across the screen, his face contorting into a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"She... she just sent me a meme of a cat wearing a hat, some Oppenheimer thing…" Cillian laughed, and Dermont burst into laughter, doubling over with mirth. "Oh, mate, you were so close to discovering her sinister plot, and she distracts you with pictures of dapper felines. She's good,” he joked.

Cillian's forehead creased with frustration as he slid his phone back into his pocket. "I can't believe I'm even entertaining this nonsense, Dermont. Kit would never betray me like that,” he was certain, but Dermont was not.

Dermont wiped away a tear of laughter, struggling to compose himself. "Okay, okay, I'll drop it. But remember, cats in hats can be dangerously distracting, especially those which build atomic weapons. Stay vigilant, my friend,” he carried on, and Cillian shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're an ejeet. I don't know how you come up with this stuff,” Cillian acknowledged, causing Dermont to wink playfully.

"It's a gift, mate. A gift that keeps on giving,” Dermont told his friend before they clinked their glasses together, the sound echoing through the pub as they shared a moment of lighthearted camaraderie amidst the chaos of love and betrayal.

Little did they know, the truth was lurking in the shadows, waiting to unveil its twisted face. And when it did, everything would change.

But for now, they would enjoy their pints, laughter, and the blissful ignorance that only a good pub session could provide. The mysteries could wait; they had Guinness to savour.

***

About two weeks later, Cillian and Dermont were still hunting for cues, and it was Nina who told them both to give up and let it be. According to Nina, you took up a new job with a theatre production company that specialises in musicals and dance performances, and it was one of those performances that she wanted to see.

Nina had followed you on Instagram and Facebook for weeks, and you stayed in touch. You offered her some tickets to attend the show with either her mum or dad, now that you knew that Danielle no longer held a grudge against you.

In fact, she even tried to get you reemployed which, in the end, was an offer you declined even despite the fact that the owner of the dance academy apologised to you.

"Dad, you have to take me to see her perform! Can you take me? Please?" Nina thus pleaded, her blue eyes wide with anticipation after Cillian slumped onto the couch, his brow furrowing as he stared at his daughter, who was bouncing with excitement in front of him.

Cillian sighed heavily, running his fingers through his tousled hair. "Nina, we've been through this. I don't think it's a good idea," he repeated as, just two days ago, she asked him the same question.

Nina pouted, crossing her arms stubbornly. "But Dad, she's been teaching me everything she knows about dance, and I really want to see her perform.” She begged.

Cillian's gaze softened as he looked at his daughter. He hated to disappoint her, but he had his reasons for not wanting to see you perform.

"Nina, you know how things ended between us," Cillian said, his voice tinged with sadness.

“All I know is that you broke up with her,” Nina pointed out in response, to which Cillian sighed, finding it difficult to explain to his young daughter the complexities of your relationship.

"It's a complicated situation, sweetheart. We had our differences, and age played a big part in it,” he pointed out and, immediately, Nina, being the insightful teenager she was, raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Wait, Dad, are you saying you dumped her because she's young and cool?" she asked and Cillian shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling like he was on trial.

"Well, it wasn't as simple as that, but yes, age was a factor. I did not know how young she was and when I found out I realised that it couldn’t work. I didn't want her to miss out on experiences and opportunities that someone her own age could provide. Despite, my career, it…" Cillian began to say, but Nina interrupted him.

Nina crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Dad, you're being ridiculous. Your career? Really? You hooked up with your assistant, it’s all over the papers, but you are worried about bad press because of Y/N?” Nina spat, causing her father to gulp.

Cillian shook his head, willing himself to stay firm in his decision. "Nina, it's not that simple and I would rather not revisit this. Okay?” Cillian then shut her off which caused Nina to sit down next to her father, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Dad, you need to grow up. It’s okay to be in love with someone who doesn’t quite fit within your ideals. Love is an iffy little thing, worth making sacrifices for” Nina said like a grown-up and Cillian glanced at his daughter, love and pride shining in his eyes. Nina's words struck a chord within him, making him consider her perspective.

“I read this in a book at school, don’t judge” Nina then pointed out, but the words had already sunk in.

"Maybe you're right though," Cillian reluctantly admitted and Nina beamed, her blue eyes sparkling with triumph.

“Does this mean you take me to see her performance?” Nina wanted to know and Cillian nodded.

“Yes, but only because I know it means a lot to you and you grew up to be so wise” Cillian chuckled softly, giving Nina a playful nudge.

Nina squealed with delight, throwing her arms around Cillian in a tight hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad! You won't be disappointed, I swear!" she told him while Cillian found himself chuckling again, unable to resist his daughter's infectious enthusiasm.

"All right, calm down, you. Now, tell me more about it. Is it a ballet?” Cillian asked and Nina's eyes sparkled with excitement as she launched into an animated description of the contemporary ballet assembly you were part of.

Listening to Nina, Cillian found his curiosity piqued. Maybe it was time he saw for himself what he had been missing and, as Nina continued to regale him with tales of your talent, Cillian couldn't help but wonder if he had made a mistake by letting you go.

The performance was weeks away, but Cillian promised Nina that he would take her to see you. Deep down, he hoped that by witnessing your prowess on stage, he would find closure and the strength to move on. But, unfortunately for him, he would soon learn that the opposite was the case.

In the days leading up to the performance, Cillian's mind became consumed with memories of you.

He recalled your laughter, your teasing smiles, and the passion that ignited between you both, erasing any concerns about age differences or what society might think.

As the date drew nearer, Cillian's heart felt heavy, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. He found himself becoming increasingly nervous and couldn't help but wonder what seeing you dance on stage again would do to him.

***

A few weeks later, when the night of your performance had arrived, Cillian waited at the theatre's entrance, fidgeting with his ticket in hand.

Nina, dressed in an elegant dress, bounced beside him and Cillian's heart swelled with pride at Nina's excitement. He took a deep breath, hoping that tonight would bring him the closure he needed.

They had good seats, three rows from the front and when Cillian took his seat in the dimly lit theatre, a flutter of anticipation in his stomach.

