#blissfully reads a book: I HATE BOOKS
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light of the morning
in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love
a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs
It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers.
It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door.
"Hi."
"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this.
You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door.
"Did I wake you?"
"How could you tell?"
"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"
"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."
"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."
He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.
You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth.
"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."
His eyebrows dart up.
"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"
When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it.
"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"
His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"
"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."
You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety.
"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.
He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."
It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement.
"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"
"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."
You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care.
"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."
Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves.
You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone.
"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"
"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you.
"Spencer."
“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are.
"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."
He looses a nervous laugh.
"I know. We’ve just never really done this."
You frown at the darkness.
"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."
"Yeah, but… this feels different."
That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex?
Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours.
"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly.
"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it.
"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.
"Can I…"
"Yeah."
Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now.
He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it.
"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt.
"Goodnight," he whispers back.
You fall asleep pretty quickly after that.
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It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.
Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache.
But you’re just friends.
Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away.
"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep.
"Five."
"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."
"Sometimes waking up early is okay."
His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—
He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt.
Friends.
"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."
"I don’t want to go back to sleep."
The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.
"No? What do you want?"
Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer.
The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.
So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?
Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips.
"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"
"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"
You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away.
Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words.
"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing.
"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"
He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words.
You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you.
"It’s fine. Thank you."
He continues chewing on his lip for a moment.
"Did I just ruin the mood?"
"No," you laugh, "not at all."
"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again.
"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses.
He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck.
"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"
"Kind of," you breathe.
"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."
Well, he’s not wrong there.
You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later.
You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you.
Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you.
Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum.
"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."
"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders.
"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs.
You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans.
"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want.
He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close.
"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course.
He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty.
You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway.
When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently.
"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."
You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt.
You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about.
"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further.
"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway.
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"Doubtful."
You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.
"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"
It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words.
"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.
"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."
He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you.
"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation.
"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."
"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.
"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."
You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.
"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut.
"Only for you."
Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating.
"Only me?"
You moan an affirmation.
"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"
"Yes!"
"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."
"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"
He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.
You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing.
No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.
You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet.
"You okay?"
All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb.
"Need your words, angel girl."
"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing.
"Yeah? Why so quiet?"
But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter.
"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"
"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck.
"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."
"An hour."
He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you.
"I said 48 minutes."
But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid smut#criminal minds smut
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Everyone Knows It - ♥∞˚.
protective!Rafe Cameron x fem!Reader ˚.
Summary: Rafe will always defend you.
Warnings: descriptions of physical injury, vulgar name-calling, arguing, themes of anxiety
based on this ask!
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“How long does this shit take?” Your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, asked as you began to apply your favorite mascara.
You looked at him, rolling your eyes playfully as he tried to stifle his own smile.
“I dunno, Rafe.” You replied with a shrug, giggling as his eyes rolled into his head out of annoyance.
“C’mon baby, we gotta go.” He said, borderline pouting from across the bathroom.
You turned away, finishing your makeup and adjusting your outfit, looking at him with a teasing smile as you walked back over. You tilted your head up, meeting him with a soft kiss as he pulled you closer.
“Not too long, hm?” You said, watching him scoff.
“Oh yeah, only two hours.” He said with a smile of his own.
Rafe dragged you to the car as you looked at him with hesitance. He had been so set on going to a huge party on figure 8 and he eventually convinced you to come with him. Initially, you were equally as excited, if not more. You’ve always loved parties, but this week had been especially stressful on the both of you, so it took some pleading from Rafe to get you up.
However, your mood quickly turned when you were talking with your best friend, Jessica, and she hesitantly told you that all three of Rafe’s ex-girlfriends would be stalking around the party.
Of course you knew that Rafe loved you and only you. He had been dating you for two years now, far longer than all three of them combined. But, you also knew that none of them had gotten over him and all of them hated your guts.
At least to him, Rafe was blissfully unaware of your concern because you didn’t want to bring it up. Maybe it wasn’t as huge of a deal as you were making it, maybe you were overthinking the whole thing. Rafe didn’t need to know about your predicament, it shouldn’t even matter.
That’s what you told yourself, at least, as you picked your fingers anxiously while Rafe drove, his clueless hand on your thigh. The drive seemed a lot shorter than normal and Rafe was just starting to pick up on your nerves as the two of you pulled into the beach parking lot.
“Hey..” He started, putting the car in park and watching your eyes as you looked at the sunset.
“Hm?” You acknowledge him briefly, hiding the shake in your voice.
“Are you like.. okay?” He asked, sucking in a breath while trying to read your eyes and taking another look at you before continuing, “You just seem a little off, y’know?”
Rafe knew how to read you like a book, but he had a strong tendency to second-guess himself. You could thank his father for that gift.
“Yeah, m’okay.” You muttered out, not wanting to concern him now, out of all times.
Rafe kissed you softly on the cheek before getting out of the car. You tried to work up the courage before Rafe opened your door, offering his hand to you. A small ‘thank you’ came from your shaky lips and he nodded in recognition.
His hands were stuffed in his pockets when he checked behind him, seeing you practically hiding in his dark shadow. You felt too aware of everything, feeling imaginary eyes on your body. One of the few things you didn’t notice was his ex, Emma, watching the two of you with a hawk’s eye.
“Baby-“ He tried to start before you saw Jessica and suddenly your nerves began to ease up.
“Jessie!” You called out, speed walking past Rafe to meet her as the two of you gushed out girly greetings.
Rafe smiled and rolled his eyes, keeping himself close to you while also lingering next to Topper and Kelce.
At some point, the last thing you were worried about was Rafe’s two-faced ex-girlfriends. The drinks were letting you ease up and Rafe trusted Jessica just enough to let you go off on your own, just a few feet into the dense crowd.
Everything was perfect, especially when your favorite song for the past month started playing. A smile spread across your face when you went to find Rafe in the crowd, a small dance in your step as you giggled to yourself.
That same smile faded as you saw one of his exes brushing up on him. You stood deathly still, astonished that he was letting this happen so openly. It was obvious that he wasn’t paying her any mind and even making an effort to step away a few times, but the fact that she was near him made your skin crawl. All confidence that you once had slowly disappeared when you looked to the right ever so slightly and made dead eye contact with his other two exes. The worst part? They had started to stalk closer to Rafe, inch by inch.
You nearly screamed out of jealousy before Jessica noticed the same thing and turned you around. You knew it was a weak attempt to distract you, but it inevitably worked as Jessica held your hand instead, spinning you on beat.
Things faded out again until one spin got a little too personal and you stopped yourself, dizzily looking over at Rafe. The girls were nowhere to be seen, which brightened your face. You started over to Rafe again, wanting to lean into him and to let him show you off like he always did. You were his girl, everyone knew that.
It wasn’t anything but a few steps in his direction before you felt a hand sweep you the other way, followed by two more. Confusion drained the happiness from your smile as you looked around, everything going too quick to fully make out any faces connected to the hands pulling you back and forth.
You tried to protest but found yourself silenced when they stopped and held you still.
“You’re a fucking whore.” Emma spat.
Emma, his first long-term ex. ‘Six months in hell’ Rafe would always say, rolling his eyes and kissing you to remember how victorious his escape was.
The two other girls, Natalee and Avery held you upright, nodding along with whatever Emma said. You rolled your eyes at their ‘yes-man’ mannerisms, which gained you a scoff from Emma.
“You stole Rafe from me. You fucking slut!” She yelled, getting closer and closer.
“Didn’t steal anyone..” You mumbled, making every reasonable attempt to back away but ultimately failing.
She scoffed. In fact, you heard all three of them scoff. You knew that they were jealous, and honestly, you would be too. Rafe broke their hearts and told them he ‘wasn’t ready for a relationship’ before skipping off to the next. All three of them assumed you to be another one of his heartbreak victims, but when you stuck for a little too long, the hatred naturally got stronger within the three.
You were lost in thought, trying to squirm away before you felt a faint sting on your cheek. You looked over at Emma and caught her just as her hand moved away from your face.
Instantly, tears poured from your eyes as you felt utterly helpless at their fists. One punch landed before another and suddenly you were being jostled around with no thoughts besides the pain coursing through your face and stomach.
Your ears were ringing by the time Rafe ran over and tore you away from their hands. You didn’t hear him yelling or pulling you away. It barely registered in your head when he picked you up and carried you from their jealous screams with a worried look on his face.
The car door slammed shut and you regained a little bit of yourself, feeling hazy in the passenger’s seat. You heard the driver’s side door open and close, watching Rafe struggling with the ignition through your slightly blurred vision.
You felt his panic hit you like a wave throughout the entire car ride, feeling him try and keep your head upright. His voice cracked and his hands shook while he fought through to keep his confident facade.
The two of you made it to Tannyhill and Rafe had barely put the car in park before he was rushing to your side. As much as he tried to seem careless and tough, you and him both knew that he couldn’t stifle his sensitivity around you.
His emotions crashed down on him while he tried to keep himself together, carrying your weakening body into the cushy living room.
“Talk to me, princess.” He whispered, laying you on the couch and pulling up your dress to look at the bruise quickly forming on your ribs.
You didn’t say anything but a groan of pain. Not because you couldn’t, but more because you didn’t have any words. Shock overtook your originally tearful face and realization set in.
For the rest of the night, Rafe held you in his arms. He didn’t let you lift a finger and made sure you were okay before calling a few ‘friends,’ as he said, to take care of the three girls.
It truthfully didn’t matter to you what happened to them. Here he was, Rafe Cameron, with his face buried in your hair and leaving soft kisses as gentle reminders that he loved you more than anyone else.
You were his girl, everyone knew that.
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#mariespen#outer banks#rafe cameron#obx fic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe obx#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fluff#protective!rafe#protective rafe cameron#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#rafe drabble#rafe cameron blurb
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I just got this thought but how do you think Simon would react if his gf had an only fans🤭🤭🤭
₊˚✧ cam girl — in which simon reacts to you filming for your only fans
simon 'ghost' riley x pornstar!fem!reader
warnings: 0.5k words, smut, pwp, f!mastubation, f!nipple piercings, voyeurism, exhibitionism,
masterlists
You had mentioned vaguely to Simon about your job. You never went in too much detail, only saying that it's an online, stay at home job. He never took your inexplicable answer to heart, he was the same way when you asked about his job. He enjoyed the simplicity of not stressing over telling each other every single thing and with him barely being home he'd never caught you doing your job.
Well, that was until today. He was laying in bed, reading a book that he's been meaning to read since however long ago when you asked if it was alright if you got some work done. He, of course, was blissfully unaware of what was about to happen and happily gave you permission, promising it wouldn't distract him.
As he promised, he wasn't distracted by you. He didn't notice as you set up a camera, placed a few pillows on the floor, dug into the box he stored all of the toys he loved to use on you, and took your clothes off, being left in a matching lingerie set. Your cold. metal nipple piercings shining through the mesh of the lingerie. You felt nervous as you sat on the floor, in front of the camera. You'd never filmed any videos with a live audience before, especially with an audience as enticing as Simon was.
Ghost looked up from his book, shooting you a quick glance before returning to reading. His eyes widen and his head shoots up again, his pupils dilating when he sees you in front of the camera with barely anything on. He watched with intent eyes as you turned the camera on. He closed his book and put it on the bed. He slowly sat up, breaking his promise of not getting distracted.
You felt his eyes glaring into you, nervous butterflies bubbling in your stomach as you trail your hand down your body. You rub your clothed clit, exaggerating a moan. Simon's eyes practically bulge out of his head. He would have never guessed your online, stay at home job was porn. His face flashed with jealousy, he envied the men who sat at their computers and watched you perform for them.
But another part of him was just totally and utterly aroused. The fact that these strangers on the internet got to see you pleasure yourself did something to him that he couldn't explain. He should hate the fact that anyone other than him got to see you in your most intimate moments, but for some reason, all it did was create a huge tent in his pants.
He looked back at you and watched the plush of your thighs as you rode one of the pillows. The bulge in his pants and the look in his eyes only grew with lust with each passing moment. Your high-pitched, pornographic moans were symphonic. He groaned lowly and ran a hand over his erection, softly palming himself to release any of the tension you were giving him.
He didn't even have time to process what you were doing before you were pushing your panties to the side and pushing the vibrator against your swollen clit. Your nerves seem to calm when you see he finds pleasure in this. His intent eyes only urged you more. Your fake moans were becoming more and more real. He only wished he knew about this sooner, maybe your videos could keep him from becoming lonely when he was deployed.
┊ㅤㅤ💋 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊
#! ✪ ₊˚✧ cod .#ghost call of duty#ghost mw2#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost simon riley#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost smut#cod ghost smut#simon riley smut
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“Whiskey”
summary | he likes this side of you. vulnerable. honest. eager to please. who is he to deny you in your time of need?
warnings | not proofread, profanity, possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader, reader wears a skirt, lots of teasing, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, grinding/panty-fucking, degradation + praise, rough sex, a sprinkle of dacryphilia, creampie
genre | smut (happy valentine’s day❤️🔥)
word count | 2k
pairing | wanderer x reader
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
𝓗umans are truly fascinating.
There’s this innate sense of wonder in those reflective violet eyes of his—one which begs to be satisfied. You can tell just by the way he looks at you with an imperceptible quiver of his soft lips that he may be debating on lashing you with another sarcastic remark.
You find yourself more enamored by the possibility the puppet might be persuaded to throw caution into the wind and finally give you that taste of him you’ve been so obviously craving. The slight aroma of whiskey piques his interest further.
After all, alcohol has a tendency to remove a human’s superficial barriers in expressing their true thoughts. Some even claim it to be an aphrodisiac.
Wanderer’s mouth curls up in amusement, enjoying the predicament you have presented before him.
Here you are, his precious little companion who guards her heart with awkward excuses and shy apologies, all tangled up with him against the wall. If you were a bit more sober, he’d delight in your typical reply—a small shriek of embarrassment followed by a deep, pink flush of your whole face.
This time, however, you are the one to plead for his touch.
“Scara… I mean, W-Wanderer,” you whine into his collarbone, beginning to grip his white robe just above his belt. You liked feeling the contours of his body, but not openly. No, you’ve tortured yourself with a game of accidental touches and fleeting brushes of skin. Every time it’s as if you get another piece of the puzzle to his silhouette, sparking your imagination as to what the full picture might look like.
“What? A little alcohol and you can barely call me by my name,” Wanderer muses in a low tone, his hand drifting to the dip of your waist where it perfectly slots into your form. His other hand is presently preoccupied, nearly pinned to the wall behind him and fingers lazily intertwined with yours. “I never cared for titles anyway, but… Master has a nice ring to it.”
“Dick,” you curse instinctively, rolling your eyes. Your displeased scoff trickles over his sensitive collarbone. Out of spite, you seriously consider sinking your teeth into his neck to leave a bruised mark on his pretty skin.
Archons, you don’t even recognize your own impulse anymore.
“Not yet,” he tuts, unable to resist the smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The hand on your waist slips away, taking his warmth with it. Wanderer leans in close enough so your noses are nearly touching, a newfound fire in his eyes. He waits a beat, his words drawn out in a slow, breathy whisper in an attempt to mask his own desperation. “I want you to cum all over my fingers first.”
The puppet’s eyes are trained on you like a predatory hawk, reveling in all the ways your body responds as he hooks his fingers on the hem of your underwear, yanking it down just below your skirt. Before you can protest, his long, slender fingers dipped into your needy hole, dragging your wet slick towards your clit to lubricate your folds for him.
Your knees practically buckle on the spot with a little cry of pleasure and surprise. Blissfully unaware, you whimper and try to lean in further to silently beg for some semblance of affection. Something to keep your mind from reeling like crazy. Even just a kiss will do. As much as you hate him for reading you like a book so often, you couldn’t be more turned on by his willingness to indulge you.
Merely the thought of his cock filling you to the brim has your hole fluttering with anticipation and he’s only touched you once.
“Mm, it’s so good,” you whimper with need, slowly bucking your hips in rhythm with his fingers circling your clit. When you have the strength to open your eyes again, Wanderer is marveling at your delectable expression. Within seconds, he captures your lips in a gentle kiss that burns like a candle—patiently but passionately.
A soft moan escapes you, swallowed eagerly by Wanderer’s tongue slipping into your mouth. He wants to hear it again, though the sound of his fingers in your pussy is a close second. He grunts with a bit of laughter as a particularly delicious thought crosses his mind. The puppet keeps rubbing your puffy clit at a steady pace, occasionally slipping two fingers barely at your entrance.
The instant his fingers teased your core, you melted into him, chasing after that sensation once more. “Oh my god… it’s so fucking hot. Please…”
“Please what, baby?” Wanderer coaxes you with a tender but playful undertone, feigning innocence to your question. He quiets you with a few more decadent kisses, maintaining that pressure-building pleasure concentrated on your clit.
You struggle to maintain what little composure you have left. You’re trying your damnedest to be good for him, but you can’t help the shaky whine purring deep in your throat. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to say it. “F-fuck me. Please.”
“Mhmm,” he moans freely and heavily onto your lips, nodding into another kiss with excitement. The puppet hears you. He knows you are beginning to feel a wave swelling in your lower stomach at his ministrations, ready to crest over in a magnificent release. “But what if I want you to cum all over your panties, hm? I want you to earn it first.”
Wanderer pumps the tips of his fingers into you just to bring you closer to the edge before quickly returning to your overly-sensitive nub. You can’t take it anymore, you’ll do anything to convince him otherwise. Biting your lower lip, you mewl, “Why don’t you cum in them instead? I-I just need to feel you…”
He chuckles lightheartedly at you, finding your desperate state to be cute. The glassy look in your eyes as if you could cry at any moment is the cherry on top. Perhaps he is feeling merciful today. You yelp with surprise when the puppet replaces his index and middle finger with the wet slap of his cock against your pink folds, grinding it between them.
“Fuck, yes,” sighing heavily, you relax against Wanderer, sucking in a breath with each thrust of his tip that reaches your entrance. You’ve completely surrendered to the intoxicating image of his cock pushing into your tight hole, cursing under your breath. All your needy moans are his for the taking, swirling his tongue against yours in a steamy exchange.
“You’re so fucking wet for me, it’s pathetic,” the puppet chuckles, but his words are hardly degrading. Rather, his low baritone is steeped with lust. Without warning, he removes your panties entirely to lift you by your hips, pressing your back flush to the wall and sheathing the leaking tip of his cock inside your warmth repeatedly. “Is this what you wanted? Huh?”
“A-ah!” your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape at your lover’s unexpected but very much welcome intrusion, looking down at how your pussy is taking him in by the inch. There’s already a ring of fluids beginning to gather around his tip. “Yes, mm, please… more. Fuck.”
A snicker resounds from his throat as he slowly sinks himself into you, watching with utter fascination as you struggle to adjust to his girth. Cooing sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, Wanderer shifts so that you’re pressed to the wall entirely by his pelvis. Your spongy walls flutter and throb around his thick length, spurring him to grab your face firmly by the jaw. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Look at you, so pretty for me. Kiss me.”
Little did you know that the sweet relief of his plush lips on yours was but a distraction. While you wrapped your arms around his neck, Wanderer slides his cock out to your wet entrance, fucking just the tip inside you. The moment you began to show signs of protest, he plunged deep into your pussy with an audible smack of skin. You let out a cracked yelp.
“What was that, baby?” he moans into your mouth teasingly, a hand squeezing lightly on your jugular. It was just enough to make you a little dizzy and drunk on his cock. That much was evident as the puppet pulls out for the umpteenth time to overstimulate your hole.
“I-I…” you stutter out breathlessly, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your mind was empty. Only the tantalizing sensation of his cock dragging against your walls could make your world turn once more.
With a sinister giggle, Wanderer silences with you with another sloppy kiss. When he buries his cock into you abruptly this time, you babble incoherent nonsense about cumming. He takes advantage of it, thrusting his hips at a fast pace and practically fucking you into the wall.
“Yeah? You wanna cum? Fuck… you’re gripping me so tight,” his voice morphs into a hiss as he attempts to delay his own impending orgasm. Your head rolls back in ecstasy, on the brink of release as Wanderer drills your cunt wildly, ripping loud moans from your parched throat.
Just as you were hurtled toward the precipice of your orgasm, Wanderer lifted you off of his cock and the pressure in your stomach dissipated. The emptiness inside your walls was unbearable. Marching into the bedroom, he positions your ass up on the bed and immediately splits your pussy open with his throbbing cock again and again.
“Shit, shit, yes. I fucking love it. I love you so much,” you growl into a pillow raggedly, a dreamy, fucked-out look in your eyes as he pounds into you.
The puppet yanks the pillow out from underneath you, wrapping your hair around his fist so he can make sure you don’t dare stifle your praise and moans from him. “You fucking like that? Being my little cocksleeve, yeah? Lemme hear you say it, baby. Mine… all mine.”
You are completely dazed by Wanderer’s cock fucking you as if he wanted to make a permanent impression of his curve in your soft pussy. He was ready to pump you full of his cum. His fingers tighten on your hair slightly, and you’re reminded that you were given a command. “Mm, mhmm! Y-yours…”
“My what?” he presses further, mesmerized by the ripple of your skin every time he thrusts into you from behind. His hand smacks your ass as a warning.
“Y-your cocksleeve!” you blurt out with tears beginning to pool in the corners of your eyes. The overstimulation at this point is the perfect concoction of pain and pleasure, driving you to the edge. Your eyes start to roll back a little, succumbing to the hypnotic sensation of his veiny cock burying itself in your core.
Wanderer releases your hair, possessively planting his hands over your hips to deepen his thrusts. “And what do good cocksleeves do?”
“T-take… your cum… a-ah, fuck. That’s it. That’s it. I’m gonna cum!” you reply with the last remaining ounce of your willpower. Your entirely body tenses and spasms with pleasure as a litany of profanities and prayers spill from your lips. You’ve never had an orgasm as intense as this, you can’t control your own bodily response.
Wanderer immediately pulls you in, his muscular chest pressed to your back, cooing and shushing you gently as he succumbs to his own orgasm. You can vividly feel his cock pulsating inside your warmth, spurting hot, thick ropes of his seed across your gummy walls. “That’s okay, cum for me, baby. I love you so fucking much, yeah. Shhh…”
The room is filled with heavy breaths and the smell of sex. Your lover’s grip never falters. Instead, the puppet gently kisses the crook between your neck and shoulder.
“I’ll take care of you. I promise. You’re my good girl.”
thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.
#wet dream material🤤#literally me last night ngl#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact imagines#genshin imagines#genshin x reader#genshin smut#genshin scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#genshin wanderer#wanderer x reader#scaramouche smut#wanderer smut
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On my knees begging for how genshin women (yae, ei, signora) would react to their girlfriend slipping up and accidentally calling them mommy (nsfw)
This was so fun to write I love it
18+ CONTENT MDNI
Game: Genshin Impact
Characters: Raiden Ei, Yae Miko, La Signora x fem!reader (separate)
Type: Smut and Fluff (calling them mommy, fingering, strap usage, edging, overstimulation, grinding)
Raiden Ei
Genuinely, I believe she wouldn't get the innuendo behind it at first. Don't blame the poor Archon she had been in isolation for centuries and is still learning modern ways. The first time you utter it, she'll be confused as to why you called her your mother then sweetly forgive you. It won't be until Yae tells her the real meaning that she truly wants to hear it again
A pleasant and serene evening at Inazuma, you were cradled against you lover at Tenshukaku, blissfully enjoying each other's presence and comfort. Well, perhaps you liked it a bit too much...
"Mm...mommy~" you whispered against Ei's neck in a daze, making her confused. She watched your cheeks turn red as you opened your eyes and looked at her in embarrassment, she simply chuckled looking at you and patted your head.
"Hehe, I'm not your mother, Y/n~"
"S-Sorry, I didn't mean it..."
"It's alright. I'm glad to know you feel so relaxed with me."
You felt relieved inside as you saw that she didn't understand the meaning, nodding at her with a smile and continuing to cuddle. The next day, the Archon was seated at the Grand Narukami Shrine with her Kitsune familiar, sharing some dango and a cup of tea.
"How are things going with Y/n?" Yae asked.
"Oh, everything is good. Haha, that reminds me of an interesting occurrence from yesterday~"
"Oh? Care to share?~"
"Hehe, she accidentally called me her mother yesterday. It was rather cute; she became really embarrassed after~"
Yae looked at her wide-eyed before smirking and leaning closer, "What did she say exactly? What were you both doing?"
"We were just....cuddling like normal and she happened to utter 'mommy'. I think she simply felt really relaxed."
Yae's smirk widened and she raised her eyebrow before chuckling, "Oh, Ei. Now I feel bad for poor Y/n~"
Ei looked at her friend confused before Yae proceeded bring a novel from her publishing house and handed it to Ei with a particular page open. Ei's brows furrowed before she accepted and read the contents of the book, Yae watched her in amusement as Ei's face turned redder reading each paragraph.
"T-This is....are you sure she meant this, Miko?"
"Hehe~ Why don't you find out?~"
The following evening, the two of you were entangled in each other at Ei's private chamber. Her kimono hung low exposing her breasts while you kissed her neck and made your way down her body. She remembered Yae's words then suddenly held your head and pulled you up before pecking your lips.
"Y/n, I wanted to ask something...."
You smiled and gently embraced her by snuggling into her neck, "Go ahead."
"Yesterday....when you....c-called me mommy, did you mean something....specific?"
You swiftly looked at her out of embarrassment, "W-What do you mean?"
"W-Well, I read it in a novel....certain ways of referring to your partner in some kind of roleplay or simply preference...."
"I....I-I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I d-didn't—"
"No, I didn't hate it! In fact, if you want to call me that then I don't mind...."
Looking at each other flustered, you slowly nodded and rested your head in her soft bosom before beginning to rut against her. She let out low moans as her legs wrapped around your waist and held you tightly while you continued rubbing your clit with hers.
"Mommy....mommy....i-it feels so good...."
A warm feeling evoked in Ei's chest hearing your needy moans, "You are doing so well....mhm~ M-My baby....that's it....cum for your mommy~"
You slowly let go of your restraints and rutted faster, pressing your cores together and grinding hard. Soft moans and whimpers filled the room, affectionate names spilling from your lips.
"Mommy....I want to c-cum...cum with me...."
"D-Do it, my darling....make your mommy cum~"
You hissed as she rutted her hips into you before you quickened your pace as well, desperately rubbing against each other. You moaned loudly and pressed your cunts together as you came, her own release following after making your juices mix. You panted out and gazed at each other before sharing a passionate kiss.
Yae Miko
You just know she will tease you about it and make you say it again and again. She will be slightly surprised the first time you say it but quickly accept the new title, will definitely tease you about it in public and make you scream it in private.
Late night at the Grand Narukami Shrine, you were visiting your girlfriend when the two of you returned to her quarters and engaged in passionate lovemaking. It eventually led to her pinning you on the bed and pounding into your wet cunt with her strap.
"Ah~ Ah~ M-Miko....please....s-slow down! I can't anymore!~"
"Oh, you can, little one~ Come now, give me your cute reactions~"
Yae smirked as she gazed at your fucked out state, you had lost count of how many orgasms she drew from you but she wasn't stopping. Your legs felt sort and your walls continued to spasm from your previous release, yet looking at the Guuji above you and realizing she was your girlfriend never failed to make you want it more.
"Aahn~ Mommy....m-more!~"
Your eyes snapped open at your surprising words, Yae's thrusts also slowed for a moment hearing them. But before you could speak anything else, she was pounding into you even harder.
"Oh my~ My little one is quite dirty-minded it seems. I wonder....hah...i-if you read some novels from my collection?~"
"N-No! I didn't— Aah!~"
"Hehe~ How shameful. Looks like your mommy has to correct your sinful ways now~"
She flipped you making you lie on your stomach all of a sudden before thrusting her cock again. Your voice cried out and she slammed her hips faster now, your skin slapping against each other.
"P-Please....no more! Aah~ M-Miko—"
"Oh, that's not the correct word, my sweetheart. Don't make your mommy remind you again~"
You pursed your lips before giving in to your desires, "M-Mommy!~ Please....I'm cumming....please mommy!~"
"Good girl~ Leave everything to your mommy~"
Yes, she loves it a little too much.
La Signora
She will be shocked hearing it at first, she can't believe you see her that way. But she loves it so much, she definitely wants to hear it more. But she won't give in so easily, she'll mock and tease you about it all the while keeping you on the edge. Will start with degradation then slowly turn to praises as she fully accepts it. In the end, she will genuinely wonder if you see her that way and why- a sign of her insecurity, and you have to tell her she's perfect for it~ (personally I see her more of a mistress person btw but mmm mommy has my bias for sure).
After a stressful day filled with meetings and headaches from her colleagues, the Fair Lady just wants to confide in her office with you in her arms. She immediately grabbed you the moment she entered her office and pushed you on the table before beginning to kiss you all over.
She's all over you, trapping your figure between herself and the table. Her lips make desperate kisses on your face, her knee nestled between your legs and rubbing your core. You know she's doing it intentionally, but you can't do anything until she starts touching you herself. She's taking her time, relishing your lips and body first.
