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peachysunrize · 1 month

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Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid…

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily.

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way…

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,” he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,”

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.”

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little.

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #prince aemond #aemond x reader #rue:smut #rue:angst #rue:fluff

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monzabee · 2 months

Text

mr. big (social media au) - cs55

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where there he was, wearing armani on a sunday, your boyfriend, Carlos.

Pairing: carlos sainz x romance writer!reader (model used: random people i found on pinterest)

Warnings: none other than some cursing? carlos being an old money dream as always

Request: "For a smau, would love to see romance writer!reader with Carlos (he is just Disney prince vibes) where fans aren’t quite sure how they got together but the influence him on her work is greatly appreciated" by my lovely @percervall

Author note: OKAY JUST REALISED I AM A CARRIE AND BIG APOLOGIST, WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT (i might be freaking out about them, but i will always be a charlotte girl)!!! (might honestly turn it into a series because who doesn't love a satc x old money crossover???)

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, readersdigest and 438,927 others.

yourusername: busy, busy, busy bee.

user: thank you mother for feeding us with another hot billionaire novel

yourusername: you are more than welcome

user: how is she not only one of the best romance authors, but also a fashion icon??

user: can't wait to read what carlos inspired this time!!

carlossainz55: you are not wearing you glasses again, cariño

yourusername: why don't you come put them on yourself??

user: oh, they are so cute it's sickening

user: GIVE US THE MANUSCRIPT AND END OUR SUFFERING

view all 2,387 comments.

user: how did they get together again??

user: i think he ran into her at one of her book signings in madrid?

user: i thought it was when she went to the paddock for some good old r&d?

user: i heard somewhere that a friend set them up

yourusername posted a new story!

carlossainz55 posted a story!

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, goodreads and 682,928 others.

yourusername: life lately & "between love and loathing" out june 23rd.

user: we love the romantic getaway, and a new book!!

user: we're being fed in more ways than one, and i am not complaining at all!!

user: oh shit, we're about to read the best romance novel of all time

view all 13,726 comments.

carlossainz55: i'm so proud of you, you have no idea

yourusername: way to make me cry

yourusername: i love you though

carlossainz55: te quiero más

user: I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ARE THE OLD MONEY COUPLE WE NEEDED ALL ALONG AND WE DON'T KNOW HOW THEY STARTED DATING

user: it will remain forever a mystery

user: but at least we have content to keep us going through these hard times

carlossainz55

Liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 977,520 others.

carlossainz55: one of us made the pancakes, and one of us stood there looking pretty.

yourusername: hey, it was your turn to make breakfast

carlossainz55: and i loved every second of it

yourusername: even doing the dishes?

carlossainz55: especially doing the dishes

user: this is by far the most romance book thing this man has done

user: i still don't understand how they started dating, but good for them i guess

view all 35,726 comments.

landonorris: hey, i didn't get any pancakes, did you? @charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: didn't even know we were having pancakes, where are our pancakes @carlossainz55

landonorris: and cooking in a towel?? how is that sanitary??

charles_leclerc: he's breaking at least a dozen health codes

carlossainz55: i hate you both

yourusername: you are all a pr nightmare

scuderiaferrari: i agree

user: damn he got lucky

yourusername

Liked by f1wagss, carlossainz55, sarahjessicaparker and 736,928 others.

yourusername: and there he was, wearing armani on a sunday, carlos sainz.

user: SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

user: what kind of an iconic cunt slay is this

user: and just like that... they became the coolest couple on the internet

user: NEW NOVEL IDEA, SEX AND THE CITY RETELL WITH CARLOS

user: girl wtf

yourusername: no let her cook

yourusername: you might be onto something here

user: don't know if i want to be her or be carlos

view all 44,736 comments.

user: everybody say thank you mom for blessing us

carlossainz55: amor

yourusername: amor x2

user: oh she's working overtime god bless you

#monzabee #formula 1 x reader #social media au #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #formula one x reader #carlos sainz social media au

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the-modern-typewriter · 1 year

Note

wgshdwgd im sorry if youre not accepting snippet reqs </333

but could i req you write abt a villain who *everyone* is genuinely terrified of. and then the hero just politely tells them to shut the fuck up. like, villain could be monologuing or smth and hero would cut them off saying that they would really appreciate it if villain could finish up in the next hour or so because they dont want to miss bargain day at the supermarket.

uwah im sorry if i broke any rules </33 stay safe its a crazy world out there <333

"-Could you please just shut up?"

There was a moment of absolute, horrified silence. One man promptly fainted. Nobody seemed to breathe for a few seconds.

The villain turned, slowly, towards the protagonist.

They were on their knees on the floor, surrounded by armed guards ready to execute the various staff still in their building. Their expression was one of exhausted long-suffering, one hand pinching the bridge of their nose as if to stave off a headache.

"Excuse me?" the villain asked, oh so softly.

"Will you please stop talking?" The protagonist dropped their hand, levelling the villain with a look. "Like, if you're going to slaughter the lot of us, just do it, don't make us listen to the spiel first. It's been forty five minutes."

"Are you so eager to die?"

"No. But if I'm going to die, I think I'd like to get it over with. Otherwise, I'd like to just go about my day. I need to buy food before the shop closes and takeaway costs a fortune. I mean, bloody hell. Forty five minutes. Do you really think anyone here is listening?"

The villain stared.

"Like, not to be rude," the protagonist said. "But they're all scared out their minds. They are not processing the finer points of your monologue. It's just so unnecessary."

"I could cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

"You don't have anything better to do?"

"I could cut out their tongues," the villain swept a hand around the room, "and feed them to you. That sorts out dinner, doesn't it?"

"I mean, I'm vegan, and not a cannibal, but I appreciate you're more concerned with being menacing than actually addressing the issue."

The villain stared some more.

The protagonist stared back.

"The data I need is still downloading," the villain said, after a long moment. "If I let you leave, someone will do something stupid like try and call the police."

"Sure, sure. But the monologue."

"You don't enjoy the sound of my voice?"

"I wouldn't take it too personally. It's been a week. Bit overstimulated, to be honest. Anyone's voice right now feels a bit like a cheese grater on my nerve endings."

"A bit like a cheese grater."

"No offense."

The villain blinked at them, slow and somewhat incredulous. "A cheese grater."

The protagonist shrugged.

"I'm assuming you didn't miss who I am in the last forty five minutes," the villain said.

"No."

"And yet."

"It's not that you're not terrifying," the protagonist said. "I just - forty five minutes. Humans aren't set up to be this stressed for forty minutes. My head is killing me. Processing all this - if you don't kill us - is going to be hard enough without having to fit in all the life admin I'm not currently getting done."

"Come here."

"...what?"

The villain crooked a finger to beckon the protagonist forward.

The protagonist swallowed, eyeing the villain warily, but didn't make them ask again. With a glance at the armed henchmen, they shuffled forwards to the spot the villain had gestured at their feet.

"You know," the villain said, "it's been a very long time since anyone has talked back to me."

"Sorry. I'm really not trying to be rude."

"No," the villain mused, head tilting with something alarmingly like curiosity as the protagonist came to a stop. "You're really not, are you? Turn."

"...turn?"

The villain gestured again, to indicate that the protagonist should face away from them.

"...You can't just give me all the orders at once? I get this is more dramatic, but I probably wouldn't be trying your patience as much if-"

The villain seized the nape of the protagonist's neck, like scruffing a kitten, making their breath catch.

Everyone watched for the inevitable torment. The punishment. The kill.

The villain's fingers dug into the knots of tension in the protagonist's neck, power sparking up the touch.

The protagonist sagged. "Holy shit," they breathed.

"Better?"

"Um. I mean - yes - but -"

"Good." The villain glanced up to the henchmen. "Shoot everyone else."

"What? Wait - no -"

The sound was deafening.

Then the silence was, once again, absolute.

"You didn't have to do that," the protagonist whispered. "I didn't mean - if I offended you -"

"Oh, you didn't, don't worry. That's why you're still alive. Tell me about yourself."

The villain's grip stayed unrelenting on the back of the protagonist's neck, holding them securely in place.

"T-tell-?"

"We still have ten minutes," the villain said, in a tone of great patience, "before the download completes. Tell me about yourself. I shouldn't be the one doing all the talking, after all. It's very rude of me, isn't it?"

Hesitantly, the protagonist talked, watching the blood pool on the floor. What else was there to do?

The computer finally gave a quiet beep to indicate that the download was complete.

"Good. Very good." The villain gave the protagonist's neck another gentle enough squeeze. "Now. Let's go grocery shopping," the villain said cheerfully. "Up you get. Dinner's on me."

#heroes and villains #antagonist and protagonist #writing #story #writing snippet #villains #villain

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scoonsalicious · 3 months

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Sadness, realizations.

Word Count: 633

Previously On...: A phone call in the middle of the night sends Bucky to Jade's side at the med bay to help her through a "panic attack," which you're sure she's faking. You warn Bucky that if he keeps going to her, you might not be willing to take him back.

A/N: I didn't realize some of these parts were so short. They were difficult to write, so they took a lot of time, and therefore seemed longer. I feel like I'm drawing out the inevitable, and I probably am. I'm sorry!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

When you woke up a few hours later, Bucky wasn’t back. You checked your phone. It was well past the time you’d planned on leaving to go Upstate, not that you were surprised. He’d text you, apologizing, telling you that Jade was too emotionally distraught to be left alone for the time being, but he promised to be back soon, and you’d still make your trip. You knew the promise was hollow. You didn’t believe he was sleeping with her, not really, but the situation was becoming untenable. You’d always said you would never try to control who he could or couldn’t be friends with, but you began to wonder if it was time for an ultimatum. The idea of imposing one sat poorly with you; it wasn’t the kind of girlfriend you wanted to be, but you felt he was leaving you no choice anymore. Every boundary you had asked him to keep with her, she’d somehow find a way to push him past.

He wasn’t blameless in the situation, you knew that. You knew he loved you, wanted to be with you, but how many chances could you give him to put you first, only to have him fail you? He wasn’t doing it on purpose; he was a genuinely good person who saw someone who had suffered as he had, and who wanted to provide support in a way that had been denied to him, but he was doing it at the expense of your relationship, your heart, your fucking sanity. He was taking you for granted, assuming that you’d always forgive him. And why wouldn’t he? You’d done it each and every time before.

You got up and got dressed, trying to find a use for your time so that you weren’t incessantly staring at the clock, waiting for Bucky to finally decide to make time for you. You suddenly remembered the request that Sam had made of you the night before– that you check the Tower’s systems to see if Jade had attempted to access anything that might set up red flags.

Grabbing your laptop, you made your way to the kitchen to grab a bagel and glass of juice before curling up on a chaise lounge in the common room and began working. It was going to be a time consuming task; the Tower’s systems were massive, but you’d built a good portion of them yourself, so it was a lot like wandering the forest in your own backyard.

Hours later, you were rubbing your eyes, regretting that you had left your glasses in your room. The sun was low in the sky, hovering just above the city skyline. Standing up to stretch, you cracked your neck and lower back before shooting off a text to Sam.

>>Just ran a check of the Tower systems for Jade’s footprint.

Ole Sammy: And???? Don’t leave me hangin in suspense, Baby Girl!

>> And, nothing screaming ENEMY AGENT.

>> She accessed Bucky’s unlocked files.

>> Like, a lot.

Ole Sammy: Creepy, but not surprising.

>> No, considering she’s fucking obsessed with him.

Ole Sammy: Unless…

>> Unless what, Samuel?

Ole Sammy: Nothing. Just a thought. Probably nothing. Don’t worry about it.

>> Stop being cryptic. Tell me.

Ole Sammy: Not unless I have proof to back it up. I don’t want to make accusations without evidence. Bitch’s scary AF. Besides, she could kick my ass.

>> Pretty sure I could kick your ass.

Ole Sammy: Only if I didn’t have my wings!