The lights dimmed, hushing the buzzing crowd. The stage came alive, bathed in ethereal hues of purple and blue.

The first dancers appeared, their movements captivating the audience. But Cillian's gaze remained fixed on the edge of the stage, waiting for your entrance.

And then, there you were, gracefully gliding across the stage, your body a mesmerising blur of movement.

Cillian's breath caught in his throat as he watched you, his eyes hungrily drinking in every sway of your hips and arch of your back.

The music swelled, and you leapt into the air, defying gravity with an effortless elegance. The audience erupted into applause.

Cillian's heart raced, torn between the memories of what once was and the undeniable beauty he witnessed before him.

As the performance went on, Cillian found himself entranced by your talent, lost in the way your body spoke a language all its own.

He couldn't look away from you, from the raw emotion etched across your face, from the way your body moved with a combination of strength and vulnerability.

Cillian's breath hitched as you effortlessly leapt and twirled through the air, your passion radiating from every pore. It was as if time stood still, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

Act after act, Cillian remained glued to his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from your performance. The audience erupted in applause after each routine, but for Cillian, it was an internal symphony of emotions.

As the final act approached, Cillian's heart pounded in his chest. It was a moment of truth, a moment where he had to face his feelings head-on and decide what he truly wanted.

The lights dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight illuminating the stage. You stood there, a vision in black, poised and ready to unleash the depths of your soul through movement.

Cillian held his breath as the hauntingly beautiful music began. Every step you took seemed to echo in his heart, the ache of longing mingling with the bittersweet melody.

The dance spoke volumes, conveying a story of love and loss, of two souls intertwined in an eternal dance of desire and hesitancy. Cillian couldn't help but see himself in the narrative.

The climax of the performance drew near, a moment of climax and intensity where you and your partner poured all your emotions onto the stage. The chemistry between you was palpable.

Cillian's heart raced, his fingers involuntarily clenching around the edge of his seat. His eyes locked with yours, and he knew in that moment that he couldn't deny his feelings any longer.

The dance came to a crescendo and the audience erupted in thunderous applause, but Cillian was rooted to his spot, emotions swirling within him.

Nina's eyes flickered between you and her father, sensing his conflicted emotions.

She reached out a hand, resting it gently on Cillian's arm. "Dad, are you okay?"

Cillian tore his eyes away from you, his voice thick with emotion. "I... we should go soon” he stammered and Nina gave him a sympathetic smile, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

“Do you want to go and talk to her?” Nina asked as tears glimmered in Cillian's eyes.

“No, we should go,” Cillian told his daughter just as the lights came on.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hello! I see that your requests are open now! Hopefully you don't mind me sending in multiple for you to answer at your own leisure?

I'd love some relationship headcanons for Gladiolus/Raven from Homesick with a male reader...! Thank you!

A/N: I’m so happy im finally getting to this request, i’ve been seeing it in my inbox for months but keep like trying to finish other things first, but here I am !! I hope you enjoyed this and thank you so much for your request!! happy reading!!

Navigation!!

In the dim glow of twilight, Gladiolus’s usually unapproachable demeanor softened as he sat by the fire, his massive frame silhouetted against the flickering flames. The warmth of the evening cast a golden hue on his rugged features, highlighting the subtle lines of fatigue etched into his face. You approached quietly, your steps light on the grass, not wanting to disturb his solitude.

“Long day?” you asked gently, settling beside him. Your voice was soft, an offering of comfort rather than intrusion.

He glanced over at you, his eyes momentarily losing their usual hardness. “You could say that,” he replied, his voice rough but less guarded than usual. “But it’s not so bad now.”

You studied his profile, noticing the way his shoulders tensed, as if carrying an invisible burden. “What’s weighing on your mind?” you inquired, trying to keep your tone soothing.

Gladiolus shifted slightly, his gaze fixed on the fire as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “Just thinking about everything. How things should be, how they could be. It’s easy to get lost in that.”

Reaching out, you placed your hand on his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. The simple touch seemed to ground him, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and gratitude. “Sometimes sharing those thoughts helps,” you suggested softly. “I’m here for you.”

His expression softened, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his usually impenetrable facade. “You always know how to say the right things,” he murmured, his voice carrying an undertone of sincerity. His fingers curled around yours, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could.

As time passed, the bond between you grew stronger. Gladiolus’s protective nature extended into the smallest actions, like adjusting his stride when you walked together or keeping a watchful eye on you in unfamiliar places. He was not one for grand displays, but his quiet attentiveness spoke volumes.

One night, under a blanket of stars, Gladiolus turned to you, his gaze unwavering and serious. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice carrying a rare gravity. “You’ve become more than just a friend. You’ve been someone I can trust, someone who makes the hard times easier.”

You looked into his eyes, the sincerity of his words making your heart flutter. “I feel the same way,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “You’ve shown me a side of you that’s so real. It’s not just about being with you; it’s about truly being understood.”

His features softened, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not good with words,” he said, a small, affectionate smile touching his lips, “but I want you to know that I care deeply. More than I’ve ever shown before.”

Before you could respond, Gladiolus gently cupped your face with his large hands. The touch was firm yet tender, and he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both passionate and gentle. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises and deep affection, conveying all the emotions he struggled to articulate. The kiss left you breathless and yearning for more.

As he pulled back, his eyes searched yours with a mix of vulnerability and determination. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare tenderness, “but I want you to be a part of it. I want us to face whatever comes together.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “I’d like that,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “I want to be with you, through whatever comes our way.”

Gladiolus’s expression brightened with a genuine smile, a rare sight that made your heart flutter. “You’ve made me realize how much I needed someone like you,” he admitted, his voice softening. “I never thought I’d find someone who understands me the way you do.”

Reaching out, you wrapped your arms around him in a tender embrace. “And I never thought I’d find someone who makes me feel this way,” you whispered, resting your head against his chest. “You’ve shown me a love that’s real, and I’m grateful for every moment we share.”