Her hands unbutton your shirt and pulls it down to expose your neck and chest, she immediately dives in to make her marks on you. She comes closer and hikes her leg up, earning a stifled moan from you due to the stimulation. She smirks to herself feeling your wetness seep on her knee and licks your ear before whispering, "Already so wet. Are you that desperate to be touched?~"
"Y-Yes....please...."
"Please what? You have to do better than that~"
"P-Please....touch me....mhm~"
"Are you really giving me an order? Do I have to teach you your place?~"
She's making you restless now, you can't take it anymore.
"P-Please mommy! Please touch me!~"
She suddenly stops all her movements; did she hear you right? Did you really just say that? It's amusing to her, but also slightly embarrassing.
"You..." she leans away to look at your face before smirking and grabbing your jaw, "What a shameful way to address your superior~"
Her other hand slips past your underwear and touches your clit, a surprised gasp leaving you as you hold on to her.
"Do I really have to teach you basic manners again, hm?~"
She circles your clit in slow motions, making you more desperate as juices keep spilling from your cunt.
"P-Please....more...m-mommy....ngh!~"
She's surprised once again and leans in to bite your neck, "Not stopping, are you? Do you want to be punished that badly?~"
"....Y-Yes....mommy....punish me~"
Oh, you have done it now. She swiftly turns you over and pushes you against the desk as she leans on your back and her hand dips inside your underwear again. Her body presses against you, back arching into her but she keeps you pinned as she fingers you. Your walls clench around her fingers, spasming as she scissors them and thrusts in and out.
"Didn't think my best and brightest would stoop to such a level. But I can't deny this state of yours is quite tempting. Go on, cum for your mommy~"
Her sultry seductive voice whispers in your ear before she licks your lobe making your walls clench more as you unexpectedly release, your cum coating her fingers. As you calm down and begin to look back at her, you see a surprising look on her face. Her usual confident smirk is gone, her eye softens and she looks almost guilty.
"R-Rosa? Are you okay?"
"Y/n....did you really mean it? What you called me just now, do you really see me that way?"
You are surprised at her question but soon realize why she's asking this; after all, she's only ever been known as a witch.
"Yes....I do. I....I love you and....y-you treat me with so much love and care....I c-can't help but see you that way....U-Unless you find it uncomfortable then—"
She kisses you before you can finish, "No...it's okay, I'm fine with it. You can use it more...."
#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#genshin women#genshin impact#la signora#signora x reader#genshin x reader#raiden ei#ei x reader#raiden ei x reader#yae miko#yae miko x reader#yae x reader
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Un-Breaking Up
Request: i’m not sure if your request are still open honestly it’s my first time requesting ever. do you think you could do one of 10, and 13 with changbin, they were exes and something happened either one could say 10 and then they get stuck together, idk this was a big brain fart
Prompt:
10) “Was it worth it?”
13) Oh no! There's only one bed!
Pairing: Stray Kids Changbin x Reader
Genre: Angst (with a happy ending)
Song rec as you read: Top or Cliff - KIM SEJEONG
.
"What do you mean there's only one room left?" you hissed into your cell phone.
"They overbooked for the weekend," Chan sighed on the other end of the line. "We reserved the rooms when you and Bin were still together."
"And I told you I would pay the extra to get my own room," you groaned. This could not be happening.
When you had agreed to go on this friend-cation, you had been blissfully wrapped in the throes of love.
Now, you were stranded at the airport with a headache and an ex-boyfriend hailing a cab.
"It would have been nice for you to tell me he was on the same flight by the way," you scoffed.
"You literally booked the flights together-"
"You said he was going to change them to come in earlier! With you!"
"I thought he was!" Chan gasped. "Look, if you can't suck it up and be an adult for five minutes-"
"It's a twenty-minute drive," you pouted.
"And rooms are already sorted, so you guys are just going to have to figure it out," he sighed. You could almost hear him, miles away, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Can't he like...stay on your pull-out couch?" you hedged. "I'm sure your partner won't-"
"Oh, they will very much mind," Chan chuckled. "Plus, Changbin paid his portion just like everyone else. He's not getting downgraded to my loveseat."
"He's small enough to fit damn near anywhere," you muttered.
"Y/N," Chan said slowly, careful to keep his annoyance reigned in. "We'll see you soon, okay?"
"Just say you hate me," you complained. You knew you were being dramatic, but you were in too deep to turn back now. It really wasn't your intention to be a brat, but you and Changbin hadn't seen each other in weeks. Your friends had inadvertently become children of divorce, so you knew Chan didn't deserve the grief you were giving him.
"If by hate you mean love," he said cheerfully. "Now get your butt here. I'll see you in the morning."
Rolling your eyes, you hung up the call and shoved your phone in your pocket. Turning on your heel, you marched over to where Changbin was shoving suitcases into the back of a taxi.
"Everything okay?" he huffed, pushing the very last of the luggage into the trunk. "What did Chan say?"
"That you've been invited to sleep on his pullout couch," you smiled brightly.
"Y/N."
"They couldn't get us separate rooms," you muttered, crossing your arms. "And we have to make do."
Changbin's eyebrows shot up. "I'll pay the difference."
"Tried that," you sighed. "They literally have no more room."
"They always have more room," Changbin grumbled, yanking his phone out of his pocket. "Even if it's an executive suite."
"By all means," you hummed, sliding into the back of the waiting car. "If you think you can do something literally no one else could, go ahead."
Choosing not to acknowledge your comment, Changbin joined you in the backseat. Careful to keep a sufficient space barrier between the two of you, he informed the driver of your destination before getting on the phone with what you assumed to be the hotel concierge.
No matter how charming he could be, the fifteen minutes he spent on the phone yielded no results. As he hung up, you could see how ruffled he was. Leaning his head against the window of the taxi, he slowly exhaled.
"Let me guess?" you remarked. "No matter how much money you threw at the problem, it didn't work?"
Taking a deep breath, he swiveled toward you. "I was just trying to help-"
"No one asked," you said sharply. "I tried to fix the problem and couldn't. So did Chan. I don't know why you thought you could come in and save the day-"
"You used to like it when I saved the day," he bristled.
You knew you weren't being fair and simply picking at him just for the sake of picking. "I used to like you in general, but here we are."
Changbin closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat. Luckily, the hotel was already coming into sight. Unluckily, you would still be stuck together for the next few days.
.
"Shit," Changbin said, stepping into the hotel room.
Yanking your suitcase over the lip of the door, you made your way into the room, stopping just behind him. "What-"
The words were erased from your tongue as you took in your surroundings. The room was gorgeous, and admittedly, pretty romantic. You were greeted by a small seating area and a low table decorated with rose petals and snacks. Looking further into the room, you could see you had your own private pool outside, intimate and moody with low lighting. The thing you had avoided recognizing though was perhaps the most obvious.
There was only one bed.
"Perfect," you croaked, completely exhausted by this whole situation. "Absolutely perfect."
"I could try to-"
"My guess is," you said slowly. "That they are so fully booked, that they won't be able to move us to a room with two queens."
"But you don't know that for sure," he said with a small nod, trying to convince himself. "I'll go to the front desk."
"Knock yourself out," you sighed, leaning against the wall to begin sliding slowly down it. It was time to accept defeat. "Better yet actually knock yourself out."
Changbin shot you a dirty look as he yanked the door open and disappeared from sight.
Too bad he was back within ten minutes.
"Let me guess," you smirked. "They are fully booked and won't be able to move us to a room with two queens?"
"You don't have to gloat," he pouted, plopping on the edge of the bed. Looking helplessly around the room, his focus landed on the two armchairs in the seating area (very much not a normal, pull-out couch.) "I can just make a pallet on the floor."
You felt a small pang in your chest. As much as you didn't want to admit you had any threads of care left for the man in front of you, you did. And unfortunately, you didn't want to condemn him to sleeping on the floor. "That wouldn't be fair to you."
"It is what it is," he sighed. "And I'm not going to subject you to laying in a bed with me when you don't even want us to be in the same room."
"Stop being dramatic," you scoffed, totally projecting. "We can make a pillow barrier. Plus, I really don't want to hear you complain and make me into the bad guy."
"Y/N," he groaned. "It's not like that."
You chewed on your lip, knowing it wasn't. Changbin had honestly been much more charitable than you had even tried being since the two of you had broken up. You had pinned most of the reasons for separating on him, so maybe he had taken it to heart.
Choosing to ignore his protests, you began to unpack instead. Leaving the top two drawers in the dresser open for him (a habit from when you were dating) you silently moved your clothing and essentials to various parts of the room.
"Do you mind if I shower first?" he asked. His tone was careful, as if he was waiting for you to explode.
You hated it.
"Go for it," you answered.
He moved quietly toward the bathroom, leaving you with only your thoughts as you heard the click of the lock.
Moving toward the bed, you shoved your face into a pillow to let loose a mix between a groan and scream. Sometimes it just helped to make nonsensical sounds when you were feeling frustrated.
It was difficult being around Changbin again. Even though the two of you had broken up, there were feelings there. You had been so desperately in love with him at one point, you just assumed you would be a little bit in love forever. You thought the two of you had been bulletproof, but in one evening of anger, you managed to break both your heart and his (and still clung to the rationalization that it was all his fault).
You knew who he was when you had started dating. Seo Changbin, member of Stray Kids, producer in 3racha, gym rat, and lastly, boyfriend. All of those things came first, and you were so, so tired of being the last checkbox on the list. After being cancelled on for maybe the hundredth time because there was some sort of work emergency, you had had enough. His things were waiting in boxes when he had eventually shown up, and you had endless reasons for why you didn't want to continue forward.
When he begged, you had shut him down. Looking back now, you knew it was because you were afraid. It was easier to have a hard break than admit that you were both flawed people who weren't trying hard enough. It was easier than actually making the effort and being uncomfortable. You werent't ready for that advanced level of vulnerability.
Changbin was one of the softest and squishiest individuals you had ever met, which made it even harder. Any form of neglect he had stumbled into subjecting you to had never came with a hard edge. When he apologized, he was genuinely sorry. He was too good and pure to have to deal with you being upset over something he loved. He dreamt of being an idol before he even knew you existed. It would be the best for both of you if you just stopped interfering in his success.
Maybe the thing that hurt you the most though was seeing how it seemingly didn't affect him. He continued forward like nothing had happened, even treating you as a friend whenever you happened to run in the same circles. That was when you decided you couldn't like him, even if you loved him. It was easier to be annoyed than show how hurt it made you.
It was sick to say that you had wanted him to be just as miserable and lost as you were.
As you heard the water cut off, you pushed your face away from the pillow and took a deep breath. It was just a quick trip. You could be cordial for the sake of your friends.
You heard him before you saw him. With the phone glued to his ear, he was chuckling at someone on the other line. It was difficult not to ogle at the water droplets still decorating his shoulders and collar bone, even though he was technically fully dressed in a tank top and shorts.
"We need to redo the guide," he instructed. "I might be able to break away for a little bit and record something.
Yes, I know I'm on vacation, but we're already behind."
After a few more minutes of arguing, he hung up, and tossed his phone onto the bed.
You couldn't help yourself. "Was it worth it?"
"Hm?" he asked. You knew he had to pull himself out of his own thoughts before he could address yours.
"Was it worth it?" you repeated, crossing your arms.
"The shower?" he asked, lifting his brows and smiling his patented one-sided smirk. "Absolutely."
"No," you croaked. "Working. On vacations, in what's supposed to be your free time. Was it all worth it?"
He plopped on the edge of the bed, keeping his back to you. "We're talking past - past tense here...aren't we? Not the call I was just on."
Your silence was answer enough.
"I like to think it was," he said quietly, tilting his head to the side as he made a hissing noise to reprimand himself. "But as days go by, the more and more I wonder if I was wrong."
You chewed on your lip, not at all knowing what answer you had expected, but that wasn't it.
Looking over his shoulder, he slowly pivoted his body to face yours. His expression softened as he said quietly, "Is that why you hate me?"
Your jaw dropped open as you floundered for one of your knee-jerk, cutting responses. His face conveyed such helplessness.
"...I don't hate you, Changbin," you said quietly. Surely, he had to know that.
"I don't think I would blame you if you did," he chuckled sadly. "I put just about everything before you, didn't I?"
"It wasn't a matter of putting things before me," you said slowly. "It was a matter of putting things before us. We were supposed to be a team."
The old adage that time heals all wounds was at least proving itself to be slightly true. It was definitely easier to speak on how you were feeling now that you had put some space between yourself and the initial confrontation.
Changbin nodded slowly. "I wanted to be better."
You tried to take the ice out of your tone. "I did too."
"Then why didn't we try?" he asked, looking toward you with watery eyes.
You tried to focus on your breathing. If Changbin cried, you were absolutely going to cry.
"I thought...I thought that I had done so badly as a boyfriend," he continued. "And that's why you treated me like I was an inconvenience once we broke up."
"You were an inconvenience," you grumbled. "Only because I was still so upset...and you were acting like everything was okay between us."
"I don't know how to act otherwise!" he contended. "We broke up and I still loved you. Treating you any other way would have hurt my heart, and I'm too selfish to do that on top of what was already done."
"Huh," you hiccupped, feeling the tears come despite your best efforts. "I really goofed, didn't I?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, furrowing his brows.
"I was the one who did the breaking up, Bin," you said quietly. "I tried to tell myself I shouldn't feel bad because it was your fault. You were the one who was always gone, but I didn't try to talk to you about it. I let it become this completely...other thing inside of me. It was like every time you cancelled, I added it to this stack until it finally tumbled over."
"But I should have realized on my own," he asserted, standing up to move closer to you. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he gathered your hands in his. Looking up through his lashes, you could see the toll the last few months had taken on him.
You were foolish to think he wasn't suffering in the same way you were.
"We can blame ourselves all day," you sniffed, finally letting the tears run over your cheeks. "But it doesn't change the fact that we broke up...and now we're here."
"So we un-break up," he mused, saying it as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
"Un-break up?" you muttered.
"Mhm," he hummed, easing up from his knees to sit beside you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he tucked you into his side.
"It's not that easy," you hiccupped, shaking your head but making no attempt to untangle your body from his.
"Who says it can't be?"
"We're different people now, Bin," you maintained. "Do we even know if we can be that safe space for each other? It ended so poorly last time, and-"
"Because we let it!" he argued. "But we know now-"
"Do we?" you interrupted. "We don't actually know how to fix what happened. We walked away."
"And here we are, walking back," he chuckled, shaking his head. "We can try, really try...if you think it's worth it."
You chewed on your lip, looking toward him. His eyes were still a little puffy from his brief crying episode, but it was definitely the same Bin you had fallen in love with months ago. His dark hair was beginning to dry in its signature messy curls, and his even darker eyes watched you carefully. There was a fire there that had been extinguished for so long, seeing it again caused your heart to skip a beat. Now that you had opened the door, he would push as hard as possible to make his way back in.
"Y/N?"
"I may not be worth it," you laughed grimly. "But I know you are."
"I didn't know we were throwing a pity party," he teased. "I should have bought streamers."
"I take it back," you grumbled. "You aren't worth it."
Changbin's grin was wide as he wrapped his other arm around you and squeezed you tightly. "Of course, you're worth it, silly."
"So we're doing this," you whispered into his bare shoulder. The smell of his shower gel was still heavy on his skin, encouraging you to inhale deeply. For the first time in weeks, you felt at home.
"Hell yeah we are," he chimed. "We're going to do the shit out of this."
You laughed as you pulled away from him. You wanted to look into his eyes. He needed to understand.
"Starting now, we both promise to do better," you nodded slowly. He nodded along, eyes wide. "Which means, do you really have to work while you're here?"
He smirked, letting out a small chuckle. "Starting now, I am going to be so present in this relationship, you're going to get sick of me. You'll be begging for me to go to the studio."
"Somehow I doubt that," you sighed, lifting a hand to cradle his jaw. He tilted his face, nuzzling your palm before dropping a soft kiss there. "But I'm excited to see you try."
#seo changbin#stray kids#skz#stray kids changbin#changbin x reader#changbin angst#changbin fanfic#boyfriend changbin#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fanfic#stray kids angst#skz angst#skz fanfic
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to make them love me (and make it seem effortless)
pairings: aemond x fem! Targaryen! reader / original female character
word count: 15,046
genre: fluff, angst
content warnings: TARGCEST, age gap, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth, swearing (aemond has a potty mouth)
additional notes: we interrupt your regular genshin x reader viewing by bringing you this (big) little thing I wrote for aemond targaryen. he had me in a chokehold until I finally relented and. this is it.
expect a couple more works on this pathetic little meow meow and an eventual update to an ode to heartbreak!
read this work on ao3
“I don’t understand,” Aemond says in disbelief, pushing his helmet’s visor out of his face as he attempts to decipher the contents of the note. “How could I have not been informed of this earlier?”
Ormund shrugs. “Perhaps the tourney masters thought it best to rearrange the lists. More signed up for the games than they thought.”
“Their poor planning does not justify an inconvenience on my part,” Aemond scoffs. “I am a Prince of the realm. I should be placed higher up on the lists.”
“Never mind that, cousin,” Ormund attempts to console him. “It is your first tourney, after all—”
“—and yet it is one we all look forward to seeing.”
The two look up to see Aegon sauntering into the hall, grinning from ear to ear as if he’d just been privy to a particularly humorous joke. Aemond rolls his eyes as he shoves the note into Ormund’s hand.
“Why so tense, dear brother?” Aegon nudges Aemond playfully. “I only speak the truth. You’ve never really thought much of tourneys.”
“Some of us like to keep most of our thoughts to ourselves,” Aemond shoots back, as he fiddles with his armor. “Where’s Helaena?”
“Back in the castle.” Aegon jabs his finger behind him. “All the shouting was getting to her, so Mother had me escort her back.”
At Aegon’s words, Ormund’s expression lit up in realization. “Perhaps it was the Queen behind it!”
“Shut up!” Aemond hisses, at the same time Aegon asks, “Behind what?”
“Er…” Ormund scratches his head, lowering his gaze in response to Aemond’s murderous one. “Behind, er, the Princess’ nameday tourney.”
Aegon scoffs. “My mother can hardly be credited for my sister’s nameday tourney. We all celebrate our namedays for days at a time, with tourneys and feasts galore.”
He glances around, taking in the sight of the contestants and squires milling about the area. “Though our sister’s nameday tourney has, indeed, piqued the interest of all. How strange.”
“Hardly,” Aemond mumbles. “She comes of age today.”
“Ah!” Aegon claps his hands. “Our beloved sister comes of age today, yes. I wonder just what the prize is for this tourney.”
“Surely, His Grace would not decide who Princess [Y/N] marries based on who wins today’s tourney?” Ormund says, blissfully unaware of Aemond slightly wincing at his words.
Aegon frowns. “Have you never picked up a history book, cousin?”
“Have you?” Aemond retorts.
“Of course I did. I never said I read them, though.” Aegon sniffs. “It’s not usual, but it’s certainly not new. Tourneys are simply pageants in all but name. See for yourself.”
The trio turn to see a tall, sweeping teenager, with locks the color of night and skin like copper parading about the hall, his bronze armor chased with red, a spear piercing the sun on its front.
“Qoren Martell,” Aemond whispers, a sense of dread washing over him.
Aegon hums. “Came in right at the last second, as they were drawing up the lists.”
Ormund turns to Aemond, holding up the note he had been reading earlier, an expression of understanding dawning on his face. Aemond fidgets beneath his armor, hating that Aegon had a point for once; there really wasn’t any other plausible explanation for Dorne to finally start taking an interest in the Crown’s affairs.
Aegon looks over at him, seemingly contemplating his next line. He decides instead to clap Aemond’s back, sending him forward. “Oh, don’t worry, brother! The Dornish don’t mind sharing their lovers. They seem to enjoy it, in fact.”
Aemond turns and walks briskly away from his brother, Ormund hastily trailing beside him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Of course, Aegon had to press further, keeping up with Aemond’s pace in a couple of long strides. “Oh, but I think you do,” he says. “If there’s anything the Dornish get right, it’s their outlook on bastards. I’m sure Prince Qoren wouldn’t mind if [Y/N]’s children turn out to have silver hair and a remarkable resemblance to a certain other Prince—”
Aemond stops abruptly to stare Aegon directly in the eye. “[Y/N] is not you. You would let our sister disgrace herself and put the stability of the realm at risk?”
Aegon towers over him, smirking triumphantly. “You and I both know that’s not any of your concern.”
“Then you do not know me.” Aemond turns away again, walking towards the edge of the hall where the tourney field was being set up. Hordes of people continued filing into the stands, some of whom were dressed to the nines despite the sun beating down upon them like a drum. He glances at the King’s Box, watching as the newest arrivals, the Velaryons, occupy their seats next to Rhaenyra and her children.
A mix of gasps and cheers sound from the smallfolk as a shadow passes over them, coupled with a familiar-sounding roar. Aemond squints up at the sky, and his heart practically leaps at the sight.
The voice of the Master of Revels announcing your arrival is all but drowned out by Silverwing’s proud roar, as you land her atop the King’s Box, jostling the people inside. Rhaenyra grabs the end of Lucerys’ coat to keep him from falling off trying to look up at you, while Lyonel Strong steadies a visibly surprised Viserys. Aegon lets out a hearty laugh at the sight, and Aemond could not help but join in.
It’s only when the she-dragon lowers her neck does Aemond finally get a better look at you. You’re grinning from ear to ear, and the only thing that could compete with the brightness of your smile was the glint of your silvery hair in the sun. Your dragon climbs down the Box, much to your family’s chagrin as they grip the arms of their chairs to stay steady.
Silverwing dips herself to the ground of the tourney field, allowing you to dismount and pat her neck before you wave to the crowds. You don a black dress chased with blue (which Aemond presumes is for your late lady mother, who was an Arryn), with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered on your front.
“A fly might make its way down your throat if you don’t close it,” Ormund murmurs in Aemond’s ear, and he only sniggers as Aemond elbows him in the stomach. When your eyes meet his, he prays his ears aren’t as red as he thinks they are.
“Seven blessings on your nameday, dear sister,” Aegon says, pairing the mock reverence in his tone with an exaggerated bow.
You only snort as you remove your riding gloves. “Save your courtesies for someone who actually believes them.”
“Now, is that any behavior befitting a lady who has just come of age?”
You deliver a playful punch to Aegon’s midsection, which he just barely dodges.
Ormund bows. “I wish you a happy nameday, Princess.”
Aemond fidgets nervously, silently cursing both Aegon and Ormund for getting to greet you first.
You smile warmly. “Thank you, Ormund.” When you turn to look at Aemond, you reach out to push his visor out of his face. “Finally joining the lists today, eh, Aemond? I never thought you were interested in jousting.”
Aemond opens his mouth, but no sound leaves it. Behind you, Aegon raises his eyebrows, giving him a look that says, Say something!
“I…decided to test my skills today,” Aemond manages.
Aegon silently gestures for him to keep going.
“…and I thought your nameday would give me extra luck,” he adds, now feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks.
You laugh, reaching over once again to pat the front of his armor. He wonders if you can feel his heart hammering underneath the cold metal.
Aegon clears his throat, glancing at something behind Aemond; in his periphery, he sees Qoren Martell hovering around the group. Ormund, miraculously, gets the silent message.
“If you would excuse us, Princess,” the Hightower lord says, slapping the back of Aemond’s armor. “As his loyal squire, I have a duty to get Prince Aemond ready.”
You nod in understanding. “I will pray for your opponents,” you say solemnly, and a genuine smile finally breaks out onto his face.
“Will you allow me to escort you back to the King’s Box?” Aegon says in his mocking tone once again, and you wrinkle your nose before dropping your hand into his.
Ormund pushes Aemond in the other direction. “Come now, my Prince,” he says. “You’d better get ready if you want to win the Princess’ favor.”
“I’ve been put in the lower lists,” Aemond reminds him miserably, while keeping his eyes trained on Qoren Martell attempting to strike up a conversation with you.
“What of it?” Ormund scoffs, suddenly sounding confident. “It just means you’ll score more victories. Makes the final one all the more sweet. Just trust your training, and you’ll have Qoren Martell on his fat Dornish ass before you know it.”
It seemingly only takes a split second for all the air to leave Aemond’s lungs when he crashes into the dirt. Though his armor had taken the brunt of his fall, pain shoots all over his body like tendrils of lightning, ironically leaving him feeling momentarily weightless.
He manages to roll onto his back, gasping for air and staring up at the sky above. The ringing in his ears subsides enough for him to hear the triumphant shouts and the shocked gasps of the crowd, as well as the neighing of his distressed horse. He blinks the stars out of his eyes, and after remembering seeing a Bolton squire die from a lance to the throat, he checks himself for any injuries. To his relief, he seemed to be physically fine.
“My Prince! Aemond, cousin!” Suddenly, Ormund was hovering over him, distress and clear fear in his eyes. “Speak to me, are you alright?”
“I’m…” Aemond coughs, feeling his lungs constrict, then relax. “I’m fine.”
A tourney master joins Ormund. “Will you continue with a contest of arms, my Prince?”
Ormund helps Aemond sit up, and he catches a glimpse of his sword lying off to the side. He blinks again, and his vision finally returns to normal; he sees his opponent (who, by the stag on his armor, Aemond surmises is a Baratheon) jumping off his horse and running over to him.
You fool, Aemond wants to shout. If your opponent wished to continue, you might have benefited from the distance.
But he glances over to the King’s Box, where members of his own family were peering over at him, awaiting his decision. His mother leans over the railing the furthest, so much so that her ladies were trying to restrain her.
He does not see you.
Aemond sighs and shakes his head, and the tourney master nods.
“Prince Aemond forfeits! The winner of this round…”
“My Prince!” The Baratheon boy tosses his helmet to the side, sticking his hand out. Aemond clicks his tongue, but accepts the gesture, allowing his opponent to pull him up. “It was an honor to tilt against you, Prince Aemond. I hope to be given the opportunity again.”
Not likely, Aemond wants to snap back. But he only gives the boy a brief smile and a respectful nod, before turning away.
“Do you need help?” Ormund offers.
“No, be quiet, keep walking,” Aemond commands, keeping his head held high. He nods and waves to the crowds shouting out their congratulations to him, deliberately ignoring the pain he was starting to feel in his left leg.
As soon as he was out of both the public and his opponents’ sight, Aemond finally gives in, grabbing the wall for support as he reaches down to tug at his armored leg.
“Aemond!” Ormund throws one of Aemond’s arm over his shoulders. “Sit down, I’ll call the maesters.”
“No, no need,” he hisses in reply. “Just help me get my armor off.”
“But you might have twisted or broken your leg, I—”
“If I had twisted or broken my leg, you’d think I’d bloody well know, wouldn’t I?” Aemond snaps. “You’re my squire, act like it. Just take off the damn armor.”
Ormund blinks. Aemond feels a twinge of regret over the venom in his tone, but elects not to say another word. He instead works on the buckles of the metal, all the while trying to swallow down the growing lump in his throat and blink away the stinging in his eyes. Ormund finally assists him, detaching the parts away and allowing Aemond to stretch his limbs out.
The humiliation weighs over him even as he climbs into the King’s Box. Ser Criston Cole is the first to greet him, and after looking over him to find no serious injuries, pats Aemond’s shoulders. “You did very well, my Prince,” Criston assures him. “Don’t lose heart. You’ll get your chance one day.”
Aemond offers him the same tight-lipped smile he’d given his opponent, and keeps it on as his mother hurries over, worry painted all over her face.
“Are you alright?” she fusses, pushing his hair out of his eyes, looking as if she was about to demand he remove all his clothes in front of all who were present. “The lance—I thought it went through—”
“His armor took the blow, Your Grace,” Ser Criston says. “The Baratheon squire’s lance splintered against it, yes, but there’s no harm to him as far as I can see.”
A Baratheon squire. Aemond’s jaw locks in anger; he, a Prince of the realm, had lost to a Baratheon squire of all people.
Alicent sighs. “You scared me, deciding to enter the lists out of nowhere. Perhaps you should wait until you’re a little older before—”
“Why did you place me further down the lists?” Aemond hisses, keeping his voice as low as possible (but failing to contain the anger in it).
Alicent frowns. “What?”
“I was supposed to tilt against the likes of Qoren Martell,” Aemond whispers furiously. “I am the son of the King, in line to the throne, brother to the Princess to whom this tourney is dedicated to! Why wasn’t I placed where I was originally supposed to be?”
“I am not liking your tone, Aemond,” Alicent warns. “Remember that you are not of age yet. This is a vile, cruel game where men attempt to kill each other for sport. Be grateful that you were even allowed at all to compete.”
Aemond opens his mouth to protest, but Alicent gives him a look so scathing, whatever argument he had promptly died in his throat. He grunts in displeasure and pushes past her, ignoring his father's Council members congratulating him as he goes.
He finds his seat regrettably next to Aegon, who at the sight of him, bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Aemond surges forward, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra's outstretched arm.
"You did well, little brother," she says, though all Aemond hears is the underlying distaste that she seems to reserve solely for him, Aegon, and Alicent. "But settle your scores with Aegon later. I'd rather not ruin my sister's day with any of your antics."