>> Not the flex you think it is.

Ole Sammy: How’s Upstate?

>> Wouldn’t know. Jade had a ‘panic attack’ in the night and has needed Bucky by her side ever since.

Ole Sammy: That dumb ass mother fucker! How much longer you gonna put up with this shit, Baby Girl?

>> I’ll talk to you later, Sam.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your lunch is a bit hectic and tour tummy is aching for your missed meal but your mission is accomplished. You have the box of coffee, the exact brand they keep in the break room. You stop at your desk and attach one of your heart-shaped post-its, writing Curtis’ name on it with a smiley face over the i. You'll let it be anonymous, a nice surprise.

The only hitch is finding the opportunity to drop it at his desk. So you do some snooping through the internal calendar. He has a meeting at fifteen. That's doable.

You watch the clock, not getting much done in your anticipation. You wait until two minutes after then hug the box to your stomach and make your way towards IT. You keep your head down, laser focused on the target.

You slip past Jensen's desk, he isn't there either. You see just ahead that Curtis’ chair is empty and you almost leap in delight. You tiptoe over, hovering the box beside the keyboard but don't put it down.

You shouldn't look but you know that shade of pink. The slightly open drawer slides open as you poke your toe under it. Your pillow! The stuffed donut pops up as it's released from the tension of the cramped drawer.

Wait? How'd it get there?

“What the hell are you doing?” Curtis startles you as he comes around the corner.

You look up at him and bat your lashes. He stole it. Why? Revenge? Does he hate you that much?

You drop the box of coffee and it bounces onto the floor. You snatch the pillow from the drawer and scramble in the other direction. You nearly collide with Jensen as Curtis grumbles behind you, the drawer slamming harshly.

“You okay?” Jensen touches your sleeve.

You can't talk. You're confused and hurt and… you really thought you misplaced the pillow, you didn't think someone would steal it. You shake your head and push past, clinging to your pillow as your eyes sting. You're done trying to be nice.

🩷

You take your pillow home with you that night. You won't bring it back. You'll just suffer the pain.

You can't believe you ever tried to be his friend. Why did it matter so much to you? You suppose there's still lots of people to meet at the office. Or you can eat your lunch alone.

Oh well, it's the weekend. You don't have to face the music for a couple days. You spend the night on your computer, playing the new game you downloaded on Steam, a puppy dress-up sim. It was free.

You sleep, not well. You don't know why you're so uneasy. Halfway through the night, you hide the donut pillow in your closet.

The next day you think of all the ways you can spend your time. You come up with nothing but that's fine. You'll go to the mall!

You put on a yellow and green patchwork overall skirt over a plaid blouse and set off. You won't spend too much but a new plushie will cheer you up.

The bus drops you off at the east entrance of the mall. You enter and stop to buy yourself a cinnamon bun. You're starving!

You wander and wipe away the stickiness on a crumpled napkin as you enter the game shop. You pass by the collectible figures for a tabletop RPG and find your way to the squishmallows. The taco one is adorable.

You squat down to grab the fried egg plushy and smile. This one will go with your toast pillow. As you stand, you press against someone else. You apologise but stop as an arm hooks around you. Another comes around your other side, claiming the stuffy from your grasp.

“You like these things?” The gristly voice rolls into you.

You gasp and pull away, turning to face Curtis as he eyes the smiling sunny-side up. Your back hits the shelves as you stare with wide eyes. You don't get it, how did he find you?

“Where did you come from?” You ask dumbly.

“Relax, I was here to buy dice,” he continues to examine the toy.

“Oh…” you look around, “you play that game; diners, dives and dragons.”

“Dungeons and dragons,” he corrects you.

“Ha, I know, just a very not funny joke,” you shrug.

You reach for the stuffy but he pulls it out of reach. He finally looks at you. You could wilt like a dying flower.

“I'll get it for you.”

You're stunned speechless. Your mouth falls open as he looks away. He pulls his shoulders up and drops them.

“Fair trade. For the coffee.”

“Oh,” you snap your mouth shut, “that's not… that's fine.”

You try to take the toy again but he puts it behind him. He steps closer, crowding you against the shelves. You sweat as your eyes skitter side to side.

“I shouldn't have taken your… donut thing.”

“Uh, yeah, well, it's… really, I think it's better we just keep our distance,” you rub the back of your neck, “it's nice of you to offer to make it up but I'm over it.”

“Over it?” He echoes.

“Yeah, I don't wanna be friends. We're coworkers. Let's keep it profesh.”

“Profesh…” he squints.

“So I'll just take the squish,” you sidle and reach around him, tugging the toy until he lets go, “have fun with your dragons.”

He doesn't move as you march up the aisle. You go to the counter and proudly present the fried egg. You unzip your furry purse as Curtis strides towards the till.

“Wait,” he says.

“Sorry, I got stuff to do. See ya around the office though,” you swipe your card and the machine bings with approval, “I'm sure you're busy too.”

You smile at the cashier and take your bag and receipt. You spin and stroll out. You sense Curtis behind you and walk faster. He catches up to you and blocks your path. You nearly fall over your feet as you stop abruptly.

“I apologised.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks?” He growls.

“Uh huh.”

His brows draw together and his lashes flick, “I… I'm trying–”

“It's too late. Sorry, can't help you,” you shrug, “enjoy the coffee and the silence. I know you prefer both to me.”

You sidestep him again and hear him sputter. You scurry without looking back. You don't hear him but don't let out your breath until you turn into the next wing of the mall. You hope you didn't just make him hate you even worse but you have to protect your happiness. And your squishmallows.

#curtis everett x reader #dark curtis everett #curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #snowpiercer #sunshine lollipops and rainbows #drabble #series #au

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acescavern · 8 months

Text

END TO START - LEE TAEYONG X READER

Navi - M.list

Pairing: Soulmate!Johnny x Soulmate! reader, Taeyong x reader. ( Ft Mark, Jungwoo, Ten, Jaehyun, Taeil, Yuta. Mentions Jaemin once.)

Genre: Heavy angst my guys, soulmates au, neo frat au, university au, fluff, Hanahaki Soulmate trope.

Synopsis: Taeyong had been perfectly happy to sit back and watch you and Johnny be together. However, when he starts to notice certain behaviors that are all too familiar, he finds himself unable to watch you slowly die. Just because Johnny may not love you anymore... doesn't mean Taeyong doesn't love you either.

wc: 4.9k

Warnings: Heavy angst, Blood, Mentions of death, suffering, choking, johnny is unfaithful, it's a Hanahaki au so they basically cough up dead and thorned flowers. It's not a graphic description but there are descriptions of pain too, mentions of weight loss due to being unwell, Unrequited love, hurt, Taeyong's been in love with the reader since before her and Johnny got together, heavy rejection, soulmate rejection ( Just because i have written this does NOT mean that i think any one of the nct members would cheat or act thi way. this is pure FICTION.) Please let me know if i have missed any warnings

Note: Hi! I have a few fics in the works but I'm worried I wont get them done for Halloween. So, I am blessing you with this heart-breaking fic. I wanted to release this fic early as a thank you for all your love on Operation Rizz! Now, this is the same frat universe as all my other NCT fics. they can all be read as stand alone though, so don't worry! Any feedback is once again appreciated. I do not own the concept of Hanahaki.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated

Soulmates were supposed to be someone's everything—the one person who was meant specifically for them. Someone you can lean on and cherish, who would dote and adore you. Someone to dish out as much love to you as you unto them. To stay by your side and grow old together. However, some people are already at that stage when they meet their destined person. There was also the worry of some people not having a soulmate. Legend says that only the blessed are gifted with such.

Gifted? Yes. To many, the Soulmate system is a curse - depending on what type you are assigned to. Tattoos? Easy. Mind reading? Okay a little more difficult. Red string? That practically takes you straight to them. Eternal life? Near impossible! You could spend many years with someone you thought was a soulmate only to see a wrinkle and realize you aren’t made for each other at all. Seeing things in black and white only to suddenly be overwhelmed with color at a music festival and not know who the hell you’d bumped into in that massive crowd that could possibly be your soulmate. Not everyone even had a soulmate, they could be with whoever they wanted without consequences.

But there was one type in particular that nobody wanted. Hanahaki. Named after the fictional Japanese Hanahaki Disease. It comes from the Japanese words Hana - meaning flower and Hakimasu - quite literally meaning, to throw up.

In a soulmate's case, when they first meet each other a seed is awakened. It grows thorned roses - the flowers of love - cradling the person’s heart and twining around inside their lungs. For the most part, other than the occasional flutter and heartburn, it goes unnoticeable. So long as the soulmate reciprocates the feelings of love. But, should one soulmate start to fall out of love? The other will suffer terribly. The flowers will die, the spikey stems squeezing at the organs they were once gently caressing with love. Crushing in their anguish.

Of course, unlike the other soulmate types, there are two ways out of Hanahaki... Let the weight of the unreciprocated love drag on painfully until you die, or convince your health insurance to accept the cost of the operation to remove the offending plants. However, by the time one realizes they are soulmates, it is likely that the bond has already been unreciprocated.

Taeyong knew this. He knew this because it happened to him. He had once been on the receiving end of the agonizing scratch of dead rose stems climbing up his throat in a mess of blood and wilted petals. Taeyong had nearly died. He recognized the signs clearly and that was the reason he was so shocked to see them in who he did.

Johnny’s soulmate.

Taeyong first took notice when you walked through the door of the club. A celebration night to celebrate the frat’s anniversary alongside Taeyong’s new choreographer position in the dance studio he works in. Your face had a slightly paler tone and although you were doing a good job at keeping your breathing even… Taeyong recognized the telltale signs of a wince when you took the air in too harshly.

But when he saw Johnny approach you and press a loving kiss to your forehead, he scolded himself for thinking such things. Taeyong knew something was up though, your smile didn’t meet your eyes and when you congratulated him with a hug, he swore he could feel your body tremble.

He tried not to worry too much throughout the night but when he saw Johnny by the bar, his charming smile dazzled at some sorority girls that had been invited… Taeyong wondered where you’d gone. The disappointment within him only grew when he watched his best friend and frat brother go home with one of them.

So, maybe his suspicions were correct. A few weeks passed and he’d not seen a glimpse of you, Johnny hadn’t even uttered your name. The rapper hadn’t had time to sit him down and ask him about the incident. Until now.

Taeyong dabbed the sweat from his brow with the neckline of his shirt, swiping his water bottle from the floor. He shuffled toward his friend, watching as he grinned at his phone as he typed. He was talking to someone and Taeyong only hoped it was you. That you’d both mended things to stop it getting worse. The thought of it all being a misunderstanding had a relieved smile spreading across his face as he settled on the floor next to Johnny.

“You texting ____? Tell her I said Hey.” Taeyong said, twisting the cap off his drink to take a swig. Taeyong was almost taken aback at the irritated flash that crossed Johnny’s expression at the mention of your name.

If Taeyong wasn’t so observant, he would have missed it. Johnny shook his head, swiftly locking his phone when his leader went to peer over his shoulder. “It’s not. It’s Yuki.”

Taeyong’s eyebrows scrunched, posture freezing for a moment. “The sorority girl you went home with?” He tried to keep his tone level. Memories of the same thing happening to himself reoccur in his mind. “What about ____?” The question hung awkwardly in the air, Johnny staring at Taeyong as if he’d asked something ridiculous.

“What about her?” He shrugged. “Just because I do stupid things, doesn't mean I don’t love her. She’s my soulmate.” He paused, an almost defeated sigh sagging at his shoulders. “The only one I got.”

Taeyong took notice of the slight bitterness in his words. Almost as if he didn’t realize that he did it. “Do you?”

Johnny rubbed at the back of his neck, his mouth opening but no words coming out. Once again, a defeated shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah… yes.” He cleared his throat as his voice broke. “I’m sure we’d of noticed by now if I hadn’t.” Johnny left no room for debate, standing up with a clap of his hands to suggest they continue their lacrosse practice.

