#and that one day the world will feel small enough to conquer
Text
— promise you’ll forget me
featured: liyue men x fem!reader
cw: generally gn but uses she/her (an itty bit), pet names, angst, hurt/comfort, a sliver of fluff, mention of character death, a little wholesome if you’re delusional enough (me)
synopsis: “When I die, promise me you’ll forget me. Erase me from your memories, bury me in the past, and live.”
a/n: my 3 babygirls + if I caused anyone any distress from this soft angst then let me know !! so I can continue wrecking havoc :)
── ꨄ︎ Xiao
Xiao stared at you, frozen in place and eyes widening as those words fell from your lips. He was in shock, completely baffled at how casually you uttered those words. As if they meant nothing… he grimly thought, As if you could ever mean nothing. His hands trembled, balling them into fists and digging his nails into the back of his palm. Had his silent affection, loving kisses, acts of devotion, and fierce protection not been testament enough to the impact you had on him? Had you not realized that you wielded the same amount of power over him as his previous master had with his true name? The Yaksha was almost amazed at your ignorance. “How dare you speak so carelessly…” he growled. Xiao was already fully aware of the reality of your inevitable death; it’s a truth that even the Conquerer of Demons, himself, adamantly refuses to revisit. He was bitterly aware that your time in Teyvat — your days together — was on borrowed time compared to his. That’s just the fate of a human's life in comparison to an Adeptus. He knew that the day will come when he would be forced to confront the tragic cycle of life and death once again, and if only for the sake of his Archon, he’ll grit his teeth and face it when the time comes. But to ask him to forget you, to erase you from his memories? You, who he cherishes most of all. You, who stealthily slithered into his heart and made a home in the remnants of his damned soul. You, who he foolishly fell in love with. There was no force in this wretched world that could ever submit him to abandon the little joy he was given in his life. And to ask that of him was to condemn him to a far crueler fate than that of the karmic debt he harbors on his shoulders.
Glowering at the wooden floorboards of the Wangshu Inn, Xiaos piercing eyes flickered up at you. “Do not make such absurd requests of me again.” He sneered. Flinching in surprise, you questioningly glanced at your lover. Shifting your gaze down, you noticed the deathly grip he held on the patio's railing and the cracking lines spreading beneath his fingertips. “Xiao… wait, I didn’t mean to—“ but your words were cut short by the solemn glint in his yellow stare. “There are many things I struggle to comprehend about you mortals, so tell me,” attentively, your ears perked up and your breathing paused as he spoke, “could you forget me so easily if I asked you to? Is your affection for me simply…” biting the inside of his cheek, his expression shifted to one of sorrowful hesitation, “temporary?” Your entire body tensed. Xiao had made a bad habit of hiding his less ‘acceptable’ emotions in an attempt to not burden you — no matter how many times you reassured him — so to glimpse at that fragile vulnerability and find the newly seed of doubt you had planted, it made your heart wrench in your chest. You blinked a few times as each flutter of your lashes only gathered more and more wet droplets onto them. “No! Xiao! I would ne-.. ver….” and that’s when you realized the weight of what you had asked him. Rejected.. I made him feel rejected, You internally groaned. Sighing you carefully took a few steps towards him, “Listen to me,” you softly spoke, “I don’t want you to live in mourning after I pass. You don’t deserve that, Xiao,” and his eyes widened, “I want you to be happy,” softening your gaze, you continued, “I want you to continue enjoying the gifts life brings, no matter how big or small they might be!” Standing in front of him, you reached a hand out to gently caress his cheek and dotingly smiled when he instinctively leaned into your touch. “I want you to keep spending time with humans, and one day you may even find new companions who’ll add to your happiness.” Nonsense, he thought. The Adeptus revers you almost as highly as his Archon and you think some feeble companions could ever compare? Xiao placed his hand atop yours and gingerly kissed your palm. His eyes reflected a tender intensity as he peered down at you, “Our connection is too strong, y/n.” his arms wrapped protectively around you, holding you tightly as if he wasn’t careful enough you’d disappear and be gone forever. Xiao hovered his lips above yours as he rested his forehead on you, and closed his eyes, “No matter what challenges time brings, or what you, yourself, try to do to sever our bond,” pressing his lips on yours, he kissed you as he quietly whispered, “I will love you, always.”
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417 years have gone by since Xiao last held you in his embrace. And although he was pleased he was able to offer you a long, happy and loving life, Xiao would be blatantly lying if he said he’d moved on from your death. And if not for your last — somewhat reasonable — request, he likely wouldn’t have intervened with the lives of mortals, or reluctantly accepted their friendship. If that was what you truly would’ve wanted for him then he’ll hold his complaints and trust your judgement. It was bittersweet, really. If you were still alive, he knew in his heart you’d be fascinated by these mortals' new technology and inventions; he wonders what you’d say of this new era. And he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips as he thinks of how you’d fawn over these silly contraptions, There’s no doubt you’d be foolishly fascinated by such simple trinkets, he thinks, but archons what he wouldn’t do to see your eyes sparkle with wonder again. And although Teyvat has undergone infinite changes, there is but one acre of land that the Yaksha has ensured remains untouched by humans, Adeptus or demons alike. It was a sort of sanctuary for him. A place of refuge, meditation, reflection, and heartache; but above all, it was where Xiao would religiously visit to honor the love he had, and continues to have, for you — his one and only. The area was radiant, nothing less than one of Liyues hidden gems. The ground was vibrant with lush grass, lively wildlife, and blanketed with all your favorite flowers; flowers Xiao had helped you plant and nurture. What once started as your personal garden ended up flourishing with vines, plants and new ecosystems. It could honestly be described as a mini forest, and the Adeptus wonders if it’s prosperity is because of you. Either way, you would’ve loved it, and that thought alone was enough. Thinking back, Xiao couldn’t believe he was so ignorant. Initially, he thought the whole custom was silly when Morax first casually mentioned it one day. ‘Marriage, is a unity humans practice as well here in Teyvat. It is a unity between lovers — a ceremonial alliance, if you will.’ To him, the idea seemed pointless, but the thought never left his head since. He’s already submitted himself to you in every way, but if his Archon had advised marriage was also a custom between mortals then perhaps you would like to marry as well. So this sacred area is where you both wed. The beaming smile and buzzing excitement you showed that day was forever engraved in his memories. Xiao still keeps the silver ring you slid on his finger with him. Though as of recent centuries he hasn’t worn it as much in order to preserve its integrity, but sometimes, when he’s laying amidst the swaying grass and reminiscing of times gone past, he’ll slip it on and think of you. On rare occasions the Yaksha would even stage a performance, the way he used to when he danced beneath the moonlight as you watched in awe. Whether sunlight warms his skin, rain splashes on his hair and wets his clothes, or strong currents of the wind whistles loudly through the air, he’ll dance to the natural rhythm of Teyvat. A performance reserved only for you. Other times he’ll rest on a bed of soft moss as his honey eyes gaze at the starry sky till morning illuminates the world once more. Simply remembering the sound of your voice, your touch, your laugh, and he’ll wonder, wherever you are in this vast universe, if you think of him too.
── ꨄ︎ Zhongli
The sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the mountaintop of Mt. Aocang. The traditional, delicately crafted teacup Zhongli held was now shattered into pieces in the palm of his hand, and the tea previously filling it was now spilled all over the god's lap. Unaware that his sudden vise-like grip was to blame for its broken state. He saw your lips move and your body apprehensively patting his clothes dry with a cloth, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Zhongli simply stayed in place as his golden eyes stared at you. Yes, it’s true that the former Geo Archon has encountered countless tragic fates and lost several friends and close relationships to the erosion of time. And it’s only been recent, with the reawakening of Azhdaha, that he had to reluctantly reevaluate and reaccept his cursed fate of eternity until the last remnants of his body eroded back into the stones of old. Azhdaha reminded him his future was pitiful. Doomed to solidarity as punishment for being a God. It was for that exact reason that Zhongli heavily contemplated the idea of entering a relationship with a human for a very long time before officially committing to you. However, it was also through that slow-burn romance that an unexpected love blossomed. Its tender passion awoke a primal instinct that had long laid dormant in the depths of Morax’s innate desires — it caught the Archon, himself, off guard. The love of a God cannot be easily earned or discarded. It entails complete submission, adoration, and devotion. Then again, it might be the reason Zhongli wasn’t avoidant of the inevitable outcome of this relationship. He fully accepted the consequences of his decision if it meant enjoying just a moment of tranquility in your embrace. He’d be willing to endure a thousand years of heartache if it meant hearing your voice just once, and he’d suffer through thousands more if even to kiss the fabric that clung to your body.
Zhongli, blinked from his trance and looked down to see you patting his clothes dry with red fingertips and scathed palms from the burning hot tea. Swiftly, he took hold of your hands and took the cloth away from you. He felt a pang of guilt as he carefully cascaded his thumb across the searing flush of your warmed skin. “I do apologize, my love.” shifting his gaze up to you, he continued, “It seems that your request has taken me aback.” Tightening your hold on his hands, you knitted your brows in worry, “Oh.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” you pouted. Zhongli removed his gloves, and your attention trailed to the geo marks decorating his golden skin. So pretty, you thought. “There is no need to fret, darling.” His voice was deep and affectionate. An obvious difference compared to the usual somber and nonchalant tone he speaks with, and it made your heart flutter knowing it was only ever exposed to you. But then suddenly, his expression turned serious. “However, that request would be a breach of contract, and I simply, will not break it.” Your eyes widened for a moment before quirking an eyebrow up in question. You momentarily tilted your head in curiosity, and the Archon couldn’t help but feel his gaze soften, just a little, in response to your small habit. Fluttering your eyes on him, you asked, “What contract?” What contract? He silently mused, as if the answer itself was blatantly obvious — which to him, it was. Lowly chucking, he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and slipped his fingertips up to caress your palm. Raising your hand up to his lips, he languidly met your gaze with his adoring one. “If you do not recall, then allow me to remind you.” Closing his eyes, he placed a kiss on your fingertip, “I have sworn myself each time I touch your skin.” He placed a kiss on another, “Each time my mind had been desperately surrendered by thoughts of you.” Then another, fluttering his long lashes, he peered at you with half-lidded eyes as his pupils dilated to slits “In every moment our bodies intimately intertwine together amidst the heat of our love.” Gasping at his sudden confession, your heart sped up in a fervent fluster. He leaned in close, “I am bound to you, my love, for all eternity.” Zhongli kissed you once, and then twice. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in, almost urging you to sit on his lap. Deepening the kiss the Geo Archon could only pray his kisses could hope to portray even a sliver of the love he has for you.
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And so a millennium has passed, he hums. 1,231 years to be exact. Since your passing, Zhongli counted each year that came and went. Placing an incense down on the shrine he built in your memory, the Archon kneeled before your golden statue and prayed — he’s not quite sure to who, and he’s not sure if there’s anyone listening, but if there is, he hopes it’s you. Today had been an unusual day given that he doesn’t normally visit your shrine so late in the evening, but no matter what he did it seemed like unforeseen circumstances kept getting in the way of his preplanned visit. And after several attempts of trying to untangle himself from piling responsibilities, he sighed and decided it was best to just visit you by the end of today no matter what or who dared get in his way. Which brings us to now. However, shortly after he started his peaceful meditation, he was disturbed by someone’s quiet shuffles behind him. Fluttering his eyes open, his sharp gaze glared in the direction the noise was coming from. Even though it’s location wasn’t necessarily private, this shrine was his personal alter of worship, a private haven, who the hell was foolish enough to intrude on its sacred premises? Snapping his head around, his menacing gaze immediately widened into one of pure shock. It surely.. can’t be..? He muttered in disbelief. “Oh! I’m sorry I-um- I didn’t realize someone was here!” The voice awkwardly spoke, and as they turned to leave, his lips moved before he could realize he was talking, “What’s your name?” Blinking in surprise, the woman sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, “Ah. I’m h/n, heh.” Walking closer she carefully inspected the handsome man as he stared at her like she was some sort of ghost. “Is this your shrine?” Looking up at the statue she softly smiled, “I’ve been coming here for weeks.” she confessed, and Zhongli slowly stood from his position. It’s her. The depths of the dragons innate need for his mate had violently awoken from its slumber, and he felt the bond he mourned for centuries, suddenly call out to each and every one of his senses. It’s her. Your reincarnation. Lighting her own stick of incense and bowing, the woman — you — glanced back at him, “I found this place by accident, and I bring my own incense to pay my respects as well. But honestly, I don’t know why I come here.” You chuckled. “Maybe it’s because her statue looks similar to me, or maybe … it’s because I can’t help but feel like this place calls to me.” Shaking your head, you bashfully looked away, “Sounds crazy, right?” “No.. no, not at all….” Softening his gaze, he offered a smile. There’s no mistaking it. I can sense her soul, years of longing and heartache clutched his heart, I could recognize it anywhere. And so the both of you spent the evening chatting away over tea the man you came to know as ‘Zhongli’ had prepared, and when nighttime shadowed the streets you both politely took your leaves. Zhongli deeply considered whether or not he should look for you again, but he soon realized he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the new life you had built — even if it didn’t include him. He told himself he was happy, satisfied knowing your soul had returned even if every cell in his body painfully yearned to be with his lover again. Being given the opportunity to drink tea with you should be privilege enough. It wasn’t until you visited the shrine early one morning that you finally found him. After a brief catch-up, he noticed you nervously shifting, “Is something the matter?” He worriedly asked. With a deep breathe you confessed what’d been on your mind since your last encounter. “Have we met before?” You began, and his entire body froze, “I know this might seem strange but…” and unconsciously his body leaned in closer as his primal instincts begged him to caress your skin once more, but he forced himself rooted. Until you uttered a single sentence and momentarily tilted your head in curiosity that he felt his heart struck, and daresay, even gave the god hope. “I can’t help but feel like…. I’ve met you before, a long time ago.”
── ꨄ︎ Childe
Strumming his fingertips, Childe hummed in contemplation. He’s well aware of the repercussions that come with being 11th of the Fatui Harbingers, and he’s hyper-aware of the vile leverage his enemies would try to obtain when discovering the infamous Harbinger has taken a lover. However, the thing about Childe is that he actually openly welcomes his enemies to try to even get remotely near you. Honestly, your request is just straight-up hilarious to him. But he supposes he can’t blame you. After all, you haven’t a clue of the extent your lover has and, even as you ask, is taking to ensure your safety. It’s stressful, really, but the man loves challenges — “Let them come, let them ALL come!” He manically laughs, before lowering his head, “I’ll kill them all where they stand.” he snarls. Every loud and flamboyant confession, every playful kiss, every subtle caress of your skin, and each lingering touch holds an ulterior motive aside from just affection. It’s a warning. But you never noticed, have you? While you’re pushing him away in a flustered daze, you don’t notice how his cheeky smile and crescent eyes fall the second you turn in a huff and his gaze narrows to a sinister glare — directly locking eyes with the spies creeping atop rooftops. How he never directly answers your questions when he disappears for a few minutes only to return scathed and sometimes even bleeding. Brushing away your worry with a tender smile as he pinches your cheek, “Heh, don’t worry so much!” He’ll coo. Your request isn’t even an option. Childe would die for you, kill for you, live for you. He’ll do whatever it takes to stand above a pile of bloody corpses if only to force them to bow before you. You, the promised ruler of the world he’ll craft. And should you fall, he would build his empire on the blood of millions just to keep his promise.
Childes eyes glimmered in amusement as he threw his head back and laughed. “Hahah—!! You really do have an active imagination babe!” Playfully ruffling your hair, he chuckled, “C’mon now, don’t say such nonsense.” His lips curled into a beaming smile, but you could tell by the edge laced in his words that he meant what he said. Huffing, you smacked his hand away, “I’m not joking, Ajax!” Sighing, you turned away in embarrassment, “I’m being…. I’m being serious, alright?” Pausing, Childe furrowed his brows, “You’re serious?” Rolling your eyes, you marched away feeling flustered and annoyed by your lover's reaction, “Yes! I’m being serious!” Normally, the incredulous stare Childe gave you would’ve made you tease him in any other situation, but as of now it only added to the searing burn on your cheeks. Following behind you, he grabbed your arm to stop you and delicately tugged you to look at him. “Hey, what are you saying?” Turning around, you were met with narrowed blue eyes and a frown, “Are you calling me weak?” And as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at his accusatory tone and pouty lips. Intertwining your fingers with his you stepped toward him until your face was only inches away from his pretty glaring eyes. Running your fingertips against his jaw, you lightly traced them across his freckled skin until you reached his messy, orange hair, “The only thing I think you are is dumb.” You lovingly purred. Scoffing he averted his gaze from yours. “Listen, Ajax,” you started, “I know you worry about me, and yes, even though you’re the strongest man I know—“ “Ever will know.” He corrected. Giggling you flicked his forehead, “Ever will know~” you repeated, before you cleared your throat and steeled your gaze, “If I do pass… promise me you’ll live for yourself, okay? Take care of yourself, and no matter what, don’t let my memory hold you back.” Hold me back? He chuckled. Gently placing both hands on your cheeks, he guided your head to fully face him, “Your life makes me feel alive, y/n, and if the day comes — which it won’t,” he sternly emphasized, “your memory will only serve as the reason I fight to survive.” Pulling you into his protective embrace he buried his face in your soft locks, “I’ll keep you safe.”
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720 days. That’s 720 archon-forsaken days, and sleepless nights. It was clear to all, that a part of Childe never quite recovered the day he found your lifeless body lying alongside the jagged edges of stone slabs resting beneath a mountain cliff side. The image of your body lying still as a pool of your blood gushed from your mutilated wounds onto the unforgiving surface of the rocks became a memory deeply embedded in the Harbingers mind. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t something inside him that had shattered, but instead completely disappeared. Even now, he still feels likes he’s quietly being haunted by the agonizing screams he cried and tears that he endlessly shed as he held your bloody corpse in his possessive and shaky embrace. However, all of that paled in comparison to the unsettling numbness that nestled within his bones and tainted his heart when he caught sight of the item that dropped from your hand as he cradled you. It was mocking. Taunting, even. “The pendant…” he spoke, barely above a whisper. She protected.. the pendant I gave her? His azure stare darkened as the very last of his compassion died right there and then. Now they only harbored hatred and desolation. Reaching to pick up the pendant, Childe carefully brushed the blood staining it with his gloved thumb. This was the gold entwined, jade pendant he had gifted you during the firework showcase of your first Lantern Rite with him. It was intended as a good luck token — a marker of sorts. He promised you that so long as you held this pendant, he would always come to protect you; your lover vowed this. His breath trembled, and his jaw clenched as he glared at it with blurry eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder, Was she waiting for me, choking out a sob his fingers combed through your hair as he rested his forehead on yours and salty tears dripped down your cheek, to protect her? And that thought alone was enough to sever the remaining domestic threads of his heart. For the next two years, Childe spent every waking moment tracking your killer. His obsession only further manifested as time went by. Even his work as a Fatui Harbinger strained, yet none were brave enough to tell him otherwise. Either because of fear, or because the Tsaritsa ordered it so. During that time there were those who argued that Childe had gone on a blind rampage, and others argued the Harbinger became the vengeful embodiment of a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will. To be honest? Neither were completely right or wrong. He never hurt bystanders, yet he never hesitated slaughtering anyone who got in his way. As for those foolish enough to mislead him or hold information? Well, they suffered a fate worse than death. It wasn’t until he found himself deep within the shadowy crevices of the chasm that he finally met your murderer. It was a wretched demon that had ripped you away from him, a crime even death was too good for. The accumulated rage of a fallen God was nothing compared to the murderous hatred he harbored. In the end, Childe came victorious — albeit at the cost of his own life. Sliding against weathered stone, he sat down and aimlessly stared at the curvatures of the chasm. “Seems I couldn’t keep my promise, huh?” He chuckled, “Don’t be too mad at me.” Wincing in pain, he slipped out the pendent he gifted you from his Foul Legacy’s armor as he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Kissing it’s cold exterior, he took a breathy sigh, “Please, wait for me,” fluttering his eyes shut, a line of blood dribbled from his lips as he smiled, “just a little…. longer..”
side note!: new format ! let’s goooooooooo
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#jay writes ! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#xiao x reader#zhongli x reader#childe x reader#genshin headcanons#genshin fluff#genshin angst#genshin impact#xiao fluff#xiao angst#Childe fluff#Childe angst#zhongli fluff#Zhongli angst#childe x you#xiao x you#zhongli x you#genshin imagines
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District boy
Pairing: young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol! reader; doppëlganger! Finnick Odair x fem!Capitol! reader
Summary: You and Corio were very close (best) friends. Young Snow had a crush on you for a very long time. But he wouldn't let anything distract him—not until he got his family out of their financial troubles. And then comes the 10th Hunger Games, in which you get to be a mentor for a very handsome tribute... Coryo isn't happy about it at all.
Requested by: Two anonymous. I hope you will like it! 😊💙🖤
Warning(s): jealous Coriolanus Snow; (doppëlganger) of Finnick Odair; the author doesn't care that it is impossible; Coryo being simp for the reader; reader flirts with Finnick; quote from 'My tears ricochet' by Taylor Swift;
Words count: 7k
Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi
~•♤♤♤•~ Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist
Coriolanus did not remember the exact moment when this happened.
Everything that had to do with you came to him very... naturally.
Before he knew it, one joint project for one of your classes turned into daily discussions in the cafeteria. You entered his very small circle of 'friends' like you should have always belonged there and unknowingly became the best friend to young Snow.
And then you started staying in the library after classes, talking about various things (Coriolanus hated himself for wasting his time when he should have been studying on pointless discussions with you, but he always ended up in the library at the end of the day anyway).
And so one day he realised that you were wonderful when you laughed at his jokes. That the smell of your perfume made him hungrier than the baked goods that spread from the bakery he passed by every day on his way to the Academy. That he was missing something as he basked in the glow of your attention. That he would like you to be with him at all times, not only within the walls of the Academy, cafes (he never ordered himself anything, trying to stop his stomach from growling as he watched you eat the cake, occasionally offering him a bite), or the park. That he would like to have you completely to himself and hide you from the eyes of other people who, in his opinion, were not worthy of an ounce of your attention.
He remembered snapping at Festus when he asked him if you were seeing anyone. As if Coriolanus' claim about you wasn't obvious enough to him.
Although you also remained blind to his obvious feelings, which Sejanus said were as visible as an approaching change in the weather in the Rocky Mountains. By the way, he wondered when Sejanus would forget those catchphrases from District 2. They were very tiring and boring to listen to.
But Snow decided to let you stay in the dark for a little longer and admire you in silence, from his place next to you as your best friend. He promised himself that when he won the Plinth Prize, he would conquer not only the world but you and your heart. After all, he couldn't imagine anyone else being his First Lady than you.
He knew that his fascination with you was gradually turning into an unhealthy obsession. But what else could he do when you took his breath away just by existing? And Coryo wasn't used to not having control over his emotions. But with you... you could do whatever you wanted with him. And he was terrified, both by the fact that you had such power over him and by the fact that you were completely unaware of it.
However, everything was going according to his plan. He stayed by your side, guarding you like a gardener's dog and waiting for the moment when he would finally be worthy of you and make you his. And you seemed to obediently dismiss every admirer.
Until the 10th Hunger Games came along.
And a certain district boy stole too much of your attention for Coriolanus' liking. After all, you were HIS. Even if you didn't know about it yet.
"Hello, petal." He whispers in your ear, walking up to you from behind.
Surprised, you choke on the champagne you drank in secret from your parents and other participants in the reaping party at the Academy. He smiles in amusement, gently patting your back and discreetly placing the glass of champagne on the table for you.
"Coriolanus Snow, someday I'll put a fucking bell around your neck like my mother's cats have." You say, coughing. He laughs softly, offering you his arm, which you take once you've recovered.
"I thought you considered it brutal?" He replies sarcastically, glancing at the dress you were in, which hugged your curves perfectly.
A white dress that Tigris made for you 'coincidentally' matched perfectly with the outfit he was currently wearing. He had never been more proud of his cousin than he was now.
"I'm surprised that you think you're on an equal footing with my cats. You're no match for them, Snow." He rolls his eyes at you, but he can't help but smirk a little at your laugh.
"We will see." You snorted at that. You notice Sejanus in the crowd talking to his parents.
"I'll go say hello." You say, nodding towards Sejanus. But before you can take a step towards him, Coryo's grip on you tightens. You give him a questioning look, focusing your gaze on him.
"Stay with me. You know I don't like talking to them all by myself. Especially with Arachne. Sejan will be joining us soon." You sigh, rolling your eyes at him, but you don't try to fight his grip or let go of his arm as he leads you towards the group of your classmates.
"I spoil you too much, Snow."
"Nonsense, you could do better." You laugh in amusement, and he smiles at the sound of that.
But his good mood and relaxed demeanour quickly turned into a stoic expression. You feel him tense slightly and straighten, as if preparing for a fight, when you approach your classmates.
"Snow and Y/L/N. As always, together. You could finally make up your mind, darling, and choose one of them instead of hanging around him and Plinth." Arachne greets you, as always, nicely, at which you laugh artificially.
"Why should I when I can have both?" You reply with a shrug, making some of them laugh. However, you are most pleased with Arachne's grimace and the small smile on Coryo's lips.
"Usually it's the district girls who act like whores." You feel Coryo tense next to you, his eyes turning a cold, icy shade as he stares at the girl in front of you. If looks could kill, Coryo would become a serial killer. However, he could certainly make someone feel insecure and intimidated.
"Usually inheritance hunters don't complete their education and end up marrying some rich fool at the earliest opportunity, even before they turn 18. And yet here you are, Arachnie. I think that makes us both surprised then." You reply before Coryo can react. Festus shakes his head and stares at the both of you in amusement as you sinisterly glare at each other.
"Ladies, why all these quarrels? We already know who Y/N will end up with."
"And who is it, Festus?"
"Me." You shake your head at that, amused. However, Coryo, standing next to you, doesn't share your humor. He pulls you slightly closer to him, giving you a fleeting glance before focusing on Festus.
"For now, she's not on your shoulder, Creed."
"Enjoy it while you can, Snow. We'll see how things go when we enrol in university." You see Coriolanus tighten his jaw at his remark. You squeeze his arm slightly tighter, making him shift his gaze to you. You smile as he relaxes slightly under your attention.
"You made it to the graduation, Festus. You shouldn't set higher expectations for yourself than that." Sejan's voice echoes behind you. You snorted in amusement and turned around in Coryo's embrace; somehow you managed to get out of them enough to wrap your arms around your friend. "Y/N. You look as beautiful as always. Arachne, who are you trying to fool with this white outfit?" You hide your face behind Coryo's shoulder, trying to hold back a burst of laughter.
You feel Sejanus wrapping his arm around you. Now, you are held by your two friends, and the one with the lighter hair is definitely unhappy about having to share you with Plinth, but you are not able to notice it since the reaping is finally starting.
A murmur of women's whispers echoed throughout the room as a very handsome man emerged from the crowd. You leaned forward slightly, taking a closer look at the tall, athletic, and chiselled man with tanned skin and bronze hair.
With just one look into his stunning sea-green eyes and after seeing the huge, charming smile he sent for the cameras, you knew that whoever got this man was going to be the winner. Because no tribute ever made as much money from sponsors as a sinfully hot man usually did.
And this one was a special sight for the eyes. The reaction of most of the female part of the room and the jealous and furious looks of the men at the reaction of their other halves confirmed your suspicions.
"This boy from 4 belongs to Miss Y/N Y/L/N."
You licked your lips, smiling wolfishly, and watched your tribute on the screen. You were so lucky.
"You damn lucky dog." Persephone whispers in your ear and slaps your shoulder playfully. You give her a half-smile and shrug as the cameramen spend a little more time showing your tribute.
"What can I say... maybe I'll only attract hot men from now on? I hope his muscles aren't just for good looks, because that would be a shame." She shakes her head at your words, holding back a laugh. You smile and involuntarily glance at Coriolanus.
He immediately looks away from you. His jaw is set, and his leg bounces slightly. Anyone else would think he was relaxed and calm. But you knew him too well to assume that.
He was already nervous the moment Clem took your seat, and you were forced to sit in the second row, away from him. Coriolanus doesn't like it. He would rather hold your hand, feel the warmth of your body close to yours, and smell the faint scent of your perfume than sneak glances over his shoulder to keep an eye on you.
Sometimes he knows he can be painfully obvious, but he thanks fate for at least being kind enough to keep you unaware of his feelings for you. He would have you. Just not yet. First, his tribute had to win the damn Hunger Games so he could win Plinth's prize. Then he could make his move without fear of you discovering his family's financial situation. Finally, snow lands on top. And he spent many sleepless nights imagining that he would land on top of you.
You catch his gaze, but you don't have time to analyse his attitude. After a while, Lucy Gray appears on the screen, and you see that your handsome guy will have some competition for the Capitol's favour.
And the possible competition with your best friend makes you feel very uncomfortable. So much so that you don't notice the hateful glare Coriolanus shot at your tribute as the operators once again showed off the likenesses of this year's tributes.
Finnick Odair. A new obstacle in his plan that he had to eliminate. And not just to win the Hunger Games...
You haven't spoken to Coryo since then. Which was an extremely strange phenomenon because you were usually attached to each other at the hip.
Although you had seen him briefly during classes and now, when most of the mentors had gathered around the cage at the zoo to find their tributes and give them something to eat or drink, he didn't even spare you a second glance as he was fully focused on Lucy Gray.
Something was wrong with him.
Especially after his little stunt at the train station and his conversation with Dr. Gaul. Because of which, now (and mainly because of Sejanus' statement), you stand nervously near the bars, looking for your tribute.
And you couldn't help but wonder what exactly the Hunger Games were for. The more you thought about it, the more you started to side with Sejanus.
The First Rebellion may have done you great harm, but was it any wonder that the people of the district rebelled? After all, if any of you were born outside the Capitol, you would probably do what they did. So what was the point of murdering 23 of the young unfortunates who had been singled out for slaughter?
“You seem lost.” A voice next to you pulls you from your thoughts. You turn around, seeing your tribute leaning against the bars and watching you carefully. If he was hot on TV, he looked gorgeous in real life. His cheekbones and jaws look like they had been carved with chisels by the best of the artists. And his eyes... you wonder how such men could be born and live in any district. "Unless you're looking for something. Or someone, if I may boldly assume."
"Y/N Y/L/N. Your mentor." You say, reaching your hand out towards him through the bars. He takes your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. You can't help but notice how soft his lips are against your skin. You blush slightly, and you can almost feel Flickerman's eyes and cameras behind you.
"I figured it out. Fate must be a little kind to me after all. Giving me the most beautiful of mentors as my guardian angel."
"You'll be able to say that when you win the Hunger Games." You reply, taking your hand from his and pulling food and drink out of your bag for him.
"When?" He asks, taking the cookie from you and immediately biting into it. That view is squeezing you with sadness, seeing how hungry he is. Despite everything, he still carries himself with grace and is extremely charming. You hope that the cameras will show him often. "How can you be so sure?"
"You are handsome. You attract women's attention. If you maintain that charming attitude of yours, you will probably earn quite a lot of money with those pretty eyes and smile. At least enough to not die of hunger or dehydration in the arena." You reply, searching for something else in your bag.
"Under different circumstances, I would be grateful for so many compliments, angel." You look up, meeting his gaze. And something inside you tells you that, in fact, if the circumstances were different, you would be talking about something completely different right now... or doing something much more enjoyable.
"When you win, who knows? Once a tribute stayed in the Capitol after winning." You say, handing him your cousin's old white sweater that he found in the closet.
"Sorry, honey, but I doubt I'd want to stay in the Capitol. Even for such a nice view." He says this, unabashedly taking off the slightly torn and dirty shirt he was wearing.
He soaks it in the water you gave him and rinses himself off, putting on a show for the entire Capitol audience to watch thanks to the cameras trained on him and the people in the zoo. You lick your lips, trying not to openly stare at the muscles on his chest and act rude (or, in this case, like a horny teenager).
"You're behind bars." You clear your throat, reminding him that there are probably no good views from the cage. You took the courage to look him in the eyes again only after he got dressed.
"And I look at a beautiful girl, what more could I want?"
You laugh loudly and honestly at this. He joins you, and the other mentors and the rest of the tributes look at you like you're crazy. You're too busy looking at the handsome man in front of you to notice Coryo giving him a dagger glare and clenching her fists in anger.
But Lucy Gray does it.
And she perfectly recognises jealousy in the eyes of others. Especially pure anger and the beginnings of forming a plan for revenge. After all, that's how she ended up here.
The day before reaping, Mayfair Lipp had a similar look in her eyes.
Which makes her come to the conclusion that maybe her mentor isn't as good a person as she initially assumed.
"Excuse me for a moment." Snow mutters to her as he walks towards the two of you, leaving her to the children who came to look at her dress.
You and Finnick chat casually about things completely unrelated to Games. Coriolanus notices that the boy from the district reached through the bars for your hand, showing you different lines on it, probably doing some trick or foretelling stupid things.
But what added fuel to Snow's anger was the fact that, in addition to the district's underdog daring to touch you, he also made your face blush. Something Coriolanus has never managed to do.
"Y/N." He says, interrupting the conversation between the two of you. Seeing that he is watching you, you move away from the boy, calming down his anger a little. "We have to get back to the Academy. We have another class soon."
"Oh. Yes." you say, the disappointment is very audible in your voice, which makes him even more angry and jealous.
Why on earth would this piece of trash from the district deserve your attention, or maybe even affection, when Coriolanus was standing right next to you?