He held you close, his massive arms enveloping you in a protective warmth. As the stars twinkled above and the fire crackled softly, you both understood that despite the uncertainties and challenges, you had each other. And for Gladiolus, that was more than enough.

[awkwardauthorwrites]

Confessions

Word Count: 2.8k

Themes: fluff, pining

Summary: Vaylin drops a little truth on Gale 

Disclaimer: @shadowwheartt and I got far too invested in our playthrough/characters and we both think we’re funny so here’s the product of that. More to come?

Vaylin is a drow oath-broken paladin. We have headcannoned that Amren a half-drow rogue, is her younger half-sister. Both women are bhaalspawn in our little world with thier shared parent being Bhaal himself

Gale narrowed his eyes as he watched Amren laugh at something Astarion had said. The vampire spawn was sitting far too close to her for Gale’s comfort, his arm slung around the back of her seat as he leant in to whisper something in her ear. Amren’s laugh rings out across the camp and her hand slaps down on Astarion’s knee as she unconsciously leans against his side while she tries to catch her breath. He takes a deep swig from his goblet of wine, a frown marring his brow, before he pushes himself off the fallen log he’d been sitting on and skulking away in the opposite direction. His path takes him across the camp and straight past Shadowheart’s tent, where the cleric and her ever-present companion, Vaylin, both sit outside sharing a bottle of wine. 

“Hey, Sparklefingers, why the long face? Did someone dogear a page in one of your precious books again?” Vaylin asks, her tone light yet incredibly snarky as he tries to walk past them.

“You know, I’ve never quite understood how you and Amren can share so many features and characteristics as sisters, and yet your words always cut like the sting from a death viper while she comes across as docile as a newborn tressym,” Gale bristles at her words and gives Vaylin a levelled glare. Vaylin snorts as she takes a sip from the bottle, her laugh turning into a cough as the liquid goes down the wrong way. 

“Docile?” Shadowheart lets out a soft laugh and grabs the bottle of wine from Vaylin so she can take a sip herself. “There are dozens of words I would use to describe Amren, but docile is definitely not amongst them.” Gale’s shoulders slump slightly as Shadowheart gives him a sympathetic smile and wills himself not to look at the smirk that’s no doubt lingering on Vaylin’s features. “What’s the matter, Gale? Unlike some people,” she shoots a look at her girlfriend who remained unaffected, “I understand the value of a pair of friendly ears when one is struggling.”

“It’s just,” he lets out a sigh and waves his hand in the direction he came from, where Amren and Astarion are no doubt still sitting together closer than friends should. “It’s nothing. As much as I would like for there to be.” He hears Amren laugh again, the sound softer this time, and tries not to linger too much on how he’s probably missed his chance with the female rogue. Of course she was curled up beside the fire with Astarion, the vampire spawn was everything he wasn’t - charismatic, attractive and refined. There was no wonder Amren fell for his charms. Gale was far too deep into his self-deprecating thoughts to notice Vaylin let out a yawn, clearly bored by the conversation and pouting wizard already. Shadowheart elbowed the oath-broken paladin in the side and sent her a reprimanding glare before looking back at Gale with a concerned expression.

“Nothing wouldn’t include a certain rogue, would it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Two of them, actually,” Gale admits. Shadowheart peers around his frame to where both Astarion and Amren are sitting together, whispering about something they’re too far away to hear. Despite her better judgement Vaylin takes a peek as well, her nose wrinkling as she realises just why the wizard is looking so downtrodden. 

“I’m not sure who has worst taste, Astarion for being into Amren, or…ugh, nevermind,” Vaylin reaches for the wine bottle again and takes a long drink, as if she were trying to wash the unsaid words from her mouth. 

“I have neither the time nor patience for your riddles or your half-veiled insults tonight, bhaalspawn,” Gale crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Speak plainly or don’t speak at all.” Vaylin raises a solitary eyebrow and takes a slow sip from the bottle of wine, her gaze unwavering as she stares him down. She would sooner rip her own tongue out than admit it aloud, but there were stirrings of respect at his newfound backbone rising within her. At least she thought that’s what it was, it was buried so deep within her it could have very easily been indigestion from the vinegary wine they were drinking. Gale seemed to realise after a moments silence that she had taken his words literally and had decided not to speak at all and he couldn't help but roll his eyes at her antics. 

“Will you please just put him out of his misery?” Shadowheart turns to look at Vaylin, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“What do you propose I do?” The drow scoffed, “Light him on fire?”

“You know perfectly well that is not what I meant,” Shadowheart nudged Vaylin and took the bottle of wine back from her. “You’re not getting this back until you tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Gale asked, frowning in confusion as he watched Vaylin give Shadowheart a withering glare. Both women ignored him as they stared each other down, waiting for the other to break first.

“You’re a sadist,” Vaylin groaned in defeat, tipping her head back dramatically.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” the cleric quipped. Gale felt his face go warm as Vaylin looked back at Shadowheart, the heat obvious in her gaze.

“Can someone please tell me what I’m missing?” Gale repeats, hoping to draw the attention back to him so he didn’t have to witness the pair eye-fuck each other in front of him. 

“Every single target whenever you cast…well, any spell really,” Vaylin turns to him with a saccharine smile. 

“Tell him or there will be more than one person left unsatisfied tonight,” Shadowheart nudged Vaylin again, a little harder this time. The oath-broken paladin looked at her girlfriend with narrowed eyes as the meaning of her words sunk in.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Are you willing to test that theory?” Shadowheart asked innocently, her fingers toying with the pendant on the necklace Vaylin had gifted her. The charm was in the shape of an orchid and Vaylin had painted it blue herself so that it looked as similar to a night orchid as possible. It sat on the end of a long chain and rested in the valley of her cleavage, and although the drow needed no prompting to look there anyway her eyes were immediately drawn in by the movement. She sighed deeply and braced herself as if the words she was about to say physically pained her. 

“She’s in love with you, you blithering idiot,” Vaylin spits out. Gale feels all the breath leave his lungs and his face burns as the words settle in his head. 

