#restless reverie

[reverie2020]

The Last Newhart: final scene

Still one of the greatest finales of a comedy sitcom EVER!

Rest In Peace Bob 🙏🏽

07.18.2024

[hirokiyuu]

This might sound odd, but as far as AUs go, are you familiar with how the Madoka Magia anime goes? Given all the death and despair in Exocolonist, that might be an interesting mixup...

When the Grief Seed clatters to the ground, no one moves to take it. Dys is still smelling antiseptic with each breath; every time he blinks he’s seeing the witch’s smile, too-wide and nothing like the tiny smug curve that’d once sat on the face of the person she used to be. Someone is going to tell him to go pick it up, he realizes, distantly; someone’s going to say it’s his by right, and the moment they do he’s going to kill them and become a witch himself.

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Gosh I just. I really want to post something on A03. But I don’t have many finished stories why :’(

[targaryen-dynasty]

A SUCCESSFUL HUNT.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; fingering, p in v, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, possessiveness

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: What can I say? I just love this man. Thank you @sylasthegrim This can be read as part 3 of Set Me Alight Again!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The crackling of the fireplace is calming and comforting in your otherwise quiet marital chambers, its bright flames casting shadows to dance across the room. A chaise that has been specifically requested by you not long after your wedding to Cregan stands in front of it, and it was hard work for you to pull it from its place beneath the window to where it stands right now.

You’re nursing a goblet of wine, enjoying the peace and quiet while your husband is out on a hunt with his men. Nothing more than a relatively thin, white nightgown covers your curves with no smallclothes beneath, thanks to the warmth brought by the natural hot springs and the fire lit in front of you.

Cregan’s absence drags on with the hours passing, and you slowly but surely find yourself growing restless and a little lonely. He is a fine swordsman, you know that, but whenever his ventures take longer than anticipated, you can’t help but start to worry for his well being.

When the door suddenly swings open with your husband striding into the room, you jolt out of your reverie, making you look up at your husband, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re back,” you observe, taking in his disheveled appearance with his hair windswept and his clothes slightly rumpled from the hours spent in the cold forest.

Your husband grins at your words, the expression a little crooked and more than a little wolfish. “Oh, did you miss me, my love?” he teases, his voice rough with the exertion of the hunt.

At his teasing, your smile widens, eyes roaming over his disheveled appearance. He usually isn’t one to walk around with a neatly trimmed beard and well-combed hair, you have learned as much already, but this look of him coming straight from the forest, hair and clothes appearing as though he’s a savage, a true wildling, certainly sends a wave of something distinctly primal through your veins.

Rising from your chair, you place the goblet aside. “I might have missed the warmth of your body beside me, husband,” you reply, a hint of playful coyness in your voice as you outstretch your hand to beckon him closer.

Cregan lets out a small huff of laughter as he steps closer, taking your hand in his. His gray eyes trail over your figure, taking in every contour of it beneath your nightgown. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire. “And I here thought you needed some peace and quiet without me keeping you up all night…”

“Oh, I do require peace and quiet,” you agree, bringing your hand up slowly to run your fingers along the lapel of his furs. “But I did not say I wanted you away from me, did I?”

“You’re a vixen, aren’t you, my love?” he murmurs, his voice a raw, gravely rumble. “Were you waiting for me, all alone, wearing that?” He pinches the thin fabric of your nightgown between his fingers, tugging gently on it.

Your hands wander idly over the solid planes of his chest, and you look up at him through your lashes, your expression coy and playful. “Maybe I was,” you purr, voice soft and teasing. “Perhaps I was hoping for my lord husband to return home and ravish me after a successful hunt.” Your words are bold, but Cregan is nothing but a man that enjoys a certain straightforwardness.

A deep rumble vibrates in his throat at your words, and he leans in to nuzzle against the sensitive skin of your neck. “My dear wife,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your neck that makes you crane it to grant him even more access. “You know exactly how to drive me mad, don’t you?”

“Is it a crime to want my husband’s touch after being alone all day?” you whisper, your voice breathless with desire. “Surely you must be starving, my wolf, and I just happen to have something for you to feast on.” A soft moan escapes your lips as his teeth dig into your skin, arching against his sturdy frame.

His restraint is starting to fray at your soft moans and the feeling of your body pressed against his. “You have no shame, my love,” he growls, “but I am starving, indeed. And I plan on feasting until I’ve had my fill.”

His mouth finds yours, and there’s no gentleness in this kiss, only passion and desperate need, all teeth and tongue. As you pull away, your lips are swollen, and heavy breaths slip past them. “Then you best hurry,” you whisper, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck once before you slowly sink down with your eyes never leaving his, making yourself comfortable on the chaise again. “I would not want my handsome wolf to starve to death.” There’s a hint of sultriness in your voice, and if he doesn’t get the silent invitation for him to feast on you, he certainly does the moment you spread your legs for him, the flimsy hem of your nightgown riding up your thighs.

It’s more than obvious, and Cregan does not hesitate to rid himself of his thick furs and place Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark, aside.

A gasp escapes your lips as you watch him sink down to his knees in front of you with half lidded eyes, his large hands trailing over your thighs with a possessive grip. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your skin heats with desire.

His breath comes out ragged as he pushes the hem of your nightdress higher, baring even more of your skin to his hungry gaze. But you don’t feel ashamed, and certainly not vulnerable – not in the presence of your husband, your protector, your love. “Let me taste you, wife,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Grabbing one of your thighs, his lips find the thin skin on the inside, pressing a kiss to it, before he proceeds to drape it over his shoulder. But when he repeats the motion, letting his lips linger on the inside of your other side a little longer, that’s the moment you all but want to squeeze your thighs together, soothing the aching that settles at their apex. The moan you release at the sight is pathetic, resembling more of a whimper than any sound of pleasure, and it makes your husband chuckle.

Both his hands cup your arse to bring your hips closer towards him, your breath catching in your throat the moment his hot breath fans over your soaked folds. “Gods, husband…” you whisper, voice barely more than a breath. You tangle your hand into his dark curls, urging him closer. “Please… I can not take much more of this teasing, I– oh!” The words cut off the moment your husband’s lips make contact with your cunt, his tongue trailing a hot, wet path up towards your sensitive pearl.

With one hand in his hair, the other tightly fists the skirts of your nightdress. The stubble of his beard scratches against your inner thighs as they squeeze around his face, igniting wave after wave of desire to course through your veins.

His name tumbles softly from your lips, a plea and prayer all at once, growing more and more desperate with his tongue lapping hungrily at your cunt. He moves his hand, one broad palm spreading your thighs open wider, granting him better access, his mouth never relenting as he devours you.

“By the Seven,” you whimper, tugging harshly at his hair. “I need you, husband… now.”

He chuckles against your folds, the sound low and wicked. Tilting his head, the coarse hairs on his chin graze your pearl, making you jolt. “I shall never get used to hearing a princess of the realm beg and plead,” he remarks, and for the first time you spot something akin to smugness on his features. “But I’m not sure I’ve had enough just yet, my love. I want to hear you scream my name before I give you what you really want.”

Your chest heaves with ragged breath as his lips tease your swollen cunt once more, a shiver running down your spine. “Gods… I need more, just give me–” The tip of his nose spreads open your folds, not only granting his tongue better access to your entrance, but also allowing him to ease two of his thick digits into you. Your body arches towards him, and your thighs enclose around his head again.

His nose rubs against your sensitive pearl, and with his fingers and tongue working in tandem, he has you right where he wants you in a matter of seconds – on the edge of your peak with your body taut like a bowstring and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Voice ragged with desire, you have a hard time forming coherent sentences. “I… please… I can’t take much… much more of this torment.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, desperate to keep his lips on your hot flesh, yet he still manages to tilt his head, interrupting his ministrations and forcing the wave of pleasure to subside at once. His digits still are buried inside of you, but not even squirming or shifting of your hips gets him to resume his movements.

“Patience,” he rasps, his lips curved into a wolfish grin you want to smack right off his face. “Good things come to those who wait.”

You release a frustrated moan at the loss of stimulation, your body desperately craving him. “You’re cruel,” you pout, writhing against the chaise. “And it truly is maddening.” Your complaints, however, are half-hearted, because at the same time, you love the way he winds you up like this; the delicious torment only heightens your arousal.

“And you love every second of it, don’t you?” he teases, leaning in to ghost his lips over the inside of your thigh, a hint of teeth grazing against it. It makes you impatiently shift your hips toward him, silently begging for more. He chuckles. “You have not suddenly become a quitter, wife, hm? I know you can take a little more.”

“I swear, if you make me wait any longer I’ll–” you break off as his tongue drags through your folds again, lapping at them like a man starved. With your eyes squeezed shut and the skirts of your nightdress tightly clutched in one hand, you allow yourself to revel in the pleasure again. “Gods… I need you, husband,” you whimper, tilting your head back. “Inside me… please.”

Cregan can barely hold back the groan that rumbles in his throat at your whiny voice, vibrating through your core as he groans against your cunt. But it seems your desperate pleas bear fruit with him rising to his feet, a pleased rumble in his chest. “There you are, begging so nicely for me,” he drawls as he leans forwards, both his hands resting on the back rest of the chaise, caging you in. “I do so love it when you use your manners, princess. You think you deserve a reward?”

Your eyes glint as you look up at him, coy smile on your lips. “I have been a good wife,” you retort. “I’ve waited all day for you to return, I was ready the moment you walked in. Is that not deserving of a reward? I ache for you, husband.” Your fingers trace idle patterns over his lips, touch light but insistent.

A growl rumbles in his chest. “These pretty eyes and that sweet cunt of yours are going to be the death of me.”

He captures your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, before his other hand grabs your hips and adjusts you so you lie back on the chaise.

“You have the manners of a wolf, husband,” you remarked with a grin at his way of talking.

You’re ready to welcome him between your parted legs, but Cregan, however, deems it most fitting to shed off any piece of clothing left on his body, baring himself wholly to you. It’s the sight of his hard cock, straining and standing to full attention that has you licking your lips, and you find it difficult to meet his gaze again.

Chuckling lowly, he grabs your leg close to him and lifts it to make it easier to get between them, draping it over his shoulder like he’s done plenty of times before. The action makes you gasp, and you can feel your teeth dig into your bottom lip.

“But whose fault is that, hm?” you tease, raking your nails across his bare chest, scratching the dark, coarse hairs that spread all over it. “I recall you being the one who was rather insistent upon taking me as your wife,” you continue. “So, you best die a happy man.”

Both your hands are captured by his large paw, pinned to your belly. “You’re a cheeky wench, and too quick with your tongue,” he murmurs, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. It immediately coaxes you to arch against him, full breasts pressing against his chest. “I best find a way to keep it occupied…”

Your laugh is swallowed with a rough kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you with an almost primal possessiveness. It’s passionate enough to suck the air from your lungs, making you completely unaware of his hand sliding down your curves to line his cock up with your entrance.

It’s the swift push inside that makes you gasp against his lips, his body covering yours completely, pinning you down in a wall of heat and muscles. His lips tear away from yours, only to immediately trail a path of hot kisses from your jawline down to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. His hand grips your hip, hard enough to surely leave a bruise as he fully sheathes himself inside of you.

“This…” he mutters against your skin, voice strained and laced with desire. “You… mine. All of you is all mine.”

Feeling him fill you completely, your eyes fall shut, a whimper escaping your lips. You should be used to his size by now, yet you’re not certain if you could ever; not when each time he enters you – regardless of how often you’ve bedded each other already – it’s still accompanied by a slight stinging that washes away with the first rut of his hips.

“Yours,” you moan, your fingers finding purchase in his hair. “All ours… only yours.” There once was a time you whispered the same things to your uncle Aemond, entangled in the silky sheets of his bed, but they never bore a meaning similar to the one they have now – the ghost of an arranged marriage ordered to make up for the errors of your younger brother always lingering within them.

You writhe beneath him, trying to take him even deeper than what’s possible. There are no words needed to encourage him to move, but when he starts to grind his hips against yours, you aren’t quite sure if you’ve anticipated him to take things slower. His pace is merciless, toe-curling intense, and while your grip on his hair tightens, his shoulder is soon to be littered by crescent shaped marks of your nails digging into it as you clutch at it.

There’s barely one coherent thought forming in your head, mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations he’s stirring inside of you. All that leaves your lips as you clench so tightly around his cock are soft, broken gasps and moans, each of them desperate as the last, his name falling past your lips like a prayer.

Your body’s reaction is what drives him to go faster. And while the stinging of your nails makes him hiss, it also urges him to mark you himself, digging his teeth into your flesh – burgeoning bruises forming that are certainly meant to be discovered by your maids.

“That’s right,” he growls with a ragged voice. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

You unravel beneath him, arching your back and tipping your head back against the chaise, the sight not making it easier for him to stay composed enough to not peak on spot.

And that’s when he moves to press his chest flush against yours, holding your cheek with one hand, whilst the other grabs the side of the chaise, his biceps bulging from how tightly he holds onto it. His lips find the side of your face, kissing along your jaw, earlobe and temple. You have your head tilted to the side, granting him even more access as the weight of his body stops you from squirming beneath him, just allowing you to roll your hips against his.

“Oh, by the seven…” you whimper, turning your look at him. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…”

His frenzied, almost animalistic pace falters slightly at your words, clearly driving him wild. But he has a goal in mind, and won’t stop until you’re a mindless, trembling mess for him.

“Gods, you drive me wild with your…” he trails off, drunk on your cunt. “Such a wicked wife. I… I intend to make sure you will not be able to walk straight on the morrow.”

You cross your arms behind his neck, one hand tugging on the short, dark curls at the nape of his neck. Every time you try to arch against him, your hard nipples press against his sturdy chest, teasing his skin, and each time that happens, you’re certain you can feel him throbbing inside of you.

The dark, coarse hairs splayed around the base of his cock and over his pubic bone drag over your sensitive pearl with the reckless snaps of his hips, sending a shiver up your spine each time. His thrusts are harsh and determined, reaching deep and expertly brushing your sweet spot as he fucks sweet, little mewls and moans out of your throat, filling your chambers.

His relentless pace brings you towards your peak quicker than anticipated, and your husband can tell by the needy look in your eyes and the way you all but cling to him. His swollen lips find yours, a heated, sloppy kiss exchanged that swallows down every whimper and moan that threatens to make you pull aways from him.

“Let me feel you falling apart for me, wife,” he grunts. “Peak for me.”

Your husband all but shows that he knows your body better than you know yourself, his words and the desperate plea behind them sending you careening over the edge. Your body tightens around him, choking him with the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. Your lips part with a gasp. You convulse all over him, your hips grinding against his as the hot pleasure courses through your veins. But this time his thrusts don’t stutter, keeping the passionate intensity to the point you’re losing your mind.

“That’s it,” he husks. His hot breath fans across your heated features as he leans in to rest his forehead against the side of your face. “What a pretty face you make when you’re drenching my cock.” You’re not sure whether it’s his pubic bone still dragging over your pearl, his cock still sliding in and out of you, or if his praise alone is enough to prolong your peak, but you feel yourself keening at his words.

It takes him a couple more thrusts that slowly bring you to the point of uncomfortable overstimulation, until his own peak washes over him. His cock is twitching and throbbing as your walls squeeze him for every drop of his seed, spilling his release deep inside of your quivering walls.

For a moment, everything goes blissfully blank for the both of you, your minds blissfully empty of everything but each other. The sounds of your heavy breaths fill your chambers as he collapses on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Releasing a soft sigh, your hand slowly starts to massage his scalp, dragging through his dampened curls. “Was the hunt successful, husband?” you inquire softly, despite your still slightly ragged breath.

He hums contentedly against your neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin of it. “Quite successful,” he murmurs. “But I would not say it was the highlight of the day.” With these words, he pushes himself up so he’s able to press his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “You, on the other hand, definitely take the top spot.”

You let out a soft laugh at his words. “I assume you caught something worth bringing home, then,” you say, your voice teasing. “Unless you spent the entire day just wandering around in the woods.”

There’s a roguish glint in his eyes as he speaks. “Oh, love, you know me better than that,” he teases. “I’d never hunt without catching something worth bringing home. Suffice to say, this particular catch is something I think you will like very much.”

Arching a brow, it’s clear your curiosity is piqued. “And what makes you assume I will like this mysterious find, husband?” you ask. “For all I know, it’s a boar’s head or some deer’s antlers. Not exactly the romantic gestures that make a woman swoon.”