"I'll be back again. If you need anything, I'll get it for you." You say, giving a soft smile to your tribute. Coryo almost growls in anger, knowing full well that this worm doesn't deserve your kindness.
"Everything's fine, angel. Don't worry too much." He replies with his charming smirk, making Coryo want to impale his head through the metal wires of his cage.
He wraps his hand around your waist and catches your gaze as he nods towards the exit of the zoo. Taking advantage of your moment of distraction as you watch Arachne torment her tribute, Coriolanus gives your tribute a cold look and squeezes your waist a little tighter. Odair looks at him impassively, but the slight tightening of his jaw tells Snow that the boy got the hint.
No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to touch you like Coryo was doing right now.
Coryo shouldn't be concerned about a boy from the district, especially one who competed in the Hunger Games, but he couldn't just let that bastard flirt with HIS girl.
Your terrified gasp brings him out of his thoughts. He automatically places his hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer to him and looking around for whatever scared you. And she sees Arachne's tribute grab her by the neck and pull her towards her, holding a broken bottle in her other hand.
He feels you try to break free from his grip, but instead of letting you go and running towards Arachne and her tribute, he spins you around and presses your face into his chest just as Arachne's neck pierces the glass of the bottle.
He feels you tremble in his arms, hearing the screams and shots of the Peacekeepers, who open fire too late and kill the crazy girl from the district.
"You're safe. Nothing will happen to you. Not with me." He whispers to you as he feels your tears soak his shirt, and he falls even more in love with you, seeing you cry even for a bitch like Arachne.
He places a kiss on the top of your head and leads you out of the zoo and to your car. He glances briefly at Lucy Gray to make sure they didn't shoot her by accident. He angrily accepts that your tribute is also unharmed.
He feels a little better, though, when he sees how your tribute shoots a jealous, angry glare at him, holding you close to his chest. And Coriolanus can't help but wink arrogantly at him.
"Focus." You tell the tribute in front of you as you discuss plans to build the Arena with him. Finnick, however, prefers to play with the bracelet on your wrist.
"Rose quartz. You know you don't get things like that from just anyone?" He asks, examining the stone. You remove your wrist from his grasp and raise a questioning eyebrow at him.
"My friend gave me this."
"That creepy blonde? Adorable. If he took his eyes off you for more than 5 seconds."
You roll your eyes at him and turn your gaze away from him to glance at Coryo. He's talking to, or rather listening to, Lucy Gray as he stares blankly at the pen and paper in front of him. He senses your gaze and turns around. You give him a soft smile, and he nods at you and goes back to listening to his tribute.
"Coryo doesn't like being alone among people he doesn't trust or know. And after yesterday, he's… more caring. It's natural."
"And does this Coryo of yours often give you old bracelets with a stone symbolising love?" You frown, examining the bracelet he gave you for your 18th birthday.
"It belonged to his mother. He probably thought it was pretty and that's why he gave it to me. It does not mean anything." You explain to him, at which he just shakes his head in disbelief, apparently not trusting in the good intentions of your friend. You want to go back to discussing your arena survival plan with him, but he won't let you say a word.
"Hmm... if I hadn't been chosen in the reaping and we had met under different circumstances, and if I were rich, I would have given you a necklace with pearls and pieces of angelite."
"Why?" You ask curiously, hoping that once he says what he wants, you two will go back to discussing plans. But you wonder how the hell he knows the meaning of the stones.
"Pearls are a symbol of wisdom, calmness, integrity, and serenity. They also remind me of the ocean. How old fishermen told us stories about beautiful sirens who attracted them by singing."
"Like Lucy Gray?" You ask with a smirk, thinking he might like the female tribute.
"I was thinking of another beauty." He says his fingertips are brushing against yours as much as the cuffs on his wrists would allow.
You blush when he flirts with you. You can't say that it bothers you or that you are indifferent. After all, he was very handsome. You don't see Coryo frown, staring daggers at the place where your hands lightly brush against each other.
"What about angelite? Why it?"
"It's a kind of peaceful crystal. Some believe that it helps to bring a guardian angel closer to you. After being chosen in the reaping... I wasn't quite at peace. And then I looked at you, and somehow..." He pauses, staring at your hands. You grab his hands tight, making his sea-green eyes look back into yours in surprise at your sudden gesture.
"I promise I will do everything in my power to make you survive this. You don't have to trust me, but trust in this."
"Because you want the prize?" He asks suspiciously, and you shake your head with a slight chuckle. You're not surprised that he's distrustful. After all, most mentors had this in mind. The prize. Not a human life that was in their hands.
"Because I can't stand the thought of someone like you dying in the arena." You admit it. You unconsciously lean into each other as you stroke your fingers over the back of his hand, drawing little patterns on it.
"Someone like me? Underdog from the district?"
"A handsome man with a good heart. Do not look at me like this. I saw you sharing water and food with that sick little girl—Dill and the other one... Wovey I think? You are a good man, Finncik Odair." You say with confidence.
His eyes light up for a moment, and for the first time, you see his real, unforced, warm smile. He didn't play the charming boy. Not this time.
"I guess that makes two of us, angel. I saw someone giving her medicine last night and extra food. I doubt it was their mentors."
"I have no idea what you are talking about." You both laugh at your answer. And somehow you can't help but blush—the flutter in your stomach that's caused by the way he looks at you and that damn beautiful, genuine smile—that's nothing compared to his charming façade.
Someone's burning gaze focused on you, which you feel on your temple, makes you let go of the tribute's hand, embarrassed. You look around discreetly, noticing Coryo's cold gaze that makes you shiver. He's never looked at you like that... at least not in your direction. It takes you a few seconds to realise that his gaze isn't on you at all, but on the man sitting across from you.
"Can you get me a trident? And some nets?"
"Trident?" You ask distractedly, making a note of his request anyway.
"To the arena. To put on a show and collect more donations." You nod, your thoughts fully returning to Finnick. You tell yourself that you're making something up. After all, Coryo is just your friend.
"I'll see what I can do. You also need to think about what you will do on tomorrow's TV appearance." You remind him, writing down in your notebook the things you should provide him with before he goes on air. Maybe a suit? You're sure he'd look drop-dead handsome in it on stage.
"I have already got some idea. You'll probably like it." He replies with an arrogant smirk, causing you to giggle, which, for some strange reason, you're unable to hold back. His smirk widens.
"Y/N. Can I take you away for a moment?" Coryo's voice and the fact that he's right behind you surprise you. You didn't notice him sneaking up until he spoke. You wonder how many times he has managed to do this without your knowledge.
"Go, angel. I'll see you tomorrow at the arena." Finnick says, giving you another of his trademark smirks. You nod to him and accept Coryo's hand as he helps you up. He takes your bag from you, and you both walk out.
You go with him as his emotional support to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He tells you enthusiastically about his new ideas for the Hunger Games and how the woman was interested in them, but you only half-listen, your thoughts still with Finnick. And Coriolanus doesn't like it that you so brazenly ignore what he says.
"You two are rather close." He says, getting your attention. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, not understanding who he was talking about. "You and your tribute."
"We are. It's my job to take care of him."
"You do it rather willingly and with a smile on your face." He remarks with a strange tone of voice. You stop and frown at him, not understanding what his problem is.
"Are you suggesting something?"
"No. No. Not at all. I'm just warning you. People are talking."
"They always talk." You snap at him, furious that he's playing that card. He lectures you as if you were a little child and did something wrong. Besides, who cared? You could flirt with anyone you wanted.
"Y/N. He's just a district boy. I don't want your reputation to suffer just because… you see him as a human being."
"Are you serious? He IS a human being. Like each one of them." You say, angry at him for even saying such a thing.
"You sound like Sejanus." He says it coldly, giving you an unreadable look. You don't know what he's thinking, but you know by the way his jaw is set and his hand is nervously playing with the strap of his bag that it's not good. And you wonder. Because Sejan is your friend after all. And he was also a district boy.
"Maybe because he's right." You respond to his remark by crossing your arms and staring at him defiantly, tilting your chin slightly upward.
"Are you really going to let some district scumbag ruin your career and future? Everything you've worked for so far? They hate us, Y/N. Each one of them. Behind that charming smile of his, there is a devil who gossips about you and laughs at your naivety behind your back."
"They are not monsters, Coriolanus."
The use of his full name makes him flinch. You see it and immediately regret not using his diminutive, but that's okay. You were incredibly frustrated and angry that he thought the way Dr. Gaul and the rest of the rich snobs of Panem did. That he didn't see these people as... people. People like you were.
"They killed my father, and because of the rebellion 10 years ago, my mother and sister, whom I never got to know, are dead, and they might have been alive if those district rats hadn't turned the Capitol into a battlefield. You, Tigris, and my grandmother are all I have left. And I won't let anything happen to you or anyone take you away from me." He bursts out, keeping his voice cool, but you can clearly see the storm of emotions in his icy eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere, Coryo. The rebellion is over. We are safe. But they are not." You decide to back out of the argument with him.
"They don't deserve to be safe. Not after what they did to us, petal."
You don't say anything at his words. You just sigh and go to hug him.
He relaxes a little in your arms, wrapping himself around you just as tightly as you wrap around him. You are enveloped in his warmth and the delicate scent wafting from the rose he had pinned to his red jacket.
You know how Coryo suffered and how he sought an outlet for his pain. And you can't be surprised that he blamed the people of the district for his family's fate. That he hated them... but you didn't know how deep that hatred had grown inside him.
And how much it had grown the moment he found out from Lucy Gray that you had promised to make sure Odair won.
When he found out you chose that district boy above him in The Hunger Games, he fully understood what Dr. Gaul wanted him to say when she asked him about the meaning of the games.
Now he had to make sure that HE would become THE VICTOR. And not the underdog from 4 who tried to steal HIS woman.
"I hope I haven't caused you any trouble?" Finnick asks with that smile of his that makes you weak in the knees as you both walk around the arena.
You blush slightly, remembering last night.
"Here. Put this somewhere and change it when we get back from the arena. Then you two will be on TV." You tell him, handing him a bag of clothes through the bars. It is midnight. You shouldn't be here, and you might as well have given it to him in the morning, but... something pulled you to him. "If you are as charming as usual, you will win the hearts of the audience." You say, not knowing that he only cares about ONE heart.
"You're too good, angel. But I have something for you too." he says that and hands you a small bundle. You frown at him.
"I… I shouldn't…" You say, surprised, but he pushes the bundle into your hands anyway.
You look at him in a daze for a moment and unwrap the fabric. You gasp when you see the necklace. It is an ordinary black leather strap with a silver pendant with a fish that swallows its tail, thus creating a circle shape. There was a tiny pearl inside.
"If I were a rich man, I would give you something else... as a souvenir. But I'm not... but I really wanted for you to have something that will remind you of me. Please say something, or I might start talking nonsense that we'll both regret later and..."
You silence him by leaning in and kissing him through the bars. It's a gentle kiss, as tender as the tiny passage between the bars allows, but somehow he manages to grab your hand and cup your cheek carefully, brushing your skin with his thumb.
You feel tears welling up as you think about what it might have been like in another life, where there were no divisions into better and worse districts and the Hunger Games would never have existed... but this small moment stolen in the night between you two will have to be enough. That gentle brushing of your lips.
"No. Not at all. Do you already know what you're going to do on TV?" You ask, changing the subject, trying to keep from blushing as the two of you walk around the arena while you make mental notes of the best places to escape.
"Yes. I will recite a poem. Or, rather, a song. I will not compete with our dear Lucy Gray, and I will not sing. Want to hear?"
"Sure." You reply with a shrug, completely unprepared for what he had in store.
He clears his throat. He catches your eye and begins with a tone of voice so velvety and pleasant to the ear that it's impossible for you to perceive anything other than him. And certainly not the way your blonde friend was staring daggers at you with clenched fists, ignoring the scared look Lucy Gray was throwing his way.
"We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean
Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring
You know I didn't want to have to haunt you
But what a ghostly scene
You wear the same jewels that I gave you
As you bury me
I didn't have it in myself to go with grace
'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave
And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?
Cursing my name, wishing I stayed
Look at how my tears ricochet."
You shiver as he finishes. He was only a small step away from you as he inched closer with each line he spoke, never taking his eyes off you. You are speechless. All you can do is look him in the eyes, watching as he gently brushes away your hair from your eyes.
"It's... it's beautiful. Did you write it?" You ask, snapping out of your daze.
"No. No, I don't. I believe this is 'My tears richochet' by Taylor Swift."
"Taylor Swift?" You repeat it stupidly, swallowing and trying to calm your rapidly beating heart that aches with the desire to kiss him. You know you can't. Not in the light of day. Never in plain sight. And it hurt you that you wanted a man who could never be yours.
"In another life, I would be a London boy." You laugh with him about it. Suddenly he looks around seriously, and when he sees that Coriolanus is the only one watching you, he takes a step towards you and gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. "You're... I didn't expect anyone in the Capitol to have a heart. And certainly not as pure as yours, my sweet angel."
You shiver, unable to move away from him.
He leans down and steals you a quick but more passionate kiss than the first you two had shared under the cover of the night. His hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head as he opens your mouth with his tongue, swallowing your moan. Common sense screams at you to step away, but you can't. You cup his cheeks in your hands, pulling him closer to you, stealing another moment with him as he pushes you against a pillar, hiding you from anyone's view.
Before anyone can notice that you two have disappaired, there's a loud bang in the arena. You scream as you feel a warm gust of air make you fall onto your back. The combined scream of both Coryo and Finnick's calling your name and the pounding of your head is the last thing you hear and feel before you pass out.
Consciousness comes back to you very slowly. At first, you think you're dead, but the ringing in your ears and headache wouldn't be symptoms of a dead person on the other side.
That's why you open your eyes slowly and very reluctantly.
You hiss as the light from the hospital lamp hits your eyes. You cover them with your hand when suddenly you feel another one on yours.
"Everything's fine, petal. You are safe with me. Move slowly, take your time."
"Coryo?" You ask, pushing both your and his hands away from your eyes as you narrow them at him. You sigh with relief and hug the blonde, who is also in a hospital gown. You managed to notice a few scratches on his face before you cuddled up to him shakily.
"Shh... it's okay, my petal. Your parents were here. They waited through the entire surgery, and when the doctor told them you were stable, they went home to get clothes for you. They should be back here soon. Together with Tgiris and Sejanus."
"Surgery?" You ask in surprise, only now feeling the grip of the bandages on your head.
"They put a few stitches on your head. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep a wound as we thought it was. You scared me. And the others." He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms tighter around you... like a snake.
"The arena... Finnick. Is he alive? What happened? Where is Finnick?" You panicked, moving away from him and ignoring his more affectionate than usual gestures. All you can think about is a district boy that you have grown to... to love in these few days when you got a chance to know him.
You don't see the anger rising in Coriolanus's eyes, nor do you recognise his fake tone as he pretends to be concerned. You're more concerned, scared, and distraught that you don't feel the weight of Finnick's necklace around your neck.
"He is dead. I'm sorry for your tribute, my petal." He says, slowly stroking your bare arms.
From the side, it looked like he wanted to comfort you, but he was only doing it because he wanted to feel your skin under his fingertips. Enjoy his reward. As well as that snow lands on top.
"What?" You ask in shock, not feeling his touch at all. Your world stopped. As if it were dying. You don't feel anything. Nothing at all.
"There was an attack of rebels. He didn't survive." He repeats it more emphatically, watching you carefully.
"No... no..." You shake your head, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. Tears that you don't even try to hold back. Just as your whole body trembles.
"It's not your fault, honey. You did an excellent job as a mentor. It could have happened to anyone."
"You do not understand! This isn't about stupid games! This is about him! About human life! How can you be so selfish and myopic?!”
You shout angrily, slapping your hands against his chest. Your tears are blurring any vision; you're still weak from the surgery, so when you get tired, he pulls you into his arms and presses your head to his chest, rubbing your back as you cry into him.
Into a man who took the opportunity to get rid of the inconvenience of your tribute. Along with the necklace he gave you. Coriolanus was furious when he saw it on your neck as he carried you out after pushing Odair right into the spot where, a second later, a large piece of debris fell from the ceiling.
Once again, Coriolanus' perceptiveness worked to his advantage.
And now you were his. Only his. He made sure there were no traces of Finnick Odair left. After all, his First Lady couldn't be sullied by a district boy.
"Don't cry over him. We are all we need anyway, my little petal." He whispers against your skin as he kisses away your tears.
You're too busy mourning your tribute and too drugged to do anything. So he uses this to his advantage and fucks your face with kisses before finally leaning in to taste your lips.
He moans into your mouth, not caring about the slightly salty taste of your tears, and gently wraps his hand around your neck. You mumble something into his mouth, pressing your hand against his chest to push him away.
But he doesn't give up. He sits you on his lap and places kisses on your neck. You gasp, clinging to him. He rests his forehead against yours and kisses you once again. He lifts your hands and makes you tangle them in his hair. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in until your chests are pressed together.
He ignores Lucy Gray's singing echoing through the private room in the hospital your parents bought for you to get better and holds you close to his chest, pressing tender kisses to your cheeks, lips, nose, forehead, and neck—everywhere his greedy, eager mouth can reach.
You can't move. Because of the drugs they drugged you with, so you can't feel pain, or because you don't want to move, you don't know yet. In some strange way, the feeling of closeness comforts you, and your stupid brain and heart try to trick you into thinking it's right. After all, Coryo saved you, and he always saved you. He was always there for you. Always close to you. Unconsciously, you start kissing him back. He moans contentedly, rubbing himself against you.
He refrains from doing anything more and pushes you off of him, keeping your head on his shoulder and his arms around you as he places small kisses on your temple and tenderly, occasionally reaching up to kiss your lips as the painkiller drip he unscrews a little makes you melt and surrender completely to him.
He holds you as you fall asleep in his arms, thinking about how he can make sure his songbird wins. He reduced her competition anyway by hastening Odair's death, but he must be sure that he wins Plinth's prize so he can finally claim you fully for himself. He wouldn't endure another district boy near you.
Coriolanus knew that hope was dangerous. Love was fatal and destructive if you didn't control the one you cared for. And jealousy... jealousy brought out people's primal, animal instincts.
Just like the Hunger Games.
He looks at your sleeping, peaceful form, and he presses a kiss on your lips. He smiles, seeing how cuddled up to him you were and how you were in need of his warmth and touch, of the security he provided and will always provide for you. You were worth every sin. His petal. His little angel. His future First Lady and mother of his children. He will adore you. You'd forget about this district underdog once he won; he was sure of it.
After all, he was the only victor Panem could have.
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Dandelion
Summary: You usually preferred the company of dragons to most people. The presence of a certain Targaryen prince threatens to upend your quiet life.
Pairing: Soft dark!Aemond Targaryen/F!Reader (No Y/N, could be read as an unnamed OC)
Warnings: Familial abuse, negative self talk, canon typical violence, dub-con bordering on non-con, obsessive behavior, power imbalance, canon typical sexism. Please do not read if this will upset you. You are responsible for what you consume. NO MINORS ALLOWED
A/N: No Civil War AU! I will borrow a bit from other events that will eventually happen in ‘The Dance’ but I give them a different outcome because I do what I want. Reader is from an original Valyrian house and the only physical characteristics they have are purple eyes and silver hair. She is also a few years older than Aemond. Enjoy!
Word Count: 21k :)
You’d never been good at running. You were too slow. Too clumsy. Too self-sacrificing.
No.
You were terrible at running. You couldn’t outrun your brother as he swore and raged and tugged at your hair. You couldn’t outrun your mother’s prized stallions when they turned course toward you in the field. You couldn’t outrun your father when he saw the mess you’d tracked into your family’s manse alongside your sister.
But you were able to hide her in her rooms and take the blame for all of it. She was so small. She didn’t need to be hurt like that. You could take it, couldn’t you? If you were feeling brave, you’d take her hand in yours and sneak out to the rolling valley that was always spotted with wildflowers.
“Do you know that you can make wishes on dandelions?” Your sweet sister, Vaella, asked one day, holding a bunch of dandelions in her hand. Most of the stems had started to wilt in her too-tight childish grip. But you eased them out from between her fingers with a smile and let her tell you about the “magic” she had heard about from her friend, a little lady from House Tyrell. You righted the stems as best you could, smiling as you did. Wouldn’t that be nice? To blow away a few petals and have your wildest desires come to fruition?
“Shall we make a wish then?” You asked, holding out a few for her to take again. Her jagged little nails, something your mother always scolded her for, caught on your fingers and you tried not to hiss as you felt your skin give way beneath them. Blood bubbled to the surface as your sister quickly apologized over and over again even as you waved her off. “Make your wish!”
Vaella dutifully shut her eyes and then sucked in a deep breath before quickly blowing away all the dandelion seeds. You knew her wish, Seven knew she had told you about it enough: a kind, loving husband, with enough gold to rival kings.
You followed suit but frowned as you tried to find a wish worthy of asking. But, as you heard Vaella’s melodic giggles beside you, you knew. You tightened your blood-tinged fingers around the flowers. I wish for Vaella to have everything good and beautiful in this world.
Then you heard your father on his horse barreling toward you. You knew it would only hurt more if you tried to escape his wrath and you’d never outrun him anyway—your mother knew how to breed and train the fastest horses this side of the Red Mountains and Dorne.
So, no. You weren’t good at running. But you were almost decent at playing the part most everyone else wanted from you. You learned what to say and how to act to stymie your parents’ rage and your brother’s annoyance. You knew how to do your duties as a highborn lady who had a fortunate Valyrian bloodline. Your family had always been dragonkeepers. Even before The Doom, your family had tended to the dragons that had conquered most of Essos, knowing their likes and dislikes, calming and caring for the animals and their riders. It had been a noble profession then and it was a noble profession now. Of course, not all of your bloodline had taken up the mantle, but it was expected that at least one of every generation, no matter their gender, would take up the duties as the decades passed, even before the Dragonpit had been constructed.
Loyal to the Targaryens and their dragons. Always. (Even if your family had tried to dissuade to no avail the royal family from constructing the Pit, saying that the dragons were never meant to be caged so.)
Your family had been adamant about the Valyrian blood in their veins staying pure. When they tired of marrying Velaryons or Celtigars, and House Qoherys died out, they sought spouses from across the Narrow Sea, from Volantis and the Old Blood who could prove unbroken Valyrian ancestry, or from Lys, the city where Valyrian Blood was (said to be) strongest. But never a Targaryen. They had never asked and your family had never reached so high. You were servants to no one but the dragons and the Targaryens. Your allegiance and skillset had made your House wealthy beyond measure, it was only bolstered when accompanying Velaryons on foreign voyages or devising new money making schemes with the Celtigars. Advantageous marriages with dowries worthy of princesses helped, too.
Being a Keeper was a family tradition you couldn’t run from. And, if you were being honest, it was one of the few things about your family you did not resent. Your duties in The Pit kept you away from your father’s anger and your mother’s sneers. Your elder brother Rhogar’s duties in The Pit were easily circumvented and you knew enough to steer clear of him. You found purpose and camaraderie amongst the dragons and hatchlings. They could not speak, true, but they were your truest friends since your sister’s wish had come true and she had absconded to Volantis to live the life of a noblewoman of the Old Blood with her doting husband. It was a quiet life. But you knew better than to ask for more. You still wished for something on dandelions every time you had the chance. For a friend. For love. For the continued prospering of Vaella and her growing family on the other side of the Narrow Sea. You knew better than to wish for the love of your parents or brother. No amount of blood or dandelion magic would ever grant you that.
However, when the war with the Triarchy and the man known as the Crabfeeder proved enough of a problem that the conflict-averse King Viserys finally started to treat it as a war, you were happy to accept the summons to Dragonstone. There were a handful of dragons now roosting there, ready to be flown out by their riders to aid the Velaryon and royal fleets. After you arrived, you had been handpicked by Lady Laena Velaryon to care for Vhagar. It had been the honor of your life, alongside being Laena’s handmaiden for the day of her wedding to Prince Daemon. She had been a fierce warrior astride Vhagar, an even fiercer mother to her twins, Rhaena and Baela. She was not but a three namedays older than you but it might as well have been decades. She was so different from you. So poised and lovely and kind—and her family adored her. Her brother, Ser Laenor, whom you also saw frequently with his dragon Seasmoke, had named Rhaena the heir to Driftmark just after Baela had been betrothed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong’s firstborn son, Prince Jacaerys. The celebration Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had thrown to mark the occasion was lavish and lovely. You had wished upon three dandelions that night, wanting the best for Baela and Rhaena.
“One day,” Laena said to you, climbing down from Vhagar’s saddle as you held one of the twins’ hands in each of your own, “you will make a fine mother.”
“Someone will have to learn to stomach the scent of dragon if they want to bed me, my lady.” Not to mention that you were nearly considered an old maid already. You were sure the only reason you hadn’t been married off was because your parents hadn’t deemed you worthy of the dowry they’d once set aside for you. They’d prefer to keep their gold which you added to with each moon. And their repeated, cruel comments about how you’d never marry because of your looks, ‘horrid’ personality, and court ineptitude and made you believe you would be alone for the rest of your life, only accompanied by dragons.
Laena laughed and let her twins leap into her arms. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, my dear. Anyone would be lucky to have you, smell of dragon or no.”
She had been kind to you. Effortlessly, so.
Then, when she had been killed by a scorpion bolt fired by devotees to the Crabfeeder, your world tilted on its axis. The twins’ hatchlings, Morning and Moondancer, had cried and trilled for ages, feeling her riders’ grief in their small nests. They only rested on the short boat ride to Driftmark as they nestled in your hold. You did your best to help them, to make sure they fed, as Daemon tried to prepare for the rest of the royal family who were descending on Driftmark for the funeral. Daemon himself was a mess. How could he not be? Everyone who knew the couple saw how in love they had been. How in love Daemon was still. You’d heard whispers that Corlys had blamed Laena’s death on Daemon’s pride. The Rogue Prince had flown out to meet the Triarchy’s forces alone and Laena had been the only aerial defense to keep him safe. And, perhaps a small part of you believed that.
The night before their arrival, Vhagar finally landed back on the island. You’d heard whispers of how she had raged against the Triarchy’s fleet after feeling Laena’s death and watching Corlys pull her body from the water. The old dragon had nearly destroyed the entirety of the enemy’s fleet singlehandedly before disappearing into the clouds. But now?
You took careful, slow steps toward her as the moon continued to climb higher into the sky. Her giant head swiveled as you approached and she grumbled, shaking the ground beneath your feet, before she recognized your scent. Laying your hand to the near-scalding scales on her neck, you tried to press all the love you could manage into the touch, your sorrow, your calm. “I miss her, too,” you whispered in Valyrian. “But it is good to have you here.”
The old dragon gave another rumble and it almost broke your heart at how sad she sounded. How much heartbreak could one beast endure?
“We will get through this together, won’t we?”
**
You stood behind Baela and Rhaena and watched as ships with black and red sails docked. Morning and Moondancer were coiled around their shoulders, finally sleeping after a night filled with more crying and your desperate attempts to feed them. Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin disembarked first, followed by their sons, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys. King Viserys followed soon after with his hand being held by his youngest, Prince Daeron. Queen Alicent was next with her other three children, Princess Helaena and Princes Aegon and Aemond, following closely. The family was greeted solemnly but warmly by the Velaryons and Targaryens—aside from the icy stares you saw thrown in Daemon’s direction by Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and Ser Laenor.
It would not be the first time you’d heard of troubles in the royal family. There had been rumors of a feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent after the latter’s marriage to Viserys. It had been quashed eventually, the pair falling back into their close bond soon after Alicent’s father, Otto, was dismissed from his position as Hand of the King and replaced with Princess Rhaenys. Apparently Otto had tried to convince Alicent that Rhaenyra would kill her friend’s children to keep her promised crown—which was preposterous because, even tucked away on Dragonstone, you’d heard how Rhaenyra had doted on her half siblings. You knew for a fact that it had been Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent together who had pushed for the new law which allowed daughters to inherit titles and lands. The princess had also been the one to pick the dragon eggs for each of their cradles, too. Only two had hatched, unfortunately. Aegon’s Sunfyre and Daeron’s Tessarion, but you had been told that Princess Helaena had claimed Dreamfyre just a few moons ago.
That left only Prince Aemond.
He was a few namedays older than the twins and offered them a small smile when he reached their side. His purple eyes flittered over to you for a moment and something passed over his face, something you could not name. But it was quickly over and he was offering a few hushed words of comfort to his cousins.
Princess Rhaenyra was the first to actually greet you, cradling her pregnant belly. “It has been some time, has it not, my lady?”
You managed to smile as you curtseyed. “It has. I hear Syrax is faring well; expecting another clutch soon, no?” You’d once been one of the half dozen of keepers tasked with the princess’ dragon and had been the most indulgent with Rhaenyra wanting to constantly be on dragonback despite the others knowing she was supposed to be humoring lords vying for her hand. You had also been the only one to be able to calm Syrax during Prince Jacaerys’ early birth while the Princess and her husband were visiting Dragonstone. Three other Keepers had perished, either burned or eaten, as the little prince was born but not you. You had calmed her. You had been the one to discover that Syrax had laid a clutch of eggs alongside her rider. The Princess had been kind and gracious when you told her of the news.
The Heir Apparent smiled, sweeping a hand over her stomach. “It is quite a blessing, truly.”
You continued to speak for a little longer, watching as Rhaena and Baela walked to their father’s side as he spoke to Alicent. Rhaenyra was just as pleasant as always. But, despite the important company, you heard something that nearly had you frowning.
“Who is that?” Aemond asked Baela. A quick glance to the side let you see the prince pointing at you.
Baela gave your name with a small smile, making sure to enunciate your House’s name, too. “She is Vhagar’s Keeper.”
The night continued and you were dismissed as the family gathered for supper. It was only when you were in the comfort of your chambers did you allow yourself to cry. Hot, giant tears slid down your face as you tried to muffle your sobs beneath your fingers. It felt like your ribs had cracked open to reveal your broken heart.
When you found little respite from your grief with sleep, you slipped out of your rooms and toward the shore where you knew Vhagar roosted for the night. She once again greeted you with a huff, nudging her head into your stomach and nearly bowling you over.
“I know,” you murmured, smoothing your hand down her dark scales. “Me too.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and it took you a moment to realize it was Prince Aemond, trying unsuccessfully to sneak back into High Tide. His shoulders slumped when he caught your gaze and he dragged his feet to your side after you waved him over. “It is late to be out of doors, my prince.”
His mouth pulled into an even deeper frown. “I know, my lady. But you are out at this hour, too.”
You nodded, continuing to lathe attention on Vhagar. “I am not royalty. The Triarchy may have been pushed back to Essos, but it would still be deemed unwise to be without an escort for someone of your status.”
The young prince looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his fine leather boot into the sand. “I just wanted to see Vhagar. Uncle Daemon said she was the biggest dragon in the world.”
His boyish countenance had you softening. You could only imagine what it was like to be the last Targaryen without a dragon, a birthright. “She is. The last of the Conquerors’ dragons. Come, stand by me. She is tired now; she’s usually much more agreeable like this.”
Even in the dark, you saw Aemond’s entire face light up and he was quick to do as you instructed. He followed your quiet guidance to let Vhagar learn his scent before touching her, placing his hand beside yours. “She’s a beauty.”
You hummed and Vhagar shifted the slightest bit, the sand spitting beneath her giant body. “She is. A great and terrible beauty. And she mourns with the rest of you for Lady Laena.”
Aemond hummed in response and you watched his shoulders slump the slightest bit, as if he needed to be reminded of the loss his family had just suffered, or the reason why he’d been put on a boat and shuffled away from his home. He had been so enthralled with simply being near Vhagar. And you knew it was foolish of you to do anything of the sort, but you smiled and shielded his eyes when Vhagar took flight again, sending sand into the air.
“Come, I have something else to show you.”
The prince followed dutifully as you led him toward the small patch of grass near High Tide’s outer curtain. Small white and yellow flowers had sprouted not a few hours ago and you were quick to grab two. You were even quicker to grab a knife from your belt and cut across your thumb when he was not looking, instead tracking Vhagar across the sky. You let the crimson stain the flower’s stalk before handing it to him.
“This is a weed.”
You laughed at how he scrunched his nose as he stared at the flower. “There’s magic in those petals, my prince, just as there is magic in our blood, in our words. Trust me when I tell you that you will have a dragon one day. You need only wish for it and wait.”
Aemond’s face twisted, like he was ready for you to tease him, or laugh at him. But you simply held up your matching, blood-lined dandelion and blew its petals away into the ocean breeze. I wish for him to have a dragon and be happy. He watched you for a moment longer before, almost delicately, blowing the petals away to float alongside yours.
A light coming on in the fortress had you turning. Someone was probably looking for the prince. “It is time for you to retire, my prince.”
The young prince nodded as he turned to you, the pale moonlight bleeding across his silver hair. “I would have no other hands tend to my dragon.” His hands curled to fists at his side for a moment before releasing, as if he were scolding himself. “We are the Blood of Old Valyria.”
**
It had been nearly six years since you saw Aemond. Much had changed.
The war with the Triarchy had fizzled. It still lingered, of course. There were whispers that the Triarchy was attempting to hire any and every sellsword company in Essos but nothing had come of those whispers though. Not yet, anyway. Most of their forces had been pushed back (again) by Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra while Prince Daemon and Ser Laenor destroyed their food and weapon stores in the Disputed Lands. It was not a surrender, unfortunately, but Westeros was thankful for the reprieve.