“Very tactful. Well done,” Shadowheart remarks dryly, allowing Vaylin to snatch the wine from her again. 

“She’s…she’s what?” Gale repeated. His knees felt weak and he slowly sank down to sit on the ground. Vaylin was always throwing back-handed remarks out at his expense, surely this had to be one of them? He glanced at Shadowheart, who leant forward in concern as he sat with them, her hand reaching out as if to touch his own before she pulled back again. Shadowheart wouldn’t be that cruel to him though. She made the odd quip in his direction as well, but that was all friendly banter, and something he returned all too often in kind. He felt as if his mind was racing at a million miles per minute as he tried to figure out if what Vaylin had said about her sister was all in jest or not. 

“Oh, sure, feel free to join us,” Vaylin rolls her eyes as he sits with them. “The more the merrier.”

“Behave yourself,” Shadowheart glares at her. “Do you have the capacity to be compassionate for at least two seconds?” Vaylin scowled at her girlfriend and instead of replying took another sip from her wine. “Gale, are you alright?” she turned her attention back to the wizard when it became clear that Vaylin wasn’t going to speak anymore.

“Is it true?” he asks, his voice no louder than a whisper. He didn’t dare to hope that it would be, he needed the confirmation. He needed Shadowheart to tell him that Vaylin hadn’t been lying and that it was true that Amren cared for him as deeply as he cared for her. 

“She could have said it better,” Shadowheart glances at her girlfriend, who gives her a sweet smile in return, “but yes, it’s true.”

“She loves me?”

“Yes.”

“But…but Astarion -” 

“I’m going to say this once,” Vaylin looks at him, her tone stern, “and if you ever tell another person alive or dead that I said this I will deny it with every ounce of my soul. In terms of a love interest she could do…much worse than you, I suppose.”

“That almost sounded completely sincere,” Shadowheart looked at the drow with a small smirk, “I’m so proud of you.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Vaylin, I’d say you were warming up to me,” Gale teased.

“Fuck off, wizard.” Her body language made it extremely clear she would not be saying anything further to him that evening, whether it was an unwilling compliment or a scathing insult. Gale just smiled to himself and bid Shadowheart goodnight, ignoring Vaylin completely as he walked away from the tent and gave them both some privacy. 

He wandered back in the direction he had originally come from, his steps feeling infinitely lighter than it had before his conversation with the prickly drow and her girlfriend. He suspected the drow liked him more than she let on, and although her softer side was only reserved for their cleric and her sister, he could see she was (albeit begrudgingly) slowly getting used to his presence and the affections that he held for Amren. 

He knew her behaviour came from the horrors of being raised as a bhaalspawn, and although he wouldn’t admit it to her, he found Vaylin’s strength and resilience admirable. Hers and Amren’s. Although they didn’t share a mother, both women had been sired by Bhaal himself and only found out about the other during their teens. It had been a difficult journey for them to renounce their fathers ways and leave his cult, but here they both were, trying to prove that their unfortunate bloodline did not define who they were as people. 

Gale approached Amren and Astarion, who broke apart to look up at him as he neared. Amren’s face lit up with a smile as she took note of him and for a brief moment he stopped and wondered if he’d always been so blind. Gale prided himself on his intelligence, there wasn’t a puzzle he couldn’t solve or a spell he couldn’t cast without a little work first - so how had he not noticed the way Amren looked at him until now? Her lavender eyes - the only indication of her half-drow lineage - all but reflected every single thing he felt for her right back at him. He gave her a warm smile as he sank into a seat beside her and only offered Astarion the briefest of looks as he spoke to the male rogue, unwilling to look away from the woman next to him. 

“Could you give us a moment, Astarion?” Gale asked. Astarion gave him an affronted look, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically as he looked between Gale and Amren, a smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. He knew, of course, what was about to happen. It was glaringly obvious to everyone in the camp how the pair felt for each other - everyone except them of course - and even though he didn’t particularly fancy being a third wheel in the performance, he couldn’t help but put up a little bit of a fight at the request.

“Is everything okay, Gale?” Amren placed a hand on his, her expression laced with worry. Gale felt his heart thump in his chest as her skin brushed his and for a moment he wondered if her touch alone would be enough to help him get through the days that the orb in his chest demanded more magic. 

“Everything is…wonderful,” he admits, breathing out a quiet laugh. “I just need a moment of your time. Alone.” He gives Astarion another pointed look, silently hoping he would take the hint and give them some privacy.

“Star,” Amren nudges him gently as she murmurs his name. “Can you give us a few minutes, please?” Astarion sighs in mock exasperation, but can’t help but smile and nod at her request, the nickname she’d bestowed upon him warming his heart. He ruffles Amren’s hair playfully and easily dodges her hand as she tries to swat him away before making his way across camp to sit with Shadowheart and Vaylin so he can eavesdrop and relay the conversation to them both. Gale doesn’t say anything for a few moments and Amren takes his hand in hers and squeezes gently, calling his attention back to her. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” he assures her. He catches her hand in between both of hers, lacing their fingers together. “I didn’t plan on this, I’m not quite sure what to say.”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Amren teases lightly. “Is the famed Wizard of Waterdeep at a loss for words?”

“No,” Gale shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “But Gale Dekarios is.” He meets Amren’s gaze and brushes some hair away from her face before letting out a quiet sigh. “I just had a talk with your sister.”

“Oh gods,” Amren wrinkles her nose. “Whatever she said to you now I’m so sorry, Gale. I’ll have a word with her in the morning about being nicer to you.” 

“There’s no need. She actually behaved herself this time.” Amren gives him a look, clearly not believing a word he had said and he can’t help but laugh at the expression. “Alright, she was mostly behaved. I’ve definitely had more harrowsome conversations with her than this one.”

“What did you talk about?”

“You.”

“Me?” Amren pulls back in surprise. “What about me?” Gale releases her hands to run his own through his hair to ease the slight anxiety that sits in his chest. 

