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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

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Can’t help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you’re standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

“It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?” a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry.

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction. “It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

“She didn’t interrupt a thing,” he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

“Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,” he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

“Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.”

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn’t feel lonely anymore. 2.

It’s been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn’t left the bed. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn’t an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn’t leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn’t help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He’s only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He’s startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human’s silhouette — and then another few to realize that it’s you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

“They told me no one was allowed into your chambers,“ your hushed whisper burns his ear. “The silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. “I knew I had to find a way to come see you.”

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that’s still healing.

“Does it hurt?”

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won’t be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit.

“I will take his eye,” you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might’ve heard it wrong.

“...Whose eye?”

“Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours,” you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice quiet but firm. “The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed.”

“Well, maybe he is too old to think straight,” you retort. “You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail,” you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

“Are you sure I can’t take his eye?”

At that moment, he can’t stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it.

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can’t lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke’s eye isn’t worth the trouble.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince.

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid’s persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it’s you standing in front of him.

Aemond barely has time to register what’s going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can’t see it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly.”

“I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval,” he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

“While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers,” you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

“I am friendly enough!”

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you’re clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing”.

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you’re talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand.

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure. “Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn’t sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

“The gem compliments your eye very well,” you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

“We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is.”

“This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks,” you chide him lightly. “And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?”

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you’re too concentrated on something, and Aemond can’t help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface.

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glancing at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn’t seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone is counting). It’s not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn’t leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to King’s Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon’s birthday, but Aemond didn’t care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond’s feelings for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider her part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it’s all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days.

Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say. “It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you.

Aemond hesitates. “I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add, “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can’t hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can’t think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to her,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe she is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them. “You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him. “Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.” The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again.

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute.

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You are looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face.

Taken aback, you inquire. “You pity me?” He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can’t get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,” he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

“Yes, I remember it pretty well,” you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

“The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack,” there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. “Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

“Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories.”

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying.

“Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her,” the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

“Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in,” he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

“I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness,” he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

“When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine,” you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

“I think you actually enjoyed it,” you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

“I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you.”

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

“The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar,” he pauses, catching his breath. “You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you.”

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm’s length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you’re in, you look so beautiful, it’s mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence.

“Aemond, please don't give me false hope,” your heartbeat is too loud, you don’t hear your own voice. He does.

“I do not wish to marry you out of pity,” Aemond takes the last step. “I want you to be my wife because I am in love with you,” he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. “I’ve been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually,” his voice gets low. “For what feels like an eternity,” Aemond murmurs.

“Why haven’t you told me?” you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

“I was afraid you didn’t feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?” his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

“Tell me that I am wrong,” he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

“Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices,” you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were ten-and-three, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you is tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fans over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth. His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that’s to come.

author’s note: I’m sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I’m a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don’t want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, thank you for reading! 💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley’s song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there’s also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. 💞 my masterlist P.S. I’m also on AO3 (lol, who isn’t), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

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bananasofthorns · 3 months

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“He betrayed your trust and you aren’t more upset?" Helsknight scoffs. "Pathetic.” Wels rolls his eyes. “It’s a death game, Helsknight, that’s kind of the whole point. I should’ve seen this coming, honestly.” “You’re naive.” “Iskall’s my friend. It’s not naive to trust him.” “He broke that trust!” “Well, yes, and I plan to get him back for that someday, but also: it’s a death game. We all agreed to it. I’m not mad at him for killing me, I just wish he’d been a bit more upfront about it.” If he’d been more obvious about trying to kill Wels, then maybe Wels wouldn’t be dead, also. But Iskall’s whole goal was to kill him, so he can understand the deception. “You’re infuriating.” Wels shrugs. He generally tries not to be, but in this instance, he finds that he doesn’t mind. “Maybe so. Look, can we finish this later? I need to go get my stuff back from Iskall, and your presence would probably freak him out.”

you know when you get to that point of dealing with intrusive/self deprecating/etc thoughts that you're just like. "yeah okay. consider: you're stupid and wrong. also: go away, i'm busy"? that should be wels and hels

read on Ao3

#they should be worsties i think #welsknight #helsknight #hermitcraft season 10 #banana made a post #banana writes things #i have been getting back into hermitcraft. more specifically the -elsknights #this is part of a larger fic that asks:#what If wels had actually brought back hels for demise?#except it's more like. what if your evil doppelganger slash sentient intrusive thoughts was so annoying that you went #will you shut up and leave me alone if i let you kill some people for fun and games

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maxbruiser · 4 months

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I’m having one of those moments

#Me: dang I should really get back to writing my current fic #Also me: what if you DIDNT do that and instead made a comic about undertale shark sirens #Me: :O #Minimax

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wikiangela · 2 months

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tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @bidisasterbuckdiaz 💖

me impatiently waiting for tuesday to share a snippet bc im obsessed with bucktommy rn and after some editing im loving everything i've written in this fic so far and wanna share every word of it asap lmao

here's a bit more, and yes they are talking about the evan thing bc at first it bothered me so much, but it grew on me (with fics and some takes on it i saw and just the more i saw it and thought about it) and now im kinda loving it lol

prev snippet

___

“If you wanted me out of my shirt, you should’ve just said so.” he murmurs.

“I want you out of your shirt.” Buck says without hesitation, and Tommy releases a breathless, surprised laugh.

“Suddenly so forward.” he shakes his head, capturing Buck’s lips again. Well, Buck has been kind of shy and flustered with Tommy, but that’s not always how he is, not how he used to be.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Buck grins, and then, still a little hesitantly, places his palm over Tommy’s thigh where it rests over Buck’s knee. Tommy looks at him curiously, and Buck’s grin widens as he pulls his leg up and over his lap, getting Tommy to properly straddle him now, his shirt falling over his back again, as he releases a surprised gasp. “Now that’s better.” he adds, getting used to the unfamiliar weight, Tommy being bigger and heavier than Buck’s used to with his previous partners, obviously, but it- it feels good, right, almost comforting, Tommy’s steady and firm presence surrounding him now. Plus, it is kinda hot, too.