You had become Morning and Moondancer’s main keeper, too, your duties shifting after Vhagar disappeared into the clouds and didn’t return. It was a blow, to be sure, to lose another link to Laena even after you and the twins were moved permanently to Driftmark while Prince Daemon stayed to command the armies from Dragonstone while also flying to the Free Cities of Essos to try to broker alliances (some whispered that Prince Daemon took his nephew, Prince Aemond, alongside during his mission but you could never know for certain). But Baela and Rhaena were growing into their own and you were so happy to guide them, in any way they needed. Their dragons were now large enough to be ridden for short distances and you had nearly cried when you watched them circle the island for the first time. The twins often came to you for anything they were too embarrassed to ask their father or too impatient to ask their septas or grandmother Rhaenys. Daemon doted on them, indulging their almost every whim and laughing alongside them on dragonback whenever he had a moment to visit. Seeing them together almost always twisted at something in your chest. They were a family. You wouldn’t have that, would you? You were far past the age of majority and had stopped attending any sort of function where you could even attempt to find a suitable match. What was the point? No one had ever been interested in you in that way and you had all but resigned yourself to simply being a Keeper.
It would be a quiet life for you.
But your quiet was disrupted when Baela and Rhaena were invited to the capital for King Viserys’ nameday celebrations alongside their father. They insisted on bringing their dragons—who were you to deny them? So, you found yourself wrinkling your nose as the large boat approached the capital, the familiar and awful scent of the city wafting toward you. After docking, you were met with a few familiar faces that helped you lead Moondancer and Morning to The Pit to be safely sequestered alongside the other royal dragons. The pair took to their temporary roosts well enough, recognizing the scent of Meleys and Seasmoke through the stone halls. As Caraxes settled near them, they were more than content.
“The lost daughter finally returns home, eh?”
The grip you had on Moondancer’s reins suddenly seized at the sound of your brother’s voice. Slowly, you moved to loop them around the chain on the wall before turning to face him. Rhogar had not changed much. His mouth was still curled in a scowl. His silver hair was still cut short. His periwinkle eyes were still cold as ice. And you knew better than to instigate anything. “Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela requested I accompany their dragons.”
Rhogar hummed. “They do seem fond of you. I was sure they’d send you away after Lady Laena’s demise and Vhagar fleeing your care. It seems they were taking pity on your failure.”
“Yes, they’ve been very kind to me.” He had always been good at cutting down to bone with few words. He’d also once literally cut you down to the bone after you were selected to be Vhagar’s Keeper. You could never win with him. Ever. There was no negating his hatred of you. It had started when you were born a girl instead of a boy and Rhogar thought it meant he was ‘forced’ to be the Keeper of your generation. If he had forgotten that your aunt had also been a Keeper until her death, you could not and would not say. He had wanted to be knight, apparently, despite his poor form with a sword and shield. “You forced this on me!” he had once spit at you. When you had taken up the mantle of Keeper, you’d half-hoped that his malice would fade. It did not. If anything, it grew like a raging fire. With every compliment from another Keeper or Targaryen directed toward you, he only hated you more. It was almost as if he stayed in The Pit to show anyone and everyone that he was the better Keeper. He tried. You would give him that. But the other Keepers turned to you for advice. They asked you for the balm you had created to soothe any wayward burns. They respected you. And the dragons preferred you. Before you had been moved to Driftmark, you could easily move between duties for all the dragons, each of them never minding your presence in their stall. You would never forget when Meleys had snuffed in Rhogar’s face before turning to you. And you had a feeling that Rhogar would never forget it either.
It had been Rhogar who had first called you a witch, the word dripping with venom. After all, how could one person, a woman, be so adept at caring for the dragons? The other keepers found it hilarious and adopted the nickname for you, too. They called you a witch. Sure, it was usually said with a teasing smile or an accompanying wink, but the moniker remained and endured. You didn't deny it. The blood you always knew to spill on dandelions was your secret. If you were a witch, so be it.
“Mother and Father will expect you home tonight.”
The small fortress built just outside the walls of King’s Landing hadn’t been your home for years. Hadn’t been a home since your sister sailed away and even then, you would make the argument that it had been Vaella alone that had been your home. Your one solace. Stepping through those doors again would not be a homecoming. But you knew better to deny them. “Of course.”
You had been surprised to have your pick of the handmaidens at the Red Keep after you spoke with Lady Baela about your family requesting your presence. You had been fully prepared to be ridiculed by your parents for smelling of dragon in their fine house, but you were bathed in a fine copper tub and then lathered in rose oil before Rhaena came in with a dress she promised would look lovely on you.
And the simple gesture nearly had tears coming to your eyes. Rhaena was quick to notice and all but threw the dress onto the bed before grasping gently at your hands. “What troubles you?”
“N-nothing, my lady. I fear I am just a touch overwhelmed. It has been some time since I have been in the capital.”
Rhaena frowned, a knowing look. “Do you wish to return here perma-”
Your grip tightened on her hands before you could even think to stop yourself. “No! No, never. I am happier with you and your sister than I have ever been in this city.”
The brilliant smile Rhaena gave you as she nodded was enough to calm your rapidly fraying nerves and she was quick to change the subject to the tourney starting tomorrow, the first part of the celebrations. “But mostly I am hoping that my toes will not be crushed each night—I’ve heard the men from the Riverlands are particularly awful at dancing.”
It was with Rhaena’s tinkling laughter still in your ears that you tried to brace for the hurricane that was your family. The smallfolk of King’s Landing called your family’s home the Little Red Keep for how your forebears had modeled it after the Royal palace. There were verdant rose bushes still lining the outer walls. There was still a small pond beside one of the turrets, filled with water lilies. There was still the large white dragon of your house’s sigil painted across the grand front door, gold keys in its mouth. It had not changed.
It was not home.
The door was opened by an unfamiliar servant and you were led toward the large hall where you could already hear your family chattering. It quickly halted once you stepped inside. You father stood from his chair with a placid smile on his face which you knew only meant he hadn’t had his first drink yet.
“There is my daughter.” He skirted around the table and hugged you, smashing your cheek against his chest. The medallions on his doublet were sharp against your temple, biting and cold. “It has been too long since you have been home.”
You hummed and tucked your chin to your chest as he held you at arm’s length. “You’ve been receiving the gold I’ve sent, haven’t you?”
He laughed and you tried not to recoil as his meaty hand curled over your upper arm. “Yes. You have been a dutiful daughter. It seems being sent away from the frivolities of the capital turned you into a respectable Keeper.”
There it was. The first sting. You knew better than to argue, to say that Princess Rhaenyra had often preferred you to care for Syrax, that Prince Daemon was always pleased with your care of Caraxes, that the other Keepers (aside from your brother) seemed to defer to you for any sort of special care that the royal mounts may need when you were still stationed at the Pit. “I am happy to have pleased you.”
“Come, come,” he said with a final squeeze to your arm that nearly had you wincing, “we’ve had all your favorite foods prepared.”
A single glance at the spread of food let you know, for the umpteenth time, that they didn’t know you at all. There wasn’t a single dish you favored in any capacity. There was your brother’s favorite roasted boar alongside your mother’s favorite lemon cakes, and everything else had your father’s favor all over it. You were nowhere to be seen. But you still took the seat your father pulled out for you and hoped for the best.
You only had to bite back tears twice and hadn’t needed to dodge a punch or a slap or even a fork thrown in your direction. Perhaps it was a good night. Maybe the years away had softened their disdain for you. That happy thought quickly disintegrated when you were pulled to a stop near the manse’s front door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Father, Mother. You as well, Rhogar.” You smiled, almost convincing yourself that you hadn’t been sitting on needles the entire time.
“Where do you think you’re going? It is nearly the hour of the owl.”
While it may have been an innocuous and reasonable question from any other parent, this was your father. “Prince Daemon has been kind enough to have chambers reserved for me at the Red Keep-”
“So your family’s home is not enough for you now?”
Your eyes closed. You shouldn’t have come.
**
“Are you well?”
You nearly recoiled from the question but managed to smile instead. “I’m fine, my lady. Thank you.”
Baela frowned, amethyst eyes traveling across your swollen cheek and the way you were favoring your left side. “Are you certain?”
“Truly. Just a bit of a tumble last night.”
She didn’t look like she believed you and Rhaena who sat beside her didn’t look convinced, either. Thankfully or not, the doors to Baela’s rooms opened and a flurry of servants filed in and set out a spread of food on the table near the window where you all sat. One of the handmaidens who had accompanied you all from Driftmark, Isla, you thought her name was, turned to Baela with a smile as she set a plate filled with boiled eggs on the table. “Are you excited, my lady?”
Baela nodded, lips turning up a brilliant smile. “Of course! And I am so pleased that you will be at my side, too.” The pair spoke for a little longer before the group was dismissed and the three of you turned toward the lush breakfast.
You slowly spread a bit of cherry jam across a hunk of bread, eyes darting between the twins as they filled their plates. While it was normal for them to invite you to break your fasts together, you did not want to gain their ire, too, by prying.
Thankfully, it seemed Baela was happy to speak anyway. “I have news.” She set her utensils down and looked at her twin and you with another smile. “Princess Rhaenyra has invited me to stay at the capital so that I may spend time with Jace and learn the ways of court.”
Rhaena beamed, reaching to lace her fingers with her twin’s with a matching giggle. “Grandmother has said it is time for me to learn how to rule High Tide.”
Your heart felt like it was being crushed beneath a blacksmith’s hammer. While you always knew this day would come, you’d half hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. You listened as they laughed, excited about their futures, before they cried about being separated, before laughing again at remembering they’d never be too far away on dragonback. But you’d wished for them to be happy, hadn’t you? They sounded so happy. Both of them looked at you, matching smiles on their faces and you hoped your smile was convincing as you reached out to lay a hand over theirs on the table. “You both will be wonderful. I am so proud of you.”
The next morning, after another cruel night under the shadow of your family, only continued to squeeze at your battered heart as Princess Rhaenys pulled you aside with a small smile and quietly relieved you of your duties for caring for Morning as there were “plenty” of Keepers in the Velaryons’ employ on Driftmark. “I’m sure you understand,” she said, squeezing your arm.
You nodded with your bruised heart in your throat. “Of course, my princess.”
“You have been an exemplary Keeper to my daughter and granddaughters. But I would not ask you to choose, so I have made the decision for you.”
The compliment did give you a small bit of levity as you walked to the Dragonpit to see to your duties—you were an exemplary Keeper. Morning was not set to leave for another fortnight and you still had Moondancer to care for, didn’t you?
“I’ve been given orders to tend to Moondancer,” another Keeper said before you could even question her presence in the dragon’s roost. “Were you not informed of it, my lady?”
Apparently not. “Oh, my mistake,” you muttered. “I-”
“You would have your hands full, my lady. I am happy to be selected to be Moondancer’s keeper. It is not of your station, anyway.”
What did that even mean? It echoed in your mind as you listlessly moved through the Pit, finding mundane things to do now that you were unanchored. Morning was already being tended to by the Keepers that had sailed from Driftmark. The most fulfilling thing you did was helping a few of the newer Keepers care for the clutch of eggs Dreamfyre had laid two moons ago. You were willing to bet that the eggs would eventually be given to the babes that would be born to Rhaenyra or Alicent’s children. Being this close to the majority of the royal family once again let you be privy to a fair bit of gossip. Apparently there had been rumors that Alicent and Rhaenyra were using the lull in the war to strengthen alliances within the Seven Kingdoms. Most believed it would be Aegon to be married off first.
You just hoped they were happy.
“I thought you’d be out in the valley,” one of the Keepers said as you helped them fit the last egg into the crackling fire pit to keep it warm.
You frowned as you pulled off your thick gloves, pushing them into your belt. “The valley?”
The other Keeper frowned, too. “Have they moved? Seven Hells, no one tells me anything!”
Before you could ask just what they meant, your attention was pulled by the sound of metal on stone which you knew only meant one thing: a knight had been foolish enough to come into The Pit. Had they not heard the stories of men being boiled between breastplates by dragonfire? You never cared for the noise and you knew most dragons did not either, the grating sound too sharp for their liking. But soon enough, two whitecloaks rounded the corner and set their sights on you.
They called your name and you stepped forward, expecting to be summoned to the Great Hall or one of the twins’ chambers. “Prince Aemond requests your immediate presence.”
You wordlessly let them lead you away, fully prepared to be deposited into the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Instead, you were all but hefted onto the back of a horse and moved through the city that had all but cleared out to attend the first rounds of the tourney just outside the Lion Gate. You could hear the cheers from the crowd, a dull roar muffled by distance. The knights escorting you said nothing, two silent sentinels on matching white destriers on either side of your horse. They led you through the Dragon Gate and a little further north where the start of the unnamed valley started to slope. “We take our leave of you here, my lady,” one of the knights said. “The prince waits for you below.”
All of this just felt so strange but years of keeping your mouth shut and your head down kept you from asking any questions. You urged your horse down into the valley, dismounting when you reached the shade of one of the few trees. The valley was speckled with wildflowers and dandelions, not unlike the small valley that had been your sanctuary with Vaella during your childhood. The grass was high and soft as it brushed against your legs with each step. It was beautiful and empty. Prince Aemond was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, you thought of getting back on your horse and riding away, far away, until you passed The Wall in the North and then kept going. No dragons. No family. No bruises. No lies.
Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. The dragons were your life. Whatever duties you were to be assigned, no matter how low or asinine, you would welcome them. Then, something prickled at the base of your skull and you turned your head toward the sky just in time to see the sun blotted out by a hulking, winged form. The ground shook but you hardly cared as you finally set eyes on Vhagar again. A familiar ladder was unraveled and you watched a tall man descend as you approached the old dragon. Her massive head swiveled in your direction and you could not help but smile as she rumbled in greeting. She remembered you.
“Good. You’re here.” The voice was cool and raspy. Dangerous.
“Prince Aemond?“ You asked, feeling more and more stupid by the second.
As soon as his boots hit the ground, he turned to you, long silver hair catching the wind as your heart leapt into your throat. A cruel cut was jagged and slashed down his face, only broken by the finely crafted eye patch securely fastened over it. And while it embarrassed you to even think it, you thought him... handsome. Almost excessively so. He had all the refinement of old Valyria now with a hardened edge. The type of beauty usually reserved for portraits in the books your family hoarded and never touched, smuggled from a home long ago destroyed in The Doom. The barest trace of a smile pressed at his already upturned mouth as he strode toward you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten me.”
“I-I have not, my prince. I...” You shook your head as if that would stop the improper and impossible thoughts from turning and quickly dropped into a shallow curtsey. “It has been some time, has it not?”
“Six years,” he said simply, taking another step toward you. “You have not changed in the slightest. You are just as I remember you.” His remaining eye drank you in, moving from your silver hair to the tips of your boots. And you felt every inch of his gaze.
“It seems I have been left uninformed about quite a number of things. I had not known you had claimed Vhagar.” At the sound of her name, the dragon huffed. It brought a smile to your face and you reached out to press a hand to her giant neck. “She is a worthy mount.”
The small smile the prince gave you grew by a fraction. “Yes. I’ve heard a few of the smallfolk call her Queen of the Dragons.”
“A fitting name,” you said, smile growing. With a final pat to her scales, you turned to him again. “Now, I’m assuming you are wanting my opinion on the other Keepers at the Pit to care for her, no? So, I-”
“You have been left wildly uninformed, my lady.”
The ice in his tone had you freezing. “I apologize, my prince, I-”
“Did I not say that I would have no other hands tend to my dragon?” He took a single step toward you and the instinct to run immediately rushed down your spine. The only thing keeping you still was the heat of Vhagar at your back. “You are to be in the valley from now on. I have been told your other duties have been relegated to other Keepers.”
It all slid into place, the strange dismissals, the aversion. All of it. “Everyone knew of this assignment, my prince?”
And his strange smile widened. “Of course. I thought it polite to let you finish your time with my cousins, but everyone knew you were to be mine.”
**
You slowly shifted in your seat, trying to relieve some of the ache in your back from your father’s latest rage as you clapped alongside Baela and Rhaena for the winner of that round’s joust. The tourney was nearing its end and you were dreading every second that passed. Your entire life had been turned on its axis. Being reinstated as Vhagar’s sole keeper meant you needed to live in the Capital once again. Your family’s ire and disappointment had become daily battles, only broken by your escape to the valley or by invitation by the twins to accompany them to the festivities. It was a strange and almost sad moment for you to realize that a valley had once again become your solace and safe place and it had been less than a fortnight since you’d docked.
Despite Vhagar’s immense size and age, she had always been easy to care for. Her scales kept her from harm from anything manmade. You were sure even scorpion bolts would do little more than annoy her. Holes in her wings, from battles long since relegated to story and song, did not grow in size nor hinder her flight. You kept an eye on them regardless. The most pressing of your duties was actually maintaining the saddle atop Vhagar’s back, making sure it was still safe for the prince in any and every capacity. The only trouble you ever had with Vhagar was when she ate too much, ten aurochs instead of her usual seven, and her stomach protested. It was an easy enough fix. At least for you. Some of the other keepers called you insane for coaxing the old dragon to eat a large bundle of flowers you had collected from the valley and then spending an hour or so pressing at the hardened scales of her stomach to help her ache.
It was easy for you to settle back into a routine with her. Even with Prince Aemond standing, unmoving, beneath the shade of the valley’s tree with his eyes trained on you. He liked to watch, you found. Quiet. The day you had met him for the first time in the valley had been your longest conversation with him, even when he handed you new robes and requested you wear them when attending to Vhagar, he said less. The clothes were finely made, of course, and had the same treatment as your other Keeper robes to keep the heat and any accidental flames from burning too quickly...not that it would be of any use against Vhagar’s flames, but you still appreciated it. What gave you pause, however, was the strange crest stitched over the heart. It was the standard Targaryen crest except it was in an unmistakable shade of blue. Deep and bright. It was Aemond’s personal rendition of the signal, his personal coat of arms. You caught him looking at it a handful of times when you told him that you needed this or that for Vhagar, a strange gleam in his eye. But you would take his strange looks and almost unnerving quiet over your family any day. Every day. You learned that the whispers of him brokering alliances in Essos alongside Prince Daemon had been correct—and that was how he’d lost an eye. An overpaid assassin had come at him in the dark of his bedchambers in Qohor and had not expected the younger prince to be so adept at defending himself. For better or for worse, the blood spilt had gained Qohor’s favor and Aemond had allowed the mages of that city to work their strange magick on his face to keep the injury from hurting him as time went on. There were also whispers that the night the assassin came was the night Aemond had claimed Vhagar. “She could smell the dragon blood in ‘im,” one of the smallfolk had said, voice carrying across the stalls of food and linen of the early morning market just a few days ago. Was that true?
“You are fidgeting more than little Viserys.”
You immediately stopped your obvious poor attempt at moving discreetly and sighed, ignoring how Baela was looking at you. “Apologies, my lady.”
Baela sighed, shaking her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wish to know what has you so agitated.”
“Tis nothing. I think I am simply nervous about the feast tonight.”
At the mention of the feast, the last of the name day celebrations for the King, Rhaena leaned around her sister with a broad smile to look at you. ”You are finally coming? You have missed all the others.”
That was true. Every night after you finished your duties, you were all but summoned back to your parents’ manse, once again trapped within the walls of your family. But apparently, tonight they deemed you “enough” to be seen in such a public arena. Or perhaps they’d tired of the questions about your whereabouts and thought the last event would calm them.
You weren’t even sure if you wanted to attend. It had been too long since you’d been invited to anything of this level of pomp and pageantry and you were certain you’d either have absolutely no fun or you’d make an idiotic spectacle of yourself if you did manage to find a bit of frivolity in it all.
After promising the twins that you would save them a dance at the feast after the tourney’s jousting finished, you excused yourself, knowing you were expected back at your family’s manse sooner rather than later. It was almost a miracle that they’d let you attend this portion of the tourney anyway after learning that Prince Aemond had dismissed you for the day after his morning flight.
“I will see you this evening, my lady.” He had said it with such certainty that you didn’t even try to argue that he’d be much too involved with other guests to even notice you, so you simply agreed and thanked him again for the time away from your duties.
The trek back to the manse was short, much to your dismay, but you straightened your shoulders as you were let inside and heard your mother chattering away with one of the other highborn ladies of court in the solar. Just for a moment, you thought you could go upstairs to your chambers, unnoticed by anyone.
“Ah, there you are. You’re late.”
But the hope was all for naught. You turned and greeted the other woman at your mother’s side after dipping your head toward your mother. “Is there something you need of me, Mother?”
Your mother gave a tittering laugh and she pointed at a rumpled bit of cloth draped over an opened box near the end of the settee in the corner of the room. You moved toward it, pulling away the fabric that must have served as a wrapping for the box, and opened it to reveal a gown. Inky black damask fabric was lined with the deepest blue beads you’d ever beheld, stitched carefully to detail a three headed dragon over the breast. Crimson hued eyes were looped on each, twinkling in the dying sunlight spilling in through the open windows. The cut would show off your shoulders and the curve of your neck, dipping only slightly between your breasts, while your arms would only be slightly covered by loops of more black fabric, cut loose to give you freedom of movement. Simply put, it was gorgeous.
As you pulled it fully from the box, you noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the folds of the skirt. You retrieved it, careful to have the dress’ bodice lay over your arm to avoid wrinkles, and unfolded it. A small token of my gratitude. The small note was not signed but there was only one person you knew it could be. A blue dragon. Gratitude. He didn’t owe you gratitude.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” The woman at your mother’s side said with a dreamy sigh.
“Yes, it is,” you murmured. After all, there was no way you could deny it. The gown was exquisite. You would need to speak to the prince about this. It wasn’t necessary. “I-”
“I was telling Lady Webber that we’ve decided that I will wear that gown to tonight’s feast,” your mother said, a smile on her face.
“But…” The rebuttal died on your tongue as you looked at your mother’s growing smile and the unknowing look on Lady Webber’s face. This was a trick. Your mother knew you wouldn’t refuse her in front of company because the consequences would be catastrophic. So, you pushed a smile to your face and nodded, swallowing your pride and argument. “Of course. And I know she’ll look radiant as always.”
Your mother’s chin tipped up, pleased. “I’ll have one of the maids bring Vaella’s gold gown for you.”
You nodded again. The gown was beautiful but nothing like the one you held now. But still, you carefully folded it back into the box and took your leave, hiding the note between your fingers as you trudged back to your chambers and tried to keep your head held high. Letting them know they had won by crying or screaming or pouting wasn’t an option. You weren’t a child anymore.
Handmaidens eventually filed into your room and lathed you with oils that made your skin soft and made you smell like the roses that were growing outside the manse’s walls. They tightened the corset on the back of the gown until you winced and only then gave a final tug to finish, saying, “the lady of the house said you are to look your best.” They then made sure you had a dainty gold necklace around your throat, golden dragon pendant falling just above your cleavage, to finish the look after you slipped into the soft soled shoes Vaella had left behind alongside the gown. You did look beautiful. There was no denying that—there was also no denying that this gown held no candle to the one Prince Aemond had sent. And you could not forget that the necklace around your neck had been discarded by your mother years ago for being out of fashion in her mind. Your family wouldn’t have you looking like a lowborn beggar, but that did not mean they would ever allow you to shine on your own. You just hoped Prince Aemond would not be insulted. But, again, you knew he’d be too busy to notice anyway.
But it was fine. This was what you grew up with—this is what you knew how to survive. This was them being almost kind. It was a kindness that they did not remark on your poor posture on the carriage ride up to the Red Keep as the setting sun started to bleed red over the city. Your family was announced as you walked in and your parents hissed for you to behave yourself, “don’t embarrass us more than you already do,” before getting swept away by their friends to enjoy the festivities. Rhogar quickly fled your side, too.
You managed to find a seat near the doors and the others at the table greeted you politely but largely kept to their own conversations as you picked at the food in front of you. Large crowds like this always made you nervous. Mayhaps that was why you’d never found a husband. As promised, you danced with both Rhaena and Baela but when you saw Prince Jacaerys walking toward his betrothed, intent on a dance of his own, and Rhaena had tugged at your sleeve and nervously asked if she looked all right when she spotted Lord Corwyn Corbray walking toward her, you assured her that she was beautiful, and quietly excused yourself back to your seat and another few bites of dinner.
You glanced up at the head table, unsurprised to see it filled with silver haired royals. Of course, Rhaenyra’s sons inherited their father’s dark curls, and Alicent’s auburn tresses were as beautiful as ever, but it was still silver silver silver as far as the eye could see. But there was one silver-haired prince missing from the table: Aemond was nowhere to be seen.
But you hardly had the time to think of his absence when Rhaenyra’s carefully braided hair almost seemed to sparkle in the torchlight as she and Alicent stood, each with a golden goblet in hand. A hush quickly blanketed the crowd.
“We thank you all for joining us tonight as we celebrate my father, the king’s, nameday. It has been a trying few years so to be able to come together like this is a blessing from the Seven themselves.” The crowd cheered, raising their goblets in response. “And we have more to celebrate.”
Rhaenyra looked to Alicent who was smiling softly at the princess, her goblet curled close to her chest. Rhaenyra whispered something to her, a matching sweetness in her gaze, before Alicent nodded and raised her goblet higher and you heard the crowd around you murmur, trying to discern what she was about to say. “It is my honor and privilege to announce that all of Westeros will be unified with the marriage of Prince Aegon to Prince Qoren’s heir, Princess Aliandra Martell.”
The crowd erupted in applause and, as if on cue, the doors beside the head table opened and orange and gold spilled out into the hall and a Dornish delegation swept in, headed by a man you assumed to be Prince Qoren Martell. At his side was a stunning woman, draped in similar gold and yellow with a golden headpiece fashioned to look like the sun settled over her dark hair—that must be Princess Aliandra. Prince Aegon rose from his seat and walked to Aliandra’s side and dipped his head before holding out his hand for her to take. She readily did and preened as he kissed her fingers.
The crowd cheered again and room was made at the tables for the Dornish company to join the feast as Qoren and Aliandra were given seats at the head table. King Viserys stood and welcomed Qoren himself before they sat beside each other. It was only then that Aemond reclaimed his seat on his mother’s right, leaning to the side only slightly to murmur something in Helaena’s ear which coaxed a small smile from her.
But it seemed that the announcements were not finished as Rhaenyra and Alicent still stood. Again, Alicent raised her goblet, “And I am blessed to announce that Princess Helaena and Lord Stark will be married, joining the houses of ice and fire!”
The crowd erupted, again, and you watched as Helaena stood while Cregan Stark moved through the crowds and up to her side. An adorable pink had settled on both their cheeks and you weren’t sure if anyone else would notice, but Cregan slowly held out a hand toward her, low and mostly hidden, and Helaena took it, curling her fingers over his. That simple bit of affection had your heart leaping. You knew Princess Helaena had an aversion to most forms of touch, so to see her happily accepting his hand was beautiful. The men of the North were known to be loyal and devoted—the look on Cregan’s rugged features made it seem as if he were already besotted—and that was what Helaena deserved, the gentle princess who always spared a kind word whenever you crossed paths in the Pit.
You joined in the raucous applause and raised your goblet along with the rest of the crowd before Viserys stood again and announced that Aegon and Helaena would take the first dance of the night with their betrothed and soon the hall was filled with music. Aliandra and Aegon were a swirl of black and yellow fabric as they turned about the floor, a command of the dance. Cregan and Helaena were more content to take up less room and smile at each other as they moved through the steps. It was entertaining to see how vastly different the couples were, but you thought it suited them.
Soon the floor was filled with more couples as one song bled into the next and then the next. You had no girlish hope that you’d be asked to accompany someone for a turn about the floor, so you happily took advantage of the extra room at your table and let your posture fall from its rigid line and indulged in a few more bits of cake, too.
Rhaenyra danced with her sons and Ser Harwin. Alicent was swept out onto the floor by Prince Daeron. There was love there. In that large, powerful family. Ser Harwin eventually took Helaena for a spin around the floor, making her laugh, as the Princess and the Queen regained their seats at the head table. You watched them between bites of cake. They bent their heads toward each other, whispering for only the other to hear with smiles on their painted lips.
They may both be married and they may love their spouses, but you knew there was something special, something other, between them. Something that usually only existed in song and story. Just for a moment, you wondered if anyone would ever look at you like the Princess was gazing at the Queen. You wondered if anyone would ever hold you like how the Queen was tugging at the Princess’ wrists, pulling her close, like you were something to be treasured, protected.
Probably not.
“My lady.”
You nearly dropped the piece of cake you were trying to bite. Turning in your seat, you saw Prince Aemond standing behind you, hands neatly folded behind his back. His purple gaze dragged across your face as you stood and curtseyed, hoping you didn’t have any cake smeared on your lips. “Prince Aemond.”
Without a word, he curled his fingers and turned, ordering you to follow him into the shadows behind one of the many pillars of the hall. You nearly slammed not his back when he suddenly stopped before turning to you again, close enough for you to feel each of his breaths against your hair and surround you in his scent of cold mint and dragon, tinged with steel. His thin lips were set in an even thinner line as he reached out and touched the edge of your golden sleeve before you had the chance to step back. “Was the gown I sent not to your liking?”
Your heart dropped to your knees and you resisted the urge to curl into yourself, as if you could hide your dress from him. “I…I adored it, actually. It is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever beheld. But, my mother requested it for tonight’s feast. And,” you cleared your throat, trying to pass the lump growing behind your teeth. It always felt wrong to speak of your family so kindly. And it felt wrong to lie to Aemond who had only been trying to treat you kindly. Hadn’t he? “And who am I to refuse my mother anything?”
But some small voice at the back of your mind was whispering that you needed to apologize and make sure it never happened again, for both your sakes. “I am truly sorry if you feel as if I have slighted you. It was never my intention and never will be.” You paused and tried not to recoil when Aemond’s gaze did not waver from your face. “I would not be comfortable accepting such a fine gift again,” you added, keeping your voice low. “I would not have you debasing yourself in any way-”
The words stalled on your tongue when his fingers skimmed up your arm before sliding across the ridge of your collarbone to pluck at the golden chain of your necklace. He pulled until the golden dragon pendant rested in his palm. “I will give you anything I deem suitable.” Then, before you could do anything, his hand closed over the pendant and he yanked. The clasp snapped against your skin and the rest of the necklace fell slack, broken. He pocketed the necklace before reaching into the finely constructed doublet stretched over his chest and pulled out a small silver chain. A necklace. Even in the dim light, you saw that it was finely crafted, its twisted rings braided together delicately. And, at the very bottom was a charm of a dandelion, no bigger than the nail on your forefinger. And Aemond was quick to fasten around your neck, long fingers sliding over your pulse and tapping—just once—against the vertebrae just beneath the base of your skull. “It’s perfect.”
The metal, warmed by being tucked so closely to his skin, was almost scalding. The dandelion charm slipped beneath the edge of your gown and hung between your breasts. Against your heart. “Th-thank you. But, I don’t feel as if I can accept it.”
“But you will,” he said, lilac eye burning into yours. “I had it fashioned in Qohor.” He whispered it like a secret.
“I…” What could you possibly say to that? Questions upon questions started to storm through your mind but the only thing you could say was an unsteady, “you were in Qohor ages ago, my prince.”
“I was.” Then he reached out his hand. “Dance with me.” His tone broached no argument. But didn’t you owe him that much? He’d sent you a gown that you didn’t wear. You’d once again tried to refuse a gift from him. This wasn’t…this didn’t feel right. You were just a Keeper. He was a prince. You’d overstepped with Lady Laena but that had felt different, almost reciprocal, in your affections for each other but you were always aware that you were a servant of sorts, no matter your highborn status and Valyrian bloodline. This didn’t feel like that…this felt different.
You couldn’t say no.
You placed your shaking hand in his and let him lead you out toward the dancing masses. You watched the crowd part for him as you took your places off toward the side as the next song began. Eyes were crawling all over you. You could feel them. The answering whispers sounded like a buzzing fly behind your ear but you could not discern what they were saying—not when Aemond looked at you, even as your hands dropped for a moment. You were quick to wipe your sweaty palms on your gown as the song began. The dance was fairly simple, one Vaella had drilled into you during your childhood, but as Aemond reached for you, long, roughened fingers curling over yours, you nearly forgot the steps. If he noticed your fluster, Aemond didn’t say anything, continuing to lead you through the dance with all the grace princes of your childhood stories possessed. As you spun beneath his arm, his other hand sliding along your waist, you tried to steady your heart with little success, his fingers searing through your gown to brand your skin. As he pulled you closer as the dance intended, your eyes shot to the long expanse of pale skin of his throat.
“Are you going to speak or should I be content with your silence?” He asked, voice low enough just for you to hear.
The barb stung and you tried to not flinch when he pulled you closer and then urged you backward in time with the song. “What would you have me say, my prince? I am sure I would bore you with my stories of my time in the Pit or on Dragonstone.”
“Will you not let me be the judge of my own feelings, my lady? Or will you rob me of that, too?”
“What have I robbed from you, my prince? If I have offended-”
“Offended? My lady, you have done more than offend me.”
Aemond’s grip on your hands tightened when you tried to pull back, continuing to drag you along in the dance. “I am sorry, my prince,” you whispered, the words cracking on your throat. “I did not know that my mother would take your gift. She is…she takes everything she wants from me.” You hated the words coming out of your mouth, hating how weak you sounded. “I never-”
Aemond yanked you to a stop, your chest colliding with his with each hurried breath you took. The song continued on, the couples dancing beside you were a blur of colors at the periphery but all you saw was Aemond’s light eye staring down at you as he leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your back to drag you ever closer, your other hand pinned with his between your chests. “Is that what you think? That a gown has soured your presence for me?”
Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was saying over the roaring of blood in your ears. All of this was inappropriate. All of this was near scandalous. All of this was Aemond.