“If things were different, if we were back home I could have done this better. I would have taken the time to properly romance you and lavish you with gifts and treat you exactly how you deserve to be. I would have taken the time to come up with a rousing speech about all the different ways I care for you instead of deciding to confess this all to you on a whim and feeling like the ground has been ripped out from underneath me…but that’s what you do,” his gaze turns tender as she watches her expression for any sign that Vaylin and Shadowheart had been lying to him. “From the moment I met you I feel like the ground has been ripped out from under my feet and I’m falling and you’re the only one who can steady me. You’re so special to me, Amren. I care about you more than I can express.”

“What…exactly did Vaylin tell you?” Amren asks slowly, her voice hoarse and her cheeks flushed.

“I want to hear the words from you. I don’t want to repeat something that I heard secondhand.”

“Gale…”

“I love you, Amren,” he takes her face in his hands, his forehead pressed lightly against hers. “I am utterly and hopelessly in love with you and I sincerely hope what your sister said was true and you feel the same way about me.”

“Of course I’m in love with you,” Amren feels her heart melt as his eyes slide shut in relief and his body physically relaxes. “How could I not be, Gale?”

“I had thought there was something between you and Astarion,” he admits. He opens his eyes again in time to catch the amused expression on his face. 

“No one compares to you, Gale Dekarios.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I didn’t particularly fancy making an ass of myself as part of your sister’s whims.” Amren laughs softly at that and leans in a little closer so that their lips are only a fraction of an inch away.

“Careful now, Gale, she is the reason we’re finally having this conversation. I’d say you owe all of this to her,” Amren teases. Gale groans playfully, but there’s an undeniable happiness on his face as he takes in Amren’s smile. He tilts her chin up slowly, his eyes flickering from her, down to her lips and back up again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“You better.”

[vacate-et-scire]

Hiiii! If you have time could I would love to participate in the match up event for the bllk boys!!

Looks: green eyes , light brown hair which is pretty long and pale skin and I’m pretty thin

I’m an isfp I hatteeee big party’s or crowds except if I’m with someone who is a genuine friend of mine. I would like to say I’m a kind person, my friends tell me that sometimes I’m too kind to people who don’t deserve it. I also forgive suuuper easily and don’t think rationally , I think with my heart instead of my head.

I’m also super open minded I love trying new sports or foods or anything , I also love football lol that’s why I started watching blue lock 😅.

Im really optimistic and I always look on the bright side of things. But I’m also SUPER emotional I feel things 100x harder than others which is also a blessing and curse 🥲.

Thank you again feel free to ignore if you don’t have the time but thank you if you do! Happy new years!

Your Blue Lock Matchup: Rin Itoshi

Rin might not seem like the obvious choice at first, but let me tell you—he’s the one who’d really get you, even if it takes him a little time to show it. Rin’s not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, but your kindness, optimism, and open-minded nature would absolutely shatter the walls he’s built around himself. You’d be like a breath of fresh air to him, someone so genuine and full of light in contrast to his more brooding personality.

First of all, Rin needs someone like you in his life. Your warmth and ability to forgive easily would be the perfect counterbalance to his colder, more guarded nature. He’d probably tease you at first for being “too nice” or “too emotional,” but deep down, he’d admire your ability to see the good in people—even when he struggles to do the same. Over time, he’d start leaning on you more, realizing that your optimism isn’t just naive—it’s strength.

And your emotional side? Rin might not always know how to handle it at first, but he’d never make you feel bad about it. In fact, your openness about your feelings would encourage him to be more vulnerable, too. You’d teach him how to express his emotions in a way he’s never been able to before, and while he might not say it outright, he’d be endlessly grateful for that.

Rin isn’t big on crowds either, so the two of you would be perfectly content spending time together away from the noise. Whether it’s watching football matches, trying out a new sport, or just walking around aimlessly while you talk about life, he’d love those quieter, more intimate moments with you. And if you’re with him in a rare big crowd? He’d make sure you never felt overwhelmed—always staying by your side and anchoring you.

Your love for trying new things would intrigue Rin. He might grumble about it at first, claiming he’s “not interested,” but then he’d end up enjoying it because it’s with you. Whether it’s exploring a new sport or tasting some bizarre food, he’d follow your lead, secretly loving how excited you get.

The only hiccup might be Rin’s more cynical and competitive tendencies. Sometimes, his sharp edges might clash with your soft heart, especially if he’s in a bad mood. But your patience and kindness would always win him over, even when he doesn’t admit it. And Rin? He’d learn to tone it down for you, recognizing that you deserve nothing less than someone who treats you with the same kindness you give to everyone else.

Rin isn’t the easiest person to love, but for someone like you—who leads with their heart and sees the best in everyone—he’d be worth it. He’d come to cherish your ability to make him feel safe and understood, even when he struggles to open up. You’d bring out the softer side of him that no one else gets to see, and he’d become fiercely protective of you, always wanting to keep your light shining.

With Rin, it wouldn’t just be a relationship—it’d be a journey of growth, understanding, and love that runs deeper than words. He might not say it often, but you’d mean the world to him, and he’d show it in every little way he could.

[voraciouspangolin]

hey, i know you didn't mean harm and i don't want to incite discourse but i want you to be careful when headcanoning pyro as intersex because intersex folks are already heavily stigmatized against, and headcanoning the character of ambiguous gender who canonically gets dehumanized and treated as an other can contribute to that stigma.

Hey, I really appreciate how respectfully you worded all this.

And I totally understand where you're coming from- and I want to share why I headcanon pyro as intersex. It stems from my essay that I've been writing about pyro's character, which dives into the function that a faceless, voiceless, largely unknown character plays in a story, the potential for the viewer's ability to project whatever they want onto this character, as well as the absence of character as a character trait itself, and how such a character serves as allegory for any number of interpersonal struggles someone may have with their environment and society on a broader scale- most notably with themes of dehumanization, othering, and lack of personal agency.