If Cregan has learned something about you, it’s that once you’ve set your mind on something, there’s no stopping or distracting you – not that he wants to do that anyways. Pushing himself up off the chaise, he slips into his discarded clothes, and you do the same, putting on a soft gown that covers your body with the exception of the obvious marks his mouth left on your skin.

The dark, possessive glint in his eyes at the sight makes your body heat up, a renewed wave arousal pooling between your thighs. But no, there’s something else waiting for you right now.

The fur coat he’s worn before is now draped over your shoulders as you make your way through the dark halls of Winterfell, your steps quick and purposeful. You arrive at the stables rather quickly, walking through the aisles.

“What are we doing here, Cregan?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Patience, my love.”

And as you reach a small pen at the far back of the stable, you feel as if you’re about to faint. Holding onto your husband’s arm, you stare into the pen with wide eyes, watching the small litter of puppies sleeping in a pile. Their gray and brown coats shimmer slightly in the dim light, and if it wasn’t for you not wanting to wake them up, you’d all but squeal. Having seen plenty of dragon hatchlings before, you’re certain their cuteness was defeated by the small pile in front of you.

Stepping closer to the pen to get a better look, you can’t avert your eyes from them. “You found puppies in the forest?” you breathe, voice almost a whisper. “Where’s their mother?”

Cregan comes up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Not just any puppies, my love. They’re dire wolves. The whole pack was slaughtered by poachers, apart from these little ones. As we found the pack, we heard them whining and yapping not too far away.”

“Poor things,” you remark with a pout, leaning against the edge of the pen. “What are you going to do with them now?”

It seems as though he’s contemplating his answer for a moment, looking at the small creatures whining and wincing in their sleep. “I was thinking of keeping them for my… ourselves. They could make some good hunting companions and serve as protection for the castle… for you. Dire wolves are fiercely loyal creatures, and they’d make ideal guards for Winterfell and you,” he states, his hand running up and down your waist.

A shiver runs through you as his hand moves to rest on your belly, rubbing it softly since his seed has not yet bore any fruits. “And they’d make formidable companions for any of our children. I have heard that dragons do not enjoy the cold as much.”

Placing your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his fingers, you squeeze it softly. “They’d make splendid companions,” you remark. “And having them as protection for the castle would mean you could leave it a little calmer and reassured.”

“Exactly,” he rasps, nuzzling your hair with his nose as his lips brush against your ear. “Plus, they could keep you company. It would be nice to have a part of myself guarding you when I am away. Like the ultimate protection.”

Finally looking up at him, you have a soft smile on your lips. “I like that idea,” you say, pressing yourself against him.

And while your life in Winterfell is now seldomly graced by loneliness anymore with most of your time occupied by these small balls of fur, you have come to learn quickly that there’s been your own pup slowly growing inside of you, your husband’s seed finally bearing fruit and expanding your family.

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @gemini_mama

[mischiefmanagers]

Azriel Fic Rec Library 🦇💙

In no particular order, here's an extensive list of Azriel x Reader or Azriel x OC fics that I've compiled for those who can't get enough of him. I literally maxed out the number of tags/links you can include on a post for this 😂

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @acourtofmenandthirst

You Called 🥀💞

by @moonlightazriel

Before you 🔥🥀

The truth about you 🥀💞🔥

The family we choose 💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

I Didn't Ask For This 🌼🥀

Finally Safe 🌼🥀

My brother. 💞

by @writingsbychlo

SWEET LIKE SUGAR 🌼💞🥀

false confessions 🌼🥀

how we survive 🥀

by @readychilledwine

Slow Hands 🌼💞🔥

Bound by Fate 🌼🥀💞🔥

Little Bat, Big Dreams 💞

Beauty in Pain 🥀

Devotion 💞

by @leafsandstarlight

Forced Revelations

by @lalacliffthorne

the basic rules of friendship 💞🔥

motorcycle 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

Hear the lonely cry out 🥀

Can you love me most? 🥀

Baby daddy 💞

by @draemgal

master of disguise 💞

by @azsazz

Nightlight 🥀

Wrong Side of the Right Coin Azriel x Reader x Eris 🥀

Just Hold On 🥀💞

What Lies Ahead

Bleed for Me

by @xoxonyxx

What Should've Been 💞

by @illyrian-dreamer

Spin the bottle 💞🥀

Our girl Azriel x Cassian x Reader 🥀

by @acourtofwhatthefuck

Practice On Me 💞🔥

by @danikamariewrites

Sixth Sense 💞

Shell 💞

Fever Dreams 🥀💞

Please Don't Go 🥀💞

Pointless Fights 🥀

Perfect Princess 💞

by @lidiasloca

more than this 🥀

by @tadpolesonalgae

please... 🌼🥀

washing his wings 💞

Can't Bring Myself To Hate You 🌼🥀🔥

His Personal Assistant

by @mother-above

The Golden Warrior 🌼

by @aquanova99

The Shadow and the Seraphim

by @fieldofdaisiies

Oh Those Romance Novels 🔥

Love's A Burden 🥀

by @ellievickstar

Between Two worlds

by @florence-end

Worst kept secret 💞

Stitch up

by @redheadspark

Reunited 💞🥀

Hold 🥀💞

by @acourtofmarvels

Miracle 🥀

by @bookish-whore

Haunted 🥀

by @honeybeefae

7 Minutes In Heaven 🔥🔥

Shadows of Fire Azriel x Reader x Eris 🔥🔥

by @reverie-verse

Ooops Mating Bond 🌼💞

by @cassiefromhell

Unexpected Azriel x Reader x Eris 💞🥀

by @ladylokilaufeyson5

A Little Helping Hand 🌼💞

I Will Always Find You 💞🥀

by @azrielhours

Soft Spot 🌼🔥💞

I want you to rest 💞🥀

Kiss Thief 💞

Soul Song 💞

Restless Dreams 🥀

Stolen Away 💞

Waiting for You 💞🥀

by @liahaslosthermind

Swarming children and elbows to the face 💞

by @itsphoenix0724

Tickle My Strings 🔥

by @jeannineee

Apology 💞

Umbra et Ventus

Blue and Red Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Stubble 💞

Illyrian Babies Azriel x Cassian x Reader 💞

Closure 🥀🔥

by @violette-hue

Fated 🔥

by @angelshadowsinger

Supposed to Be Together 🥀🔥

Prized Possession 🥀💞

by @callmeblaire

little friends 💞

by @fairydustblossom

tied to you 🥀💞

losing control🥀💞

pre relationship fluff 💞

by @throneofsapphics

up all night Azriel x Reader x Cassian 💞

by @arrantsnowdrop

Starlight 💞

Wrongly Accused 🥀🔥💞

by @clairebear08

Hide and Seek 💞

Betrayal 🥀

by @starlightandsouls

My Angel 💞

Yours To Keep And Cherish 💞

Bookshop Brawls 💞

by @azrielscrown

the secret of seduction 💞🔥

wake me up. 💞

by @glittergelpensblog

Shadow and Song

In the Dark

by @azriels-shadowsinger

brother's best friend 💞

by @xreaderbooks

Two sides 🥀

by @vacant--body

stay with me 🥀🔥

by @whisperingmidnights

We Shall Become Monsters 🌼

by @wishfulwithwine

You Belong With Me 🥀

by @queen--of--shadows

Healing Shadows 🌼

by @ochiolism

winter's frost

[ataraxixia]

sunday brainrot will not leave me ALONE just thinking abt his little "triple faced gods blah blah tell the truth" AURRRGGHH need to be interrogated by him SO BAD

omg yes

I imagine a scenario where you were his little insight spy without your knowledge and he‘ll use the Harmony to coax the information out of you. But this time- he was jealous of someone he didn't know.

i‘m completely normal about this man I swear

Clematis

pairings: Yan!Sunday x reader warnings: Yandere, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Reader referred to as „Angel“, god complex Sunday (?)

it was supposed to be a simple meeting with your loving boyfriend.

when he requested your presence, you initially thought he was stressed because of work again and that he needed rest- that he needed you, as usual.

after bidding farewell to the shopkeeper you were currently with, you made your way towards the Reverie Hotel. Some Family members on the way recognized you and gave you a small smile or a simple bow- mostly due to the fact that you were Sunday‘s lover. You reciprocated the kind gesture and gave a quick smile as well, even after having the strange feeling of being watched.

once you were on the plaza in front of the Reverie, you noticed one of Sunday‘s crows on one of the fences, watching you closely. They have always been around the city and Sunday told you to simply ignore them, so you did. But today, they seemed restless; when you left Dewlight Pavillion, when you walked around Golden Hour, when you bought some snacks from a Pepeshi Person- at least one crow was watching you.

opening the doors to Dewlight Pavillion, you were expecting to see Brina behind the reception counter greeting you, but instead, you were met with utter silence- as no one was in the room. A hint of uneasiness washed over your body as you continued to traverse through the Pavillion. Even in the halls, where there were usually some guards, there was silence.

you were filled with worry before rushing towards Sunday‘s office, flinging the door open- only to see him stand leisurely in front of the bookcase.

after hearing you entering, your lover turned around and gave you his charming smile.

„Good, you‘re here, my dear.“ he said, one hand behind his back and the other directing towards an armchair. „Please, sit.“ you slowly shook your head as you turned to the door again, stuttering over your words. „The… e-entire Pavillion- there‘s.. no one.. i-is everything okay?“ as you turned back to Sunday, he gave you a reassuring smile. „yes, everything is fine, Angel. Please, calm down and sit.“ you shrugged before listening to your lover, sitting down. The uneasy feeling in your stomach did not falter one second, but you were telling yourself that you were safe as long as Sunday was there.

„Dear, you seem more stressed than I was a few moments ago. Shall I ease your worries first before I tell you mine?“ you let out a long exhale as you nodded your head. Usually, you were the one calming Sunday down after a long day; stroking his hair, cleaning his wings, kissing his temple- he always said he appreciated these small gestures and you loved to do them.

sunday did the same to you right now. He brushed a few hairs out of your face, held your cheek in his palm and kissed you lightly on the forehead, his wings engulfing your head softly. your body and mind had calmed down by the time he retracted his face and when he smiled again you mirrored it. However, when you looked closer, his smile wasn‘t genuine and behind, there were his crows- their eyes focused on you.

„Have you calmed down? May I now share my troubles with you, Angel?“ he asked like usually and without hesitation, you nodded. „Of course.“

„Perfect. Now, there have been some… ‚issues‘ inside the Family‘s network. The Bloodhound Family has been trying to apprehend a stowaway, and please, don‘t take this the wrong way when I say this,“ the feeling in your stomach only increased and you didn‘t like it.

„you meet a lot of people everyday, and the stowaway was one of them, we believe. You wouldn‘t mind telling me about that, would you?“ Sunday had his hand on your cheek and stroked it softly with his thumb, the fabric of his gloves smooth on you skin, but your breath hitched as his hand traveled to you chin, holding it.

"I'm afraid I don't know a-anything." you tried to sound normal, but the small stutter gave you away, yet Sunday only chuckled. "I don't need any of your lies today, love. My patience has been running thin these past few days." his charming smile was replaced with a small frown and your body was betraying you. You tried to compose yourself, but it was futile.

"I only need truths." Sunday said and his whole demeanor changed.

"Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please sear their tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that they will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows."

your whole mind was shooting blanks as you felt an unfamiliar dizziness wash over you. The whole room was becoming too colorful, and your lover's face became distorted as he made you look at him again.

"I apologize for the circumstances, but you gave me no choice. Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed." his words were echoing in your ears and you finally realized the situation you were in.

The crows, the empty pavilion, the Harmony: he was watching you.

"Who were the people you met two days ago on the Dream's Edge?" he asked and multiple memories flooded your mind. At this very moment, you were scared. Scared at your Lover. You didn't want to answer but a terrible headache took your mind off the idea.

"...not many, I remember... Chadwick, Colleen, those small birds... and that one... man?" the headache eased once you answered but the Harmony's influence was still present.

"What man? What was his name? What did his appearance look like? What did the two of you talk about?" you wanted to get up from your seat and run away, return to reality- but you knew that your legs had no ounce of strength.

"I don't remember his name, but it was something with A... Adan, I believe...and he had blonde hair, I think... with brown eyes." the room was getting more and more blurry with each second you didn't answer, but the loss of equilibrium made even your memories hazy. "We talked about the view of the Dreamscape... yes, that's it.." Sunday hummed unsatisfied as he heard your answer, clicking his tongue.

"What else? What else did you talk about?"

"I don't remember...! My head hurts..." Sunday held your face in his hands and made you look at him. His hands were soft to the touch and a worried smile was plastered on his lips. "I really didn't want to do this, Angel." he cooed, his face close to yours. "You know I only want the best for you, don't you?" those sweet words made your heart melt as you remembered the times where he took the blame if you accidentally ruined some of the Family's documents or when you broke something in Dewlight Pavilion.

"Angel, I gave you everything, and I can give you even more- I can give you everything that exists in the world, just tell me what I want to know." your breath hitched before he placed a soft kiss on your lips and you think you lost your mind after everything was hazy. Your memory, your view, the voices- everything became duller and duller by the second. Sunday asked something and you answered, but you can't comprehend what you said. You only felt his hand graze your temple before darkness engulfed you and you blacked out.

the soft humming, a calming scent, and a damp towel on your forehead welcomed you when you regained consciousness. as you slowly opened your eyes, a feather before your eyes greeted you and the humming stopped.

"You're awake. I was afraid you wouldn't wake up today." Sunday said softly, his hand on yours, stroking it gently. "...what?" you groaned as you fully regained consciousness, the headache returning tenfold. The damp towel was replaced by a hand, and you heard some whispering from Sunday.

"...oh, Triple-Faced Soul, may their fatigue vanish completely and let the harmony heal their mind."

you sighed as your body and mind calmed down, your worries from before disappearing. "Sunday...? what happened?" you asked when you saw his face full of worry.

"Nothing that needs your concern, Angel. Please, rest up and let me take care of you. Will you allow me?" you nodded at his gentle words and he hummed contently. His hand grazed over your arms as you felt more at ease before slowly falling asleep again. Sunday continued humming, even as he turned his face to his crows.

"Inform someone from the Bloodhound Family of this individual, and let them apprehend this... "stowaway." the crows disappeared in a blinks eye before he faced you again. The frown turned into a small smile again as he bent down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

"No one is allowed to 'flirt' with what is mine."

A/N: hehahehafuu I'm going feral because of this man

[pauli-writes]

May I request an Aventurine with a reader who's a member of the Astral Express?

Have a nice day!

warning: reader is suffering from nightmares, references to gambling (it’s aventurine after all), flirting

pairing: aventurine x reader

author’s note: this man has taken over my mind, i’m so excited for 2.1 !!! also thank you for requesting, sorry this took so long i had private matters to take care of :3 (this is once again not proofread and partially written at 3am)

being quiet was never really your forte.

whenever you couldn’t sleep at the night you’d restlessly wonder around the astral express, the morning after dan heng would usually complain that you were too loud even though you were trying real hard to stay quiet.

now in the reverie, the hotel in penacony you were staying at, the space was much bigger and the occupants much more lively, not to mention dan heng wasn’t even with you, so he had no chance to complain.

another restless night and you wandered around the hotel. while other guests indulged in the dreamscape, you stayed in reality, afraid that the usual comfort of the dreamscape will twist into something ugly and gruesome for you because of your nightly terrors.

you looked around, most people were asleep, only a few guest were awake, sitting by the bar or enjoying the music. without your friends from the express you felt a little out of place.

“oh, and what do we have here?” a voice snapped you out of your self pity. you looked around, only to find that ipc guy from when you were checking in standing next to you, a golden coin being twirled in between his fingers. “aren’t you a member of the astral express? i think i saw you earlier...”

“i am…” you replied cautiously, not sure of his intentions. “you’re with the ipc, correct?”

he smirked, he threw his coin in the air before pocketing it. “yes. tell me something, why aren’t you dreaming with the rest of your friends?”

you tensed up, unsure of how much you should reveal to him. you didn’t even know his name yet. “i don’t sleep well.”

he paused, looking at you curiously. “do you now?”

“yes.” you said defensively and slightly annoyed. he wasn’t exactly making a good first impression on you despite his rather attractive appearance. “why aren’t you dreaming?”