And, just for a moment, it was silent between you, only buffeted by the music continuing to play. “You alone have consumed my thoughts. For years.”
That didn’t make any sense but you still let him push and pull you through the next few steps as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If my presence has caused you discomfort, I shall remove myself from your employ, I swear to you. It was never my inten-”
The hand that had been holding yours swept to your face and his calloused thumb pressed against your bottom lip, robbing you of your thoughts and stalling the words on your tongue. The heat of him was near scalding, even through his leather and your fine gown, enveloping you, surrounding you, like a dragon’s fire.
He hummed, pausing for a moment to think—he always chose his words carefully. “No. No, my dandelion, you will not rob me of your presence. I have waited too long for this.” He pulled in a low breath, like he was trying to restrain himself. “I shall see you tomorrow after your duties finish. I expect you do not need reminding as to where, yes?” He asked, nearly demeaning.
You shook your head, his thumb sliding across your lip and heat burning your throat.
He hummed, again, and leaned down a little further, just enough for his breath to bloom across your parted mouth before he stepped back just as the song finished. He clapped along with the other dancers for the minstrels, never once taking his eye off you. He grabbed your hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your fingers before turning and walking away without a word.
It was not until you were home again, hours later, that you realized he’d called you my dandelion and your neck had bled from where he’d snapped your necklace.
**
How does one say no to a prince and keep their head?
Trick question: you don’t.
It had been nearly a moon since the feast and the dance you’d shared with Aemond. While he continued his silent watching as you tended to Vhagar, he would usurp any time you might have had to yourself. He had luncheon brought out to the valley. He would have you take tea with him and Helaena in the gardens if Vhagar decided she needn’t be tended to that day, searching for sharks to eat out of Blackwater Bay. He’d have you climb up into Vhagar’s saddle as they landed to see something that he thought needed tending to or mending. (And while he never moved to touch you, he burned like a fire at your back as you worked.) He had you inspect the hatchlings’ nests to make sure they were properly cared for (as he loomed behind you). He did the same with the clutches of eggs kept within the Pit as well.
It soon became something of a common occurrence for you to be “accompanied” by the Prince to the Dragonpit. While most of the Keepers took it in stride, having trusted you in the past, your brother once ground his teeth so hard as you halfheartedly looked over the chains on Sunfyre that you could’ve sworn you heard one of his molars crack.
And when Aemond asked why your eye was swollen shut the next day, you knew he didn’t believe you when you said you’d fallen off your mother’s horse. But you never denied him anything else. Anything he asked of you, you gave. That was what you were raised to do. Loyal to no one but the Targaryens and their dragons. If Aemond felt the need to investigate, he never gave you any indication other than a soft hmm rumbling in his throat.
You told yourself that you should be thankful the prince was doting on you so. If his strange affections at the feast had been any indication that he felt more for you (which was preposterous–you were nearly ten namedays his elder!), he had not acted on them other than the infrequent murmurings of the nickname My Dandelion. The heat you had felt vanished the moment he stepped away. The only habit of his you could not truly comprehend was his nickname for you.
Lucky. Yes, that was what you were, to know he appreciated your care of Vhagar. He cared enough to essentially install you as the overseer of the Keepers. Or perhaps it was making sure that the gold you were paid was being earned and he felt the need to give you extra duties as Vhagar was fairly easy to keep appeased. Lady Laena had doted on you as well, hadn’t she? Of course, her affections had been overtly platonic and familial, and Aemond’s were decidedly not in some instances. But there was no way you had garnered his attention in that way. How many times had you been told by your parents and brother that no one would ever want you in that way?
You scratched at your chin, trying to ignore your racing thoughts as the sky was starting to bleed an inky purple. It was the first light of dawn and you had hoped to check on the hatchlings before Aemond took his morning flight. One of the other Keepers had mentioned that two of the smallest dragons had been fighting and some blood had been spilled. While dragons were largely hard to kill, they were still not immortal, especially when they were so young. You’d wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any infection in the wounds and to see if you could settle them separately.
You heard whispers from the smallfolk as you passed. Whispers of the Targaryen madness, whispers of their dragons being an abomination to the Seven, whispers of how Rhaenyra would never be a suitable queen, whispers of the crown inching closer to the Old Gods instead of the Seven with the betrothal between Helaena and Cregan. Or how the blasphemous, bloody gods of the Rhoynar would come to usurp the Seven because of the match between Aegon and Aliandra. And you wished this had been the first time you had been privy to such whispers, but only having taken true notice of them a fortnight ago.
Whispers.
Whispers.
Whispers.
They unnerved you. They weren’t…right. You heard them too often to be idle gossip and too outwardly for them to be a true passing thought. Something or someone had come to King’s Landing and had started the whispers. Purposefully.
The whispers came to a head as you hurried toward the Pit. A crowd had assembled, far larger than you’d ever seen this early in the morning, filling the street to near capacity, all of them looking toward one man that stood atop the edge of a fountain, proselytizing. He was missing one of his hands and was wearing roughhewn clothes. His unkempt, grey beard swayed with each exaggerated word that spilled from between his half-rotted teeth.
“These Dragon Filth will lead us all into ruin! Think of your families! Think of your eternal souls!”
The words themselves had your blood turning to ice in your veins but it was the answering, near-gleeful shouts that had you running. And, as if on cue, you heard the crowd turn and start to follow.
You nearly fell through the Pit’s open floors as you careened by the guards stationed near the doors, shrieking at them to be ready, that an attack was coming. But you scarcely heard if they replied as you sprinted down, down, down. You undid the chains on Dreamfyre first, screaming at her to flee, to fly. Her dark eyes nearly blazed as she looked at you before she tore past you with a roar, stretching out her wings as soon as she was able. Screams from the crowd were nearly musical as you set about freeing Vermax, Syrax, and Arrax next.
“Go! Fly!”
The thundering footsteps of the crowd were growing closer. You could hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed, of axes battering against the door or sliding against the stone floor. They were coming.
Just as you were reaching for Sunfyre’s chains you were yanked back by a rough hand grabbing at the back of your tunic. You were thrown to the ground with a scream that quickly died as your skull bounced against the stone.
A man you didn’t recognize loomed above you with a rusted sword in hand. “Dragon filth!” He raised his foot and stomped it down onto your stomach twice before you could even try to move or defend yourself but you were able to grab his ankle and roll as he went to do it again. You felt his bones twist and break beneath your fingers as he screamed and you stood, your ribs protesting. A flurry of movement to your right had you screaming, matching the scream Sunfyre let out, snapping his chains before he let out a bellow of fire just as you ducked, reducing his attackers to charred flesh and bone in moments before spreading his wings and taking flight. You scurried out of the roost and toward the next, knowing that was where the hatchlings were kept, and your heart plummeted as you heard the sounds coming from within.
The hatchlings were screaming—dying. You threw open the door to see two men hacking away at the nest, their daggers bloody.
“Stop!” You wailed, throwing yourself forward and catching one of the men’s arms. Wrestling for control of his dagger was a short affair as the other man’s fist quickly connected with your cheek and nearly took you from your feet again. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t give up. Not when you could still hear the little dragons crying for help. You lurched toward the nest and managed to curl your hand around one of the small dragons before you screamed, a dagger thrust through the meat of your forearm. But still you curled toward the nest, trying to keep them safe—if you could just save them-!
Blood coated your tongue as you picked up the dragons and you barely had the wherewithal to look down to see the handle of another dagger buried into your side as the men beside you called you a “dragon’s whore!” and a “demon’s servant!” Your knees knocked together as the dagger was pulled from your side and you clutched desperately to the hatchlings as you teetered backward, heartbeat roaring in your ears, but they were cruelly ripped away from you.
For the second time, you hit the stone floor and a heavy boot collided with your cheek as a final cry came from the nest. Just as your vision started to blur, you saw the roof of the Pit shake, raining down stone and dust. There was a thunderous roar that you could feel in your marrow just before the world went dark.
**
The world swam back into focus slowly, in a swirl of creams and blacks and reds. It took you a moment to realize you were in one of the many chambers inside the Red Keep, carefully propped up against a small mountain of pillows with a blanket across your waist, embroidered with a familiar three headed dragon in black thread that shimmered like gems in the muted sunlight, seeping into the room from around the edge of a heavy curtain. You only had a moment to appreciate the fine furnishing before a stab of pain which seemed to pop and fizzle across every inch of your body had you wincing, eyes clamping shut as you bit your lip to keep your whimper quiet.
That’s what you knew how to do. Stifle your noises. Make yourself silent. It always helped. And you could not stop the flinch which shot through you when someone’s hand settled on your shoulder.
“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to scare you!” The Septa at your side squeaked as she yanked back her hand.
Your eyes opened again and you had to breathe through the sudden nausea that rushed over you in a wave. “N…no apology necessary.”
“I will call for the Maester. And I believe your family has been waiting to see you, shall I let them in?”
Before you could answer–a polite but firm no–the door opened and your parents and brother stormed into the room. You briefly saw a handful of handmaidens trying to keep them back before the door was firmly shut behind them. Your mother burst into tears at the sight of you, fat droplets falling down her cheeks, before all but hurling herself toward you with a cry of, “oh, my daughter!”
You bit back a yelp when her hands, covered in rings, grabbed at your arms, poking and prodding at you as her touch moved higher and higher until she was grasping at your face. If she noticed your wince when her nail scratched against what could only be broken skin, she didn’t reveal it nor did she pull back.
“My lady,” the septa started gently, rising from her seat, “the maester said-”
“I do not care what that old man has said!” She screeched, nails biting into your skin for a moment. “My daughter has been…” The rest of what she was going to say, and you were sure it was going to be quite the show, was drowned out as more tears spilled and she shook her head.
You’d only seen your mother like this once before. It was when Vaella was getting married. Of course, those were supposed to be happy tears; she was sure to cause a scene so more people looked at her than at the bride. It was all a show. Crocodile tears dabbed away with a silk kerchief. Fanning her face. Whispering to anyone who would listen that she was the mother.
Despite the throbbing of each of your limbs and the stabbing pain behind your eyes, you looked to see your father and Rhogar standing beside the bed, doing their best to look concerned as the Septa walked out of the room. If you were an outsider, you may have believed their pantomime. But you knew. They didn’t care. All of this? All of it was for show for anyone who was watching. They were the distressed family of the person being cared for by the royals.
Your father stepped to yourself and pressed a flat, unmoving hand against your shoulder, a frown tugging at the sides of his mouth. “How are you faring? You look ghastly.”
“You look like you have nearly-single-handedly saved the Targaryen dynasty from an immeasurable loss.”
Everyone in the room turned to see Aemond stride in, shoulders back and eye entirely focused on you. Your family was quick to curtsey or bow and then shuffle back to make way for him to step to your side. Aemond paid them no mind before he cupped your face. His grip was surer as he touched you, almost familiar. The touch of his thumb skirting across one of your many slow-healing bruises had you shivering, or perhaps that was the way his light eye was focused entirely on you.
“You are healing well, my lady,” he said quietly, just as his finger looped around the necklace still at your throat, pulling the dandelion charm out from under the chemise (which was definitely not yours) you were wearing.
That same, strange heat started to smolder in your stomach as you looked at him, watching that small smile you saw so infrequently start to push at his lips. But now was not the time to ponder that–after all, it could just be a bit of nausea–as you had other, more pressing, concerns. “The hatchlings, my prince, did they-”
“You saved all you could, my lady.”
That meant some had died. Hot, angry tears immediately stung your eyes as you shook your head, only exacerbating the pain radiating across your body. “How many? H-how many of the little ones-”
Aemond moved to grasp at your hands, gently, softly, as he shook his head. “You need not worry about that now. They will be avenged.”
“We apologize for her childish tears, my prince,” your mother said, voice pulling you away from the prince’s gaze. Her comment only made the tears burn hotter as you tried to blink them away. Shouldn’t you know better? Tears gained you nothing. Tears changed nothing.
“They are not childish,” the prince said, still not turning to give them a glance. “She mourns with my family.”
The Septa swept in again and cleared her throat, thick eyebrow arching high enough to disappear into her habit as she looked at your mother for just a moment, before curtseying in Aemond’s direction. “The maester has been summoned, my prince.”
The prince nodded but did not move from his place at your side, long fingers sweeping lightly over the bandages you saw over your arm and then brushing against your temple.
“We are grateful you have extended your family’s maesters and healers for her care, my prince,” your father said as he stepped forward.
“As I said,” Aemond started, not pulling away from you at all, not moving his gaze from your face, “House Targaryen owes her a great debt. It would be in poor taste for her not to receive the finest care this land offers.”
Everything burned. The skin he touched, his minted breath against your lips, his unrelenting gaze on you. It burned. For better or not, you could not tell. All it was, was consuming.
“If we may, my prince,” Rhogar said, voice low, almost shaking as he spoke for the first time since coming into your temporary chambers ears, “I know my sister would be well rested in her own bed. We can never repay your House’s kindness-”
It was only then that Aemond looked away from you, dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have my lady withdrawn from her chambers until she has fully recovered.”
“We understand the debt you feel you must repay, my prince.” Now it was your mother’s turn to try, once again dabbing at her damp cheeks with her kerchief. “But it is unnecessary. We know she is but a guest here. We would not repay one debt with another for her care.”
“Tell him,” your mother said through gritted teeth, varnished smile starting to wane. “Tell him you do not need to be coddled so!”
There would be hell to pay if you didn’t. Your mouth opened and-
But Aemond simply waved his hand, a flick of the wrist as if he were batting away a gnat. “I will hear nothing of it. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra both have ordered daily reports on her health.”
“We understand that, my prince.” Your father argued, tone low and placating, as his own periwinkle eyes bored into the Prince. “But we have been kept from my daughter’s side since the attack. She belongs with her family-”
“She belongs here.” Aemond’s tone was cold, broaching no argument. It was the tone of a king. The tone of a dragonrider. And why did something twist behind your ribs at the sound of it? Or was it because his simple sentence had your family looking as if they’d all been collectively slapped. Your mother’s mouth dropped and you saw your brother look to her, questions in his eyes, before they both turned to your father.
“The maester is due shortly. I would advise you all make your goodbyes now and I will have word sent when it is suitable for you to come again.”
After a stretched silence, your mother came first, pressing a too firm kiss to your temple and whispering a rushed, “do not embarrass us,” into your ear before stepping back. Rhogar was next, each of them murmuring his best wishes into your cheek just loud enough for Aemond to hear but not convincingly in the slightest. Your father was last, taking your hands in his in a strong grip that had you wincing, heat rippling up your arm to burrow beneath the bandage where you were certain dozens of sutures were holding your skin together. The look in his eyes had you instinctively trying to pull back, out of his hold, but he held firm.
You knew that look well. Too well. It had been the face of your nightmares since you could dream.
“Daughter mine, I trust you will-”
His words, threats or otherwise, were drowned out by the door opening and the maester being brought in, a flurry of other healers behind him. Aemond stood back, spine pressed against the wall as you were looked over, poked, and prodded. You learned that your stab wounds were healing well, possibly aided by the three days you spent unconscious. “You didn’t move at all!” The maester said with a smile. He also said that he would leave Milk of the Poppy at your bedside to help with any residual pains you were bound to have and that he would come back after dinner to check the mobility of your arm.
It was only when he and his entourage were finished that you noticed Aemond had not left the room at all during the commotion. He stood sentinel near the door, arms crossed over his chest. And, as the chamber door closed softly behind the last of the parade of maesters, you were left alone with him. Again.
A nervous tickle started to grow at the back of your throat and you tried to will it away, head a little lighter thanks to the few drops of Milk of the Poppy you’d been given beneath your tongue a few moments ago, as you awkwardly tried to push yourself higher onto the pillows with only one arm when he started to walk toward you. The effort was only marginally successful and a sharp pain from your side nearly buckled your uninjured arm anyway. By the time you settled again, you were strangely out of breath. But still, you knew you had to say something. “I am once again in your debt, my prince.”
“There is no debt. I would do it a thousand times over, Dandelion.” He then looked you over, something you couldn’t place in his eye, a look you’d seen a dozen times before and couldn’t name. “I will have the handmaidens tend to you before the maester comes again. Dinner will also be delivered. I am assuming you still like the honeyed chicken and carrots.” It wasn’t a question and the prince didn’t give you time to say otherwise before striding out of the room as a gaggle of handmaidens—who you knew usually tended to Queen Alicent—streamed in. They were quick as they helped you move from the bed with delicate, careful movements.
A shining tub was hauled in soon after and filled with steaming water. And, even when the group of handmaidens squawked about waiting for the water to cool a little, you were quick to submerge yourself in it, only relaxing when you were enveloped and sunk down until the water hit your chin. They eventually sat at your side and scrubbed you clean, mindful of your injuries, and added rose oil to the water and massaged more of it into your damp skin.
And while they seemed to be content to work in silence, you had to ask, the question pressing on your tongue like salt, “what happened?”
“Oh, it is just the most wondrous story,” one of the handmaidens said, punctuated with a dreamy sigh. “The prince himself carried you out of the Pit and flew you across the city on Vhagar to the Red Keep where he demanded the maester see to you immediately.”
“It was fit for song,” another handmaiden said. “I would not be surprised if artisans use the scene of him standing amongst the rubble and blood and fire for their finest paintings for years to come.”
“Prince Daeron has already commissioned a tapestry of it to be made.”
An embarrassed heat started to claw at the back of your throat as they continued to chatter away, only stopping their recounting of the Storming of the Dragonpit (as you learned the attack had been dubbed by the city) to sigh, wistfully. They eventually helped you out of the tub and into a silk robe with a blue, three-headed dragon stitched over the heart, just the same as your Keeper robes. Aemond’s sigil.
“But, what happened?” You asked again, ignoring the strange swooping feeling in your stomach. “Who were they? Why?”
One of the handmaidens gave a tittering laugh. “Oh, Sevens. Please excuse us, my lady. We thought you would want to know who rescued you, but of course you would want to know who nearly killed you! The Shepherd—that rag-covered old man—was a zealot who the Triarchy paid to come to King’s Landing. He believed he was doing the Seven’s work. But they knew he would simply cause a riot—apparently he’d already done so in Lys and they offered him freedom in exchange for listening to how King’s Landing was ‘in desperate need of his teachings.’”
The revelation left something aching behind her ribs. While the Triarchy may have been outmatched before, striking at the heart of the Targaryen dynasty’s power was a well calculated and cruel move. Truthfully, you cared only for the fate of the dragons.
The handmaidens eventually helped you back into bed after the maester deemed the mobility of your injured arm as “suitable.” He also made the passing comment that your “womanly duties” would not be affected by the wound on your side, nor the repeated kicks you had sustained to your stomach. “But you may want to hurry it along. You are far past the age of majority, my lady.”
And with that unhappy reminder, you slept fretfully despite your belly being full of your favorite foods and being surrounded by the finest bedding gold could buy. You woke the next morning before the sun, wounds aching, and let a few drops of Milk of the Poppy pool beneath your tongue. Your head swam unpleasantly almost immediately, like undercooked meat in unsalted broth, but your veins no longer felt serrated after a few moments. And it seemed it was almost fortuitous as you didn’t particularly feel embarrassed when the handmaidens came again and helped you into a gown you passively did not recognize and gave you a cheese filled pastry to eat as they guided you through the winding halls of the Red Keep. It did little to settle your sloshing mind and actually seemed to make you feel nauseous the more you ate.
“Where are we going?” You finally asked, essentially shoving the half-eaten pastry into the hand of the nearest handmaiden as your stomach gave an impressive lurch.
“The Prince has asked for your presence on the steps outside the Keep.”
Well, that didn’t answer anything and your next step had your side lighting up with a sharp pain. You gritted your teeth as they continued to lead you forward and through the winding Keep and its halls and courtyards until you were gently ushered outside. Kingsguard were set out in three lines on either side, flanking the steps, their armor shining in the growing sunlight. At the center stood Aemond, sunlight framing him in a glow so bright you had to shield your eyes for a moment.
“She has arrived, my prince,” one of the knights said, taking a step to the prince’s side.
Instantly, Aemond turned and set his eye on you and moved to grasp at your hands, pulling you forward to stand at the edge of the top step. The sudden movement had your stomach rolling and your eyes shuttered. “It is good to see in the sunlight, my lady.”
“I…” The words you wanted to say were heavy on your tongue, tangling behind your teeth. “My prince, what do you need of me today? Is Vhagar-”
“Vhagar is happily roosting in our valley. She only settled once I learned of your prognosis. I shall have you back at my side shortly, where you belong.”
You heard him step to your back, his scorching heat bleeding through your gown, and nearly jumped as one of his hands settled on your hip and you could feel his next exhale against your ear. Your stomach rolled again and your breath was ragged in your throat. You needed to sit down. Needed more Milk of the Poppy. The stabbing pain in your side started to splinter out toward all of your extremities and the swimming of your mind was growing more pronounced. “My prince…”
“Keep your eyes open, Dandelion,” he prodded. “I’ve kept him alive just long enough for you to see him die. All of them.”
His words had you frowning. Who? You opened your eyes and looked out, nearly retching at the sight of it all. From the steps of the Red Keep and down into the city, all of the Shepherd’s men were tied to posts. They looked haggard and hungry. Bloody and bruised. As you pulled in a breath to try to steady yourself, all you could smell was pitch. There were puddles of it beneath the feet of each man.
“What are you doing?”
Aemond hummed. “Dragon fire would reduce the city to ash. Uncle Daemon suggested a substitute.” He grabbed a torch from one of the knights and held it in front of you as he kept his post at your back. “Light the first.”
“I-I cannot, my prince. It is the King’s justice, not mine.” And could you kill a man? Truly?
“You saved the Targaryen dynasty from ruin and nearly lost your life in the process. The King, the Queen, my sister, they all know you have saved us. Protected our dragons at the cost of your blood.” The hand on your hip skimmed up your side, thankfully light in his touch over your covered sutures, to trail up and over your shoulder blade and to the delicate bit of skin hiding your rapidly beating pulse. “You deserve vengeance, my Dandelion. Let the world burn for the blood you spilt, just as our ancestors demanded in Valyria.” Aemond paused and the roughened pads of his fingers pressed into the base of your skull, an oddly soothing pressure. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” He then reached around you and made sure you curled your hand around the torch. Then, slowly, with deliberate but careful steps, he led you toward the first man on the right as everything faded to a high pitched ringing in your ears.
Betrothal gift.
You chanced a glance at the man tied to the pole and he snarled at you from beneath the gag in his mouth, eyes blazing.
Betrothal gift.
Then, with a gentle, guiding pressure of Aemond’s hand over yours, you dropped the torch into the pitch.
One by one white cloaks and gold cloaks stepped out from their formation to drop their own torches, each man set alight, consumed by licking red flames. Further on through the city, trailing up to the still-smoldering Dragonpit, the Shepherd’s men were strung. At the base of the ruins of the Pit stood the Shepherd himself.
Aemond had carefully set you atop the saddle of his favored steed, a Courser just as silver as Valyrian hair, and led you through the city so you could see all of it.
When the flames came for the Shepherd, he screeched like the hatchlings had in their tiny nests, drooling through the gag. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the sight and the ringing in your ears had not ceased.
Betrothal gift.
Just as the smoke started to blot out the morning sun, you heard Vhagar’s distinct roar in the distance and your eyes rolled back in your head and you were lost.
**
The war had come again in the night. Boats had come ashore, striking under moonlight. They’d targeted the Isle of Tarth, Driftmark, Duskendale, Maidenpool, and Gulltown. Only Driftmark managed to push back the assault with Princess Rhaenys atop Meleys and Lord Laenor on Seasmoke, aided by Lord Corlys’ Velaryon fleet. The others were left in ruin and the marching bands of mercenaries and Triarchy soldiers pushed further inland, dividing the crown’s armies and raining terror down on low and highborn alike.
And you were shuffled off to Dragonstone with Vhagar and Aemond. From there, the Prince would help command the royal fleet which was now dispersed around the crownlands, to keep any other forces from arriving and to keep any from running back to Essos. Prince Daemon and Caraxes were there, too, and the Bloodwyrm had trilled happily when he’d noticed your presence on the island only to be snuffed at by Vhagar—just once.
And while you were happy to be away from the stench of King’s Landing and to say hello to Vermithor who still roosted in the depths of the volcanic mountain, you found it…boring. You had thought the war would at least be a bit exciting (and you knew you should use a different word but the notion still persisted) but it was strangely boring. There were meetings between commanders and the like with Aemond and Daemon and then more meetings between the Targaryen princes and the castle’s castellan and then the island’s sworn lords.
And you should have been thankful for it. You should’ve been happy that Aemond’s attentions were elsewhere. But it only left you more confused. He had called the pyres of the rioters a betrothal gift and then had said nothing else to give you even the slightest indication that he had meant it or was expecting something in return. And by the end of the first moon since you had relocated to the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, you had deduced that he hadn’t meant it and perhaps you had even imagined it, your mind altered by the Poppy. There was no plausible way a prince would be interested in you. But you were still thankful for the quality care you had been given for your injuries, the scars the only reminder of your brush with death with no other lingering aches. And something almost good came from the storming of the Dragonpit; it had been decided that the Pit would not be rebuilt and the dragons would no longer be confined to the stone roosts when not ridden and could roost anywhere they wanted outside the city. The Keepers would still tend to them and make sure they were well fed so no farmers would lose their livelihoods (and no one would lose their lives) because a dragon was hungry. It was good—dragons were meant to be free.
You also learned that Princess Rhaenyra and her son Prince Viserys had become the official dragon-riding guardians of King’s Landing. Helaena and Dreamfyre had taken to aiding Cregan and his armies in the northern border of the Vale and Riverlands. Aegon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Daeron had flown out to burn any enemy encampments that had cropped up and had been successful, from what you had learned, while Baela and Rhaena were stationed at Driftmark with their grandmother and uncle, as another line of defense between Westeros and the Triarchy. You wished them well. But still…you were bored. Even news of Daeron’s betrothal to a young lady of House Lannister and Lucerys’ betrothal to the only daughter of Lord Tyrell had you excited for just a moment.
In an effort to have a bit of adventure and escape the gloom of the island, you would swim to one of the small islets that surrounded Dragonstone every morning when you weren’t tending to Vhagar in between her and Aemond patrolling out toward the Stepstones. Your favorite was just a small stretch of land with sweetgrass and wildflowers and a handful of looming trees, barely big enough to withstand the crashing waves of the surrounding ocean. Bodies of Triarchy soldiers would intermittently wash up on the shore and you would drag the corpses further inland in an attempt to help the fisherman nearby—no one wanted a dead man in their nets or on the end of their hook. You took a sharp stick and stabbed at their tattered clothes or armor and pulled them onto the wet sands, one by one, listening as the dragons roared overhead.
In the growing light of dawn, you tugged the last corpse beneath the tree you’d dubbed ‘the grave’ and haphazardly shoved it toward the rest of the mess of rotting skin and sun-bleached bone before turning away, letting the tall grass lick at your legs as it moved with the wind. The rains from last week had dotted the islet with flowers, and you stooped to pluck a dandelion. The stem was almost warm beneath your fingers as you twirled the wildflower in your grip, watching the early morning dew catch the first bit of sunlight and start to sparkle.
What would you wish for now?
You nearly yelped when you felt a sliver from your stick gouge into your thumb. And then a dragon roared overhead. By the sound alone, you knew it was Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons of the island. He was free.
You switched the stick into your other hand, letting the smallest bit of blood smear against the stalk. You pulled in a deep breath and readied to blow the small seeds away and watch them disappear over the water. But just as you were about to exhale, something prickled at the base of your skull. A sensation you hadn’t felt since you started your Keeper training and it had your breath stalling in your throat.
Slowly, lowering the stick in your hand to a less antagonistic angle, you turned. Every curse you could have muttered dried on your tongue as soon as you locked eyes on the dragon looming at your back. Angry, blazing green eyes were locked on you. The rest of the dragon was as black as pitch with gnarled, grey scars littering his broad neck and chest, leading up to a mess of sharp teeth, left exposed on the left side by a chunk of missing flesh. The dragon rumbled and you could not look away.
This was the wild dragon known as the Cannibal. The fact that he hadn’t devoured you yet was a miracle, truly. The dragon huffed, bathing you in a green-tinged smoke for a moment and blowing away the small flower in your hands. Through watery eyes, you saw the bodies you had pulled from the sea, stacked messily together. Had the dragon done that?
When it didn’t look like he was going to eat you or burn you to ash, you slowly walked backward, keeping your head down. Submissive posture usually did wonders for an unruly dragon—it had saved your skin half a dozen times when Sunfyre had thrown a fit when Aegon was raging about something—and it seemed it worked with the Cannibal, too, because all he did was huff again before turning to feast on the dead.
And then you went back, again and again, pulling more bodies from the sea. But now your intention was less selfless and more selfish. No one had ever been able to get that close to the Cannibal and live to tell about it, their demise only being whispered by unfortunate bystanders or when their burnt husk of a corpse was discovered weeks later. But you survived. You came back to do it again, pulling more and more bodies from the sea and eventually stopped jumping when the large, scarred dragon nudged at your stick, urging you to fetch his meal from the waters. As strange as it was, you considered the large dragon a friend. Mayhaps your only friend on this side of the Narrow Sea. You would speak to him about your duties, point out the other dragons and their riders, telling him anything and everything that came to your mind. And then, when you, as delicately as you could, fed him another arm, you nearly shrieked when his jagged teeth suddenly sunk into your sea-soaked robes and all but threw you onto his back.
The scream that bubbled in your throat was short lived when he swiveled his long neck to look at you, as if making sure you were secure. He was mimicking the other dragons. The thought that this dangerous, old, angry dragon was playing pretend with you almost had you laughing. You adjusted your seat, slotting yourself between the large barbs and ridges down the dragon’s back and then grabbed at two of the curved spikes just at the base of his neck. Then, you spoke the word that changed your life irrevocably.
“Sōvēs!”
Fly.
And then he kept letting you up onto his back, letting you suggest where to go—he mostly listened. But you never truly cared if he wanted to go South when you had hoped to go North that day. He was yours. Truly, strangely, you felt as if his heart had wedged itself beside yours behind your ribs. The bond you had studied and kept sacred was now yours. You were a dragonrider. A dream, a wish you had never voiced. And you knew that if anyone ever knew, it would cost you your life.
But then you had a terrible, bordering on stupid, idea. You could see Vaella again. You could fly your dragon to Volantis and see your sweet sister again in days instead of the months it would take you to sail to her city. You could be free of all this. Of your family’s waiting wrath. Of the boredom. Of Aemond’s confusing actions. You had never been given even the opportunity to think of such things; your life was a series of going and doing what was expected of you. Pondering the possibility of true, if not brief freedom, and the repercussions that would surely follow, you stroked at the Cannibal’s flank as he ate the corpses you had piled for him earlier. The waning sunlight cast him in dark shadows as you both found solace in the seldom used western beach outside the castle’s curtain.
“Would you like to go to Volantis?”
The dragon rumbled between bites.
“Vaella tells me they have elephants there. You’ll have to promise not to eat them.”
He rumbled again and you couldn’t stop the soft laugh from escaping your lips. You could do this. Somehow. You’d offhandedly learned that Aemond and Daemon were considering flying to Braavos to meet envoys from the city to possibly form an alliance. You had heard rumblings about Braavos and Pentos both claiming dominion over the Stepstones and the Targaryen princes had hoped to resolve the issue and strengthen their armies and naval fleets in the process. It could be the perfect distraction.
A large, dark shadow suddenly washed over you in a wave and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. But the angry bellow Vhagar let out had you freezing. You couldn’t fight her, you wouldn’t. Even if the Cannibal rivaled her in size and ferocity, Vhagar was still your charge: you wanted her happy and healthy. Having two dragons fight to the death would destroy you. You needed to leave now.
Vhagar landed, sand spitting into the air under her weight, just as you pushed at your dragon’s side and screamed at him to fly, starting to scramble up to your perch. But before you could even try to move or take to the skies, the great dragon’s maw opened and closed around Cannibal’s neck and bit down.
You screamed alongside him as you were thrown back down onto the sand from the force of the impact, green fire spitting out from between his teeth. It nearly burned you but just as soon as the attack came, it paused. The prince’s dragon held yours down against the charred and crystallized sand. Dark blood slithered down the Cannibal’s neck to pool near your boots as you stood on unsteady legs. In a singular moment, he had been subdued. Just as you had been. Atop Vhagar sat Aemond and even as the sun blotted his features out, you knew he was entirely focused on you.
“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, let him go. He has done nothing against you.”
“On the contrary, my dandelion. He has nearly taken you from me. Did you think I did not see you climbing on his back, day after day?”
Tears gathered at the edges of your vision as you shook your head. “I am not yours, my prince. I am not-”
“Enough.” Aemond’s voice cut over the grumbling of his dragon and the seething of yours. “You have tested my patience. It is time to put this charade behind us. You are mine. You have always been mine. Just as I have been yours.”
“When have I ever been anything more than a keeper to you? I have done nothing to warrant these feelings. You are misguided.” You tried to quell the tears to no avail. Not when you could feel your dragon growing weaker by the moment. “When were you ever mine?”
But the prince was undeterred and swung out of the saddle and down the ladder to step toward you, lilac eye nearly burning. “I have been yours since you placed that dandelion in my hand as a boy that night on Driftmark and swore to me that I would have a dragon.” His hand slid against Vhagar’s neck as he stepped ever closer. His dragon released her bloody hold on Cannibal’s neck but kept her head close to his, effectively keeping him pinned.
More blood pooled in the sand as you shook your head. “You just needed a bit of kindness. That was all it was. Nothing more.”