In a lot of ways, my characterization of Pyro is an allegory for many things- being trans, being gay, being poor, or autistic, or an immigrant, or disabled, or looking Not Normal, etc, etc. And I think that that's fascinating. There's a lot of room for projection onto Pyro's character from many different points of view, and I think that that has to do with the fact that Pyro is dehumanized and belittled and treated as an Other by the people around him in tf2. The very scaffolding of Pyro's character as something that isn't understood, something that's feared and othered, something reduced to "that thing" or "it", or something that is to be spoken to in the same tone one would speak to toddlers, is so relevant to so many different walks of life. I feel it would feel weird of me to avoid headcanoning pyro as intersex because of the fact that intersex people face stigmatization and systemic oppression. Those experiences are a large part of the reason why I headcanon pyro as intersex.

Pyro's dehumanization via lack of agency towards their own identity (literally the most we see of pyro's body is his skeleton in the zombie version of their model, being voiceless, constantly having other people impose their own perceptions of what pyro is onto him) is something of an allegory for being intersex. Not exclusively so, but certainly there is a lot of substance to point to and draw parallels between

That all being said... I havent ever draw Pyro as explicitly intersex, despite my headcanon. I feel like it's none of my business to know exactly what pyros chromosomes are, what their body looks like, or what their Deal is. I feel that imposing my own ideas upon Pyro on what he should be ironically contributes to the lack of agency Pyro has over their own being. So I just draw Pyro in self indulgent ways, I.e. fat hairy butch. I draw Pyro as an extension of my own relation to my gender, as a projection of my love for myself, using him as a catalyst for self expression.

Sorry this got rambly. Any intersex people are very much free to chime in- I deeply enjoy broadening my own scope of knowledge when it comes to the human experience

[fictionsoul]

I'm not afraid

Fem!reader x Yesung

Synopsis: While you are shooting a video outside, the members challenge you to go to a place where all your fears gathered and Yesung is the only one willing to do something to help you.

Warnings: Angst (although I doubt it), bullying for Yesung but it is by Super Junior, use of "(Y/N)", written with female pronouns.

w/c: 3.6k

a/n: Sorry for the time but I was overworking myself

I'm not afraid

"Could all take the recording seriously?" you shouted from your seat directing the music video.

Five hours had been wasted and they had barely managed to get one minute of footage.

You understood that they were professionals and that twenty years in the industry was a testament to their work, but that didn't stop you from being frustrated by how much they depended on joking around with each other.

Your colleagues had commented that they were easy to work with. And it really was, at least until they started playing games and wasting time distracting even your support staff.

"Let's record from "turn arround" and if we manage to record more seconds you can go to rest," you ordered calling the attention of the nine idols.

"Whoever makes a mistake will have to climb that rock tomorrow with the director," shouted Heechul pointing to the rocky structure and everyone nodded.

You brought your hands to your temples to massage that spot. It was unbelievable that they took you for a toy.

Who were they to make you climb a crag? The view was beautiful, of course, but that didn't mean they should decide that sort of thing for you.

-I won't climb the crag!

"Are you afraid?" commented Ryeowook in a mocking tone.

If his intention was to sting your pride, he had succeeded. Of course, climbing a pile of rocks didn't scare you, and standing at the top didn't even make you tingle.

"I'm not afraid."

Your annoyance-laden voice set up a warning among the members of the group. You had taken the bait.

"It is decided, whoever is wrong will have to climb tomorrow night."

Your eyes opened and the weight of your decision fell on you.

You could climb that crag with no problem as long as you did it with sunlight illuminating the way. Doing it at night was a separate issue.

You weren't afraid of the altitude but you were afraid of the darkness of the night and the animals it called to action, not to mention the lightning that lit up the sky on a spectral night.

All those thoughts sent a shiver up and down your spine. The darkness of the night was something you couldn't fight, a fear you struggled to face alone.

You took your place in the recording area and waited for your staff to get things in place due to the changes with the lighting.

The clapperboard closed and the click started the video recording. Everyone's movements were coordinated, they didn't even look like the bunch of adults acting like teenagers you had seen minutes before.

The seriousness on their faces reflected the commitment they had to their work, there were no smiles given away or expressions left over. Everything seemed ready to be accomplished in one take.

But then the lead vocal took a turn to the opposite side causing disorder in the group again. Thanks to Yesung the recording had come to an end.

Everyone stopped what they were doing as the idols pushed Yesung around mocking the fate that awaited him.

"I'm not going up the crag."

"What did you say? I don't understand your chicken clucking," interjected Heechul mocking the singer.

"He said he will ask the director to carry him on her back because his legs will be so shaky he won't even be able to walk."

Each comment was worse than the last. If it was a matter of making fun of someone, Super Junior seemed to be a pro at it.

You sighed and motioned to your crew to start removing the lights, cameras and other equipment from the area. They had done too much work and exhaustion was starting to show in everyone there.

"Not so soon, producer," Shindong stopped you, resting his elbow on your shoulder, "tomorrow you have a date night with the one who ruined the shot."

"It's not a date, they said it was a punishment."

"It's the same. It's two people going out together at night… clearly sounds like a date."

"Because clearly a date includes climbing a scary rock and taking a picture at the top," Yesung interjected, regretting having accepted the challenge, "just drop it and help us get the stuff back to the hotel."

He was afraid of heights, that was well known to everyone, so it really made no sense to have accepted because it was even better known that he was not the best dancer in the group. So he could have guessed that he would be the one who would end up getting the punishment.

"Tomorrow we'll go after dinner at the hotel," he commented quietly, feeling embarrassed to have you as a spectator to that challenge.

"That's fine. Tomorrow we'll go."

What else was left to say? You had taken Ryeowook's bait and it was too late to turn back.

He nodded and walked away to join his crew while you continued to help the staff put away the material they used during the shoot.

If tomorrow they deigned to work as they did on that last take, they would surely finish earlier than agreed and would not have time to meet the challenge.

It was a rather foolish hope, but you could cling to it as it seemed to be the only possibility to escape from there without going out into the darkness of the night.

They were definitely doing it on purpose and that bothered you too much.

You would understand if more people had food poisoning, but Eunhyuk, Ryeowook and Kyuhyun mysteriously getting sick was a clear sign that they were faking it to delay the recordings so they could still be there to fulfill the challenge.