“let’s just say i have business to take care of first,” he replied, in the same breath he pulled out a pack of cards. “although i have some time to kill until my meeting, care for a game?”

you thought for a moment, before nodding. “it’s not like i have anything better to do…”

the blond smiled and started shuffling the cards with his skilful fingers, you didn’t even know what game you were playing yet, but found yourself at least slightly interested. you gained your hand and he explained the rules, but a few turns in it was apparent that he was much better than you. he won easily.

you sighed and gave him his cards back. “you don’t mess around, huh?”

he chuckled, “of course not. i play to win.”

“even without a wager,” you mused with a smile, watching as he put the cards away. he chuckled too.

“i have too leave now. it was nice meeting you, i hope to see you again, sweetheart.” he flashed you a charming smile and a wink.

you rolled your eyes playfully, “you don’t even know my name, i doubt you’d even remember me.”

“oh, i think it’d be impossible not to remember you. you’re very unique believe it or not.” he stepped closer to you, it was then that you noticed how he was slightly taller than you. you opened your mouth to give him another snarky remark, but was stopped as he pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek. as he pulled away you could feel your face heating up.

“cute.” he said with a chuckle as he stepped away from you, “we’ll meet again after everything is over. i promise you that.”

he walked away, giving you a nonchalant wave over his shoulder and leaving you sitting at the bar with a bright red face. you watched him walk up the stairs, disappearing down the hallways leading to the rooms.

once he was out of your sight you calmed down a bit and gathered your thoughts, it was then that you noticed that there was a foreign object in the pocket of your coat. you grabbed it and looked at it, it was a playing card, queen of hearts, on the back scribbled with a golden pen was:

something to remember me by

- aventurine

you couldn’t help but grin and pocketed the card, just in that moment you saw mr. yang and himiko walk down the stairs talking animatedly. did you really spend the entire night awake…?

[ffsg0jo]

𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

character :: higuruma x fem reader

warnings :: fluff, mentions of death/ghosts, allusions to depression, children, pregnancy, higuruma has low self esteem sometimes, kissing, cute kids

w/c :: 1000

a/n :: thank you so so much @xodapawp for sending this request. it was written as a part of my fics for gaza commissions that im doing. if you enjoyed it and would like to donate to gaza, then please check out the linked post for more information and @ficsforgaza too !!

life was fleeting, something hiromi knew all too well. things could change in mere seconds, time slipping like sand between one’s fingers. the tighter he tried to hold onto it, the faster the streams ran, leaving behind bitter, salty grains.

guilt weighed on his shoulders with the intensity of a thousand suns, blinding his view and blurring the lines between sense and nonsense. the wax wings on hiromi’s shoulders melting, facilitating his spiralling descent. deeper and deeper he fell into the endless abyss of his mind. he was helpless, his sense of justice skewed. the mental subjugation and torment seemingly infinite.

but then you came into his life.

hiromi has no idea what he did to be deserving of you. he keeps waiting and waiting for something to go wrong, retribution for his misdeeds. through restless nights where he could hear shrieks of the ghosts of his past coming back to haunt him. he was so sure you could hear them too and that you’d leave, but you didn’t. instead holding him close to you through it all, the comforting weight of your body on his, fighting the emptiness within.

you loved and accepted him for what he was, a broken man in need of respite. he was underserving of your kindness and tried to push you away, but you saw the good in his heart and called out to it. you helped him heal and fought his hardships with him, side by side. slowly but surely, the fog in his mind lifted, the blinding lights dimming until his view was clear. in you he found atonement. he found liberation.

you blessed him with, not one, but two angels, with a third on the way. hiromi thought he knew happiness, like winning a case for someone wrongly accused of a crime or sinking into a steamy bath after a long, tiring day. but when he first laid eyes on his sweet baby boy he burst into tears, kissing your face repeatedly, his heart swollen, full of love. he had never been happier (save for the day he married his one true love).

hiromi watched his son grow day by day, looking more and more like him. his face may have been an exact replica of his father’s, but his son’s sincerity and open-hearted nature was all yours. in his son’s smile he saw you.

time flew before his eyes, only now he looked back on his memories with fondness and gratitude. before he knew it, his family was due to expand again, with the addition of his baby girl. he was the luckiest man in the world, his heart overflowing with warmth, happiness running through the ends of his hairs to the tips of his toes.

with you laying your head on his shoulder, his son doing his homework on the living room floor, and his daughter sleeping in his arms, he felt truly at peace. looking down at his precious daughter he found a million reasons why he had loved (and always will love) you.

hiromi was never one to appreciate to his looks. but in the mornings, when shaving before work, he’d end up scrutinising every single little detail. he saw his son, looking him in his eyes, a bigger version of his daughter’s cute nose on his face. that infectious smile of yours now mirrored on his lips. how could he have ever felt so insecure about himself when his children are the very essence of his being. looking at his beloved children, he thinks, no he knows, there is beauty inside of him too. that there always was.

 “romi is everything okay?”

your voice lulls him out of his reverie, bringing him back to the present. your daughter was out of his arms and was now calling your son’s name, clambering onto his back whilst he was on the floor colouring. he paid her no mind, used to be treated like a climbing frame, and continued working on his school project.

hiromi, sat cuddling you on the sofa, laughs when she starts pulling his hair. his son finally has enough and stands up, pulling the three-year-old onto his shoulders, and runs around the tea table pretending to be a plane. your husband turns back to you, absentmindedly rubbing your swollen stomach.

“just thinking my love,” he says, leaning down and kissing between your brow. you hum and snuggle into his arms further.

“penny for your thoughts?”

“absolutely not, they’re worth more than a pretty penny,” he jokingly scoffs.

“fine,” you huff, leaning up to kiss him tenderly. “a kiss for your thoughts.”

he acquiesces, leaning down to press his cheek against yours.

“just thinking about how lucky i am to have you.” you turn your face to meet hiromi’s gaze, eyes shining at the strength of the sincerity in his admission. you bring your hands up to hold his face, pressing kisses to his lips.

“i’m the lucky one my sweetheart, you’ve given me everything i could’ve ever asked for and more.”

a warmth rushes through his body at your words and he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss. the hand on your stomach moves to your waist as he gently pulls you into him, deepening the kiss.

“ewww daddy’s eating mummy.” your daughter exclaims, pointing down from her brother’s shoulders.

you pull apart and laugh at her words. your son only looking at you both with a smile, heart warming at the sight of his parents being so openly in love.

hiromi jumps up from the sofa and runs towards your daughter, grabbing her off your son’s shoulders and playfully bites and kisses her cheeks.

over the sounds of her delighted giggles, hiromi exclaims “gonna gobble you next”, aggressively om nom nomming her cheeks.

your son sits down next to you and lays his head onto your chest, hugging you, mindful not to put too much weight onto your midsection. immediately your hand comes up to stroke his hair and you kiss his forehead. he’s so much like his father, both in personality and looks.

laughing at his dad’s antics, both you and your son fondly watch hiromi now throw your daughter up into the air and catch her. rubbing your stomach, you pray the child in your womb turns out exactly like their father.

truly, what a blessed family you’ve both created.

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Trouble (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader)

Bill Skarsgard, covered in blood and acting feral as he violently kills people to avenge the woman he loves?? Yeah, that really did a number on me….but I couldn’t help but fall in love with Eric’s quiet character in the first act so pls enjoy my ramblings! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 1.5k+

Summary- Eric's carefully guarded solitude is disrupted by a bold newcomer who seems to be trouble incarnate.

“I wanna get in trouble.”

A voice, sudden and electric, broke Eric from his reverie as a figure’s shadow fell across the intricate lines and shadows of his drawing. He glanced up hesitantly, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight behind you. His eyes were met with the sight of you – a tempestuous spirit with wild, untamed hair that cascaded around your face like a mane, defying the order and discipline of this facility. There was a glint in your eyes, mischievous and daring, that seemed to challenge the very atmosphere around you. You loomed above him, a figure of restless energy, waiting for a response that he was unprepared to give. 

“What?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the boldness of your intrusion. 

You grinned cheekily, and with an audacity that left him momentarily stunned, you stepped up onto the picnic bench he was perched at, planting yourself so that you were sitting on the table as if it was your own personal stage. Your feet, clad in worn, oversized sneakers rested casually on the seat in a silent declaration of your disregard for rules. “Don’t you?”

Eric blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he hastily pulled his papers closer, as if to shield them from your encroaching presence. “No.”

“No?” you parroted, a suggestive playfulness tone to your voice. “But this place is so boring.” 

He glanced around the yard, taking in the stark reality of the rehab facility, his eyes lingering on the chain link fence with its towering barbed wire glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun. “It’s supposed to be,” he said with cold detachment. “And you’re not supposed to be fraternizing with me.”

You followed his gaze, casting a sly look to the guards who stood at the back door, and a smirk danced on your lips. “Uh oh, I wonder what the consequences for that will be.”

Eric wanted to roll his eyes at your attitude. This was how all the newbies were when they came in: brash, defiant and convinced they could outwit the system. They came in with fire in their eyes only for it to be extinguished within days by the crushing reality of their situation. Nobody stayed trouble for long. He watched as their bravado withered, soon to be replaced by resignation. And the ones like you – those who pushed the boundaries with reckless abandon – often found themselves confined to solitary confinement, their spirits slowly eroded by the wright of their own demons. 

“You think I could seduce one of these guards to sneak us in some contraband?” you asked, raising your brow in a conspiratorial way as you nodded toward a pair of male guards standing near the backdoor, idly chatting and sharing a cigarette. 

Eric’s gaze traveled over you, from the oversized, ugly pink sweatshirt that swamped your frame to the untamed hair that framed your face like a wild halo. You spoke of “us” as if any semblance of companionship existed between you too. There wasn’t. It was just him and his solitary existence. He had no need for friends, no desire for connections – especially not from someone like you. 

“No,” he said finally as he returned to his sketch, hoping his blatant disinterest would be enough to drive you away. “You need to get off the table.”

He could feel your eyes on him, your gaze almost too intense. When you tilted your head, studying him in amused disbelief, he knew what was coming. Another newbie thinking they could crack him open like some sort of nut, put together the broken pieces like a puzzle. He kept his attention on the drawing, hoping you’d take the hint and leave him alone. 

“C’mon, you don’t look like someone who’s this much of a stick in the mud.” Your voice was playful, teasing but Eric could sense the challenge beneath it. His silence seemed to fuel you, as if his resistance was exactly what you were hoping for. “What’s your name anyway?”

He hesitated, hating how you were forcing him to interact with you like some needy puppy. “Eric,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the drawing.

“Eric,” you tasted his name on your lips quietly. It grated on him, the way you spoke as if you already knew him, already had him all figured out. “You’re an artist, huh? I bet you’re all dark and broody, right? The strong, silent type?”

His jaw tightened, his pencil pressing a little too hard against the paper. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him, but he could feel your words digging right under his skin. Dark and brooding? Strong and silent? You didn’t know anything about him, didnt understand the darkness that lingered in the corners of his mind, the weight of the silence he carried, yet here you were, already trying to pin him down with labels. And typically, Eric didn’t care what anyone else here labeled him with, but your unnervingly amicable voice was something he wasn’t used to. It was almost laughable, except it wasn’t. It was annoying. 

Your words struck a nerve. He remained quiet, instead choosing to focus on the shading in the corner of his page, tried to drown out the sound of your voice, but he knew his silence was betraying him. The tension in his jaw, the way his grip on the pencil tightened – it all gave him away, and he could almost feel you noticing it, filing it away for later. God, why couldn’t you just leave him alone? 

Then you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper for only his ears to hear. “You know, I think you want to get into trouble. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours before he could stop himself, his heart racing at the sudden intensity in your eyes. And there was something in your gaze that unsettled him. Annoyance flared up first, hot and defensive. But beneath that, he felt a flicker of . . . curiosity. And he hated that too – hated that you were getting under his skin. What the hell did you even know about him? What gave you the right to pry into his life, his thoughts.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted, his voice sharper than he intended, the words escaping in a rush of defensiveness. 

You shrugged, unbothered by his tone, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “Maybe not yet, but I’m good at figuring people out. And I think you’re bored out of your mind here, just like me. You’re dying for something – anything – to happen.”

Eric shook his head, forcing himself to look back down at his sketch. “You’re wrong.” 

Even to his own ears, the denial sounded weak, and that only served to deepen his irritation. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, stretching your arms overhead, and Eric resisted the urge to glance up. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a little fun.”

“Fun,” he echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered to respond, but something about your persistence was unraveling him bit by bit. “That's what got us in here in the first place. 

You paused, and for a second, Eric thought maybe he had finally shut you up. He looked up and caught a flicker of something else in your expression, something serious that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. But just like that, it was gone, replaced by that infuriating grin. 

“Maybe,” you said, your voice softer, thoughtful in a way that made him uneasy. “But maybe that’s what will get us out of here too.”

Eric watched as you slid off the table, landing lightly on the ground. For a moment, he thought you might actually leave him alone, and the relief that washed over him was sweet. But then you turned back, hands stuffed into the pocket of that oversized sweatshirt, your grin still in place – though it didn’t seem to reach your eyes quite the same as before. 

“See you around, Eric,” you said before sauntering off, as if you didn’t just turn his whole world upside down in a matter of a few minutes. 

He stared after you, watching as you kicked at the feet of another unsuspecting patient who grumbled at you as you passed. His mind raced, his drawing forgotten, the lines and shadows now blurring together in an indistinct mess. He hated how you so easily managed to disrupt his carefully-constructed isolation, how you made him think about things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wanted to believe you were just another reckless newbie, just another faceless patient in a sea of addicts who would burn out soon enough. But something in the pit of his gut told him you were different – something he couldn’t shake. 

In the silence that followed your departure, Eric was left to grapple with the realization that the trouble you brought was not just a disruption, but a catalyst for change, a challenge to his solitude. And now as he returned to his meaningless drawing, he wondered briefly if perhaps your indelible, chaotic presence was exactly what he needed to rewrite his own story in the hell hole. 

And that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

Tagging some of you who seemed interested!

@apolloanddaphnis @one-of-thewalkingdead @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @redwitchbitch1 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @mrsalwayswrite

[cool-fancier]

Running into You

Synopsis: You're just an ordinary person, but your life is about to take an extraordinary turn. Your friend Somi, a die-hard Blackpink fan, drags you to their concert. You stumble upon a quiet backstage area and bump into none other than Rosé, the main vocalist.

Word Count:6.9K (long one)

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your living room, casting a soft, golden glow over the space. You were curled up on the couch with a book, trying to lose yourself in its pages, but your attention kept drifting. The words blurred together, the story losing its grip on you as your thoughts wandered.

Lately, everything seemed to have fallen into a predictable pattern, one that you couldn't quite break free from. Work, home, the occasional hangout with Somi, and then back to the routine. It wasn't that you were unhappy—just... stuck. There was a restlessness growing inside you, a need for something different, something that would shake up the monotony of your life.

"Why do you look like you're about to fall asleep?" Somi's voice cut through your reverie, pulling you back to the present. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, her laptop open with several tabs displaying concert dates, fan forums, and YouTube videos.

You glanced up, startled by her sudden question. "I'm not about to fall asleep," you replied, closing the book with a sigh. "I'm just... not into this book, I guess."

Somi's eyes sparkled with that mischievous look she often had when she was up to something. "Maybe you need to do something more exciting tonight," she suggested, her voice light but full of energy.

You raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. "Like what?"

"Like coming to a concert with me," she said, her grin widening as she leaned forward, clearly excited about whatever she had planned. "There's this band I've been dying to see live, and I've got an extra ticket. You should totally come with me!"

You frowned slightly, hesitating. "A concert? I don't know, Somi. You know I'm not really into crowds, and I don't even know who this band is."

Somi rolled her eyes, clearly having anticipated your reluctance. "Come on, it's Blackpink! Even if you're not familiar with them, I promise you'll have a good time. Their shows are legendary, and the energy is just insane. Plus, it's been forever since we did something fun together outside of this apartment."

"Blackpink?" you repeated, the name vaguely familiar, though you couldn't place it. You might have seen it online somewhere, but you couldn't recall ever listening to their music. "I don't know..."

Somi wasn't one to give up easily. She moved closer, her tone becoming more persuasive. "Please? It'll be a blast! And who knows, maybe you'll even meet someone interesting." She winked, the playful grin on her face impossible to resist.

You chuckled, leaning back against the couch as you played along. "Oh yeah? You think I'm going to find the love of my life at a concert?"

"Hey, it could happen!" Somi teased, nudging you with her foot. "I mean, you're single, ready to mingle, and you've been in a bit of a rut lately. What better place to shake things up?"