“But it was more.” His voice was ice. “It was everything.” He moved closer still. “My entire life I have been nothing more than a spare, falling further down the line of succession with each birth. No titles of my own. I have had to fight every day to simply have my father’s attention, to make a name for myself, to be anything more than a footnote in a history book. Tis I who studies histories and battle and who rides the largest dragon in the world and leads the charge against our enemies. I have pushed them back across the Stepstones and into the Disputed Lands to lick their wounds but it matters little. Everything I have ever wanted is beyond my reach or shared with others, divided up before I can claim what is mine.” His eye blazed as moved ever closer. “Why should I not have something that is entirely mine?”
Heat crackled down your spine at his words, at his unblinking gaze anchored on you. “My Prince…”
“Mine to have. Mine to keep. Mine. You always have been and you always will be.”
“Y-you don’t mean that. I am nearly a decade your elder! I am not… My family serves yours and your dragons. We do not marry,” you tried to argue, thinking of every reason why it should not and could not come to pass. “I have no court refinement. My family reviles me. You ar-are a prince! You are the one who rides the largest dragon in the world, and you are a learned warrior worthy of song. And I cannot be the one-”
Aemond was in front of you in a flash, long fingers curling around your wrist. “You are. No matter what you think of yourself, I have seen you. I have known you. You are my only equal. Your family will be dealt with and I will give you the option as to how for their mistreatment of you.”
Still, you shook your head. “Your family will never-”
“My family has known I would wed you since I was a boy. They knew you simply needed time to see it. While my mother and sister tie the Seven Kingdoms together, you and I will maintain the old ways. Valyrian. Fire and Blood. Do not try to hide yourself from me. I knew what you were since my time in Qohor and I remembered how your blood shone on that little dandelion in the dark. You said it that night: there is magic in our blood. You would not be able to tame this beast without it,” he said, inclining his head to your dragon. “And so easily. Just as easily as you calmed all the others. They sense it in you, as I did. As I do now.”
And what could you possibly say to that?
But Aemond did not care to give you time to formulate a response and tugged you away from your coiled dragons and toward the castle. And, just as soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your back hit the cold, stone wall of the corridor and Aemond’s mouth was on yours. The kiss was not kind. Not the stuff of songs and girls’ whispered dreams. It was all hard edged lips and searching tongues after his hand fell to your jaw, pressing until your mouth opened with a whine. He stole your breath in an instant, seeming content to have you gasp against his tongue as he plundered. And then he was tugging at the laces of your trousers until they fell loose at your waist before falling with a single twist of his wrist.
You turned your head as you felt it, letting his next echo of a kiss smear against your heated cheek. Fear and something else crawled up your spine like a slow-moving spider.
He rucked up the edges of your tunic to curl his long fingers over your smallclothes and pushed them down to hang uselessly around your ankles and join your trousers. The moment he touched your clit had you keening, your own hands fisting at the leather stretched across his shoulders. To push him away, to pull him closer, you could not know. “My prince, please, you will ruin me. I am not what you want.”
“But you are,” he said. “You are all I want.” His fingers trailed lower, gathering slick as he pressed into your folds and then curled them into you without preamble. Your body shook with the intrusion, a strange burning sensation bleeding out into a pleasurable pressure as he continued to push push push in and curl his fingers, then he retreated just enough to have you gasping before he pushed back in. Again and again he pressed in, dragging the flat of his hand against your clit with each pass until you were whining against his mouth. An embarrassed heat licked up your chest when you realized what you had done. How could you like this?
“There we go, my dandelion. You sing so sweet for me.” Aemond bent his head just enough to drag his lips across the hollow of your throat, the wet, sucking sounds of your cunt nearly drowned it out. A heat was coiling in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his wrist but you felt him shift, just slightly, and his next press had your knees buckling, sparks rippling up your spine.
“My…” Your tongue couldn’t form the words. Every inch of you was buzzing, pulling tighter, inching towards something that-
You came with a cry and Aemond kept you upright by shoving his knee between your legs, his other hand coming up to press at the base of your throat. As he slowly, carefully pulled his fingers from your sopping cunt, you couldn’t look away as he pressed his fingers into his mouth. He let out a soft noise, eye closing as his tongue wrapped around the digits to get them clean.
“You are sweet everywhere,” he said before slamming his mouth against yours in a harsh kiss that tasted of you as he pried your lips open to lick inside.
Your tenuous grip on his shoulders tightened as your blood sang through your ears. A sudden, warm pressure against your thigh almost had you retreating but the wall and his grip falling to ensnare your waist halted any movement.
“I want it all,” Aemond murmured against your mouth. “And you will give it to me.”
“Aemond-” The rest of your rebuttal choked you, stalling like a rock in your throat, as you felt like you were being split in two as he sank into you. He pushed and pushed and pushed, seeming to go on forever, and punched the air from your lungs when his hips were finally flush with yours. The prince stilled for a moment as your body throbbed with an almost uncomfortable heat and his lips dragged against your pulse, humid breath wetting your skin.
“My perfect little dragon.” And then he moved. Sliding out just enough to punch back in, dragging a yelp from your throat, and then doing it again and again and again until your yelps turned into wet, pathetic keens as the coil returned. It looped around your stomach and pulled as Aemond’s thrusts had you shoving up onto the tips of your toes, completely at his mercy. Each drag and push of him was hitting that spot inside of you that you didn’t know could possibly exist, and brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and sent more sparks up your spine. All you could do was hold on and sob as he took what he wanted and drove you closer to another terrifying euphoria.
And then it was crashing over you, seizing your body and making you shake in his grasp, but he was not done, continuing to thrust until he suddenly stilled and a scalding heat pooled inside you before you felt it start to slip down into the crux of your thighs.
Aemond did not pull out as you thought he would, but instead stood straight and smoothed a hand across the side of your face before pressing an almost gentle kiss to your quivering mouth, just a touch too firm to be truly careful. “Let us retire. I fear we have tempted fate too much by cavorting in such a place.” Only then did he pull out, hands squeezing at your hips as his release started to slide further down your legs. You burned with something almost like shame, but the residual tingling from your own kept it from truly consuming you. “Your body is for my eyes only, those little sounds you make are for my ears only. You are mine. And I plan to have you again before I call you my wife in front of the gods of our ancestors.”
And Aemond did. He took you apart on his featherbed and he had you screaming into the hand he cupped over your mouth as he drove into you until your legs were too weak to sustain your weight when you tried to stand afterward. But it mattered little because he still had you bathed and dressed in the traditional robe of a Valyrian wedding and he’d led you out to the beach like a lamb to slaughter where the priest wed you to Aemond in the Old Ways. He cut your lip and you cut his with unsteady fingers, knowing you could not run now.
**
Much had changed.
With the tenuous allegiance of Braavos and Pentos gained with careful political maneuvering by Daemon and Aemond, the war with the Triarchy was over in three moon’s time. King Viserys lived long enough to see it and welcome the entirety of his family back to the Red Keep again in victory before succumbing to his age.
Queen Alicent was the one to place the crown on Rhaenyra’s head and proclaim her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in front of the crowds assembled.
Your lip scarred and your husband liked to press his mouth to it whenever you were alone and you could feel his smile against your skin. And, just as he had said he would before your wedding, he had his first heir growing within you. His warm hand would curl around your ever-growing bump at every opportunity, no matter the company present. Advisors, siblings, knights, low and highborn alike. All of them saw the possessive curl of his fingers over you. You had come to expect it, almost welcome it.
It was strange…to be wanted. And to be wanted to completely. It was stifling and terrifying and all consuming. When you had come into your shared chambers and murmured the news that you were with child, Aemond had taken you again but slower than he had ever before. It was almost as if he were nervous to move too quickly, despite the power behind his thrusts, and hurt you or your babe.
The next day, he had the tongues of your mother, father, and brother delivered to you, wrapped in the dress Aemond had gifted to you and your mother had stolen. Aemond had given you a choice as to how to deal with them. You had asked for them to never speak ill of you again but for their lives to be unaltered. Horrified, you realized he had done as you had bid. They would never utter a word against you. They would never try to use you as leverage in a scheme. Aemond had taken it a step further to have you known as a Targaryen Princess rather than your House’s name.
“You make him so happy,” Alicent said as she cupped your cheeks in her soft hands, a matching smile on her face. “I cannot thank you enough.” The Dowager Queen had been endlessly kind to you and the rest of the family had welcomed you with open arms.
As if they had always expected you to be one of them.
Your dragon healed, new scars to add to his collection. He still allowed you onto his back but only when Vhagar was near. Your freedom still had caveats. But you still felt the wind beneath you as you soared through the air with your husband at your side. You still knew what it felt like to fly. You still knew the taste of clouds after a storm. You still knew what the city looked like from miles in the sky. And Aemond had sworn that he would fly with you to Volantis to visit Vaella after your babe was born.
“I love you,” Aemond spoke the words first, just after your bump started to show, only a week before you were set to fly North to see Helaena marry Cregan under the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. “I love you,” he said again after watching Aegon happily kiss his wife in Sunspear under the blazing Dornish sun. “I love you.” And you wanted to believe him. One day you would. And, perhaps one day you would say it, too.
A few months shy of your suspected due date, Queen Rhaenyra summoned you both to the throne room from the chambers you shared. “You may have any land you wish, brother,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile. “You have fought valiantly for this kingdom, often without reward or gratitude. It is a paltry sum for what we and the crown owes you, but I hope this is a start.” She waved a hand and a serving man handed Aemond a small scroll. “If you wish to rebuild any castle or keep on that list, you will have any materials and skilled workers you may need. If you would prefer something built new, you shall have the same. You need only ask.”
Aemond unfurled it to reveal a list of islands, vacant lands, and ruined castles. You recognized a few; Red Deer Island in the Riverlands, Bloody Isle near Oldtown, and Whispers which was the ruined castle near the tip of Crackclaw Point. But the list was extensive. Aemond had his pick of lands. He could take you anywhere he selected. How far would he take you? And why did you hate that you didn’t care? As long as it was him? It would be just you and him—forever
A/N: thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!
#Aemond Targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fic#aemond x oc#Aemond Targaryen#aemond Targaryen x ofc#House of the dragon fic#house of the dragon#hotd#female reader
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hello
i'm incredibly sorry to ask for this emergency request
but would it be okay to ask you to write comfort for suicide thoughts with hawks or aizawa? I understand that you may be uncomfortable with it, so it's okay if this ask won't be fulfilled
thank you either way and have a nice day!
Aizawa & Hawks with s/o having suicidal thoughts
EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST
Aizawa
Aizawa, typically reserved, expresses concern when he notices the change in their behavior, demonstrating his deep connection with them.
Rather than pressing for details, Aizawa lets his partner share at their own pace, creating a safe space where they feel comfortable opening up.
Aizawa would stay up late, ensuring he's there when his partner needs to talk. His gruff exterior softens as he listens attentively, providing a safe space for them to express their darkest, suicidal thoughts.
Aizawa understands the power of silence. Sometimes, they'd sit together without saying a word, knowing that just having someone by their side can be reassuring.
With a rare smile, Aizawa offers words of encouragement, acknowledging the struggles they face. "You're stronger than you think. I believe in you, Y/N. Please. I can't lose you, baby."
Aizawa works with them to develop a structured routine, focusing on small, achievable goals to gradually overcome challenges.
Aizawa helps them establish a routine, emphasizing the importance of self-care. Whether it's making sure they eat properly or get enough rest, he takes practical steps to support their well-being.
Knowing the therapeutic effects of physical activity, Aizawa suggests training together. It becomes a way to release pent-up emotions and build a sense of achievement.
Aizawa encourages them to engage in activities they enjoy. Whether it's reading, drawing, or another hobby, it becomes a positive outlet for their emotions.
Aizawa gently encourages seeking professional help, emphasizing that heroes aren't just those who fight villains but also those who face their inner battles.
Aizawa assures them that they're not alone in this journey. "We'll face this together, one step at a time."
Aizawa helps them connect with friends and build a support system, reinforcing the idea that seeking help is a sign of strength.
Hawks
Hawks, perceptive as always, notices a change in their demeanor. Without prying, he gently encourages them to share what's on their mind.
When they finally open up about their dark thoughts, Hawks listens attentively, his wings wrapping around them protectively, creating a comforting cocoon.
"You're not alone in this, you know. We're a team, remember? Let me share this burden with you," Hawks says, his voice calm and reassuring.
Hawks takes them on flights, providing a unique perspective and a momentary escape from the darkness.
Hawks uses his playful nature to bring laughter into their lives, understanding that humor can be a powerful antidote to despair.
Hawks is affectionate, expressing love through hugs, kisses, and words of affirmation. "You mean the world to me, and I'll always be here for you. I know those thoughts are super overwhelming but I know how strong you are."
Hawks encourages them to explore creative outlets, channeling their emotions into something positive. Whether it's writing, painting, or another form of expression, it becomes a therapeutic outlet.
He shares stories of his own struggles, highlighting that vulnerability is not a weakness, but a strength that can connect people.
On difficult days, he surprises them with small gestures of affection, whether it's breakfast in bed or a note expressing his love and support.
Hawks collaborates with them on setting achievable goals, celebrating every small victory together. "We'll conquer this together, darling."
Hawks paints a vivid picture of a brighter future, reminding them that each day brings new possibilities and opportunities for happiness.
#emergency request#aizawa fluff#shota aizawa x reader#aizawa x reader#aizawa headcanons#mha headcanons#bnha headcannons#hawks x you#hawks fluff#keigo takami x you#mha hcs#takami keigo#keigo x reader#keigo takami x reader#keigo takami x y/n#hawks x reader#hawks x y/n#hawks hcs#bnha fluff#mha fluff
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omg can u do a story thats like summer fling comes to ur school and interrupts what u had going on with ur current situationship something like that i saw a smau like this and a long fic with ur writing will really just be *chefs kiss*
GIVE UP ON ME
PAIRING ➩ heeseung x reader
SUMMARY ➩ you’re moved back to your hometown and finally moving on from your toxic 4 year long relationship with your highschool sweetheart heeseung when you get the email that the 5 year reunion is approaching
WC ➩ 8k
WARNINGS ➩ mentions of sex and death, extremely toxic relationship between yn and hee, not cheating but sorta shady, just a ton of angst
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ written at 5 am not proofread yadada same stuff as always! slightly strayed from what the request suggest but i like it so hope you do too
It wasn’t like you had necessarily planned to stay in your hometown post your eventual graduation.
In fact, like almost everybody else your age that you’d spoken to about it, you couldn’t wait to be old enough to get out of where you’d grown up. To leave behind the familiar neighborhoods and the memories wrapped around every tree and building, you’d be in a new place as a new adult who could conquer the world.
You did eventually leave, following the crowd of students a few states over to the nearest large city and it wasn’t that you particularly didn’t like it, it wasn’t all too bad.
But it only took two years of constant bustling city life, your office job that stretched you past your limit and didn’t pay you nearly enough, and the overly expensive fees and bills for your apartment that was basically a walk in closest, before you were calling it quits and moving back to what was familiar.
Your parents had been delighted that you’d returned, living with them for about a year before you turned 24 and your ego couldn’t handle it. You longed for that feeling of freedom and maturity you’d found by having your own apartment and soon enough you were finding a place not too far from where you’d grown up.
As it turns out, you weren’t the only person who had either stayed or moved back home either. Knowing at least two dozen friends or classmates who were now adults and working throughout your city.
This comforted you for a number of reasons. It was nice to see their faces and have people you were familiar with but you also couldn’t help feeling disappointed in your self when you made the decision to come home, slightly embarrassed you couldn’t handle the demanding life of the big city like you’d wanted to. So seeing others in a similar boat helped you understand you weren’t apart of the minority here.
Currently you were sat with one of these old classmates inside a half flower shop half cafe, watching him race around as he tried to fulfill online orders.
“Technology is going to be the downfall of small business.” Sunghoon was complaining for about the sixth time since you’d gotten there, shaking his head and groaning when his long blond hair fell in his face again.
“Soon you’re going to need a hairnet if you keep that up.” You were commenting from your table, back leaned against the wall as you played with your empty coffee cup.
Sunghoon and you hadn’t been friends in high school, almost the opposite actually. You frequently had relationship drama with one of his best friends and he was a jock on the football team who was far too concerned with girls he could actually hook up with to ever acknowledge you as a human being.
It was a pleasant, although confusing, surprise when you’d stumbled upon a new adorable little shop while going to the grocery store and walked in to see Park Sunghoon himself, in a little pink apron and he greeted customers enthusiastically.
His face had dropped when he’d saw you, faltering slightly like he was embarrassed before you smiled and casually asked him what the best drink on the menu is.
Thus a friendship finally bloomed between the two of you and you spent almost every break sat in this exact place, even coming on your off days to help him maintain orders and the plants as he started to gain more and more traction.
“I could get a haircut if Jay could make some time for me.” He was scoffing and shaking his long hair again.
Almost on cue, the bell above the door was ringing and you glanced over to see Park Jay entering casually, looking over towards Sunghoon with a raised eyebrow when he just barely caught a whisper of the end of his sentence.
“Are you complaining about me being busy again?” Jay was sighing and approaching the counter after giving you a small wave in greeting. He didn’t need to tell Sunghoon his order, just passing him his card with the knowledge that he already knew.
Jay was here almost as frequently as you, maybe more so considering his salon was only two doors down in the small strip mall. He was also somebody you had known from high school although you didn’t really remember him much, your school being overly large and populated.
Sunghoon had told you once, the first day Jay had walked in at the same time as you and you commented on his familiarity, that they had run in the same circle back in school but Jay was absent from their parties or football activities a lot more often, hence why you most likely couldn’t exactly place his face to anything specific.
“Does he know me then?” You had asked him, muttering a small thanks when he passed you your ice coffee.
“Do you mean does he know that you used to hook up with our team captain after every practice?” Sunghoon was raising an eyebrow and taking the empty seat across from you. “Yeah Y/N, he knows.”
Sunghoon was referring to the exact reason you and him hadn’t been friends in high school.
Lee Heeseung was somebody you’d spent many years trying to rid yourself of, both thought wise and the terrible reputation you’d been given just by being seen in his vicinity more than a dozen times.
Heeseung had been the captain of the football team which, in true cliche high school form, had meant he basically ran the school in terms of power and popularity. He wasn’t exactly the worst person to have this position considering his personality, he was nice to almost everybody and hilarious without meaning to be, but he was still Lee Heeseung.
You’d known of him before anything ever happened between the two of you of course, growing up together considering neither one of you ever switched districts or moved to one of the rival schools.
Still you weren’t necessarily falling high on the popularity scale, sticking to your group of friends and never bothering to join any extracurriculars that took up your precious after school time.
So it was particularly confusing that he had noticed you, and noticed was a small word for it.
Your friends had forced you along to the first game of the season despite your complaints, not caring for sports especially ones that required you to sit in a cold metal bench while freezing your ass off. Still, you subjected to their pleads and demands and found yourself begrudgingly entering the football fields gated concession area.
Almost immediately you’d been stopped by a boy, taking a second of scanning him to realize who it was underneath all that gear and face paint. Lee Heeseung was removing his helmet and shaking his messy hair to give it back some volume, offering you a toothy smile as you raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“Cheerleader section is over there.” Had been the first words out of his mouth and judging by the gleam in his big eyes, he had figured that to be a pretty good pick up line.
He has faltered slightly in his confidence however when you glanced down at your sweatpants and large sweater, looking back to meet his eyes with an unimpressed stare as you leaned back slightly.
“Do I look like I’m here to cheerlead?” You mumbled, although you’d realized he was trying to sweet talk you, you still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an awkward laugh or you thanking him.
Your friends had come back from getting their hot dogs and drinks then, not realizing who exactly you were speaking to before they were grabbing your arms and excitedly making their way over to pick a good seat in the bleachers, leaving you to spare Heeseung a look over your shoulder and shrug when you saw him standing dumbfounded.
You hadn’t thought much about it while waiting for the game to officially start, knowing it was probably a one off encounter. Heeseung had a known habit of flirting with everything and anyone that moved, all genders included, and you didn’t think it was something you needed to care about for more than 20 minutes.
He was quickly proving you wrong however once the starting whistle was ringing out and he was immediately finding you in the stands. Every time he made a successful pass or scoring a touchdown, he was looking towards you in the crowd and shooting you a smile or a thumbs up.
It took about an hour for your friends to realize who he was looking at and you spent the rest of the game listening to their squeaks of excitement as they shook your shoulders, paired with the glared of jealously others were giving you once they also caught on to who it was that had caught their football captains attention.
Despite your best attempts to keep rejecting him, Heeseung’s efforts to woo you got more and more intense and eventually you were playing into them in return.
This lead you into four years of near disaster, entering a rocky relationship, if you could ever call it that, that was mainly you breaking up every few days followed by makeup sex that you never told anybody about. It wasn’t necessarily a secret considering everybody knew about your situationship but neither one of you would ever confirm it, brushing off questions or assumptions.
You never dated officially but everybody knew you were together, although this never stopped girls and guys from trying to get with Heeseung. As far as you knew he never took the bait, remaining faithful to you and your arrangement although he had no reason to ever honor this silent code of monogamy.
You imagine the football team had gotten the most inside scoop out of the rest of the school, often seeing you and Heeseung arguing in the parking lot after practice or you walking away with tear filled eyes just to return a few days later kissing him and glued to his side with a bright smile.
Things were messy but you were happy to be around him during the good times, both of you at fault when things got rocky. He didn’t treat you bad necessarily, you just weren’t good for each other but too obsessed to ever let go or move on. That didn’t mean there wasn’t times where you’d sit in bed and wish it was over, hovering over the send button on the break up message you’d formulated just to delete it for the 100th time.
Then Heeseung was offered a sports scholarship to a university in America and things were over just like that.
It was a bit more complicated considering the nights you spent crying together, curled up on his twin mattress or the arguments you had that left him storming out and slamming doors. But regardless, it was the official end to your four years of trying to make it work.
“What are you thinking about so intensely?” Jay’s smooth voice was breaking you from your trip down memory lane as he took the seat next to you, watching you with a concerned frown. “Is it the reunion?”
“Am I the only one who thinks a five year reunion is a little bit overkill? Half of us are still the exact same.” Sunghoon was adding on from behind the counter and you sighed.
They were referring to the fact that earlier this week, school president Yang Jungwon had sent a mass email to all ex students announcing he was throwing a five year reunion party at your old school, right here in your hometown.
“Yeah Hoon, like anyone would’ve guessed you’d become Mr. Flower Boy.” Jay was shaking his head and turning back to look at you with that same expression. “I really doubt he’s going to be there. He’s a super busy guy these days.”
“Why would she care if he’s going or not?” Sunghoon was chiming in again before you could and you sighed in irritation.
“She can speak you know.” You gave him a warning glance and he mimicked zipping up his lips, smiling when you laughed at the way he threw away the key after. “But I don’t care, he’s right. It’s been five years since I’ve seen him and plus I’ve moved on now.”
“So it’s safe to say you’ll be taking your loser as your plus one? Sorry Jay.” Sunghoon was kissing his teeth as he finished the last part and you rolled your eyes.
He liked to tease Jay about having a secret crush on you all these years although the other boy strictly denied it every time it was brought up, getting the same nasty scowl on his face that he had right now.
“Jiung isn’t a loser.” You attempted to defend your coworker who you had been going on casual dates with for a few months now but your voice was weak and you winced slightly. “At least he’s nice.”
“You might as well call him a loser. No guy likes to be called nice.” Sunghoon remarked.
He was joining you at the third seat of the table then and you sighed softly knowing he was right, guilt rising up in your chest considering you were having second thoughts about taking him as your date to the reunion. You glanced at Jay who was already watching you with a soft expression.
“Well I think nice is good.”
——
It was only about two weeks later that the reunion was approaching and you felt sick to your stomach as you sat in your car, your schools logo shining a bright light into the dark parking lot and causing you to groan as you rested your forehead against your steering wheel.
Your phone was lighting up with a text message, letting you know that Sunghoon and Jay were waiting for you near the entrance so you could walk in together.
You took a deep breath before giving yourself a small pep talk, finally getting out of the car and adjusting your dress before meeting them underneath the archway. It was strange to see them in such a familiar place but looking so different and meaning a lot more to you now. They seemed to be feeling the same thing as they watched you with nostalgic looks.
“Well if it isn’t Y/N L/N.” Sunghoon was chiming and meeting you half way, throwing an arm over your shoulders and leading you towards the entrance doors. Jay followed quietly behind, watching the two of you with a half smile. “So whats your first period?”
“Wrestling if you don’t take your arm off me.” You groaned and pushed him away from you, not needing rumors to start before you’d even entered the building. Jiung would be arriving after his shift ended and you didn’t need to be seen with multiple men by your old judge classmates.
As much as you didn’t want to attend you couldn’t deny how beautiful the gym looked. Jungwon had done an amazing job of decorating it and making the space feel less like early PE and more like a grand ball, an upgraded version of the homecomings he had thrown back then.
You made a mental note to find him and compliment his interior design skills before following your friends over to the drinks and snacks.
Your skin was still buzzing with anxiety at the thought of seeing people you once knew, one in particular, but you reminded yourself he most likely wouldn’t come. If he did it would be okay regardless, you’d moved on and it had been almost half a decade since you’d seen his handsome face.
Which is why it was almost too intense of a shock wave that hit you when you spun around with your drink in hand and were immediately face to face with the same boy you’d been praying you didn’t run into tonight.
Heeseung was already watching you from a few feet away, having recognized the back of your head despite being confused considering the two boys you were hanging out with, his old friends who he never once thought you’d encountered. But when you turned to the side to laugh at something Sunghoon said as he poured your drink, he was certain it was you and his feet instinctively started to move in your direction.
You were both frozen as you looked at each other with wide eyes, not saying anything as you took in the others appearance and presence.
Heeseung looked the same but different somehow. His eyes were the first thing you noticed, still overwhelmingly round and beautiful but calmer now. He was lacking his boyish spark that always made him seem like he was one burst of energy from absolutely exploding.
Physically he was larger although he’d always carried lean muscle from playing multiple sports. While then he had relied on speed and being agile, now he seemed stronger and more sturdy judging by the way his button up stretched slightly over his chest. You felt uncomfortable as he looked at you, knowing he was probably making similar judgements about you and you nudged Sunghoon with your elbow to get his attention.
“Whats wrong sweet?” He was spinning around to address you kindly but faltering when he followed your frozen gaze and saw his old friend standing a few feet away. “Oh dude, what’s up Heeseung?”
Sunghoon’s voice was excited as he addressed him but you watched the way the older boys jaw clenched at the use of the nickname towards you, shifting on his feet and not even sparing his high school friend a glance as he gave you a knowing look. You recognized the signs of jealously and annoyance on his face and you sighed softly as you realized he hadn’t changed as much as you thought.
He finally turned to address Sunghoon as they exchanged bro like high-fives and a side hug before he was leaning back again to glance between the two of you.
“So you two…?” He trailed off but you knew what he was implying as he pointed a finger back and fourth a few times.
You tried not to think about how different his voice sounded or the way his half smirk he was offering the two of you didn’t match his gentle face, heart in your throat as the previous image of him youd held so dearly the last five years disappeared and molded into this new version of him in front of you.
“Oh no man, no way.” Sunghoon was laughing once he realized, not catching onto the fact the other boy was clearly irritated and you were growing more uncomfortable by the second. He glanced over at you and your other friend beside you and you immediately knew what he was going to say judging by the mischievous look in his eye. “She’s with Jay.”
All three of you froze in shock, although you had expected him to say it it still didn’t make the impact any less heavy. It fell completely silent as you waited for Sunghoon to break the joke and laugh, tell Heeseung he was only kidding so you could finally say your goodbyes and leave the awkward situation behind. He didn’t however, watching you to wait and see what you would say.
“What a surprise.” Heeseung’s cold voice was filtering in instead and you felt Jay stiffen from beside you. “So you finally grew a pair? Only took you a decade I guess.”
Now Sunghoon was freezing alongside the rest of you and his mouth parted softly, despite being the one who constantly teased your friend and brought it up, even he was thrown off by how mean the comment Heeseung had made was.
You felt sick to your stomach once you processed what he was saying, implying both that Sunghoon hadn’t been joking when he talked about the other boys crush on you and also the fact he had seemingly known about it since before you even got together freshman year. You were turning your head slightly to glance at Jay to see him still completely stiff, his face ghost white with bright red cheeks from his embarrassment.
“Jay?” You whispered and the sound of your voice seemed to break him from his trance, shooting you a panicked look before he was awkwardly placing his drink back down on the table and clumsily excusing himself.
He was gone before you could object and Sunghoon sighed before following him, patting you on the back and glaring at Heeseung as he went.
This left you alone with the boy and although he still looked as irritated as he did a few minutes ago, now there was confusion masking his features as well. You glared at him but didn’t say anything, just shaking your head before turning to try and follow your friends out of the auditorium.
However a hand on your arm was stopping you and you whipped around back towards the boy, yanking your arm away from him and trying to ignore the fact your skin lit up with a fire the second he had touched you. A flash of hurt passed by his face before it was hardening again and you scoffed.
“Don’t leave yet.” He was rushing out and for a second he sounded like he had last time you’d seen him, a hint of desperation in his voice. “We haven’t even talked.”
“Why would we need to talk?” You practically hissed at him although you weren’t sure why. His comment had been mean but he didn’t know any better, obviously not realizing the stupid joke and just retorting in the way a childish ex boyfriend would.
Heeseung faltered at your tone and he finally let some expression show, a confused and hesitant look on his face as he glanced down to your feet and then back up to hold your glare. He shrugged and took a step away from you, letting you know you were able to go and follow the other boys.
You sighed at his reaction and made no move to leave, watching him for a second and trying to think about a way to handle this that would create the least amount of drama.
“Come with me to find Jay and then we can go somewhere and talk.” You were eventually saying and he was thinking for a moment before nodding and following you out of the gym.
The two of you walked in silence down the hallways and you couldn’t help but steal glances at him every few seconds, your mind having a hard time understanding the visual of adult Heeseung walking down the same floors he had last time you’d seen him. You figured he was doing something similar judging by the way you kept awkwardly meeting each others eyes and hurriedly looking away.
“How’d that happen anyways?” He was asking you once you pushed through the doors back outside and you looked at him in confusion. “You and those guys being friends.”
You smiled at the mention of them and shrugged softly, pulling your jacket up on your shoulders tighter once the cold night air nipped at your skin. “I imagine we could’ve been friends in high school too if I wasn’t so busy.”
He was laughing softly and turning to walk sideways so he could look at you more clearly, your heart picking up in speed when you looked at him to see that familiar smirk and cocky glint in his eyes that arrived at the mention of your activities in high school.
“Remind me what it was that had you so occupied back then.” He was asking but he already knew, just wanting to hear you say it and see your reaction.
You considered humoring him for half a second before deciding against it, rolling your eyes and looking away from his intense stare before you did something stupid.
He was taking a step closer to you then and you stopped walking, watching with saddened eyes as he took a few more, his hand coming up to hold your arm again although a lot more gentle this time around. Your stomach turned at the feeling of him touching you and you could’ve cried if you thought about it for too long.
“I missed you.” He was whispering suddenly and you hated that you could hear the sincerity in his voice, breaking around his words slightly as he softly squeezed your arm. “I really fucking missed you.”
You were turning your head downwards softly to try to stop yourself from tearing up and being an embarrassing ex, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of something you could say to him that wouldn’t hurt either of your feelings.
You were swiftly interrupted by the sound of a car door closing a few parking spaces down and you took a step away from the boy just in case, his hand falling off your arm and dangling in mid air for a few seconds before he removed it. You glanced behind you towards the sound and your sick feeling got worse when you realized who it was that was approaching you.
“Y/N.” Jiung waved at you with a big smile and you tried to offer back a small one, wincing when he approached and wrapped an arm around your side. He was turning towards the other boy in greeting. “This must be one of your classmates.”
Heeseung had lost the gentle expression on his face again, eyes hard as they shot down to the hand sitting on your waist. He was looking back up at you with a raised eyebrow and you sighed softly when you noticed his jaw clenching again. Still he surprised you when he stuck a hand out towards your date, gripping the others firmly in a handshake before giving him a forced smile.
“Heeseung.” He offered his name and Jiung froze beside you.
“Oh…. this is Heeseung.” He glanced down at you and you bit the inside of your cheek awkwardly, nodding slowly as he pieced together who it was that was standing in front of him, finally putting a face to the name.
Heeseung on the other hand seemed pleased at the realization that you had talked about him, especially to this guy that was slowly loosening his hold around your body the longer he glared at him intensely. You felt a surge of annoyance that the boy still held a childish amount of possessiveness and jealously over you despite the fact you hadn’t had contact with him in years.
“This is Jiung my… friend.” You eventually introduced him, trying to lessen the awkward tension that was building to a suffocating amount.
Jiung faltered at the title you gave him but you weren’t lying necessarily, you’d been going on dates every since he asked you out at a company dinner but you hadn’t talked about it in detail or really moved towards anything serious.
This seemed to calm Heeseung down for a second before he was glancing at you, trying to decide what you considered a friend. He recalled you introducing him as that back in the day and he most definitely didn’t have you in a friendly way most of the time. You shot him a warning glare and he lost his intimidating expression immediately as he listened to you.
You ushered Jiung inside after that, telling Heeseung to go find Jay and apologize and ignoring him when he groaned and tried to follow on your heels like a lost puppy.
“What was that?” Jiung was whispering once you got inside and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not liking the harsh tone he suddenly had with you. “I’m your friend now?”