“Evan.” Tommy just says breathlessly, and Buck’s smile softens, one of his hands moving to the side of Tommy’s neck, just resting there.

“You know you’re one of the very few people who call me that?” he whispers, the mood shifting a bit from hot and impatient to soft and warm, and pleasant, and Buck really feels so comfortable with Tommy.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Tommy replies, settling more comfortably, wrapping his arms around Buck’s neck loosely, but his hands play with Buck’s hair lightly. He sits far enough on Buck’s lap that their crotches don’t touch, and Buck’s not sure if he’s happy about that. “Does it bother you?” he asks with a hint of worry.

“No, no, of course not.” Buck rushes to say. If it did, he’d say something. No, it doesn’t bother him. The opposite, in fact. “I actually-” he can’t help a small awed smile. “I think I like it.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Tommy tilts his head curiously, and he’s so cute, and Buck needs to kiss him. So he does. Because he can. And he can’t stop smiling.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend @hippolotamus

#tease tidbit tuesday #i keep rewatching the kiss and giggling and kicking my feet and omg what is happening lmao #i just need to write this and get it out of my system and then i'll be back to buddie i promise lmao #also the amount of times i typed eddie instead of tommy lmao my subconsciousness knows where my heart truly lies 🤣🤣#i wanna finish it before 7x05 tho so wish me luck lol #this is (so far) 3.6k of them just making out and talking lol #ngl it started as after their first date but now i'm wondering if i should change that or smth #but also who cares haha #fic snippet #wikiangela writes #my writing #my wips #911 fic #911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy post-date fic

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crybaby-bkg · 1 year

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Arranged marriage AU with Barbarian Bakugou who is so daunting to be around at first. He’s all gruff curses and broad shoulders and scarred cheeks and neck and jaw. He scowls constantly, stares at you while your parents auction you off like some show pig, but doesn’t say much to you besides a grunt of his name. You’re terrified, thinking that he’ll be cruel to you, that you’re being set up for a life full of unhappiness and terror and regret.

But he’s the exact opposite. Bakugou is gentle in ways a man of his size typically wouldn’t be, but he shrinks himself for you. Not in a way that diminishes his status as the newly appointed king, but to respect you, show you that you’re beside him instead of behind him.

He picks you berries on his hunts because he knows the smell of a fresh kill brings nausea to your stomach. You find him along with the other maidens and helpers around his village, sitting beside them, big fingers holding tiny little flowers that he weaves into a crown for you. When he sets it on your head, he purses his lips, mutters something under his breath in his language that you’re still not too familiar with, but sure it means something along the lines of pretty and soft.

And when he finds you bathing in the river only few have access to, he’s sweet the whole time. Doesn’t make a spectacle of you being naked, and is relieved when you don’t instantly cower when he wades his way over to you. You try not to stare at the clawed scars that decorate his pec and jaw when he stands above you, and it helps when he suddenly dumps water all over your head. He shushes you when you splutter, continues on with cupping his hands and letting the water run off of your hair and down your shoulders, scrubbing at your skin until your flesh squeaks. He doesn’t expect you to do the same for him, but he hums in satisfaction when you push him down a little lower so you can wash the crown of his head.

#I don’t think I’ve ever actually written a full blown barbarian bkg fic which should be a crime #bc there are so many good ideas for it #but I’ve been struggling with writing creatively so I will put this idea as a full fic on the back burner for now lol #in the drafts for another 8 months! ☝🏻#sorry I’m lying I’m about to write it rn aidsjdhdjf #anyway interaction has been so low and that doesn’t help with the low energy level when it comes to writing #I do it for myself but it’s a little sad when it feels like I’m talking to myself since I do that enough already lmfao #it’s the beginning of the semester tho so I GET IT bc I’m struggling to read too #this semester isn’t even all that hard but I’m so mentally checked out from school that everything is so much more complicated than need be #I just need a really long break to find myself #feels like I’ve been on go for a few months straight now #okay bye my stomach started cramping really bad which is a single to take my ass to bed lmfao #—new treat in the streets! 🍫#bakugou treats! 🍬

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the-ace-with-spades · 9 months

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An AU where Jake didn't go to USNA but got a scholarship for football at the same uni Bradley got a scholarship for baseball.

They're both part of NROTC but Bradley is a second-year midshipman and he's one of the very few midshipmen who are not mentoring anyone in the program dunno how nrotc works I'm guessing similar to our military youth programs, bear with me

He's instantly intrigued — Bradley seems to be the most unavailable person in the whole program, never really engaging for after-training outings or parties, never making small talk and never trying to even make connections that would help with networking once they were commissioned.

So Jake kind of observes from afar for the first few months and he realizes Bradley is exactly the same outside of NROTC too.

Despite the lack of engagement, every single instructor and coordinator from the program seems to know him. More so, most of them don't even comment on his lack of extracurricular engagement or mentorship, but even send him off for extra trainings that are typically only awarded for being exceptional.

They live in the same student building but on different floors. Bradley is an RA for his floor and the female-only floor above, something Jake only discovers when his own RA is kicked out and his heating problem is delegated to Bradley.

Bradley is also a TA (which is very unusual for a sophomore) for one of the physics professors — Jake is studying mechanical engineering and Bradley is doing aerospace engineering and he sometimes sees Bradley assisting, even if it's mostly for different majors.

Jake's fascination grows even more because he doesn't get it — Bradley is unavailable to anyone but he's also so nice. Most of the students in the dorm he's coordinating like him, which is not really something that happens with RAs, he's respected both by the midshipmen and their instructors and seniors, many of which keep on friendly jabs with him or extend invitations to outings despite Bradley's repeated refusals. He is incredibly nice to the actual few students who come for help from him as a TA, from what Jake heard, and he's got a good few girls crushing on him, some of which are pretty popular in the uni circles.