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. "Right, because that's exactly how these things work."

Somi's grin only grew wider. "You never know! Besides, I've got a good feeling about this one. Who knows, maybe you'll even catch one of the members' eyes. There's this one, Rosé—I think you'd really like her."

"Rosé?" you repeated, trying to remember if you'd ever heard that name before. "Is she famous or something?"

Somi nodded eagerly. "Yup! She's the main vocalist, and she's absolutely gorgeous. I've always thought you two would be a perfect match."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Now you're really dreaming. What would someone like her see in someone like me?"

"Don't sell yourself short," Somi said, her tone becoming more sincere. "You're smart, kind, and beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be with you."

You smiled softly at her words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. Somi always knew how to lift your spirits. "Thanks, Somi. But still, it's not exactly realistic, is it?"

"Maybe not," Somi admitted with a shrug. "But hey, at least come for the music and the experience. If nothing else, you'll get to see what all the hype is about."

You considered her words carefully. The prospect of something new, something different, was tempting. Maybe a night out was exactly what you needed to break the monotony.

"Alright," you finally said, giving in with a smile. "I'll go with you."

Somi's face lit up with excitement. "Yes! You won't regret it, I promise."

— — — —

The days leading up to the concert seemed to fly by, with Somi's enthusiasm never wavering. She tried to introduce you to Blackpink's music, playing their songs while you both worked around the apartment or during your commute together, but the details mostly flew over your head. The melodies were catchy, but with your busy schedule, you never really took the time to learn the names or faces behind the voices.

Each evening, after work or on lazy weekends, Somi would excitedly share a new song or music video, pointing out her favorite moments, but you only half-listened. It wasn't that you weren't interested; it was more that the music felt like background noise to everything else happening in your life. There was always something else to focus on—work deadlines, family obligations, and the usual demands of daily life.

But as the concert date approached, you couldn't help but notice a growing sense of anticipation within yourself. Maybe it was Somi's infectious excitement, or perhaps it was just the idea of doing something out of the ordinary, but you found yourself looking forward to the night more than you had initially expected.

The night of the concert arrived faster than you expected. As you and Somi got ready in your apartment, the excitement in the air was palpable. Somi was practically bouncing off the walls as she applied the finishing touches to her makeup.

"You look amazing," you said as you watched her in the mirror, genuinely impressed by her ability to transform her look for the occasion. Somi had gone all out, wearing a stylish outfit that perfectly captured the concert vibe—bold, chic, and a little edgy.

"Thanks! So do you," she replied, turning to give you a once-over. "See? I knew you'd get into the spirit of things."

You glanced at your reflection, feeling a bit more confident in your outfit. Somi had helped you pick out something that made you feel good—something that was still very much you but with a bit of flair. For the first time in a while, you actually felt excited about going out.

As you slipped into your jacket, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you tonight—a spark that you hadn't seen in a long time. It wasn't just the outfit or the makeup; it was the idea of stepping out of your comfort zone, of embracing something new.

"Okay, let's go before I change my mind," you joked, grabbing your jacket as you headed for the door.

Somi laughed, linking her arm with yours as you left the apartment. "No backing out now! We've got a concert to catch, and who knows? Maybe you'll even run into Rosé.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Yeah, because that's totally going to happen."

The journey to the concert venue was filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. Somi kept the conversation light, chatting about her favorite songs and how incredible the band was live. You listened with a smile, feeling more at ease with each passing minute, even if you couldn't quite keep track of all the band details she was throwing at you.

As you got closer to the venue, you could feel the energy around you intensifying. The streets were crowded with fans dressed in various shades of pink, holding signs and light sticks, all buzzing with anticipation. The atmosphere was infectious, and despite your earlier reservations, you could feel your own excitement starting to build.

"This is crazy," you muttered as you and Somi made your way through the throngs of people.

"Isn't it great?" Somi replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "This is what it's all about—the atmosphere, the anticipation, the music. It's going to be amazing."

The crowd outside the venue was massive, with fans buzzing with anticipation as they waited to get inside. The energy was contagious, and for the first time, you felt a genuine thrill of excitement.

As you approached the entrance, you could feel your nerves creeping in again. The noise, the crowd, the unfamiliarity of it all—it was a lot to take in. Somi must have sensed your apprehension because she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey, if it gets too much, just let me know, okay?" she said, her tone gentle. "We can take breaks, step outside if you need to. I want you to have a good time, not feel overwhelmed."

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks, Somi. I appreciate it."

Once inside the venue, the atmosphere was electric. The stage was set up with massive screens and lights, and the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. You and Somi found a spot with a decent view, and as you settled in, you started to feel a bit more comfortable. But as the minutes ticked by, the noise and the crush of the crowd began to get to you.

The venue was buzzing with life, the energy palpable as fans eagerly awaited the start of the show. You glanced around, taking in the sight of people decked out in merchandise—T-shirts, hats, light sticks—all proudly displaying their love for Blackpink. It was a world you didn't fully understand yet, but there was something exhilarating about being a part of it.

Somi was in her element, chatting excitedly with a group of fans nearby who were just as hyped as she was. You tried to focus on the conversation, but the noise and the sheer volume of people were starting to feel overwhelming. The venue, which had felt so thrilling moments before, was now beginning to press in on you, the weight of the crowd a little too much.

You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. "I'm going to step outside for a bit, just to clear my head before the show starts," you told Somi, hoping she wouldn't mind.

She looked at you with concern but quickly nodded, understanding. "Sure thing," she said, giving you a thumbs up. "Just don't take too long! You don't want to miss a second of this."

You smiled, appreciating her concern, and started to make your way through the crowd. It took longer than you anticipated, weaving through the throngs of people all eagerly chatting and finding their spots. But eventually, you reached the exit and stepped outside, into the cool night air.

The contrast was immediate and stark. The noise of the venue was replaced by the quiet hum of the city at night, the air cool against your skin. You took a deep breath, savoring the stillness, the way the world seemed to slow down out here. It was a much-needed reprieve from the overwhelming energy inside.

You walked for a bit, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you moved further away from the noise and the crowd. The streets around the venue were quieter, less chaotic than you expected. You turned a corner and found yourself in a small, dimly lit alleyway. It wasn't particularly scenic, but it was peaceful, and right now, that was exactly what you needed.

Leaning against the wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the quiet wash over you. The city sounds were distant, muted—cars in the distance, the faint murmur of voices, the occasional breeze rustling the leaves of a nearby tree. It was a soothing backdrop, one that allowed your mind to slow down and process everything.

You hadn't realized how much you needed this, this moment of solitude. The excitement of the evening, while exhilarating, had also been draining. But here, in the stillness of the night, you could finally breathe, let go of the nerves that had been building up.

Your thoughts began to wander, unbidden, back to Somi's words earlier. About Rosé. You couldn't help but smile to yourself. It was a sweet thought—Somi's belief that you and a global superstar could somehow be a perfect match. It was unrealistic, sure, but it was nice to have someone believe in you like that, even if it was just in jest.

The idea of meeting someone like Rosé felt like a distant dream, something far removed from the life you knew. But in the quiet of the alley, with nothing but your thoughts for company, it didn't seem so far-fetched. You let yourself imagine it for a moment—what it would be like to meet someone who could see you, really see you, beyond the surface. Someone who could connect with you in a way that felt real and meaningful.

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. "Get a grip," you muttered under your breath, pushing off the wall. This was silly, getting lost in such thoughts. It was just a concert, just a night out. Nothing more, nothing less.

But as you began to make your way back toward the venue, something caught your eye. The door to a side entrance was slightly ajar, light spilling out into the alleyway. Curious, you hesitated, wondering if you should take a peek inside. It was probably just a maintenance entrance or something equally mundane, but the idea of stepping into a quieter part of the venue was appealing.

With a quick glance around, you gently pushed the door open and slipped inside. The hallway was dimly lit, the sound of the concert preparations muffled in the distance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a pocket of calm in the midst of the storm.

You wandered down the hallway, the cool air inside a welcome change from the warmth of the crowd. There was something almost surreal about the quiet here, like you'd stepped into a different world entirely. It was a world where the noise and chaos of the concert didn't exist, where you could just be, without any expectations or pressures.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you collided with someone. The impact was gentle but unexpected, and you both stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, your hands coming up instinctively to steady the other person. "I wasn't paying attention, and—"

"It's okay," a soft voice interrupted, gentle and reassuring. "Really, no harm done."

You looked up, and your breath caught in your throat. The woman standing in front of you was stunning. She had long, blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a warmth that immediately put you at ease. There was something ethereal about her, something that made the world around her seem to blur at the edges.

"Are you sure?" you asked, still flustered as you took a step back to give her some space. "I wasn't paying attention, and I—"

"I'm sure," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I've been in your shoes before—lost in thought and bumping into random people. It happens."

You let out a small, relieved laugh. "Well, I'm still sorry. I don't usually run into people like that."

"It's no big deal," she replied, her tone soft and kind. "Like I said, it happens. You're not hurt, right?"

You shook your head, still a little stunned. "No, I'm fine. Just... a little embarrassed."

"Don't be," she said, her smile widening a fraction. "It's actually kind of nice, having a normal interaction for once."

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. "Nice?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "It's not often I get to just... be, you know? Without all the noise and expectations."

You nodded slowly, trying to process what she was saying. There was something about her, something in the way she spoke, that made you feel like you were in on a secret, like she was sharing something with you that she didn't often share with others.

"So, are you here for the concert?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation into safer territory.

She nodded, her smile returning. "Yeah, I'm here for the concert."

"Me too," you said, relaxing a little now that the conversation had found its footing. "Well, sort of. My friend dragged me along. She's a huge fan of this band, but I don't really know much about them."

She chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. "That's actually kind of nice. You get to experience it all for the first time, without any preconceived notions.”

"Yeah, I guess so," you agreed, though you still felt a little out of place. "It's just a little intimidating, you know? Everyone else seems to know so much about them, and I'm just here trying to figure it all out."

"That's the beauty of it," she said, her tone light but sincere. "You get to see everything with fresh eyes. It's a rare thing, and it makes the experience all the more special."

You found yourself smiling at her words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. There was something about her that made you want to keep talking, to keep this conversation going, but you weren't sure what to say next. The silence between you was comfortable, though, filled with a sense of understanding that didn't require words.

"So, what do you think so far?" she asked after a moment, her eyes curious.

"About what?" you replied, a little caught off guard.

"About the whole experience," she clarified, her smile softening. "The concert, the music... everything."

You took a moment to think about it, trying to put your feelings into words. "It's... overwhelming," you admitted. "But in a good way, I think. I didn't expect to feel so much... energy."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It can be a lot to take in, especially if you're not used to it. But that's what makes it so powerful, I think. It's this shared experience, this connection between everyone in the room, all feeling the same thing."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. There was something in her eyes, something deep and genuine, that made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to ask her more, to keep this connection going, but the words didn't come.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice gentle. "I should probably get back. The show's going to start soon."

You nodded, though you felt a strange reluctance to let this moment end. "Yeah, I should too."

She smiled at you, a smile that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, and for a moment, you thought about asking her to stay, to talk a little longer. But before you could find the courage, she turned to leave.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" you found yourself saying, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She paused, turning back to look at you, her eyes soft. "Maybe," she said, her voice holding a promise that made your heart flutter.

And then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway and leaving you standing there, wondering what had just happened. You felt like you'd just experienced something rare, something precious, but you weren't sure what to do with it.

You stood there for a moment longer, trying to collect your thoughts before heading back to the concert. As you made your way through the crowd to find Somi, your mind kept replaying the encounter, the way her eyes had seemed to see right through you, the way her smile had made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

When you finally found Somi, she was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she talked to a group of fans. "There you are! You almost missed it!"

You forced a smile, trying to push the encounter out of your mind, at least for now. "Sorry, I got a little lost."

Somi waved it off, too excited to care. "No worries! Come on, the show's about to start!"

You followed her into the crowd, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the woman in the hallway. There was something about her that you couldn't shake, something that made you feel like you'd just missed out on something important.

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, you tried to focus on the stage, on the music, on the experience that Somi had been so eager to share with you. But your mind kept drifting back to the woman in the hallway, to the way she had looked at you, like she had seen something in you that even you hadn't noticed.

And then the music started, and the stage lights came up, and you found yourself staring at the group on stage. The woman from the hallway was standing in the center, microphone in hand, her voice soaring over the crowd. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized who she was.

She was Rosé.

And she had been singing just for you.

— — — — —

You stood frozen, your eyes glued to the stage as Rosé sang. The realization of who she was—and who you had just been speaking to—sent a shockwave through you. Her voice was even more powerful in person, filling the entire venue with a warmth and intensity that made your heart race.

Next to you, Somi was cheering loudly, completely caught up in the performance. But you were still processing everything, your mind racing as you watched Rosé move effortlessly across the stage. She was captivating, her presence commanding every bit of attention from the audience, yet all you could think about was the conversation you'd had just minutes ago.

You hadn't recognized her. How could you have not recognized her?

The thought was both embarrassing and oddly exhilarating. You'd spoken to Rosé, not as a fan, not as someone who knew everything about her, but as yourself. And she had spoken to you, not as a celebrity, but as a person. The memory of her eyes meeting yours, the warmth in her voice—it all felt so surreal now.

As the performance continued, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from her. Every note she sang, every movement she made, seemed to resonate with you on a deeper level. It was like she was speaking directly to you through the music, and for a moment, the crowded venue and the thousands of fans faded away, leaving just the two of you.

But then the song ended, and the crowd erupted into applause, snapping you out of your reverie. You glanced at Somi, who was practically glowing with excitement, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil you were experiencing.

"This is amazing!" Somi shouted over the noise, grabbing your arm. "Aren't they incredible?"

"Yeah," you replied, your voice a little shaky. "They really are."

Somi didn't seem to notice your unease, too caught up in the next song as it started. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Rosé was right there, on that stage, singing her heart out—and yet, all you could think about was the brief, fleeting connection you'd shared with her backstage.

As the concert went on, you tried to focus on the music, on the energy of the crowd, but your thoughts kept drifting back to her. You kept replaying your conversation in your head, analyzing every word, every look, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Had she recognized you? Did she know that you didn't realize who she was? Was that why she had seemed so intrigued by you?

The questions swirled in your mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. Even as the concert reached its peak, with the crowd singing along and the lights flashing in time with the music, you felt a strange sense of detachment, like you were watching everything from a distance.

It wasn't until the final song that you finally managed to pull yourself back into the moment. The music slowed, and the stage lights dimmed, casting the group in a soft, golden glow. Rosé stepped forward, her voice filling the venue with a hauntingly beautiful melody that sent chills down your spine.

You watched her, completely mesmerized. There was something raw and vulnerable in the way she sang, something that seemed to echo the conversation you'd had earlier. It was like she was laying herself bare for the world to see, and yet, somehow, it felt like she was singing just for you.

As the song came to an end, Rosé's eyes swept over the crowd, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, they met yours. You held your breath, wondering if she recognized you, if she remembered the conversation you'd had. But then her gaze moved on, and the moment was over, leaving you with a strange mix of emotions that you couldn't quite untangle.

The concert ended with a final burst of energy, the crowd erupting into applause as the group took their bows. You clapped along with everyone else, but your mind was still elsewhere, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that Rosé had stirred up.

As the lights came up and the crowd began to disperse, Somi turned to you, her face flushed with excitement. "That was incredible! I'm so glad you came with me!"

"Yeah, it was amazing," you agreed, though your voice lacked the enthusiasm that Somi's held.

She didn't seem to notice, still buzzing with the afterglow of the concert. "We should totally do this again sometime! I can't believe how good they were live!"

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Definitely."

But as you made your way out of the venue, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rosé. The concert was over, but the memory of your encounter with her lingered, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business, like there was something more to be said, something more to be done.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you'd missed an opportunity, that there was something important that had been left unsaid. And as you and Somi walked through the crowd, your mind raced with possibilities, wondering if you'd ever get the chance to speak to her again.

— — — — —

The ride home was a blur of neon lights and distant chatter. Somi was still gushing about the concert, replaying her favorite moments and showing you clips she'd captured on her phone. You tried to engage, to share in her excitement, but your mind was elsewhere, still stuck in that dimly lit hallway where you'd spoken to Rosé.

By the time you arrived back at your apartment, Somi had finally started to wind down. She flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, scrolling through her phone for more Blackpink content.