They were so silly and childish that it made you angry.

Your hopes were dashed as soon as you heard the news.

The staff was more than happy for that day off, for having the chance to roam around without the rush of having to get everything ready to shoot.

While everyone seemed to enjoy the illness of the three idols, you remained silent and staring at the seaweed soup in front of you.

Your mind was torturing you, making you think of the sea of possibilities that the night of climbing could bring. Could a poisonous snake appear?, would there be a thunderstorm?, would you have to go while it was so dark?

If only you hadn't agreed to do that, right now you would be enjoying everything like your team was.

A sigh left your body. There was no turning back, none of them would allow it.

You dipped the spoon into the dish and then suddenly dropped it, splashing the broth on the table. Leeteuk had put his hand on your shoulder, scaring you to death.

"Good morning brave climber, I recommend you don't let our Yesung look down as you climb up," he placed his hand on the side of his mouth to block the view of the onlookers watching and whispered, "He's afraid of heights."

What a combo of fearful people they had put together.

He could not climb because of his fear and you could not walk comfortably in the dark because it sometimes paralyzed you. Incredible fate awaited you both.

"I don't think we'll be able to see much, after all we're going at night and you can't see anything there. We could even be attacked by a wild beast from the surroundings and we wouldn't see it because we will go at night" you muttered without paying too much attention to the idol.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" he asked smiling, enjoying the moment of vulnerability.

"I said I'm not afraid."

"You'll grow a nose."

The thought of that challenge made you tremble, more so the thought that everyone would be watching.

You had a great way to alleviate fears, but singing in the middle of nowhere with so many onlookers didn't really seem comforting at the time.

You could try keeping the song in your mind, but if an intrusive thought about how scary the darkness was crept in, then your efforts would be for naught.

Some time ago you had been recommended a little sponge ball, one of those stress relievers to press in a time of crisis. Unfortunately you didn't have one at the time and you doubted anyone had one handy.

You sighed again and that caused Leeteuk to laugh. In his eyes it seemed that your soul had left your body.

"At least you can carry lamps, otherwise the activity would be impossible. Cheer up, you said you were not afraid."

You nodded and continued eating in silence, waiting for the moment to face one of your fears.

The day had gone on forever and you prayed that it would, that night would never come, but the day was only twenty-four hours old and twenty-two of them had already passed.

You were walking slowly. Your steps were slow, as if you thought a thousand times before taking each one of them. The movements you were making unconsciously now seemed to unleash a whole debate in your mind.

The cold wind ruffled your hair even though it was tied in a ponytail. The low temperature was seeping through your coat, although there was a possibility that your blood was not circulating properly due to fear.

The night was not so dark now that the members carried lanterns that illuminated everywhere, but as soon as all reached the base of the crag things changed.

There was a path to climb on foot, it had been intended for tourists. There was no reason to climb, it was really just walking to the top, without much effort or pressure.

"Since we are here," Heechul interrupted the silence in which they were walking, "take the camera to record."

Yesung took the stick with the camera on top and began to advance towards the path, a couple of steps away from where you were stuck to the ground.

The more you thought about it, the worse the sensation became. You were not afraid of the darkness, but of what could be hidden in it, what you were afraid of was that a thunderstorm would start with thunder echoing throughout the sky and also the snakes, if a poisonous one appeared in the darkness the idol would have to drag you down from there.

Another sigh escaped from between your lips and you trotted to catch up with Yesung.

He was afraid of heights and was struggling not to let it show. Leeteuk had been clear with him, informed him of your fear of the dark and so he was leading the way with a flashlight.

It was absurd to be afraid of the dark, you saw it every time you closed your eyes anyway, but his fear of heights was more than justified. Although his fear was not based on the height, but on the possibility of falling from there, something that was completely different.

"Hurry up, we have to get to the top," Yesung commented, stopping his steps on the side closest to the rock and away from the shore.

"I'm coming after you."

Your voice was less demanding than when you were at your job, much weaker and shakier than you would have imagined.

The idol noticed this and squeezed his eyes shut, regretting doing what he was thinking of doing.

"You can hold my jacket if that helps at all."

"Thank you."

Without a second thought your fist closed around the blue fabric helping you anchor your mind to stop thinking about nonsense.

His back emanated warmth, something soft that shook something inside you.

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

It was a more common fear than you thought, and yet you had trouble admitting it, it was too silly.

"It's not that, it's that anything can come out of the dark. If there are trees the sensation is even worse."

"We are all afraid of something."

"But darkness is a childish fear," you declared with conviction.

"It's not, because in theory you're not afraid of it but of what's hidden in it, it's like my fear of heights," his voice faded when he realized he had spoken too much. "I'm not afraid of heights, but of the possibility of falling."

His way of seeing things was curious and that brought a smile to your face. His words were like a balm that slightly alleviated the fear.

Your steps resumed their usual rhythm as you advanced on the slope of the path, until the thin branches of a bush began to shake.

The sound of the clashing leaves made you turn your gaze to that point in the landscape. Yesung directed the light of the lamp towards the area in question.

"What… what is that?" you stammered, letting go of Yesung's jacket to stand against his back.

Facing the darkness had been easy, but if a snake came out of there you might faint.

Your heart was pounding against your ribs and your breathing was getting more and more agitated. You couldn't handle the nerves, you couldn't handle the anticipation.

Without another thought you ran up the path, fearing that a snake was after you. You didn't scream or call for help, you just ran as Yesung tried to catch up.

Your legs were suddenly lighter than ever and the long strides matched those of any sprinter. You needed to escape from there as soon as possible.

Yesung stayed behind refusing to run because the path had become narrow enough to see what was in the distance and the view did not please him.

Being able to observe the height of that place had left him frozen. It caused him relief that there wasn't someone else there to witness it all but then he thought about you walking away.

You were alone and in the dark while he had stayed with the camera in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Maybe you were more unprotected than he was.