Aemond removes her arm from his path, sauntering forward and dropping into his seat, taking care to crush Aegon's foot underneath his. A heavy hand finds its way onto his shoulder, and he turns to find its owner, a scowl on his face ready to greet them—
"Well done, my boy," Viserys says, a smile on his lined face. "Next time, you'll win. I know it."
One could almost take your words for affection, old man, Aemond thinks, as Viserys pats his shoulder again before settling back in his seat. Still, he manages a polite, "Thank you, Father," before turning back to the tourney still playing out beneath him.
It takes a while for him to realize that you were sitting right across him, already turned to face him with your signature blinding smile. You reach out to pat his interlocked hands. "Father's right," you tell him. "You'll win next time. If you focus on your training."
"I will if you will," he blurts, before he could stop himself.
"Ha! I feel I'm much better at riding a dragon than wielding a sword."
The moment is shattered when Lucerys (who Aemond just realized had been sitting on your lap the entire time) begins to wave your wreath around wildly, causing you to turn away from Aemond to keep your nephew from falling to the ground.
He watches as, to nobody's surprise, Qoren Martell wins the tourney. The Dornish Prince urges his horse forward towards the King's Box, and asks for your favor. Rhaenyra nudges Ser Laenor, the two sharing knowing glances as you stand with Lucerys in your arms and balanced on your hip, instructing the boy to toss your crown of red and black roses into Qoren's hands, much to the delight of the spectators.
In that moment, Lucerys’ curly brown locks no longer suspiciously remind Aemond of the Commander of the City Watch standing right next to Ser Laenor, but of the man staring adoringly from below as you and Lucerys wave to the crowds.
Aemond stands, mumbling an excuse in his brother's ear, and leaves the Box in a hurry.
Having to watch as Viserys deliberately has Qoren sit next to you during your own nameday feast had irritated Aemond beyond measure, given that he could do nothing but pick furiously at his own food as Qoren regales you with tales of his House and region. It had seemed like forever before the King had finally gone to bed, and even then his torture ended bitterly with Qoren bringing your hand to his lips.
Rhoynar scum. He scowls as he slams the door behind him. Your lot come from vagabonds at sea with no real homes. Our blood is the blood of Old Valyria, the blood of kings and conquerors and warriors. She rides the Good Queen’s dragon. What in the Seven Hells could ever possess you to think you could have her?
Aemond opens the window to his room, allowing the cool breeze of the Red Keep to wash over his agitated figure. Aegon’s teasing, Ormund’s obliviousness, and Qoren’s audacity had given him a migraine like he’d never had before, yet he could not find it in himself to sleep it off.
Of course he was fond of you, that much was certain. He’d always looked up to you, asked for your advice, took great comfort in the fact that your dragon had not been born to you either. It had always been his crutch for when he laments his lack of a dragon, what with Sunfyre hatching in Aegon’s cradle and Helaena claiming Dreamfyre shortly before her tenth nameday. Ultimately, though, Aemond supposes he hadn’t much to go on about you other than the fact that you took the time to get to know your half-siblings, unlike your actual full-blood sister.
He’d mulled over the idea of claiming Vermithor, who at this point was the only known dragon that had yet to be claimed after the death of Jaehaerys. He would imagine himself flying alongside the Good Queen’s dragon atop the Good King’s, and what a poetic ending that would be for all his troubles.
A knock comes at his door. “My Prince, I apologize for the late hour,” one of his servants calls out to him. “Princess [Y/N] is here to see you.”
Aemond’s head whips around. “Send her in,” he replies almost immediately.
The door swings open to reveal you, still in the same dress he’d seen you in that morning, the only difference being your hair now let down; a silvery waterfall, not unlike his own.
He turns to face you, heart hammering in his chest.. “What…what do you want?”
“I came to check on you,” you reply. “You fell hard earlier, I didn’t get a chance to check how bad it was.”
Aemond chuckles dryly and gestures for you to sit. “ “How bad it was”, huh?”
“Our family is more than fond of tourneys,” you remind him. “We’re just about the only ones that are not. I would be lying if I said I was not surprised that you changed your mind today.”
“I’ve not changed my mind.” Aemond picks at his sleeve. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys. Never have and never will.”
You laugh, and though it is a quiet sound, he tries to fool himself into thinking it’s more genuine than the ones you’d shared with Qoren. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He sits there with you in silence, and for the first time all day, he relaxes. It’s nice, he thinks, to simply be in your presence, where no one—not even himself—expects him to do something to impress you.
Being with you was enough.
That said, the thought of you leaving for Dorne forever leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Namedays are always a time for celebration,” you begin. “I confess, however, that my nameday…always comes with a tinge of sorrow.
“I went to the Sept with Rhaenyra this morning. It’s always been a habit of ours on our namedays. It’s really less of us praying to the Seven for good fortune, it’s more of…finding comfort in the silence. It…it’s where we hear our mother and siblings the best.”
He nods in understanding.
You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, staring off into the distance wistfully. “Father’s always been good at putting on a mask,” you continue. “He’s good at it, too, probably from all the years he’s had to do it. But today would have been Baelon’s nameday, too. And today was also the day when Mother…”
You duck your head.
Aemond leans forward to capture your hands in his. Despite his own misgivings with Aegon, he had to admit that it was difficult to imagine a life without him. He would have been the heir, forever put against Rhaenyra. Forever put against you, one of the few of her true kin.
You squeeze his hands gratefully. “In any case,” you say. “I am glad you’re no longer interested in tourneys, otherwise I would not have brought you this.”
You produce a box from the depths of your skirt and slide it over to Aemond. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “It’s your nameday and you’re the one giving out gifts.”
You wave your hand dismissively. “I have a whole mountain of them in my apartments, very few of which I would actually care to have. I take far more pleasure giving things to you.”
Aemond shakes his head, finally relenting and opening the box. Glittering among the plush dark velvet was a sapphire brooch, as blue as the waters of the Narrow Sea, sitting in a bed of pure starlight. He lifts it from the cushion and sits the gem in his palm gingerly, admiring its weight and the way it glints, even by the dying fireplace.
“The sapphire was my mother’s,” you explain. “One of many I’d inherited from her. I had it re-cut and set.”
Aemond swallows thickly. “I…I can’t take this. If it was from your mother, then you should—”
You interrupt him by closing his fist over the jewel, holding his fingers down with a firm grip. “I want you to have it,” you tell him firmly. “We are one House now, no matter what others say. None may divide us. Keep this with you as a reminder, you hear me?”
You stare at him with such intensity that he has little to do but agree. You pat his hand and rise from your seat. “Think of it as my favor,” you say, and he doesn’t miss the slyness in your tone. “You have no need to fight in tourneys or any sort of battle to earn it. It will always be yours, Aemond.”
Words he’d been keeping buried for months were bubbling on his tongue now, tearing down the walls that he’s had to construct all his life to keep them from destroying what he has with you. Resistance seemed futile now, now that you had bid him goodnight and turned to leave his room.
“Don’t marry him.”
Your hand had been on the door at his words, and you do him the considerable honor of pausing in surprise before turning again to look at him. “Aemond?”
“Don’t marry him,” he repeats, desperation now leaking into his tone. “Qoren Martell. You were never meant to marry a Dornish, even the first of them, so…”
He wrestles with his words, and you seem oblivious to his agony as you stare, clearly waiting for him to finish. He inches closer and closer to the brink, and there seems to be nothing tethering him to reality anymore, save for the erratic beating of his heart.
You purse your lips, and the expression on your face is something he can’t read—did you think him foolish for telling you not to do your duty? Or did you perceive his desperation as an act of childish jealousy, a brother imploring his sister not to give anyone else the time of day?
What did he think his words meant?
You do not give him an answer. “Good night, Aemond,” you whisper, and you slip quietly out the door.
Your betrothal to the heir to the Dornish throne had begun to sound less like a rumor and more like a given fact, with the endless whisperings fluttering about the Red Keep like irksome flies. Viserys certainly did not do much to silence them, and Aemond had the misfortune of hearing him discuss potential dowries with Rhaenyra.
He had to admit that it was an ideal match, and certainly one he would have considered seriously were he in his father’s place. Any king who would bring Dorne into the fold would be credited with something even the Conqueror could not have done, further cementing his place in Westerosi history. Aemond often dreams of having his name written down in the history books, never just as an afterthought or a simple second son, but of a warrior king who made the Seven Kingdoms truly one, with a queen by his side who would cast a shadow over all who would succeed her.
But like his position in life, all his dreams had to occur in the darkness of the wings; the only good thing about it was that, given their unlikeliness, he was free to dream just a little bit more.
In a surprising turn of events, however, he’d received the news that you had suddenly mounted Silverwing and taken off. At that moment, Aemond truly curses the lack of a dragon—he could have just gotten on and tracked you down, not go through the humiliation of asking Aegon (or any of his kin, for that matter) for a favor. He would have had to explain why it was so important for them to take time out of their day to find out where you had gone, because beyond you being a Princess of the realm, he had no other reason (that he’s willing to admit, at least).
Even Helaena, whom Aemond had realized could see things before they happened, offered no help in this matter. She had even expressed confusion at the very notion, much to his frustration.
So, he turns to his last resort.
Jacaerys looks up from where he was cleaning his armor, clearly surprised to be addressed. “She isn’t at Dragonstone,” he tells Aemond. “She could be anywhere, for all we know.”
“She didn’t tell you anything?” Aemond presses. “No notes, anything?”
Lucerys fiddles with Aemond’s gauntlets, and for a brief moment, Aemond sees you in his little face. “I think she’s gone to Daemon.”
“Prince Daemon? Why would she…”
“It’s just a guess,” Jacaerys says, scratching the back of his neck. “The last we heard of him was that he was in Pentos with the Lady Laena. They’re our only kin living beyond Westeros, and [Y/N] was always fond of Lady Laena.”
Of course. Aemond wants to smack his forehead. It made sense. You, Rhaenyra, and Laena had always been so close. But it wouldn’t have been his first guess, not when a marriage proposal didn’t seem too far behind…
Jacaerys’ and Lucerys’ guess seems to hold merit, as the small council receives reports of a silvery dragon flying east. It’s only confirmed when you finally write to your family, stating that you were indeed exploring the Free Cities and would be staying there for an indefinite period of time.
Funnily enough, your message had arrived at the Red Keep the same day the Dornish party did.
The excuse given had been that you were sent off as an envoy to the southern Free Cities to ascertain the peace, following the Triarchy’s defeat at the hands of the Daemon-Velaryon alliance. Aemond had to restrain himself from laughing in the throne room at the Dornish lord’s baffled expression, as well as the irritation that Viserys had kept well-hidden beneath his kingly persona.
That same night, he’d received a raven from you, carrying a brief message and a couple of trinkets you had collected on your travels thus far. It had been as if a giant weight had been taken off his shoulders, and in the privacy of his own room, he finds himself running his fingers longingly over your handwriting.
But your letters begin to stack on his desk, the gifts you bring him start to collect dust on his mantle, and every day holds less and less promise of you finally returning to King’s Landing. He’d thought you would finally return shortly after Rhaenyra gives birth to her third son, but aside from a written note of congratulations and a messenger bringing gifts, you never do. Aemond finds himself sitting by his window every night, deluding himself into thinking a bird flying over Blackwater Bay or the occasional cloud would be Silverwing, bringing you back to him.
But you don’t, and he finds solace only in his lessons and his training, stealing glances at the sky whenever he has the chance. He’d thought your absence would finally rid him of thoughts and desires unwanted, but all it is is a thorn in his side; a dull ache that flares up every now and then, much like his old leg injury.
When news of Laena Velaryon’s death reaches King’s Landing, and as he sits next to his mother on the ship, his thoughts were only of you, and if you had already been in Driftmark for a while now. He should have known better when he sees no silver dragon sitting amongst the gold, blue, grey, and red amongst the rocks.
After giving his condolences to the Velaryons, Aemond walks around aimlessly, the disappointment sinking in with every passing second. Politicking thinly veiled as courtesies seem to follow him everywhere he goes, and he eventually finds respite in Helaena’s presence, though it would seem she had not noticed his.
Of course, Aegon had to come and disturb it, only to repeat what he had been complaining about for weeks.
“We have nothing in common,” he grumbles, gesturing to Helaena.
“She’s our sister,” Aemond replies curtly, as he has done many times before.
“You marry her, then.”
“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” The words weigh heavily on Aemond’s tongue.
Aegon scoffs. “If only.”
“It would strengthen the family,” Aemond parrots what he’s learned in his lessons. “Keep our Valyrian blood pure.”
“She’s an idiot!”
“She’s your future Queen.”
Aegon lowers his goblet, and from his periphery, Aemond can see his brother watching him carefully. He keeps his gaze on Helaena muttering under her breath, waiting for Aegon to call him out for the double meaning in his words.
Fortunately, he doesn’t. “We actually do have one thing in common,” Aegon says, as he throws the rest of his drink back and reaches for the next, his eyes lingering far too long on the serving girl. “We both fancy creatures with very long legs.”
Aemond only shakes his head in resignation, feeling a surge of pity for Helaena. It’s the first time he actually feels relieved that you had left before you’d gotten any offers of marriage; he dreads the thought of you being doomed to suffer the same fate as Helaena.
A dragon’s cry pierces the air, and Aemond looks up sharply. He rushes to the edge of the courtyard, listening as best as he could with the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below.
He scours the skies and searches among the dragons already resting nearby, to no avail. His shoulders sag; perhaps you weren’t coming, after all.
But that same cry persists, even as the sun begins to sink into the sea. Aemond has never heard a sound like it before—this one was a melancholic melody, like longingness taking flight above the waters of The Gullet. It isn’t long before his attention is drawn from searching for you to searching for the source of the sound instead, somehow feeling as if it was calling out to him.
And then it happens.
A clear and piercing trill that he initially chalks up to one of the other dragons, had it not been for Rhaenyra looking up, surprise painted all over her face. Aemond follows her gaze, and even in the setting sun, it’s clear as day—
He momentarily forgets himself and runs over to his half-sister, tugging on her sleeve. “It’s her, isn’t it?” he asks, unable to contain his excitement.
“It is,” Rhaenyra replies, pure relief in her tone. She glances down at Aemond, and it’s perhaps only then does she realize the peculiarity of the situation; he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever had a casual conversation with her. Aemond lets go of her sleeve, clearing his throat and taking off in the other direction with his head spinning.
It takes a while for you to show up, but when you do, you’re soaked to the bone, with Laenor Velaryon’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and his other arm around his squire on the other side. The whispers come to a standstill, partially at the sight of you and partially at the sight of the future Prince consort looking as if he was about to follow his sister at any second. You must have found him, Aemond thinks, about to keel over into the water.
At the sight of his father, however, Ser Laenor steadies himself and limps away, leaving you in the middle of the crowd. No doubt you feel all eyes on you, but you straighten and walk to your father, who now looks as if he’s ten years younger again.
Aemond doesn’t get the chance to speak with you, not while you remain glued to Viserys’ side, leaving only to speak with Rhaenyra, Daemon, and his daughters. You’ve not changed at all over the years, save for your hair, which you had cropped short (presumably for it to not get in the way of your flying), and for your gait, as a certain confidence exudes from you as you walk or simply stand. But you were still you, much to his relief.
His thoughts take him back to the strange cry, which rings out well into the night. It’s only until his mother commands him to go to bed that he realizes Viserys has long left and you are nowhere to be found. He waits for his mother and siblings to head into the castle before heading down the stairs, down where you had come bringing your good brother.
He doesn’t have to search long for you—you’re right there on the beach, your head tilted upwards as if in silent meditation. The sand crunches underneath his feet as he closes the distance between you two, and just as you’re within arm’s reach, he stops.
And he waits.
When you finally turn, you regard Aemond with the same smile that had greeted him on your nameday all those years ago, tinged with just a bit of sadness. He wonders if you get your seemingly eternal warmth from the late queen; whatever the case, he certainly has never felt it with any of his siblings, even the one you share all your blood with.
“You’ve gotten tall,” is the first thing you say to him. “You’ll probably be as tall as Daemon.”
“I’ll be taller,” he promises, and your smile grows wider, only for it to drop just as quickly. Aemond remembers the very reason you had come, and the history you shared with Laena. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
You turn back towards the beach, and Aemond moves to stand next to you. “It is our loss,” you correct him. “Laena was kin to you and me both.”
Aemond nods in response. You duck your head and sigh deeply, the grief you feel leaving you looking aged. “I left Pentos the day before she died,” you whisper. “I promised to be back for the birth, but…”
“They say she went into labor early,” Aemond says. “You couldn’t have known.”
You keep your eyes trained on the ground. “I don’t think I could have borne to see it,” you continue in a shaky voice. “She died trying to birth a son, and my mother—”
You choke on the last word, and for a moment Aemond fears you would start crying. He reaches for your hand, and you squeeze it gratefully in response.
But you don’t, and instead take the time to be silent and count your breaths, all the while holding onto his hand like an anchor. When you raise your eyes to the sky once more, he sees all the stars reflected in them.
When you speak again, your voice is steadier. “You remind me of her, you know. Laena.”
Aemond struggles to find an answer, one that would insult neither you nor the deceased. You seem to sense his hesitation, and you squeeze his hand again. “Our dragons weren’t born to us,” you say, confirming his thoughts. “Though I became a dragonrider earlier than she did. She cried the first time I mounted Silverwing, and cried again when I took her up years later.”
“The second time…out of fear?”
“At first, I suppose. But she was laughing, too. Always a wild one, Laena was.” You sigh. “You’re just as spirited as she was. Fearless. Bold.”
“If I were fearless and bold, I’d have a dragon by now,” Aemond grumbles.
“It isn’t that easy, I fear,” you tell him. “I’ve spoken to scholars and warlocks and magicfolk of all kinds in the Free Cities. Some of them are of the opinion that dragons are not as willing as we might imagine.”
“We’re a family of dragonriders. One dragon-less member is hardly enough to discredit that fact.”
“Our Valyrian blood is the exception, not the rule. Had we been so confident in its mere presence, I daresay we ought to have more dragonriders around.”
“Especially with Aegon,” Aemond offers.
“Especially with Aegon, yes,” you chuckle. “It may well be that our blood is a contributing factor. But dragons have minds and hearts of their own. Some say they are even more intelligent than we are. The right is not freely given, Aemond. It is earned, it is fought for, it is taken.”
You turn to face him then, and it’s only when you do so does Aemond realize he has indeed grown taller; he no longer has to tilt his head upwards to properly meet your eyes. You take his other hand in yours, and he feels the calluses from years of dragon-riding brush against his skin.
“I told you you were as spirited as Laena was,” you say. “Like her, you are also kind. Compassionate. Smart. Loyal. You are everything our House stands for and more.”
For the first time in what seems like years, a genuine smile spreads across his face. “I’ve missed you,” he admits.
“As did I,” you whisper, and your eyes travel to the sapphire brooch you’d given him all those years ago, nestled just above the middle of his collarbone. You let your fingers skim over the gem lightly, before pulling away from him. “Father has mentioned that we may stop by Dragonstone to see if any of the eggs there take your fancy.”
Aemond’s spirits rise. “Really?”
“Really,” you promise. “If nothing does, Rhaenyra’s told me that if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, you’ll have your pick from them.”
He lets out a breathy laugh; he could think of Rhaenyra’s sudden act of kindness as a way to win him over to her favor, but surely Viserys had agreed to the Dragonstone visit only upon your request. He had never been known to turn you down, and the impromptu visit to the Free Cities was clear proof of it.
To think, you had talked him into it for Aemond’s benefit…
He shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Wait. You said “we”. You’re coming home? You’re coming with me to Dragonstone to pick an egg?”
You give him another one of your comforting smiles. “If you’d like.”
He nods, almost too quickly. He’d come to Driftmark expecting to have the secondhand grief hanging over him like a storm, not to feel as if he’d been denied the sun for years before this very moment. He imagines walking off a ship onto Dragonstone and leaving atop Vermithor, as he’s always thought of doing. He replays a scene from his dreams where he finally flies next to you, the Good King and the Good Queen’s mounts flying over the realm once more.
He’s almost too happy to notice you’d reached out to brush his hair away from his face. “You might take a little inspiration from Laena,” you advise him. “She was dragonless for years, and yet she did what many thought was impossible.”
“She claimed Vhagar,” Aemond says, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.
“She certainly did.” You squeeze his hands before slipping out of them. “Now, go to bed. Your mother will have my head if she finds out I caught you after dark and did nothing.”
The same cry pierces through the night sky again, and Aemond watches as you head back up to the castle. He wants to call out to you again, to tell you what he’s been hearing all day, to confirm something that had clicked at your words just now.
Aemond stares across the sea, in deep thought.
The right is not freely given.
He turns to the west, to the source of the strange cry.
It is earned, it is fought for, it is taken.
He begins walking.
“It will heal,” Alicent frets. “Will it not, maester?”
Aemond winces as the needle pierces his flesh, dreading the answer; but even with one eye, he sees it on the maester’s face as clear as if he had both.
Alicent audibly sobs at the revelation, and Aemond isn’t sure if his feeling light-headed was due to the blood loss, the pain from the little scuffle he’d gotten into earlier, or just remnants of his encounter with Vhagar. He tries to link it to the last factor; it was the only good thing he got out of the entire ordeal.
He’s no stranger to dragon-riding, as you’ve taken him up on Silverwing many times before. But to be completely alone, to hold the reins and be solely responsible for directing the flight, to ride the largest dragon in the world, a Conqueror’s dragon—
Something flutters in his periphery, and Aemond turns his face to see you, still in your nightclothes. He opens his mouth, about to call out for you, knowing that surely you of all people would rejoice at the news…
But he watches as you rush past everyone else to where Lucerys was, his face still bloody and nose crooked from where Aemond had punched him. Lucerys cries out when you attempt to set his nose, and you shush him comfortingly, kissing the top of his head before checking on Jacaerys.
What little happiness left in Aemond ebbs away as Rhaenyra calls for him to be “sharply” questioned, as Viserys demands he reveals where he heard the rumors over Rhaenyra’s sons parentage, as Alicent loses her patience and attempts to exert justice on his behalf by force. All those he could have lived with…if not for you standing behind Rhaenyra quietly, moving only to shield Jacaerys and Lucerys from Alicent. If not for you barely even sparing him a glance.
When he tells his mother an eye was a fair trade for a dragon, he means it.
But when he thinks about you as part of the price, he's not as certain.
"Be calm, Vhagar," Aemond instructs the great beast. He tries to climb the ropes, as he had the night before, but Vhagar continues to squirm.
He sighs, trying to focus. Walking was already disorienting enough on its own, but flying with a limited depth of perception was another matter entirely. But Aemond's no stranger to challenges—this is just another he has to conquer.
"Obey, Vhagar," he reminds the dragon. "Serve me."
"She feels your pain," someone tells him, in the same tongue.
Aemond grips his ropes tightly, his jaw tightening as he tries to maintain his composure. He turns in the direction of his good eye, and when he finds no one, he lets go of the ropes to turn the other way around. Sure enough, you were there, in full riding gear.
He'd forgotten that he was supposed to stop by Dragonstone to pick an egg. And he'd forgotten that that was probably the only reason you had to return to King's Landing.
Now, perhaps, he's left you with no other choice but to remain on Driftmark, as Rhaenyra and her family did. Worse, you'd probably go back and dig up your own potential match to Qoren Martell.
Funnily enough, though, the thought didn't stress him out as it used to.
"Dragons and their riders share a special bond," you continue. High Valyrian was the most beautiful language to ever exist, and even with all things considered, Aemond still thinks it's at its best when he hears it from you. "What you feel, they feel. Your friends are theirs, and your enemies, they will endeavor to crush."
"You say it like it's a bad thing," he says.
"I say it as a warning," you reply. "You must keep your emotions in check if you want to have a safe flight, without any dire consequences."
Aemond laughs humorlessly. " "Keeping emotions in check"? Is that what you did last night?"
You frown. "You don’t understand."
"I lost my eye," Aemond hisses, pointing to the bandaged side of his face. "On account of that bastard."
"Aemond.”
"You were supposed to be on my side!" He's raising his voice now, and Vhagar shakes her head in agitation. "You understood me better than anyone, you know the truth about our nephews, you were supposed to stand aside and let my mother seek justice!"
"They are our blood, regardless," you remind him gently. "We protect our own."
He stomps in frustration. "You were supposed to be happy for me," he snarls. "I have a dragon now, and all of those warlock shits that you spoke to were all wrong. I proved them wrong."
"Yes, you did," you tell him, and it takes everything in him not to pull his hair out over your patience. "But I hope you know that having one does not change who we are. Dragon or no dragon, you are still you. Still Aemond."
His fury threatens to boil over. "Go away."
"I want to help you, Aemond," you coax. "You've gotten past the first ride, yes, but with one eye, you're going into unknown territory. You will need a new saddle, too. There's still so much I can teach you."
"Go away!" he screams, running forward just to push you away. "I don't need you! Don't come near me, don't ever presume to speak my name, and don't you ever come home!"
Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but he thinks he sees you flinch. Whatever it is, you try to maintain your composure. "You don't mean that, Aemond."
"I do," he insists, turning and hauling himself up the ropes. "I hate you. Go away."
It takes nearly forever before he finally reaches the saddle. The view from atop Vhagar with one eye certainly was disorienting, but not as bad as he'd originally thought. He looks up to see Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already up in the air, and he gains a sense of pride; he would be flying back to King's Landing with his trueborn siblings.
Out of habit, he tries to ascertain where you were. He deduces you had left just as he'd demanded you to, but pushes the guilt down to focus.
"Obey me, Vhagar," he shouts over the wind. "Fly!"
The dragon rumbles in response, and Aemond holds on tightly as Vhagar makes her way towards the edge of the cliff, before spreading her wings and taking flight. The short drop makes his stomach flutter delightfully, and he tugs on the reins to pull her higher into the sky.
He drinks in the feeling of seeing Aegon and Helaena on either side of him, and even dips Vhagar to greet his mother watching atop the same ship he'd arrived at Driftmark on.
When he finally gets the nerve to look back, Driftmark continues to disappear into the distance, but he can barely make out a familiar figure flying east.
He turns his attention back forward, thinking of nothing but the breeze in his hair and the sun washing over his skin.
The morningstar swings idly at Criston's side as he and Aemond circle each other, like mountain lions about to pounce at any given moment. Aemond twirls his sword in his hand, scanning his opponent from head to toe and watching his every move.
When Criston swings, Aemond dodges, immediately understanding what fight pattern his teacher was about to go for after years of experience. The crowd around him grows, the whispers now starting to irritate him, but he remains calm and collected.
The morningstar comes down on Aemond's other side, and he moves; he treats it as a dance, and the weapon an overeager partner (gods know how many Aemond's had to deal with at feasts).
Criston smirks, but Aemond can tell he's running out of steam. "Shall we have a respite, old man?" he teases.
His teacher opens his mouth to retort, but he's interrupted by a guard by the nearest watchtower.
"Dragon!"
Aemond looks up in confusion. All dragons go straight to the Dragonpit, he thinks. Why would they warn of a dragon, unless…
A high trilling sound, louder than what was normally heard so deep into the Red Keep, causes everyone within the vicinity to look around. Aemond's fingers slacken around his sword—he knows that call.
Silverwing soars into the courtyard, circling the area thrice before Aemond realizes she was trying to land.
"Clear the way!" His voice booms across the yard, and servants, nobles, and guards alike frantically move to open up a space for the dragon to land.
However, it did not seem to be what the silver mount had in mind; gasps ranging from those of shock to wonder echo throughout the Red Keep when you land your dragon atop the very gate, causing those on the watchtowers on either side of you to cry out in fear.
Aemond shakes his head in disbelief, watching in a near-trance as Silverwing dips down to allow you to dismount carefully. The years melt away as you walk over to where he and Criston were training, completely ignoring the stares you were receiving.
"Princess," Criston says, bowing deeply. "You know dragons aren't allowed this deep into the Red Keep."
"Really?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. "There are a whole score of them here, so I did not think it any harm to add one more."
Criston laughs, a short but genuine sound. "Welcome home, Princess."
You nod your head in response, before turning to Aemond. He remembers the last words he spoke to you as if he'd just said them yesterday, and not all those years ago. He remembers panicking after you never indeed come home, opting to resume your travels across the Free Cities.
He remembers spending six years trying to come to terms with the fact that he might never see you again.
What does he even say, now that you've proved him wrong?
Thankfully, you relieve him of that burden. "Brother," you greet amicably.
He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, trying (and failing) to piece together a sentence. Criston shoots him a sideways glance.
Aemond eventually settles for a nod, before his sword slides out of his grasp.
You look like you're about to burst into laughter.
"I hope he's better with a sword than he is with women, Ser Criston," you say wryly, before heading into the castle.
As soon as you've disappeared, Criston turns to Aemond, a single eyebrow raised.
"Be quiet," Aemond mumbles as he reaches for his sword.
Aemond doesn’t mull over the potential reasons for your arrival long, as the answer comes to him by the news that you have not left Viserys’ bedside all day, even to eat. He leaves you to it, equally because the incense in his father’s room lingers about him for hours, and equally because he has nothing to say to you.