Despite that, he doesn't seem to have any friends. Jake doesn't see him at parties, or going outs, or study groups, or even of some midshipmen-organized extra trainings. It's like he's keeping everyone at arm's length.

Finally, he has an occasion to start something with Bradley when he goes downstairs to the mail room. Technically sorting the mail and putting it in the right boxes outside of the mail room is the porter's room but the porter seems to be there maybe four hours a week so usually they just break into the room and look for their own shit in the mess.

He goes downstairs and Bradley is sitting on the floor with a list of the students in the building and a stamp with red RETURN TO SENDER, sorting through piles and piles of mail.

"I didn't think it was part of your job."

"It's not," Bradley answers. "Someone has to do it, might as well be me. Seresin, right?"

Jake doesn't squeal but oh god, Bradley knows his name. "Yeah."

"Your parcel is in the ready pile," he says, pointing his thumb parcels near the door.

"You want some help?"

"You've got nothing better to do on a Friday night?"

He could've asked the same question. "I have three assignments I need to procrastinate on."

Bradley gives him a long look but finally says, "Fair enough."

They stay in silence and Jake doesn't know how to start a conversation. Bradley seems focused and aloof and just, once again, so unavailable.

The opportunity arises when he is going over the stack of parcels in the corner of the mail room.

"Your name is Bradshaw, right?"

"Yeah."

"Those are for you."

"They're not."

"I mean, there's no room number but it does say Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley is quiet for a minute but gets up from where he's been sitting on the floor and slowly walks to stand next to where the boxes are stacked on itself.

Without hesitation, he stamps both of them with RETURN TO SENDER.

"You aren't even going to check what's inside?"

He gets quiet again, looking at the stamp on top of the parcel far longer than needed, before he says, "I don't have any family left, whoever sent it isn't anyone I'd like to get anything from."

Jake bites down apologies — Bradley doesn't seem to be the type to need pity.

"It can't be returned to the post," Jake points out. "No return address."

Bradley sighs and takes out a pen from his pocket, leaning over the boxes.

He doesn't mean to snoop but he catches Bradley writing P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky in the addressee line and San Diego a couple lines lower. So obviously Bradley knew who it was from.

Some things change after that evening — Bradley answers his hi when they see each other at training or waves back when Jake sees him in the lecture hall or brings his mail straight to Jake's room and chats with him for a few minutes at his door.

But most things don't change — he still refuses to join any going outs, even if it's Jake asking him, still doesn't talk much to anyone, still refuses simple invitations to grab lunch together in the cafeteria or go to a movie later that week. Still seems to be using a Don't have time or If you don't need me, I'm going as frequent excuses. Still seems to be entirely unavailable to anyone who wants to catch him outside of his strictly obligatory settings.

He's talking about this with his mom, using the phone booth outside of their dorms, because he's never had trouble making friends with anyone (even if he admits he could make more than friends, with Bradley, eventually, maybe, wishful thinking aside) and his mom tells him, "He sounds really busy, baby, he probably doesn't have time for friends."

"How can you have no time for friends? It's college."

"Jakey, he isn't like you, he doesn't have any support from his family, he's probably struggling to stay afloat with the scholarships requirements and the college job and studying and military training on top of it."

"So what? There's no way to—be friends with him?"

"I think you'll have to fit into the free time in his schedule, baby. because that's the only kind he has."

It takes some time but he does realize that Bradley's time is truly limited. His days are packed tight, on top of what Jake already knew — the TA job, the RA job, the baseball scholarship and the NROTC training — he also works in the local garage one day a week. He literally has a few hours he can actually spend with someone during the day and Jake slowly tries to use them up.

Brings him coffee for the early morning walk-in tutoring he hosts at college, eats lunch with him when they have a training break, even as Bradley does his assigned reading and only half-pays attention to him, comes downstairs to the mail room every evening Bradley sorts through it, brings him cupcakes from the cafeteria on the lunch break between lectures, even though Bradley spends it alone in the professor's office, making lesson plans or marking papers. Visits him in the garage he works at and keeps on constant chatter as Bradley gets covered in black oil and stinks like fuel.

Slowly, he can see Bradley smiling when he sees Jake. Can see Bradley sharing his homemade divine lasagna and chicken soup made from scratch with Jake. Can see Bradley joining him in the gym, not just staying on the outside of the group. Can see Bradley chatting back as he continues to do what he's doing, no longer just letting Jake run his mouth.

There's a bit of a hiccup when Jake offers Bradley to join him on Christmas break in Texas — tells him they can drive if Bradley doesn't want to pay for plane tickets they can make a road trip of the thing and all. Only another call to his mom makes him aware that Bradley probably can't afford either and, as his mom doesn't hold back and points out Bradley won't react well if he offers to pay for it.

So instead, Jake stays for most of the Christmas break in the halls. Apparently, Bradley is organizing a small Chrismas dinner for anyone from the halls who is staying over (a total of seven people), so things get a bit busy — the spare time Bradley has is, well, spare. When he finally has the time, he is working in the garage or finishing his assignments — Jake sometimes forgets, with all the things Bradley does to stay afloat, that he's actually still a student — so he mostly trails behind him and chatters when he thinks it won't annoy Bradley too much.

Bradley offers to drive him to the airport. It's the first time he's offered to take a good chunk of his time and make it free by rescheduling things, just for Jake.

He even parks at the airport and walks him all the way to the security check line, not just leaves Jake in the drop-and-go area.

Jake gives him a small Christmas gift — a key chain with A4 Skyhawk he bought when he visited the aviation museum in Horsham with some of the other midshipmen. They both want to go into the aviation pipeline once graduated so it seems like something Bradley could like, even if it's a bit silly.