"That was seriously one of the best nights ever," she said, glancing up at you with a grin. "Thanks for coming with me."

"I'm glad I did," you replied, and you meant it. Despite the overwhelming emotions, there was something about the night that felt... significant.

Somi yawned, clearly exhausted from all the excitement. "I think I'm going to crash," she said, standing up and stretching. "But we should totally talk about this tomorrow. I want to hear all your thoughts about the concert."

You nodded, watching as she headed to her room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The apartment was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of traffic outside. You sank onto the couch, finally allowing yourself to process everything that had happened.

Your mind kept drifting back to Rosé, to the way she had looked at you, the way her voice had sounded in that quiet hallway. There was something about the encounter that you couldn't shake, something that felt unfinished.

Without really thinking, you pulled out your phone and opened up a search engine, typing in "Rosé Blackpink" out of curiosity. As the search results popped up, you were greeted with countless images of her—performing on stage, attending events, posing for photoshoots. She looked just as stunning in the photos as she had in person, but there was something different about the woman you'd met.

In the photos, she was polished, poised, the image of a global superstar. But the Rosé you had spoken to in the hallway had been different—more relaxed,

more real. There had been a vulnerability in her eyes, a warmth in her smile, that you hadn't expected.

You found yourself scrolling through the images, searching for that same warmth, that same realness, but it wasn't there. In the photos, she was Rosé, the idol, the star, but in the hallway, she had just been... herself.

As you continued to scroll, you came across a video of the concert you had just attended. Curious, you clicked on it, watching as the camera panned over the crowd before zooming in on the stage. The energy of the concert was palpable, even through the screen, but your focus was solely on Rosé.

The video captured the final song, the one where Rosé had looked out into the crowd, her voice filled with emotion. You watched as she sang, her eyes sweeping over the audience, and for a moment, you could almost convince yourself that she was looking at you.

But as the video continued, you noticed something that made your heart skip a beat. Just before the song ended, Rosé glanced off to the side of the stage, her expression shifting subtly. It was a brief moment, barely noticeable, but it felt significant.

You replayed the video, watching that moment over and over, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. Was she looking for someone? Was she thinking about your conversation? Or was it just a trick of the camera, a coincidence that meant nothing?

The questions swirled in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else. You tried to push them away, telling yourself that it was just a chance encounter, that it didn't mean anything, but the doubts lingered.

Finally, you set your phone down, running a hand through your hair with a frustrated sigh. You needed to stop overthinking this. It had been a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, and nothing more.

But as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't help but wonder. What if it had been more? What if there was something deeper, something that you hadn't fully grasped?

The questions haunted you as you drifted off to sleep, leaving you with a strange sense of anticipation, like you were standing on the edge of something important, something life-changing, but you didn't know what it was.

— — — —

The next morning, you woke up feeling restless, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. Somi was already up, humming to herself as she made breakfast, but you couldn't bring yourself to join her. Instead, you grabbed your phone and headed out to the small balcony attached to your apartment, hoping the fresh air would help clear your head.

As you stood outside, your thoughts drifted back to the concert, to Rosé, and to the way she had looked at you. There was something about that moment, about the way she had spoken to you, that you couldn't shake. It felt like there was more to it, something left unsaid, something unfinished.

You stared out at the city, trying to piece together the puzzle of the night before. Why had Rosé taken the time to talk to you? Why had she seemed so different from the image you had of her—a global superstar with thousands of fans at her feet? The encounter felt significant, but you couldn't put your finger on why.

Somi's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "Hey, you okay out there?" she called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. "Just thinking."

Somi appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she looked at you with concern. "You've been quiet since last night. Did something happen?"

You hesitated, not sure how to explain what you were feeling. "It's nothing, really. Just... processing, I guess."

She gave you a knowing smile. "The concert was pretty intense, huh? I saw the way you were watching the stage. It's like you were in a trance."

You nodded, your thoughts drifting back to Rosé's performance, the way her voice had wrapped around you, pulling you into a world where only the two of you existed. "Yeah... something like that."

Somi grinned, pushing off the doorframe. "I knew you'd come around! I'll make a Blinks fan out of you yet."

You forced a laugh, trying to match her enthusiasm, but the unease lingered. There was something more to last night, something you couldn't quite grasp. And it was gnawing at you, refusing to let go.

After breakfast, you decided to take a walk to clear your head. You needed to get out, to think, to figure out what was bothering you so much. Somi offered to come with you, but you declined, telling her you needed some time alone.

The streets were quieter than usual, the weekend morning lulling the city into a slow start. You wandered aimlessly, your feet carrying you without direction, your mind replaying every detail of the night before. The way Rosé had looked at you, the way she had smiled—there was something there, something that made you feel seen in a way you hadn't expected.

As you turned a corner, your thoughts still tangled, you nearly bumped into someone coming from the opposite direction. You looked up, an apology ready on your lips, but the words died in your throat when you saw who it was.

It was Rosé.

She was standing right in front of you, dressed casually in jeans and a simple jacket, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. For a moment, neither of you moved, both caught off guard by the sudden encounter.

"Hi," she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Hi," you echoed, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe it—what were the chances?

Rosé looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, then back at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Me neither," you replied, your mind racing to catch up with the situation. "Are you... are you following me?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she laughed, a sound so genuine and warm that it made your heart flutter. "No, not at all. I'm just... I don't know. I guess it's fate or something."

"Fate?" you repeated, the word hanging between you like a question that neither of you could answer.

She nodded, her smile fading into something more serious. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I just... I don't know, wanted to see you again."

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something in her eyes, something that made you feel like this moment was teetering on the edge of something bigger, something you couldn't quite grasp.

Before you could respond, she glanced around again, her expression shifting. "Listen, I know this might sound strange, but... would you mind walking with me for a bit? I'd like to talk, if that's okay."

You hesitated, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that Rosé was standing in front of you, asking to spend more time together. "Sure," you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to reach her eyes, and motioned for you to follow her. The two of you started walking, side by side, the city moving around you as if in a different world. Neither of you spoke at first, the silence between you comfortable, but charged with anticipation.

As you walked, Rosé glanced over at you, her expression contemplative. "You know, I don't get to do this often," she said quietly.

"Do what?" you asked, curious.

"Just... be myself," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Away from the cameras, the expectations. It's nice to have a conversation without all the noise."

You nodded, feeling a deep sense of connection to her words. "I can imagine. It must be exhausting, always being in the spotlight."

"It is," she admitted, her eyes distant for a moment. "But last night... talking to you, it felt different. Like I could just be me."

There was a softness in her tone, something that made your heart ache with a strange mix of emotions. You wanted to say something, to tell her that you felt the same, but the words were stuck in your throat.

The two of you continued walking until you found yourselves in front of a small, cozy café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that looked like it was straight out of a postcard, with ivy creeping up the walls and a charming little sign that swung gently in the breeze.

Rosé hesitated at the entrance, then turned to you with a smile. "Do you want to grab a coffee? My treat.”

"Sure," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The café was warm and inviting, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Rosé led you to a table in the corner, away from the few other patrons, and the two of you sat down, the atmosphere between you comfortable, but still tinged with something unspoken.

As you both sipped your drinks, the conversation began to flow more easily. Rosé was surprisingly down-to-earth, sharing stories about her life, her travels, and the little things that made her happy. You found yourself opening up as well, sharing stories from your own life, laughing at shared experiences, and finding common ground in unexpected places.

The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment, and for a while, it felt like the outside world didn't exist—just the two of you, talking and laughing over coffee.

But then, just as you were beginning to relax completely, Rosé's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her expression shifting slightly, but then she smiled at you and put the phone face down on the table, clearly not wanting to interrupt your time together.

"You're popular," you teased lightly, trying to keep the mood light.

Rosé chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "It's probably just work stuff. I try not to let it interfere when I'm enjoying myself."

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you.

She looked at you, her gaze softening. "I really am. This is... nice. Just being able to sit and talk like this."

There was a moment of comfortable silence between you, and then Rosé's phone buzzed again. This time, she let out a small sigh and reached for it.

"Sorry, let me just check this quickly," she said, her tone apologetic.

"Of course," you replied, trying to ignore the slight pang of disappointment.

Rosé glanced at the screen, her eyes widening slightly as she read the message. A small smile tugged at her lips, and then she looked up at you, her expression somewhere between amused and mischievous.

"Everything okay?" you asked, curious about what had caused her reaction.

She nodded, biting her lip as if holding back a laugh. "Yeah, it's just... do you trust me?"

The question caught you off guard, but there was something in her tone, in the playful glint in her eyes, that made you smile. "I think so... why?"

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because I just had a crazy idea, and I think it could be a lot of fun."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "What kind of crazy idea?"

Rosé grinned, her excitement almost contagious. "How do you feel about a little adventure? Something spontaneous?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, the idea of doing something completely

out of the ordinary both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "What did you have in mind?"

She looked around the café, as if making sure no one was listening, then leaned in closer. "Well, I just got a text from one of the girls in my group. They're doing something kind of wild today, and they dared me to bring someone along. Someone... unexpected."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You mean... you want me to come with you?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile widening. "If you're up for it. It's nothing dangerous, I promise. Just a little spontaneous fun."

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with possibilities. This was definitely not what you had expected when you woke up this morning, but the idea of spending more time with Rosé, of being part of whatever adventure she had in mind, was too tempting to resist.

"Okay," you said, feeling a rush of excitement. "I'm in."

Rosé's eyes lit up with excitement. "Great! Let's go before we change our minds."

As the two of you quickly finished your drinks and prepared to leave the café, your heart raced with anticipation. Whatever was about to happen, it was sure to be something you would never forget.

[reverie2020]

Let's clear one thing up: There is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all approach to parenting and raising children. There will always be those self-righteous, sancti-parents who'll "tsk tsk" at other kids' behavior while claiming their method worked on their children and should be employed for every child but they all fail to see that genetics is a big factor in play. Sometimes parents with a certain temperament and personality will pass those same dominant traits to their children making it easier to employ what has already become natural to them. But not all children have the same personality and not all methods will work and thus should be tailored to each individual based on their unique motivations and natural behaviors. In other words, what works for one child won't necessarily work for another. And if there is doubt in that I refer you to the widely known cartoon depicting different animals being asked to climb a tree as allegory of our flawed education system.

[jadeiteee]

Sweet Nothings | Break Up?

Pairing/s : Daniel Ricciardo x Max Verstappen x reader

Face claim : non face from pinterest

Summary : idk tbh

Warnings : dark!max, dark!daniel, smut, pet names, noncon elements, manipulation, will be added as the series go

Author’s notes : writing a threesome HUMBLES the shit out of me😔😔 was gonna cry writing this and I know the writing is bad please read it (yes this is a toto wolff reference😁😁) also this was not betaread. And also Daniel scares me here bcs I totally wouldn’t fall if this was Max’s antics but Daniel is just too convincing? His sweet and charming smile is so DANGEROUS because like he is so innocent and sweet looking.

You were always their obedient pet—until you weren’t. They could sense your growing restlessness, the way your eyes flickered before masking it with a smile. But they noticed, they always noticed.

The place you once thought would be your shared home, started feeling like a cage. A glamorous and luxurious one— but still a cage. Every inch of the house is monitored by a camera, every corner of the mansion patrolled by a guard. Every move you made was reported. They tried to keep it a secret, of course, but you could feel the constant stares from everyone around you.

You tried to ignore it at first, their sweet and comforting words assuring you it was just a precaution. They told you it was for your safety, to protect you from the dangers outside. But as the days passed, their reassurances began to ring hollow.

You tried to question them, asking why all these precautions were necessary. They just hushed you, saying it wasn’t worth the headache for you to know. "Just trust us," they would say, their voices dripping with false concern. "It’s all for your safety, princess"

"What's on your mind, princess?" Daniel's voice broke through your thoughts as he approached, nuzzling on your shoulder gently. You blinked, shaking off the fog of your reverie, and turned to face him, forcing a smile.

“Nothing, the view is extra pretty today” you replied, trying to sound casual. “What are we having for dinner tonight?” You asked, trying to change the topic.

Daniel smiled, his concern momentarily set aside. "I was thinking maybe we could try that new Italian place downtown. How does that sound?"

You nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Sounds perfect," you said, thankful that he didn’t ask more about your thoughts. “How about Max?”

"Max will join us later, he's working late," Daniel said casually, nuzzling on your shoulder. His touch was comforting, grounding you in the present moment despite your racing thoughts.

You nod absentmindedly, your mind racing with thoughts— how do you tell them you want to break up?!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You inadvertently skimmed through the menu, your mind racing with other things. Max glanced at you, sensing your restlessness, before sharing a knowing look with Daniel. 

"Is everything alright, schat?" Max asked, his concern evident in his voice.

You forced a smile and nodded. "Just trying to figure out what to eat," you replied with a strained chuckle, hoping they wouldn't see through your facade.

Daniel and Max exchanged a glance, their concern evident. "You seem distracted," Daniel remarked, squeezing your hand gently. 

"I'm fine, what are you guys having?” You deflected, trying to steer the conversation away from your inner turmoil.

Daniel and Max exchanged another glance, a silent communication passing between them. Daniel leaned back slightly, his expression softening with concern. "I was thinking of trying the seafood risotto," he replied, his voice gentle, but you could sense his suspicions lingering beneath the surface.

You nodded before turning your head to look at Max “what  about you?” you asked, trying to deflect the attention away from yourself.

Max shrugged casually, though his eyes held a glint of curiosity. "I think I might go for the steak," he replied, his tone light but observant.

Daniel nodded in agreement. "Steak sounds good too," he chimed in, sensing your need for a lighter conversation.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You are in the car on the way back to the mansion, contemplating the right moment to tell them when Daniel glanced at you, his brow furrowed with concern. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between you.

Finally, Daniel broke the quiet tension. "Is there anything you want to tell us, princess?" His voice was gentle, but you could sense the weight behind his words, the unspoken understanding that something was amiss.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat betraying your nerves. "I-“  you stuttered, "I've been thinking and… I don’t think I am ready for a relationship " you whispered, terrified with their reactions.

“What?” You almost flunked when the car suddenly stop before moving again, Danny mumbled an apology and quickly focused on the road again 

"Is it something we said, princess?" Danny muttered softly. You glanced at the rearview mirror, checking Max's reaction. His face was emotionless, but you could feel the simmering anger beneath the surface.

“I-it’s just… I- I feel trapped,” you whispered, your voice trembling with fear. Despite Daniel's gentle tone, you could sense the undercurrent of his wrath.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “You are just uncomfortable with the new surroundings, princess. Let’s discuss this at home, hmm?” He said softly, his hand resting on your thighs.

You glanced at the rearview mirror again, and this time, Max was staring back at you. His eyes were fixed on yours, silently observing every detail with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine.

Daniel's hand remained on your thigh, his touch gentle yet weighted with expectation. "We'll sort this out," he reassured, his voice calm but tinged with an edge you couldn't ignore.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ 

Daniel carried you bridal-style through the mansion, gently placing you on the bed, Max was talking with the guards outside before joining you, you attempted to eavesdrop but it was too quiet.

“Is there anything you want to say, princess?” Daniel started, his voice gentle but you could sense the underlying tension on his words.

“I-I just think I am not suitable for this..” you whispered, feeling small compared to them.

“You will get used to it” Daniel hummed, caressing your face. “You trust us, right?” 

As Daniel's hand gently caressed your face, his question hung in the air, demanding an answer that weighed heavily on your mind. You hesitated, torn between the comfort of familiarity and the ache of confinement that had been growing inside you.

"I trust you," you replied softly, your voice wavering with uncertainty. "But I don’t think this life is meant for me." The words slipped out in a whisper, heavy with the weight of your decision.

Daniel's touch tightened briefly, his expression darkening for a moment. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. But just as quickly, he composed himself, his features softening into a mask of gentle concern.

“Why don’t you give yourself some time to adjust, hmm?” He muttered softly, sitting you on his lap. “Don’t you love us?” 

You shifted uncomfortably in his embrace, torn between the love and security they offered and the need for autonomy. "I-i just..," you stuttered, your heart heavy with guilt. "I feel caged..." you whispered.

As you looked up and locked eyes with Max, you could feel how angry he was. There was no attempt to coax or comfort you; but you know that stepping out of this room is not an option.

Daniel's grip tightened imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the power he held over you. "You're just confused," he insisted gently, his voice coaxing. “Why don’t we remind you how much we love you?” 