But whatever your intentions were, they immediately took second place in favor of the news that the Sea Snake had suffered a mortal wound while fighting in the Stepstones, leaving the succession of Driftmark in doubt. Rhaenyra, along with her now-husband Daemon, all but materialize into the Red Keep, no doubt to secure Lucerys’ claim.
Aemond next sees you on the day all claims to the Driftwood Throne were made, just before the entire court had begun to settle in. In a brief stroke of madness, he makes his way over to where you were, drinking in your startled expression before changing course towards Rhaenyra and her sons. He gives them the usual courtesies, much to their bewilderment, and even strikes up a conversation with Jacaerys over their encounter in the courtyard, where he was training. His good eye flickers over to you, silently bidding you watch as he walks over to Daemon.
To his great satisfaction, he’s a couple of inches taller.
Aemond could have sworn he saw you smile.
It does occur to him that perhaps you have come to fulfill your father’s wishes and to marry at last, now that Viserys is on the brink of death and the succession (in Aemond’s mind, at least) remains unclear.
No doubt that thought weighs heavily on Alicent’s mind, also, given that she’s let slip a couple of times that she’d wished for you to marry one of Vaemond Velaryon’s sons. But that plan died on the floor of the throne room along with Vaemond himself, who destroyed his ambition by letting his pride get the best of him.
Through you, any House would have closer ties to the throne, and the various other lineages you’ve been linked to. That House would also be bound to whichever party secured that pact for, and all their strength and swords would be theirs.
Perhaps you’d be wed to Joffrey. No doubt that would keep you on Rhaenyra’s side forever, had you not already declared for her in all but writing. Qoren Martell was no longer a viable option, given that he’d taken your absence as an insult and married some other noble lady. Had Borros Baratheon not already married, you’d probably be his, owing to his House having hosted you in your youth. Cregan Stark. Whomever at the Vale had the claim after Jeyne Arryn. Some old and balding Riverlands lord.
But Aemond has a better idea.
Your serving girl answers the door, and her eyes widen at the sight of Aemond looming over her.
“Is the Princess still awake?” he asks quietly.
The serving girl swallows. “She is, my Prince, but…”
“I thank you in advance for your discretion,” he interrupts, reaching over to place a bag of gold dragons in her hand. Bribery was the oldest trick in the book, and yet it was always Aemond’s last resort; so many things, even principles and skills that people spend their whole life trying to cling to, could be traded at the mere sight of a gold dragon.
To the girl’s credit, she seems to struggle over the dilemma, and Aemond owes it to her to give her a moment. When she purses her lips and turns away, he steps back in victory.
The few times he’s entered your apartments, it’s always empty, on account of you being somewhere else. He’s never had a reason to stay long, if only to bask in the ambience of a room you’d spend a lot of your time in, before turning to other matters that require his attention.
Now that you’re there, however, he realizes it does not differ much from his own apartments. The same layout, but a different air about it. Less cold. More you.
Aemond waits for the serving girl to close the door behind her, and he keeps a respectful distance from your bed, allowing you some time to make yourself presentable.
“The hour is quite late, brother,” comes your tired tone.
“My apologies, sweet sister,” he says, walking forward. “I had to see you.”
You were indeed already in bed, putting a book aside when he stands at the edge. You regard him carefully, clearly wondering about the purpose of his visit, before you sigh and move to throw the covers off yourself.
He holds up a hand. “Please.”
“I cannot see you in this light,” you reason.
“Then allow me.”
Aemond takes the box of matches from you, moving about the room to light the candles. The room glows brighter, allowing him to see the shift you had put on for bed. Your silver hair hangs about you like spun moonlight, and he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch it.
“To what do I owe this late-night visit, then?”
Aemond sets the matchbox down, before turning to you. “I apologize, again,” he says. “I was not certain you’d stay in the Red Keep for long.”
“And why is that, do you think?”
“I regret I do not have the answer. You’ve never really explained the reasons behind your frequent absences from court.”
His direct tone surprises you, and he sees it in your face. But gone are the days where he stumbles over his words, cherry-picks through them to find the ones that would please you the most.
The boy you knew died the night his eye had been taken. And he wants to prove it to you.
“You think your little stunt this evening will not change anything?”
A smirk threatens to play on his lips. “Call it what you will, I was simply expressing how proud I am of my family.”
“Clearly, pride comes in the form of insulting your nephews’ parentage,” you shoot back.
“Is that why you’re contemplating leaving again? Leaving Father to succumb to his wounds alone over the truth?”
He’s never seen you this angry before; you were always the most patient sibling. “Did you come here to try and elicit some anger from me? Was your intention to alienate the only friend you have at court?”
His jaw clenches. “I am the Prince. I have no shortage of friends.”
You scoff. “With that tongue of yours, I am sure that’s true.”
“If you would like to bring my tongue into this matter, I can talk of more than just friends.”
“Your nocturnal activities mean little to me, Aemond,” you say, your tone getting fiercer and fiercer with every word. “If you mean to brag about your conquests, I suggest going to your brother instead of me. Now, if there is nothing else—”
“Why do you refuse to marry?”
Now that catches you off-guard. You look up at Aemond questioningly, but he stands his ground. He will not repeat it. He knows you have heard.
“I—I hardly think any of my decisions should matter—”
“But they do,” Aemond interrupts, moving forward to sit at the edge of your bed. “Had Father been anyone but who he is, you would have long been married by now, with children. Your husband and children would have been Rhaenyra’s, if you insisted on backing her claim. You know the benefits, and yet you refused. Why is that?”
You sigh, fidgeting with the covers uncomfortably. “I do not expect a man, even you, dear brother, to understand.”
“I’m smart. Try me.”
You give him a look so scathing, that if he were a lesser man, he would have backed down immediately. But the fire in your eyes sets his blood aflame, and he wants nothing more than to stoke them.
“My mother died attempting to give Father a male heir,” you say. “Laena gave her life for a son that did not live and wanted to ride Vhagar before she bled out. Helaena has to bear children for a philandering, drunken husband who shares her bed only when he’s out of whores to fuck. Rhaenyra dedicates her life to a realm who will not accept her because she has a mind of her own and not a cock between her legs. History will not give you women that are as miserable as the ones in our family.”
“And yet, you run from your duty to save your own skin.”
You elect not to respond to that.
Aemond sighs. “Qoren Martell would have cherished you. He said he’d wait forever for you.”
“If “forever” meant half a year, certainly,” you mumble. “I have no desire to marry, Aemond. No one expects me to be Queen, nor would my children ever come close to the throne. My only regret is that I never told my father the truth when he was still sound of mind.”
Aemond remains silent, letting your words sink in, while wrestling with his own. You lean forward, letting the covers fall to expose your skin. His eye widens at the sight, and he swallows thickly as you reach for his hand. As your fingers close around his, he has to wonder: were they always this small?
Against his will, his body turns towards you, and he shuffles up your bed so you don’t have to reach that far to touch him. With your other hand, you cup the side of his face, and he briefly flinches when you gingerly brush the pads of your fingers against his scar.
“May I?” you whisper.
He was never one to refuse you.
He keeps his one eye closed as the eyepatch leaves his skin, and is replaced by your curious fingers. He hears you suck in a breath.
He opens his eye to see you regarding the sapphire, your gift to him all those years ago, with a strange sort of reverence (despite the playful jab he had offered). He knows you’ve already seen his missing eye at its worst: swollen shut and stitches marring his face. Now, the scar has healed but not quite disappeared; Lucerys Velaryon had made his mark on Aemond forever.
He’s taken to putting jewels where his eye used to be so as not to scare the ladies at court, but he finds your sapphire fits the best, ironically. The parallels to his father's eye, gouged out by his illness and eaten through by maggots, is not lost on him, either.
"You haven't seen it since it happened," Aemond says. "It's healed. But it has left its mark. There are some things that just cannot be forgotten, as your sister is so often told otherwise."
"Our sister," you correct him. "And I know Rhaenyra regrets the incident, too."
"I don't need any of her regrets or apologies."
"Then why are you here?"
Aemond doesn't answer, and instead fixes you with the same chilling, weighted stare that he’s often been chided by his mother for having. Had you been a lesser being, you would have cracked under the pressure of his gaze.
But you are the blood of the dragon, fierce and proud and unafraid. No man, not even the one you share blood with, could ever make you back down. The look in your eyes ignites something in him; a feeling not unlike the one he gets every single time on dragonback. He steals a glimpse of the smooth expanse of your throat, then lower, and even lower…
Aemond pulls away sharply, leaving your hand drifting midair.
“The entire kingdom expects you to marry soon, rather than late,” he says, attempting to salvage what was left of his self-control.
You tilt your head. “The kingdom, your mother, or my sister?”
“I regret to say all of them do. But your fears will not be ignored.”
“Do you have a better idea, then?”
Aemond hesitates, testing the words on his tongue before letting them leave his lips. “You could marry me.”
Your reaction is what he expects it to be.
You withdraw your hand sharply and get out of bed, and Aemond gets to his feet, allowing you to increase your distance from him.
“Does…does no one listen to a word I say?” you ask in agitation. “I never thought to hear these words from you, brother, I—”
“This match has its merits,” Aemond says. “I will not insult your intelligence by discussing them one by one.”
“Whose idea was this?”
“…Father’s.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Father?” you ask incredulously. “Father was barely able to speak in complete sentences before today, and you expect me to believe he’s behind such a large arrangement?”
“Can you prove that he isn’t?”
All of a sudden, you’re standing inches away from him, a finger jabbed into his sternum and your eyes blazing with anger. “You are not getting away with this on a technicality,” you hiss. “Tell me the truth of it.”
“Is the thought of marrying me that repulsive to you?”
“Not if it’s born out of lies.” You clutch the collar of his shirt. “Why do you want to marry me, Aemond?”
He looks down at you, and his hands twitch by his sides, no doubt wanting to feel your warmth permeate through your clothes. He can feel your heart hammering underneath your ribs, and he’s sure that if you slide your hands lower, you could feel his racing similarly. Your body melds so perfectly to his, and you breathe in sync, as if engaged in a dance of their own. Every molecule of your body thrums to life underneath his fingers, every second that passes between you is charged with a tension that threatens to push the both of you over the precipice, and still you do not see.
He hates that, even with one eye, he does.
You await his answer with bated breath, but he sees the way your eyes briefly flicker down to his lips.
“Aemond,” you whisper.
“To…to preserve the family line,” he answers.
And your face just falls.
You gently detach yourself from him, leaving him impossibly cold despite the roar of the fireplace nearby.
“Well,” you say, clearing your throat. “I’m afraid I will have to refuse you. As I did Qoren. As I did everyone else.”
Your words echo around his mind, as if you’d shouted it to him in an empty corridor. Aemond does nothing but stare at you, and you hold his gaze with a practiced ease.
He doesn’t remember leaving your room, nor does he remember if you’d said anything to him as he did. But the next day, he breaks fast alone: his mother missing, Aegon not expected to wake until well in the afternoon, Helaena tending to the children, and Rhaenyra’s family having left for Dragonstone at first light.
When a messenger arrives to inform him that Silverwing had left the Dragonpit before dawn, he simply waves them away.
Aemond takes the death of his father in stride.
He operates exactly how logic demands him to, what he’s always been expected to do. He takes great pains to track Aegon down and forces him to face the reality that Aemond would have accepted without a fight. He keeps Jaehaerys and Jaehaera company as Helaena is prepared for her joint coronation with Aegon, sobbing the whole time her maids fit her into her dress, all the while fighting back thoughts of you donning the magnificent dress made for a future queen.
He gets through the coronation, and is momentarily forced into action when Meleys and Rhaenys disrupt the ceremony. But when the Red Queen and the Queen Who Never Was depart, he settles back into his work.
None of the things he was doing required emotion. He had no need for it. He’s gone for so long without an eye, he can live without a heart.
It’s why he can accept Borros Baratheon’s terms without batting an eye, why he can choose the first of his daughters that crosses his line of sight. He may grow to love her, he thinks, as he offers her a tight-lipped smile, and he may look at her someday without you lurking in the back of his mind.
But the gods that decreed he’d lose an eye, the gods who damned him to years of being dragon-less, are the very same gods that bring Lucerys Velaryon to Storm’s End.
“Go home, pup,” Borros spits, his voice booming like thunder all over the hall. “And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up and need to set against her foes.”
Lucerys keeps his head up, unwilling to show any semblance of weakness. Aemond wants to laugh; his entire body screams fear from head to toe. “I shall take your answer to the Queen,” he replies, his voice steadying at the last word. “My lord.”
Ever the consummate fighter. Had he not been born a bastard, Aemond might have actually liked him.
“Wait,” he calls out. “My Lord Strong.”
Lucerys pauses, taking a moment before looking back at Aemond. His eyes glint with a familiar fire that only eggs Aemond on.
“Did you really think,” he says. “That you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”
Lucerys scoffs. “I will not fight you,” he asserts. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”
“A fight would be little challenge. No…” Aemond moves to remove his eyepatch, a burst of lightning illuminating the sapphire sitting where his eye used to be. “I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine.”
Lucerys pales. For a moment, Aemond wonders if he recognizes the jewel in his eye socket. He presumes not, and even with you now forever out of his grasp, he can’t help but feel a sense of triumph. He had something Lucerys Velaryon had not—your favor.
“One will serve,” he continues casually, retrieving the dagger he keeps on his person and tossing it onto the ground between them. “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”
What fear was in Lucerys’ face left at the sight of the blade, and was replaced by an expression of pure defiance. The adrenaline rushes through Aemond’s veins, practically begging Lucerys to make one wrong move. The looming threat of war, the despair that threatens to crush his mother, the look on Lucerys’ face that looks so much like—
“The Princess [Y/N] of House Targaryen!”
Lucerys nearly staggers in his attempt to turn to the door, and the lump in Aemond’s throat rises as you walk into the hall. You take one confused look at Lucerys, another at Aemond, then at Borros Baratheon.
“Am I to host the entirety of House Targaryen in my hall?” Borros shouts.
You raise an eyebrow. “I admit my surprise at seeing two more dragons than expected in your courtyard,” you say. “But, lest my lord forget, you invited me for the Lady Cassandra’s nameday tomorrow.”
Aemond frowns, and Lucerys looks equally confused. Was it possible that you hadn’t…
Borros gets to his feet. “I will not have this,” he snarls. “I will not be spoken to so casually by dragonspawn, and the least of them, least of all!”
Lucerys reaches for his sword, a look of great affront painted all over his face. Aemond turns his attention to Borros, ready to strike at any given second.
Silence falls over the group, interrupted only by the sounds of the storm raging outside.
You raise your eyebrows.
And Borros bursts into laughter.
Floris stifles a giggle from behind Aemond, as do all her other sisters next to Borros. Aemond and Lucerys share a quick look, all enmity momentarily forgotten in the confusion.
“You have not changed at all, Princess,” Borros continues to laugh heartily, as he settles back into his throne. “My father always told me you would have made a better Baratheon than a Targaryen.”
“And as I’ve told your father, I’d leap off one of your cliffs first before I’d give up the life of a dragonrider,” you say, entering the hall and making your way into its center as if it had been your home all this time.
And it’s then that Aemond remembers you’d been hosted at Storm’s End in your youth, and later named godmother to one of Borros’ daughters.
“But I must admit my confusion, Princess,” Borros says, as soon as he’s finished wiping the tears from his eyes. “I hardly think this is the time for celebrating.”
“I fly all the way back from Volantis to be told it isn’t the time for celebrating,” you repeat dryly.
Borros looks at Lucerys, to Aemond, then back to you. You mimic the action, and when your eyes settle on Aemond, it takes a while for you to get it.
Your lips part in shock, and he watches as your eyes slowly widen.
“I’m…I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Princess,” Borros says, his voice sounding the gentlest Aemond has ever heard all day despite the gruffness in his tone. “You know how highly my father and I held the late King in regard. If there is anything we might do…”
“You are too kind, my lord.” You clear your throat. “You are right, of course, this is not the time for celebrations. I will see the Lady Cassandra on the morrow, but first…” You walk over to Lucerys and wrap an arm around him. “I believe Prince Lucerys’ business here is finished. I ask your leave to escort him back to Dragonstone.”
“Granted,” Borros replies. “Safe travels, my friend.”
Aemond seethes as the guards follow suit, and as you press your lips to Lucerys’ ear as you turn him around. “If you leave,” he near-growls. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”
Your head whips around, and you meet his gaze with a fury he’s never known you to hold. “Not here,” you snarl.
Wisely, Aemond holds his ground.
You take one last glance at the Baratheons, before tightening your grip on Lucerys and leading him out of the hall.
When the door shuts behind you, Aemond retrieves his knife, just as he hears one of the Baratheon girls scoff. He follows the sound to the lady standing closest to Borros, who had on an expression of pure contempt.
“Princess or not, she had the gall to speak to a Prince like that,” she says. “No wonder she’s not yet married. What man would take her?”
“Maris, hold your tongue,” Floris warns.
Maris ignores her sister, looking at Aemond straight in the eye. “Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” she asks, voice sweet as honey despite the venom in her words. “I am so glad you chose my sister. I want a husband with all his parts.”
Aemond’s mouth twists in anger. “Lord Borros,” he nearly spits through his teeth. “I ask your leave to depart, as well.”
Borros harrumphed in response. “It is for me to tell you how to act whilst not under my roof.”
Aemond turns on his heels, barely sparing his betrothed a glance before disappearing out the door.
Despite the relentless rain, all Aemond’s senses were heightened as if he were the beast he rides, focused solely on the hunt. He wants to see that look on Lucerys’ face again—that look of pure fear. Pure helplessness. He wants to see all those years’ worth of misery weigh on his entire being, threatening to crush Lucerys with every second that passes.
The laugh that leaves him is one of pure glee as Lucerys and his dragon just barely dodge Vhagar, and he only urges her after them. He shouts a command, and the great she-dragon opens her jaws, closing with a sickening snap that causes Lucerys to cry out in fear.
The dragon takes Lucerys even lower, and to Aemond’s great dismay, they disappear between two cliffs. He takes Vhagar’s reins and heaves; she follows suit, albeit with great difficulty.
The fog clouds his already-compromised vision, and the only things he sees above the gorge are the tips of dragon wings as it beats up and down. “You owe a debt!” Aemond bellows, the frustration of being denied his vengeance lining every single one of his words. “Boy!”
Vhagar notices it before he does, and moves her head to the left. He barely sees it in the darkness of the storm, but there was an unmistakable flash of white that wasn’t a streak of lightning. He pulls to the left, cursing. Finally took advantage of your handiwork, Lucerys? he thinks bitterly. Flying in my blindspot…who would have thought…
Perhaps the storm had grown fiercer, or the fog had gotten thicker, but Aemond only now gets glimpses of Lucerys’ dragon, unlike the direct confrontation that had occurred just earlier. It was unlikely that it had gotten used to Vhagar’s flight pattern so easily, given its age and how inexperienced Lucerys clearly was…
“There!” he shouts, and Vhagar follows without further instruction. The new direction is one that turns the wind against them, and Aemond wonders how such a young dragon fares in such terrible conditions. But Lucerys and his dragon were now up ahead, growing bigger as Vhagar closes the gap in mere moments…he could have sworn that the dragon was a little brighter than that…
A hard gust of wind nearly blows him back in his saddle; blinking the tears out of his eye, he dodges the cloak that Lucerys had previously donned as it flies past.
Revealing a taller figure in the saddle, sporting bright silver hair…
You sense the shift in Vhagar’s disposition almost immediately.
The roar she lets out is enough to shake the entirety of Storm’s End to its very core, and Silverwing shakes her head, clearly agitated. You glance over your shoulder to see Vhagar being pulled back, and you know you have run out of time.
You could only hope that you had bought enough to allow Lucerys and Arrax to escape.
“Listen carefully, Luke,” you shout over the rain, as both you and your nephew make your way to your dragons. Lightning flashes, and you look to the east; your stomach drops when Vhagar is nowhere to be found. “Aemond will try to follow you as you leave.”
You take Lucerys’ face in your hands. “You must find him and Vhagar first. Get them to chase you, and take them to the gorge just a few miles away from here.”
“How will I—”
“It isn’t hard to miss. Fly Arrax through that gorge, go as low as you can. I will meet you there.”
“But you—”
“After that, go as high as you can and go with the wind so you can go faster.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks fearfully. “Vhagar is the largest dragon in the world, and—and Aemond’s angry, and—”
You shush him, brushing his curls out of his face as you have so many times in his youth. “Vhagar is also the oldest dragon in the world,” you remind him. “And Silverwing and Arrax will look nearly identical in this storm. I will try to stay in Aemond’s blind spot, and trust that his dragon will not know the difference.”
The tears start to well in Lucerys’ eyes. “This is my fault,” he begins to cry.
“It is not, sweet boy.” You pull him into an embrace, and Lucerys grips onto your shoulders almost painfully. When Arrax shrieks, and Silverwing hisses at the sky, you pry yourself out of Lucerys’ grasp, tilting his head up.
“I may still reason with Aemond,” you say. “But at least one of us must make it back to Rhaenyra, to tell her what has happened here. I intend it to be you.”
“But—”
“Be brave, Lucerys,” you tell him, and in High Valyrian, you command just as much as you soothe.
Your mother had told you to be brave, too, just days before she’d died on the birthing bed.
Was that the same fate that awaits you in the jaws of a dragon? You suppose that, one way or another, you would leave this world in the same manner.
You find a rocky beach, and you will Silverwing towards it. The pebbles crunch in a strange sort of symphony under her feet, as it does under yours when you dismount. The waves pummel the shore just inches away from where you stand, waiting for the inevitable.
You press your forehead against Silverwing’s head, feeling the she-dragon purr at the contact. No doubt she was feeling the same things you were feeling, after so many years of flying together, but you want to let her know how much she means to you.
A terrifying growl shakes the beach, and Silverwing hisses as Vhagar appears just above you. You hold onto her as the dragon hits the ground, her sheer size causing nearly half of her body to be submerged in the ocean.
You watch as her rider dismounts, his blade glinting in the darkness as he makes his way over to you. When you move to meet him halfway, Silverwing blocks your path, wailing. You feel a surge of affection for your dragon wash over you.
“Be calm,” you instruct her. “Obey.”
Silverwing keens in protest, but obliges, withdrawing reluctantly, only to roar in contempt when Aemond points his blade towards your neck.
Amidst the heavy rain and thick fog, Aemond Targaryen stands tall and proud, his missing eye doing little to discredit the fact that he now looks every inch a god. You could find no trace of the boy you’d known all those years ago, the one who’d followed you everywhere in the Red Keep, the only one of your half-siblings who’d managed to maintain a solid correspondence with you when you were away.
But perhaps he is still in there, somewhere hidden behind the clear wrath in his eye.
“None can stand between a dragon and its prey,” you begin. “A Conqueror’s dragon and her blood, even less.”
“And yet here you stand,” Aemond spits.
“And yet here I stand,” you repeat calmly.
Aemond studies you carefully. You keep your gaze trained on him, completely ignoring the blade he holds to your throat.
“You know the truth of Rhaenyra’s sons,” he hisses. “You’re no fool, yet you choose not to see it. Would you let the pups of House Strong sit on our father’s throne, and his grandfather before him?”
“They have just as much Targaryen blood as you do.”
“Do not—” He presses the tip of his sword directly against your skin, and Silverwing growls in warning. “Do not dare question my heritage.”
“I would never,” you say quietly. “But surely you see why I cannot let you do this.”
“Would you lay down your life for your traitor kin?”
“They are all I have left.” Your voice quivers dangerously. “You may deny their parentage all you like, but you cannot deny that they are my blood still.”
“I am your blood!” You hadn’t realized that Aemond had dropped his blade in favor of closing the distance between the two of you, looming over you like a malevolent shadow in the pouring rain. “‘Tis I who know you better than anyone else; I, who wrote back to you and sat every night by the windows of the Red Keep waiting for you to return; ‘tis I who study history and philosophy and politics to elevate myself to your level.”
Thunder rumbles overhead, and you blink the rain out of your eyes as you continue to stare up at Aemond. You think you catch a glimpse of the child he once was when he holds your gaze so defiantly, but he scoffs, and turns away from you.
“Lord Borros was right,” he spits. “I stand to destroy myself, risk my brother’s cause, worry my mother senseless, and for what? The whims of the last in line to the throne? A mere afterthought, forever in the shadow of her sister? A spoiled bitch who flees with her tail between her legs at the very thought of duty?”
You shake your head, and despite the gravity of the situation, you have to smile. The rocks crunch beneath your feet as you move towards him this time. When your hand presses against the middle of his shoulders, just opposite of his heart, you feel him jolt.
“Words hurt less to those who have heard the same all their lives,” you tell him gently. “But if it comforts you to lash out at me, I will not stop you. I daresay by the time you end, Luke will have already returned to Dragonstone.”
Aemond growls as he turns and grabs you by your arms. Silverwing hisses and snaps, but backs down when Vhagar moves forward.
“Stop acting as if I was a child,” he demands. “I can challenge the greatest knight of the Seven Kingdoms and ride the largest dragon our world has ever known. I am the closest in line to the Throne. The Aemond you knew died the night Lucerys Strong took my eye, and if you mourn him, you will step aside.”
“I cannot,” you whisper, but you might as well have screamed it in his ear. “I told you on Driftmark, didn’t I? You are still the Aemond I know. The Aemond who fought during my nameday tourney all those years ago, giving it his all despite being out of the lists earlier on. You believed that it was Alicent that put you in the lower lists, did you not?”
Aemond stares at you, clearly not following.
“You thought and acted exactly as I’d hoped. I’m sorry you were embarrassed because of it. But…if you would forgive my selfishness…I wanted you by my side in the King’s box, not injuring yourself on the jousting field for my favor. I would have always given you my favor, no matter how many you’d win against.”
You reach up to brush away the hair sticking against his face in the cold rain. “Because it’s you,” you say, running a thumb down the strap of his eyepatch before gently lifting it up. “You’re my Aemond.”
The sapphire that once sat in the brooch you gave him glints in what little light the storm permits to shine. No doubt that to many, it only serves to further unnerve those who already shift uncomfortably in his presence, but to you, it rivals the stars you’d stared at, thousands of leagues away from home, quietly wondering if Aemond was looking at them too.
The expression on his face is a mixture of surprise, admiration, and pain all into one. You know his true feelings; he’d made it known the night he asked for your hand. You would have given it to him gladly, freely, had he been honest about his reasons. A loveless marriage was the last thing you wanted for yourself in this lifetime, the very reason you’d run away from home all those years ago, causing your own father grief; you weren’t about to have it start with a blatant lie.
You think he understands everything now, by the way his shoulders slump and how Vhagar nearly purrs in content. It’s only confirmed when he reaches for your hand, still warm despite the biting cold.
“You’re not playing fair,” Aemond murmurs. “You would make me a kinslayer…every word you speak will damn me for all eternity, and yet…”
He shakes his head. “You know why I’ve come here. Baratheon’s banners for a marriage pact. You’ve scorned me once before. What makes you think I could ever give in to you now?”
���I dare not force you to choose,” you respond. “But know that I will not move from this place; how you will deny me, I leave it to you.”
Aemond’s mouth twitches. “How kind of you to make things simple for me.”
He backs away, and you close your eyes, waiting for the frigid storm to be drowned out by a shower of dragonflame. You think of Lucerys, and how you hope Arrax was able to navigate the storm all the way back to Dragonstone. You think of Rhaenyra, too, your sole full-blood sister, and the tears that you’d shared together in the Sept on your namedays. Your chest grows heavy with grief at the thought of Viserys, and how he’d begged you with his rattling breath to stay, only for you to leave the very night he’d passed.
You should think about what your death would mean; the pain that would cause your kin, the war that was bound to follow. But your last thought, ironically, might ultimately be of the man who would bring about your demise.
Seconds pass. Silverwing falls silent.
And you feel Aemond’s lips on yours.
#🍡—dango-works#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x ofc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond x targaryen!reader
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as you know, i am absolutely obsessed with 'seven years in heaven'. do you have any recommendations for similar fics where they teeter on the edge of a breakup or divorce, or where exes get back together? i'm looking for stories where the tension is all based on miscommunications and assumptions, and nobody is genuinely angry/there's no hate between them. i need that stupid yearning and longing when, in fact, they both still want each other. i've read a few but i can't get enough 😩✨
DO I EVER!! 🥰
In Too Deep by @fohatic
Steve knew that he was asking for trouble when he agreed to let the gallery auction off a date with him for charity, but he needed to get in the director's good books if he wanted to make it as an artist in this cutthroat town. He never imagined that his participation would ignite an outrageous bidding war, or that the infamous, billionaire ex that he hadn't seen since their sudden breakup two years prior would show up and stake his claim.
a *slightly* twisted, darker spin on meidui's "frequencies of sea and space"
frequencies of sea and space by meidui
“One mil,” a voice says, firmly, and Steve would recognise that voice anywhere. Like thick amber honey, like smoke from a fire, lighting him up and burning him down.
There are no higher bids.
Steve looks across the room and gazing back at him is the face he’s spent two years squeezing his eyes shut at night trying to block out, but those eyes meet his and it’s all over.