He wasn't sure, if Bradley would actually take it — he's been reluctant to take many things, every single lunch or coffee Jake got him had to be either repaid or covered by Bradley the next day.

But Bradley hugs him. Puts the key chain on his car keys ring.

When Jake comes back, he's expecting progress because, you know, Bradley's been warming up to him. Instead, Bradley seems to be dead on his feet, getting annoyed quicker than usually, going as far as telling Jake to 'keep quiet for a goddamn minute'. It all kind of becomes clear when he is car pooling with the guys for the NORTC training and sees Bradley, honest to god jogging the three miles from the halls to the training site, military backpack with his uniform and gear towering over his shoulder — it's five in the morning.

"You doing a new training regime or something? Running everywhere instead of driving like a normal human being?"

He doesn't look at Jake as he says, "The Bronco broke down."

"I mean, that car is older than you," Jake points out, trying to tiptoe around the issue and get Bradley to admit what the exact problem is — he never does, if you ask directly, Jake knows by now. It's like asking for help isn't in his nature.

"It's not safe to drive," he explains. "I can't brake in time anymore, the brakes are about to give out completely."

"Can't you fix it?"

"I need a new drum brake master cylinder," he says. When Jake stares at him, he adds, "It's gonna cost around two hundred bucks, which I don't have."

"I could lend you the money," he offers.

"I don't want your money," Bradley says, just like he thought he'd — taking any offered help from anyone isn't in his nature either.

So Jake tries to work around it — asks his dad and his uncles if there's anyone they know who could maybe give him the right master cylinder for free or at a very discounted price. When they finally find a guy who has a collection of spare parts for the early Broncos but no Broncos anymore and is willing to send the cylinder as long as someone pays for the postage, he writes down his number and promises his friend Bradley is going to call soon about that.

And thank the fucking god, Bradley accepts this kind of backhanded help.

Bradley fixes the Bronco on the hall's parking lot. He jogs from the garage with a borrowed jack lift strapped to his back, pops the car on it and the other one he already has in the trunk so the wheels are up, pops the tires off and pops the front mask up and gets his white tank and plaid shirt covered in grime. It's already dark by the time he takes the jacks away and sits behind the wheel.

Jake's spent the whole time uselessly chattering to him as he always does — he has absolutely no idea about cars — but he lets himself be waved into the passenger seat.

Bradley drives out of the parking lot, down the empty road to the campus and brakes so hard Jake has to hold himself up against the dashboard.

"Better than new," Bradley says and Jake's never seen him grinding as widely and as honestly as he is now.

He is sweaty and covered in oil and stinking a bit, but his curls are flopping on his forehead and the ratty mustache he's been growing lately is out of order and he's looking at Jake with those big brown cow eyes — he just can't not kiss him.

So he leans over the console and kisses the smile on his face.

The leap of faith pays of because Bradley keeps on kissing him — he pulls the hand brake on and lets both his hands settle on Jake's waist and things continue until Jake is being guided onto the backseat over the console and being kisses again and again, and Bradley's hands go lower and lower.

They get each other off and then go back to the halls. They don't talk about it but now any time they're alone — in the lecture hall, in the mail room, in Jake's or Bradley's room — he can just lean in and kiss him as much as he wants to and still get the brightest of smiles as a reward.

They're back in the mail room and maybe Jake's just spent twenty minutes trying to crawl up Bradley's lap (to no avail) when he notices — Bradley got another package, this time PLEASE AT LEAST LOOK THROUGH THE THINGS BEFORE SENDING IT BACK written in bold marker on top.

Bradley curtly tells him to just stamp it with RETURN TO SENDER. But he can't help himself — he gets his keys out and cuts through the tape on top, opening the giant box.

"Jake—"

He takes out the first thing that's on top of the pile inside — a stuffed goose the size of over half of Jake's torso. It's a bit grayed up and smells like dust but it's also so cute.

"That yours?"

Bradley gets up from where he's sitting so quick — a second and he's next to Jake, taking the plushie out of his hands. "Ducky—"

"Ducky? That's a goose, isn't it?"

Bradley is honest to god red in the face but doesn't let go of the goose, bringing it closer to his chest and it's freaking adorable. "I was two, I couldn't tell the difference."

"So," Jake says, feeling like he's defusing a bomb. "You still wanna send it back?"

"I—I don't know."

"Maybe—Maybe I could help with that," he offers. "If I know the details, or at least some of them."

It takes him a minute but when Bradley finally starts talking, everything just spills out of him. He tells Jake about his dad, and about his mom, and then about his other dad and pops. He doesn't get too into details but they come around back to his last year in high school and how his dad pilled his papers and they haven't talked since Bradley found out and left the house with a bag and his car and nothing else.

Jake says, "That's just stupid."

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows he's said the wrong thing even if it was honest — he can see in real-time as Bradley rolls back into himself, closing off in less than a minute and suddenly there's so much distance between them.

He angrily writes down the same P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky and San Diego address on top and chucks the goose plushie back inside.

"I guess I'm stupid then," he says quietly and a blink and he's out of the mail room. He's not answering when Jake knocks on his room door.

Jake doesn't have the heart to actually let that package go back to P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky, or Bradley's dad and pops. So he brings it into his room upstairs.

He doesn't mean to go over the things inside, not too much, but he thought he could at least grab the goose — Ducky — and give it a wash. When he reaches inside, there's a goddamn plushie of a Spitfire in there, its tag saying RAF Museum, London, and Jake can't help looking for more.

There are photos and polaroids, three people commonly on all of them with a baby Bradley. Old Hawaiian shirts, a leather jacket, knots of seashell jewelry, a few rolled-up posters, a whole notebook with handwritten recipes, birthday cards.