He closed his eyes and breathed trying to calm down. If he didn't look down then he wouldn't be aware of how high up he was. But if he didn't look minimally down then he wouldn't have the slightest idea where he was stepping.

"(Y/N)" he called you in almost a whisper, not wanting to disturb the members waiting below with his shouts.

The idol lit the path looking for you, hoping you hadn't gone too far. You couldn't have gotten very far because the path was a bit long and you probably would have gotten tired from running, but you didn't look like you were close either.

Feeling a new surge of courage he began to pick up the pace to find your whereabouts, expecting to run into you at any moment.

He was taking one more step to avoid a small dip in that part of the road when small drops began to fall from the sky. He had nowhere to shelter, you had taken the umbrella with you and to him you were lost.

Lightning flashed across the sky and was followed by the roar of thunder. The powerful sound caused the earth to shake beneath your feet, putting you on alert.

Your body tensed and you had to squat down on the safest part of the road. You felt mentally and emotionally exhausted, your legs could no longer move forward and your body was paralyzed.

You decided to wait for Yesung to climb up to where you were, but for that you needed to know if he was still climbing or if he had not been able to move forward and had turned back.

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the cloudy sky and you began to cry silently, hugging your legs to your chest and resting your forehead on your knees.

Yesung continued ascending, illuminating every corner of the road hoping to find you somewhere. He understood that fear could make you act in unexpected ways but that race was an exaggeration, you had gone too far away or he was walking too slow.

The only thing forcing him to keep going was you and his concern that you were okay. He was responsible for your safety and wanted to see you safe and sound.

For a second he thought you might have fainted and, at worst, fallen from wherever you were. Now he needed to see you more than ever.

His heart was pounding as the mental scenario he imagined got worse and worse. He needed to calm down somehow. And then, miraculously, the light from the lamp illuminated you.

He clearly felt his breathing stop and unconsciously began to run to you, needing to make sure you were okay.

Your hunched body worried him, and the fact that you were bathed in rainwater made him strange, he thought that you had probably forgotten that you were carrying the umbrella.

"(Y/N)" he pronounced carefully, fearing to frighten you with his presence.

"Yesung?" you answered, directing your gaze towards the spot that was emitting the light that illuminated you.

This time the idol ran and crouched down beside you. He took your face in his hands and saw your reddened and swollen eyes, he noticed in them the tears that fear had produced in you.

His arms soon encircled your trembling body, he didn't know if that tremor was the result of cold or fear… or maybe both.

"It's time to go down," Yesung whispered, leaning his lips against the crown of your head. "Let's go back."

"But then they'll say I was afraid and they'll laugh."

"No one will laugh at this. If we continue ascending, lightning might strike the top of the boulder."

He was right, it was better to descend now that the weather had worsened.

He stood up and held out his hand for you to join him, yet your legs seemed to be pinned to the ground. Your body refused to react.

Yesung squatted down next to you again to place one arm under your legs and another behind your back so that he could carry you in a slightly more comfortable position.

Your body was still heaving as his stomach twisted inside due to the sight he was facing.

He could finally admire the edge of the road that threatened to greet him if he dared to slip on the wet ground. But then he felt you trembling in his arms and his mind focused on you.

At work you looked so focused and self-assured that it seemed incredible to him to hold you like that against his chest. The image of a strong and determined woman had become a weak and sensitive being in his arms.

"Do you want me to put you down?" he asked after you squirmed as if you were uncomfortable.

You shook your head, settling into his arms to ease his grip.

He smiled and began to sing as he descended down the path to ease the tension between the two of you. Somehow it felt a little heroic but also uncomfortable.

Your body molded so well to his grip that it felt like you belonged there and that was why a new fear came over him.

His heart was beating a little faster than normal and although you thought it was a product of his fear of falling from there, he was beginning to suspect that it was due to your presence.

"We're almost there," whispered the idol, shifting his focus on the road to you.

Your eyes met his and it was him who looked away.

"Thank you for helping me," you whispered feeling your nerves slowly fading away.

"I didn't do it for you, the guys will be upset if something happens to you."

"You could have gone down to ask for help and you still preferred to go up to where I was. I owe you one."

A sudden heat rose up to his neck, threatening to make its way to his face.

"I told you I didn't do it for you…

"There they are!" Donghae shouted, running up to where you were. "Are you all right?"

"She's not, she sprained her ankle," replied Yesung in your place, remembering your reluctance to let them know you were afraid.

You didn't understand why he had covered up the truth behind that harmless lie, but you were grateful to him.

"I'll help you carry her," announced Siwon approaching you to make your transfer more comfortable.

"It's not necessary. It's not that heavy."

He continued moving forward while the rest of the members smiled mischievously thinking about how to bother him now that they had perceived his biting tone and reluctance to part with you.

"Sure, the ankle. It's a classic," Leeteuk commented, smiling knowingly.

Yesung snorted but did not encourage the teasing.

"Although it wasn't necessary to carry it bridal style. You could have carried her on your back," Kyuhyun's comment made the idol's ears turn slightly pink.

"Or you could have contacted us by phone to make things easier."

Yesung cursed under his breath. It hadn't occurred to him to pull out his phone to ask for help.

"You could have refused to do that too, but it seems you needed some time alone," Eunhyuk suggested, passing by both of you.

"Of course, as if we had that option," Yesung grumbled without loosening his grip on you.

"But you didn't have to go so willingly to do it either," Heechul stressed, "I heard no objections as we came along the road."

Yesung's face couldn't stand it any longer and began to turn red.

"Are you blushing?!" shouted Ryeowook pointing at Yesung. "This is serious."

"I want to see the camera footage now."

"I need a spoiler, did you two kiss?"

"NO!" you shouted along with Yesung provoking laughter from the other members.

"If they both deny it so vehemently then there must be something real," Siwon crooned walking away with the rest.

The voices were lost in the distance, leaving you both embarrassed enough not to speak to each other again for the rest of the night.

A small reminder that requests are open, if you don't feel good sending messages in english, you cand send your request in spanish too (since I can work properly with that language).

If you only wanna fangirling or make any question my messages are open for you too.