You knew. You knew Johnny’s feelings for you were dwindling. You were reminded every time you coughed. Reminded by the way your breath left you in an agonizing squeeze when Johnny would kiss your forehead.

But, even though you knew… it didn’t make you love him any less. You knew what he got up to when your nights weren't spent together. You didn’t do a thing, didn’t bring it up. You almost tried to ignore it. You loved Johnny. You always would. And, as long as you continued to love him, he wouldn’t have the same fate as you. You would never wish this pain on him even if he was the cause.

You wished you’d heeded Mark’s seemingly lighthearted warning at the beginning of your relationship. ‘He’s one of my closest friends but he doesn’t always do the right thing, just… please be careful.’ Mark had said one evening. You hadn’t truly understood why he had said it, nor did you get to question him before Johnny had slid his arm around your middle.

You understood perfectly now. Especially as a sharp tickle wheezed in the back of your throat, your eyes discreetly scanning the new text message from your seat at the very back row of English lit class. ‘Can we rain check date night again? Coach is being a hardass and wants us to stay late.’ For the third week running, the same excuse. Sure, you’d seen Johnny. But Thursday was always date night. Something you’d both stuck to like glue once before.

Pain twisted in your chest, your breath rough. You brought the sleeve of your hoodie to your mouth, attempting a discreet cough. It didn’t do anything for you, the feeling like you’d swallowed razorblades. The world felt like it was spinning for a moment and you had to close your eyes and count to ten to steady it again.

One look at your sleeve had you frowning. The next stage had started. You’d read about this. Discoloured petals. You’d only coughed up one but one was enough for you to be sure. With one last attempt at clearing your throat, you brushed the blackened petal to the ground.

Taeyong shared this class with you. Whilst he didn’t often sit next to you, he was mostly always on the same row. Not many people occupied the back row and so, when he heard the muffled hack come from your direction he had looked over, shoulders tensing as he watched you.

He approached you at the end of class, watching your sluggish movements as you shoved your laptop back into your bag. “____, Are you alright?” He asked softly, noting the sheen of sickly sweat coasting your forehead.

Lips pressed firmly together, you nodded. You were certain if you opened your mouth you'd start coughing and choking again but you didn’t want to be rude. “I’m fine.” Bad idea. “Sorry, Yong, I gotta go-” Taeyong had never heard your voice so scratchy and coarse. He had also never seen you flee so quickly before he could even open his mouth, your notepad falling from your unzipped bag as you vanished before his eyes.

As he knelt down to collect it from the ground, his fingers made contact with a velvety, withered texture.

A blackened rose petal.

The next time Taeyong saw you, you were much worse than he could have imagined. He had only turned up at your apartment because he assumed Johnny had left his phone at your place. He couldn’t really understand the rushed words of ‘Shit! I left my phone at her place, I’m already late!’ When Taeyong offered to go and get it, he naturally thought of your place.

So when you answered the door, he was standing frozen at the sight of you. Your eyes had bags under them that would put JFK airport to shame. Your complexion was grey, lips cracked and dry. Taeyong could definitely see you’d lost some weight too, your knitted sweater nearly slipping off one shoulder. His gaze caught onto the marks along your neck, long red streaks almost looking like you had been clawing at it in your agony. Your winced call of his name kicked his brain into gear.

“Now isn’t a good ti-” His hands flew out to rub and pat your back as your words were interrupted.

Taeyong’s heart broke as he watched you struggle. You couldn’t get your breath, your face turning red from the strenuosity. Taeyong backed you into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. He sat you on your couch, disappearing from view for a moment.

You didn’t even take note of what exactly was being thrust under your nose, only that it would catch what your body rejected. One of his hands held the bucket, the other sweeping your hair away from your face. It was all too familiar for him. Except for Taeyong, he had done it alone.

“It’s okay, ____” He hushed, palm flattened over your back to rub comforting circles. “Breath through your nose and count to ten. It helps.”

You did as such, shoulders relaxing as the air finally seeped into your lungs. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, sighing at the crimson residue that was becoming all too familiar. You opened your mouth to speak, only to be gently hushed once more.

“It’s okay, it’ll hurt too much if you talk.” He set the bucket down on the side table. “You should get yourself some grapeseed oil. A teaspoon a day should at least prevent the attacks so often.” Taeyong didn’t look at you as he spoke, his hands busying themselves with opening the small drawer to your coffee table in search of tissues.

“You mean this?” You rasped, pulling the small droplet bottle from your pocket, and setting it down on the surface before you. Taeyong’s eyebrows creased.

It was the exact same bottle he was sure he had. Though, catching sight of the label on the bottle he knew it was his bottle. ‘Taeyong’ scribbled messily on the labeled sticker. He looked at you expectantly.

“Johnny gave it to me.” Just uttering his name sent a pang of hurt through you, a wave of emotion rippling from your jaw to the tips of your toes.

Taeyong understood immediately, a deep sigh resonating as he nodded once. “He knows then.” To which you nodded, eyes fixed on your lap.

He had never seen you cry, and he would hate to admit it but your eyes looked pretty when you did. It was as if the glaze of tears enhanced the colors of your iris. “He doesn’t know it’s this bad. He thinks the tickle has just started.”

“____, you’re dying and you’re telling me Johnny hasn’t noticed yet?” To say that Taeyong was in disbelief was an understatement. The new knowledge that Johnny knew now had floored him.

Why? Because Johnny hadn’t once let it show. Taeyong had been around the guy all week and he was still the happy comedic genius he always was. Not a hint of anything bothering him.

“Yong, It’s okay. I..” You drew your knees up to your chest, patting the spot next to you for him. “I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Come to terms with it?!” He spluttered. “____, you are in your twenties! You can’t be okay with dying in your twenties.” His hand raked through his hair, eyes blinking rapidly like he couldn't come to terms with how calm you looked right now.

Taeyong could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest, his gaze hardening as he addressed you once more. “You know he’s been seeing her too, don’t you?”

You were silent, shame eating at your subconscious. “If I ignore it then he won’t have to be like this too.”

Taeyong sprung up to his feet. “Wake up! He’s out there living his life with no regrets and you’re the one to suffer? I can’t…” He shook his head, shoving his clenched fists into his pockets. “I’m sorry, I just-” With one last shake of his head, Taeyong left you there. The slam of your front door announcing his absence.

Johnny remembered the conversation between the two of you very clearly. He was convinced he still loved you a lot. Just not in the way you need. At first, he thought it was doubt, but as time went on he started to notice the dry tickly cough and the abundance of petals scattered in your trash. He was sure it wasn’t harmful yet, certain that he still held the love in his heart for you.

Johnny didn’t love Yuki. She was fun. She was different. She wasn’t you. He could spend time with her without any strings attached. It was freeing, knowing he wasn't destined to be with her no matter what.

He felt guilt at first. He didn’t like lying to you, but it was for his own selfish gain that he did. Johnny had seen Taeyong go through the pain and near death of a soulmate falling out of love, he didn’t want that for himself. Johnny had too much to live for, as arrogant and self-centred as that sounded.

He remembered what you said when he gave you the vial of grapeseed oil, how your shaky hands had placed over his own. How you told him it was okay, it wasn’t his fault. But Johnny couldn’t help but think it was. Johnny tried so hard to make himself love you still. Your words of comfort swirled in his mind and kept him up at night. ‘Nobody can help who they do and don’t love. Feelings change, People don’t’ You’d said to him.

Johnny felt ashamed. Being unfaithful to you whilst you still loved him with every ounce of your soul. Deep down, Johnny knew you only had two options he just hoped you made a decision before it was too late.

Taeyong had been seen by barely anyone all week. It was as if he was attending his classes and then picking up every extra shift or odd job imaginable. The Neos were even more shocked when Mark slapped a flier down on the dining table ping pong table in front of some of the brothers. A for sale flier, advertising their frat leader’s motorcycle. The very same one that he cherished and spent a fortune to modify.

“Do you think he’s in debt?” Jungwoo frowned, setting his beer on the table.

That question alone earned a chortled laugh. “Woo, we’re in university. We’re all in debt.” Yuta clapped him on the back. “But, on a serious note, He’s been acting super weird lately.”

Everyone launched into debate, trying to determine why Taeyong would be selling his pride and joy so suddenly. Conversation ceased when the front door opened and the man in question shuffled into the open-plan living space with an exhausted wave.

“Ty, are you actually selling the bandit?” The question came from Taeil, Neo frat’s oldest member.

Taeyong moved through the living area, taking a seat at one of the beanbags littered around the table. “Already sold it.” He bobbed his head in a nod.

It earned him many concerned looks. “Are you in trouble or something? Are you trying to cover the water bill from when Mark broke the faucet?”

“No, Jae. I’m not in trouble. It’s not for me.” He reassured, his voice dying down quietly. “It’s for ____.”

Everyone stopped. Mark locked his phone, Yuta stopped chipping at his nail polish, and Taeil nearly spat out his beer. Jaehyun and Jungwoo were already staring at him.

“Why?”

Taeyong took a deep breath, anticipating the question.It didn’t take long for him to catch them up to speed. “You haven’t noticed? I can’t watch her die. Even if she’s come to terms with it.”

“She’s not been to class for a few weeks. Professor Choi just straight-up skips over her name now. I’m guessing they know.” Jaehyun hummed.

“Hm, Jaemin said he saw her last week on his midnight ramen run.” Mark recalled, “Said she looked like something out of living dead.”

“Mark,” Taeyong gave him a warning look. The younger just shrugged his shoulders. “I’m going to book the operation for her. She doesn’t know. I just need the deposit. After that, it’s monthly payments. I can scrape enough together for the monthly just fine.” He looked pained. “Whenever I see her, it’s like I’m watching myself go through it again.”

One by one, Jaehyun, Mark, Jungwoo, Yuta, and Taeil offered their help.

The six of them didn’t make it known what their plans were but soon enough, after Taeyong had put what he had already saved with what the others offered, it was enough. He rocked up to the private medical center, cash in an envelope that was tucked neatly within the inside pocket of his jacket.

Taeyong was pleasantly surprised that he was allowed to schedule and pay the deposit on your behalf. Acting on best interest. The receptionist did stress that you needed to fill in the form and sign consent upon arrival but Taeyong was more pleased that he was giving you a chance at life. That there was a possibility that you could carry on.

What he didn’t expect, was your immediate refusal when he brought the leaflet and forms over to your apartment the following morning. The smile dropped from his face as you tried to hide away from him. ‘He could die.’ You’d cried at him. And whilst it had been proven he wouldn't, you were convinced.

“He won’t, ____.” Taeyong begged. “Please, you can’t just accept this.” The bed dipped as he sat on the edge. The many times he had visited you now, you had always been. The last time you got up to open the door, Taeyong honestly worried that you would pass away right there on the doorstep. He took your spare key after that.

Taeyong’s gentle fingers lifted the damp wash cloth from the bowl at your bedside, running the cool material over your brow and cheeks. A light smile twitched at the corner of your lips, the sensation easing your fever, only a little but it was better than before. He knew he wasn’t going to get many more words from you this evening. You’d exhausted yourself already for the evening. Taeyong was just content enough to sit here and care for you.

Honestly, before it was known that you were Johnny’s soulmate, Taeyong had hoped you’d notice him. He had often found himself wishing that it wouldn’t last so he could at least have a shot with you. His hopes were crushed when Johnny had run through the fraternity declaring you were both soulmates. Taeyong had made peace with the idea that maybe he was meant to be alone, satisfied just by seeing you whenever Johnny brought you over to hang out.

He never wished for this, though.

Tenderest of touches brushed your hair away from where it had clung to your forehead. Taeyong clicking on the standing fan in an attempt to offer you some cool relief. “Trust me, ____.” He whispered, voice brittle. “I went through this.” His confession had your right eye cracking open.