He doesn't look any further but instead takes the return address from the box and writes up a postcard to P.Mitchell & T. Kazansky saying he'll force Bradley to keep it all.

Problem is, Bradley isn't talking to him, no matter how hard he tries. He thought he'd be like that for a few weeks at the most and then forget but he's worse than he was before he and Jake met in the mail room for the first time — doesn't even say a word to him when Jake tries to start a conversation, he's gone so far as to change his complicated schedule completely so Jake can't see him outside of NROTC and his TA role.

He calls his mom again.

"Jakey, honey," his mom says, with a tone that suggests he's an idiot. "That boy bared his soul to you and you said his feelings were stupid."

#not finishing it sorry #they get back together and Jake forces him to talk to Mav and Ice after all but it takes like two years #(also he doesn't realize that T.Kazansky is the four star admiral Kazansky until he actually meets them on Thanksgiving)#this should be a 60k slow burn fic but i don't have enough energy #or time #sorry #i hated uni and i might be going back to it so im having the feelsTM #hangster #fic ideas #op #charlie writes

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puhpandas · 2 months

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"Bye bye, Tony Becker." GGY croons. Tony leans back in the chair, further and further from the smiling mask, but its useless. Soon, all Tony can see is the blinding blue light of GGYs eyes. It overtakes his vision. "It was fun watching you fail, but your time is up."

Tony only has time to open his mouth before something heavy is being shoved over his eyes.

Everything is thrown into darkness. All of his senses are muddled, desaturated and flat like GGY felt. It feels like Tony is looking at a fogged up mirror. Theres a static and ambience ricocheting through his ears and he feels like hes being split in two.

Theres a figure in the darkness, and it has rabbit ears.

WORMWOOD CHAPTER 1!!

#FINALLY!!!#3 REWRITES LATER!!#oh how hard it is to get back in practice after getting rusty #im so impatient i probably should have waited to post this but whatever #ggy #tony becker #my fics #wormwood #pandas writes #tarbrab #dr rabbit #gregory #tony #detective rabbit #beckory

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wackulart · 4 months

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there's somethin strange abt those boys......

god brother au sketches for funsies :]

#gonna stop promising that i'll like...... get back on this #BUT ILL UPDATE IT WHEN I UPDATE IT YKNOW #i do feel bad for bein like “oh im back on it!” and then just completely losin inspo #its just hard to present an au unless im doing a comic or something #maybe i should try writing out an ao3 fic or smth #God Brother AU #art #philip wittebane #the collector #the owl house #toh au #au

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bigboysteveharrington · 2 years

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Steve giving in and letting Dustin talk him into playing D&D with Eddie and his friends. Dustin helps him make his character beforehand but Steve doesn’t totally understand a lot of it so when they get there and Eddie asks what his alignment is, Steve doesn’t realize he’s asking about his character or what an alignment even is and he’s like “both I think”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and takes a deep breath and resists the urge to snap out I thought you said you prepared him for this, Henderson because he doesn’t want to scare Steve off five minutes in so instead he takes a second to calm himself and his eyes are closed and he’s focusing so hard on trying to keep himself from shouting but there’s still an edge to his voice as he lets his morbid curiosity get the best of him and asks “both of what?”

And Steve’s like “What do you mean? There’s only two options, isn’t there?”

And now Steve’s confused because everyone’s looking at him weird, but he’s heard of guys being into guys and obviously he’s heard of girls being into girls considering he’s best friends with Robin and he’s told her about him liking both and she never said that wasn’t allowed or that there was some other option? How do you like more than both? (Steve lives in Hawkins in the 80s so he still hasn’t found out about gender not being a this or that deal)

And now Steve’s less sure of himself so he asks “Why are you all looking at me like that? What option would there even be outside of girls and guys?”

And Eddie catches on first while everyone looks so confused, but it takes him a moment of just staring open-mouthed at Steve and he’s not even sure if he’s more surprised that Steve isn’t exclusively into women or that when he thought that was what Eddie was asking, he just announced it in front of the whole Hellfire Club before he manages to find the words to say, “I asked your alignment, not your orientation”

And Steve furrows his brow and tilts his head a little and his “oh” sounds more confused than anything so Eddie adds “your character’s alignment, Harrington” and Steve says “I don’t know what that is” and turns to Dustin for help because he made the character so he must know but Dustin’s just gaping at him so Steve asks “dude, what is it?” But Dustin’s still stuck on the fact that in all of their conversations about Steve’s love life that Steve never once mentioned being into guys so he asks “what the hell, Steve?”

And Steve has a moment of panic while he can’t tell if he’s in trouble for not remembering his character’s alignment or because Dustin has a problem with him liking both (which Robin has warned him could be a possibility if you tell the wrong person, but this is Henderson and he really didn’t think that after the bullshit they’ve been through so far that that would blow things up and he didn’t think it was all that risky bringing it up in a group that literally formed because the people in it are different than and don’t fit in with the average high school student and when he shares way more deadly secrets with the majority of them) but he finds out pretty fast that neither of those is what Dustin’s annoyed about when he glares at Steve and complains, “Come on, man. We’re best friends. How have you never brought this up before?”

And Steve just shrugs and says “it never came up” and Dustin says “oh, sure, it’s never come up but you tell Eddie just like that?” And Steve’s confused because he said it in front of all of them so it’s not like he wasn’t just as willing to have Henderson know or like he wouldn’t have told Henderson on his own if he’d had reason to, so Steve just says “he asked”

And Eddie raises his hands up in a show of innocence as he says “I definitely did not, but that’s… good to know” and Eddie’s never just casually thrown his sexuality out there because he’s well aware he would not win in a fight and he’s terrified of getting hate crimed but his friends are giving him looks like they’re wondering about it from the way he said it and how tense he suddenly went but even if no one is harassing Steve for liking guys, he’s not about to just throw his own orientation out there five seconds after finding out Steve likes guys just to make himself look desperate and have everyone know that it must have happened when he’d inevitably (in his mind) get rejected so he focuses back on the game and snaps his fingers petulantly as he asks “Henderson, what’s his alignment?”