You stared at him in disbelief knowing he only cared because the person you had said it to. You’d called him your friend for months and vice versa but clearly his ego was wounded at the fact you’d said it to Heeseung. You were a bit sick of the amount of male ego floating around tonight and you were about ready to leave at this point.
“When have you ever been otherwise.” You spat back at him and he scoffed, uncharacteristically angry. He normally was quiet and pretty shy hence why Sunghoon had taken to calling him a loser, never to his face of course.
You figured the night wouldn’t be much fun but you didn’t expect to be sat at one of the tables in awkward silence with your coworker, your friends no where to be seen still. Your arms were crossed and you weren’t bothering to mask the annoyed look on your face as Jiung the as in a similar position, still throwing a hissy fit over the title you’d given him.
Jungwon had stopped by your table at one point, greeting you warmly despite being slightly awkward considering your date had completely ignored his arrival. You paid him no mind and enthusiastically told your old president what a good job he had done, citing that everybody seemed to be having a good time.
He smiled and thanked you despite clearly being able to tell you weren’t necessarily apart of that, noticing you sitting with a frown on your face earlier.
The rest of the night carried on like that and then it was finally ending, masses of feet finding their way outside the school again. You walked past the groups of people saying goodbye to each other, not bothering to join in on the charade considering you weren’t in the best mood and definitely at risk of being accidentally rude to an old peer.
Jiung was following you silently and when you reached his car and stared at him he took a moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry if I ruined the night.” He was stating and you gave him a tired glance. “I don’t know why I acted like that… just seeing him and knowing how much he meant to you…”
“Well he doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.” You were cutting him off before he could finish, shaking your head and contemplating giving him a hug goodbye before deciding against it, offering a small wave instead as you turned to go and find where you had parked.
You took your time as you walked to the other side of the parking lot, watching Jiung’s car as it pulled off and feeling strangely sick again with overwhelming nostalgia.
It was that same feeling you had when you first moved back home and arrived in the local airport, the disappointing ride back home as it stormed like the sky could feel how saddened you felt. It didn’t go away for weeks, that heavy hole in your heart, especially as you adjusted to the places you would frequent with Heeseung, having to get used to not seeing him around every corner.
“So I don’t mean anything then?” His voice now was a stark reminder of that as he rounded his way through the cars closest to yours, clearly having listened in on your conversation a few minutes prior.
“Do you always spy on your old classmates conversations?” You were sighing and putting your keys back into your pocket, leaning against your car as you watched him.
He joined you, scanning your new vehicle first for a second before he was leaning onto it beside you and touching your shoulder to his. The car was slightly wet from the earlier drizzle but he didn’t complain as it sunk through his long sleeve shirt, sending him a cold chill that you could feel on your arm that was pressed against him.
“Is that what we are? Old classmates?” He was asking with a small laugh but it lacked any humor, his voice sounding slightly wounded like it had earlier.
“Let’s not do this.” You shook your head softly, the longing and desperation on his face making your heart beat almost painfully in your throat. “Please Heeseung.”
Lee Heeseung had always felt like a drug to you and he knew this more than anybody considering he felt the same way.
You remembered after you and him had first started to fool around with each other, you hadn’t thought too deeply about it. He was a known player and although he’d been around your life since you were young that didn’t make you exempt from his flirting and advances apparently like you had figured. He’d never paid you any attention before but you weren’t going to get your heartbroken by him.
Still, he was cute and you liked the way he smiled so naturally you didn’t decline once he continued to show interest in you. That’s all it was at first however, quick hookups in his car before practice or once or twice you went to his house on a free weekend to see him.
You never acknowledged each other in public, especially not at school, and you rarely talked outside of having sex and saying meaningless words. This was okay with you and you never expected anything else, almost preferring how easy and simple the arrangement was as of now.
Then one day after lunch, one of Heeseung’s more publicly known hookups was pouring her drink over your head. She’d barely gotten a few words out before she was being dragged away by teachers but you vaguely heard her screaming something about you being a slut as she cried and kicked. When you asked him about it the next weekend while getting dressed in his room, he casually told you he had broken stuff off with her because of you.
You’d stopped midway from putting your bra back on to look at him in bewilderment, him casually avoiding your glance despite the fact he was anxiously fidgeting with his fingers.
“Why the hell would you do that Hee?” You remember hissing at him and he raised his thin shoulders in a careless shrug.
“Maybe you’re just my favorite.” He was retorting with a small smirk, dodging out of the way when you chucked your shirt in his direction.
He had said it like it was a joke but that didn’t stop you from paying extra attention to his behavior from there on out. Heeseung was clearly obsessed with you and you would’ve been annoyed by his antics if you weren’t in the same boat, almost feeling sick every time you went more than a week without being able to see him.
You spent almost all of your free time together, even on the days where you had been “broken up”.
Your friends had been excited for you at first, being not only noticed by the most popular guy at school but also being the first girl he seemed to actually care about. Their excitement turned to worry the longer your toxic relationship went on and the more weekends you spent crying in bed after another nasty argument.
It was always stupid things you’d argue about, childish assumptions and major jealously issues on both sides. Heeseung didn’t like the way boys are parties looked at you and you hate the girls on the cheerleading team who called his name louder than they did the rest of the boys.
So you’d scream and you’d fight and you’d slam doors so hard the wood would crack but then less than a week later you’d be underneath him again, murmuring about how you can’t live without each other and you’d never love somebody as much as you loved him.
“What are we doing?” He was speaking again now regarding your warning for him to stop speaking the way he was. “We are just talking, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You know it’s never just talking with us.” You laughed a dry laugh and looked down at your feet, sadness ripping through you again at the reminder you weren’t stupid kids anymore.
You were older now and more mature, supposedly moved on, yet your heart still raced every time he smiled and your entire arm was on fire just from the feeling of his sleeve against your jacket. The pit in your stomach full of longing was screaming out at you to lean into him, to scratch that itch that never left and always begged you to pick up the phone and call him.
“I knew I missed you, I mean I think about you every day but….” He trailed off for a second and you looked over towards him, watching the side of his face as he took a deep breath. “I feel like this is the first time I’ve been able to breathe in 5 years.”
“We were terrible together.” You whispered back to him, trying to keep your sad tone lighthearted so he understood you were mostly joking.
You didn’t like that when he looked at you, you felt 18 again. His eyes were teary and you wanted to reach up and hold his cheek, wipe your thumb gently under his eye and whisper nice things to him until it cleared away.
You remembered the first time you’d ever seen Heeseung cry and you felt like your world had collapsed. He always was so strong and optimistic, calm in bad situations and cracking jokes when you were so frustrated you couldn’t find it in yourself to even laugh at him despite appreciating his ability to always make light of a situation.
So when he had shown up on your doorstep your junior year soaking wet from the rain and sobbing so hard he was leaning against your door for support, you felt like you had quite literally died.
You’d pulled him inside quickly and he wrapped you in a bone cracking hug, completely soaking your clothes although you didn’t mind or object in any way.
You hadn’t seen him for a few days considering you’d fought the previous weekend after a boy at a party had snaked his hand around your waist and squeezed slyly before Heeseung was ripping him off of you and nearly pummeling him into the ground, only stopping his attack when a few of his friends heard the yells and gasps and helped you pull him away from the boy.
After storming out of the party you scolded him for being so careless, only one year from graduation with a near perfect record that would help with scholarships.
“You think I give a fuck about any of that?” He had sneered at you under the streetlight and you remembered the way his voice echoed throughout the quiet street, his cheek red and swollen from the other guy getting a few good hits in.
“You should.” You had yelled back, hands coming up in confusion.
“All that matters to me is this.” He was approaching you swiftly but you didn’t flinch back, not even with the aggressiveness from earlier still floating through his eyes, knowing he’d never hurt you. “You are what matters to me, this is all I have.”
You’d told him he was crazy for saying things like that and tried to remind him how important football was and how he needed to get this scholarship, he needed these opportunities and you weren’t going to let him throw them away for you. This upset him and he’d called you a ride home before disappearing somewhere, now returning on your doorstep like a stray dog.
“What’s wrong?” You were gasping into his wet hair, a cold chill running through you considering just how soaked he was.
You shuffled the two of you over to the door so could close it, taking a peak outside briefly to see his car wasn’t in your driveway. He had either gotten a ride and stood outside for a while or he’d walked the two hours from his own house.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened?” You tried to pull back from the hug to look at his face but he was squeezing you tighter, a panicked cry slipping through his lips at the feeling of you even attempting to pull away from him.
You didn’t try again and you didn’t talk either, both of you sinking to the floor as he cried and shook in your arms. You were petting his hair softly and ignoring the small puddle that was building up around you on your floor.
Eventually once he calmed down he was able to tell you what happened. Heeseung’s grandma, who he lived with full time and was raised by, had passed away a day or two prior and he’d only gotten the news once he finally came home and found her gone.
It’d been a long time since that night now but as you looked at him now it’s all you could think about. You think, in a way, that’s when you fully realized how much you truly loved him. This wasn’t a high school fling or you both being unhealthy obsessed with each other to the point you thought you were in love, it was serious for you and the thought made your stomach hurt.
Not because you had any doubt he loved you too, that was never a concern of yours. Quite the opposite considering he was a lot more open in his care for you than you were towards him, instinctively keeping him at an arms length distance sometimes.
It made you feel so terrible because you knew how it would end before it even did, you knew he would do great like he always did and he’d be given opportunities that didn’t have room for you in them. He would get too busy or too full of himself and you’d be left on the back burner, then he’d move on and forget all about you.
Hearing him now express how terribly he’d missed you, equating it to years worth of suffocation, made your stomach turn for other reasons.
“We weren’t terrible we were just kids.” He was retorting and you watched him as he shifted closer to you against the car. He’d always been taller than you but he seemed especially large now, his face and voice more mature.
“I saw the way you looked at Jiung and Jay earlier.” You reminded him and shook your head in denial. “It’s the same, you would’ve beat him bloody if you could have.”
“Moment of weakness. I’m not like that anymore.” He was quick to reply, almost like he knew you were going to bring it up. You glanced at him again and he was already watching you curiously. “But I’d do it if I had to yeah, I’d do anything for you.”
You were pulling off the car so you could fully face him, standing in front of him and looking at him with an incredulous expression. He was directly going against his first statement that he had changed for the better and you felt frustrated that he wasn’t understanding your point of view.
“How can you say that to me?” You whispered to him and he winced at the pain in your tone, reaching a hand out to hold your arm softly and feeling relieved when you didn’t immediately swat him away. “It’s been a long time Heeseung, you’re just confused because you’re back here.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He was shaking his head and scoffing, playing with your jacket sleeve and pinching it softly between his reddening fingers. “It hasn’t been a long time to me, I’m still here every day in my head. Every morning I’m still waking up beside you even when you’re not there.”
You knew it was probably stupid to lean forward towards him, everything in you telling you you’d regret it but you couldn’t help it as you listened to him talk.
You didn’t kiss him or anything, just simply leaned your body forward against his on the car so he could wrap his arms around your lower back and hold you tighter than he’d been holding your sleeve, but it was enough for him to know you were listening and attempting to hear him out.
He sucked in a breath now that you were pushed against him and for a second you thought he’d start to tear up again, a similar overwhelming feeling of relief and comfort washing through you at just the small act of being close to him again.
“So you miss me too?” He was whispering now that you were closer, looking down at you. You were close enough that if he leaned down your noses would touch but he didn’t, just watching you as you peered up at him.
“Of course I miss you.” You finally surrendered and told him part of the truth, not liking the way his eyes immediately lit up in happiness and the way it made your cheeks flush with warmth. “I miss you so bad it hurts sometimes.”
“Then come with me.” He was practically pleading and you felt his big hands squeezing against your back, pulling you against him tighter as he watched you with big earnest eyes. “Come with me and…. And I-I’ll do better, we can start over.”
You were crying now as he spoke so desperately and he immediately stopped talking once he realized, pulling you in fully for a hug and letting you cry into his chest like you had done for him all those years ago. You let your hands come up to rest flat on his back, feeling the way he took shuddering breaths and the fast beating of his heart.
There was no possible way you could give Heeseung what he wanted, you couldn’t leave with him and you knew there was no place for your love in the universe as much as you wished it was different.
You thought back to the last time you’d had a similar conversation to this, when you found out he’d been offered the scholarship of his dreams all the way in America.
“You can come with obviously, they’re giving me my own little dorm and everything.” He’d been so excited as he rambled and packed up his desk, not noticing the way you were silent and emotionless just behind him on his unmade bed.
When he had finally turned to look at you and see why you weren’t giving him any reactions, his face dropped seeing your teary eyes as you softly shook your head. You were still in your pajamas from the night before when everything was perfect and just the two of you laying in bed together watching Toy Story, now your heart felt like it was being ripped from your chest.
“Angel what’s wrong?” He was rushing back over to the bed and climbing on it, stopping right in front of you and holding your face gently as you started to cry. “No no no, don’t cry my sweet girl. What happened, tell me what happened?”
You didn’t need to voice the fact that you wouldn’t be going with him, giving him a heavy glance that only took him a few seconds to understand. There wasn’t much of a conversation after that despite his deep desire to beg you to change your mind, to reconsider. Heeseung wasn’t going to make you do something you didn’t want, even though getting on the plane without you changed him forever.
You were pulling back from the hug gently so he didn’t think you were mad at him, looking up at him and holding his face softly as you tried to think of what to say or do.
“I’ll show you.” He whispered before you could, nodding his head softly as his voice cracked from his own sob. He was biting his lip softly to stop from crying too hard and you stopped thinking he looked so different, only able to see the boy you knew before as you looked at him now. “Give me time and I’ll show you, I promise. Don’t give up on me.”
You were taking a deep breath as you watched him speak, slowly making up your mind and just simply wrestling with the knowledge that what you were about to say would change things for you drastically, change them for a long time to come.
“I could never give up on you.”
#enhypen#enhypen drabbles#enhypen fanfiction#heeseung#heeseung drabbles#heeseung x reader#heeseung smut#sunghoon enhypen#jay enhypen#sunghoon fluff#jay fluff#enhypen au#enhypen smut#enhypen angst#enhypen fluff#jiung x reader
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hello🙈 i’ve been thinking about a mini story based on “exile” by taylor swift with one tommy shelby… former lovers. shelby sees her at a party with a new beau and gets jealous (“i can see you starin honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me”) it’s a back and forth dialogue type song IDK i think it would be slay
Exile
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader
Summary: A familiar figure stirs up feelings you'd rather not face
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: Mention of drugs.
A/N: Thank you Anon! I love this song and it fits Tommy SO well. Also, I wrote this on a beach. No idea how the setting ended up being NYE. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta read and the ending ❤️
I've added my existing taglist but please note this is not part of the Let’s Be Alone Together universe.
Him
It's fast approaching midnight at The Savoy Hotel. The dawning of the new year is almost within reach. Tommy Shelby drains his glass of champagne, wishing for whiskey instead as he slowly scans the room.
Tickets for the party tonight had been akin to gold dust, a chance to rub shoulders with the upper echelons of London's elite. But Tommy would rather be anywhere else in the world.
Preferably, Birmingham.
He'd take a bottle of homemade gin, tucked away in the quiet familiarity of Charlie's yard in a heartbeat over this stuffy champagne-fueled ballroom. But no one ever said success was easy.
Tommy had come here tonight for one reason and one reason alone. If his plans to move into the world of politics had any chance of coming to fruition, he would need to mingle with the privileged crowd. To learn their weakness. Their darkest secrets. To take advantage of the liquor loosening their lips.
He's managed to withstand maybe a handful of hours at best before growing tired of all the posturing and arrogance, the not-so-subtle self-aggrandising and the congratulatory back slaps.
Looking for a way out but willing to settle for a distraction, his gaze continues to drift along the sea of tuxedos and expensive dresses.
Unexpectedly, he falters.
These days, it takes a lot to catch Tommy Shelby off guard - between France and his more recent ventures, it would be fair to assume he had developed nerves of steel - but off guard is exactly how he feels when his attention lands on the beautiful woman standing by the bar.
He'd recognise her anywhere. Sometimes, he thinks he searches for her in his dreams.
Tommy feels the muscles in his jaw clench before he's able to compose himself. A foolish sign of weakness that he can’t afford to display. Not here.
But it's difficult. A test of his usually unwavering resolve. Because she's not alone.
There's a man. Younger than Tommy; tall, dark-haired, and slim, the old-money practically oozing off him. Any closer and Tommy would be able to smell it.
Tommy grabs another glass of too-sweet champagne from a passing waiter. Something to occupy his hands, and just in time. Old-Money's arms are wrapped around the woman's body, a possessive gesture and one he recognises well.
Once upon a time, she spent her nights in Tommy’s arms.
Five whole years might have passed - evidently long enough for her tastes to change - but it feels more like five minutes since she walked out of Small Heath and out of his life, a hastily scrawled note declaring she'd had enough.
Three simple sentences. One for each year they had been together. At the time, Tommy had replayed the words over and over until they no longer held any meaning, but liquor and bloodshed had long since turned those memories to slush.
It all boiled down to his plans for the future. Her fear of the potential enemies and danger which those plans might beget.
Whoever said that love would conquer all?
Tommy doesn't taste the sparkling wine as he tips the glass back, draining it in one mouthful.
The champagne just won't do. He needs something stronger to take the edge off, but his path to the bar is blocked.
Biding his time, Tommy watches the couple. In fact, despite the sourness growing in the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to look away.
Old-Money leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispers something that even Tommy’s lip-reading skills cannot decipher.
What is plain to see, however, is her lack of amusement. She tenses, discomfort evident in the clench of her jaw and the tightness of her shoulders. Her laughter, when it comes, is forced, never reaching her eyes.
A lightning bolt of unfiltered rage burns through Tommy’s veins, dulling his remaining senses like Arthur’s cocaine, but he quickly tempers it down. It’s not his problem. She's not his problem.
She's not his to defend.
Not anymore.
Her
It's almost midnight. Ever since your arrival at The Savoy, your attention has been drifting to the clock on the wall. Waiting for the bells to chime and free you from this misery.
The party had been his idea, your date for the evening clearly operating under the assumption that money makes a man more attractive. An assumption which couldn't be further removed from the truth.
Though The Savoy might be the hottest ticket in town, everything about tonight makes you miss Birmingham - Small Heath, to be precise. New Year's Eve at The Garrison. The excitement. The unpredictability.
The Peaky Blinders.
Your stomach involuntarily flips at the intrusive thought. You've come too far now to be thinking about the Shelby brothers. All memories pertaining to your former life belong firmly in the past.
Ignoring another pompous comment from your date, you glance up from your drink, desperate for an escape. Perhaps you can slip away in time to avoid the awkward but obligatory midnight kiss.
That's when you see him.
A ghost - a demon - from your past, seemingly conjured into existence by the power of your thoughts alone.
The very same piercing blue eyes that have long haunted your dreams now stare you down, unblinking, from across the room. His full lips are drawn into a hard line.
Thomas Shelby.
Despite your brain knowing far better, your traitorous heart still flutters.
He looks good. Too good.
Unfairly good.
The expensive dark suit is sinfully cut to his powerful body and his once-severe haircut has been allowed to somewhat grow out.
Clearly, he's come a long way since the days of bruised and bloody knuckles. In the presence of polite society, he looks like he belongs.
The last five years may have been kind to your former fiancé, but with a start, the realisation dawns that the same can't be said of you.
Because five years later you still haven't recovered from the incurable affliction of loving Tommy Shelby.
Despite what some might say, you hadn't walked into the relationship blind. You'd known the head of the Shelby family for long enough to accept that a life together would be full of surprises, and not all of them good. But for love, you'd given him half a dozen chances.
Honesty.
That's all you'd ever wanted. To be treated as his equal. His partner. To not be kept in the dark about decisions which could potentially put you both in harm's way.
Yet still he'd schemed and plotted. Twisted and manipulated. Deceived. He had told you it wasn't lying. That for your own safety, he was simply withholding the truth. As if that somehow made it ok.
Inevitably, after three years together, your patience reached its limit. Making good on a promise to yourself, you'd left, starting a new life for yourself in the capital, far away from the demons of Watery Lane.
But you'd been foolish to believe that any amount of miles could repair the damage done to your heart. Arguably, damage of your own making.
His name has followed you like an ever-present shadow. His handsome picture staring back at you from newspaper articles. Even in black and white, those beautiful eyes just added insult to injury.
And now he's here in the flesh.
Tommy's stare is unwavering, but he makes no move to come over. Still, it's only a matter of time before he seeks you out. After your cowardly way of leaving, it's easy to imagine he has some choice words for you, but you’re not ready to speak to him. Not here, where manners and decorum are all the rage.
Willing yourself to break eye contact, you notice a side door to your left. Relief washes over you. Freedom or at least a small reprieve. Anything is preferable to this form of slow torture.
Him
Tommy watches her leave - a recurring theme, it would seem - her hurried exit presumably on account of his unexpected presence here tonight. She definitely spotted him amidst the crowd and she did not look pleased.
He should let her go. She's not his problem. She's in his past.
Isn't she?
A minute passes before, not entirely of his own accord, Tommy finds himself following in her footsteps. He's always been inexplicably drawn to her. Apparently, even heartbreak isn't enough to change that.
When he finds her in the lobby, her back is turned but she whips around as he murmurs her name.
"Tommy."
The earlier surprise he saw flash across her delicate features has been replaced by a carefully rehearsed indifference. One he recognises all too well.
She's at pains to pretend his presence isn't affecting her. A feeling to which he can certainly relate.
"I didn't expect to see you tonight," she adds when he doesn't immediately respond. "I didn't think this kind of thing was your scene."
He doesn't miss the accusation in her tone.
What she really means is why are you here?
Slowly, Tommy inclines his head, lest she notice the falter in his gaze. Impossibly, she's even more beautiful than he remembers. It's surely a cruel twist of fate that brings her here tonight. Just when things were looking up for him. Just when he thought he'd put the past to rest.
"Likewise," he agrees.
"Business or pleasure?" She wonders aloud before scanning the lobby, keenly on the lookout for another escape route.
The words, driven by a lingering hurt, fly from his lips before he can check himself, his attention not so subtly shifting to the blonde woman entering the lobby. "There's no reason it can't be both."
Her
Of course, he followed you. It's a problem you could really do without. You're walking a thin line just by talking to him. Experience tells you there's only two ways this will play out.
Wondering whether there's any possibility of getting away unscathed, you offer him a polite smile and gesture towards the blonde woman now loitering in the corner. "Well, I'll leave you to your… pleasure."
He studies you carefully, his sharp features set into a cool mask of apathy, but you recognise the hurt hidden behind his icy eyes.
The hurt which you caused.
"I'd tell you the same, except I doubt your friend knows how to pleasure a woman. You looked miserable back there."
Despite the sentiment, there's no trace of concern in his cruel words.
"My choice of date for the evening isn't up for debate, Thomas," you tell him curtly, despite silently agreeing with his observation.
"Nothing ever is with you, is it?" he muses, his lips slightly pursing.
And there it is.
Clearly, he's not going to let you get away until he has aired his grievances.
Perhaps you owe him that courtesy at the very least.
Dropping your own mask of indifference, you take a step towards him and take his warm hand. To your surprise, he doesn't resist.
"I had to leave, Tommy. You were never going to turn things around. You were never going to change. But for what it's worth, I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I should have been better. I should have been braver."
Tommy shakes his head, keeping his tightly guarded emotions at bay. "You left without warning. You never even heard me out."
"Without warning? God, Tommy. How can you stand there and say that? How could you possibly have missed it? I left you so many signs."
Tommy looks away, his eyes rapidly searching for something just out of sight. The only indication he's feeling anything at all. "I guess I never learnt to read your mind."
"You never learnt to listen," you fire back. "Or communicate at all for that matter. Would it have killed you to be honest with me? To tell me what you had planned?"
A muscle in his jaw ticks. "I was trying to keep you safe."
The realisation that he's never going to change his tune stings more than it should. You drop his hand. "I wish I could believe that."
The truth, in your eyes, is that he never trusted you. He's never trusted anyone. How could you be expected to give your heart over to a man who would never let you into his own?
There's a beat of silence. Enough time for you to regret letting this conversation play out for so long. Nothing good can come from digging up the past. You should go your separate ways before any further irreparable damage is done.
"Was it worth it?" Tommy asks finally, a bite of frustration slipping through his calm facade. "Leaving everything behind for this?" He gestures around. "Are you happier now?"
"Yes," you lie, but your resolve is rapidly weakening under the intensity of his blue gaze.
The door to the ballroom swings open and a small gathering of revellers spills into the lobby, saving you from admitting the very thing you've been afraid of.
That leaving Birmingham had been a mistake.
Tommy reaches for your arm, tugging you away from the crowd and into a recess by the cloakroom. As a result, the two of you have infinitely closed the distance.
His chest, broad and still so inviting, is now inches from your own; his calloused hand is still wrapped firmly around your wrist, his thumb pressed against your pulse point.
Can he feel how fast your heart races?
"For all your talk of honesty, you won't face the truth yourself, will you?" He sighs lightly, something like disappointment coating his words.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoff, feigning ignorance as a last resort.
Before he can respond, a loud cheer erupts from within the ballroom, saving you once again.
"That's midnight," you murmur just as Tommy glances down at his elegant gold pocket watch.
"Midnight," he agrees, his eyes flicking back up to your own. "Happy New Year."
You stare at him for a long moment, taking stock of his defining features. Long, dark eyelashes, the kind that would ordinarily be wasted on a man - but not Tommy; razor sharp cheekbones and a jawline to match. Crystalline blue eyes you could so easily drown in.
Almost imperceptibly, he shifts closer, large hands finding your waist with ease.
"Do you still believe in tradition?" He wonders, but it's a rhetorical question. You both know he doesn't need an answer.
Your last sensible thought before he leans in to kiss you: God damn Tommy Shelby and those ocean eyes.
Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy
#tommy shelby#cillian murphy#peaky blinders#tommy shelby x reader#peaky blinders fanfic#Thomas shelby
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Holiday Engineering: Lamptide
OK, let's put my money where my mouth is.
Lamptide is the invented-from-scratch holiday that I actually celebrate. It has its roots in a roleplaying game that I ran some years ago with @cloakofshadow and @mirror-lock, but after the game finished, I decided that I wanted to import a modified version of the festival into real life.
And it's worked very well! Or so I posit. We've had well-attended Lamptide celebrations for a couple of years running, and not only do people show up and enjoy themselves, there's a distinctive holiday spirit. The weird rites and activities do in fact happen. Which is possibly just because my friends are good sports, but...I think we're reaching the point where some version of Lamptide might well take place without me pushing it along.
As a holiday-engineering project, it's a work-in-progress. I am still tinkering with the observances, and the pieces definitely aren't yet all in place. I don't personally have the expertise to create some of the holiday stuff I'd want to create. Moreover, the population that celebrates Lamptide is still very small, and in some ways homogeneous -- mostly childless urban professional-types -- so the holiday doesn't have the context that it would need to manifest in all the forms that I imagine for it.
But I'm proud of it. And, at the least, it provides an example of what it looks like for a holiday to be built from the ground up.
Vibe. This is where I started. (Both in the RPG and in real life, actually.) In the RPG, Lamptide is an intercalary day, and like many intercalary festivals it's a weird and occult time. In real life, of course, I do not control the calendar. But even so, Lamptide is meant to have that same feel, manifesting as a carnival of spooks and revelry. To some extent, it's meant to serve as a Halloween-like that works better for me than actual Halloween does.
And much like Halloween, in theory, its core rituals can be practiced in three different "modes" depending on context. For families with kids, it's a cutesy holiday of flamboyant fun. For older kids and adolescents, it's a holiday of mischief and boundary-pushing (in a way that is, I hope, less obnoxious than the adolescent version of Halloween). For independent adults, it can be contemplative and/or literary and/or Spicy and Sexy, to taste.
Theme. In a highflown theoretical sense: Lamptide is the festival of narrative conquering material reality, of ideas and illusions becoming more-real-than-real. It is the day when you leave the sunlit world behind and walk back into Plato's cave, because our art allows us to create such beautiful shadows on the walls.
(The "lamp" of Lamptide is, notionally, the lamp whose light reveals what-is-not.)
In a more-everyday sense: Lamptide is a festival of magic.
Timing. Lamptide is observed on the spring equinox. There are a few reasons for this, some of them rooted in stuff from the RPG, but the big one is that it's almost halfway around the calendar from Halloween. I really don't want to compete with Halloween, to the extent that I can avoid it; I would lose that competition very hard. And there are enough obvious points of similarity that it's a real danger.
Early spring is also a good time for holidays generally, in the contemporary US. There's relatively little going on then, and people feel kind of festive because the worst of winter is over.
Mythology. The personification of the holiday is Father Lantern, an ogre-like character who carries a lamp. In the (notional) tales, he shines his lamp on you, and in its light you see an otherworldly version of yourself -- a creature that you could be, if you left ordinary reality behind. More prosaically, if he shows up at your doorstep and you offer him candy, he will tell you stories (or gift you with media).
Father Lantern is mostly a funny and approachable figure. He is long-winded and pretentious, in love with the sound of his own voice. But there is meant to be an edge of menace to him; he is an ogre, which means that there's always the danger that he'll just eat you, especially if you're a child. (This is not a behavior-enforcement thing -- he's not Krampus, and Lamptide is not that kind of holiday. Father Lantern's whims are inscrutable.)
I haven't yet experimented with having someone play Father Lantern, in the way that people play Santa Claus, but it's an obvious possibility.
Decorations. You put lamps and lanterns everywhere. If you can keep your celebration space lit entirely by lantern-light, that is to be commended. Silhouettes and shadow-plays are very much in the holiday spirit.
Holiday attire. Masks -- masquerade-style masks, the kind that allow people to eat and talk comfortably -- are very strongly encouraged. (When I throw Lamptide parties, this is the only thing about which I actually nudge people.) In terms of creating distinctive atmosphere, this fires on all cylinders. A space full of masked people feels otherworldly and ritualized and, well, magic. And the symbolism is super on-the-nose.
Fancy and flamboyant clothes are also encouraged.
Ritual interactions. The Lamptide tradition is to greet people with curses and maledictions. This is done in the spirit of theater superstition; it is a topsy-turvy intercalary carnival, after all. "Die in a fire" is the standard form of cheery holiday well-wishing, although you're encouraged to be creative if you're so inclined.
(Does this mostly give little kids an excuse to be gleeful about saying stuff they'd normally never be allowed to say? Maybe.)
Activities. There are two big ones.
Divination. Lamptide is a time for fortune-telling. Tarot cards are my go-to, and offering Tarot readings at Lamptide parties has proven to be a big hit, but any form of divination at all -- ranging from Actual Fucking Haruspexy to "let's ask ChatGPT about our future husbands" -- is praiseworthy. When my son was less than a year old, I had him crawl around the floor and choose Symbolically Portentous Objects like he was the infant Dalai Lama or something, and it was great.
Bribery, especially candy bribery. One of the core dynamics of a Lamptide celebration is that you walk in carrying candy, or other things that you're happy to give away, and you offer your prizes to people in exchange for them doing stuff that you want them to do. For families with little kids, this is a chance for the parents to reward their children for showing off cool skills / desired behaviors in a concrete ritual framework, and for the children to get their parents to do silly stuff. For teens, it's a structure for something that's essentially Truth or Dare with more flexibility. The applications for Spicy Sexy grownup parties are left as an exercise for the reader.
(I have thoughts about expanding the candy bribery thing into a practice of Reverse Wassailing / Trick-or-Treating, essentially, where you walk around town offering strangers candy in exchange for singing with you or otherwise doing cute harmless stuff. I haven't yet worked out exactly the right feel, though. And, well, things being how they are, you need a pretty thick social skin to be willing to offer strangers candy without a widely-accepted social framework.)
Undeveloped aspects of the holiday, which I hope to flesh out in future years:
Traditional food. We don't really have anything other than candy, right now, and it's an obvious lacuna. Lamptide isn't really a sit-down-for-a-nice-dinner kind of holiday...although I guess it could be...but I suspect it would be useful to come up with some kind of Classic Lamptide Hors d'Ouevre or Classic Lamptide Crudité or something else appropriate for a party where people are milling around doing different things. (Not a dessert, I don't want to compete with the candy.) Sadly, I have no culinary genius, so I'm going to have to outsource for this one.
Music. @cloakofshadow has written some alternate lyrics for Christmas carols, but a thriving holiday should really have its own songs with their own distinctive melodies. Which means that I should probably find a competent composer to help me out.
Gifts. It would be very In-Theme for Lamptide to be the holiday when you give people the books / movies / video games / etc. that you want them to consume for your sake. I haven't yet done anything with that idea, but I am definitely considering it strongly.
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Day 1: Beginning/End
The Empire of Samadhi AU
Pt. 1 (you are here) | Pt. 2 |
(This is day 1 of the Monkie Destiny Challenge Prompt Month October 2023)
Wordcount: 2k
Summary: Red Son is the son of an old empire, Mei is the daughter of a new one. Red Son, consumed by fire, was put into an induced stasis sleep to stop the world from burning until his family can find a way to safely remove the fire. They find a way but he never wakes up. Hundreds of years later he awakes to discover his power resides within another as she stares at him with wide eyes on fire.
When Red Son met the heir to the Dragon Empire of the Western Sea, it was the beginning of the end.
Red Son remembered the smell of fire melting flesh, more horrid than anything he’d experienced before. He remembered burning his mothers and his fathers hands. He remembered laughing. He remembered screaming.
Red Son was born a prince and he was born with fire.
Like him, his power had been small to begin with. His Father’s Empire was a warring one. It was how it came to be. He was a Warlord who became an Emperor and his wife, Red Son’s mother was the princess of a distant empire that he failed to conquer, partially due to Red Son’s mother herself. Red Son was their son, the heir to the throne and future emperor.