You knew what it meant, the subtle manipulation woven into Daniel's soft and gentle words. Yet, despite your resolve, a part of you couldn't help but be swayed by the familiarity and comfort he offered.

He turned you around, towering over you, his dark eyes burning into yours. The faint scent of jasmine and leather filled your senses, a familiar comfort that both soothed and suffocated you.  You knew what was coming, the intoxicating blend of pleasure and control that he wielded with such ease.

Daniel leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low rumble. “We’ll make you remember,” he whispered, his words a promise, a threat.  

Max gently lifted your chin, his gaze locking with yours before he leaned in and kissed you. “You are ours, schat. There is no escaping your fate.” 

The familiar sensation of his lips against yours ignited a spark within you, a flicker of the desire that he knew how to manipulate so expertly. It was a dangerous game, this dance between your need for freedom and the intoxicating pleasure they offered. 

You closed your eyes, trying to fight the pull of his touch, the whispered promises of devotion that danced on your lips. You knew you were trapped, held captive by a love that felt like a cage.

But even as you fought, a part of you craved the warmth of his embrace, the intoxicating sweetness of his touch. It was a poison that coursed through your veins, a sweet addiction that held you hostage.

“Just let go, princess” Daniel grins, his hand slipping onto your panties. “So wet already? We barely touched you” he mocked, his fingers teasing your folds.

Max quickly undo his belt and pants, throwing them onto the floor before guiding you to his shaft. “Suck.”

You slowly get down on him, trying to delay and tease him when he pushes your head onto it. “Don’t tease, schat.” He growls, his voice low. 

You grumble and start sucking him, your hand wraps around the base of his cock, your tongue swirling on the tip.

You gasped around Max’s cock as Daniel unzipped your dress, forgetting that he was there before focusing onto Max’s cock again.

You tried— but what were you supposed to do when Daniel kept rubbing on your clit. You pulled away from Max and looked at Daniel, your hand still stroking Max. “Dan” you whined, bucking your hips onto his fingers “Wanna cum” 

Daniel chuckled softly, “think you deserve it?” He mocked, his hand still rubbing on your bud. 

You were going to protest again when Max pushed your head onto his shaft again. “Focus, schat.” He grumbles

You huffed before sucking him again, focusing on his tip and occasionally bucking your hips on Danny’s fingers.

“Fuck-“ Max groaned, his voice rough “Am coming” he bucked his hips, shooting his load down your throat, forcing you to swallow it. 

“Such a pretty girl,” Max chuckled, “thought you wanted to be free?” He mocked, his tone laced with both amusement and challenge.

You turned your head and looked at Daniel with a pleading look “Can I come now?” You whined, grinding on his fingers, begging for friction.

You could see the apparent smirk on his face “yeah? Think you deserve it?” He chuckled before moving his position, “ride me” He commanded

You whined and complained a little before undoing his pants and sliding it off, slowly sinking on his cock.

He groans as he feels your warm cunt around him, his hands gripping your hips, it surely will bruise tomorrow. 

“Fuck- you feels so good, princess” He groans, bucking his hips up, hitting the places you never know exist

You quickens your pace, desperate to cum “C-can I come, please Danny” you whimper, pleading and begging him, so desperate for release.

“Come with me, princess” He groaned as he started thrusting up, his voice low and husky.

You gasped as Max suddenly kissed you, the world seemed to stop for a moment, leaving only the sensation of his mouth moving against yours. His hand gripping your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine.

You quickly snap out of it when Daniel’s grip on your hips tighten “Am coming-come with me, princess.” He groans, his thrust getting sloppy and desperate. 

You moaned onto Max’s mouth as you came, your body trembling at the intense pleasure. Your body plopped on top of Daniel’s as soon as you felt his warm seed filling you, too tired after the intense sex.

“Fuck-“ you cursed as you try to gasped for air which resulted on a chuckle from both of them. 

“Tired already, princess?” Daniel hummed, his voice laced with confidence.

You ignored his words and quickly dozed off to sleep. The last thing you felt was the warmth of their presence beside you, a fleeting sense of comfort before you drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber. 

“Silly girl, you could never escape us, princess” Daniel chuckled as he tucked your hair behind your ear

“At Least let her have the idea of escaping” Max chuckles, He reached out, caressing your face with a surprisingly gentle touch. "It makes the game more interesting," he added, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint.

Will you escape? Or will you fall for the sweet and comfort of your new life?

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Tommy sighs, and some of his anger is blown out through his nose and into the salty breeze. He’s quiet for about a minute before he says, “Do you want me to go in with you?”

~~~

Ghostbur stares at the list, and then looks up. He can see structures at the end of the path, behind some leafy trees. Wooden structures. Houses. A little village.

Ghostbur doesn't visit many villages—he doesn't remember any from Alivebur, either—mostly because they tend to be far away from the main parts of a server, and it takes a while to get to them.

~~~

Even so, Tommy’s heart pulses in his head, and his feathers are raised all over him, and he feels cold instead of hot even though his hair feels sticky.

~~~

When Philza saw Ghostbur for the first time, he gasped.

~~~

Wilbur wonders if Techno ever feels like this, around Tommy. This warm bursting inside his chest, like his heart is expanding past his ribs and slowly tearing through his skin. This explosion in slow-motion, a cacophony of colors and heatwaves and emotions, collecting in a storm cloud inside Wilbur’s brain. This feeling that’s so loud, and yet so quiet at the same time.

~~~

Wilbur loves her.

~~~

Tommy exhales softly. "Why aren't you saying much? You're all closed-off and stuff. That's bad, y'know. It represses trauma and locks up all your thoughts with a teeny tiny key and throws it out the window. Stuff like that." He waits. "Puffy says that's bad for you. Did she tell you that? About repressing things? Wil?"

~~~

Tommy presses his lips together. “Hey, if you- if you’re tired or anything, we can sit down. We don’t have to keep walking if you’re feeling bad.”