“Back in the first year,” Taeyong recalled. “Watching you and Johnny go through this… it’s like a mirror. I nearly died,” He picked up your hand, engulfing it in both of his own. “I refused the operation until it was nearly too late. For the same reason, actually.”

Your fingers twitched in his own, your index finger hooking around his thumb to offer comfort. You have suspected Taeyong had some close experience with this. Especially in the way he always seemed to understand your pain, the sad gazes, and his drive to help you. You had never expected that he would be the one in your position though. The meer thought had tears welling up in your eyes. You seemed to cry a lot around the man these days.

“He didn’t die though. Apparently, he just… coughed up the root.” He lifted your hand, the ghosting feeling of his lips against your knuckles. “I promise you, Johnny won’t die… At least think about it.” To which you nodded in agreement.

Taeyong made you soup, your favorite kind. You weren’t even sure how he knew it was your favorite but he did. He parted from you with a lingering kiss to your hairline. Just like every night. This form of unrequited love seemed to of hurt him more than his last.

He’d left the forms and leaflets on the empty bed space by your feet.

You’d asked Taeyong not to come over for the last four days. As worried as he was, he had to respect your wishes. You didn’t want him to see your sudden decline as you entered the last stage of the rejection. Meaning, that Johnny had almost fallen completely out of love with you now.

You were expecting it, Taeyong too. You and Johnny had broken things off the last time you saw each other. Both of you doing so without even having to clarify the matter. He was free. Almost.

Taeyong had been stressed all week, even his frat brothers had given him a wide berth. Many put it down to the lacrosse game the pending evening. Only a select few really knew that it was because today was the same day Taeyong had scheduled for your surgery.

He hadn’t known it was the same day as the game, Jungwoo uttering the words with caution the day before. Taeyong swore to himself that he thought he booked it for next week. He didn’t even know if you were going to accept it… Any time he brought it up you tended to change the subject.

How Taeyong managed to even pass the ball with steady swings amazed even himself, his hands hadn’t stopped shaking. He had nearly skipped the game in favor of being with you, but he knew he couldn’t. The game had gone smoothly, they were winning by one. In fact, Johnny had to take the penalty shot.

The whole field waited on bated breath, all eyes on Johnny as he just stood there, his expression morphed in such a way that Taeyong exchanged a look with Jaehyun.

“Seo! Take the damn shot already!” The coach didn’t even get through his ending word before Johnny’s form curled over, knees slamming into the ground.

Taeyong rushed over as his friend tore off his helmet and spat his mouthguard to the ground. He would worry about that later. Taeyong slid to his knees beside Johnny, his own helmet crashing to the ground out of his grip.

Johnny had never felt such pain. His airways were burning. The sensation in his chest felt like all the oxygen was being torn from him. The team crowded around him, blocking anyone else's view of the scene. A choked cough left his throat, a shout of agony following after. Petals. Blood. Stems. The flower was unwinding itself, pulling at the roots from within his chest and lungs.

The team managed to maneuver Johnny back to the locker rooms, it took four of them to carry him but soon the male was slumped against the tiles of the showers. Taeyong was beside him once again. “Cough it up Johnny, you’ll do more damage if you don’t.” He tugged Johnny’s arm to sit him forward, his fist thumping down in the center of his back. “Johnny, come on!”

To say Taeyong was relieved when Johnny finally started coughing again was an understatement. “You gotta carry it on, it’ll hurt but I’ve got you.” He pleaded over the sound of his friend’s cries and chokes.

Johnny doesn’t know how long he continuously coughed for. All he knew was the last one to shake through his body finally offered him release, Taeyong tugging him away from the mangled mix of plant and blood only to rip him, Johnny, from his shock-induced state by shoving him under the freezing cold shower stream - kit and all.

A big, clear breath left him.

“What the fuck, John?” Ten peaked his head around the corner, having raced in after the team to check on his best friend.

“Dude, that's your flower.” Mark grimaced, crouched down next to the offending object.

The announcement made Johnny’s spine straighten, and Taeyong hung his head. “What does it mean?” Johnny shakily stood, pressing the button to stop the stream of cold water.

It was fascinating how Johnny already felt better. He felt no pull in his chest, no weakness even after the whole ordeal. He felt new. But if he felt like this… then what had happened to you? The realization of what had happened weighed heavy on his guilt.

He turned to address the sort of traumatized, faces around him but it wasn’t him that spoke up. It was Taeyong. “It means I need to find ____.”

Taeyong had raced past his teammates and into the locker room without any further explanation. His phone cramped between his ear and shoulder as he tugged on his sweats at record speed. “C’mon, Petal. Pick up.” He swore to himself, only removing the device from his ear to throw on a t-shirt from his locker. It was a term of endearment he had taken to calling you of late, though quite often when you were too dazed to notice.

He ignored the looks of confusion from his friends. Well, from those other than Mark and Jaehyun. From the look on Johnny’s face, he was still piecing things together. Taeyong didn’t have time for that, snatching the keys for the beat-up Honda he had gotten recently and sprinting from the room.

Taeyong continued to call you on the way to your apartment. He had just hoped you’d gotten yourself to the appointment. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of losing you like this. He found himself afraid to enter your building, scared of what he may find. His head thumped against the steering wheel, eyes burning with unshed tears. You had to be okay.

His phone buzzed, body jumped when he saw your name flash on the screen. He swiped to answer, bringing it up to his ear with a relieved sigh. “____.” He listened to your breathing for a split second, registering the steady beeps in the background.

“Is he alive?” Your tone was filled with urgency but your voice was clearer than Taeyong had heard in weeks. It had a relieved laugh bubbling from his chest, salty droplets cascading down his cheeks and leaving his tear ducts with the tension in him.

“He’s fine.” He sniffled, rubbing at his face. “ Petal, you’re okay. I tho-” You interrupted him with a soothing call of his name.

“You were right.” He listened to you pause, the sounds of you sipping through a straw present in the receiver. “There are things I do have to live for.” You spoke quietly. “The first one being myself.”

He hummed in agreement, starting up the car again. “Yeah? I’ll be there soon and you can tell me all about the second, Petal.” He was rewarded with a breathy laugh. “What?”

“Petal.” You murmured, Taeyong could hear the slumber lingering back into your tone.

“Get some rest. I’ll be there soon.” He was about to pull the phone away from his ear when you quietly called his name again.

“Yes?” He hummed, clicking the hands-free and setting the phone into the holder on the dash.

“Can I tell you my second reason?”

“What’s that, Petal?” He smiled softly to himself.

“It’s you.”

©Acescavern - I do not give permission for my works to be copied, translated or reposted

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

Text

kyoho | ksj

You love your grape boy, and your grape boy... well, he might just love you a little too much.

pairing: seokjin x f!reader

rating: pg13

genre/warnings: established relationship, swearing bc when is there no swearing in my fics, mentions of seggs, suggestive themes, fluff, crack?? idk, my brand of fics is Unedited y'all know that's how we roll

word count: 1.8k

notes: i've been buying a lot of grapes lately (am i a grape person now??) and i've been eating them almost every day and of course i had to think about grape jinnie my beloved, my ultimate favorite seokjin and i want him to come back to me :((( idk that's how this lil thang came to me lmao it's the most crackhead shit i've ever written sOoOoOoOo please laugh or else ! 👿 jk but not really

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

"If you do this, we're done."

"Y/N."

"I swear, if you go through with this, we are over!"

Seokjin sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly not expecting you to be so passionate about the subject at hand. "The appointment is in an hour," he says.

"Cancel it. I don't care!" you cry. "Please don't do this. Don't take him away. He means the world to me."

Your boyfriend stares at you, mouth agape, then points to his head incredulously. "Him? My hair?"

"Yes!" You crawl over to his side of the couch to straddle his lap, actual tears welling in your eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and silky it feels in your hands. His gorgeous, gorgeous purple locks. The ones he's ready to sacrifice in favor of half blond, half red hair by demand of one Jeon Jungkook.

You shouldn't be this upset over him dyeing his hair, but you are, despite knowing full well that the purple will be gone soon anyway. His dark roots are starting to show already.

It's shark week, and there are not enough words in the dictionary to express how devastated you are that he's taking away your emotional support Grape Jinnie.

A couple months ago, when he told you that he'd be dyeing his hair purple, you were highly skeptical of the decision. You didn't know if he had the face to pull off purple of all colors, even though you had already seen him sport every other color of the rainbow and absolutely rocked every single one.

The whole week leading up to his salon appointment, you teased him endlessly - started calling him Grape Boy, bought him box after box of Kyoho grapes, photoshopping Kylie Jenner's purple hair onto his head and making it your lockscreen... It was mostly just grape puns, you were really milking that whole thing.

But then he came home, hair freshly bleached and colored, and your jaw dropped to the ground and stayed there for ten whole minutes.

Your eyes almost fell out of their sockets from how good he looked.

No, he didn't just look good. He was stunning, breathtaking, mindbogglingly beautiful and all the other synonyms that one could name.

The man fucking ate and left no crumbs.

That night was one of the best sex you two have ever had.

To say that you were obsessed with this shade on him is the understatement of the year.

"Don't do it," you plead. "If you really love me, you won't do it."

"You're being so dramatic. It's just hair." Seokjin puts his hands on your waist while you keep yours on his head, clutching his strands like a lifeline. "Plus, I have to honor the bet!"

Your expression turns stony then, as your eyes travel from the silky purple down to his face. You tighten your grip on his hair and tug on it sharply until your boyfriend is scowling in discomfort.

The bet. The stupid fucking bet he made with Jungkook.

You had explicitly told him there no chance in hell that he could win, but Seokjin could be an overly confident asshole sometimes.

He was in way over his head, and now you're the one suffering.

"You idiot," you hiss, pulling on his hair again, "why the fuck did you think you could do more pushups than Jungkook?"

"I don't know! We were tipsy and it seemed possible at the time!"

Releasing his hair, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and inhale deeply.

"Why am I being punished for your actions?" you mumble against his skin, then you ask, voice full of futile hope. "What if you just... don't do it?"

"Then I have to buy him a new mattress. He cut his mattress with scissors to make it fit into his bed frame and now it's all fucked up."

You give yourself a minute to think. There has to be a solution to your distress. You just gotta think. Think, brain, think!

And then you remember. Seokjin is still a man.

You lean back to look at him properly, straightening your position on his lap. You give him your biggest puppy dog eyes before you say, "I promise I will blow you every day from now on if you keep the hair."

If he was drinking water, you're fairly certain that he would've choked. Your boyfriend's eyes widen in surprise, his skin turning a dozen shades warmer, blushing from his cheeks all the way to the top of his ears.

Bingo.

"What?" he asks, like this is something so scandalous.

You lean forward to pepper kisses all over his face, putting more weight on your offer. "I promise," you say, pecking his cute cheek, "to blow you," then his forehead, "every single day," then his nose, "from now on," and finally his lips.

You linger near his mouth, not pulling away just yet. Your lips brush against his once more until you feel his hands tighten on your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck to hold him closer as you press forward, giving him a proper kiss to seal the deal.

Seokjin practically melts underneath you. Victory is so close that you can taste it. You're doing this for the greater good of mankind, for Grape Jinnie. Jungkook can fuck off with his half seasoned, half fried bullshit.

But then, Seokjin abruptly rips away from you to shriek, nearly blowing your eardrums out. The suddenness of his movements almost make you tumble off the couch.

"No, don't try to tempt me! Mattresses are expensive as fuck!"

It's been a few hours. He should be back any minute now.

Ever since Seokjin left to go to his hair appointment after having to peel you off of him because you were clinging to his body like a goddamn koala, you've been wallowing in your misery. You even busted out the big guns - Ben & Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream (with real peanut butter cups!) - to help you through this difficult time.

You're in full grieving mode now. Goddamnit. Fate is a cruel mistress.