“You must be strong,” his father told him after every tale of conquest. “For when you rule, there will be those who oppose your authority. You must take it. They can do nothing to you if you are more powerful than those that seek to destroy you.”
It had never been Red Son’s intention to be consumed by his quest for power. It had begun like any other learning did, with scrolls and lectures and teachings and teachers. The flame alight inside him grew brighter and brighter with every meditation, every new technique and lesson learned. It grew in heat and size until he could feel it down to his fingers, heat coursing through him and roaring. He sought more and more, at the beginning, dragging himself forward by sheer force of will until there was a shift and his fire suddenly pushed him forward, propelling him into greatness, into conquest, into the raging inferno of power.
A power that grew too quickly and soon consumed him and everyone around him as well. Until his parents voices were muffled and faces were blurred by heat and flame and he heard nothing but the tearing chants of flame; consume, consume, consume.
Voices muffled, his laughter loud as their chains melted before they could touch him. Fire could not be contained, it was everything. They could not put it out.
They could not put it out, but they could lock it away, and him with it.
“I swear to you,” his father said. “I will return for you.”
His hands were the last thing Red Son felt before he ceased to exist.
When he awoke, he knew something was wrong.
He was cold.
Never in his life had he felt cold. Never in his life had he existed without a burning in his chest and a warmth in his core. But he awoke and his chest was gaping and empty. But his mind was clear. Clearer than it had been in a long time. The settled feeling of his fire within him was absent. Gone. He could tell it wasn’t inside him any longer. But he could feel its presence nearby.
Warmth hovered just close enough to brush his skin. He heard the crackling of flame.
His eyes snapped open.
Wide fire filled eyes stared back.
Whoever it was in front of him was engulfed in flame.
“Help,” she choked out.
“What have you done?” was the first thing out of his mouth. His voice sounded raspy, dry, the words rusty and unfamiliar.
The cave behind her was on fire. Everything, absolutely everything, was engulfed in flame. The roaring fire filled his vision and licked at his clothes and over his skin. None of it stuck to him, none of it could burn. The flames still knew him. They wrapped around him and he heard their recognition, their greeting, their call.
He looked at the soul in front of him, engulfed in his flame and he recognized a part of himself inside it that was causing the flames to stick to her skin.
He grabbed her face and reached out with his will to hers, grabbing hold of his fire inside her and reigning it in, wrapping it in a net of his mind and will and pushing it down.
It was easier than he remembered. Something had changed.
…He had changed.
She made a choking noise, eyes wide and tears evaporating before they had a chance to run down her cheeks.
“Breath, you fool,” Red Son said.
She gasped.
The fire around them died, the flames fluttering away to nothing, and without another word the woman lost consciousness falling into him.
Red Son was left with an unconscious person in his arms, the smell of ash and stone surrounding him, and the blackened cavern empty aside from the two of them.
His mouth was dry.
He coughed a few times before bothering to exit his small Red-Son-shaped hole carved out in the stone. There were spells carved into the stone around it, likely what had sealed him in.
He managed to drag them both out of the cave. With one arm around her waist and the other around her wrist ensuring the arm slung over his shoulders wouldn’t slip he staggered forward. His legs felt unreliable, unused, unsteady. His body shook and he found himself ravenously hungry. He reached the surface and found nothing but ashes.
It was a level of devastation that challenged anything he’d ever done. Everything was burnt, there was nothing but a wide expanse of blackened dirt in sight. No trees, no hills, no people as far as the eye could see. The sun was clouded out by smoke, sky appearing orange and making it hard to tell the time. The horizon was lit with a distant ember of what he was sure had to be a raging fire if he could see it from such a distance away. He gripped the woman’s wrist tightly.
“What,” he hissed out, “happened here.”
Silence and smouldering ashes were all that met his ears.
Mei woke up feeling as though there had been a fire in her throat. Scratchy dry and aching. Every part of her felt like she’d sat in front of a fire for too long and been cooked part-way. It was a nice feeling when she spent time with her great-great-great-a-thousand-times-great-great Grandfather… but right now it was a reminder of what had happened to make her feel so.
Fire.
She could still feel it, burning in her chest. The rings floated above her head, slowly circling, almost threatening in their movement. Their power was clear and heavy, weighing down and nearly vibrating with the barely contained inferno.
The inferno that destroyed her home.
She watched her tears evaporate into mist that floated up above her and faded away into nothing.
For a moment, she wished the flames had consumed her too.
“Oh, wonderful, you’re awake,” came a voice dripping with a disgusting sarcasm.
Mei jolted upright, the rings catching fire above her with her alarm. Panic shot through her and she reached up to try and put them out.
“Don’t touch those, idiot. You’ll just make it worse.”
Her head snapped to look at him.
And there he stood.
The Demon of Samadhi, his hair redder than a summer sunset, his eyes sharper than flint and steel, his arms crossed over his chest, and a sour expression on his face. Mei had thought she had dreamed it up, stumbling to the caverns she used to explore as a child, drawn by curiosity she’d thought at the time, but now knew was something different, with ashes and smoke trailing behind her rock melting under her feet until she’d drawn close and the spells surrounding his tomb had melted too and his face had come into view. Aside from his hair and clothes from another era, he looked like a normal person.
“You should be dead,” he said, like he was disappointed she wasn’t.
The flame in her flickered with her annoyance.
“And you should be quiet,” she snapped back.
“Insolent-” He looked like he was a moment away from bursting into flame, seething at her, but there was none of the fabled fire flickering in his eyes, they remained cold and empty. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to-?”
“Listen, buddy,” Mei interrupted him. He made a sound close to a squawk and she ignored him. “It's been a long day, okay? So if you could just tell me where we are before I barbecue you, that would be great.”
He scoffed again. “Your threats are meaningless, girl. That’s my fire you have there. It can’t hurt me, I made it.”
She glanced up at the rings. Then back down at him.
“You know,” she said. “You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”
The offence on his face almost made her laugh.
“Were it not for the fact you are the current vessel for my fire, I would kill you here and now.”
“Yeah,” Mei said, “good luck with that buddy.” She groaned as she pushed herself to her feet and stood up, stretching. The rings flickered. She glanced at them. “Why don’t you just take your fire back and I’ll be on my way, huh?”
He was silent.
She looked at him.
He tsked, looking away sharply. “I already tried that, peasant.”
Mei blinked. “What do you mean you already tried?”
“While you were sleeping I attempted to pull it from you. My will alone is not enough to remove it from its current vessel. It’s stubborn.”
Mei barked out a laugh. “The big and powerful Demon of Samadhi can’t take his own fire back?”
“What nonsense-?” He bristled. “I don’t know how but it seems attached to you. I don’t know how you managed to fasten it to you so thoroughly in so little time, but I assure you, I will find a way to take it back.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever, guy,” Mei said, glancing around them. They weren’t in the cavern anymore. They were out in the open and there was…
Nothing.
Something big seemed to lodge in Mei’s chest.
There was nothing but ashes.
In the distance there was a glow of fire.
“I have to stop it.” She wasn’t sure when she had started hyperventilating, but now she was gasping, staggering forward towards the fire. It seemed to get brighter.
“Stop that,” hissed the Demon of Samdhi, grabbing her wrist. “You’re making it worse-”
His hand around her wrist burned.
Rings surrounding her, triggered by a spell, a dormant fire lighting inside her and consuming everything, people screaming Mei screaming.
She gasped and ripped her hand away.
The Demon of Samadhi took a step back, arm raised almost defensively. He stared at her, slightly more cautious now.
“How long have you had my fire…?”
She blinked. “I…”
“How long have you had it?” he asked again--demanded.
“I don’t know,” she stammered. “Not long? A few days?”
“No, I'm not asking when it was triggered,” he grabbed the front of her shirt and dragged her closer to snarl at her, “I’m asking how long you've had it.”
Mei could only stare at him for a moment, too caught off guard to break his wrist for grabbing her.
Abruptly the Demon of Samadhi released her shirt and started pacing back and forth. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked… unsettled. Furious.
“One of my ancestors had it before me,” Mei said slowly. “I think I inherited it-”
His head whipped around to look at her. “Your ancestor?” His eyes were wide, angry.
…Afraid.
“You…” Mei suddenly realized that if the myths were true… the Demon of Samadhi would have no idea how long he’d been sealed away.
He glowered at her. “I what?”
“I should introduce myself,” said Mei, straightening up. “I am Lóng Xiǎo Jiāo , First Princess of the Dragon Empire of the West Sea, descendant of Áo Liè of the Dragon Clan who sealed away the Demon of Samdhi’s fire, placing a piece of it inside of himself, like, I dunno, a couple hundred years ago? It was passed down, unknown to his family, until it came to me.
“And you,” she finished, "are the Demon of Samadhi.”
The Demon of Samdhi stared at her. “What.”
“You got anything to eat?” Mei asked.
next
Prompt list
#KNOX WRITES (me)#Monkie Kid the Empire of Samadhi AU#Lego Monkie Kid#I guess you could say this is an apocalyptic au#Monkie Kid Mei#Monkie Kid Red Son#no i have no idea what i'm doing#Monkie Destiny Challenge (2023)#not really sure how to tag this but ITS FINE HGLSKDJFD#ngl i don't remember half of what we wrote but its prompt month so its fine if it doesn't make sense mOVING ON HAVE A LOVELY DAY#me: time to do something silly goofy for prompt month#I had this au all of ten seconds later forming before my eeys and i could do nothing to stop it hGL;KSJDF
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AITA for giving up everything, including my sanity and moral compass, in a desperate bid to save my daughter?
…I loved her more than anything.
Sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear about it, but I want to make that much very clear. I have to, for my own sake. I want everyone to know, and so I will reiterate:
My daughter was my world. I can hardly put into words how much I cared about her, at least once upon a time.
She was a happy accident— she hadn’t been planned. I was young, or at least felt young at the time when her mother showed up on my doorstep. We weren’t in a committed relationship. I was a ‘player’ of sorts. I hadn’t intended to impregnate her, but then there we were.
She held her arms and told me what happened. She asked me what I wanted to do. She said she didn’t really want to keep her, and was thinking of adopting her out, but wanted to know what I thought.
I was stunned. I wasn’t ready. I was keen to get rid of her too. But then my baby girl— my daughter reached out a hand and grabbed my finger. And it was as if my whole world shifted.
I realized she was so small. And so incredibly alone. And MINE. I realized if I didn’t protect her, then no one would. That she was my duty.
I told her mother I’d keep her. I became a single father. It was frightening, but I was sure of it. For my daughter, I’d do anything.
And life was good, for a time. We were happy. But then, everything changed. I ruined it.
You see, I was a businessman and mechanic by trade. I had a moderately successful company producing technology. And one day, I stumbled upon the blueprints for a machine that would change EVERYTHING.
It was a wish granting computer… said to be able to make any dream come true. I was ecstatic. Not only would this surely help my company, but it would help ensure my daughter had a bright future. I decided I’d build it— make her life prosperous, and make all of her wishes reality. We even worked on it together.
It was our project. Our collective dream. We poured our hearts into that machine.
But it went wrong. It had to, didn’t it? There’s no such thing as a true miracle. Partway through building the machine, I…
I lost her.
Something malfunctioned. A portal opened up. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed her to be near the computer— I don’t know, but either way, it stole her away. My daughter… the light of my life was swallowed by the portal. She screamed for help, and then…
The portal closed. She was gone.
My daughter was dead, and it was my fault.
I was inconsolable. I promised I’d hang the stars in the sky for her, only to to allow her to be murdered at only seven. In one terrible moment, my entire world came crashing down.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. But then it hit me, I realized.
…My wish granting machine— the same machine that had damned me— it was now my only hope.
If I completed it… if I were to make my dreams come true, then surely I could bring my daughter back to life.
Of course, it couldn’t function as was. I tried to make my wish, and it told me it was ‘impossible.’ But I didn’t give up. I just needed more resources. More time.
Did you know every planet has the power of the stars contained somewhere within it? A miraculous energy… that which my wish granting machine ran on. I harvested this power from my own planet, but it wasn’t enough.
I needed more.
I traveled to other planets, taking this power by force, if necessary. I constructed a grand spaceship, and my machine and I conquered.
But the grief in my heart hadn’t eased. I was beginning to feel delirious. I started suffering from severe health complications. I well and truly thought I was going to die. But I couldn’t allow that to happen before I saw my daughter again, and so I made another decision.
…The machine. I’d use its powers to transcend my mortal flesh. I replaced my faulty heart with a cybernetic one. My ailing limbs with machinery, and my weeping eyes with LEDs. That way, I would never die. My daughter wouldn’t recognize me upon her return, but that was okay.
It was all for her.
Slowly, I began to lose it, though. Something terrible was happening to me. I was more standoffish… edgy and angry, and even worse, my memory began to go. I began to forget things that were important to me.
…Even my daughter’s face.
I think, in some way, I was aware of it. I was aware it was that accursed machine. It was eating away at my brain every time I used it. But it didn’t matter. I still had to save her. And so I surrendered myself— gave my mind up, all in a desperate bid to MAYBE find a way to bring her home before I lost myself entirely.
I did not. I forgot my daughter— my precious child— the one who this was all for, and my priorities shifted.
Prosperity. That’s what I realized I wanted. Prosperity. For myself and the people cared about. But people were far too foolish to attain prosperity on their own. If I wanted prosperity to be treated with respect, then I would have to take it for myself. No-one else understood the correct way to live.
We invaded more planets— me and my precious machine. We did so with even more force. We stole their natural resources for ourselves, and as for the people who lived there…?
We improved them. We gave them the same upgrades I’d been given. It was the only way to live an efficient life, and so even if they didn’t want to, we mechanized them. We mechanized entire planets, spreading our agenda of prosperity all across the universe, and becoming incomprehensibly rich in the process.
It was… maybe eleven years into this when I met a peculiar person. She was young— couldn’t have been older than 18. She begged me for a job— said that she NEEDED to work for my company.
She had no credentials, but I felt… drawn to her, anyways. Her diligent demeanor and her strange sad eyes. I offered her a position as my secretary, and she agreed.
She, like everyone else, was mechanized, and she begun work at my company.
We didn’t always get along… me and this person, who I’ll call ‘S.’ I’d shout at her. I wasn’t an easy boss. I was mean-spirited and demanding. But even so, I was still kinder to her than I was to others, I think. She brought me a certain sense of peace.
…On quiet days, she’d sing me songs.
I trusted S, or at least as much as I could trust anyone. And so one day, when it came to us mechanizing a particularly important planet, I put her in charge of the operation. She’d shown she was competent, and I trusted her to do what needed to be done.
…She failed. Spectacularly. At every step of the operation, she messed it up. A rebel from that planet resisted our company’s takeover— destroying our spaceship and eventually making his way to my headquarters. S tried to stop him, but failed time and time again.
He waltzed right into my office.
She tried, one last time, to seize him… to make up for her mistakes and make me proud, but she was unable. He was too strong. He outright humiliated her.
I was… enraged. I’d trusted S with so much, and she’d let me down. I terminated her from her position right then and there— even though she begged me for mercy— even though she said she needed ‘just one more chance.’
I didn’t listen. I never listened to S.
I should have.
(I’m sorry. I’m so, SO sorry.)
I, too, was beaten by the rebel. But I had one last trick up my sleeve. I attempted to connect with the computer— my greatest accomplishment and my last hope. And S…
She stole it. That which I was using to sync with the computer, right as it was attached to my brain.
All at once, two things happened.
First of all, I lost control. I could feel the computer’s presence creeping up on me. I knew soon I’d be dead— TRULY dead as it reformatted me. S had killed me, whether she meant to or not.
But second of all…
For just a brief moment, I remembered. I remembered EVERYTHING.
And as I stared at S, dying… completely unable to move, I came to a horrible realization.
I knew her. Even looking at me with such hateful eyes. Even having changed her beyond recognition
I had met S before, a very, very long time ago. I’d forgotten it, but she was the one I did all of this for.
…She was my daughter. She’d been by my side all this time, and she’d murdered me.
The last thing I was able to process was just how angry she looked. Just how scared and small. She… well and truly despised me.
And really, I can’t blame her.
I’m in a better place now. My spirit was almost destroyed entirely by that which took everything else from me, but even a wish granting computer can’t defeat Death. Eventually, painstakingly, my soul was knit back together.
But I am not at peace. I am anything but. I can’t get her expression out of my mind… just how much she resented me.
Now, I know the full story. My daughter never died. Instead, she spent 11 horrible years trapped in a nightmare dimension. My computer could not bring her back because she was not gone… not truly. She was fighting for her life.
Eventually, she returned to me. She became the person I knew as ‘S.’ But by then, I had already forgotten her, and she was inconsolable. She vowed she’d find a way to save me… to ‘wake me up’ and have me remember.
She tried. She really, really tried. But I was beyond saving. And I guess when I tried to fire her… something snapped. Perhaps she thought maybe— just maybe if she were to get rid of the computer, she could change fate.
…She did not. I am gone now, and her efforts were all for naught.
I know, realistically, I am the bad guy in this story. I committed countless atrocities in the name of seeking salvation. I conquered planets. I mechanized strangers. I even mechanized she who was most dear to me.
But I didn’t mean to… I never meant to—
I just wanted to see her. One last time. I knew the fate it would condemn me to, but I did not care. Was that really so selfish? All we wanted was to rescue one another, and in doing so, we damned ourselves.
…AITA? For trying to save my daughter, and in doing so, perhaps condemning her to the worst fate of all?
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alice in borderland — suguru niragi “eye candy”
contents : suggestive themes, smut
a/n : a small crumb while i am busy with life smh
“Stop looking at me like that.”
There's a frown plastered on his face, eyebrows scrunched as if he's looking at something absolutely disgusting yet the slight upward tug of his lips tells you otherwise.
“Like what?” You asked him, confused as to why he's looking at you the way he is.
Cuddling on the sofa of your apartment—a temporary home in this madness you call borderland, your limbs in a mess of tangle with his as you're sprawled atop of his body, his arm around you and the other behind his head.
Niragi was a constant wild child but moments like this makes you remember that even someone as wild as him needs normalcy in his life too—that at the end of the day, he is a human too.
His arm tightens around your figure for a brief moment before relaxing, the flex of his arm seems unintentional. “Acting like you don't know? Tsk.”
“I wouldn't know unless you tell me, Niragi.” It was amusing to watch his frown transform into a scowl, the evident shade of red, no matter how small, bright on his ears as he glare at you.
It is quite adorable, ever so tough and cocky bastard, Suguru Niragi who crawls from death every damn time is flustered underneath you. His bandages cannot even hide it.
Instead of responding right away though, his arm that was behind his head shifted to reach over your face, settling on your jaw as his stare is on level with yours—eyes steel and cold softening until his lips curved into a damn small grin.
“Like this.”
Rugged, rough, and dangerous is what everyone who would see him describes him.
Yet the way he places his kiss on your lips is tender, soft and gentle like he's afraid to taint you but his hand that's gripping your jaw is firm and commanding, telling you to stay still.
What was the look you were showing him? You could've asked and persisted but he swallows your every breath, the parting of your lips merely serving him an opportunity to kiss you further, deeper, more.
The arm that's around your body draws small scratches of patterns and shapes, a slow dance and kiss as he attempts to close the 'non existent' space between the two of you with the proximity you already share.
Hips slowly gyrating against yours in a slow motion, not to get you off, but to simply feel you and your warmth.
For someone as lust driven and hungry as he is, just being with you was enough.
“Shit, you're so..” He couldn't finish his words, no, with how your taste left him speechless and the way your eyes flutter like a butterfly kissing your lids slightly open to look at him as he parts from your lips got him fixated on you.
You drive him mad.
And he's already insane enough.
He dives right back in when he felt you take a breath, the sweet sweet air you breathe in being taken right away, teeth grazing your lower lip, biting it to ask for your permission yet never waiting enough before he pushes his way through.
Every curve, every nook, he explored it like he's an adventurer on a quest—call him one because you are his world he is willing yo conquer.
Suguru Niragi is both rough yet gentle, tough yet soft, it is only you who get to see his vulnerability. “It seems last night wasn't enough for ya', pretty?” He murmurs through the kiss, sending vibrations through mouth as a small chuckle escapes his lips, once again capturing yours.
“I'll make sure you won't look at anyone the same damn way you're looking at me now.” It wasn't just a mere statement, but his tone sends a promise.
If it was merely an innocent kiss before, now wasn't.
It's aching, the core tht burns inside you as he pushes you into the pillow. The soft velvety pillows muffling the noises that you fail to contain with how he is moving. “Oh.. mhm, Niragi.. ”
It's like you're in a trance that you can't break.
Your wrist bound behind your back as Niragi uses it to his advantage, moving faster as he holds onto you. “Ya' like that, darlin'?” He drawls next to your ear when he leans, pressing a small chaste kiss on your shoulder, it was sweet, loving—
Until it switches back to him absolutely ravaging you like a madman.
“mhmm.. hah, y-yeahh..”
His hips repeatedly hitting yours, abusing the spot that he knows will make you see stars, knowing every damn well of your body.
The curve of your back, arched beautifully and every noise that breaks from your throat gets him going. Your legs are shaking from the intensity yet always lifted for him to take.
Niragi let's go of your wrist to take a hold of your neck, wishing to see your expression, “now why are ya' holdin' back your moans?”
The squelch squelch squelch is a repetitive melody to the room, hand twisting your neck so he can see what look you are making.
“There you are..” You could hear the smirk from his tone, lilt and amused upon seeing your face. Almost mockingly teasing until his lips finds the side of your mouth, “no one is here but us, scream all you want.”
“Wanna hear my name from your lips.”
Fast, deep, rough, then turning slow—after a thrust, his body gyrates and you can't help but follow after his. The stimulation is addictive. “Hah... Fuck, it feels damn good.”
His hand traces your body, fingers following the curve of your spine and to your ass where he palms the globe of it, feeling every inch of you and watching how his dick goes in and out of you.
The length of him pushing into you until your body flinches at the heat of the passion, squirming against him. Both trying to get away and push into him, asking for more, you don't know.
Maybe it was due to the heat of the moment that there's droplets kissing your skin, his sweat from the lovemaking—from how he's fucking you full, but something tells you that it's so much more. Your eyes, barely open and conscious glances at him briefly, until you couldn't with how he makes you close it by hitting the spot that brings you to heaven and back.
“Wanna see you look at me, like- hah.. like how you did earlier.”
“H-how exactly?” You still ask, small little droplets continues to touch your bare skin—tears of his love, vulnerability..
“Like I'm yours.”
Trust.
#gender neutral reader#aib x you#aib x reader#alice in borderland x you#alice in boderland x reader#suguru niragi x reader#niragi x reader
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Fix the broken
Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Abstract: In a tale of love, resilience, and redemption, Y/N, an Avenger battling an eating disorder, finds strength in the unwavering support of her partner, Natasha Romanoff. Together, they navigate the turbulent waters of recovery, facing setbacks and moments of despair, but always rising to the challenge as a team. Through love, understanding, and determination, they discover that healing is possible, and their bond emerges even stronger.
TW: !!ED!! ED!!
I'm struggling with this ATM and I'm trying not to go back to old ways so this is a way of comfort. Hopefully it will help someone else.
Y/N Y/L/N had always been a formidable avenger. Her strength, determination, and unwavering loyalty were qualities that had drawn Natasha Romanoff to her in the first place. Yet, beneath the fierce exterior, there were battles she fought in silence, battles that waged inside her own mind.
It all began with a careless comment from a teammate, a thoughtless remark about her appearance. Y/N had been in recovery from a long and painful struggle with eating disorders, a battle that she thought she had conquered. But that single comment had set off a chain reaction in her mind, reopening old wounds and reviving the demons she thought were vanquished.
She knew, deep down, that the comment was unjust and cruel. She knew that she looked great, that her strength was her most powerful asset. But her own brain had turned against her, poisoning her thoughts and making her own body the enemy.
Y/N decided to keep her turmoil hidden. She couldn't let anyone see her weakness, not even Natasha, the person she loved most in the world. So, she resolved to subtly regain control over her thoughts, to satisfy the cruel voices in her mind.
For two weeks, she meticulously crafted a facade of normalcy. Y/N started by skipping breakfast whenever she could, convincing herself that it was a small sacrifice for the sake of control. Lunch became a meager affair, barely enough to sustain her energy. Dinner was reduced to a token portion, and she often found solace in a small bowl of ice cream, the only indulgence she allowed herself.
In the beginning, Natasha didn't notice. Y/N was a master of disguise, concealing her inner turmoil behind a mask of determination. But as the days turned into weeks, the subtle changes couldn't be ignored.
Natasha Romanoff had noticed the subtle changes in Y/N Y/L/N over the past two weeks. The sparkle in her eyes had dimmed, her energy levels plummeted, and she had become like a ghost, haunting the Avengers' compound with a hollow look. Natasha's concern grew with each passing day, but she couldn't pinpoint the cause of Y/N's distress.
One day, Natasha decided to follow Y/N discreetly. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. As she shadowed Y/N throughout the day, she witnessed a heartbreaking transformation.
She watched as Y/N stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes filled with self-doubt and frustration. Y/N's sigh was heavy, a silent cry for help that Natasha could barely bear. She watched as Y/N approached her meals with reluctance, as if eating had become a dreaded chore rather than a source of sustenance.
By the end of that long day of observation, Natasha's heart was heavy with dread. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, and she realized the depth of Y/N's struggle. She knew she had to intervene, to offer the support and love that Y/N needed.
That evening, Natasha confronted Y/N gently. She spoke with warmth and empathy, assuring Y/N that she was loved and cherished just the way she was. She promised to stand by her side in this battle, to help her conquer the demons that had resurfaced.
Natasha observed Y/N's attempt to put on a brave front, but she could see through the facade. Y/N's fake smile didn't fool her for a moment.
"Y/N," Natasha began gently, "how about we go to dinner, dorogoy?"
Y/N's smile faltered as she quickly replied, "Oh, I can't, my stomach is feeling weird, so I'm not really hungry."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, concern etched across her face. "But you just said you were okay a minute ago."
Y/N's smile faltered even more as she tried to come up with another lie, but she ended up stuttering and failing with a sigh. Natasha reached out, holding Y/N's hand gently.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" Natasha asked softly.
Y/N's eyes filled with tears as she mumbled, "I think it's back."
Natasha sighed but remained calm. "I know, dorogoy. I noticed how you are lately. I just...why didn't you come to me?"
Y/N shrugged, her voice trembling. "I didn't want to worry you. Also, like any addiction, my sick brain didn't want me to tell you, so you don't stop me from spiraling into the mess my brain is."
Natasha's eyes welled up with tears, but she held them back, knowing she needed to be strong for Y/N. She asked gently, "What made you spiral in the first place?"
Y/N hesitated before saying, "I can't tell you."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, her concern deepening. "Did I do something? If I did, I'm so sorry..."
Y/N cut her off, saying, "No, not you, love. It was somebody else, but I can't tell you because you'll kill them."
Natasha's jaw tightened, but she managed a forced smile. "I won't, but just tell me... okay, maybe I will have a little talk with them, but I won't punch them... at least not too hard."
Y/N chuckled at her girlfriend's attempt to hide her anger. She explained, "My teammate made a comment that I gained some weight, and that's what made me spiral."
Natasha's tone softened, and she held Y/N even tighter. "Love, you look incredible, and you're perfect. Don't listen to that idiot."
Y/N finally broke down, tears streaming down her face. "Natasha, what am I doing wrong? No matter how hard I try, it's like the people around me, who are bigger than me, are all ignored for their weight. No matter how much they don't care about actually keeping their weight in check, meanwhile, I gain like a kilo or two, and everybody notices and complains about it. Natasha, I don't know what to do. Everyone only loves me when I'm skinny, and I can't keep up with this cycle anymore."
Natasha pulled Y/N onto her lap, holding her tightly and rubbing her back soothingly. "I know it's hard, and people can be assholes. But I need you to understand that you look amazing, and there's no need to jump back into the hole you tried so desperately to get out of. You're too strong for that now."
Natasha could see the storm of emotions raging within Y/N, but she couldn't back down. She couldn't stand by and watch the person she loved suffer like this. Determination filled her eyes as she went to the kitchen made food and then offered the plate of food to Y/N.
"Please, Y/N," she implored, her voice soft but unwavering, "You have to eat. I can't bear to see you like this."
Y/N's resolve began to waver as Natasha's words reached her. She knew Natasha was right, but the grip of her eating disorder was a relentless beast. Her body and mind rebelled against the idea of taking in more calories, of surrendering to the food that had become her tormentor.
Natasha, not willing to give up, sat on Y/N's hips, straddling her as she held her down gently. Y/N's heart raced as she felt Natasha's weight upon her, a physical reminder of her love's unwavering commitment to her well-being.
With steady hands, Natasha scooped up a spoonful of the meal and brought it to Y/N's lips. Y/N's mouth remained shut, her lips sealed tight against the intrusion. But Natasha persisted, her determination unshaken. She gently coaxed Y/N to open her mouth, her eyes locked onto Y/N's with a mix of love and desperation.
Y/N fought back tears, feeling a swirl of emotions inside her. She resented Natasha for making her face this fear head-on, but she also knew deep down that Natasha was doing it out of love, out of fear for her well-being. She took the first reluctant bite, the taste of the food unfamiliar and heavy on her tongue.
As Natasha continued to feed her, spoonful by spoonful, Y/N's resistance slowly crumbled. She felt a strange mix of anger, frustration, and relief. Angry at herself for falling back into this dark place, frustrated that Natasha had to resort to this, and relieved that she wasn't alone in this battle.
The meal seemed to stretch on forever, each bite a reminder of the ongoing war inside Y/N's mind. Natasha's hands remained steady, her presence unwavering. She whispered words of encouragement and love between each bite, assuring Y/N that she was there for her, that they would get through this together.
When the last morsel was consumed, Y/N's stomach felt heavy and bloated, a painful reminder of the meal. Natasha continued to hold her in place for half an hour, ensuring that there was no attempt to purge. Y/N's frustration and anger had given way to exhaustion and resignation.
Finally, Natasha released her, her eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry I had to do that," she repeated, her voice laced with sorrow.
Y/N remained silent, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She felt defeated, trapped, and utterly exhausted by the battle that raged within her. She turned away from Natasha, unable to meet her gaze, and left her alone in the room, struggling to come to terms with the love and concern that surrounded her.
Natasha watched Y/N go, her heart heavy with the weight of the situation. She knew that this was just one battle in a long and challenging war, but she was willing to fight alongside Y/N, no matter how tough it got.
..
The following day, Natasha noticed a glimmer of hope. As she entered the kitchen, she saw Y/N eating a small lunch, a faint smile playing on her lips. Natasha couldn't help but smile herself as she leaned in to kiss Y/N's cheek.
"How's your day so far, babygirl?" Natasha inquired, her voice filled with warmth.
Y/N shrugged, still smiling. "It's alright. How about you?"
They continued their pleasant conversation, savoring the moments of normalcy. Natasha cherished these moments, relishing in the simple joy of seeing Y/N eat and smile.
However, their moment of tranquility was interrupted when Y/N's phone rang. She excused herself and walked out of the room to take the call. Natasha felt a pang of anxiety as a few minutes passed without Y/N's return.
Her gut churned with a gnawing feeling that something was wrong. She couldn't ignore her instincts any longer. Natasha walked to the nearby bathroom, her steps growing heavier with each approaching moment. It was there that she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone throwing up.
Without hesitation, Natasha burst into the bathroom and pulled Y/N back from the toilet. Her voice was a mixture of concern and frustration as she demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"
Y/N wiped her mouth, her eyes avoiding Natasha's gaze. "I got sick."
Natasha groaned, her patience wearing thin. "Stop lying, Y/N. I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself."
Y/N pushed herself away from Natasha, her voice trembling with frustration. "Just let me go."
She left the room, leaving Natasha standing there, torn between her desire to help and the realization that Y/N was struggling to accept that help.
Later that day, Natasha searched for Y/N all around the compound, growing increasingly worried when she couldn't find her. Eventually, she turned to Jarvis for assistance, asking him where Y/N was.
Jarvis responded, "Y/N is in Wanda's room."
Natasha hurried to Wanda's room, and when she entered, she saw Y/N asleep on Wanda, her cheeks stained with tears. Wanda was gently playing with Y/N's hair, a look of concern on her face.
Natasha approached quietly, her voice soft as she asked, "Is she okay?"
Wanda sighed and shook her head. "No, she's really upset. She feels like you're mad at her."
Natasha's heart ached as she realized the impact her earlier outburst had on Y/N. "I just want to help her," she whispered.
Wanda nodded in understanding. "I know, Nat, trust me. But she's just overwhelmed right now. We'll help her through this."
Together, they watched over Y/N, knowing that this battle would be long and challenging, but with their support, Y/N wouldn't have to face it alone.
...
As Y/N slowly stirred awake, she found herself in Wanda's room, cradled safely in Wanda's arms. Her eyes drifted to the chair next to the bed, where Natasha slept, her face etched with worry even in slumber. Y/N couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions—gratitude, guilt, and a deep longing for things to be better.
When Y/N shifted slightly, Natasha stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she heard the movement. Their eyes met briefly, but Y/N quickly averted her gaze, nuzzling her face against Wanda's neck. Wanda, still asleep, tightened her hold on Y/N in response.
Sensing Y/N's discomfort, Natasha gently climbed to her feet and approached her. She whispered softly, "Come with me, Y/N."