~~~

He wonders now, as he holds a tiny glass in both hands, walking from the kitchen to the den. It's the smallest glass he owns, he's sure; he'd spent way too much time looking for it earlier, opening cupboards and peering behind dishes and even checking underneath the sink. It's the only glass that'll fit the contents made for it—which, of course, is a flower. A very small, very tattered, very weak blue flower, all but one petal torn off.

~~~

Techno flicks his eyes to Ghostbur’s face, watching the ghost’s nostrils flare gently every time he breathes. Blanket covered chest rising up and down. Ghostbur doesn’t look like he’s in pain. That’s good.

Even so, Techno drops one hand from his chin and lets one elbow slide off his knee, reaching his arm forwards in order to lay his palm across Ghostbur’s forehead. A bit cold.

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Dragon Made of Threads

Synopsis: Astarion is making a gift for you.

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion’s mind doesn’t let him rest. 

The reverie is supposed to be a blessing, the only way for the True People to remember their long lives. But his long life was nothing but misery until  very recently and he keeps being dragged into the darkness.

Oh, Astarion was so naive to believe it could have been over by killing his master and having the “rebirth” experience on the grave. 

His past haunts him.

“You are tired,” you touch his forehead as if trying to sense fever. “You need some rest.”

“My sweet, elves can survive without trance for a week. And I am undead. I am fine.”

“You don't look fine. You have dark circles and your eyelids are puffy again. You need to rest.”

“No, I don’t!” He tries to sound confident but instead his voice resembles a rebellious teenager.

You are right, of course. The elves can survive without reverie for a week, the same way non-elves can make it through one or two sleepless nights. Then, the body and mind collapse. 

But entering the reverie… Reliving tortures and humiliation… Feeling the same sense of misery and horror and hopelessness… No, he can’t do that. Not now. Not ever.

You are ready to sleep - it’s the first time in a month that you sleep in the room, not in the tent - the thick curtains protect Astarion from the merciless sun. 

“Please,” you yawn. “Meditate.”

“I will.”

“Don’t lie to me, please, I know when you are dishonest.”

Astarion grins. “Oh, my sweet, I am no liar. I am going to reverie once you fall asleep. I just like watching you when the dreams take over you.”

“Astarion, when you say the truth your eyes are wide open. When you smirk, you lie. Listen, maybe I can do something? Something to make you… think about something pleasant? It’s been a year! There are a lot of good memories to relive. Let’s just find a way to point your mind in the right direction!”

A year of good memories. Well, a little bit more. Four months of having a tadpole in his brain, experiencing freedom and sunlight, falling in love, learning how to feel again, and how to be alive. All these memories are precious, even the ones he is embarrassed about. For example, using you in his own favor. It doesn’t matter you’ve forgiven him - it still hurts.

Astarion sighs and lies beside you. Your arms immediately wrap around him. The familiar warmth is so tender that Astarion lets himself slip away into the reverie.

He is indeed tired.

He needs to rest.

But instead of grasping a good memory, a pleasant or at least bearable, his mind collapses into the abyss.

Chained to the wall. Bleeding. Hurting. He can’t scream anymore. It’s an old memory from when he was still hoping. He begs for mercy but no one listens. Hunger. Pain. Blood. Again, again. 

The master is whistling, carving the symbols on Astarion’s back with a silver dagger. The cursed metal feels like melted lava.

Astarion doesn’t need to sleep, neither does the vampire lord. 

This is your life, forever. You are doomed. No one will save you.

No! No! It’s not true! It will end! It will take two centuries, two long and miserable centuries, but it will come to an end! 

Astarion screams in the past until his throat burns.

“Astarion! Astarion!”

He feels the warm hands shaking his shoulders. He returns to reality like a drowned man from the dark waters, numb and restless.

You don’t say anything and he collapses into your arms, crying like a lost child.

“I can’t… I can’t… I need to rest… But I can’t…”

His back… His back is still bleeding, he can feel it, but your fingers caress the scars. It’s all over. It’s been more than a year. He will never return to those dungeons. No one will ever mutilate him again.

You let him go and pick up the travel sack in the corner. 

“I bought something at the potion merchant. I think it might help.”

“Please, I - I can… handle…”

You take out a bottle with a golden liquid. 

Angelic sleep potion.

The only way to make an elf experience regular sleep.

“No.”

“Astarion, what choice do you have? One more day like this and you won’t be able to walk on your own. You need it.”

“No! I am not drinking this! My mind keeps bringing me real nightmares and I have heard  all about the creepy dreams and nightmares the sleeping mind can weave!”

“But it won't be reality! Besides, when a non-elf is exhausted like you, they don’t see dreams.”

“But I won’t be able to escape it. With reverie at least I know it’s a memory!”

You sit beside Astarion and hug him. “Please. If you don’t want to do this for yourself, do this for me. I can’t see you suffering like this.”

Astarion sighs. “You are manipulative, you know?”

“Learned from a professional”.

Astarion adjusts himself back on the  bed and opens the bottle. The potion smells intoxicating. “But I do this only for you.”

“And I am grateful for your sacrifice.”

Astarion drains the bottle and before he manages to acknowledge anything, sleep takes him.

He sees visions and images. Places and people. Some are familiar, and some are not. His mind weaves the dreams out of emotions, memories, and experiences. 

Astarion dreams of a dragon.

It’s an ancient species of dragons, otherworldly. A majestic creature capable of carrying a dragon rider on its back.

Astarion rides this dragon above the Trackless Sea. There is nothing but the water and open blue skies.

And the sun.

It feels like cat fur on his skin, gentle and warm. 

Astarion wakes up still dizzy with the unrealness of what he saw. 

And he feels amazing.

His body is rested, and his mind is clear. The dream was so vivid that Astarion would believe he was once a dragon rider if he didn’t know about the weird fantasies of non-elven dreams.

He looks at you, sound asleep in the bed. His. You are his. And he is yours. What a sheer amount of luck made you meet each other? And how lucky he is you chose him.

It is still afternoon, hours before the sunset and he knows too well you won't wake up till evening.

Astarion needs to occupy himself with something. He gets up, stretches his arms, and then sees your traveling cape on the floor. 

“Such a messy little thing”, he chuckles. Astarion picks up the cape and notices a hole in the fabric.

Astarion takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack. He loves repairing things for you - complaining all the way, of course - but he never lets you sew yourself.

And then the idea comes to his mind.

Instead of black threads, he picks the red ones. It takes him a few attempts to understand how to do that but then the stitches come naturally from his fingers.

A dragon soaring in the skies. A divine creature from other planes. A beast that came to him in his dreams.

Astarion carefully embroiders the body of the dragon, then the wings and a stream of fire from its mouth.

He still has a lot of threads left and he starts embroidering the other dragon on the opposite side of the cape. 

Then he notices something has changed.

The curtain is wide open and the moonlight streams inside the room. You sit beside him, smiling at his work.

“Oh, sorry, my sweet. I’ve been carried away…”

“It’s all right. I like watching you sew. But it’s the first time I see you making something like this.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course!” you touch the embroidered dragons. “So real! I didn’t know you could do such things!”

“I- I’ve seen them. In a dream.”

The tender fingers touch his curls. “You’ve rested, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I have,” Astarion hands you the cape. “If you want, I can add more. I just need more threads”.

You smile and kiss him. “Of course, I do. Thank you.”

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part Two

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical sexism and violence. Word count: ~7.1k

Summary: Lorra and Aemond get to know each other, and Aemond grapples with the idea of what it means to be a husband. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Time feels as though it freezes for Aemond, stretching on for an eternity as he stares into Lorra’s eyes. He searches the depth of her gaze for any indication of fear or disgust, confused when he sees neither. He has never wanted quite so desperately to know what another person is thinking.

He is broken from his thoughts by the voice of his mother. “Lady Stark,” Alicent says warmly, “welcome to King’s Landing. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please forgive the King’s absence, he is eager to greet you, however, he must rest for the good of his health. I trust your journey was a safe one?”

Lorra looks away from Aemond, turning her attention to Alicent, and smiles. It lights up her delicate features in a way that makes warmth swirl uncomfortably in his chest, and he forces himself to divert his attention, fixing his eye upon the furthest wall of the Great Hall, a feeble attempt to calm himself.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honour to be here and to meet you, and I look forward to meeting the King soon, please send him my regards until then. My guards ensured my travel from Winterfell was uneventful.”

Aemond’s eye widens, looking back at her as he hears her speak. He has had few dealings with those of the North, but had not expected her voice to sound quite so different from those who occupy King’s Landing. Lorra is soft spoken, though there is a lilt to her accent that lifts and subtly elongates the vowels of her words. It fascinates and horrifies him in equal measure.

“I had anticipated that we would be hosting the entirety of the Stark family, my lady,” Otto interjects. “Where are Lord Stark and Lady Glover?”

“Back in Winterfell, Ser Hightower,” Lorra responds matter of factly. “I hope it is agreeable to you, but I have asked my mother and father to delay their arrival so that I am free to become acquainted with my betrothed without the pressures of formality.”

Aemond feels his throat run dry as she says this. 

What precisely is she expecting of him?

Otto bristles slightly, clearing his throat. “Delay their arrival for how long?”

“Six months.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open, his chest tightening as Aegon titters quietly beside him, clearly finding the entire display amusing.

“That is most–” Otto begins, cut off as Alicent steps forward, taking Lorra’s hands in hers.

“That is most wonderful,” the Queen interrupts. “We look forward to meeting the rest of the Stark family when they arrive. We will be hosting a welcome feast for you this evening, in the meantime we’ll have you escorted to your chambers, so you can get settled. You must be weary after such a long journey.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lorra smiles and Aemond watches as her delicate fingers intertwine with those of his mother’s. He wonders whether her hands would feel soft against his own, and quickly shakes his head as if to clear the thought from his mind.

It isn’t until the bustle of people filing out of the Great Hall breaks him from his reverie that Aemond realises they have not uttered a word to each other since her arrival. He watches her as she walks away, and as though his stare beckons her to him, she looks back over her shoulder at him, giving him the subtlest of winks. He immediately lowers his gaze, feeling his skin flush warmly.

She is unspeakably crass.

Aegon has not budged an inch from where he stands, a lecherous smirk plastered across his face as he eyes his younger brother with amusement.

“Fuck off,” Aemond hisses, striding away to return to his own quarters.

He is restless, opting to pace the length of the room instead of sitting; he finds each time he takes a seat he fidgets to the point that he irritates himself, standing once more and allowing his feet to carry him aimlessly.

Books cannot hold his concentration, every attempt to lose himself in a philosophical tome is fruitless, Lorra’s presence has unnerved him too much. Her looks, her voice, her self assuredness were all far beyond the realm of what he had imagined. It rattles him that she has foregone the presence of her mother and father, he does not understand what she expects of him, and the fact that she had had the audacity to wink at him as she walked from the Great Hall makes his pulse quicken in a way that no amount of deep breaths can calm.

Perhaps she simply means to torment him for her own amusement?

Later that evening, having been alerted by a page boy that supper is to be served, Aemond is slow to make his way down to the dining hall. He immediately regrets his hesitation upon taking in the seating arrangements.

Otto and Alicent sit at one side of the long, wooden table, with Aegon to Otto’s right at the head of it. Helaena sits on the opposite side, to Aegon’s right, with Lorra seated next to her. The only available chair remaining is at the opposing head, between his mother and Lorra. Unsurprisingly, Viserys is absent.

A group of musicians play softly in the corner, the sounds of vielle, harp, psaltery and flute carry a dulcet tune throughout the candlelit space, as serving staff place platters of steaming food and jugs of wine upon the table.

He pulls out the seat, keeping his eye fixed upon the tabletop, grimacing inwardly at the loud scrape of the legs against the flagstone floor. He can feel every set of eyes in the room upon him and he detests it, muttering a quiet thank you to Alicent as she places a slice of roasted venison upon his plate.

Aemond allows himself to glance at Lorra. Her dark curls are free of the braid she wore earlier, her hair framing her soft face, and falling almost to her elbows in soft waves. No longer wearing her travelling cloak, he can see that her figure is svelte, the lines of the grey and white brocade gown she wears hug her subtle curves and bare the pale flesh of her shoulders.

He feels his mouth run dry at the sight and lifts his goblet to his lips, eager for relief. The tart taste of Dornish red envelopes his tongue. His mother has made a big effort this evening; musicians, Dornish wine, roasted venison. It all seems ridiculously over the top to Aemond for something that is nothing more than a mere formality.

“Such lovely music,” Lorra comments, nodding towards the corner where it plays. She fixes Aemond with her big blue eyes. “Do you dance, My Prince?”

“No,” he replies simply, glancing her way as he sets his wine down upon the table. He does not trust himself to speak further, he fears the pounding of his heart in his chest will cause his voice to falter.

“Aemond can dance though,” Alicent says with a proud smile, leaning slightly forward to address Lorra. “Him, Aegon and Helaena all learned as children.”

“I love to dance,” Helaena tells Lorra dreamily, leaning her elbows on the table’s edge.

“Does Aegon ever dance with you?” Lorra asks, turning to look at her.

Helaena shakes her head. “No, he is usually in his cups, and he trips on my skirts.”

“Would you like to dance, Princess?”

His sister nods enthusiastically, taking Lorra’s hand as she offers it out, and once more Aemond feels envy rise acridly in his throat that yet another member of his family has experienced her touch before he has.

Both Alicent and Otto turn to look, as Lorra and Helaena move to the open space of the room, the music rising in volume as they begin to twirl and skip around each other. Aemond watches, transfixed at the bright smile upon Lorra’s face and the way that her hair fans out around her as she moves. Helaena’s eyes are lit up in a way he rarely sees, and he marvels that with such a simple gesture this stranger from the North has managed to make his sister seem happier than she has in a long time.

He reluctantly looks away as he notices Aegon stand, moving clumsily from his own seat and around the table, slumping heavily in the chair that Lorra had previously occupied.

“She is pretty, brother,” Aegon slurs with a slight smirk. “Do you know what to do with her?”

Aemond wrinkles his nose in disgust, his older sibling reeks of wine, the stench pungent in his nostrils. “Your breath could light a brazier.”

Aegon chuckles, plucking a fig from Lorra’s plate and biting into it. “I shall take that as a no,” he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, “considering it is our sister she dances with, and not you.”

He scoffs, rolling his eye. “I have nothing to prove to her.”

“Then I don’t suppose you will mind if I dance with her too?” He raises his eyebrows, popping the rest of the fig in his mouth.

Annoyance prickles at Aemond’s skin and he narrows his eye as he looks at the mocking expression of his brother.

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, moving in his seat to face where Lorra and Helaena currently dance. 

“Lorra!” Aegon calls out loudly across the table. “Your betrothed wishes to dance with you also.”

If proper decorum did not dictate otherwise, Aemond would throw himself out of his seat and throttle the life out of Aegon. Instead he stares at him, wide eyed with a mixture of horror and anger.

Lorra halts her movements, looking over her shoulder towards Aemond, before approaching where he sits. She is breathless, pale cheeks flushed, as she extends a hand to him. 

He cannot possibly deny her now. Fucking Aegon.

He has never seen anyone appear so carefree, a marked difference to his unwavering stoicism, and he stares at her unblinking for a few moments before slowly reaching out to take her hand.

Her touch sends a ripple of warmth through his body from head to toe, and as he rises from his seat he worries he will stumble, utterly disarmed by the softness of her palm against his. 

Helaena goes back to the table as Lorra and Aemond make their way to the space in which she had previously been dancing with her.

He swallows thickly, desperately trying to recall the steps he had learned as a child, feeling yet another surge of heat travel through him as Lorra raises her hand, placing her palm flat against his. Her hands are so much smaller and more delicate than his, he is certain that if he made a fist then his would cover hers entirely.

Lorra never once breaks eye contact, the ghost of a smile upon her lips as her and Aemond circle each other. He finds it is much like sparring, remembering where to place his feet, anticipating the movements of his opponent, though he does not possess the natural grace that she appears to have as she moves.

“You dance well,” Lorra murmurs, as they step in close to each other, “though you are stiff.”

“Dancing is not something I enjoy,” Aemond replies simply, eye raking over the way her hair tousles around her bare shoulders.

“Well, I am flattered you made an exception for me,” she says with a wry smile. “I look forward to finding out what you do enjoy.”

His lips part slightly, unsure of what to say. He cannot understand her interest in him. He had expected a meek, little thing, happy to endure the formalities of a political union, and instead he has been presented with an ethereal beauty intent on taunting him to the brink of madness.

Aemond feels as though he is in a daze for the rest of the meal, picking silently at his food, grateful for the fact that his family carry on the conversation so that he is not forced to participate. However, he finds his gaze is constantly drawn to Lorra, she fascinates and terrifies him in equal measure.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the evening finally draws to a close and he can retire to his bedchamber. Though, to his dismay, having left her physical presence behind, Aemond finds that Lorra is not so easily shifted from his thoughts. Her hair, her smile, the way she moves, all occupy his mind with alarming frequency. His fingers flex restlessly each time he recalls the feeling of her hand against his.

It is because she is different, he reasons, I just need to get used to her and then she will not haunt my thoughts quite so often.

The next day, Aemond shuts himself away in the library. He is certain that the fuss from yesterday was simply because it was Lorra’s first day within the Keep. Now they will be free to pursue their own interests outside of each other, and any time spent together will be arranged by either his mother or grandsire, with a chaperone present.

He takes down a large book on the history of Old Valyria from one of the shelves. Aemond has read it countless times before, and he seeks comfort within its familiar pages as he seats himself at a reading table. The words he knows by heart provide welcome refuge against the tug of uncertainty he has been thrust against.

The door creaking open startles him, the library is a space in which he is rarely bothered. No one but him and the Keep’s maesters ever set foot in here.

His heart lurches as he sees Lorra enter silently. A satin gown that matches the blue of the cloak she arrived in the previous day serves to illuminate her irises, making them shine in the low lighting of the dimly lit space. Her ebony hair is braided once more, falling across one shoulder.

Aemond wets his lips, gripping the pages of his book tightly. “Are you lost?”

She chuckles quietly, taking in his shocked expression. “Exactly where I mean to be. I was told I would find you here.”

He leans against the back of his chair, regarding her with silent suspicion as she moves towards him, taking the seat next to his.

“Fret not,” she tells him with an amused smile, “Ser Cole is outside the door, if you are worried I mean for you to have me against the bookcases.”

His eye widens at this, heat licking up his spine in a way that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

How can she be so coarse and not feel the slightest shame for it?

“So, what are you reading?”

He clears his throat, his focus returning to the book. “A history of Old Valyria, nothing that you would find interesting.”

“On the contrary, it is my duty to learn of the ancestral history of my betrothed, it is what we will teach our children. Do you not wish to learn the history of House Stark?”

“I know the history of House Stark.”

“Then we could share our learnings.”

“There is no need.”

“Why not?”

“We did not choose this.”

Lorra sighs. “We did not, and yet I see no reason why we cannot make the best of it. I want to know my husband.”

Aemond looks up at her, his expression hardening. “I study history and philosophy, I train with the sword, I ride the largest dragon in the world. There is nothing else to know.”

She lowers her gaze, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap momentarily, before turning her attention back to him. “And they say Northerners have an icy demeanour…I intend to thaw you out eventually.”

She rises from her seat, sweeping silently out of the library, and leaving Aemond alone to stare after her. Suddenly, his historical tome is of little interest to him.

Aemond does not see her again until suppertime, though she crosses his mind often, and he is resentful of the twinge of disappointment that burrows its way into his chest at the dinner table when she opts to converse with his mother and sister instead of him.

It does not escape his notice, however, that all of the dishes she passes to him throughout the meal are his favourites; sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and covered with powdered ginger, and rabbit stuffed with minced loin of veal. She had clearly been watching what he had eaten the previous evening.

He feels slightly embarrassed to realise he has no idea what she enjoys eating, keeping silent as he watches her carefully. She seems to enjoy the plums stewed in rosewater, and she helps herself to a slice of game pie, his lips quirking in mild amusement as he sees her pick away the pastry, leaving it to one side as she eats the filling. It unnerves him a little, he has never wished to know the intricacies of anyone before, and yet here he sits attempting to commit to memory the culinary likes and dislikes of a woman he barely knows.

She makes no further attempts to speak to him that day, and he retires for the evening believing that she finally shares his view that they need not interfere in each other’s affairs.

That is until the following morning. His boots crunch against the gravel of the training yard as he spins his sword in his hand, slowly circling to keep Ser Criston Cole in his line of sight as the Queen’s sworn protector wields his morningstar. He is about to surge forward, when he spots Lorra making her way towards the spread of weapons that are laid out on the bench.

She is dressed in form fitting grey trousers with a matching jerkin, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She is picking up each of the smaller blades, inspecting them in turn as he approaches, nostrils flared in annoyance and patience thin.

“What are you doing?” He asks coldly, frowning down at her as she rights herself, looking up at him impassively.

“Choosing a blade,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have not been able to spar since I left Winterfell.”

Aemond scoffs at this. “But you are a woman.”

His mother and sister never set foot in the training yard. He has never seen a woman spar before, the very idea seems ridiculous to him. In his opinion, the last of the female warriors died with Visenya Targaryen.

“An astute observation,” Lorra smirks, cocking her head. “My father ensured I was trained to fight as well as he and my brother, Cregan, can. Women of the North know how to defend themselves.”

“Cole, are you going to allow this?” Aemond demands, turning as the knight walks over to them both.

“You say you have trained before, My Lady?” Criston enquires.

Lorra nods. “I can fight with a sword and shield. I also hunt, fish and ride on horseback. My father has given me every advantage afforded to my brother.”

“Well then, My Prince, I suppose there is your answer,” Criston says with a slight shrug, stepping away.