Or in this case, Jungkook. Jungkook is a cruel mistress. That fucking guy.

When you hear the door open and the subsequent clanging of Seokjin's keys as he hangs them on one of the hooks in the entryway, you prepare to give him the biggest pout you can manage.

But then, he comes into view a few seconds later, and you gasp. You actually gasp. Before he knows what's happening, you're rising from the couch and sprinting toward him, launching into his arms with the biggest smile on your face like a kid on Christmas morning.

"You're still a grape!" you squeal joyously.

Seokjin lets out a surprise Oof! at the sudden force of your body knocking the breath out of him.

"What a warm welcome," he mutters. "I don't think you've ever been this happy to see me."

"What happened?!" you ask, eyes wide, grin even wider. "Did you change your mind because you love me so much?"

You run your hands through his hair to make sure that it's real, that you're not hallucinating this because you just love the purple so goddamn much.

And it is! It's still here! His hair is still that luscious shade of purple that you adore with your entire being.

Seokjin eyes you for a moment before he says, "I compromised with Jungkook. Did something else instead."

"What did you do?"

"I got a tattoo."

"You what?!"

"He said I wouldn't have to dye my hair if I got a tattoo of his choosing."

"Oh, no," you try to sound sympathetic but fail miserably. You cover your mouth with your hand to hide your smile, already sensing the absolute crackhead chaos that will ensue in a matter of minutes. Having been friends with Jungkook for years, you know that dude comes up with the craziest shit sometimes.

Seokjin turns around and pulls up his shirt, and you almost die from the fit of ugly snorting laughter that immediately rips itself free from your mouth. His skin underneath the transparent cling film is still slightly red, but the letters adorning the expanse of his lower back is clear as day.

You cannot find it in yourself to blink, not when the black ink is just staring at you like that. The font, so formal and classic, and yet the content of it... what a contrast.

"Kim Seokjin!" you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes and struggling to catch your breath. "How could you possibly think that this is a better idea than to just dye your hair!"

"You begged me to keep the hair!"

"I did," you agree, clutching your stomach as giggles continue wracking through your whole body. It's almost painful at this point. "But I don't want my boyfriend to have a tramp stamp that says fucking Chicken in Times New Roman!"

"It was either this," he says, turning back to face you, "or a sketch of his head on a chicken's body."

"What is up with him and chickens? Is that his new thing now?"

"I don't fucking know!"

"Well, thank you for doing that for me," you say appreciatively as you pull him in for a kiss, which isn't very graceful because you're still tittering the whole time. "But please tell me that's not permanent."

Seokjin stays quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor, and you stop laughing immediately.

"Oh my god," you say. "Is the Chicken tramp stamp permanent?!"

"No," he finally admits after a moment of hanging it over your head. As funny as the whole thing is, you do not want the love of your life to walk around sporting the most ridiculous tattoo in human history. "It's supposed to fade after a month."

You lean into him again, heaving a giant sigh of relief and wrapping your arms around his neck. One of your hands go for his hair again, weaving through the soft locks with your fingers because how could you not? "I love you, Grape," you say, pecking his cheek with a grin.

Seokjin rolls his eyes affectionately, but returns a peck to your own cheek. "I have a tramp stamp of the word Chicken and my parents might disown me for that, but at least you get to keep your Grape Boy," he says, making you giggle again.

"Because you love me so much, right?"

"Hmm. You're lucky I do."

You give him another kiss, one full of gratitude, for indulging your antics. When you move to return to the couch, Seokjin tugs on your wrist, pulling you back into him.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong," he says, acting all coy and shit, "but I recall you making me a promise earlier, no? What was it again?"

566 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 2 months

Note

HAIIIII... I'm so crazy rn I need to give Dottore SO MUCH AFFECTION...

I need to KISS HIM SO MUCH!!! all over his face.... I need to give all the segments so many kisses. Just absolutely SMOTHERING them in love and affection. ITS WHAT HE DESERVES!!!!! he's a silly lil pookie bear (He would be so confused if I uttered that nesr him)

Uagughdbidib imagine a reader who will constantly call him cute petnames like "snugglebear" and "cutie" 😭😭😭

like Webttore will walk in and then reader will be by his side in RECORD TIME giving him affection (any fatuus who are nearby are to ignore the scene completely, or they get killed)

Reader who gives Omega kisses on his lil red gem eye <3 and loves to snuggle against him (even if he is busy. reader CANNOT be stopped. It probably fuels his ego tbh)

AND OG DOTTIE!!!!!!! he gets SO MANY KISSES.. and so much love. He is DROWNING in readers affection.

I need to give them all so much love.... I am clawing at the floor violently. - 🐓

Most people are unsure of how someone as affectionate and doting as you managed to get with the Harbinger who seems to be averse to touch and love. However, mysteriously enough it seems that Prime and the segments are used to your antics... Well, no matter how much the poor agents question it, all they can do is keep their heads down as they file out of the room speedily once you start to get a bit too handsy with their Lord Harbinger.

Webby relishes your attention and kisses, often times he has to deal with situations that he lacks the patience for, unlike his older selves... so being able to huff and complain in your arms is most definitely something he looks forward to. Even if it's not physical affection, he talks a lot and it pleases him to have someone to listen, who will genuinely listen, unlike the agents. (Poor Krupp, he's had to deal with you stealing away his Lord's attention far too many times and has suffered the consequences.)

Omega is far too composed to give you the reaction you want (you think you're in control by how lenient he is, meanwhile he has the situation in the palm of his hands) but you probably don't care too much, so long as he lets you continue your very important work (giving him kisses.) You've probably done some experiments with his mechanical area too... can it overheat? Does it have fans?! Will he flinch if you randomly blow on the area? Is that glowing gem of his sensitive? You need to know this. All while you're snuggled into him while he does work, entertaining your nonsense. Truly the efficiency meant for a segment.

The Akademiya segment is not interested in being part of your little experiment... he is actually busy, unlike you, and has far better things to do with his time, he says as if he doesn't miss you if you're gone for too long. Chastising you in his own way, just give him the kisses.

Prime Dottore is tired, old, overworked, sleep-deprived, does not have time to receive your affection (as he claims) but that's all the more reason to give it to him!! You just gotta get creative! Is he trying to pour something? He gets many kisses on the cheek as he can't swat you away... Is he intensely focused on writing something? Your cue to hug him from behind and watch as the pen snaps in half.

Dottore doesn't really appreciate you calling him a... "pookie bear" (he continues to be amazed and irritated at the incompatible combination of words that seem to slip out like second nature) but what is he going to do? (Probably ignore you and kick you out but that happens regardless anyway.)

#smooches talks #🐓 anon #dottore love notes <3 #first if u saw me post this before no u didn't. I MEANT TO SAVE IT TO MY DRAFTS TO CONTINUE TYPING BUT I PUT POST NOW BY ACCIDENT.#anyway... u and me always share the same thoughts!!!#he and the segments deserve so many kisses and hugs...........!!

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slayfics · 10 months

Note

HEY since u said it was alright to request, I've been thinking about something for a While and i rlly like angst but i dont know if u rlly write that, I've only seen a bit in the muichiros mansion chapters, but i can rarely find the type of mui angst i want but basically its something like mui leaving us or something like that, IDK JS HEARTBREAKING ANGST IG😰😰 bc i love the pain and suffering once i see angst of a character leaving🫶🫶

HAVE A GREAT DAY/NIGHT<333 TYSM

Muichiro breaks up with you.

You felt all the tension you had been caring for day finally release at receiving a crow from Muichiro. Ever since you heard of the upper demons attacking Swordsmith Village where Muichiro was you had not got a minute of sleep.

Finally not only was he safe, but healed as well. You had missed him dearly when he was gone and you felt butterflies in your stomach when you read his letter.

His letter indicated he wanted to talk to you as soon as possible about something extremely important. You made your way over to the usual spot you and Muichiro spent time together. A comfortable spot under a shady tree by the lake.

It filled your heart with joy just knowing you’d be in his company soon. You wanted nothing more than to let him know how dear he really was to you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know how dangerous being a demon slayer was before, but when hearing he was up against an upper demon reality harshly set in. Any day it was possible that the two of you would be spending your last moments together.

You were beginning to get lost in thought when Muichiro arrived and sat down next you.

“Tokito!” You exclaimed and tightly embraced the Hashira.

“Hello…” he said, remaining still and not returning your affections in any way. This made your heart sink. Was something wrong?

“I’m sorry, I suppose I should have asked how you were healing first,” you said carefully letting go of the Hashira.

“Oh my body is healed… but I’m not quite myself yet,” he said, cryptically.

“Is everything ok? What happened in the village?” You asked hastily, concern overflowing from you.

“Well it appears I’ve recovered all my memories,” Muichiro said gently placing a hand on his head.

“Tokito, that’s wonderful!” You exclaimed with a big grin. However, the Hashira demeanor remained unpleasant.

“Yes and no…” he said, zoning off. You stayed silent hoping for him to elaborate. “The memories I recovered weren’t pleasant ones…”

You searched for comforting words but nothing came to mind other than, “Tokito, I’m so sorry.”

“No you see I am here to apologize,” he said, turning to face you. “What I uncovered has been more than I can process… you see it is a burden all on its own and… I don’t think I can effectively maintain our relationship while I go through this.” He said, watching you carefully.

You felt as though time had stopped. You searched his eyes hoping to see some indication that this was a joke. However, the Hashira’s eyes were as stern as ever. You tried to speak but it felt as though the air had been ripped out of your lungs.

“T-Tokito- I can help,” you muttered, pitifully as tears formed in your eyes.

“I appreciate your concern but you see… this is something I wish to go through on my own.” He said, gently grabbing your hand. “Please do not be sad, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’re a magnificent person. I hope you understand.”

You searched for words but nothing came. What were you supposed to say? If he wanted to be alone then that was the end of the conversation, wasn’t it? You looked down at his hand holding yours and hot anger flashed through you. How dare he touch you while he’s ripping your heart in two. You forcefully pulled your hand back.

Muichiro winced in response. He knew you’d be hurt but seeing it now was too much to handle. He had enough trauma to process and he was already overflowing with pain.

“I respect your decision, but I don’t understand.” You finally spat your anger getting the best of you. “You have a lot to process, that’s fair, but I could have supported you through that. Nothing is easier alone, Tokito.”

“Everyone processes things differently,” he said pleadingly, hoping to help you understand. “Maybe one day when I’m better we can try again.”

Your anger was a burning rage now ready to fully unleash. Did he really think he could hurt you and expect you to forgive him so easily when he was ready to start again?

“You can’t rip my feelings to shreds and just expect me to wait around for you, Tokito. Things don’t always work on your terms.” You said with venom in your voice.

Muichiro took a deep breath, tears now lining his own eyes. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t expect you to wait around. You deserve to be happy and if you find someone else before I’m ready… well, I wish you the best.”

“I wish I could say the same to you,” you said again, even more nasty than the last time.

Your statement seemed to be the last blow Muichiro could take as the tears dropped freely from his eyes. He turned around not wanting to face you anymore. He tried to muster up what he could to say goodbye but the lump in his throat was too much, so he parted his way silently leaving you alone.

Now alone your anger melted into despair as sobs that sounded too strong to be your own escaped you. All this time you were excited to see Muichiro, but you never expected this outcome.

You walked home as sobs still escaped you from time to time. Finally approaching your house you froze in shock at the sight you were met with.

Your estate was covered in origami cranes of varying sizes and shapes. You blinked and rubbed your eyes believing you were imagining them. However, the cranes remained and the longer you looked the more you seemed to see.

You walked up to the door where a letter was hanging that read:

Till we meet again.

-Tokito

You grabbed the letter and held it to your chest tears streaming once more. I hope you didn’t take me seriously Muichiro you thought to yourself. Of course, I’d wait for you, I’d wait lifetimes for you. Please once you’re ready run back to me.