#I am debating making a short (at least compared to my other one) fic around this #Of course with Eddie finding out that he would not get rejected #Also when Dustin’s like dude we’re best friends how have you not told me about this Eddie is sitting there like 😳😬 because he’s also not #telling Dustin but Dustin just doesn’t realize that there’s a reason queer people can’t just go around announcing it without risking their #safety #Honestly I should make a tag for things I’m going to go back and write a fic for possibly #It would make keeping track easier #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Dustin Henderson #Steddie #Stranger Things #ST4 #ST #Mine

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justastrugglinghotchocolate · 5 months

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Ya’ll I used to jokingly consider this, but nah, there is enough evidence in the book to suggest:

Henry ruins Dorian out of spite and jealousy towards Basil for moving on from him.

Let’s get right into this.

I went back into the book because I wanted to review the post I made about Henry and misogyny earlier. Besides the usual annoyance at Henry’s dumb stupid rant, I noticed this line:

“I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel.”

And then it hit me that Henry’s worst rants about women only come after the topic of marriage, but more specifically, commitment. Which then led to an even more interesting idea: I’m pretty sure Henry mostly uses ‘women’ as cover to complain about Basil and Basil’s ‘lack of commitment to him.’

I want to note that there’s a lot of interesting things in regards to Henry and his relationship with women that I’d love to go into, but this will focus solely on him and Basil.

Here’s what Henry says in his misogynistic ass rant after Sibyl dies. (This is from the 1891 ver):

“But [Sibyl] would have soon found out that you were absolutely indifferent to her. And when a woman finds that out about her husband, she either becomes dreadfully dowdy, or wears very smart bonnets that some other woman’s husband has to pay for.”

Basil is often considered ‘unfashionable’/‘dowdy’ by Henry’s standards. This is only further proven in what he says about Basil’s disappearance:

“Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art.”

But that isn’t all. The last part of that quote matches one to one to Henry’s claim about women (or Sibyl, specifically). Basil was not only ‘dull’, but his only ‘fashionable’ attribute, his art, grew ‘dowdy’ once he discovered Dorian’s indifference to him.

Henry also says this about women:

“Good resolutions are useless attempts to interfere with scientific laws. Their origin is pure vanity. Their result is absolutely nil.”

And later:

“But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over, they propose to continue it. If they were allowed their own way, every comedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in a farce. They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of art.”

Guess who makes resolutions regarding goodness? Basil, who refuses to believe that Dorian is nothing but a good, pure man.

“[Basil] could not bear the idea of reproaching [Dorian] any more. After all, his indifference was probably merely a mood that would pass away. There was so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble.”

Basil’s arc traditionally should have ended once Dorian rejects him. Between that chapter and the chapter where Basil dies, there is no mention of Basil in any form. By all means, Basil’s role in the story is over—and then he demands the ‘sixth act’ to confront Dorian.

And finally:

“Besides, nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner. Conscience makes egotists of us all. Yes; there is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not mentioned the most important one.”

“What is that, Harry?” said the lad listlessly.

“Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking some one else’s admirer when one loses one’s own.”

Now before I point out the obvious irony of Henry literally 'taking someone else's admirer' (henry actually has a lot in common with his 'criticisms' of women), I want to bring your attention to a key part we don’t discuss enough about in the book.

““Life has always poppies in her hands. Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment. It fills one with the terror of eternity. Well—would you believe it?—a week ago, at Lady Hampshire’s, I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future. I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel.”

So I’m gonna make an educated guess and say Henry is lying his ass off here. He did not have a ‘romance’ with a woman. He certainly did not get an emotional, romantic attachment with a ‘woman’. I feel comfortable saying this because 1) his general distaste for women literally points to this being bullshit and 2) a significant change that was made from the 1890 version of the book to the 1891 version.

This is the quote in 1890:

“I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as mourning for a romance that would not die.”

This is 1891:

“I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die.”

Well, well, well, who is the arti—It’s Basil. He’s literally talking about Basil here. AND GUESS WHAT VIOLETS MEAN IN VICTORIAN FLOWER LANGUAGE?

A couple of things actually, but the top three are:

‘Faithfulness, Modesty, and Love.’

Henry emotionally had been faithful to Basil. While I doubt he was monogamous in anyway, Basil held a special place that no else would ever have. Not even Dorian.

And this brings me back to the quote that originally sent me down this rabbit hole:

“I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel.”

In the 1890 version, it says:

“I had buried my romance in a bed of poppies.”

Poppies are known to mean death and would have fit perfectly if Henry was saying he felt nothing for the relationship, but what does asphodel mean?

‘Love Beyond The Grave’, ‘Remembered Beyond The Tomb’ and sometimes, ‘My regrets follow you to the grave’.

(NOTE: please keep in mind floriography could mean certain things based on the color and the type of flowers. That being said, considering Wilde described the shit out of every setting he wrote, the lack of detail about the flowers suggest the most broad meaning is meant to be taken.)

Henry isn't over Basil. He couldn't kill the love, so he buried it and took Dorian as a consolation and revenge. He will never be able to get over Basil until Basil or himself dies.