From the Ground Up by @omg-just-peachy
Tony and Steve broke up years ago and Tony never quite got over it. When they finally see each other again at Pepper's wedding, Rhodey convinces Tony this might just be his second chance.
Paint the Town Blue by @omg-just-peachy
Ten years since he’d seen or spoken to Tony Stark, ten years since they’d broken up to go away to school. And now this email. It could be his only chance to see Tony again.
I'll keep your brittle heart warm by @omg-just-peachy
They got married when they were young, just twenty-four years old, despite the arguments from their friends that they should wait, that neither of them were ready for a commitment like marriage so young. Steve distinctly remembered Sam pointing out that the male brain isn’t even fully developed until age twenty-five. But they were young and passionate, so sure they’d found their perfect person that they could overcome anything and everything life threw at them.
And it was true.
For six months.
it always leads to you by @arabellamonkey
Slowly at first, and then all of a sudden, everything made sense: the way Tony had looked at him that first time when Pepper had introduced them, the way his eyes were always searching for him everywhere they went, and how Tony had asked him about his suit, voice clearly flirty now that he thought about it again. And that smile, oh God, that smile… it had been the same he had given him all those years ago when they flirted in their kitchen.
“Wait, you… you recognized me?” Steve asked, eyes wide and voice incredulous.
Tony scoffed, expression still bemused, “don’t insult my intelligence, of course I did.”
Steve stared at him, both eyebrows raised.
“Okay, it might have taken me a few days to figure it out,” Tony ended up admitting.
***
Or, after breaking up five years ago because of heavy miscommunication, Steve gets assigned to be Tony's personal bodyguard.
dreamt of you all summer long by @ifmywishescametrue
Steve spends months after the breakup trying to forget Tony, but it never seems to work. That's alright, though, because Tony can't forget him either.
all I ever knew of love by @stovetuna
For six months, nobody knew that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were dating.
Which means no one knows they broke up six weeks ago.
Catching Lightning in a Bottle by @sabrecmc
College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.
This does not go as he imagines.
Or, the Sweet Home Alabama AU that no one--well, okay, a few of you--asked for.
Modern Love by @captainneverever
Tony drifts into a relationship with Steve after a one night stand. He thinks that Steve is modern and well adjusted to the 21st century but finds that Steve is old-fashioned in unexpected ways.
Captain Coffee by @captainneverever
Steve is content managing his own coffee shop and life is full with friends and neighbors. But an owner of big coffee chain pressures him to sell and someone from his past reappears. And now Steve needs to fight a bully, an ex, and himself to get his happy ending.
Never Worlds Apart by @kandisheek
It's been six years since he's seen Tony when he walks into his favorite diner and sees him sitting in their old booth, as if nothing ever happened. Steve can't believe the nerve of Tony to just show up out of the blue after the way he ended things.
Turns out Tony has a reason for wanting to make amends. And Steve doesn't appreciate only finding out about it after Tony has already almost died.
Plausible Deniability by nowalee
Tony and Steve broke up a month ago. Now, Tony is back because Fury wants him for an undercover mission. Only catch? Steve has to go with him, because the public doesn't know they broke up yet. It's a perfect cover.
And Tony can totally be alone on a mission with his ex who he isn't over yet. What could possibly go wrong?
You, Me and the Christmas Tree by @wikketkrikket
Steve thinks Tony is drinking. Tony thinks Steve is cheating. They both think their marriage is over. They are just going to give Peter one last family Christmas because he thinks everything is fine.
None of them are wrong, but none of them are right either. When Steve and Tony get snowed in together 3 days before Christmas, will the enforced proximity be the time they need to figure things out?
(Spoilers: yes, yes it will)
#if anyone has additions please add them because i also can't get enough 😌#soliloquent-stark#asked#fic rec#stony#stevetony
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baby, you down? | j.h.s.
summary:
“-insane. The throttle sits extremely well in my-hey, are you even listening?” “Yeah, ‘course. The adverse yaw was so cool and the empennage knocked the wind out of you, totally.”
Bradley scoffed. “You’re a little shit, toots. You know you could learn a thing or two if you would actually listen to what I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a date with a naval aviator and you could impress him with your knowledge.”
“Never. Having one as a best friend is more than enough.”
or, your best friend is a naval aviator, but apparently so is the guy you've been dating? Yeah, funny how life works.
OR, 5 times Bradley was blissfully unaware of who you're dating and the 1 time he wasn't
pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x reader , besties!bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader
warnings: contains talk about sex, but no actual smut, minors DNI
word count: 6,4k
author's note: whoop whoop! the fic you all have been waiting for! where all things will be revealed. hope you enjoy!! no beta, we die like goose.
PS: this fic is part of the wingman's best friend universe, but can be read as a stand-alone!
-5
brad brad: i’m outside, u coming?
“See you guys tomorrow!” you called to your team, waving into the round before you headed outside of the office, where Bradley’s bronco was standing by the sidewalk, engine still running. He was diddling on his phone when you climbed into the passenger seat.
“You know I’m still in touch with my old colleagues from the SDPD, I could have you arrested for being on your phone with the engine still running,” you commented mildly and Bradley put his phone away, kissing you on the cheek, his mustache tickling your face.
“Nah, you wouldn’t. I am your favorite law abiding citizen.”
“Shut up. I can’t believe the Navy still lets you keep that god awful mustache,” you muttered, rubbing your cheek and Bradley only laughed. While he drove to the restaurant where you tended to get lunch, you packed your badge and gun into your purse, not wanting to flash your credentials around when you weren’t on the clock. Especially not around Bradley. Fishing out your phone, you checked the messages you had missed at work.
jake: it does look great. I’ll look into it and book a table.
jake: you got any plans tonight?
jake: thinking of you
Grinning you tapped out a message, catching Bradley glancing over out of the corner of your eyes. God, he was so nosy.
“Eyes on the street, Brad.”
Bradley rolled his eyes. “You know I fly a million dollar plane for work, right? I can drive my bronco down the street and look at your phone. Who you texting?”
“Just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you replied, sending the text before putting your phone away, as the car pulled to a stop at a traffic light. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you over his aviators, clearly not satisfied with the answer.
“I didn’t know that you were seeing someone.”
Shrugging with your shoulders, you pursed your lips. “Well, now you do.”
“Anyone I know?” he asked, returning his eyes to the street when the traffic light turned green, you knew however, that his attention was still fully on you.
“Nah. I met him at a bar while I was out for dinner a few weeks ago,” you gave him a look, squinting your eyes while you thought hard. “Honestly, I am not sure if you’d get along. You’re either gonna love him or hate him.”
“... That’s not reassuring. At all.”
Which, fair.
Considering you put actual bad guys away as a living, you had a tendency to put other, arguably not as bad, but still bad, people in your bed. One of your exes gave you an STD, one literally stole your thesis and received a scholarship for it, and another one resetted your 5 star animal crossing island that you’ve lovingly curated for a year.
Yeah, you weren’t proud of your dating history.
But - and this was going to sound cheesy as hell - Jake was different. He never really put up a nice guy act, actually he kind of was a cocky asshole. Beneath all those layers you’ve peeled back, he was surprisingly soft. Of course he was hot as hell, but there was also something behind his cockiness.
“It’s going to be fine, don’t worry. How was your day?”
Bradley launched into a story of how someone from his squadron, Hangman, pulled an insane move on a hop, that even Maverick was shocked. You barely understood a word he was saying, Bradley tended to get a little overexcited when he started talking about flying and would use very specific terms like camber and whatever the fuck aileron was It didn’t help that you didn’t know a single person he was talking about, except for the infamous Maverick, of course. Usually, Bradley was deployed somewhere far away and the friends he made during that time were strangers to you.
“-insane. The throttle sits extremely well in my-hey, are you even listening?”
“Yeah, ‘course. The adverse yaw was so cool and the empennage knocked the wind out of you, totally.”
Bradley scoffed. “You’re a little shit, toots. You know you could learn a thing or two if you would actually listen to what I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a date with a naval aviator and you could impress him with your knowledge.”
“Never. Having one as a best friend is more than enough.”
-4
Yawning, you unlocked the door to your apartment. You really wanted to spend the night at Jake’s but going to work from his place in the morning was just going to be a pain. You hadn’t brought a change of clothes and you were definitely not showing up at work with clothes from the day before.
Shutting the door behind you, you kicked your shoes off and headed to the living room. It was dark, but the hairs on your neck rose immediately as you stepped over the threshold. The streetlights barely illuminated your room, but you could make out a shadow of a man by your couch. You weren’t sure if you’d make it to your safe in time, but you had to try. Throwing your purse at his head, you dove to your cabinet, only pausing when the grunt of pain sounded all too familiar to you.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Bradley!?” you yelled, standing up to switch the light on, just to see your stupid best friend sit on the couch, holding his nose, doubled over in pain.
“Jesus, sorry! I forgot to text you I was coming over,” Bradley whined, his voice nasal. “I think you broke my nose.”
“How many times have I told you to not pull these damn stunts anymore? I could have shot you in the face,” you snapped, grabbing some water from the kitchen and a pack of ice, wrapping it in a kitchen towel.
When you used to be younger, Bradley always snuck up on you, trying to scare you or make you jump. And he was good at it, too. That was why he kept doing it. You joked that his jump-scares were the reason why you always were so aware of your surroundings when you were out in the field.
Habits were hard to break.
With a scowl, you picked his hand off his face, gently wiping the blood from his nose before pressing the ice pack on it, glowering as he winced.
“What were you even doing sitting here in the dark?”
“It was still light out when I arrived. How was I supposed to know that you’d take so long to get home?”
“How about turning the lights on like a fucking normal human being?” you sneered. Bradley’s shoulder slumped, a crease in his forehead and you sighed, your voice softening. “Does it hurt a lot?”
“Getting better,” he muttered, gingerly placing his hand on the ice pack so you could let go. Bradley squinted his eyes at you. “Where were you?”
“Out.”
“With whom?”
“Did we switch jobs? What’s with all the questions?”
“Just curious, you’ve been out a lot lately.”
“You know I am seeing someone, since when are you so interested in my love life?”
“Love life?”
Cursing under your breath, snapping the water bottle open to take a sip. Bradley was frowning at you, waiting for you to elaborate.
“I am listening.”
With an eye roll, you leaned back on the couch. “He’s… Good. I really like him. He’s so charming, but not like in a gross way, you know? He’s actually charming. It’s kind of annoying. But he’s also like, really fucking hot? He’s not like anyone I’ve ever dated before. Thank fucking god. I kind of want to see him every day, which is so dumb. I guess he makes me really happy.”
“Bleurgh. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Bradley pulled a face at you and you scoffed.
“What are you, 12?”
“I’m literally older than you. Respect your elders.”
“Respect is a two way street, old man.”
Bradley glared at you, putting his ice pack on the coffee table. He carefully ran his finger along the ridge of his nose. “Well, are you in love with him?”
You tutted at his insistence, shrugging dumbly with your shoulders. Love was a big word. It wasn’t easy to find, especially with your and Bradle’s line of work. Most people Bradley dated found his job exciting at first, until they eventually got upset with all his time away and the odd working hours. It was hard enough being his friend, you couldn’t imagine how hard it was dating a naval aviator.
But then again, your job wasn’t a cake walk either.
Suddenly, you regretted doing the “secret job” thing with Jake. Honestly, you hadn’t expected feeling about him the way you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have done it. What if telling him about your job now would scare him off?
“Toots, you still with me?”
You snapped out of your thoughts, smiling crookedly at Bradley. “I don’t know. I guess I could see myself falling in love with him? He’s… Kind of perfect, actually. He made me come with his tongue.”
Bradley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he stared at you, wincing in pain as his nose twitched involuntarily. “Oh shit. You gotta lock that man down right now. A summer wedding sounds nice. Obviously, I’ll be your best man.”
“Maid of honor, you mean.”
“That, too.”
“God, you’re stupid. All of that missing oxygen in your brain really is starting to show.”
“You literally just whacked your purse in my face, I’m pretty sure I have brain-damage.”
“Yeah, self-inflicted brain damage.”
“So when do I get to meet the guy?” Bradley asked and he really was not letting go of that topic, was he?
“Oh man, hell if I know. Introducing you to him kind of makes things serious.”
“Didn’t you just say that you could fall in love with him? Sounds pretty serious to me.”
“Stop making sense,” you groaned, flopping on your back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just perfect right now the way it is, you know? I don’t want to fuck it up by rushing into things.”
“Yeah, ‘cause that makes perfect sense,” Bradley snorted. “Just going wherever it takes you instead of talking about the direction of your relationship. Definitely not a recipe for disaster.”
“Like you’re the one to give relationship advice. I can still remember the Jules fiasco.”
“Please don’t remind me. I was young and stupid.”
Snorting, you stretched your arms back. “I’m headed to bed. Got an early morning. You wanna sleep here?”
“Definitely staying, I need your coffee in the morning, the one on base sucks ass.”
“You know you could just get yourself a good espresso machine right?” You pointed out, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t have to drink the one on base, nor do you have to mooch mine.”
“Nah, it tastes better when I bum it off of you. You owe me anyway.”
“What do I owe you for?”
Bradley pouted, pointing at his face. “You destroyed my money maker.”
“I swear to god, Bradley.”
-3
The next morning Bradley still wasn’t awake by the time your alarm rang. Which wasn’t unusual, despite his stupid callsign, you always had to kick him out of bed when you used to live together. So you headed to the kitchen to make yourself an espresso and downing it, before you went to grab a shower. Your muscles relaxed, as you were still surprisingly sore after getting back from Jake’s, and after a good five minutes, you stepped out, wrapping a towel around your body, just as your phone started ringing.
Jake’s name flashed over the screen and you sighed with a fond smile, leaning your phone against the mirror before picking up. You picked up your toothbrush as the video chat loaded up, squirting some toothpaste on.
“Miss me already?” you teased, barely recognizing anything as his phone was shaking wildly, though you could hear Jake’s laughter through the speakers.
“And what if I was?”
There was loud rustling coming from his side, before the phone finally stood still, the camera focusing on a very shirtless and very sweaty Jake. You nearly choked on your toothpaste.
“Jesus, give a girl a warning,” you wheezed, spitting out the toothpaste, your toothbrush clattering against the sink as you picked up your phone. You were staring, shamelessly, but Jake clearly didn’t mind as he only smirked at you.
“I am not the one picking up a phone call while I was only in a towel,” he pointed out. “I could’ve been in public.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
You picked up your face cream as Jake made his breakfast, apparently, probably some disgusting weetabix protein, judging by the sounds of the box.
“You trying to make me regret going home last night?”
“Is it working?” Jake chuckled, glancing at the camera. “Just came home from a run and had some time on my hands, figured I’d call you.”
“You’re sweet. And I wish I could’ve stayed last night, but it was a good thing I didn’t. My best friend was sitting in my apartment like a creeper and waiting for me to come home. I thought I was fifteen again, god, he had so many questions.”
Jake leaned on the counter, looking at you. “Brad, right?”
“Right. He’s kind of annoying, actually. Pestered me about meeting you and everything,” you said, purposefully lightly, your eyes flickering to the camera.
“Yeah? Gonna show me his gun collection and threaten me not to hurt a hair on your body?”
You snorted. If only he knew.
“No, he’s just nosy as fuck.”
“You know, I’d like to meet him. He sounds like a character,” Jake admitted and you smiled, looking up.
“You do?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Okay,” you said, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling so hard. You jerked in surprise when there were loud bangs against the bathroom door.
“Jesus, B! I’m busy!”
“Is the espresso machine on?” Bradley asked, his voice muffled through the door.
“Yes, you dipshit. Don’t break it!”
“I’ll get you another one if I do.”
His steps retreated and you turned back to your phone, Jake was rising an eyebrow at you through the phone.
“He stayed the night?”
“Yeah, he keeps forgetting we don’t actually live together anymore,” you sighed, pinching your nose and Jake rumbled out a laugh.
“Should I be jealous?” he asked with a teasing tone, but it was obvious he was joking. People usually got miffed when they found out how close you and Bradley actually were, but Jake didn’t sound like he cared. Which was a relief. You had to break things off far too many times because some people started being outright hostile towards Bradley and you couldn’t have that. You were glad that you didn’t have to break things off with Jake.
“God, no. I promise, there’s nothing to be jealous about,” you told him with a honest smile, cringing when you heard a crash from the kitchen, fearing for your espresso machine.
“You should go. I have to jump in the shower anyway before I head into work,” Jake told you and you bit your lip, nodding.
“Okay. I’ll text you later, yeah?”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Jake uttered, winking at you. “Have a good day, sweets.”
“Bye Jake.”
The video chat closed and you rested your phone against your chest, before slipping into your robe, padding into the kitchen, fearing the worst. Bradley was squinting at the coffee grinder, holding the portafilter in his hand.
“What did you break?” you asked, toweling your wet hair and Bradley frowned at you.
“Nothing. I dropped the milk can. I was trying to froth up the milk but I didn’t know how because you barely let me touch this thing.”
“For a good reason!” you huffed, pouring some milk into the can and shoving it under the steamer, pressing the button. As the steamer got to work, blubbering on, you peeled Bradley’s finger from the portafilter to fill with coffee grounds.
“Were you talking to him?” Bradley then asked, his voice high, as if you were back on the playground, whispering about your crushes.
“Yeah, before you rudely interrupted me.”
“You’re so in love,” Bradley needled and you stomped on his bare foot, making him yelp.
“I’m literally holding a can of hot milk, don’t annoy me,” you threatened him, fixing the portafilter on the machine. “You want to drink your coffee here or take it to work?”
Bradley glanced at the clock, his eyes widening.
“Oh shit. Can you make it to go please? I still need to brush my teeth.”
With a sigh, you ushered him out of the kitchen, so you could finish up his coffee. Grabbing one of the portable coffee mugs, you let the espresso drip in there before topping it off with milk foam, twisting the lid on. Sometimes you really forgot that Bradley was a highly skilled naval aviator with the way he was behaving. Said naval aviator skeeted back into the kitchen, where you pressed his coffee into his hand. Taking a sip, he sighed in content and you rolled your eyes at him.
“Hey toots, you promise you’ll still make me coffee when you move in with tongue guy?”
“Get the fuck out of here, Bradley.”
Bradley cackled as he walked to your front door, slipping into his shoes.
“Hey, don’t die at work!”
“You too!” he called, before the door fell shut behind him.
“Like a fucking child,” you muttered to yourself, turning back to your espresso machine to make your second cup of coffee.
-2
Narrowing your eyes at the refrigerated section, you were looking for the brand of mozzarella you always got. Jake had decided to cook dinner for you, but conveniently forgot to go to the grocery store, so there you were, picking up groceries. And while you were already there, you figured you’d pick up some things too. Which would’ve been an easy feat if he had taken you to your usual spot. So now you were scanning the racks for the cheeks, rubbing your arm absently, the cold air hitting your bare skin like on a Winter night.
Suddenly, you felt something cover your skin, glancing to the side as Jake gently draped his jacket over your shoulder.
“Hey, where’d you get this?”
“Just grabbed it from the car, you looked like you needed it,” Jake hummed, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. You flushed, squeezing his hand. This man.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know, but I wanted to. You find what you were looking for?”
You shook your head, a bit petulantly and Jake bit back a laugh. “You need help?”
“No. I’m fine. I can find cheese on my own. You go ahead and pick up the rest of your stuff.”
Jake eyed you for a second, like he was scared you’d get lost, lingering, before he went off to find the rest of the ingredients to cook dinner. You turned your attention back to the cheese racks in front of you, your eyes lighting up when you finally spotted it.
“Yes!”
Grabbing two pouches, you gently tossed them into the shopping cart, pulling up your grocery list on your phone when a call from Bradley came in.
“Hey, I just dropped by to bring you the oranges from Penny’s backyard, where are you?”
“Whole Food’s.”
“What are you doing at Whole Foods?” Bradley snickered and you frowned, deliberating whether you should hang up. “Oh, since you’re already there, can you bring me a Coconut Protein shake?”
“First of all, ew. And second of all, no. I’m not going home after.”
Bradley ahhed, as if he just realized and you rolled your eyes at him.
“Can you pick up some ice cream sandwiches then? Tongue guy has a freezer, right?”
“Can’t you go to Whole Foods yourself? You’re so lazy,” you accused him, already moving to the frozen section, pushing the shopping cart in front of you. “What kind do you want?”
You stopped in front of the ice cream section, your eyes widening at the assortment from ice cream sandwiches alone. This was definitely not your last time here. You didn’t know why, but you never really came to Whole Foods, which you definitely regretted. Their selection was insane.
“I don’t know, I had them at Hangman’s once, they were really good.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know what kind of ice cream sandwiches Hangman buys? Why don’t you ask him to get you some?” you bitched at him. “Were they square?”
“No, the normal ones.”
“Okay, I’m all done. What are you looking for?” Jake asked, dumping a whole lot of stuff into the shopping cart. You muted Bradley, not even listening as he tried to describe the ice cream sandwiches to you.
“Uh, ice cream sandwiches?”
“Oh, I always get these,” Jake said, opening the freezer doors to pick up a package of Organic Ice Cream sandwiches. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, thanks babe,” you hummed, unmuting Bradley again as Jake added the pack into the shopping cart. “We got you a pack. If it’s not the right one, then tough luck.”
“You’re mean. Thank you. See you later, toots.”
“Bye, B.”
You pocketed your phone and Jake raised his brows at you. “You ready to go?”
“Yep,” you said, curling your hands around his arm. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”
-1
“You’re still down for my birthday party, right?” Bradley asked,
Usually the two of you would just get dinner at the weirdest restaurant you could find, when he was around, it was kind of a tradition. But this year, when Bradley got this permanent stint at Top Gun, he decided to throw a little get together with his team and you. It’d be the first time you’d meet anyone he was working with.
“Eh. Who’s coming again?”
“Just my team, probably Mav and Penny. One of the guys, Hangman; I did tell him to bring his new girl around, but he said she was busy. But I think he was lying, because he doesn’t want us to meet her.”
You paused at that, turning to suspiciously glower at Bradley. Why would anyone in the team be nervous to bring around their new girlfriend? God, you hoped that there wasn’t some weird hazing ritual for meeting new people.
“... Why?”
Bradley shrugged, taking a sip from his coke. It was nearing twelve am, but you suddenly craved In-N-Out, so you made Bradley take you to the nearest location. It was full off people inside and you didn’t really feel like getting out of the car, so you just got your food from the drive through, eating in his car in the parking lot.
“Probably because he knows that we’ll give him shit. But I think it’s nice, him being all lovey-dovey on that girl,” Bradley chuckled, eyes lingering on you. “Kind of like you, actually.”
“Oh fuck off,” you huffed, chewing on some fries.
“Just saying. Never seen you like this before.”
And he was fucking spot on. Things have gotten kind of serious with Jake. When you had caught a particular bad case, the outcome not the one you had hoped for, Jake came over with take out, just eating with you instead of pestering you with questions. While you did like not having to talk about your job, you wished you could’ve, and it did make you think that it was time to stop with the charades. It was getting exhausting and if Jake really didn’t want to be with you because of your job, you’d rather know now than even later on.
You just weren’t sure how to bring it up, though.
“I know, I know. Been trying to set up a play date for you, but work’s been shitty. Sorry,” you sighed and Bradley wrinkled his mustache.
“It’s okay. The FBI's not as breezy as you thought it would be, hm?”
You gave him a look. “I knew it wasn’t going to be. SA Brenner said it would be hard work when he first approached me. I knew that going in and I don’t regret it. It’s just that some cases are like, really fucking hard.”
“... Which is why I’m even more glad that you found someone who makes you this disgustingly happy,” Bradley interjected and you rolled your eyes, grinning.
“Guess so. After your birthday I’ll get you guys together,” you told him and he gave you a thumbs up, pressing his lips together.
“So… You are coming, right?” He asked, realizing you never gave him an answer. You frowned, stretching your arms, careful as to not spill over your drink, purposefully drawing out your response time.
“I don’t know… You Navy guys are kind of pretentious.”
“What?” Bradley spluttered between laughter. “You literally work for “The Bureau”,” he mocked, quoting the air. “If anyone’s co-worker’s are pretentious, it’s yours.”
“Name one.”
“Avery.”
“You like Avery,” you snickered and Bradley huffed.
“Yeah, I do. They’re funny. Anyways, the guys are pretty cool. And the girls, too. I think you’ll hit it off with Halo and Phoenix. The team’s kind of chaotic, but you’ll like them. And you don’t have to stay long if you don’t,” he added quickly and you sighed, nodding.
“Fine. I’ll come. Do you want a cake?”
Bradley perked up at the mention of baked goods. “Yes. Please.”
0“So, you’re the infamous best friend,” Phoenix, Natasha, said, holding a plate with a slice of cake in her hand. The cake you brought seemed to be a hit with Bradley’s squadron and you were glad. You’ve been nervous all day for his birthday and getting to know his other friends, but when you found out they were Jake’s friends, too? Your nerves about skyrocketed into the air.
“Infamous?” you snorted. “Whatever Bradley told you about me was probably a lie.”
“Nah, it’s all true. You remember the first day of Top Gun, when I barely made it through the door before the instructor came? Well, this genius turned off my alarm clock after it didn’t wake me, and instead of waking me up, she went back to sleep. I only made it just in time because Toots actually used her lights and siren to get through traffic.”
“Jesus, stop telling that story, you make it sound like I’m abusing my power,” you muttered but Natasha only laughed.
“I like you already, toots.”
You rolled your eyes at her for using Bradley’s nickname for you, though the corners of your lips were curling up.
“Here’s your drink, sweetheart,” Jake said, pressing a red solo cup on your hand, when he came back from the cooler, because of course Bradley brought fucking red solo cups as if this was his 18th birthday. Natasha did a double take, frowning as she blinked at you, standing between Bradley and Jake. The three of you did wonder how long it was going to take for the others to figure it out.
Jake was grinning, bouncing back and forth on his heels as you laughed into your cup.
“Wait, you’re Hangman’s girlfriend?”
That seemed to catch everyone’s attention, as the squadron crowded behind Natasha. You merely glanced at Jake, who was taking a suspiciously long gulp of his beer, his cheeks red, eyes hard on Natasha. You could tell he was embarrassed, however you barely had time to analyze him. All the attention suddenly made you a bit nervous, but this was no different than answering reporters’ questions about an on-going case right? Act confident enough, and they would eat out of your hands.
“We actually haven’t had that talk yet, but assuming we’re both on the same page, I guess so,” you stated, looping an arm around Jake’s waist. The tension bled from his shoulders and he sent you a smirk, while his eyes remained soft.
“Wait-” “Did you-?” “This could not have been a coincidence.”
“Okay, wait, hold up,” Javy cut in, waving his hands around. “Just so there are no misunderstandings whatsoever. You’re Rooster’s best friend?”
You nodded.
“But you’re also Jake’s girl?”
“She’s my girl, Javy,” Jake replied instead, gripping your waist tightly.
Next to you, Bradley rolled his eyes, fake retching to the side. You elbowed him in the side, hard and he winced, glaring at you. Everyone thought you were hilarious apparently, Javy however, offered his hand.
“Javy Machado. Coyote.”
Amused, you clasped his hand with yours, shaking it. He seemed nice enough, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. By now you knew what was coming.
“Pleasure. You’re Jake’s best friend, right?”
“That would be me. I’m assuming Rooster gave Jake the shovel talk?”
“It’s the 21st century man, I don’t need a man to protect me. Jake knows not to mess around.”
“Yeah, Coyote, get with the times!” Callie heckled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him so violently, you were afraid he’d get whiplash. This bunch seemed extremely chaotic and you kind of loved it.
“It was about time we met,” Callie then said, her arms still around Javy. “We’ve been dying to finally get to know the woman who turned Hangman into someone who blushes on the regular. But seeing that you’ve been managing to be friends with Rooster for so long without killing him, I am not surprised. You must have the patience of a saint.”
“Hey!” Bradley and Jake exclaimed in unison, deeply offended.
“Aw, no you give me way too much credit. I like to think that Bradley and I balance each other’s stupid, I wouldn’t be where I am without him.” You might have dug a bit too deep into the emotional box, but it was his birthday after all. “And Jake’s been pretty amazing. He really knows how to make a girl feel special.”
“Awwww,” Billy said, leaning onto Mickey, his arm around his neck. “That’s so adorable. I might just vomit.”
“Please, I’ve heard you say cheesier things about your partner, Fritz.”
“Proof?”
In the midst of the conversation, Bradley peeled away from the group, disappearing into the back of the hangar. Gnawing on your lip, you blew out a breath.
“I’m gonna go check on him really quick, okay?” you whispered into Jake’s ear. He nodded, his brows furrowing, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek before you took off after Bradley, trying not to get lost in the unfamiliar building.
“Hey. You okay, B?”
Bradley grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, before shutting the door, leaning against it.
“Fine.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you heaved yourself on the counter. Bradley has always been the kind of person to shut himself off and bottle up his emotions. When you were younger, you had to probe and annoy him until he eventually relented and told you what was bothering him. Sometimes, you still had to do it.
“Wanna try again?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he popped the top of the beer bottle and took a gulp, staring ahead and you pressed your lips together, your patience wearing thin.