Thank you for the very angsty request! I hope I did it justice and you enjoy~

Tags~

@aeolia18 @yandere-kou @sakurasunkiss @hashiroses @plvuii @snowmist-hashira

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littlebluentebook · 4 months

Text

Alastor x Sewing!Reader pt.4

Chapter 5

You tried to stay open 7-7 on weekdays so that way customers could come in both before and after work. This is why you were not surprised to hear the door jingle at half past five.

"Just a moment please!" you said cheerfully, attempting to finish threading your needle in full focus. "How can I help you today?" only then noticing Alastor in front of you. He was sporting his new coat and a bouquet of flowers.

"I just wanted to come visit you and say thank you for fixing my coat darling," he reached out to give you the flowers, "you will have to teach me how to make your treats as well. They were quite delicious." Alastor ate a bunch between his broadcasts spoiling his lunch but saving a few for his mother.

You smiled at that, " I am quite glad you enjoyed them! I will however be keeping that recipe to myself- its for special occasions only."

"Well then, I feel mighty special to be gifted them" Alastor quipped back at you. "How much do I owe you for the coat?"

"Not a pretty penny of yours doll! It was a favor for walking me home and letting me borrow your coat" you explained to him.

"Only if you're sure Y/N. I have got to be getting back home now, can't keep my mother waiting." he turned to the door.

"Of course! Don't worry her. Feel free to come back if you need anything else Alastor!"

"I may take you up on that my dear." With that, he walked out the door. Nothing but the flowers to signify he was ever there.

The flowers Alasor gave you were absolutely stunning. There were dark orange flowers that looked like an attempt to match the replacement lining and thread in his coat. To compliment there were soft pink and white flowers sporadically place in the bouquet. You went upstairs to your kitchen and brought down a vase for the flowers. Wanting to show off their beauty, you placed them on the center table of your shop. Here, you regularly cycled items such as tops, socks, mittens, scarves and other small items. You went around the shop and into your storage to find other colors that matched the flowers. On the table the flowers stood tall above the garments, all table colors matching.

The week went by quickly, Alastor's voice and memories both accompanying you while you sewed. You created lots of lace for the dresses Mimzy ordered. Next week you were supposed to stop by and take all of her performers measurements to actually start putting pieces together. Countless hours were also spent pre-beading and cutting fabric so all that had to be done was cutting and sewing to match sizes.

By the time Friday rolled around you were excited to leave the shop and go to Mimzy's. The nervous feeling was no longer there. You had Anne, Mimzy, and now Alastor to keep you company while enjoying the night.

"Y/N dear! Alastor and I were just talking about you!" Mimzy said with enthusiasm.

"Good things I can only hope?"

"Of course! He was just showing me how you fixed his tacky coat. I have been telling for ages he just needs a new one. He has appearances to up keep! It looks better now than when he first bought it."

You didn't know what to do with all the praise but it warmed your hear to know that people recognized your talents and were impressed with them.

"I just did what I saw fit, I do appreciate it!"

"Good evening mon cheri" Alastor said kissing your hand.

You two changed pleasantries about your week as Mimzy went to mingle with more customers. As you finished your conversation about to ask where Mimzy went, Anne stepped on stage about to start singing.

"Would you grace me with a dance?" Alastor asked reaching his hand out towards you.

"Absolutely doll" you said gently placing your hand in his outstretched one. He helped you up and out of your seat where you were previously conversing. As Alastor led you to the dance floor a man bumped into you tearing your grasp from him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry sir, please ex-"

"I know what you did." He cut you off. "You will suffer just as he did."

You turned as white as a ghost. No no no you migrated to New Orleans to get away from your old life. How did anyone find you?

"My dear! Are you alright?" Alastor asked finding you and reaching for your hand.

"Of course, just had a little scare and lost my footing is all."

Alastor gave you an eyebrow raise but didn't pry anymore.

All things considered the dance was wonderful. You both moved in sync, eyes focused on one another. He loved to spin you around and away from him only to pull you back in close. As the song ended you found yourself in a dip, a mere breath away from Alastor.

Mimzy cleared her throat "Lovely performance from the both of you, incredibly charming."

Alastor used his hand on your lower back to pick you up and steady you on the floor. He noticed you were still shaky and looking around the room from your encounter with the strange man earlier.

"Thank you Mimzy" he answered for the both of you. "We should get heading out soon shouldn't we darling?"

The night was still young but what the man had said to you made you want to leave as soon as possible. Plus, remembering last weeks sleep hangover you agreed. Finishing goodbyes again and talking with Mimzy setting up a time for instead her performers to visit you at your shop, you and Alastor were arm in arm walking out of the door. You turned around and took one last look and there you saw the man drag his thumb across his throat. What you didn't notice was that Alastor saw the man doing the exact same thing.

#alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin alastor #hazbinhotel

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leftoverdinosaurbones · 4 months

Text

Drawn Together

One-shot: Gortash x fem!Tav

This is a gift for @nusaran for the Elfsong Tavern’s Valentine’s Day gift exchange. Thanks for the fun prompts!!

Content Warning: NSFW (minors do not interact), little bit of smut (afab Tav), house fire

Summary:

It's a day of celebration at the Elfsong Tavern, which is bursting at the seams with decorations, ale, and patrons. Everyone is eager to partake in the festivities and express their love for one another.

Well, almost everyone.

Your mind is elsewhere tonight. You have yet to find your soulmate, though one person in particular has been consuming your thoughts. And he isn't the type to attend a party at the Elfsong Tavern. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be, anyway.

Set in game during Act 3 (spoilers!). You can read it below or on ao3.

Gale is in particularly high spirits this morning.

He hums softly and smiles to himself, like someone just shared the most delightful secret with him.

His hands work in their practiced way, pulling the most beautiful decorations from the weave. Soft pink pastels dance among deep burgundies while pearl white accents twist them together, joined by garlands of flowers. It reminds you of home. Of celebrations with your friends, your family. Of a lighter time, seemingly lifetimes ago.

His outlook on life has taken a turn for the positive these days, though you suppose having a new lease on life could do that for a man. Only just a few days ago, you convinced him not to sacrifice himself to the netherbrain - instead, you believed that he was worth sacrificing for. Even if that meant more danger in the future, or an unknown path. We would all do it, together.

You grip a bit tighter to the warm mug in your hands as you walk over to Gale.

“What are we celebrating?” You ask, coyly.

“Oh,” Gale breathes out with a deep, content sigh. He drops his attention from the weave and focuses his eyes on yours.

“You must know what day it is! What we are celebrating! We partook in the festival each and every year back home in Waterdeep. I assumed it was well-known in Baldur’s Gate as well, but given your reaction - and Astarion’s as well - perhaps you’ve been suffering without such a holiday your entire lives! Please, allow me to explain it to you. It is a celebration of love - the divine and sacred bonds between family, treasured friends, and lovers.”

His hand reaches out for your arm, gently squeezing near your shoulder before letting his hand drop back to his side.

“I just wanted to thank you, again. I know that I truly cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. For every single thing you do for me. You’ve made me start to believe in myself again - to believe that I am worth lifelong friendship… and perhaps even love.”

Your eyes dart away from his to look towards the ground. He is being so vulnerable and forthcoming with you, like always. But you can’t help having this wall up between you, holding you back from letting him in. You bring your mug up to your lips to distract from the growing silence.

“…perhaps even love, with someone, one day,” Gale relents. “I know we are only fated to be friends, and I respect that. Our friendship means the world to me, I hope you realize that.”

Gale’s words are warm and sincere. You return his kind words with a soft smile, looking back up at him.

“I really appreciate your friendship too, Gale.” You settle down on a seat nearby to watch as he brings the weave back to vibrant life.

You know, deep in your heart, that Gale will find his perfect match. At least they will be relatively easy to recognize, given the unique scar decorating his chest.

While many people form relationships - largely temporary - with others without matching scars, that idea never appealed to you. Oh, perhaps a stolen night here and there, but never anything real. You couldn’t see opening yourself up to someone, to let them in so deep, just to have them leave you for their real soulmate.

Your eyes scan the room at the Elfsong Tavern until you find Astarion. He is sitting on the ground, cross-legged and hunched over something he was working on in his lap. His scowl is present in every feature of his face - his lips drawn into a tight frown, his forehead knit together in frustration, his eyes narrowed. You assume he is bitter about the festival, and it goes beyond the fact that romance makes him feel uncomfortable and self-conscious.

This festival would only serve as another reminder of the many impacts of his vampiric affliction. Though otherwise a good thing, his skin can heal on its own - therefore, he has no scars. He will never be sure of his soulmate like the rest of us. And so he certainly can’t be sure that Wyll is his soulmate.

Time and time again, Wyll has offered reassurance to Astarion. Wyll will claim that the matching scars don’t matter to him, that he knows what is in his heart, that his love will never stray to another. But you can see the fear behind Astarion’s eyes. And you understand it.

Even now, you see Wyll crouch down next to Astarion and start to rub his shoulders, leaning to whisper something in his ear. Astarion flinches from his touch, reflexively. You look away to give them at least a modicum of privacy within this shared living space.

Swirling the liquid in your mug, your mind is pulled back into the events from the other day, when you entered Wyrm’s Rock. After your confrontation with the guard and the Steel Watchers at the bridge, you were surprised to receive an invitation to Gortash’s coronation. Though, from everything you heard of the man, he did seem a bit full of himself. Of course he would demand your attendance to that charade of an event, in his honor. Especially after you so easily defeated Ketheric.

You aren’t entirely sure why you accepted a strategic alliance with Gortash. He was clearly a better choice than Orin, though logic could also assume that you need not choose to ally with either of your enemies. His words were tempting, a seemingly genuine and alluring offer of shared power.

But that wasn’t what tempted you. The way he moved towards you with cool confidence. His tall figure loomed over you as he drew near. He didn’t have the same physical presence as someone like Halsin, but he frightened you all the same. He didn’t need it to appear formidable. To be imposing.

When he gripped your hand in partnership, you could swear he held on for just a moment longer than necessary. His dark eyes lingered on yours before trailing, slowly, down your body. Your heart lept into your throat as a flush of heat warmed your face and brightened the tips of your ears.

You tore your eyes away from his, embarrassment washing over you. Though, admittedly, this wasn’t the only feeling you were experiencing… You hadn’t felt those kinds of stirrings within you before. Not for any of your companions, despite their (many) advances.

No. You shook your head to try to distance yourself from such thoughts. A man like that, a follower of Bane, knows how to pull you into his web. This isn’t personal - it’s his own strategic manipulation, just like he used Karlach.

“Here.” You are startled out of your memories by a tight, strained voice. You look up to see Astarion handing Gale a delicate, embroidered heart.

***

The Elfsong Tavern is a sight to behold tonight. Gale, as convincing as ever, was able to fill the room with decorations for the festival. He stood by the door to greet each patron and provide them with a rousing introduction to the holiday, whether they were interested or not.

You find yourself at the bar, sipping on a glass of wine. You glance around the room as it is filled with joyful guests. Some were paired off and dancing - Wyll gracefully led Astarion as they danced together. You recognize it as one Wyll had been practicing on his own for several nights at camp.

Others were locked together in deep conversation; Lae’zel and Shadowheart among them. Over the past few months, you’ve watched their relationship move from enemies to friends. You saw perhaps a hint of something deeper, here and there, but they didn’t seem ready yet to admit that to themselves. You smile into your wine as you take in a deep drink.

Karlach and Halsin were making their rounds throughout the tavern. Halsin made fast friends wherever he could, offering stories and friendship to anyone who might be in need of it. Karlach, with her recent upgrades and ability to touch people, was very eager to make up for lost time.

All around you, people were happy. Your companions were coupling up - perhaps not with their soulmates, no. But at least they had some companionship, some connection. Why does it matter if it is only temporary? You might not even make it through all of this alive.