“Perhaps my betrothed will train with me?” Lorra asks, picking up a sword and testing the weight of it.

“Absolutely not,” he replies coldly. “There is no honour in fighting a woman.”

“Are you craven?” She asks with a mock pout. “Afraid you will lose?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, eye narrowing as he exhales heavily through his nose in irritation. “Fine.”

He stomps to the centre of the training yard, turning as Lorra takes up a fighting stance, feet planted shoulder width and blade raised in a defensive position.

She easily dodges him, sidestepping him as he strikes forward with his own sword and rounds on him as she delivers a blow of her own, a dull thud against his bicep that makes him wince in pain and growl in frustration.

“Not bad for a woman after all, eh?” She taunts, jutting out her chin defiantly.

Aemond snarls, his sword clashing against her own as he pushes her backwards. “Why must you torment me so?” He hisses. “Is this a game to you?”

“I simply wish to spend time with my future husband,” she breathes heavily, “what is so terribly wrong with that?”

She winces, yelping in pain as he delivers a particularly hard whack to her outer thigh, and she falls backwards. He holds the point of his sword to her throat, as she stares up at him, wide eyed and panting.

“You are to be my wife,” he hisses, “not my friend, not my companion, learn the fucking difference.”

The metallic sound of armour rings out across the courtyard as Criston rushes over, pushing Aemond back by his shoulder, away from Lorra. She scrambles to her feet, gasping for breath, dropping her sword and hurrying away.

Aemond watches after her, the adrenaline of his anger slowly subsiding as guilt blooms heavily within him.

“You took that too far, My Prince,” Criston says sternly, his grip on Aemond’s shoulder still firm.

“She angered me,” he mutters quietly, still staring after Lorra, though she has long since disappeared from view.

“Every woman is created in the image of the Mother,” the knight tells him, “we must treat them as such.”

Aemond sneers, shrugging off Criston and stalking back towards the Keep.

Having returned to his chambers to bathe and change his clothing, Aemond is unsurprised when later that afternoon he is summoned to his grandsire’s study. He is anticipating a scolding for what had happened in the training yard earlier.

Otto sighs wearily as Aemond enters the study, leaning back in his chair and regarding his grandson through hooded eyes.

“What happened earlier was an appalling display, stupid boy. You will apologise.”

“I suppose she has told you everything?” Aemond responds wearily.

“No, actually,” he says, folding his hands in front of him upon the desk. “Your mother did, and she heard it from Ser Cole.”

Aemond is surprised by this, his eyebrows raising slightly as he realises Lorra had not rushed to tell of his misdeeds.

“I appreciate that you did not ask for this, Aemond, but it is important that we build an alliance with House Stark, for the good of Aegon’s succession. Apologise to Lorra. You must learn to get along with the girl, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or Lord Baratheon has four eligible daughters, and we can begin the process all over again.”

Aemond balks at this, the prospect of having to welcome someone new into his life and endure the formalities of courtship all over again causes dread to gnaw at his stomach. But also, in the very recesses of his mind there is a part of him that knows he does not want anyone that is not Lorra Stark.

As he leaves Otto’s study, he is certain he hears the rustle of clothing and hurried footsteps, yet when he peers further down the corridor, he sees no one.

At dinner that evening, Lorra is subdued, not speaking to anyone at the table. Aemond stares at her regretfully, saddened by the loss of the simple gesture of her passing him dishes of the food she knows he enjoys, and is struck by an idea of his own.

He reaches for a slice of game pie, sliding it onto his plate, and with a knife he carefully cuts the pastry from the top and the bottom, before pushing the filling onto a side plate. He passes it to Lorra and she looks up at him, wide eyed, taking it from him hesitantly.

“You noticed.”

“I may have lost an eye, but the one that remains does not miss much. However, I allowed my pride to blind me in the training yard earlier. I hope you will forgive me.”

*I shall think about it,” she says with a grin.

He feels the faintest tug of his own smile pulling at his lips in return, his heart feeling lighter than it has all day.

Over the next two months, Lorra and Aemond spend more time together. Afternoons are whiled away in the library, they either read silently side by side - Aemond preferring historical accounts and philosophical studies, while she opts for tales from the Age of Heroes - or they share stories of their lineages. Lorra recounts her own knowledge of direwolves and wildlings beyond the Wall, while Aemond tells her all about Aegon the Conqueror and how the first dragons came to be.

In the training yard, Aemond continues to spar with Criston, and Lorra is appointed a squire to train with. Though the two never cross blades again, Aemond often finds his gaze drawn to her, impressed by the fluidity of her movements and the ferocity with which she fights.

Lorra is a welcome addition to the Red Keep, she converses easily with all of the family at mealtimes, and they all seem fond of her. On the rare occasions that Viserys can be roused from his sick bed to the table, she is even able to draw a laugh from him, despite his lack of lucidity.

As Aemond and Lorra grow closer, his inner conflict grows with it. He has never had a friend before, let alone anyone he feels affection for. He has grown accustomed to a life of solitude, simply slotting another person into his daily routine proves difficult enough, when it is accompanied by a longing to reach out to her and hold her hand, or stroke his fingers through the lustrousness of her hair, he does not know what to with this. So he resists, ignoring the restlessness of his hands and the quickening of his pulse each time she is near.

He has never craved physical or sexual intimacy before, both times he had endured it he had found no joy in it, so he cannot understand why Lorra evokes such desires within him.

Over time, he finds that simply avoiding her alleviates his burden, and so his flights on Vhagar become ever more frequent. Up in the skies is the only place that she cannot follow, and when he is on dragonback he is given a momentary respite from the war that rages inside of him, a clash between the comfort of seclusion, and the desire for her to be close to him.

Late afternoon bleeds into early evening, the sky a tapestry of dusky orange and pink as Aemond lands Vhagar on the outer edge of the Godswood. He dismounts, stunned to see that Lorra is patiently waiting for him, her cerulean cloak with white fur trim clutched tightly around her as she stands by a large elm tree.

“So, this is the mighty Vhagar,” she says softly, no trace of fear in her tone as she marvels at the great beast that rumbles cantankerously, mere feet away, as Aemond approaches her.

“You should not be here,” Aemond tells her, “dragons are not playthings for those unused to them.”

“But you have yet to introduce me, and she clearly means a lot to you. I would like to meet her.”

He hesitates. His dragon is the only remaining barrier he has between himself and Lorra, if he breaks that down then there is no more escaping her, and he will be forced to deal with whatever the consequences of that may be. 

“No.”

“Why do you avoid me?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You were not in the library this morning, you missed training yesterday. More often than not you go where I cannot follow. I do not understand why.”

Aemond sighs, averting his gaze. “I–I cannot give you what you want.”

Lorra’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? We have been getting along well.”

He shakes his head. “I am not built for companionship. I would only disappoint you. I can be your husband in name, but I cannot be your lover.”

“Do you not even wish to try?” She asks pleadingly.

More than I have ever wanted anything.

He says nothing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Every fibre of his being burns with the urge to pull her close and press his lips to hers, but uncertainty holds him back.

“Let me visit you in your chambers tonight, let us see if you really cannot play the part of a husband in anything more than name. If that turns out to be the case then I promise we shall never speak of it again. Do you agree?”

Aemond draws in a shuddering breath, icy tendrils of fear wrap themselves around his heart, while excitement flutters urgently in his lower abdomen. “Yes,” he utters simply.

Lorra nods, turning and walking back towards the Red Keep, leaving him alone in the Godswood.

Aemond anxiously awaits the knock at his door that evening, and even though he expects it, he still feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the soft tap of her knuckles against the wood.

His mouth runs dry at the sight of her, she is wrapped in a quilted robe, which she sheds upon crossing the threshold leaving her in just a thin cotton nightgown.

Once more, Aemond is stunned by how forthright Lorra is as she perches on the edge of his bed. He hovers nervously in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“I am no longer a maiden,” she tells him honestly, “I feel that is something you deserve to know ahead of our nuptials, and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Aemond swallows thickly, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again when he realises he does not know what to say.

“I was on a hunt with my father and my brother. I allowed a squire to sully my virtue, believing it to be true love,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As it turns out he was just eager to get beneath the skirts of a nobleman’s daughter.”

Anger prickles beneath Aemond’s skin, the very thought of someone using her in such a manner is almost more than he can stand. He will wring that pathetic excuse of a man’s neck if he ever gets his hands upon him.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” he utters, “you did not deserve that.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It matters not. So, tell me, what of your experience?”

Aemond sucks in a breath, moving slowly to sit beside her on the mattress, keeping a respectable distance, as he contemplates what and how to tell her.

“It was my thirteenth name day, and Aegon decided that the appropriate gift would be to take me to a brothel.”

Lorra nods, keeping quiet and allowing for him to continue.

“It was not an enjoyable experience for me. Truthfully, I was disgusted by it, and for a long time I never entertained the notion of being intimate with anyone again.”

“Until when?”

“Until I was told I was to be betrothed to you.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did not want to be inexperienced for my wife, I wanted to see if I could derive enjoyment from coupling with a woman after all, so as not to embarrass you or myself. I took a maidservant.”

“And how did you find that?”

“It was…better than my experience in the brothel, but beyond the physical sensations, I felt nothing. It was humiliating to have to see her after that. I made sure she drank moon tea and then had my mother move her to kitchen duties, so I would not have to see her again.”

Lorra nods in understanding. “So, we have both been unlucky. Have you considered that perhaps it is not the act itself that is unenjoyable, more so the person you are doing it with?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there is no emotional connection between you and the person you are intimate with then there is little joy to be found in the act. You are merely two bodies rubbing against each other.”

“I have never experienced an emotional connection with anyone before, so I would not know.”

“Not even with me?”

Yes, with you. Only with you.

The words stick in Aemond’s throat, unable to express how he feels. He cannot allow himself such vulnerability.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, shifting closer.

Deciding to act, before he can change his mind, Aemond leans in, pressing his lips to hers. Lorra leads the movements, clearly the more experienced of the two - he has never kissed anyone before. Her lips are soft against his, yet press with a firmness that coaxes him to mimic her gestures.

He buries his hands in her hair, finally feeling its silkiness between his fingers as he pulls her closer. The stickiness of their saliva as they deepen the kiss, her tongue licking against his, makes his cock ache painfully hard in his breeches.

Lorra moves to straddle his lap, and Aemond’s hands wander from her hair, down the smoothness of her skin, his grip gentle yet filled with desperate want.

It is as if something finally clicks into place for him as she presses herself against him, the delicate scent of rosemary and lavender that clings to her flesh makes him feel lightheaded. This is what Aegon had been talking about. He wants nothing more than to throw her down upon the bed, and tear her nightdress from her.

Yet as she pulls back, breathless, glassy eyed and glossy lipped, he feels the same awe he had felt the first time he had looked into the fiery jaws of Vhagar. Only this time, it is not the white hot intensity of the Seven Hells that he sees reflected back, it is the vision of the Maiden herself. He has never seen a sight more beautiful.

His reverence of her quickly causes him to freeze, he is unworthy, does not know what to do with someone he feels so strongly for, and it morphs into terror. This time, instead of claiming his prize he pulls away from it.

“I–I cannot. I am sorry,” he whispers, pushing her gently from him and moving to stand.

She sighs softly, her head bowed dejectedly as she brushes past him to gather up her robe and wrap it back around herself.

“Well, I suppose that is that then,” she says. Her voice sounds so sad, so weak, that it causes a lump to form in Aemond’s throat. He detests that he has made her feel this way.

“As agreed in the Godswood, we shall speak of this no further,” she continues, fiddling with the ties around her waist.

“So our marriage will be a mere formality?” Aemond asks in a hushed tone.

Lorra shakes her head sadly, finally looking up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “There will be no marriage at all. 

It feels as though Aemond’s heart drops into his stomach as he stares at her, the lump in his throat seeming as though it means to suffocate him. “Why?” Is all he is able to rasp out.

“I have never wanted a marriage that is for mere political alliance. I want someone who loves me, who desires me. That is why I asked my mother and father to delay their arrival, so I could see for myself if you were someone I could fall in love with.”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, ripples of pain reverberating in his chest, and yet he stays silent, allowing her to say her piece.

“The sad fact is that in these last few months I have fallen in love with you, but I do not think you will ever love me back. I am sorry, Aemond, but I cannot marry you. Tomorrow I shall return to Winterfell, and perhaps you will have better luck with one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

Those final few words strike Aemond like a hammer blow. She had heard.

He watches sorrowfully as she turns and leaves his chambers. He is desperate to call out after her.

Please do not go.

Do not leave me.

I do not want a Baratheon girl.

I want you.

Instead he says nothing, frozen to the spot and cripplied by grief as one of the only things he has ever truly wanted walks out of his life, knowing he only has himself to blame.

Aemond stays shut away in his chambers when Lorra departs the next morning, unable to bear the sight of her leaving the Red Keep and him forever. He keeps the curtains closed, sitting in darkness, not having slept, thinking of all the things he should and could have said and done differently. But it is too late now, and Lorra is better off without him.

It is nearing early afternoon when Alicent knocks softly at the door, allowing herself in without awaiting an answer. Her big, brown eyes are filled with sadness as she stares down at Aemond as he sits there. It reminds him of how she used to look at him as he would sit by the fireplace as a child, trying to hatch his egg.

She rounds his chair, standing behind him and places her hands tenderly upon his shoulders. Aemond reaches up a hand, gently grasping her fingers with his own.

“Oh, my dearest love, I am so sorry,” she whispers sadly.

They remain in silence for a few moments, before Aemond finally speaks. “Will you ask Grandsire to wait before sending a raven to Lord Baratheon? I–I am not ready. Not yet.”

Alicent’s fingers squeeze gently around his own in a comforting gesture. “Of course. I will not allow him to rush you.”

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief, though he feels no amount of time in the world will make him feel ready.

Over the next week, Aemond attempts to return to life as normal, though it feels empty and colourless without Lorra. 

As he reads in the library, the empty space beside him seems almost ominous with its lack of her presence. He takes to reading tales from the Age of Heroes as a means to feel that she is still there.

In the training yard, his eye wanders every so often to the space where she used to spar, a wave of melancholy washing over him each time he looks to find that she is no longer there. He wonders who she will train with once she is back in Winterfell.

One night at dinner, he catches himself absentmindedly cutting the crust from his pie, a sigh of frustration leaving him as he agitatedly pushes the plate away.

He hates this. Aemond is comfortable in solitude, he always has been, yet now it feels too vast, too lonely. The empty space is haunted by the memory of Lorra, creating an ache and a longing within him that he has never experienced before.

The hour grows late as Alicent, Otto and Helaena depart the dining hall. Aemond is about to rise to return to his own quarters when Aegon holds up a hand, halting him.

“Stay a while,” he says, moving into the chair next to Aemond’s. “There is still wine in this jug, let us see it off.”

“I think you are sufficiently in your cups enough for us both, brother,” Aemond says with a sigh.

“Anything to help cope with how you have been skulking around the Keep this past week,” Aegon replies, splashing the table with red wine as he fills both their cups messily.

“I have not been skulking,” Aemond says petulantly, taking a sip of his wine.

“You have,” Aegon tells him, gulping from his own cup. “If you are this saddened by Lorra’s departure then why did you allow her to leave?”

Aemond sighs. “Because…because I cannot give her what she desires in a husband. My only examples of what marriage really looks like is what I have seen of mother and father, and you and Helaena.”

“That is exactly why you should strive to give her what she desires. Those are poor examples to set the basis of a marriage upon.”

“And how would you know?”

“Do you know what I know? I know that you have made yourself at home in a lifetime of misery and isolation, so much so that the very idea of happiness frightens you.” Aegon titters as he takes in Aemond’s annoyed expression. “Can you believe it? Aemond Targaryen, the boy who claimed the world’s largest dragon at the age of ten is afraid of happiness.”

“I am not afraid,” Aemond glowers.

“Then what is it? Because it seems ironic to me that you have spent your entire life coveting what I have and resenting me for not wanting it, and then when you find yourself in a position that I so desperately want for myself you do not want it either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love, Aemond. The love of a good woman. I had that once, and due to my own cowardice it slipped away from me.”

“You were in love?”

Aegon nods, drinking deeply again. “There was a reason I used to frequent that one particular brothel. There was a woman there that I loved, and she loved me.”

“She loved the golden dragon you paid her each time she let you rut atop her like an animal.”

“No, it was not that,” Aegon shakes his head. “I wanted to marry her, she was with child. But when mother and grandsire found out they had her taken away from King’s Landing. I never found out what became of her, or the child she was carrying.”

“I had no idea.”

Aegon scoffs. “You would not. Mother did a thorough job of ensuring no one ever found out. But my point is, I was a craven, I should have boarded a ship to Essos the moment I became aware of her condition. I would be rid of a life I hate and free to be with the woman I love. Do not let your own cowardice deprive you of happiness. Goodness knows you have enough reasons to be a miserable twat as it is.”

Aegon claps Aemond on the shoulder as he rises from his seat, taking both his cup and the jug with him as he staggers away from the dining hall.

Aemond sits at the table a while longer in silence, contemplating his brother’s words. He is shocked at what Aegon has divulged, yet there are rare pearls of wisdom to be found in what he has said. He is right, Aemond does want Lorra, and it is time he casts aside his pride and apprehension to ensure she knows this.

He goes back to his quarters that night, with a plan in mind. Sitting at his writing desk, Aemond places quill to parchment and begins to write.

[writermai05]

Arsonist's Lullabye

Prologue: All you have is your fire

Summary: Zuko’s bad day gets a bit better after an encounter with an unfamiliar face. 

Pairing: zuko x fem! reader (Live Action or Animated) 

A/N: I am delusional, and when I had the idea for a zuko x reader modern AU where he works in Iroh’s boba tea shop, I had to follow through with said idea. Let’s see if this goes anywhere, and feel free to leave comments or suggestions on how the fic could play out maybe :) 

Word Count: 773

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.  This is a modern AU that takes place in the avatar world. Bending still exists. Zuko and the gaang are in college in this series !!

TW!: Physical abuse, burns, Ozai in general, Zuko’s backstory is so sad. 

Zuko knew it was going to be a long day as soon as he opened the shop at 12pm. 

Within the first two hours, he had run out of tapioca pearls, dropped a container filled with matcha on the floor (which by the way, was a pain in the ass to clean up,) and slipped on the floors he had just mopped. Perhaps he was just born unlucky. Perhaps, most people in life didn’t have to struggle the way that he was, the way that he always had. It wasn’t all bad. He was lucky enough to be here, working in his uncle’s tea shop in the Earth Kingdom, rather than in his father’s company back in the Fire Nation. 

The Jasmine Dragon was beloved by many. People from all over the city came to have some of the shops' amazing teas and pastries. It wasn’t too busy, having only three people come in today.  perhaps because school at the University of Ba Sing Se hadn’t quite started up yet, outside of the students who had moved in early. The shop was particularly chilly today, but the atmosphere managed to maintain the same warm and cozy feeling, with the dim atmospheric lighting and the sage and emerald hued furniture. Zuko had a second to just relax in the stillness. 

 He appreciated these quiet moments the most.  The moments where he could stop worrying about the shop, and overthinking the worst things he had ever done in his life. Such as when he lashed out at his uncle, multiple times, or about the people he had bullied in high school. He was almost able to forget it all. Forget the fact that his younger sister, Azula, was still stuck in a house with his abusive father, or even forget the feeling of his father’s hand, burning the flesh of his face, leaving a scar in its wake, as well as a near complete blindness in his left eye. His demons may be restless, but boy did Zuko keep them on a tight leash. 

Zuko’s reverie was broken by the sound of the door’s bell chime. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, waiting patiently for his assistance to be needed. 

“Um, excuse me,” 

A girl, who seemed to be around his age, was standing right in front of him. She wore a navy blue dress with a pale blue lining and detailing around the edges. A belt of the same color was around her waist, with a brown leather cord connecting a bag onto her hip. Her black jacket was cropped to about rib length, with brown leather cords fastening it closed, as well as matching black pants and brown boots. 

“This is my first time here…Is there anything that you’d recommend?” She asked politely. 

There was something about the way her kind eyes twinkled in the orange lighting that made Zuko fluster. He cleared his throat before opening his mouth to talk. 

“Well, Lychee juice is a customer favorite. But personally, my Uncle Iroh’s jasmine green tea is the best in Ba Sing Se.” 

“The best in Ba sing Se?” She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

“The best.” he nodded. 

“I’ll take it.” She said, reaching to the tote bag slung over her shoulder. Zuko interrupted her actions with the wave of his hand. 

Zuko shook his head. “Don’t worry, It’s on me.” he said, as he began punching numbers, into the register. 

“Oh no! I can’t let you do that-” She protested. 

He shrugged, a blush beginning to warm his cheeks.  “For a first time customer.” 

“Thank you so much…” She trailed off, waiting for him to tell her his name.

“Zuko.”

“Zuko. I’ll be sure to come by again. And I fully intend on paying that time.” She said with a playful glare. 

The boy smiled slightly.

“Your tea will be ready shortly.” 

Zuko had Iroh bring the tea over to the girl. He wasn’t confident in his ability to steadily bring the tray of hot tea without causing more burns to cover his body. The older man made sure to give the girl a complimentary fruit tart to enjoy, but not before looking at his nephew with a teasing glint in his eyes. Zuko groaned. 

“Not a word, uncle.” He said as he walked through the staff doors into the shops’ kitchen. 

After about 20 minutes had passed, Iroh came into the kitchen, clutching what looked like a napkin and some paper Yuan bills. 

“Zuko! The girl left this on her table after she left!”

Zuko carefully took the napkin from his uncle’s hand, reading the message. 

“Thanks for the tea! - y/n.”