“Is this about Jake? You and him used to have problems, right? But aren’t things better since you got back from the mission? I thought you got along now.”
You remembered how he used to bitch about Hangman this, Hangman that. But his tone changed ever since he got back from his mission, stating that they had talked things out, how saving his life had changed their dynamics. And you were glad. Contrary to belief, while you were an independent woman, who didn’t need anyone to protect you, you wanted Bradley to get along with Jake. Be it professionally or privately. Bradley’s been by your side, in times where even your family wasn’t and it was important to you that he approved of your partners.
“It’s not about him.”
His voice was even, neutral. Also, absolute bullshit. With all the training you’ve had, it was easy for you to read a person, but it was especially easy to read Bradley. You’ve known him for almost twenty years now. And something was clearly bothering him.
“Fine, I’ll leave it alone for today, because it’s your birthday,” you sighed, jumping off the counter. “But I promise, you’re not getting out of this conversation.”
“Did it have to be a naval aviator?”
You paused in the doorway when Bradley spoke up. Turning on your heel, you looked at him, his face scrunched up in worry.
“It’s not like I was actively looking for a naval aviator, B. I didn’t even know that he was one, remember?”
“I know,” Bradley sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I just wish it would’ve been anyone else. You know how dangerous my job is. I wanted you to have someone with a less dangerous job, so if anything happened to me, you’d have someone. But now you’re dating a naval aviator? And one from my squadron, on top of that? You could lose both of us, just like that.”
Your mouth opened, but there were no words coming out of it. You never realized this was something Bradley was worried about, and you were overwhelmed by a sudden fondness for your mother hen of a best friend, even if he was dumb.
“Bradley,” you started, fondly. “I am an FBI agent. Do you know how high the chance is that I get shot or hurt or worse, while on duty?”
Bradley glowered at you.
“You and Jake could lose me just as easily as I could lose you. But we won’t. Because we’re all very good at what we do.”
“That’s debatable.”
You gave him a look and Bradley sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess you’re right… Guess I just didn’t expect you to get with a naval aviator.” He took another sip of his beer, looking at you. “You love him?”
Taking a step back, you looked out to where Bradley’s squadron was still standing, apparently pouring out shots. Jake was already looking back at you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up before he nodded, turning back to the others. You turned back to Bradley, cheeks flushed, your chest warm.
“I do, yeah.”
+1
A few days after Bradley’s birthday party, you had decided it was time for your boyfriend to officially officially meet your best friend. You didn’t realize how exhausting it was to keep your job hidden from Jake until you didn’t have to anymore. But you only had yourself to blame for that, huh? You hadn’t even realized how much pressure you had put yourself under, and the heavy weight that lifted off your chest, especially after seeing Jake react the way he did. And it was honestly comical how easily your job invaded your daily life as soon as you dropped the“secret job” ploy.
Jake and Bradley got out of their car, both dressed in their khakis and your mouth ran a little dry. You’d seen Bradley in his uniform probably countless times, you never understood the appeal of a man in uniform.
“Hey lieutenant,” you greeted him with a teasing lilt in your voice, looping your arms around his neck. Pressing your lips against his, Jake hummed into the kiss, his hands splayed against your back.
“Hey, yourself… Agent?”
“It’s actually Special Agent.”
“God, I am already sick of you,” Bradley sighed and you frowned at him.
“Don’t be mean, B,” you teased, but let go of Jake to hug him nonetheless, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go in.”
You grabbed Jake’s hands, pulling him inside the bustling coffee shop, Bradley hot on your heels. Two naval aviators and an FBI agent enter a coffee shop… There had to be a joke in there somewhere. You and Jake slid into one side of a booth while Bradley sat across from you, picking up a menu.
“Oh, they have those blended frappes you like, the chocolate chip ones look great,” you told Jake, flipping through the pages and Bradley snickered, looking at his wingman.
“You drink frappes?”
“They’re the only sugary thing I allow myself,” Jake said defensively, his ears turning red. “I like ‘em, okay?”
“Leave him alone, B,” you scolded Bradley lightly, though you were grinning too. You quickly ordered when the waitress came up to your table, before you settled back into the cushions of the seat.
“I can’t believe that you’re her best friend,” Jake then sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder and Bradley pulled a face.
“Well, I can’t believe that she talked about your sex life with me.”
“Yeah, what’s with that?” Jake asked, glancing at you. “The two of you share everything about your life with each other?”
“Basically, yeah,” you shrugged.
“Oh good, that is totally not going to bite me in the ass in the future.”
“For the record,” Bradley started, lifting his index finger threateningly. “I do not want to hear about any of your sex-capades in the future. I already feel like bleaching out my ears.”
“Oh please, I literally saw your bare ass when you decided to fuck that one guy on our couch. Even though we agreed on communal spaces being off limits for hookups. Can’t believe you spit on our rules like that, especially with that son of a bitch.”
The waitress tutted, giving you a dirty look when she placed your drinks on the table, and you only rolled your eyes at her, reaching for your coffee. Jake hid his snort in his frappe, spooning the whipped cream into his mouth. Bradley smiled sheepishly at the waitress, his cheeks reddening, waiting until she was out of earshot until he turned back to you.
“I don’t even know how you found out that I got back together with Lucas. I didn’t tell anyone and yet, there you were, ready to cock-block me as soon as we got naked.”
“Guess I am just that good, huh?”
“Yeah you are,” Jake smirked and you laughed as you glanced at him, leaning further into his side.
Bradley rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. His hands dropped into his lap, as if into a prayer. “God, how did I never see how similar the two of you are and what did I do to deserve this?”
author's note: whoop whoop!! hope you guys liked it! REBLOG! SHARE! COMMENT! I LOVE YOU!
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#jake hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin fanfiction#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#hangman x reader#top gun fanfiction#hangman#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw
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A little rant on patch 6 and the implications for bg3's future
Okay, bear with me for a sec its gonna go somewhere eventually. My first bg3 run (thats spammed here on this blog) i played ascended astarion/dark urge romance where i picked the reject bhaal and become the absolute ending.
as it was my first playthrough on release i was vibrating off mt seat and i didnt really have elaborate HCs or anything, i was just doing a quick evil run until the bugs get sorted out. i didn't think much beyond "yes this dude would want the shiny stones for himself"
first time i saw astarion enthralled, i was confused. he asked me to do it, he was quite insistent on it since the beginning of the game. i was confused for a couple of hours, digesting the entire game i just played. Then it hit me; the game was calling me out. it was telling me ive been stupid for not having seen this coming and at that point i felt awe.
it was right, everything pointed to this, it was right in front of my eyes all i needed was to connect the dots that the game laid out quite visibly and i was just too caught up to see.
'well my durge would never do that' didnt matter because thats exactly what the companions thought. Gale thought the powers of an insatiable weave wouldnt corrupt him, that he'd stay true to himself, shadowheart thought shar had blessed and her she'd guide her, that she could be her true self under her influence, astarion thought he'd be free, that he'd cherish the bond he'd made with the player but at the end of the day power reveals; and when that power is acquired through the corpses of thousands its quite evident that Absolute power corrupts absolutely. IT WAS IN THE FKIN NAME.
it was a shining bait i was so focused on getting my hands on that i didn't look back to see the mountain of corpses i had to step on to get there. the game was telling me 'HEY LOOK AT EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE TO GET HERE, LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE OTHERS WHO THOUGHT THEY COULD ACHIEVE THIS, DO YOU THINK YOU'D HOLD HANDS AND SING KUMBAYA WITH YOUR FRIENDS AFTER ALL THIS?'
just as there was never an option where frodo could stab saurons flaming eyeball and sit on his throne with the ring on his finger and sam at his side, there was never an ending i could get my 'happy ending' the way id like it to. i wanted frodo to remain in middle earth and have some peace in the end, i didnt understand how he was 'too changed' to remain and sam wasnt when i first read the books. i was angry even, that i didnt get what i wanted. it wasnt like tolkien haphazardly put together an ending out of his ass bcs he didnt know what to do with the characters, its not that he didn't think while writing that the fans would hate it, he wrote a story that achieved its catharsis by reaching its narrative conclusion. it couldnt have done that any other way. it was deliberate. i may not have understood or agreed at the time but it was the story he wanted to tell, and it wouldnt be one of the greatest stories ever told if the writer wanted to please a 10 y/o like myself.
it was never out of character for my durge at all, i was just blissfully avoiding the NARRATIVE.
months later we get this absolute narrative abomination:
and all i can say is im worried.
im worried bcs this is a clear disrespect to the story they've written, im worried bcs if they can do off with huge plot elements and beats such as this just like that it shows a lack of commitment to their own plot and if a huge Point of the game can be treated like a minor mistake than what else can? was is just a lack of oversight that laezel gets killed under vlaakith? can it be waved off if enough vlaakith loving gith players come together and shout loud enough that they want to ride alongside their queen with their gith gf?
what part of the game is tangible to hold on to, and after two years worth of patches that are made to appease the fans at the expense of the story, will it still be the game i fell in love with?
i dont blame the fans for wanting, i blame the devs for delivering. that they could sacrifice the integrity of a pretty straightforward story bodes ill tidings for the future of this game.
yes i wanted this feature, but i was glad i wasn't given it. i may have been confused and slightly miffed that i didn't get to reign supreme with my evil bf, but i immensely respected the game that could call me out on it. i wish they could show the same respect to their own writing.
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UGH GARROTH HAS BEEN ON MY MIND LATELY BUT MAINLY HIM IN MY REWRITE which i REALLY need to organize one day but. i feel like aphblr appreciates hearing about rewrites a lot so. ill just ramble a bit.
i accidentally made one of garroth's core themes in the rewrite fatherhood.
firstly, he was the most positive male figure that vylad and zane had in their lives. as he got older, he felt more and more protective of them, he didnt want them becoming like his father, the same man that garroth is the splitting image of. he cant repeat the sins of his father, he has to make them better.
but then vylad literally dies and zane becomes an evil priest. so great. he failed.
and then he has to be in an arranged marriage?? not cool. so you know, he fakes his death, so does his arranged marriage fiance, and now theres a huge war, and hes hiding in a run-down village with the help of his former friend from a neighboring village. and he becomes close friends with the lord's secretive wife. she doesn't go out much, she much prefers to stay inside and read her books.
and one day, it blossoms into more.
garroth hates this. a secret relationship with the lord's wife? but, he loves her. and she loves him. their nights are filled with conversations of guilt.
and then, she tells him that she's pregnant.
they stop seeing each other, she hides her pregnancy from the village, her husband is enthusiastic. he's unaware of what's going on, and nine months pass and their child is born, the citizens of phoenix drop blissfully living their lives, not knowing a future lord had just been born. an illegitimate child.
garroth can't care for his son, and he never even learns the name. she stops visiting him, and it hurts him.
but althroughout this time, a young man named zenix came across phoenix drop. probably around eighteen years old, no more than twenty. scarred and traumatized from something he never told garroth about.
and so, garroth takes him in, and treats him like a son. he trains him to become a guard and garroth feels content. he's finally succeeding at this. he's helping someone become a better person! he's an important figure in someone's life!
and during this joyous period of his life, the lord is killed, and his wife is missing. the village was never told about the child, and chaos erupts. garroth and zenix must take control of the town as people begin to leave. garroth mourns the son he never got to connect with.
one day on patrol, a lady runs into the village, seemingly insane and claiming that a weird hooded figure was watching her and so she chased them. garroth and zenix helped her out, and out of the kindness of her heart, decided to repay them by completely helping the village out. this lady who barely even had any memories, who couldn't read or write that well, who was still learning about the history of the world, had taken the struggles of the villagers and put them into her heart, channeling their frustrations into constant work to rebuild the broken village.
it's going well, until, all of a sudden, a villager is attacked in the night and is near death. she saves him, and garroth decides to investigate what happened.
and then he is shot.
by his "adoptive" son.
pain of all types soar throughout garroth's body. he failed again. whatever he did with zenix, it wasn't good enough, and this was his karma.
and yet, he lived. and the knowledge of his failures followed him around as he tried to do any action for months. he hoped it would get better.
then one day, aphmau discovers a child at her door. a baby, one that can't even crawl yet. she discovers a note; his name is levin. she cares for him and brings him around the village, and garroth, in spite of his previous failures of being a father figure, vows to help the woman he loves raise a child, that unbeknownst to him, is his own biological child that vylad saved.
garroth has his suspicions as levin grows, but brushes it off and takes it to be a coincidence. he helps zoey, an elf aphmau had become close friends with, raise levin when aphmau went on her journeys. he taught him how to call aphmau mom!
aphmau has a journey one day and that day turns into weeks. garroth and laurance, his closest friend, search for her and discover she has adopted a ghost child and found another guard. a guard the similar age of zenix.
garroth is hesitant, but warms up to dante, and he and laurance act like father figures to the young guard without intending to. it comes naturally for garroth; laurance just follows his lead. and of course, garroth helps with aphmau's new child. he's making a difference again, he's helping!
and then, an illusion fools him and he falls into a depression. it hurts. he shouldn't be like this, he is supposed to be strong. he is the head guard. yet here he is, letting his emotions get in the way.
he wouldn't mind if laurance and aphmau got together, but to see them do so in private? knowing very well his feelings for both of them? it hurts. they must know what they are doing, there is no other way.
a mysterious lady comes by and offers to help garroth. over time, his memory becomes blurry until he ultimately blacks out. he lacks any autonomy now and attacks laurance. he causes his closest friends to be transported to a dangerous alternate dimension... all because of his own emotions. and to make matters worse, that lady wasn't just someone to help. it was someone hired by zane. the first person he failed to save.
the lady is killed and laurance's words cut through the spell cast on garroth. he has no idea what is happening, but he knows its his fault. he did something bad. and when a portal appears, he urges for them to go on as he fights off zane. he couldn't leave zane there; someone had to stop him from escaping, becoming more powerful, or even achieving what is basically immortality.
the minute that passes in the dimension until his rescue is daunting. flashes into another world where he reunites with aphmau give him hope, but they stop. and he loses his faith. there is no more zane could gain from being in this dimension, if anyone were to open the dimension, they would easily be able to attack him, no unprepared person would dare to do such a risky thing.
and so, he lets zane hit him. a deep cut in the back causes garroth to scream in pain, and he's close to dying.
aphmau returns. she heals him in their world, and he lies about his intentions, and returns to fighting his brother.
little does he know, laurance and aphmau had a few too much to drink one night recently, and made decisions they regret. they won't dare to tell him until much later, they can't risk hurting him, especially in such a vulnerable moment.
the guilt eats them alive. it is worsened by laurance's growing shadow knight urges. they're becoming borderline uncontrollable. its a living nightmare. he can't imagine hurting aphmau, no. he loves her. and he realizes that if she keeps worrying about garroth, she will hurt herself.
he comes to a decision.
he finds a way to open the portal and saves garroth, but costing the lives of himself and zane in the process. garroth is unconcious; he sees a glimpse of laurance, but is unaware of his death until he wakes up. he doesn't believe it, he wants to run, but he can't. his body aches. he's trapped.
aphmau visits him once before retreating to her bedroom for the next few weeks. they both go silent. they couldn't imagine losing laurance, yet here they were.
as garroth gets better, zoey allows for people to visit him. and there, he sees dante for the first time.
he's gotten much older.
there's barely visible wrinkles and blemishes on his face. someone he viewed as a son has aged beyond garroth and it's hard to handle. was this how laurance felt?
and then he sees levin.
he gets it now, this was his son, and he missed his life too. he failed. it hurts all too much, how dare he let his emotions get the best of him. if he had just talked to someone, maybe everything would be okay now.
aphmau eventually drops the news to garroth once they both got better that she's pregnant, and laurance is the father.
he's not mad.
he's broken over the news.
not over the fact that the two people he loved the most got with each other, but the fact that laurance will miss out on seeing his own child grow up, the same way garroth had done with levin.
garroth makes another vow to aphmau. he promises to help raise laurance's kid. he will be there for them.
he won't fail this time.
#minecraft diaries#minecraft diaries aphmau#mcd#mcd rewrite#mcd aphmau#aphmau#aphblr#aphmau mcd#garroth ro’meave#laurance zvahl#GOD THIS WAS MUCH LONGER THAN I WANTED#but im feeling EMOTIONS over pixels#and its 12 am#but like ive seen no one talk about garroth or laurance seeing dante for the first time#like. hes older than both of them now#AND A FATHER#he's doing what garroth couldnt#even if he didnt know about one of his kids for years#UGH i made myself sad this way.#also im not reading over this rn so#if theres typos or doesnt make sense anywheres then oops
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*vibrating slightly in place*
So ok. When I was in kindergarten, my classroom was arranged so that four desks were linked together, so we were in little groups. I used to regularly vibrate my desk and the three it was attached to, with three other children in them, across several feet of floor space, until the linked desks ran into the teacher's desk, which was larger and did not move with the force of my vibrations. I was a good student, but hard to control, and markedly uneven in my ability to like. Do anything. "Well," my mom said once, upon beholding my entire spectrum of a report card, "we'd just hate to be bored."
When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, seventeen years later, my mom said "I never thought you could do it," and when I, shocked, said "what?" she said "well what with your ADHD and all," and I said "my what?" and she said "well, i never wanted to shake your confidence, and I thought once they put a label on you it'd be over, but you super have like, turbo ADHD. Why, what do you think your deal is?" She said it nicely and not in those words at all, but it was the first time I'd ever really realized that I wasn't just mildly eccentric, I did seem to actually have something wrong with me.
I've been trying to get a diagnosis ever since. I've never been able to. I had no health insurance at all for a huge chunk of my twenties, which put a damper on things. One doctor told me "you'd know if you had that" and when I was like "I... do" she was like "no i mean. you'd already be being treated." Which shows a wild and totally unwarranted optimism in our medical system, but she was a resident. The doctor overseeing her care of me suggested I try taking fish oil capsules. To "rebuild my brain tissue".
I did. It didn't help. I still buy them but mostly I use them now to get my cat to take pills.
Eventually in my 30s my doctors started sort of believing me maybe, or at least realizing they couldn't really brush me off (I have gotten... less easily-cowed as I've aged) but they were all like "oh, I can't evaluate that. You'll have to research and find a place that can do a neuropsych eval for you. Insurance doesn't cover those. So good luck. Have some antidepressants in the meantime."
I slid into my 40s, still undiagnosed. I read as many self-help books on the topic as I could find, did all the checklists I found. They all said "girl you super have like turbo ADHD." I tried meditation. I tried divination. I tried bullet journaling, which was hilarious. I tried yoga.
I actually damaged myself doing yoga and am banned from yoga, but at least I'm in physical therapy now. (Word to the wise: if you have really really flexible hip joints, don't fucking do yoga. "Usually I don't have to tell people not to get into that position," said my bemused physical therapist. "Oh," I said, blissfully bepretzeled. "It feels super good." "Mm," she said, "you've torn your labrum. Stop doing that." Now I do really, really boring stretches that don't feel nearly as good, but I also can walk without limping, so. Like. We take the good with the bad I guess.)
Anyway. My PCP in January was like "wait you didn't follow my super vague directions to go see 'the guys downstairs' and see if they can squeeze you into their eleven-month waiting period to get an evaluation that i cannot mention without saying it's several thousand dollars and your insurance surely won't cover it? you must not want this diagnosis very badly!" (At no point has anyone ever given me a phone number for 'the guys downstairs'. I still don't know what she meant by any of those directions. This PCP and I technically speak the same language but I've never understood a single thing she has told me and I don't think she understands a word I say in return, everything I tell her seems to be such a shock to her. You blame antidepressants for your weight gain? I've never heard of that. Ma'am please look up what the incredibly common side effects of antidepressants are.)
I called around but noplace both took my insurance and was accepting new patients. Finally I gave up. Then my Dude went on our insurance company's website and took over the search. He found that there's some kind of concierge service thing, which the insurance company normally charges $450/mo for but our plan includes it, because it's pretty well-hidden on the website and most people aren't ever going to find it anyway. So he said, you know what, I am going to instigate a query on this.
They took two weeks but eventually came back with a list of 13 places, most of them not remotely local. Ten of them were red X's, disqualified for varying reasons-- one because the phone number didn't work, another because it's a seven-hour drive away and doesn't do telehealth. One was in New Jersey. None of them were the local places I had already called.
Two of them were valid, but the insurance wouldn't cover the evaluation for various reasons.
One of them was fully covered, the insurance company said. So I went there.
Their website said "no you're not we can't see you". But Dude was like, call them on the phone. Surely, surely, the concierge service couldn't have lied??? Bet, I said, and called them and left a message, and said to him, if they call me back I will eat a hat.
But they did. They called me back. "Our insurance checker widget is down," they said. "But we do take your insurance! We can see you. We just don't know how much it will cost."
Ominous.
But. They could see me later in the week, via a telehealth appointment.
So I signed up.
The appointment was this morning. I turned up. Their insurance checker thingy still wasn't working so they couldn't be sure how much the appointment would cost me. I at this point don't care, and gave them my HSA credit card, and said do what you will.
I waited 45 minutes and then texted the number they'd texted me from with the confirmation, and a moment later the guy showed up. "Whoops," he said, "that system isn't working quite right either!"
He talked to me for like. Three minutes, and was like "yeah that sounds. Pretty textbook. I'm going to prescribe you stimulants." He then proceeded to take a very basic medical history, and I recognized all the questions because I have researched stimulant medication for ADHD so much. And he was like "We're going to start with Adderall, check at your pharmacy in like an hour." And then he gave me extremely useful and detailed instructions on how to take it, when to take it, what side effects to worry about, what to expect, what to note down in case it might mean a problem, and how to be safe about it. (He asked me three times if I'd ever been suicidal, and it had also been in the online pre-screening. I am aware that can be a rare but very serious side effect of stimulants!)
And then I went to Rite-Aid and I now have 16 pills in my possession, and i am going to wait until tomorrow morning to start taking them, and I am already scheduled for my follow-up in 15 days.
I have absolutely no idea how much any of that is going to cost, but for the record the pills were eleven dollars.
So. I don't know why the last decade of my life has been spent being told that a comprehensive and unattainably expensive neuropsychological evaluation was my only option. Maybe this place is a disreputable pill mill or whatever. But. I am going to get to try to medicate this disorder that has warped my entire life to this point, and I am going to try to see if I can't have some more control over my life, and if it doesn't work then at least I will know, instead of on my deathbed being like "i wonder if i'd ever tried amphetamines maybe I'd have been able to finish a project ever in my life, guess we'll never know".
Which was what I was starting to genuinely think was going to happen.
Literally though why can't a primary care doctor just refer you to a psychiatrist who can then decide whether you need an assessment or whether your condition is likely to respond well to a basic diagnosis?? I get needing the whole nine yards if you're not sure what's wrong with this kid and you don't want to give them the wrong thing-- like I know misdiagnosing a bipolar sufferer with depression can give you really bad outcomes, for example-- but-- I don't know? I don't know.
I just want to be able to start and finish projects. What I'd really love is to be able to make to-do lists meaningfully, as that is an ability I did used to have and now absolutely don't. I legit cannot make a to-do list in any meaningful or useful way.
So we'll see. I'm going to keep a journal and the real test of whether the pills work is to see whether I can actually keep the journal.
But I need to find some kind of edible hat, at some point, just to keep my word.
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Love Playlist #1: HOME (Han)
«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»
"For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes."
Pairing: Han x Fem!reader
Genre: college au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining
Warnings: mild swearing
Word Count: 7k
P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡
You have three strict rules that you must follow. One, no going out after eleven. Two, never leave the house without your cell phone. And three, never, ever, fall in love with Han Jisung.
Unfortunately, you’ve broken that third rule already. In fact, you’re still breaking it, charring it to a crisp, and throwing it out like the trash you both begrudgingly take turns with. But how can you not? Because when it comes to your doe-eyed best friend who is serenely sitting in front of you, the whole rulebook is torn up.
Jisung quietly flips through his growing stack of manga, blissfully unaware of the way your heart accelerates whenever he reads a particularly entertaining segment and his eyes light up in amusement.You should remind him to stay on track, but you can’t bear to stop him because of how cute he looks, his legs unconsciously swinging under the table and his fifth banana lollipop of the day shoved into his mouth.
You’re both sitting together in the library at your special table beside the big window, the place that is always secluded no matter what, as if some higher power knows to keep it aside for you and Jisung for whenever you desire. Both of you are supposed to be studying for your finals, the objectively worst part of the entire year. You’re both seniors, so the slew of exams coming up should be a piece of cake for you, except both of you have grad school next year— you’ll be starting on your PhD, while Jisung, a computer engineering major, will be working towards a master’s degree— so you still have to worry about all of your final grades.
“I hate this.” Jisung looks up from the book in his hands, closing it shut. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”
“It’s almost over. Then we’ll finally graduate and get to enjoy our summer,” you reply. “And then our lives begin.”
And the elation building in your chest is real, because although you have a tough couple of days ahead of you, the end of this year will be a testament to everything you have accomplished. You have your summer mapped out already; you’re going to be completing groundbreaking cancer research at an esteemed biologist’s lab, days filled with productivity along with exciting nights exploring adulthood and freedom with your friends. Even though you’ll still have school, you’ll only have to be doing what you’re passionate about, leaving behind the mandatory literature and calculus courses that brought you so many tears over the duration of college.
“Not for me.” Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “It’ll never end.”
Lately, Jisung has become increasingly stressed about graduation. He doesn’t come from a wealthy background, with his mother being a grocery store cashier and his father out of the picture. You’re aware he’s under immense pressure to do well in school and then get a good job that will take care of both him and his mother, when she’s unable to provide for herself. Worst of all, Jisung had to ditch his dream of becoming a musician and instead focus on something more practical, which ended up being a profession in computers. Of course, like anything else he puts his effort into, Jisung excels in computer engineering, and he’s come to terms with giving up his passion, but you know it doesn’t hurt any less.
“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly, reaching for his hand. He accepts it, but he turns his head to gaze at the street beyond the window.
“It’s okay.”
You don’t press any further, because you know that it will just break him down, and neither of you can afford that right now at such a crucial time. Instead, you resolve to brighten his mood, like he does with you anytime you’re down. “Let’s just hope we don’t get food poisoning tomorrow.”
Your attempt works, because Jisung meets your eyes, a smile permeating his solemn expression and before widening into a full grin, at the memory of the time you both first met. Remembrance comes like the summer breeze you look so forward to, washing over you both like a tidal wave. And just like that, it’s freshman year and you’re standing at the bus stop near your old dormitory building.
You anxiously devoured the notebook pages in your hands, alternating between cramming the tiny text and scanning the road for the bus that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Your stomach ached from the food poisoning you contracted earlier that morning, an unwelcome byproduct of the dubious cauliflower and tuna tacos served at the dining hall the night before.
This was horrible timing too, especially because you had your first test of the academic year that day. When you should have been bent over your statistics notes, you were cooped up in the bathroom for the previous few hours, clutching the toilet bowl as you watched the clock above you tick menacingly.
You bounced on your toes anxiously, before a strange, squeaking sound met your ears. You whirled around to see a boy approaching you while struggling to pull a large, bulging suitcase along with him. He finally succeeded, collapsing onto the bus stop bench while coughing and wheezing up a storm that rivaled the ominous clouds in the sky. You reached into the side pocket of your backpack, pulling out your unopened plastic water bottle and handing it over to him.
He looked at your offering hand in surprise, before gratefully accepting. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he gulped down the cool water. You watched him finish the entire bottle with a dizzying speed and then recycle it in the bin next to the bus stop. The boy was lanky, sporting an oversized Pokémon t-shirt and battered sneakers, and overdue for a haircut, the locks flopping over his sweaty forehead.
“Thank you so much.” He said.
“Of course. What’s in the suitcase?”
The boy fondly ran a hand over the worn-out seams of the object of your curiosity. “I promised my roommate that I would give him all of my old books for his class project. I have no idea why he wants them, but then again, art students are weird.”
He looked up at you not even a second later, alarm in his eyes. “Unless you’re an art student! In that case, I didn’t mean what I said.”
You giggled, shaking your head. “No, I’m a biology major. And yes, I agree.”
He beamed. “I’m Han Jisung. First year, computer engineering. Anime and cheesecake lover. Spicy food hater.”
“Y/N. I’m a freshman, too, and I also love anime and cheesecake. Chocolate cheesecake, to be specific. And I can’t stand spicy food.”
“Chocolate supremacy!” Jisung gasped, clamping a palm over his mouth. “This is meant to be.”
You let out a hearty laugh at his theatrics. “Exactly.”
At that moment, the bus finally arrived, rolling to a stop next to you both. You helped Jisung push his suitcase full of storybooks up the steps of the bus and into the aisle. You sat on one of the seats in the back, and Jisung followed suit, plopping down right next to you. As he did, you noticed him wince, clutching his stomach. Concern bloomed in you for this precious stranger that you just met.
“Are you okay?”
He clutches his stomach once more, smiling embarrassedly. “I got food poisoning. I should have known better than to trust the dining hall food.”
You pause, as the ironic delight of the situation sets in, allowing the pain to fade away and leaving you to wonder about the odds of meeting Jisung. “No way! Me too!”
Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s destiny. Mutual food poisoning. Now we definitely have to be friends.”
Later, after you had exchanged numbers and plenty of laughs, parting ways at your respective bus stops, you would meet again at the university hospital. Both of you had contracted a salmonella infection.
Unbeknownst to you and Jisung, that delayed bus and salmonella would determine the trajectory of the rest of your lives. Over time, you both emerged from the shackles of a hesitant acquaintance to the kind of bond that never breaks, even with time, distance, or the grievances of being young. You witnessed each other grow up, fall in love and out of love, and get drunk on piña coladas at the bar next to the college gym you both pretended to go to regularly.
Somewhere along the way, after Loser Boyfriend Number Three, as Jisung tried to cheer you up with his horrible jokes and the burned brownies that he nuked in the residence hall kitchen microwave, you realized that you were wasting your time on people who weren’t worth it. Because the only person who was worth it was the one who had been by your side all the time. Jisung.
Betrayed by your treacherous heart, you began to see Jisung— your person, your study buddy, your fake fiancé when you both were trying to score free dessert with a restaurant proposal— as more than just a friend. In fear of your feelings potentially ruining your friendship, something more dear to you than any form of romance, as you so believed they would, you swore to never speak to Jisung of it. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore about the worst. You fell in love with your best friend.
“What did the farmer say after he lost his tractor?”
“I have no idea, Jisung.”
“‘Hey, where’s my tractor?’ Get it?” Jisung bursts out laughing, slapping his thigh. He doubles over, his whole body shaking with laughter at the unimpressed look on your face, which makes everything funnier for him.
“That doesn’t even make sense!” You exclaim, trying to push him. Jisung just keeps giggling, dodging you masterfully.
You both have given up on your library study session, resolving to take a break at your favorite coffee shop and meet up with the rest of your friends in your circle. The setting sun has streaked the blue sky with its golden rays and puffy pink clouds, enveloping the entire campus in a hazy glow. It’s a pleasant May evening, with the scent of your college’s famed peonies along with the excitement of Spring lingering in the air. The street lights that line the sidewalk are already turned on, but not many people are outside enjoying the weather, except for a few students playing a game of Frisbee on the athletic field. Everyone else is locked away in their rooms or the library, grinding for their upcoming exams.
“Well, I have a better one anyway.” Jisung states, clearing his throat dramatically.
You roll your eyes as you near your destination, an unassuming red-brick building tucked away in a larger complex of stores. Purple morningstar blossoms border the door of the small shop in clumps of dainty vines, no doubt the namesake of Morningstar Coffee House. Fairy lights are strung around the glass block windows, which offer a glimpse of the inviting warmth inside.
“Let’s hear it.”
Jisung jogs ahead of you and opens the door for you, gallantly gesturing for you to go first. “What did Y/N say to Jisung when they went to the coffee shop together?”
The comforting smell of pastries and dark roast coffee engulfs you as you step into Morningstar. The strung lanterns and groovy jazz music playing in the background welcome you like a hug from a long-distance friend. You can’t believe it’s been so long since you’ve gone anywhere other than the library, the lecture halls, or the tiny apartment you and Jisung share.
“I don’t know.” You humor Jisung, still playing along and waiting for his ridiculous punchline.
He smirks at you. “I love you a latte!”
You feign disgust, but secretly, you are elated because of how genuinely touching his words are to you. Jisung hugs you like a baby panda, trying to get you to applaud him for his clever joke, as Jisung is naturally a very physically affectionate person, always wanting to snuggle up to the people around him. But your heart can’t help but jump a little every time you feel his arms snug around you.
“Well, I love you a latte more, Hannie,” you respond nonchalantly, but you mean it. You do love Jisung for everything that he is, even the cringeworthy SoundCloud rapper phase that dominated his sophomore year.
“You guys are weird,” your friend Seungmin says from behind the counter, where he’s busy working as the barista, while his co-worker, Soobin, a timid Psychology student, clumsily handles orders at the cash register. Seungmin’s parents own Morningstar, and he plans to take over it next year.
Jisung sticks his tongue out at Seungmin in defiance, before linking arms with you and dragging you to the back, where the rest of your friends are seated. There is Chan, or more famously known as Chris among his many admirers across his campus, clad in his signature black jacket. Besides him, the turquoise-haired baby of your group, Jeongin, and then Hyunjin, who as usual, is lost in his sketchbook.
“Hey guys. What are you up to?” You slide in next to Hyunjin, trying to peek at what he’s drawing. You catch a glimpse of a very pretty girl you vaguely recognize from around campus, before he protectively snaps his journal closed, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Eyes on your coffee, Y/N,” Hyunjin says, handing you the mug that they ordered for you ahead of time. Magically, it’s still hot.
You accept the coffee and drink it, letting the rich liquid warm your insides as you swallow it gratefully. “Alright, alright.”
Jisung tries to steal a bite of Jeongin’s apple danish, earning him a swat on his wandering palms. Chan looks over at you with a grin. “We’re just listening to Jeongin rant about his crush.”
Jeongin groans before continuing. “And I keep asking her out, but every time, she rejects me, bro! What am I supposed to do? Give up?"
“Yes,” Hyunjin says in his signature straightforward manner, prompting everyone but Jeongin to snicker.
“Whatever. I'll figure out a way.” Jeongin sits back in his seat, resorting to aggressively typing on his keyboard to deal with his frustration.
You look around your little corner in the shop, which is filled with textbooks and miscellaneous notebook sheets. “Where are the others?”
“Minho is studying with his girlfriend, and Changbin and Felix are apparently also working, but they’re probably gaming instead.”
Hyunjin bites down on the edge of his straw, glancing between you and Jisung thoughtfully. “Speaking of girlfriend, when are you both going to get together?”
You freeze up in your seat, tensing like you always do whenever someone jokes about your relationship with Jisung, but he’s unfazed, shooting Hyunjin a mischievous smile. “When you tell us about that girl you’re obsessed with.”
Hyunjin immediately forgets about teasing you, glaring at Jisung contempfully. “Shut up, Han. You don’t know anything.”
“Guys, let’s calm down,” you say while patting Hyunjin’s back, happy for the distraction but still cautious about him and Jisung. While those two love each other very much now, they used to fight like crazy when they roomed together in freshman year, and no one needs a repeat of bad history right now.
Jisung catches your eye, and although he doesn’t smile at you, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. You nod slightly at him, before getting out your own computer. Words do not have to be exchanged between you two for you to understand each other.
You all settle into a comfortable silence as you finish your coffee and resume studying, only looking up occasionally to ask each other questions about the material or an assignment. Soon, the evening begins to fade away, and you start packing up your belongings before closing time.
“Hey, Y/N! Can you come over here for a second?” Seungmin calls out, capturing your attention.
You put down your backpack and walk over to the counter, where he’s washing his blender. “Yes?”
“So what’s going on with you and Jisung?” Before you can interrupt him and deny anything, Seungmin wipes his hands and gives you a meaningful look. “I know you have feelings for him.”
You feel your face heat up, and you avoid his piercing eyes. “How would you know?”
“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. From the way you look at him, it’s a marvel how he hasn’t figured it out yet. For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes.”
You exhale, seeing no point in lying anymore. Besides, it feels good to get it off of your chest. “Well, why are you bringing this up anyway?”
Seungmin sets down his utensil caddy and rests his elbows on the edge of the sink. “Soobin likes you and asked me if you’re single. But, you know, I wasn’t sure if you are available. Emotionally, I mean.”
You glance over at Soobin, observing him counting all of the day’s revenue. The blonde cashier catches your eye, flashing you a shy smile before quickly looking away, turning a shade of tomato red. He’s handsome, good-hearted, and not to mention, very tall. Just your type. But he’s no Jisung.
“It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.” And this is true— over a year, to be precise. “I guess, I’m still hung up over Jisung.”
“Do you plan on making a move?”
“No way. I’m just going to wait for the feelings to dissipate. I would never risk our friendship like that,” you mumble.
“You could get to know Soobin, maybe he’ll help you move on,” Seungmin suggests, crossing his arms.
You consider your options before piping up. Jisung had gotten pretty serious with his last girlfriend by the end of your junior year, but he broke up with her a month later, telling you that she just wasn’t the one for him. He hasn’t dated anyone since, claiming that it’s not the right time. But for you, it is, and you realize that you can’t keep waiting for him.
“Maybe I will,” you say, toying with your jacket zipper.
Seungmin tips his head towards Soobin, but before you move, he leans in closer to you. “But personally, I think you should just tell Jisung. If he’s really your best friend, your friendship will stay the same no matter what.”
You nod. “Yeah, okay.”
You know Seungmin is right, but the truth is, it’s not just about losing your friendship with Jisung. Regardless of whether he reciprocates your feelings or not, you know that he would never walk away from you. It’s truly you who you are concerned about. You’re uncertain if you could bear to go back being your normal self around Jisung if you confess and get rejected. You don’t know if your heart could handle it.
You touch Seungmin’s hand in a quiet gratitude and approach Soobin, who immediately notices your presence and accidentally slams the cash register drawer closed, nearly shutting it on his finger. “H-hi Y/N.”
Watching Soobin get endearingly flustered, you can’t help but smile. “Hey Soobin. How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you.” Soobin bites down on his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks so cute in his brown bib apron and converse shoes. “You look really pretty in that dress.”
Your cheeks warm, but you look him directly in his eyes. “That’s so kind of you to say. Actually, I was hoping you'd want to go out on a date sometime? Maybe after finals?”
Although you’re very reserved about your feelings for Jisung, in every other case, you can be quite forward with romance. Soobin’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”
You laugh, getting out your phone. “Yes, really. What do you say?”
“Yes! I would love to. Could I please get your number?” Soobin stretches out his phone, which is covered in teddy bear stickers.
You think of Jisung’s phone, which has a clear case and a polaroid of you two at the beach inside. You shake the thought of him away. You type your number into Soobin’s phone, before wishing him good luck on his finals and then rejoining your friend group in the darkening outdoors, which has moved outside the shop while you were talking to Seungmin. As soon as he spies you walking out of the door, Hyunjin forgets his conversation with Jeongin and immediately launches into interrogating you.
“What were you talking to Soobin about?”
You shrug, trying to play it off, but can’t help the rosy blush that creeps up your neck. “Nothing, really.”
Now the others look interested as well, and Jeongin smirks knowingly at you. “You asked him out, didn’t you?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Jisung’s smile falter, but you chalk it up to your own imagination and affirm Jeongin’s prediction. “Yes, but it’s pretty casual. So not a big deal.”
Chan and Jeongin both high-five you like seventh grade boys, while Hyunjin just cackles at your sudden agitation. Jisung, however, looks annoyed, a very new color on him.
“I didn’t know you were interested in Soobin,” he says, shutting Hyunjin up. “Why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me when you like someone.”
You know the answer to his question. But you can’t tell Jisung that the only reason why you asked Soobin on a date out of the blue is because you are in love with him and trying to move on. “Seungmin just told me that he had a crush on me. So I went for it.”
“Yeah, everyone knows Soobin likes you. But you could have told me first before making a move.” Jisung’s tone is slightly harsh, suspicious. You recoil in surprise, because he has never spoken to you like this, unlike the boy you know and love.
“Why are you getting so mad?” You ask him, hurt.
“It’s just that we tell each other everything, and this is pretty big.” Jisung crosses his arms stubbornly. “Unless you didn’t want me to know.”
Your skin prickles with a strange feeling, because while you two have bickered over stupid things in the past, it wasn’t anything serious like the look on Jisung’s face now. “What’s your problem, Jisung? What did I do to you?”
Your voice is raised, and boys instantly sense the tension in the air, stepping in to mediate. Chan, the eldest in the group, places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, mutely imploring him to stay calm. Hyunjin, however, gets defensive on your behalf.
“Why should she have to tell you? Calm down,” Hyunjin says, frowning at Jisung.
“It’s okay, Hyunjin. We should get going.” Without waiting for an answer from the others, you grasp Jisung’s hand and pull him with you, while he comes along without saying anything at all.
The walk back to your apartment, which is seven minutes long from campus, is filled with an uneasy silence, a dreadful change from the playfulness earlier in the day. The air is charged, full of everything you both want to say to each other, but nevertheless, you keep your mouth closed. More than anything, you’re confused.
It’s been a long time since either of you were with anyone romantically, so maybe it is surprising to Jisung that you randomly asked Soobin out. However, you don’t understand his anger, especially because Jisung has always supported you in your dating life, even setting you up sometimes with people he knew. But you don’t think the problem is the fact that it is Soobin either, because Soobin is one of the most beloved people on campus due to his sweet personality. You don’t know what’s wrong, and that’s what bothers you the most.
Neither of you speak even when you reach your neighborhood, a suburban oasis in a big city. When there’s good weather, you and Jisung love to come outside and either take long walks around the block or pack picnics to share on the perpetually green lawn in front of your apartment building. Today, you head straight up to your flat, an indifferent pair of strangers standing in the elevator.
After unlocking the door to your apartment, you finally decide to break the silence, turning to look at Jisung, who trails a few feet behind you. “I’ll be in my room, studying.”
You want him to say something, anything, but he just nods, keeping his eyes trained on the grey hardwood flooring. Sighing, you pad across the apartment and enter your room, shutting the door you always keep open.
You and Jisung had signed a lease on your place last year, partially because you couldn’t afford off-campus housing on your own, but also because you couldn’t imagine a better roommate than him. People made plenty of comments about how you both— two people of the opposite gender— renting an apartment together would be a recipe for disaster.
While Jisung had assured you that everything would be alright, the weeks leading up to move-in day were filled with apprehension for you. But unlike what he believed, it wasn’t because of what others said. The thought of you and Jisung living together made you worry if proximity could potentially make it easier for him to realize your feelings for him.
However, when the big day rolled in, you couldn’t remember any of your fears as you and Jisung sat in your new apartment, leaned against a pile of half-opened luggage. Exhausted from dealing with delayed furniture shipments and sorting through the endless boxes of belongings, both of you had given up. Resolving to lay on the barren floor and play Go-Fish, you both laughed for hours about the annoyed look on the grumpy mover’s face when Jisung kept asking him questions. Before Jisung subsequently fell asleep on your lap, he promised you that you both would make a lot of good memories here. And you did.
Last Christmas, you both spent it together, huddled on the couch while gossiping and drinking hot chocolate, because both of your flights got canceled due to snow. Then there was the time Jisung forced you to stay awake with him all night because he was scared after watching some bad slasher film, but you told him Disney bedtime stories that eventually made his fear go away.
You can’t help but feel a small pang thinking of whenever he brings you strawberry shortcake from the bakery you like, or all of the times he spam calls you when you’re out late and haven’t informed him. You’ve never fought with Jisung like this, not without him immediately coming after you and begging you to forgive him, even if he wasn’t in the wrong. Being distant with Jisung is a new feeling, and you don’t get how you could ever accomplish that with your best friend in the whole world.
Shaking off your incessant thoughts about Jisung, you turn on your computer, hunching over on your desk in the artificial glow of the screen. You still have a few chapters of reading to get through, and then you have to solve ten long practice problem sets for Chemistry. For now, you’ll have to put off the deliberations that pull at you.
“Y/N.”
You feel someone shaking you awake, gentle hands coaxing you out of an uneasy nap. You lift your head from where it rests on your arms, blearily looking up from where you are slumped over your desk. Your laptop has fallen asleep, the dim glow of your lamp lighting up the room instead. And the blaring, unwelcome red of your digital clock signals an unfortunate time well past twelve. Rubbing your eyes, you finally notice Jisung hovering beside you hesitantly.
“I thought you’d want me to wake you up,” Jisung says, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. “I’m sorry.”
He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up snugly over his head, a few soft pieces of hair messily sticking out from underneath. He looks so cute you want to hug him, but then you remember the events that transpired before you accidentally fell asleep.
“It’s okay. I need to finish working, thanks,” you say dully, both tired from studying and being stuck in this bad day with Jisung.
He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I’m sorry for earlier. At the coffee shop.”
You bite your lip, melting at the regret and sadness in his eyes. Your best friend misses you too. “Can we talk?”
Jisung stays quiet before speaking, and you swear he can probably hear your anticipating heartbeat filling the room. “Are you hungry? We didn’t have dinner.”
He doesn’t answer your question, but you still fold at the thought of how he didn’t eat without you. “Yeah, I am hungry.”
“I’ll make us something.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, and after a second thought, you hurry after him.
Jisung takes off his hood and brings out a metal pot out of one of the cupboards. You watch as he rummages hastily through the fridge, before he shuts it with empty hands. He turns to you with a sheepish look on his face. “So we don’t actually have any food.”
Realization passes between the both of you: in the past few weeks, you both were so immersed in your preparation for your exams that you had completely neglected buying groceries, opting instead for easy pre-cooked meals or food deliveries. Your stomach rumbles loudly, and you rub it, embarrassed, but at least it breaks the tension, as Jisung snorts, an amused look on his face.
“We could go to the store and get something,” he suggests, from where he stands behind the kitchen island.
He fidgets nervously, a reminder of how any other time, you would have jumped at the opportunity to ditch your books and buy cheap junk food with Jisung. But now? You don’t want to go out. You want to stay here, you want to talk to your best friend, you want things to go back to how they were before your fight with Jisung. And yet, you nod your head in agreement, grabbing your apartment keys and wallet from the counter before following Jisung out of the apartment.
The hallways of the building are tainted a vivid yellow from the incandescent lighting, a sharp contrast to the gloomy night outside. The moon is high up in the sky, shrouding the sleepy apartment complex in a silvery glow. There’s no one outside except for a homeless man dozing on one of the benches lining the walkways. But the distant city lights tell you that not everyone slumbers, that outside of your bubble, people have their own lives and stories. The only story that matters to you, however, is the one with the beautiful boy who walks beside you, his step heavy and eyes downcast.
In a matter of wordless minutes, you and Jisung have arrived at your go-to place for midnight runs, a sketchy little convenience store peeking out from behind a cluster of drab office buildings. The neon lighting of the store glows in the dark and reflects in the pools of water left by a mild rain that had graced the land while you were sleeping.
Jisung quickly walks ahead of you and opens the door for you, a blast of air conditioning granting you solace from the humidity. The familiar sight of the plentiful arrays of colorful aisles and the broken fan hopelessly creaking by the entrance pulls you in. You scour the shelves of mouthwatering foodstuffs, before settling in front of one of the sections.
“I don’t know if it’s a noodles or sandwich kind of night,” you wonder out loud, picking up a pack of ramen. You don’t notice Jisung standing behind you, as you assume he’s already zeroed in on the ice cream freezer like he always does.
“Definitely ramen.”
You jump, hugging the packet to your chest as if it would protect you from the perpetrator. Jisung innocently watches you, a small smile playing upon his lips. He holds two wrapped popsicles in his hands, one melon-flavored and one mango-flavored, and stretches the latter out to you. You accept it, returning his smile, and it feels like things are normal again. You know you should bring up what lies unspoken between you two, but you want to preserve this moment for now.
Jisung selects ramen for himself as well, and you both go to the front counter to check-out, failing to exchange any more words as you both just continue to enjoy the calm. After, you both quickly exit the shop and start jogging in synchronization, remembering that a pile of work still awaits you. When you board the bridge that connects the rest of the city to the way back to your apartment, Jisung doubles over, panting.
You decide to take a break, walking over to the edge and drinking in the view. The blurred lights of the magnificent skyscrapers illuminate the midnight sky like lightning, and the river in front of you is littered with cargo ships peacefully gliding along on their separate journeys. You lean against the railing, closing your eyes and letting the wind ruffle your hair. Jisung comes up behind you once more, but when he speaks this time, it’s less of a surprise and more of a comfort.
“Everything is changing,” he says, resting his hands on the railing as well. “I’m scared.”
You open your eyes, turning to face Jisung. His eyes are filled with tears, and your heart reaches out for him. You tightly grasp his hand, trying to convey everything you can’t say to him.
“Talk to me. Please.”
“I’m not ready for all of this. Graduation’s getting closer, and I know you’re excited but… I don’t know, I still feel kind of stuck.” Jisung’s gaze fixates on one of the boats below. “Every time I type out a line of code, I want to smash my keyboard into bits. Every goddamn time.”
His words are strong, but his voice is rough with emotion.
“Jisung, don’t do this if it’s not what you want.”
“We’re literally graduating in a month, Y/N.” Jisung lets out a disbelieving sound. “But that’s not even a concern, because my grad school actually offers a joint program on computers and audio design for engineering students who want to go into music production. But I couldn’t do that, because you barely get paid unless you make it big.”
You frown, setting down the plastic cover of your food. “Well, why not? If anyone could break out, it’s you.”
Jisung shrugs, shaking his head. “I can’t take that risk. Just plain old computer science is the way to go.”
You stay quiet for a second, keenly observing his despairing expression. “Your mom would want you to be happy, Hannie.”
“I could be happy, maybe, one day. But not right now.” Jisung runs a hand through his hair, not meeting your eyes. “You’re moving away next year for your PhD, and I’ll still be stuck here, in a place where you aren’t there.”
“I’m only two hours away. You can get away from campus and visit all the time. We’ll be like the Kardashians taking on a new city!” You crack a watery smile.
Jisung sniffles sadly, and your heart sinks, because you failed to make him happy. Again. But then he looks up at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Only if I get to be Kourtney.”
You laugh, shoving him in the arm. “Fine.”
And then you both say nothing again, just gazing out at the world beyond this bridge and instant.
“What happened today?” You break the silence— questioning, not accusing.
Jisung groans. “It’s… look, I know we’ve both dated before, but none of them were it. And maybe you never felt that way, but I know for a fact that none of the guys you dated were right for you.”
“Jisung—” you start, but he interrupts you.
“And we’re graduating soon. So I thought you’d realize it by now.” Jisung taps his foot like he always does when he’s nervous, and your pulse quickens at his halting words.
“Realize what?” You ask him softly, trying not to come to any conclusions but betrayed by the treacherous beat of your heart.
The tips of Jisung’s ears turn red. “I- I need you to not say anything. Because I need to say something. And if you don’t like what I say, then I’ll walk away and we can forget everything that transpired here. Okay?”
You maintain your serious expression, although you want to swoon at his adorably flustered state. “Okay.”
Jisung is about to finally reveal what has gotten him so worked up, but then he sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “No. I can’t do this with you looking at me. Can you please turn around? Please?”
Hiding a smile, you oblige him and face the other way. “Okay. I can’t see you now.”
You hear Jisung take a deep breath.
“I’m never going to get this right. Y/N, I like you. And I mean like-like you. Like, romantically. Everything about you, I like. Even your disgusting food combinations, I like. Your smile? Oh god. Don’t go on a date with Soobin. Go with me. I like you.”
Even though the past few minutes manifested Jisung’s declaration, you still whirl around, shocked. “Say what?”
Jisung rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I pour myself out to you and you need me to repeat it? You’re really something, Y/N.”
You smirk, stepping closer and looping your arms around Jisung’s neck. You take in how Jisung’s eyes have widened and how his lips are parted at such an intimate gesture from you, wondering if this is how it feels in the movies, when the heroine finally gets the boy she’s been loving from a distance for so long.
You look up at Jisung, and your heart has never felt so happy. “I guess this is my time to be vulnerable too. I don’t just like-like you, Jisung. I love you.”
It’s Jisung’s turn to be surprised. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah. For a very long time.”
He smiles bashfully, his elation at your own confession evident. “I love you too.”
Jisung tilts his head to his right, as you do the same, almost about to close the miniscule space between you both. And then he pulls away.
You watch Jisung, confused, as he covers his face with his palms, shyly giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I dreamed of this for so long. Can you give me a second?”
Never able to get enough of his antics, you watch as he pulls a stick of chapstick out of his pocket and swipes it on. He dabs his lips carefully before turning back to you.
“Now where were we?”
Before you can even say anything, he’s closed that gap. His lips are soft and sweet, the taste of cherry and vanilla chapstick lingering. You close your eyes and melt into the kiss as Jisung brings up his hands to cradle your face. The sweet scent of him clouds your senses and washes away your inhibitions, and there’s nothing besides you both in this moment. He kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, no exams, no school or anyone else. He kisses you not like a friend, but a lover that he’s yearned for, which certainly wouldn’t be a lie.
You can’t believe that you’ve been pining after Jisung for the mere duration of your college years. It feels like you’ve waited your whole life for this. The murky puddles of water around you and the pungent stench of a nearby dumpster are nowhere near romantic, but with the way you’re kissing Jisung, you might as well be in heaven.
If you dare to predict the future, you’ll have the rest of your life to look forward to moments like this, miss him even when he’s laying in your arms, love him when you both slow dance in the refrigerator light at midnight. And because you’re two broke peas in a pod, you both will definitely conduct more fake proposals with each other when you go out to eat. Hopefully before the real deal. You’ll just have to see who pops the question first.
“Wow,” Jisung breathes against your lips. “My dreams have not done this moment any justice.”
You chuckle, leaning in for another kiss. “Mine too.”
But Jisung dodges your lips, making you scoff as he raises his eyebrows at you. “And what are you going to be doing about Soobin?”
“You should be nicer. Poor Soobin. I wouldn’t have to let him down now if you’d just told me all of this earlier,” you scold Jisung lightly, cupping his chin.
He pouts, swatting at your arms with the oversize sleeves of his hoodie. “Never mind. Let’s stop talking about him.”
You roll your eyes playfully and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You’re sure that the lovesick look on Jisung’s face mirrors your own. He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Your best friend in the whole world. And whatever the future holds, that will never change.
“I love you, Hannie. Love you so much,” you whisper, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. You’ll never, ever get tired of kissing him.
Jisung smiles down at you lovingly, slipping off his hoodie to put it on you, noticing the way you shiver. But you’re not really that cold; it's the way he’s looking at you right now. Not that you’d tell him that. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” You ask, still in a dreamy daze. This day has turned out to be better than any other you’ve ever had. Everything was worth it.
“Home.”
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Haunted
(Read on AO3)
Steve hates the silence. He never used to - the silence used to mean that his parents weren’t screaming at each other, or at him. It meant that he wasn’t putting on some schmoozy performance to win over the heart of another girl, or being overly-boisterous with the other guys on the team. Silence used to be Steve’s reprieve, a sign that he could relax, a thing to bask in.
Now the silence is a lack of Eddie’s music. It’s the absence of Max’s laughter and of Dustin’s ramblings about scientific things Steve’ll never be able to wrap his head around. It’s a lack of Nancy’s voice reciting flash cards and Robin’s quiet confessions of her crushes and gossip.
Silence means he’s alone. It’s his choice - he can have almost all of those things back if he wants… but the one that he wants the most is the one that he’s lost forever, and he can’t bring himself to embrace what remains when it only reminds him of what’s missing.
Steve can’t even listen to the radio any more. Every song reminds him of Eddie - it’s either a band Eddie told him he should listen to, or one he made fun of Steve for unapologetically loving.
It hurts. It hurts so much more than he ever thought it could. Eddie was barely his friend… they hardly knew each other. Maybe it was the trauma bonding, but it didn’t take long at all for Eddie to become a fixture that Steve wanted by his side.
Needed by his side.
It took Eddie even less time to sacrifice himself and leave Steve behind.
He knows he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t take it personally. Steve was probably the last thing on Eddie’s mind when he decided to stay behind and buy them the time they so desperately needed… and that only makes Steve feel worse, somehow.
There’s no winning, so Steve chooses to lose.
He loses himself. He loses the things he still has, the things he still wants but can’t bring himself to keep. He doesn’t feel like he deserves anything in his life that may bring him happiness. Not now, at least, and maybe not ever.
There are some things - some people - he can’t seen to just lose. People who aren’t easily shaken, so he pushes them away. He forces them away, locking himself behind doors and walls until their knocking grows quieter and less frequent, before stopping entirely.
And when Steve thinks he's finally, blissfully alone, he realizes that he isn’t.
Steve doesn’t think much of it the first couple of times. A flickering light here and there just feels right. He’s a ghost of himself, haunting his own home, wandering the empty rooms without purpose. It takes him longer than he’s proud of to realize that it follows him from room to room, moving from a table lamp to a ceiling light to the hallway light plugged into the wall by the bathroom. It takes him even longer to notice the pattern.
The lights aren’t flickering, they’re blinking, shifting on and off in the same repetition. It’s a pattern. A fucking pattern.
He does the math in his head - he has five more days until his parents come home. They’ve been gone for five already - ten is the sweet spot of days they’ll spend away consecutively. After that they come home to play house, keeping up appearances just enough that no one questions the fact that they leave their teenager home alone more often than not.
Steve leaves his house for the first time in days to go to the library and check out a book on morse code, then stops to get enough bread, peanut butter, and jelly to last him a week before going back home. He knows he could - should - ask Dustin for help. Hell, he knows Robin, Nancy, or any one of those kids would be willing to come over and pitch in. But he can’t. Not until… just not yet.
Steve turns off every light in the house and begins to walk. He moves slowly, not sure if he should be feeling for some sort of energy or if he should be waiting for it to find him.
He’s in the kitchen when one of the ceiling fan lights flickers on then off rapidly. Then again. And then two more times.