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the bar and walk out to the front patio. You rest your forearms on the railing, closing your eyes. No one at the tavern caught your interest, anyway.

Your mind begins to drift, filling with ‘what ifs’. What if Gortash were at this party? Would he even notice you? Has he been thinking of you? Does he feel as ridiculous as you do, pining over someone after one simple interaction? What if...

The smell of smoke fills your nostrils and rips you away from your thoughts. Your eyes snap open, scanning the sky for smoke. You see a small plume of it begin to stack and rise into the air. You feel your legs propel you towards it before you can even register your actions - you know you don’t have much time to think about a plan of action before it’s too late.

Soon, you arrive in front of a small home. Through the window, you can see the flames rising, building up in strength. Amid the smoke, you see a figure, hunched over and immobilized in fear. You cast misty step to get inside the house.

“I’m here to help!” you call out to the person over the roar of flames. They lift their head towards you, their face contorted between fear and hope. You see a back window nearby, close enough that they could escape.

“Step to the side!” you command, and they dive for shelter out of your path. You cast thunderwave to bust open the window so they can make their escape. Glass explodes out through the back, allowing enough space for the person to make a quick leave. However, the new opening allowed for a rush of fresh air to flood the house, adding new fuel to the fire.

The flames leap up with greater force, tongues lashing at the ceiling and quickly melting through the thatches of the roof. The force and ferocity of the flames knock you back, breaking your concentration. You lost the small opportunity you had to fly out of the house after casting your spell.

The walls of flames burn hotter around you and smoke starts to fill your lungs. Panicking, you fall to the ground, desperate for air, throat burning. If you had only taken the time to think, for even just a moment, perhaps you’d have called for help from Karlach before leaving the tavern. Or you could have asked for a Steel Watcher on your way.

One last idea comes to your mind as your body begins to shut down for self-preservation. You feel your magic build within you as you summon everything left inside. Eyes blurry, the spell leaves your lips in a whisper.

Slowly, heavy droplets begin to build into a steady downpour, dampening the roar of the flames. You welcome the stinging rain as bit at your cheeks, offering relief from the heat gathered on your cheeks. Coughing, you struggled to try to get up, weak from the inhaled smoke and spent magic.

Through your blurry peripheral, you notice a figure enter the house. Could it be one of your companions, looking for you? Grateful, you remained on the ground and raised a hand, hoping they could notice you and help you out of this mess. Heavy steps come briskly towards you, and you feel one arm scoop up under your knees while the other holds your back. They lift you up into their arms to carry you out of the building.

Exhausted, you let your head fall against their chest, clutching the fabric of their jacket with your hand. Rain continues to pour even outside of the house (how strong was that spell?). Completely soaked, you begin to shiver, in violent contrast to the state you were in only moments ago. They hold you tighter to their chest as they walk briskly, tirelessly, down the street.

Finally, you are able to open your eyes and register the direction you are going.

“The Elfsong Tavern is the other way,” you mumble softly, bringing your eyes back to your hand that is pressed against their chest. You freeze, a jolt sent straight down your spine. This body doesn’t feel familiar to you. Against all better judgment, you will yourself to look up.

You see his long black hair, plastered down against his face from the pouring rain. The rain traces his cheekbones and small wrinkle lines, outlining his features. His dark eyes catch yours. They look right through you, piercing, hardened, angry. Your body tenses as you flatten your palms against his chest, ready to push yourself away.

He lifts your body up slightly to press his lips into the top of your head.

“Don’t.” He whispers before bringing you back down again and pressing you against his chest.

You aren’t sure why, but you listen to him. You close your eyes and lean your head back into his chest.

***

Finally, you are inside. Warmth burns your cheeks, though your body is freezing from the wet clothes clinging to your body. You are brought to a room where he gently sets you down on a chair. He hands you a health potion, which you quickly drink without a second thought. The liquid starts to work immediately, repairing your raw throat and the other, thankfully minor, injuries from the fire.

Gortash bends over a hearth, coaxing up the flames. You are surprised to see him like this - Lord Enver Gortash, on his knees, making a fire for you?

He crosses the room in a couple of broad steps, soon standing at your feet.

“We need to get you out of these wet clothes.” Gortash extends his hand towards you.

You raise an eyebrow up at him.

“Unless you want to get sick, and make an embarrassingly easy target for Orin.”

Of course. That is what this is about. He is simply protecting his business partner. Protecting his assets.

You roll your eyes, feeling self-conscious about your earlier thoughts and curiosities about your potential relationship. You take Gortash’s hand with an aggravated huff, masking your hurt feelings and slightly wounded pride with a show of annoyance.

He brings his gold-adorned hands up to your shoulders. His fingers linger near the straps of your dress, the metal tips of his gauntlet ghosting your skin. Gently, he slips the straps off to the side of your shoulders. Surprised by the softness of his touch, a small gasp escapes your mouth.

He touches your shoulders again, urging you to turn around. You give in, the tips of your ears turning bright red as you face away from him. His fingertips drag, slowly, from your shoulders to the middle of your back. Though his touch is gentle, it scorches your skin, sending waves of white-hot heat through your body. You tighten your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms and bite your bottom lip to stifle any unintended sounds that threaten to escape.

His fingers find purchase on your zipper and he pulls it down, opening your dress to the bottom of your back. He brings his hands up to the top of your dress and drags it down your body, the wet fabric clinging desperately to your skin. He follows it down your body, around the dip of your waist, over the curve of your hips, down to your ankles, then helps you step out of dripping cloth. He hangs the fabric over a chair near the fire, with care. Who is this man?

You try to make sense of this. He is just helping you. Helping his business partner.

You turn back around to face him. The hair on your body stands on end as goosebumps fill your exposed skin. Gortash steps back in front of you, closer this time.

He reaches his hand to catch your jaw in his grip, the metal tips biting into your skin. He lifts your chin up, eyes blazing as he takes you in. Eager to consume you. You struggle to pull away, to shield yourself from his hunger, but his grip on your jaw is steadfast.

He swipes the pad of his thumb across your chin, tracing a faint scar. A deep sigh rumbles within his chest. With his free hand, he brings yours up to his face. You copied his movements, placing your fingers along his jaw, running your thumb along the scar on his chin…

Wait.

No. That’s…that’s just a common scar. So many people have scars on their face. It will take more than just this to convince you.

With trembling hands, you reach up to unlace his shirt. You fumble a bit, unsure if it’s because of nerves or the sloppy way in which he laced it in the first place. Finally, you grasp the bottom of his shirt and pull it up over his chest, peeling off the wet fabric as it clings to his skin. You take in the sight of him, the fire casting a dim light and deep shadows across his features. Your eyes trail along his warm, tanned skin, watching the subtle flex of the muscles in his arms as he pulls the shirt over his head. Dark hair, damp and lightly glistening, decorated his chest down to his stomach, disappearing in the waistband of his pants.

But, most importantly, your eyes land on a spot on his side. Impulsively, you reach out a hand to trace the line etched into his skin, a jagged edge, poorly healed. You hadn’t been able to stitch it up well enough to prevent the lasting mark. And here it is - reflected in another.

You drew in a sharp breath as the reality of this situation came crashing down into you. Enver Gortash: The man who kidnapped your friend’s father. The man who betrayed your friend and damned her to the hells. The man who controls the Netherbrain, and wants to rule over all of Faerûn.

Your soulmate.

Gortash laces his fingers into yours and leads you to the bed nearby. He sits you down on the bed and steps back. His hands move, slowly, to unbuckle his pants.

You bite your lips, holding your breath.

He let his pants fall to his ankles, kicking away the gathered fabric at his feet. Your eyes flick down below his waist for just a moment, long enough to glimpse the size of him straining at his undergarments. Gortash meets your wide eyes with a lazy half-smile, the knowing smile of a man with a dangerous amount of self-confidence.

He parts your legs to stand between them, raking the sharp points of his nails up and down your thighs. You shiver, feeling a burning need start to wind up inside your core.

He continues his exploration, hands running slowly over your hips, your waist, and dragging up to your breasts. He cups one in each hand, massaging gently before bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, pinching your other nipple with his hand. You cry out, throwing your head back as you tangle your hands in his damp hair.

He releases you from his mouth to continue his slow worship of your skin, leaving soft kisses up your chest and over your shoulder. Once he reaches your neck, his kisses get more needy, more desperate. He opens his mouth to bite - hard. You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist to press him closer to you. You know that are already leaking through your panties, and that doesn’t stop you from trying to grind your hips against him, making sure he feels just how badly you want him.

His mouth is replaced by his hand over your throat, metal-tipped nails digging sharply into your skin as he dulls your air supply. You bring your hands to the one at your neck, but his grip is firm. Your thoughts are swimming as you pull in shallow breaths, and you claw at his grip in vain. As he takes more and more from you, your need for him only deepens.

He pushes you back on the bed, caging you in with his arms around your head. A moment passes as you look at each other, his pupils blown.

You bring his head towards yours, inviting him in. His lips meet yours, tentatively at first, then mad with fervor - clashing against yours like a man starved. His tongue dances against yours, exploring your mouth, desperate to taste all of you. Your nails dug for purchase across his back as he groans into your mouth. You line your hips up with his, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, soaking it through. You wanted more, needed more of him, clawing and pulling at him to press you both together.

He breaks from the kiss, panting, and pushes his body off of yours.

“Ilyana.” Gortash says your name with confidence, possession. Hearing your name from his lips did something to you. You arch your back, keening towards him, wanting him - needing him - to take you. He slips off your panties and removes his last layer. You watch as his hard cock springs loose from his clothes, the tip of it already glistening with precum. Your body aches, desperate for him. He watches you writhe with anticipation as he slowly strokes himself.

“I have been waiting forever to find you. To have you. And now, you are mine.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #gortash x tav #gortash x reader #bg3 smut #Elfsong tavern Valentine’s Day gift exchange #soulmates #bg3 gortash

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nighted-doors-au · 11 months

Text

[I am unfortunately still on hiatus. I'm afraid this damn audit is going to take the rest of the year or something...

But just to prove I'm not dead, here are some stupid memes I threw together this morning for your entertainment. Plus one that only peeps in the discord server will probably understand.

Sorry about the lack of updates, I genuinely have had basically no time to do any art. I've decided to keep ND on hiatus until this audit is over; worrying about trying to update it was starting to stress me out and make me miserable. Once my work stuff is done and out of the way, we can get back to our regularly scheduled suffering.

In the meantime! Please enjoy these memes!

I appreciate you all very much and thank you for sticking around! I am honored by every comment and reblog! This blog wouldn't be anything without you guys!

Hopefully see you soon!

-Sage]

#ew nighted doors au #ew nighted au #[tbh idk how to even tag this...]

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jedifighterpilot2727 · 9 months

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Now tell me why do I have the idea of Lena and Kara getting ready to leave her Penthouse for an event but as they’re about to leave Kara grabs Lena, pins her against the wall next to the door because she can’t take it anymore…she just has to have Lena right then and there, her desire for her doesn’t afford her the patience of waiting until they get home 😭😭

So . . . this just kind of . . . came out *ahem* I make no apologies.

As for the other dirty prompts in my inbox, I see you! I am but a subject to the muses. but hey, smut begets smut right?

Rated M for sMut

Also, fair warning, this turned out rather vanilla lol so I hope y'all still enjoy!

Reservations

"Leeennaaa." Kara calls out, letting her head flop against the back of the couch. "What is taking you so long? You look beautiful, I promise!"

There's the sound of shuffling in the bathroom before Lena's voice comes back through the closed door.

"Just a minute! I'm almost done!"

Kara whines, eyes drifting closed . "It's been fourty-five minutes. I've beaten like twelve levels on the match game on my phone."

"Not all of us have super speed, darling. Or perfectly coiffed curls, for that matter."