BOY DO I HAVE GOOD NEWS FOR HENRY/s

#long post #this is an opinion and a theory.#the picture of dorian gray #basil hallward #dorian gray #henry wotton #book theory #been workshopping this for some time #this post is very long and i didn't even get to go into my favorite example ;-;#anyways shout out to TheMissingMask on Ao3 for writing the fanfic that first got me into this theory. Their fanfic Eros is really good!!#You should read it #honestly read all their tpodg fics #does this make me an english major? uh oh #if someone else has made this kind of post already my bad lol #use this as supplemental or even confirmation #i will be back with the more headcanon-y part that relates to the first chapter alone. but for now i've got a chapter to finish ;)

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amugoffandoms · 4 months

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Woo!! It's time! It's time for the gift exchange!! (@milgram-valentines-exchange) Happy Valentine's Day to @mrcrazyvillainvillainn!! I had such a fun time writing your gift!! Truly gotta let Mahiru and Mikoto be silly and happy! I really hope you enjoy!! I've never written a ship fic for any of the prisoners, so I guess we ball?? (Also, let me know if you want the art without the titles!!) JIAWODJIAOW Anyways, here we go! Please enjoy...

do i dare love you? (i have always loved you)

Is this selfish? This isn’t too much, is it? I just love you so much. How long would this dream go on? I guess we can just say that this feeling is happiness~ Do you really think you know what love is? You don’t have to keep it in and hide it away. "I love you", the reason why I'm here This is how "I" will love "you"! --- "To be honest, Mikoto Kayano didn't know what to expect." "Mahiru Shiina fixes the flowers in a bouquet and hands it off to the customer." (Mikoto Kayano and Mahiru Shiina love each other in the smallest of moments.)

To be honest, Mikoto Kayano didn't know what to expect. Getting a mysterious call out of the blue? Well, ah… That’s sure to scare him.

No, no, everything’s fine. No need to resort to anything crazy.

Mikoto exhales and splashes some water on his face. Turning off the sink, he looks up at the mirror and flashes himself a smile.

…ah, okay, that was a little embarrassing. Mikoto laughs to himself as he walks out of the bathroom and back to his desk.

He drums his pen against his desk as he moves his mouse around to turn his computer back on. Placing his head on his hand, he scrolls through emails and emails.

…

It’s just the same emails. “Fix that.” “I liked the original design better; can you do it again?” “The deadline moved. Make sure your designs are ready for–”

Ping!

Mikoto blinks and glances over at his phone.

New Message: make sure to come soon!

Right, yeah. Mikoto has to head back home soon. Okay, he should really get a start on his work so he can head home early!

Sitting straight, Mikoto pulls up some designs on his computer and grabs the small stack of papers.

With one more glance at the ideas given, Mikoto starts designing.

Mikoto leans back in his chair and slumps back. The design… is done! This is where Mikoto pretends to hear a soft achievement noise. Ding!

Anyways, Mikoto exhales and looks at the papers on his desk. The design is nice! One of his finest designs, actually. He flips through the papers and nods to himself, happy with the result.

In the corner of his eye, he notices his boss and quickly waves him down. The second his boss looks at him with a small smile, Mikoto realizes his desk is an absolute mess.

Ack–! Why did he leave his energy drink can here? Oh, these papers need to be in a folder–

Right after Mikoto finishes rearranging his desk, his boss finally makes it to his desk.

“Chief! I finished the design you wanted me to make!” Mikoto hands the stack of designs with a small smile. His boss blinks, clearly surprised at how fast Mikoto finished the designs. He flips through the small stack, checking each design.

His serious expression seriously doesn’t tell me anything… Mikoto internally groans.

“Good job, Kayano.” His boss places the stack underneath his arm. “These will probably suffice for our client. Do you have other designs that need to be completed?” “Ah, um–” Mikoto looks around at his desk. He doesn’t think he does. “...No…?’

“Oh?” His boss asks, surprised for some reason. Hey, Mikoto knows how to finish his work if it isn’t being constantly changed! “Ah… Alright then… I guess you…” His boss looks around the office. “...Actually, it looks like everyone is preoccupied.”

Mikoto shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Please don’t give him more work. Please don’t give him more work.

His boss lifts his wrist and looks at his watch. “Hm… It’s seven. Earlier than I would like to let anyone out.”

Oh, please. Please. Please-!!

His boss sighs. “Alright, Kayano. You may head home early today. I’m only doing this because you’ve got most of your work under control and I unfortunately don’t want to bother your coworkers with giving you their work.” You would anyway, but you seem to be in good spirits today…? “Thank you, Chief!” Mikoto smiles. “Don’t expect this often from me. Have a good night.” His boss turns right around and walks away, going over to a different cubicle. Mikoto watches as his boss walks away and pumps his fist.

Woo! I’m free! Mikoto grins to himself as he packs his stuff into his bag. Standing up, he shuts his computer off and looks around. To be honest, he feels really bad for his coworkers…

But, he promised to get home as soon as he could. Mikoto glances at his phone, specifically that one notification.

make sure to come soon!

He doesn’t want to break his promise. So, with a quiet exhale, he walks to the elevator and clicks the button to go down. The elevator doors open.

He walks in.

…

“…oh, I forgot to press the button to the lobby–” Mikoto mumbles as he quickly clicks the button down.

Mikoto hears the key click in the lock and turns the doorknob. As he walks into his apartment, the lights are all out.

“I could’ve sworn I left the lights on…?” Mikoto mumbles as he takes the key out of the lock and shrugs off his coat. He slowly walks through his apartment, fumbling for the lights.

His hands land on the switch and Mikoto flips the lights on–

Arms wrap around Mikoto’s neck. Something makes Mikoto twitch. “Surprise~!”

Mikoto jumps.

Mahiru laughs above him as Mikoto lies on the ground, dazed. “Ma– Mappi???” Someone relaxes.

“Hehe~ Did I scare you?” Mahiru giggles, absolutely beaming. “A… a little, yeah!” Mikoto dusts himself off. “I think I hit my head… Ow…”

Mahiru’s laughter immediately stops. “Ah– did I hurt you? Hey, let me see–” Mahiru quickly kneels on the floor and scoots next to Mikoto. “No, no. I’m okay, I promise– Please don’t worry!” Mikoto gives a weak smile. “Let me just look, okay?” Mahiru says, with a soft voice filled with concern. (Her voice is always soft, but these moments, they're just a little bit more comforting. Maybe it’s Mikoto being too detail-oriented recently, but he’s decided to notice the smaller things.)