Y/N hesitated for a moment but then nodded, carefully slipping out of bed so as not to disturb Wanda. She held onto Natasha for support, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her.
Natasha frowned with concern as she helped Y/N out of the room and into her own. Once Y/N was seated on the bed, Natasha squatted in front of her, their eyes locking. She spoke with sincerity, "I'm sorry I had an outburst earlier. I'm just worried. I never meant to make you think I'm angry at you. I'm not. I'm just frustrated because I don't know how to help."
Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she admitted, "Maybe I'm just broken beyond repair."
Natasha shook her head, cupping Y/N's cheeks gently. "Everything can be fixed, but to fix something that is broken, you have to want to fix it."
Y/N nodded slowly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "I guess you could be with me for every meal and just keep me occupied until the time passes where I won't throw up."
Natasha's voice was filled with reassurance as she replied, "Whatever you need, baby girl."
A small, grateful smile crossed Y/N's lips as she said, "Thank you, and I'm sorry for pushing you away when you only tried to help."
Natasha leaned in and tenderly pressed her lips against Y/N's, conveying forgiveness and understanding. "It's okay. You weren't in the right headspace. I understand."
Their love, though tested by the trials of Y/N's struggle, remained strong, and together, they would face the challenges ahead, one step at a time.
In the days and weeks that followed, Natasha stood by Y/N's side as she worked to regain control over her life and overcome her eating disorder. It was a journey filled with ups and downs, but they faced each challenge together, their love and determination serving as a beacon of hope.
Y/N attended therapy sessions to address the underlying issues that had contributed to her struggle. Natasha never missed an appointment, always there to offer support, encouragement, and a comforting presence.
Natasha made good on her promise to be there for every meal. They laughed, they talked, and they savored the simple pleasure of sharing a meal together. It was during these moments that Y/N began to rediscover the joy in eating, slowly mending the broken relationship with food that had haunted her for so long.
As the days turned into weeks, Y/N's strength and confidence grew. With Natasha's unwavering support, she found the courage to confide in her fellow Avengers about her battle with the eating disorder. To her surprise, they offered their support and understanding, dispelling her fear of judgment.
The love and compassion of those around her, coupled with her own determination, allowed Y/N to slowly rebuild her life. She realized that her worth wasn't determined by her appearance, but by the love and kindness she shared with others.
Though the journey was far from over, Y/N was no longer facing it alone. She had Natasha by her side, as well as the support of her friends and fellow Avengers. They were a team in every sense of the word, fighting battles together and emerging stronger as a result.
And so, their love story continued, marked not only by the challenges they had faced but also by the resilience and strength that had carried them through. Together, they embraced each day, cherishing the precious moments they shared and looking forward to a brighter future, filled with hope, love, and endless possibilities.
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More tinfoil hat theories! What's the deal with Sally Starlet?
What's with her anyway? We have like +100500 theories on Wally, Home and Frank. But what about our favourite starwoman? Not enough speculations.
Let me bring you some tinfoil-y deliciousness.
Sally's colour is ORANGE as befitting, well, you know her being a literal Sun. But since Sun is also a Star it creates a strange duality.
Sun that is a star that is a performer? Oh my, dear Sally has many faces and wears many masks.
Sally's tarot card is obviously The Sun. Or is it? Let's see... The Sun is generally considered positive. It represents success, radiance, abundance, happiness, vitality, self-confidence and success. It represents good things and positive outcomes to current struggles. It also calls you to express yourself authentically.
The Sun in the upright position means: positivity, fun, warmth, success, vitality.
The Sun in the reversed position means : inner child, feeling down, overly optimistic.
Seemingly, the description fits Sally, right? But it's only a half of it. Our dear Sally may have a VERY different side to her.
But first, let's have a look at the Sally's house from Welcome Home page. It looks like a chest or even a toychest because of it's orange-yellow roof of a specific shape and like a theater stage with it's orange curtains with yellow star pattern at the same time. Oh and don't forget the red carpet in the from of it. if you look at the roof again, you will see a spotlight hanging above the "stage" part. Fancy!
But the most interesting element is the door. It sort of made into Sally's image - it has the same triangle yellow-orange elements styled like her hair around the dark orange doorframe.
The door itself has two door leafs. On both of each a side of a smiling face depicted. The Left one seems to represent the day - sky is bright cerulean with soft white clouds. Left half of the depicted face is bright yellow with red blush and orange eyelid.
Right door leaf represents night - sky is dark blue smoothly changing into the purple at the bottom with shiny yellow stars. The right half of the face is also cerulean but of different, cooler shade.
Sally of Many faces? Very well, it fits her like a performer, because changing faces that's what she does all the time.
Let's have look at The Moon card too.
The Moon. Th card itself is all about duality: two towers, two animals and one of them is tamed and the other is wild. The doubles are visible all over this card. Everything seems to echo the other, as if to allude to two possibilities. And let us not forget the fine line between conscious and unconscious...
On one hand, the Moon card can symbolize your imagination is taking the best of you. You are taking a path that you are unsure of, there could be danger lurking in the depths of the night. But the moon's light can bring you clarity and understanding . Allow your intuition to guide you through this darkness. But does Sally even possess an intuition? Good question.
Reversed Moon represent confusion and unhappiness - one wants to make progress, but isn't sure what is the right thing to do. They must deal with their anxiety and fears by overcoming them, for fears are like shadows in the dark.
I was wondering what if Wally's remark in the guestbook refer to Sally doing something that ruined their neighborhood? I mean, she already left her home once to get an audience. What if she grew bored with the small town such as Home and run away again.
Yeah, sounds what human starlets often do: ambitious young woman goes to conquer the big city. Swap big city with a human world and you will get a receipt for a disaster. Silly Sally could get entangled in the illusions of her stardom. How dangerous can it get? Given how innocent puppets are I would say, very fast.
So what did happen? Did Sally betray Wally and everyone else for fame? Dang... It would make sense why Wally dislike her.
Maybe there is more to it. I will keep digging.
Oh, also I was trying to get a better picture of her house yesterday and when I accidentally zoomed in...
And what the actual fuck is this?! Is that a skull?!!! And a worm/snail shadow from the bug post.
Sally, girl, you owe us an explanation.
#welcome home arg#welcome home#welcome home project#welcome home puppet show#useful#colourful kingdom au#wh speculation#welcome home wally#welcome home au#sally starlet#wild mass guessing wh#wally darling#poppy partridge#eddie dear#frank frankly#howdy pillar#barnaby b beagle#julie joyful#bring your tinfoils hats#wally x reader#wally darling welcome home#wh wally#wh wally darling#wally darling fanart#wally fanart
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Finding purpose | Male OC (or male reader) Chap 4
Summary: In a world that is dying and there is no way of saving it, the humanity takes mater into their own hands. They flee from their home planet with hope of conquering another in order to survive. Among them, a couple of brothers with no idea what they're doing.
Pairings: Jake sully × Oc (friendship), Tsu'tey × Oc (friendship), Neytiri × Oc (friendship). [No current love interest]
Warnings: Mention of violence, mention of death, manipulative behavior, use of drugs, bad ways of coping mechanisms and obscene language.
Note: - This is not a request and it's the translation of the original story in wattpad. - My native language it's not English - The Oc's name is Eli Thompson. - Edited
Prev part - Masterlist - Next part
With the second day at Pandora over, the soldiers documented their experiences of what they saw and felt while driving an avatar for the first time. It wasn't anything as detailed as a scientist would describe with the technical names of the neural connection between bodies or something. It was simple. They described it as an experience that couldn't be expressed with enough words or an experience that would blow anyone's mind. They called it a day and proceeded to fall into the arms of Morpheus.
The next day, the routine began like the previous one, they got up, took a bath and went to the cafeteria to eat.
But they never expected that after eating they would be directly called by a pilot to follow them to an area that they are already more familiar with from their years in the army, proclaiming that the colonel wanted to see them.
The woman introduced herself to them as Trudy, detailing that by orders of who they were going to see, she would be the designated pilot for the expeditions that involved them.
"You guys are packing some heavy gear." Jake commented as he saw the ammunition that was being loaded into the Samsun that she indicated as hers.
On the other hand, Eli was looking around, almost feeling nostalgic. Comfortable in his environment, but that did not bring him the best feelings. The last time he was in a place like this was when he presented his resignation letter caused by the disaster on his last mission. The same mission that almost took his life.
He felt a shiver run down his spine as he remembered it.
"Yeah. That's 'cause we're not the only thing around out there. Or the biggest." Trudy replied, with a small tone of amusement at the end. "I need you as gunners. Protocol generally asks me to take 2 soldiers for 1 scientist, but we are short staffed. You would be a lot of help tomorrow."
Eli turned to look at the woman with surprise, but a hint of relief. He wasn't cut out for science and he had to confess that he missed the adrenaline. So much time without being a Marine is already starting to take its toll on him. "Do they really have weapons but enough for avatars?" Eli asked.
Trudy gave him a toothy smile. She almost felt like she was seeing a child after being told that there are going to be gifts for Christmas. "You'd be surprised what toys the RDA can make. Fill out an application saying it's to improve mission performance and they'll give you whatever you want."
Jake nodded in satisfaction. Even if his avatar body was not his own, the idea of entering a hostile forest unarmed only to experience his death firsthand was not the best of ideas. "Well then, you can count on us." Jake said, responding to the request made a few seconds ago. Eli nodded.
"Perfect. I'll see you tomorrow then." She ended the conversation by stopping in front of a slightly more private section among all the mess caused by the army. She pointed to a man exercising in the corner. "There's your man. See you on the flight line." As a last act, she bumped fists with them to say goodbye.
Both soldiers approached the boss, stopping at the metal frame of the security-like cage created for those who wish to exercise and remain out of danger from the rest of the machinery in the place. "You wanted to see us, Colonel?"
"This low gravity'll make you soft…" the colonel began to speak while still doing the bench presses. His voice came out slightly with difficulty due to the effort of speaking and lifting weight. "You get soften…" to give more drama to the moment, Quaritch roughly put the weights in its place, sat up and looked them in the eyes very seriously. "Pandora will shit you out dead with zero warning."
Eli mentally snorted. He had already heard a lot about how dangerous the planet is, but no one had told him how good it could be and he is beginning to believe that someone ordered them to specifically tell them that just to scare them. To mess with the rookies or something like that.
The Colonel stood up and walked until he was in front of them. "You have a lot of courage showing up in this neighborhood." Both soldiers remained silent. The man's tone showed that he was not finished. "You are the best proof that a soldier cannot be defeated… Both wounded in combat and look where you are." Quaritch walked past them and held out his hands for emphasis to show where they were. On the most hostile planet known to man.
"It's just another hell, sir." Jake answered as he turned the chair around.
Quaritch smiled at the attitude. That fearless look is just what he needed to see to continue with his plan. With a nod he indicated for them to follow him. "I was first recom myself. A few years ahead of you. Well, maybe more than a few. Three tours Nigeria, not a scratch. I come out here?…" he turned around walking backwards to point at his scar on the side of his head. "Day one. Think i felt like a shavetail louie? Yeah."
Eli nodded his head, turning to see some soldiers pulling a weapon big enough for the robot suits like the one they were walking to at that moment. A weapon the same size as his body and he bets 3 times heavier.
"Oh, the could fix me up, if I rotated back. And make me pretty again." He paused to climb onto one of the robot's legs and gave it a few strong tugs to test its resistance. Satisfied with the result, he turned back to the couple of friends. "But you know what? I kind of like it. Reminds me every day what's waiting out there."
Before he began climbing the robotic suit, he signaled for the soldiers to ride the elevator next to the suit and stay out of the way.
"The avatar program is a bad joke. Bunch of limp-dick science majors. However..." his voice came out with difficulty as he climbed up the suit until finally falling inside. "It does present an opportunity both timely and unique."
Eli crossed his arms and leaned on one leg to pay attention. The platform he had stood on with Jake finally stopped at the Colonel's level.
"CLEAR." The man shouted as he grabbed the controls of the machine. Someone behind the ex-Marines yelled for them to clear the area. The Colonel pressed the buttons on the panel, satisfied when the engine came to life. "Recon gyrenes in avatar bodies. That's a potent mix. Give me the goose bumps." He said with the slightest laugh in his words. He seemed to find the situation amusing. "Men like that would give me the intel I need, right on the ground. Right on the hostiles' camp" After calibrating the controls to his liking, he turned to the soldiers in a slightly more serious tone. "Listen. I want you to learn these savages from the inside. I want you to gain their trust. I need to know how to force their cooperation or hammer them hard if they won't."
The Colonel's tone did not give room to refute anything, it was directly an order without mentioning that it is an order. Something that neither of them liked. But they are soldiers, they are used to it.
Jake followed up with an important question. "Are we still with Augustin?"
"On paper. Yeah, you walk like one of her science pukes, you quack like one, but you report to me. Can you do that for me lads?"
The newcomers turned to look at each other. One look was enough to know that they both agreed.
"Yes, sir," they both answered instinctively. This loyalty brought a satisfied smile to the superior's face.
"Well, all right, then." With a wave of his glove, the Colonel turned on the robot. He brought his hands to his chest and threw some well-calculated punches, making the suit perfectly imitate his movements.
Jake and Eli backed up a little in the elevator to avoid being hit by accident.
Pleased with the adjustments to his suit, he turned it around to face the former Marines, placing his hands on his waist. Not even his suit seemed to prevent the Colonel from moving with confidence.
"I take care of my own. You get me what I need and you will get what your nation denied you."
The words the Colonel had used had been intentional. He read both of their files in order to not only understand who they are, but to understand how they think. He wants them to know that they are no longer on earth and that under his control he promised to give them more importance.
And they both completely believed it.
"To you Jake." The Colonel began. "I can give you your legs. Your real legs." Mentioning the limbs, the man aimed at Jake's human legs, using the robot. He then turned to Eli. "And to you, corporal. I will make sure that your nation gives you the recognition and apology you deserve. What do you think?"
Both soldiers nodded at the same time and responded. "Yes sir."
"Good." Ending the conversation, he closed the lid of the cabin with his metallic hand, turned around and turned to continue on his way, leaving the two with a lot to think about but only one conclusion.
They have a new mission.
#avatar x male reader#avatar#x male oc#x male!reader#jake sully x reader#avatar x oc#avatar fanfiction#dom male reader#neytiri x male reader#jake sully x male reader#x top male reader#male#tsu’tey x male reader#neytiri x reader
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haiii i was wondering if u could do yumi with bipolar reader. im bipolar and saw u r too 🐞🐞
of course. here you go ml <3
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ﾟ。 six months ; blake
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genre; hurt/comfort
type; imagine
tw + a/n // crying, reader has bipolar 2, medication mentions. this is all solely based on what i have gone through since my diagnosis of bipolar 2. i hope this can help comfort some of you.
read below.
Six long, tiresome months of taking those three stupid, little white pills every night at 9pm sharp. Not to calm your nerves. They were for your bipolar disorder, y'know, your lovely personality disorder. The thing you've lived with for years, but only just recently got a name for.
The day you were diagnosed was the day the puzzle pieces finally snapped into place. You finally knew the reason you'd get these bursts of happiness for a day or so, and then quickly spiral back into your depression hole for another two weeks. Bipolar II causes manic depression, manic episodes, or depressive episodes. You've experienced all three of them. None of them were fun.
Sure, when you were manic, you seemed fun. You were easily excitable, ready to do impulsive things, ready to conquer the world, it seemed. It was your brain searching for any strand of happiness. Searching for anything, searching for any kind of adrenaline. You were not happy, you were not ready to take over the world. You were struggling.
Your boyfriend could notice when you were having a manic episode.
"You okay?"
"Nope!" You'd say, in the happiest voice you could muster.
You got up, shaking your hands, stomping around his bedroom and pacing in circles.
Hey, it's okay. Calm down," He spoke in a more stern voice, trying to get your attention. You stared at him, "Calm down? Calm down?! No! I can't!"
Shortly after that, you'd break down in his arms. You didn't know what was wrong with you. You couldn't keep doing this.
That was the night that he suggested maybe looking into seeing a psychiatrist who could prescribe you some medicine to help with your issues. Once you were in a better state of mind, you warmed up to the idea.
That was six months ago. This is now. These medicines have made you numb. Anyone who spoke to you felt like they were speaking to a stack of bricks. Barely any vocal responses, only nods of the head and occasional "mhm"s.
These days, you mostly stayed in bed, aside the days you had to go to work. The days you had to go to work, your boyfriend drove you. The car rides were quiet aside from the music. Some days you'd be nonverbal before work. You couldn't form words. Couldn't find the strength to talk. Couldn't open your mouth. Sometimes the reason was all three. Blake understood that.
One day though, he tried to start a conversation in the car. "Babe?"
"Mmm?"
"Well uh, first, are you verbal?"
You sighed, "Kinda."
"Okay. Is the medicine even helping you? You seem kinda like a.. a fuckin' husk."
"Don't know. All I know is that I can handle a job now."
Blake sighed. "You really don't even need this job.. I make enough for us both, really, if you need anything you can just ask," You stopped him. You hated the thought of him supplying for you. "No, Blake. I'm not making you buy everything for me. That makes me feel all pitiful and useless."
You pulled up to your shitty retail job.
"I get off at 5," You grabbed your bag, "Love you." He nodded, sighing. "Love you too."
You put on your fake smile for every customer that walked through the front doors, checking them all out with a smile. The words "Have a good day!" were ingrained in your head by five in the afternoon.
You had to stay a few minutes late because of a small rush you had, but it wasn't anything too bad. You clocked out, saying bye to your manager, then walking out the front doors. You spotted your boyfriend's Honda, walking over to it and sitting in the passenger side.
"Hey," He spoke softly, "How was your day?"
You shrugged, "Another day."
He sat up a little, this was progress. You normally just groan in response, he was actually getting an answer.
"... Are you hungry? We could go get dinner or somethin'." He suggested. You tilted your head, thinking. You didn't pack a lunch today, but you really weren't hungry, and you didn't get paid til next week. "No, I'm okay. I brought a kinda big lunch." He smiled, you never bring lunch. "Oh! Okay. That's good then."
That's another thing. One of the medicines demolishes your appetite. You're never hungry, even if your body tells you that you are. You haven't eaten a proper meal in days.
You two make it back home. You go to Blake's room, setting your bag down, and lying in his bed. Blake goes up to Tanner, "Dude, they packed lunch today. That's huge for them, they never eat anymore." Tanner laughed, "What the hell are you on about? They didn't pack shit. They were down here all morning before they had to leave," He paused, taking a bite of his burger. "Never packed shit."
His face dropped. So you hadn't eaten, and you lied. "Oh. Uh, never mind. Ignore my dumbass." Blake went up to his room, seeing you on his bed, scrolling through your phone. "Hey.. What'd you pack for lunch? I'm curious." He asked you, picking your brain.
You panicked for a second. "Oh, uh.. I fixed two sandwiches before I got you to bring me." Blake nodded, "Uh huh," He sat down in his desk chair, "That's kinda funny you say that, 'cause we're out of sandwich meat, and Tanner also said you didn't pack anything this morning."
It was days like those where you felt like your boyfriend would leave you, but he never did. He stuck by your side, always. Even if you told white lies, even if you didn't eat, even if you're on medication, even if you cried in his arms, and even if you god damn hated yourself.
You were lying in his arms, crying into his chest. "Hey, breathe.. Breathe.." He softly spoke, cradling your head in his hands. He stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm always gonna help you out, and I'm always fucking here for you. Always."
#alex's writing#🐞.txt#tgc x reader#tgc#tgc x you#tgc x y/n#the group chat x reader#the group chat#the group chat x y/n#the group chat x you#yumi#yumi x you#yumi x y/n#yumi x reader#yumimain x you#yumimain x y/n#yumimain x reader
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omg hi it’s me again, sorry i was too early last time! but anyways i’d like an ace x gn reader where ace is nervous about meeting the readers family for the first time. (and, bonus points if he falls asleep in his food and the reader has to explain that he does that while they wipe his face off with a napkin)
hope i made it, have a good day <3
a/n: AHHH I am always so so so soft for Ace, he is just too precious and deserves endless love 🤧 I apologize that this is so late, but I hope you enjoy! x
featuring: Ace x GN!Reader
warnings: Ace is literally so soft and lovesick please give him a hug and some smooches. Fluff fluff fluff. First I love yous. Anxiety.
MEETING THE PARENTS
Ace was the one who suggested it was time to meet your parents, but now, he’s a shaking, anxious mess as you two walk down the street, slowly approaching their house. You hold his hand tight despite the sweat perspiring from them that is just about dripping down your hand onto the concrete below, attempting to reassure him as he babbles on with countless what if scenarios.
“What if I stutter?” He probes, clenching his hand around yours.
You clench back, “I’m sure they’re expecting you to be nervous.”
“But what if I’m too nervous and they assume that means I’m not confident in my feelings for you and —”
“They’re not going to think that just because you stutter once or twice, babe. Relax.”
There’s three beats of silence before he’s pestering again, observing the bouquet in his left hand with uncertainty, “Well, what if your mom doesn’t like these flowers?”
You breathe out a laugh through your nose, “I told you those were her favorite? I even helped you pick them out!”
“Well, what if a bee flies out of them and stings her?” He questions matter-of-factly, as if this is turning into a challenge between the two of you. Does he want you to confirm his worst assumptions?
“She’s not allergic, so she’ll be fine. And she’s certainly not going to be mad at you on the off chance a random bee stings her.”
He’s grateful for your patience, truly, but there’s too many worst case scenarios playing in his brain, he simply has to voice them or he might implode, “What if my handshake is weak?”
“Your what?” You think he’s truly grasping at straws now.
“My handshake. Your dad is surely going to shake my hand and that is always a man’s first impression. What if it’s not strong enough? What if I’m limp like a fish? Or what if I overcompensate and I accidentally break your dad’s hand? What if he can tell how sweaty I am? What will he think then?”
“I think you are overthinking just a bit.”
“Yeah, well what if I accidentally catch their house on fire?”
“Are you seriously worried about spontaneously bursting into flames?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t been this nervous since our first date, and I want this to go well because you mean the world to me and I know this is important for you and this shirt is suffocating me and I just…” He lets go of your hand to tug at the collar of his shirt desperately then tousles his hair between anxious fingers.
You grab him by his shirt and pull him towards you to plant a kiss against his cheek. When you pull away, you straighten out his shirt and reach up to fix his unkempt hair. He cracks a small smile at your affection, sucking in a deep breath as he hesitantly eyes up the stairway to your home.
“What if they don’t like me?” The scariest question comes to light and it weighs heavy in his dark eyes that stare downward at his feet.
You tilt his chin up with your finger, “They’re going to love you.” You reassure one last time as you reach down to squeeze his hands in yours.
He grins, but falters, “How are you so sure?”
“Because I love you.”
With those four words uttered from your lips for the very first time, so confident and absolute, Ace suddenly feels like he can conquer the world. He wants to scream it back, that phrase that’s been swelling in his chest, itching to leave his throat since the moment he knew you were it for him. He’s wanted to say it for so long now, but the fear of it not being the right time to do so has always held him back. Now that he knows you feel the same, he wants you to hear it from him. Those three words sit on his tongue, eager to spill, but the opening of a door prevents him from doing so.
It doesn’t phase him, however, because your words give him the courage to look your dad in the eyes and shake his hand with profound stability. Your mother smiles warmly as he hands her the flowers, relief washing over him when no bee makes itself known as she places them in a vase on the dining table.
He’s holding those words in, wanting to proclaim it as he proudly fixes you a plate at the table, earning an approving look from your parents, though, he’s not entirely doing it for them. The words are clawing at his lungs when he makes you and your parents laugh with another wild tale, squeezing at your thigh in adoration because he wants you to know he loves you too. He could whisper those three words as your parents exchange a conversation amongst themselves, but his love for you isn’t meant to be hushed talk. He’s hoping you can feel it as he stares at you adoringly, a lovesick beam on his face as you two exchange a knowing glance that confirms how well the night is unraveling.
Not even a brief moment of unconsciousness, resulting in food all over his face, could stop him from grinning, wanting to kiss you unabashedly, declaring his devotion with every kiss against your lips. You wipe his face clean, explaining to your parents how this happens a lot with tenderness. He grins further as you mention with your own smile that this situation miraculously didn’t make his what if scenarios from earlier. You are perfect for him in every way and he wants you to know so badly, he’s not sure how much longer he can hold it in.
That’s why when the night finally ends and your parents hug you both extra tight, inviting him over for dinner for another night with a goodbye and close of their door, he grabs your hand and tugs you with him as he runs down the street. The cool night air fills his lungs and as the two of you reach a clearing, he pulls you to him, spinning you around and around until you two collapse onto the ground in a fit of laughter.
“They liked me! Did you hear them? They said we can visit anytime. They want me over for dinner again!”
The smile that stretches across your face is nearly splitting, cheeks aching as you grab his face in your hands, pecking at his lips, “I told you they would!”
You squeak in surprise when he pulls you in for another kiss, this one much deeper, prolonged as he can’t stop smiling against your lips, “I love you!” Another kiss. “I love you.” Another. “So much.” And another. “Tell me again, please.”
You thread your fingers through his wild hair, feeling hot tears pooling at your lash line, overcome with happiness and warmth for the one who owns your heart, “I love you, Ace. With everything in me.”
His eyes mimic yours, glossy and full of unwavering love, heart full to bursting at finally being able to tell you, “I love you. Always have and always will.”
He tackles you to the ground in a warm embrace, tears spilling despite shared laughter, the two of you confessing enough I love yous worth a lifetime.
#doctorgerth#doc writes#one piece x reader#one piece x you#op x reader#op x you#one piece scenario#op scenario#one piece fluff#established relationship#romantic#ace x reader#ace x you#gn!reader#gender neutral reader#one piece reader insert#anon
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it was only a kiss || bradley “rooster” bradshaw
summary: it’s tradition for you and rooster to do absurd dares. too much tequila later, you bet that you can kiss him without either of you feeling anything. spoiler alert: you both feel something.
words: ~1.5k
warnings: brief alcohol mentions, drunk rooster (but it’s funny i promise), a bit of angst. happy ending
a/n: this was originally a poe oneshot that i posted on ao3, but i made some changes as i thought this would fit our boy rooster better :) enjoyyy
The Hard Deck is alive tonight.
You had your fair share of victories—plenty of them over the past few months, in fact. But this mission in particular had everyone in sky-high spirits, so much so that a celebration seemed to be in order.
Despite how exhausted you were at the moment, you couldn’t help but smile. With Rooster’s Hawaiian shirt around your shoulders and a bottle of tequila in hand, you felt like you could conquer the universe. It was most likely only the alcohol talking, but regardless, you were ready for everything.
“You’re staring at me.”
“You’re drunk, Lieutenant,” you pointed out.
“And you’re not?” He shot you a smile. “I don’t believe you’re in the place to call me out for that.”
“I can drink anything I want, any time I want,” you slurred slightly, taking a long swig of your drink. “It’s my world and you’re living in it.”
“I can feel your eyes on me, you know. You’re staring at me.”
“You’re imagining things. I’m not staring.”
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Sounds to me like someone’s in love with me,” he teased, nudging you in the shoulder. “I’m very flattered. I’m glad you think about me so often, it’s an honor to be so highly regarded.”
“Dream about it, hotshot, I’m not.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you testing me, Bradshaw?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
“Fine, then.” Sliding his jacket off, you straightened yourself out. “I’ll kiss you right now to prove I don’t feel anything for you. And to make sure you don’t feel anything for me.”
“No need to worry, sweetheart. That’s not happening for as long as I let it.”
Grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt, you pulled him towards you and kissed him without a moment’s hesitation, without caring if everyone saw. The very first thing your brain is able to process is the feeling of his lips on yours. You were drunk, that much was true, but sober enough to realize how soft his lips were and how gentle he was being despite the roughness of the situation. It was almost impossible to stop yourself. Neither of you could stop yourselves. His hands were burning into your skin into as he held you tight against him and it was electrifying. Your hands gripped his forearms so you could keep standing upright. You suppressed a small groan.
You broke apart after what felt like an eternity, breathing hard.
“I didn’t feel anything,” you declared in a confident tone.
“Good,” Rooster exhaled, dusting himself off. “Me neither.”
He turned around and walked away, leaving you standing there, and wondering why the hell do my lips still feel like they’re on fire?
You brought a finger up to your lips. If you didn’t feel anything for him, then why did you like what he had done? Why did you enjoy it?
The next few days passed by in a blur and you moved place to place on autopilot. You weren’t one to be easily distracted but it seemed like this time seemed to make an exception. You could hardly focus on anything you were doing. When Payback threw a cardboard box at your head, you didn’t flinch at all.
“Hey, Y/N! I was asking you if I should fix up my helmet or not,” Payback repeated. His head tilted to the side as he watched you stand there, eyes empty. He waved a hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N. Are you okay?”
“What?” You blinked. “Y-yeah. What’s up?”
He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Something. is. wrong.”
“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep last night.”
“You never sleep at night and yet you don’t act like this,” your best friend fired back. “What’s gotten into you? Is it because of what happened between you and Bradshaw last night—:
At this, you shot him a glare. “No, it’s not.”
“Oh, so that was what’s bothering you!” he laughed. “And you said you didn’t feel anything?’
“I don’t feel anything, you moron,” you rolled your eyes. “It was only a kiss.”
“Only a kiss, and yet I saw you stumble away last night like you were drunk.”
“I was drunk, Fitch.” you tried defending yourself.
“Not blackout drunk. You were awake enough to know what you were doing. And feeling.”
“Get to the point.”
“What I’m saying here is,” Payback crossed his arms, “you need to set things straight. Kiss him again.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” you questioned, grimacing as you recalled the memory. “I…”
“You don’t want to, or you can’t bring yourself to because you realized you’re actually in love with him?”
“...What?”
“I think,” he cleared his throat, “you need to tell him. If you’re not going to drop everything and kiss him again, at least tell him. ‘Cause he’s starting to get suspicious of you avoiding him every day. He asked Mav why you out-of-the-blue switched your flight schedule. And looked for you in the cafeteria at every meal. And went to your quarters once or twice while you were out. Rooster cares about you, you know. No matter how many times you mess up, it’s not gonna change how much he cares about you and your well-being.”
“I—well—what if he pushes me away?” you spluttered. “Then that would be embarrassing.”
“That day last week. He was holding you like there was no tomorrow, and you’re telling me you think he’ll turn you down? Crazy. Just do it.”
“You owe me big time, then. After your next mission, you’re paying for my dinner. At that one Mexican place down the street.”
Payback let out a sigh. “Fine. We’re at a deal, then. Talk to him and I’ll get you your burritos.”
It was raining bullets outside, and you couldn’t sleep.
You tossed and turned dozens of times in your bed, but fatigue seemed to keep its distance. The longer you waited, the louder the storm became. You couldn’t stand it.
San Diego was amazing. But at this moment you questioned why the temperatures had to be some of the most bipolar you’d ever experienced. The weather was only nice when it wanted to be. And right now, it chose to be anything but peaceful. It was hot, humid, and sticky, and your sheets stuck to your skin. The air conditioning wasn’t working, either, which made everything worse.
As you were about to drift off, a knock sounded on your door. Seconds later, a dark figure slipped into your room.
You sat up to switch on your light, eyes narrowing. “Bradley…it’s two in the morning. What do you want?”
“It’s raining.”
“Duh.”
“It’s raining, and I can’t sleep.”
“And what do you want me to do about that?”
Rooster came closer, and that was when you saw his reddened eyes and dark circles. Guess you hadn’t been the only victim of insomnia.
“I need you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Your heart constricted. “Roos…not right now. I’m trying to sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Please.”
You sighed, and moved over in bed to make room for him. “Fine, come here.”
He climbed in right next to you and immediately leaned against you. His body pressed up right next to yours, and he was warm.
“I lied, you know.”
“About…?”
“When I said I didn’t feel anything. I lied about that,” he said quietly. “I did feel something. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. Sounds stupid, I know, but I really couldn’t. I don’t know what kind of chokehold you have on me…but whatever it was, it made me feel something.”
You stayed quiet as he continued talking. “I forgot everything else that happened that night, because I was so drunk. But that was one thing I didn’t forget. You kissed me and I’ll remember that exact moment for the rest of my life. I still remember the way you tasted and the way you smelled. That wasn’t how I imagined our first kiss to be, but it was still more than I could’ve asked for. Tequila and honey.”
“Come again?”
“I think I might be falling in love with you,” Rooster admitted. “Each and every part of you.”
Smiling softly, you placed a hand against his cheek. He leaned into you and touched his lips to the inside of your palm. The gesture sent a spark through your body and for a moment, the world stopped.
“Y/N.”
“Hm?”
“What if I kissed you right now?”
“I…wouldn’t mind that.”
He kisses you then, and the world comes to a standstill. Suddenly, the heat and high winds don’t faze you anymore; neither do the ones brewing in the pit of your stomach. In the midst of a ferocious monsoon, he was your safe haven and your home and everything else under the stormy sky.
tags, including those who may be interested: @walkonthewiidside @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @altheadarling @hay-9105 @purelyfiction @93joons @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @lyn-lc @azari-anna @thelifeofthelifeofme @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @icemansgirl1999 @cherry-waved @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @kodzuvia @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @purelyfiction @marrianena @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @3ddiemyl0ve @the-untamed-soul @callsignsmaverick @sashayazie @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @walkonthewiidside @unordinare
#top gun: maverick#top gun#top gun x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagine#rooster bradshaw x reader#miles teller#miles teller imagine#top gun fic#bradley bradshaw fluff#bradley bradshaw x y/n#top gun maverick fic#bradley bradshaw x female reader#top gun maverick
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