"You have a perfect everything." Kara counters. "Now can you please get your perfect self out here before I starve to death?" She takes off her glasses to squint at the smudges on the lenses.

"Is this your master plan as Luthor? Make me fall in love with you and then starve me to death while waiting on you to get ready for dinner? I can see the headlines now - 'Supergirl defeated by Lena Luthor, long term starvation plan executed perfectly by wife.'"

Lena's laugh is tinkling.

"First of all, the media doesn't know that I'm married to Supergirl; so the headline would be about Kara Danvers. Second of all,: I'm a better Luthor than my brother, darling, if I wanted you killed then you would be dead before you had time to put two and two together."

And Kara knows that Lena is joking.

Knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that her wife is teasing and would never hurt her - well not without a safe word. But the undeniable truth behind the honey sweet tone sends a shiver down Kara's spine.

Rao, why did everything this woman does have to turn her on?

Kara squirms in her seat as she reaches to untuck the corner of her shirt and uses it to wipe at her glasses.

"Well yes, but we can leave the 'you're evil, I'm Supergirl' role play for another day please? I'm really hungry."

She can hear Lena's long suffering sigh even without her super senses as she holds her glasses up to the light; frowning when she still sees smudges.

The unmistakable click of Lena's red bottom heels sounds on the hardwood floor behind her, as she tries once again to scrub at her glasses.

"Thank goodness, let's go, I've been dreaming about these appetizers ever since the last time we ate at Ralphio's."

The aforementioned heels come into Kara's peripheral vision, and she hurriedly pushes the glasses back on her face.

She blinks once through the streaks that her dress shirt has made on the lenses before she remembers that she doesn't actually need them to see the beauty in front of her and pulls them off.

"Fuck."

The expletive slips out unbidden, and Kara fully blames it on Lena's bad influence; because she lived with Alex for years and managed to keep her vocabulary clean, but now she apparently cusses like some sort of deviant.

To be fair, it's really not her fault.

No one should be held responsible for what they say when Lena Luthor-Danvers is standing in front of them dressed to the nines.

"What was that, darling?"

Kara slowly gets to her feet, letting her eyes trace a lazy path up from the floor so she can fully appreciate Lena.

The heels of course, showcasing perfectly flexed, creamy white calves all the way up to just below the knee; where a short but enticing slit slices it's way up Lena's thigh. The dress hugs Lena's curves in all the right places, guiding Karas eyes up the swell of her hips to the soft crescent of her abdomen.

Briefly, she worries about Lena's ability to breathe in the dress because of how snug it is around her ribs; but then the material cuts away to show off Lena's cleavage, the black lace trimming barely containing Lena's breasts where they threaten to spill over, and she's distracted again.

Her eyes trace the lace over perfect skin that she wishes was beneath her fingers - or god, her lips. She doesn't think she has a collar bone kink, but she definitely has a Lenal kink; so she lets her gaze meander slowly to Lena's exposed shoulders before darting to the column of her throat.

She can see the muscles of Lena's throat contract as she swallows, and sinful red lips are moving - saying something that Kara's distracted brain isn't processing.

"Darling."

Lena's holding back a laugh, and something tells Kara that this isn't the first time she's repeated herself.

Trying to break the spell, Kara shifts her attention to Lena's eyes; but - oh boy was that a mistake. Lena's applied her eye makeup a little darker than usual tonight, and her green eyes sparkle like a faraway planet in the night sky.

"I - I'm sorry?" Kara's mouth goes so dry that the back of her throat sticks together, and she coughs, embarrassed.

"Are you ready for dinner?"

"Dinner? I -uh -yes, dinner. Right." mentally, Kara kicks herself; forcing her body to do her bidding instead of lusting after Lena.

"Apres vous, Madame." She gestures to the door, and that's when her body's obedience ends. Lena's hair is swept up into a tight bun, and the back of her dress is cut just enough to tease.

Her fingers twitch, and before she can stop herself, her fingertips are ghosting along Lena's skin - trailing the path from the chain around her neck down to where he sleeve is hugging her shoulder.

She can see in Lena's posture when her breath hitches at Kara's touch, and it's then she loses her last remnants of self control.

All it takes is one long stride forward and she's caught up with Lena, her front ghosting Lena's backside and her lips lowering down to caress the same milky skin her fingers just left.

"Kara . . ." Lena's voice is shaky and she can see the tremble in the hand that reaches up to undo the chain lock on the door.

Grinning, Kara lowers her head once again to lave kisses against the taut skin of Lena's neck; her left hand following Lena's until she closes her palm against the back of Lena's hand. Kara gently pushes forward until Lena is pressed between the door and Kara's body with their left hands laced together.

Kara's right hand comes up to Lena's waist, and Lena's knocks against the door as she braces herself against the sudden force of Kara's grip.

"Kara . . . " Lena repeats in a strangled whisper.

"Yes, my love?" Kara barely pauses her kisses to mouth the words against Lena's skin.

"Dinner . . . " Lena shudders as Kara hits a particularly sensitive beneath her ear.

"Hmm?"

"We have reservations. . . "

"You have standing reservations at every fancy restaurant in National City." Kara corrects, before closing her teeth around the shell of Lena's ear.

Lena's fingers clench where Kara has them pressed against the wall.

"Do you want me to stop?" Kara offers thoughtfully, tugging Lena more flush against her, fingers grazing the underside of her bosom.

"I - . . ."

"Words, Love - mind reading isn't one of my super powers."

"Kara." Lena's voice quivers. "Fuck."

"Was that a request or a demand?" Kara smirks.

"Either, both, I don't know, just - "

"As you wish." Kara promises, using just a hint of super speed to spin Lena so that her back is against the door, their left hands remaining laced above Lena's head"

It Lena's turn to smirk.

"Are you quoting The Princess Bride to me?"

Kara's right index finger comes up to hook around her upper lip like a fake mustache.

"My name, is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father, prepare to die."

Lena laughs, a full on belly laugh that's a complete juxtaposition with the sexual tension in the air, but it somehow turns Kara on even more.

Grinning, she takes advantage of the way that Lena's head is thrown back against the door and bows her head to claim Lena's neck once again. This time, her lips quickly give way to teeth - grazing and nipping at the quivering skin.

She feels the sharp tug in her hair before she's even realized that Lena's free hand has moved, and she grunts into the freckle on Lena's neck. Her weak knees let the majority of her body weight fall into Lena and the door, and she feels their bodies meld somehow closer; Kara's knee slipping between Lena's legs and shifting her dress up her thighs.

"Kara." Lena's voice is a whispered prayer against her ear, and Kara can't help but chuckle as absolute want and need race in shivers down her spine.

She pulls away slightly, waiting until Lena's unfocused eyes have lost their glazed look and met hers, before brushing the lone strand of hair that's escaped from Lena's bun away from her face.

"You know, we could always send a driver to get takeout if you still want those appetizers." Lena pants out, even as her hips subtly grind down onto Kara's thigh.

"Mmmm, but you got all dressed up." even as she speaks the words, Kara uses both of her hands to pull Lena's hips into hers.

"I only got dressed up to look nice for you." Lena admits with a gasp as she steps out of her heels. The loss of height presses Kara's knee deeper into her center.

"I do like that one suit you have, in particular."

"I swear to god, if you say birthday suit -" Lena threatens.

Kara huffs a laugh, toeing out of her own shoes.

"I was going to say the purple Tom Ford, but I'm partial to the birthday suit as well."

"Don't get cheeky with me, Supergirl." The severe look on Lena's face might have worried others but Kara can see the smile pulling at her lips.

"Cheeky, huh?" Kara's hands drop to palm Lena's ass, squeezing suggestively.

Lena swats at her shoulder.

"Well if you're going to get violent Ms. Luthor." She ducks under Lena's grasp, using her handholds to hoist Lena over her shoulder.

"Hey!" Lena protests, fisting her hands in the back of Kara's shirt to try and maintain some semblance of control even as her legs kick helplessly in the air.

"That's Mrs. Luthor-Danvers to you!"

Kara's laugh echoes down the hall as she carries Lena to their bedroom.

"My apologies." She tosses Lena onto the bed, barely letting her settle from the bounce before crawling over her predatorily. "Mrs. Luthor-Danvers."

"Better." Lena breathlessly concedes before tugging Kara's lips down to hers.

Kara could spend hours kissing Lena - has spent hours kissing Lena - their mouths moving in a practiced dance that somehow leaves her satisfied and yet wanting more; tongues and lips bruised and tired.

But tonight, tonight she wants more.

Needs more.

And if Lena's moans and her nails digging into Kara's skin though her shirt are any indication, then Lena wants more too.

She buries her face in Lena's neck, reveling in the way her tongue and teeth draw out ragged gasps from the woman beneath her.

They both grind their hips, searching for friction, but Lena's dress is in the way. By some unspoken agreement, Lena lifts her hips and Kara balances on her knees and her mouth on Lena's shoulder - one hand pushing the dress up and out of the way and the other jerking Lena's panties down past her knees.

She has little time for a victory celebration though, because Lena uses her distraction at staying balanced to flip them over.

"Hey!" she half-heartedly protests, but it falls on deaf ears as Lena gives the seam of buttons on her dress shirt a sharp tug - sending buttons flying across the room.

Lena uses her hand on Kara's chest to balance as she leans back on her heels and as Kara takes in the scene; she would swear under oath that she'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Lena's fancy dress is rucked up and twisted; and breasts that were once merely teasing their presence are now playing a very indecent game of hide and seek with every ragged breath her chest heaves. Her once immaculate lip stick is smeared almost pornographically, and more of her jet black locks are framing her face than are left in her bun.

"You're beautiful." Kara breathes out reverently, fingertips tracing an indistinct pattern up Lena's thigh.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go put on that Tom Ford suit - "

"Don't you dare put on any more clothes." Kara lets some of her signature 'Supergirl' authoritative tone leech into her voice, but Lena only laughs.

"Or what?" she teases, even as Karas hand slides between her legs and her fingers swipe through her slick.

"Or I'll have to rip them off of you."

"Is that a threat?" Lena moans as Kara's fingers explore her heat. "Or a promise?"

Kara grins wickedly, two fingers sinking into Lena's cunt with practiced ease.

"Oh, that's definitely a promise."

It's something she's watched probably a hundred times, but there's just something about Lena riding her fingers that she can't tear her eyes away from.

Kara's name sounds like a prayer on Lena's lips, and she can't help but feel a rush of pride at the blush that's spreading across Lena's chest.

One of Lena's hands is behind her on Kara's knee for leverage and support, and the other is fisted in the remnants of Kara's shirt. The green pendant that Kara made her for their last anniversary bounces just above her breasts, drawing Kara's attention but then Lena moans her name again, and she's distracted - watching pearly white teeth sink into maroon lipstick stained lips.

It's a beautiful thing watching Lena come undone, feeling Lena come undone.

The way her body rocks and trembles as she reaches the edge of orgasm, as she clenches around Kara's fingers, as her eyes roll back and drift closed- senses too overwhelmed to keep them open.

It's almost as beautiful as the lazy smile that crosses Lena's face as the last rhythmic shocks fade. The way her body sags almost in relief to be released from the building tension.

Almost as beautiful as the way Lena's hand pushes hers away as the stimulation becomes too much. The way she collapses next to Kara on the bed, already moving into snuggle position before her body fully hits the mattress. The way she pants as she joins her hand with Kara's and brings them to her lips to give an almost innocent kiss the fingers that brought her to ruin.

"That's - I'm just - give me a second." Lena pleads, but Kara only laughs placing a kiss to their joined hands herself before easing off the bed and slipping back to the living room to grab her phone.

"Hey!" Lena's weak protest calls after her. "Where are you going?"

Before the words have even completely left her mouth, Kara is rounding the doorway to the bedroom; taking in Lena's disheveled state with a grin.

"Well, I figure if we order those appetizers now, they'll be here by the time we finish the next round."

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #fanfiction

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