Then a pause. It isn’t long, but it’s long enough for Steve to grab the little notebook out of his pocket and a pen. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to realize he’d be in the dark and unable to see the page, so the next time the light flickers he uses the short burst of light to jot down the marks.
.... / . / .-.. / .-.. / ---
Steve starts writing the first four dots, then the second separate one, before realizing it’s repeating again. Steve feels a rush of adrenaline that's a little too close to hope for his comfort as he turns all the lights in the room back on and goes to the book.
hello
Steve laughs. Hello?
“Hello right back at’cha,” Steve says out loud.
He's in the middle of deciding whether or not he should try to ask a question when the lights, which are currently on, begin to flicker off in a new pattern.
..-. / .. / -. / .- / .-.. / .-.. / -.--
finally
Steve huffs out an indigent breath. “Finally? Half the town’s in shambles, how am I supposed to know to pay attention to the shitty light bulbs?!”
There’s no response, and Steve feels an immediate surge of panic tighten his chest and quicken his heartbeat.
“Are you there?” Steve hates the pitch up in his voice, the way he can’t keep the tremor out of it. “Eddie?”
The name is barely a whisper because Steve doesn’t want to jinx it. Of course he wants it to be Eddie. He can’t imagine who - or what - else it could be. Up until now he could just assume, but now he’s said it out loud. Now, he’s opened up the possibility of finding out he’s wrong and having all his hopes dashed with one flicker of light.
.... / . / .-. / .
here
Steve remains silent, tense, waiting. Hoping. Praying. And then--
. / -.. / -.. / .. / .
eddie
Eddie. It’s him, it’s really him.
“Holy shit.”
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#listen I don't know what this is and it might have another bit later or it might just stand here idk#but it was an idea i couldn't shake so here it is
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You're Somebody Else
Flashback: 20 February 1998
Summary: It's Katie's 18th birthday, but Spencer gets a present too.
Warnings: smut, virgin!Spencer, dirty talk, cursing, slight angst at the beginning, mutual pining, third person, abrupt ending.
Word Count: 3.2k
Find parts 1 & 2 here!
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Katie paced back and forth across her apartment. Today was her eighteenth birthday, which was meant to be a special day. And it would have been, if her mother hadn’t passed away just before Christmas, and if her best friend would answer the phone. She sighed and dialled Spencer’s number again. It went to voicemail, again.
“Hey, it’s me. Just wondering where you are, for the third time this evening. Call me back.”
She waited fifteen minutes and didn’t receive a call back, or an email. She tried again.
“Spencer – if you didn’t want to hang out, that’s fine. But at least call me and let me know. It’s the polite thing to do. Even your mom called me. Even your mom remembered it was my birthday. Jackson is at a stupid frat thing tonight and I really don’t want to be alone on my birthday. Call me.” Her voice was getting agitated. She was seldom annoyed with Spencer, their personalities moulded so perfectly together that there was rarely an opportunity for arguments.
“Hello!” She heard a familiar voice bellow as her apartment door swung open, she spun around immediately. Now blissfully aware of the tears rolling down her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Where have you been Spencer?”
“I was at the store,” he held up two gift bags. “These are for you.”
“You’re an hour late.”
“Yeah, I-uh, couldn’t get a cab.” She didn’t entirely believe him but didn’t want to argue. “I’m sorry I’m late, I just wanted to make your birthday special.” And just like that, she couldn’t help but return the wide smile he gave her.
“Don’t listen to your voicemails.” She warned as they sat together on the couch.
“Oh dear, you’re that annoyed with me, huh?”
“I was. You’re here now.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
“I don’t know.”
“What a great boyfriend.” He almost spits the last word out.
Katie can’t give a good reason for dating Jackson, he’s a sophomore majoring in communications at USC, and was a quarterback in High School. He’s the exact opposite of the type of guy she would see as her type – he looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model, and he probably has never read a book unless he got class credits for it. But he told her that it's sexy how smart she is, and he held her hand when her mom died. And his frat brothers bring her booze when she hangs out at their place. A bottle of which, she stole for her evening with Spencer.
“I know you don’t like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can’t even give me a reason why.”
“I don’t think I need to.” He shrugs and notices her confused look. “You can’t give me a good reason not to hate him.” He isn’t wrong, “enough about him, open your present.”
She opens the giftbags, and as suspected they are filled with books and VHS tapes of old Russian movies the pair had been planning to watch, but for some reason are rarely shown in Californian theatres, and a silver bracelet with a heart charm, which looks expensive. She gives him a look, she doesn’t need to say thank you for the gifts, they don’t need words this pair. He smiles and shakes his hand, as if to tell her not to worry about it. She immediately puts it on.
At the bottom of the bag is a card, which she rips open, as a card hoarder this is always her favourite gift to receive. Like her father, Spencer takes birthday cards very seriously. The front is a joke-card about the redistribution of wealth, he likes to joke that deep down, she’s a communist. She isn’t. But it’s what is written inside that makes her heart drop.
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
Happy Birthday,
Love, Spencer.
“Spencer.” She tries to say something, but she isn’t sure what to say. The poem is E.E. Cummings. She wonders if the verse he’s chosen is a message he hopes to get across, but she doesn’t get her hopes up. She has a boyfriend.
“I can give you a reason.”
“What?”
“I can give you a reason not to be with Jackson.” Spencer can barely get the words out, and when he does they only muster a whisper. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He contemplates stating the obvious, that Jackson is awful, but he’s reminded of something. Something Mr Miller told him before he died. To be bold. To always be bold, and not to be afraid of a bad outcome, if the possible good outcome could be the best thing that could ever happen to you. Katie is the best thing to ever happen to Spencer, and he knows it. He also believes he isn’t good enough for her, and he knows there’s no way she’ll say it back. Jackson looks like a jacked-up football player, who doesn’t know his ass from his feet. Jackson is a jacked-up football player who doesn’t know his ass from his feet, but maybe that’s what Katie wants. Maybe that’s what Katie is attracted to. Not a skinny kid, who at eighteen hasn’t even had his first kiss.
Katie had dragged him to a party the summer before, and Spencer knows he probably could have made out with a drunk sophomore. But he didn’t. Katie questioned him the whole way home why he didn’t make a move, he didn’t have the guts to tell her she was the reason why.
“Go on.” She presses.
“I love you.”
“Yeah, Spencer, I know. I love you too.” This is something they say all the time, whenever they hang up the phone, or leave each other’s apartments.
“No.” Be bold Spencer. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years, I just didn’t know that’s what it was. I’ve been so infatuated with you since we were kids. And I know that you’re my best friend, and I know you love Jackson. I don’t care if you don’t love me back, I just had to tell you. I had to be bold for once in my life because I never say how I feel or ask for what I want. I never do. But I am now. I am so irrevocably in love with you that it makes me feel sick. Your dad told me to be bold, so I’m being bold. I am in love with you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” He feels like the oxygen has all but been taken from his lungs, he’s winded and out of breath and his cheeks have never felt this warm.
A long silence passes, and he’s sure he’s fucked up. She’ll probably never speak to him again.
“My dad?” Is all she replies.
“Yeah, your dad. He knew. He always knew I think.”
“I don’t love Jackson.” She sighs, an unrelated response, but one that makes Spencer hopeful.
“You don’t?”
“I only started dating him, because I thought it would make my feelings for you go away.”
“Your-your feelings for m-me?” Spencer stutters and raises an eyebrow, this seemed too good to be true. Katie shuffles closer to him on the couch, their thighs grazing one another. Spencer is desperately trying not to make it obvious that he’s holding his breath. She nods in response to his question, confirming what they now both knew to be true. Her hand moves to his thigh and feels the wind get knocked back out of his again, the reaction is a long sigh, a struggled, whimpering sound accompanies it. He’s immediately embarrassed but Katie doesn’t seem to notice.
“Do you know what I want for my birthday?”
“What?” His breathing is shaky, and he’s started to sweat – great.
“I want you to kiss me, Spencer.”
“I’ve never-“
“I know,” she cuts him off. “But, I want to be the first girl you kiss.”
“I want you to be the last girl I kiss.” She giggles at how quickly he shoots back, his unwavering need for his affection to be known.
“Then do it.” She’s hesitant as well, if they do this, they’ll never be friends as they had been. This is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, but she really hopes he’ll cross it with her. She was going to break up with Jackson tomorrow anyway.
Spencer doesn’t move and she’s worried that this is a sign of rejection, that he isn’t ready for this, that now the option is in front of him, he won’t take it. But when she meets his eyes, she can tell he’s nervous, he doesn’t want to get this wrong. Her heart swells.
Instead, she leans forward, cupping his jaw in her hands and brushes her lips lightly over his, to give him room to back away if he changes his mind. The opposite happens, and the boy she’s known for six years, her best friend, lunges forward pushing his lips harshly against hers. She moans at the pressure, she’s kissed a few boys – but has never felt this. This desire for more passion. They continue like this for a few moments, before she runs her tongue over his bottom lip, begging for entrance, he obliges, and the passion increases.
Spencer’s brain is in overload, he’s not quite sure how he got there, but he is acutely aware of how fantastic Mr Miller’s advice was. Be bold. So, Spencer moves his hands from where they were hovering lightly on Katie’s waist, grabs her thighs and pulls her onto his lap. She breaks the kiss away, and looks at him in shock, he isn’t quite sure why until he resurfaces from his heightened state and realises, his forming erection is pushing into her.
“I’m sorry.” He tries to apologise, even though he’s just confessed how embarrassingly he is in love with her, he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Please don’t pretend to not know what I’m talking about.” He blushes, her pretend ignorance will only make this worse. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You haven’t.” He is shocked by her reply and looks up to meet her eyes. What he sees shocks him, the darkness in her eyes and the smirk across her face. This is a side to Katie he has never seen before. “Spencer?”
“Katie?”
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
“Ye-yes.” He stutters. What is happening.
“Have you ever thought of me?” She begins to lightly pull at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck, he lets out a whimper which makes all the blood in her body run to her heat. “Be honest.”
“Yes.”
“What did you think about?” She smiles when he doesn’t reply, he gives her a knowing look. “Do you want to know what I’ve thought about?”
At this point, Spencer is sure he’s being pranked. There’s no way Katie, who’s had one boyfriend or another for the last two years, has thought about him like this at all. “You’ve thought about it?”
“Specifically? I’ve thought about your hands.”
“My hands?” This is odd, this isn’t in any textbook Spencer had read. Katie leans down and presses a light kiss next to Spencer’s ear.
“Yes, your hands. Do you know how many times I’ve watched you turn pages of a book, or skim over pages with your fingers? Do you know how many times I’ve watched you play chess, or shuffled cards? Do you know how much that’s turned me on?” She whispers, in a voice he has never heard her use. The tent in his pants is getting almost unbearable, he’s throbbing at this point, and she hasn’t even touched him yet. His hands tighten their grip on her thighs, if he was conscious of this, he would have been worried about hurting her. He doesn’t reply. “Do you want to know what I have thought about your hands doing to me?”
He nods.
“I’ve thought about your hands running through my hair, holding my hips down and begging me to let you fuck me. I’ve thought about your hands inside of me, inside of me, inside my mouth.” She’s still whispering in his ear, so she can’t see how bites down on his lip to prevent the groan from escaping his lips. What he doesn’t know, is that his hips are about to buck upwards involuntarily.
“Would you like that baby?”
Spencer has no idea who is on his lap right now, but she looks like Katie, and she sounds like Katie, and he has never been so turned on in his life. This is everything he’s thought about alone at night, but better.
“Yes.” He nods and she pulls away to look at him. “Please.”
She smiles for a second before it drops from her face, and he worries he’s done something wrong. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She only now fully takes stock of the fact that Spencer is a virgin, and she worries that she’s said too much.
“God, more than anything.”
She smashes her lips back against his, no longer suppressing their desire, they both begin to devour one another. His hands have moved from her thighs to her ass, gaining confidence from the noises she makes as he roughly grabs her ass, he’s sure he’ll leave marks from his fingernails, but he doesn’t suppose she’ll mind. His cock is pushed into her hard now, she can feel the throbbing through her yoga pants, desperate for some friction she begins to rock her hips into him. The whimper that escapes Spencer’s lips is the only noise she could hear for the rest of his life; she’s so turned on that by now she doesn’t care about crossing any lines. She must have him.
He pulls away from the kiss, and Katie’s worried that this was too much. Maybe he doesn’t want to go that far tonight.
“Can I take your clothes off?” Be bold Spencer, be bold.
“Thought you’d never ask.” She smiles and he gingerly begins to take the hem of her top in his fingers, playing with it a little before pulling it over her head. Spencer is a teenage boy, he’s seen porn – it wasn’t like he was getting much action elsewhere. But now, God, now he’s so grateful for his eidetic memory as he takes in her breasts which are bare and free. Her nipples are hard, and he so desperately wants to take them in his mouth. Spencer looks to the girl on his lap for approval and she gives a small nod, reaching down to palm his clothed erection.
Spencer moans into her skin, his tongue swilling over her pebbled nipples, leaving little kisses over the peaks. His hands have moved up to her back, and she can feel the strap of his watch against her skin as he stretches out his hand over the base of her back. He’s pushing her closer towards him, nuzzling his face into her breasts, satisfied by the moans, and panting he can hear which tells him this feels good for her as well.
Katie moves face down to his neck, leaving small kisses from his ear to his Adam’s apple, with each one she can hear his breathing quicken and the strain in his pants get worse.
“Spencer.”
“Uh-huh?” He eyes show his disappointment at being pulled away from her breasts, he had been suckling on her nipples intently for what seemed like forever and given the choice, he would never have stopped.
“Do you want me to help with that?”
“God, please.” He gasps in relief; she laughs at his response. The awkwardness had begun to dissipate, and after all their worrying this felt like truly the most natural thing in the world, the giggles and all.
“Okay, I’m gonna take your pants off. Alright?”
“Only if you take yours off too.” He smirks, cocky bastard.
She stands and they shimmy the rest of their clothes off, left in only their underwear. Spencer lies back down on the couch, stretched out and propping his head up on a pillow. He really hopes she resumes her place on top of him, and grins when she does.
“What do you want?”
“I get to choose?”
“Anything for you.” She says, and begins to kiss down his chest, stopping when she can feel his breathing get faster when she reaches his naval.
“Fuck me, please.” He groans, “if you carry on like that I’ll finish too quickly.”
“Sure you’re okay with that? Not exactly the most romantic setting?” She looks up to glance around at her shitty apartment.
“As long as it’s you I really could not give a fuck.” This makes Katie laugh, Spencer never curses.
“Okay baby, okay.” She removes her underwear and Spencer can’t help but stare, he’s never seen a girl naked in person before. She removes his boxers and watches his cock spring free, now that was not something she had expected Spencer to be carrying around. He notices her staring, and his boldness withers, he becomes self-conscious again.
“Sorry, I know you’re probably used to better.”
“Spencer, you are more than fine. Trust me, much more.” She assures him, and he believes her. She wouldn’t lie to him, this gives him the boost of confidence to pull her body down, closer to him so their chests are aching against one another. She lines his head up her slit, letting her arousal coat him. Spencer has never felt anything like it, his groans cannot be muffled, and his hips are out of control, he needs her more than anything. She’s whispering in his ear praises that only make matters worse, he is putty in her hands, and he’s elated.
She stops teasing him and lowers herself down onto him, both of them gasp as he enters her. Katie is slow, trying to adjust to him – Jackson is definitely nowhere near as big as Spencer. Spencer, well, he’s trying not to cum immediately. He knew sex was good, there was no way people made such a big deal about it if it wasn’t, but he didn’t know it could be like this. And she hadn’t even moved yet.
“Katie,” he whimpers, barely forming the word. “I need you to move.”
“Or what?” She teases, she’s ready to start but was waiting for a sign of approval from her best friend that this was definitely okay.
“Katie, I will come right now if you don’t move. Please.” He begs, his whimpering, the begging. She’s never had to take control during sex before, and she likes it. She likes it because it’s Spencer and this isn’t pretend, he is this innocent and honest. She knows now just how far his worship of her goes, beyond friendship and academia, put the fact he is hers. Completely.
She rocks her hips back and forth, quickening the pace and slamming her hips down onto his. With every move, Spencer is vocal – in fact, he’s loud. His whimpers are the most gorgeous sound she’s ever heard, and she refuses to shut her eyes even for a moment in case she misses a second of how his face moves and contorts with each motion. One hand is grasping at the cushion behind his head, the other is pulling her into him by her back. Wanting every piece of her.
#spencer reid#spencer x reader#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#Spencer reid x oc#spencer reid fanfiction#Spencer reid one shot#Spencer reid blurb
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A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne
batfamily + oc insert
tw: none
wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!
welcome to bentley’s shop of irrational, dangerous, and stupid ideas! there’s only a sixty percent chance you’ll break both your legs :)
did you spy two chapters in a day? yes. yes you did.
part twenty-four
❝ THE GREAT ESCAPE ❞
SUNDAY — 5:44PM — DAY 99
BENTLEY VAGUELY REMEMBERED BEING WOKEN UP A MULTITUDE OF TIMES FOR MEDICINE, WATER, CRACKERS, AND THE LIKE. But he never really woke up until the golden evening sun was shining into his bedroom, and he was blissfully unaware of what time or day it was.
He felt better. His head wasn’t stuffed with cotton anymore. His stomach wasn’t hurting or spinning, but it was extremely, extremely empty. He wasn’t burning hot or freezing cold. He didn’t feel bad, per se, but he did feel like he could sleep for a couple thousand years and still wake up tired.
“Bentley,”
He flinched at the voice that quickly let him know he wasn’t alone in the room. Bruce was sitting near the right side of his bed with a book in one hand. The chair he was sitting in hadn’t been there before, and had probably been dragged in from someone else’s room. There was an empty one on the other side. Bruce smiled, and it looked like he hadn’t slept in a while.
He sat up straighter and put the book on Bentley’s nightstand. “Hey there, bud. How are you feeling?”
Bentley took a mental note of his whole body. Overall, he… felt like he really needed a shower. With a power washer. “Okay. Tired. Gross.”
Bruce chuckled. “That’s good. Your fever broke a while ago, and as of now you’re at a normal temperature with no meds.”
Bentley nodded slightly. “What time is it?”
“Five-forty-five on Sunday,”
Oh crap. Last thing he remembered, Damian found him before school on Friday. So his brain and body had been MIA for two full days?
And if Friday was day ninety-seven, then…
It was day ninety-nine.
Bentley had never wanted to curse so bad.
“Dick stayed in here the whole time, I just sent him off to get some sleep about an hour ago. The others were in and out as well,” Bruce smiled lightly. “And don’t tell anyone I told you, but Damian asked if he could stay home from school the morning he found you. He pouted the whole drive when I said no.”
Bentley smiled a little, and so did Bruce. Although one of them was a bit faker than the other.
“I’ll go have Alfred make you some soup, I’m sure you’re hungry. Is there anything else you need while I’m up?”
A miracle, maybe?
“No, thank you,” Is what Bentley said. Bruce stood up and stretched. The child smiled at him reassuringly, and Bruce continued out of the room and clicked the door shut behind him with a distant you're welcome.
Bentley’s smile promptly went away.
What was he supposed to do now? His father would come to get him from the Manor tomorrow and probably run over a bunch of Waynes while he was at it. And then it would be back to life at the Estate. The closet. The dark. The constant fear.
He didn’t want the Waynes to hate him. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want anything to happen, and he didn’t want his father to win.
He just wanted everything to stop.
He felt the familiar buzz and tingle of anxiety brewing inside of him, but he pushed it down. He couldn’t waste anymore time. He needed to do something, he needed to make a plan, because he, Bentley, was the only one that could change how this went.
Catch them off-guard, his father had said during training. Throw them off. Confuse them. Use your weaknesses as strengths.
Throw them off. What was the one thing his father had that he could use as leverage against the Waynes? They weren’t divided, that was Bentley’s abandoned job — they were a united family of superheroes. His father surely had to have a backup plan incase Bentley failed. But what was it? What was something that could get them all kneeling to him in one fatal blow?
Damian asked if he could stay home from school the morning he found you.
I did not think about how my behavior would affect you. I’m sorry.
Kid’s mine, go get your own.
While I do not require any help, your presence would be… agreeable.
Bruce ordered the one that matched Dick’s because he’s, like, your best friend.
I would never hate you. None of us would ever hate you.
You’re more important all of that, Bentley.
Oh, God.
It was him.
Bentley should have seen it before — he wasn’t just sent to live with the Wayne’s to do his father’s job. He was sent on purpose… so they’d care about him, so they’d call him one of their own, so his father could rip him away in exchange for whatever it was he wanted from the family. This had never been about Bentley being a good little sidekick. It had always been about manipulation, and Bentley was just the tool from the beginning. He’d been playing right into his father’s hand even while defying his orders.
Even though he failed, his father was going to use him to get to them.
Bentley snapped back into reality when the door opened, and Alfred came in with a little tray with soup, toast, and water. Bruce came in behind him.
He was going to be the reason the Waynes fell no matter what.
He chatted with Bruce as he ate, and his body was really happy for it the food, but subconsciously, he was a wreck. He was spiraling in every direction he could think of trying to fix this, to get around it, to avoid it, to ignore it, to stop it, anything. Every time it ended in chaos and hate, and every time it made his heart hurt worse than before.
“I think I’m going to take a shower,” He decided when he was finished with his food and hadn’t had any eel issues. Bruce’s blue eyes twinkled as he nodded.
“Alright. Would you like me to stay close by?”
“No, it’s okay,” Bentley replied, pulling the covers off of his legs, trying to make sure his hands weren’t shaking. “I’ll come downstairs when I’m done.”
“Okay. I’m sure the others will be excited to see you up and well. Just… don’t push yourself, okay? If you want to come down that’s great, but if you want to rest, you should,”
Bentley smiled and nodded and tried to make it not look strained.
Bruce stood up and retreated out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him for the second time, and Bentley’s smile fell. Ninety-nine days later and it was crunch-time, time for him to make some kind of game plan.
How do you foil a supervillain’s evil plot? How do you destroy their plans when you’re the tool they’re working with? When you’re being used as leverage?
Bentley had to imagine it. If someone was cutting the wires to an elevator with a pair of scissors, you’d just…
Take the tool away. Then they’re left with nothing. Bentley’s father couldn’t hold anything over the Wayne’s heads if he didn’t have anything to hold. If he didn’t have Bentley.
His father could get to him in the manor. Bentley didn’t doubt that. Going back to Whittaker Estate wasn’t an option. He needed to be away from his father. Out of his reach, his sway, his influence, gone.
He needed…
He needed to run away.
He’d been thinking about ways to get out of the Manor since day one, incase Damian ever decided he wanted to kill him. He already had a plan for this.
Step One: Make It Seem Like He Was Home.
He stood up on his (somewhat wobbly) legs and half staggered into his bathroom. He looked pretty much normal in the mirror, despite being a bit pale and having a red rats nest instead of hair. His legs felt a bit like noodles after laying for two days straight. He flipped the shower on and turned it all the way to scalding hot so it would steam up the glass, and brushed his hair a bit. The shower water would keep them from investigating — at least for a few minutes.
Step Two: Escape the Manor
Which was way, way easier said than done. He left his bathroom and made sure to lock it before he closed it; so no one could walk in and see the empty shower unless they jimmied it first — it bought time. Everything bought him time. And he needed time. Because as soon as someone realized he was gone, the Gotham streets would crawling with vigilantes on the lookout for a certain little redhead.
He walked over to the left window of the two that straddled his bed. At the bottom of the two story fall was a bush — the other window had nothing but grass. There was a screen but it didn’t seem like it would be very hard to break through.
He knew the Waynes weren’t stupid. They had security measures, but he didn’t know when they were on or off. The moment he opened a window it could set off an alarm, or notify Bruce directly, which would be disastrous. But he’d still have time before they figured out what room it was in. Unless it told them that, too — then he was kind of screwed.
He needed a way to close the window from the outside so it wouldn’t be wide open when they came to check on him, which posed a problem. All that sat outside the window was a two story fall. There wasn’t exactly a Bentley sized close-the-window-behind-you balcony for him to use. He’d come back to that later.
For now, he changed into a hoodie, jeans, and a big jacket, and locked his bedroom door just for good measure. To give himself more time.
Maybe if he could hold onto the windowsill while he jumped out, it would fall closed. Or if he could find a way to tie something on it, he could close it from the outside. Or he could attempt a Dick Grayson-class circus act and balance on the lip of the window and close it with his nose or something. God, this was so complicated. How did anyone ever sneak out of a house?
He’d already chewed through too much precious time. It was inevitable that someone would check on him in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. He zipped up Jason’s old red jacket and walked over to the window.
He was on the right side of the Manor. To get to the front, he had to go right when he got outside. Then across the extensive grounds and over the massive gate, all without getting seen by any ten or eleven detective inhabitants of the house. Or getting barked at by a dog. Easy peasy.
The windowsill did have a handle, though. A little hole for your fingers, to make it easy to pull down. Maybe his whole tie something to it idea wasn’t so terrible after all.
He’s got this.
He shook hands out by his sides. The more time he wasted, the less he had before someone realized he was gone, the less distance he could cover before they started looking.
He quietly shuffled to his wardrobe and pulled the bottom drawer open, which was full of shoes — all tennis shoes and one pair of rain boots. Old and new ones that had appeared. He grabbed all of the tennis shoes, one by one, and started jerking the laces out.
That took him five minutes. He anxiously watched the clock as he started tying them together, end to end, to make one, massive shoelace. That took him about five minutes, too.
Then he tested each of the knots by jerking on each one. They seemed to hold, at least enough to close an open window.
With heavy breaths and a small anxious shake to his hands, he tied it to the handle of the window with a double knot. Then turned it into a triple knot. Than a quadruple knot.
Time was ticking, almost fifteen minutes had been used since Bruce left.
Bentley sighed heavily and reached up toward the window latches. And he flicked them, suddenly and quickly like ripping a bandaid off, and waited. Nothing happened.
He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, asked himself if he really wanted to do it or if he just wanted to take a shower.
He needed to do it. For them.
He slid the window open, and 6:34pm marked the minute Bruce Wayne may have received a security breach text.
Bentley kicked it into high-gear, assuming that, in the worst case scenario, he had about five minutes to get his butt out the window before someone came knocking. Probably… a minute or two of buffer time for them to pick the doors he locked. Or less. They were detectives.
He shook his head to clear his brain and focused on the task at hand — going out a two story window without breaking any bones. He pressed his hands against the screen and the panel popped out, falling into the bushes below.
He swung his legs over the windowsill and dropped the rope of shoelaces out the window. It stopped about two feet from the ground, but that was fine, he could reach it. If he didn’t break his legs.
What was the best way to land a fall from a second story window? Obviously not his head. Probably not his back. Feet it was, then.
Time was ticking, so he held his breath…
And pushed himself out of the window.
For a split second, all he felt was air, and then he hit the ground. He tried his best to land in some semblance of a crouch, but the impact shot pain through both of his ankles and he had to bite his tongue to stop from making a noise.
Two minutes gone.
He pushed himself onto his feet with a pained wince and glanced around. No one seemed to be outside, at least on this side of the house, and the dogs weren’t out. The sky was growing dimmer and the sun would be setting soon. He needed to be long gone by then.
He grabbed the shoelace rope and jerked on it a few times to no avail. Then he kept jerking on it and kept jerking on it with growing desperation until he was practically using all his body weight, and the window shut with a loud bang.
Success. Even though it didn’t take a Sherlock-level detective to see a long rope of shoelaces hanging from the side of the manor, they’d be hard to see from the inside. At least for a moment.
So, ignoring the dull pain in his ankles, he pushed himself toward the front of the manor, sticking close to the walls and ducking under windows.
Oh my God, he was actually, really doing this right now.
He could see the massive gate. He could see the street beyond. If he could just get on the other side, he’d be home free.
No one was in the front yard. The cars were parked but none were inhabited. The dogs weren’t out. The fading sunlight gave him a slightly better chance of not being seen.
So he sucked it up, took a breath, and ran. Like his life depended on it. Like the Wayne’s lives depended on it, because they did.
He thudded to a stop when he made it to the gate and realized he was too small to climb it. Panic shot through him like a poison arrow, because he was standing right in front if the manor, where anyone could see him.
What the heck was he supposed to do now?
Just get over it, just get out.
He stuck his arm between two of the metal bars, then his head. Than a leg. Then he pushed with as much force as he could to get the rest of him through, and the thudded on the pavement.
On the other side of the gate.
Time was ticking. No, it was gone. He knew the route to the inner city of Gotham good enough, he’d seen it over and over in the car.
So, to save the Waynes, his friends, his new family…
He stood up, brushed himself off, and started running.
—
Dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💛
—
tag list!
@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod
#batboys#batfamily#batman#oc; bentley#oc; bentley whittaker#oc; the puppet master#oc; the puppeteer#oc; john whittaker#mb; a hundred days to become a wayne#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#barbara gordon#oracle#dick grayson#nightwing#jason todd#jason dc#dc jason todd#dc red hood#red robin#red hood dc#red hood#cassandra cain#orphan#tim drake#stephanie brown#spoiler#duke thomas#signal#damian wayne
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