Mikoto swallows. “Okay.”

She looks at the back of Mikoto’s head, checking for any bumps or bruises. The moment is silent as Mahiru looks all over Mikoto’s head for anything and Mikoto sits there, quiet.

To be honest, he doesn’t want to say anything. He doesn’t want to ruin it. It’s… those small moments, right? When you know someone loves you. Those are the moments you want to hold in your hands because they’re so fuzzy and warm.

“I love you,” Mikoto whispers.

There’s a pause. Mahiru stops checking his hair. Her hands are still. She’s not moving.

Did he ruin it? Maybe he should apologize and–

“I love you, too,” Mahiru whispers back.

And, they’re back to silence.

Mahiru scoots back in front of him. “You’re okay. Nothing too bad, okay?”

She says it with a voice that makes him know she cares: a warm, loving voice. It makes him want to cry just because she loves him.

And, he loves her. And, he'll make sure she knows that.

“Okay,” Mahiru says, her voice oddly strained. Is… is she about to cry? “Um… Okay, I made some food for you. I– I know you don’t usually like big gestures and I really shouldn’t push myself, but… I think you deserve it, okay?” “Okay.” Mikoto nods. He stands up and gives a hand to Mahiru, who takes it with a small giggle. “Hehe, this feels like a fairy tale~” She hums.

“Hey, can I…?” “Eh? Do what?” Mahiru asks, with a tilted head. “I mean, whatever it is, I don’t mind~”

Mikoto places a small kiss on Mahiru’s cheek. “Ah–!! Hey–! Oh–” She’s red, blushing from ear to ear.

Mikoto laughs. “That was payback.” “Oh, you-!!” Mahiru has an angry look, but her smile says otherwise. “Fine, fine! That’s fair. Okay, come on, let’s eat~ I don’t want our food to be cold!” Mahiru grabs Mikoto’s hand in hers, trying to drag him over to the table.

Her hands are warm. Mahiru quickly pauses as she looks at Mikoto and their hands. “Is everything okay…?” Mikoto nods.

“Everything’s perfect.”

Mahiru Shiina fixes the flowers in a bouquet and hands it off to the customer. “Have a good afternoon~” She grins.

As the shopkeeper’s bell rings to show the customer has left, Mahiru sighs and melts into the counter. “Shiina…? Are you alright?” One of her coworkers asks as they walk over. Mahiru mumbles something into the counter. “Uh…” They laugh. “Okay, I’m guessing you’re not okay. Um…”

Mahiru keeps her head on the counter as she hears her coworker’s footsteps slowly disappear.

Mahiru sighs. She’s really tired… She wasn’t able to get any sleep last night. She doesn’t even know why. She just couldn’t sleep. A lady like her should be getting her beauty sleep!

Oh, well… She’ll just have to brave the storm!

Mahiru quickly lifts her head up and instantly gets hit with a fit of dizziness.

Ah, that was a bad idea…

As Mahiru quickly blinks away the dizziness, she notices her boss and coworker walking over.

“I wasn’t doing anything–! I mean, I was doing something, I promise!” Mahiru awkwardly laughs as she waves her hands around defensively. Her boss shakes her head. “Mahiru, you can head home. We don’t expect that many people today, and you seem tired. I can cover whatever is left of your shift.” “Ah, but–” “I’ll pay you for your full shift, alright? Just head home.” “Okay.” Mahiru hesitantly nods and takes off her apron as she heads to the break room to grab her stuff.

When Mahiru returns with her belongings, her coworker hands her a small bouquet with lilyturf, dahlias, forget-me-nots, and red lilies.

“I know you’ve enjoyed taking these kinds of flowers home recently, so here you are!” As Mahiru opens her mouth to speak, her coworker continues, “And, don’t worry about the charge. I already paid for it.” Mahiru blinks, taking the bouquet and looking at it. “Ah… Oh. Thank you.” Mahiru smiles at the flowers.

“Of course! Now, rest well!”

Mahiru smiles at her coworker before leaving the store, the shopkeeper’s bell ringing behind her.

Mahiru hums as she enters her apartment and quickly walks over to her table near the couch, grabbing water from the kitchen. She places her bag on the floor next to the couch.

Sitting on the couch, she pours some water into a glass vase. Then, she places her bouquet in the vase.

Mahiru looks at the bouquet for a few moments, admiring each flower.

When she yawns, she finally lowers her head on a pillow and slowly…

Closes…

Her eyes…

There’s a smell of food cooking in the air. She feels warm.

Mahiru slowly blinks the sleepiness from her eyes and looks around.

…why is there a blanket on her…? Is someone cooking?

Confused, she pushes herself upright and glances at the kitchen.

Mikoto.

Mikoto is cooking.

“Huh…?” Mahiru blurts out, sleepy and confused. Mikoto looks over at Mahiru. “Oh, hey! You’re awake! Sorry, I tried calling you, but you were asleep. Um, so I let myself in with the spare key!”

Mahiru glances at her bag on the floor and quickly picks it up. Opening it, she searches for her phone. When she finally finds it, she turns it on and sees the notifications flood her lock screen.

3 Missed Calls

10 New Messages:

hey, mappi ^^!!

i’m off from work so i’m coming to visit!

Ah wait you might be at work

Go back to work!!

i think your door is locked??

hello?

mappi??

i’m letting myself in, ok?

oh dear where’s your key

found it!! Coming in now :D

Mahiru rambles as she stares at the notifications, “Ah– I didn’t realize you were calling. I’m so sorry, please forgive me–”

“Hey, hey. It’s all good!” Mikoto smiles. “You were tired, so I let you sleep. I grabbed a blanket from your closet. Hope that’s okay!”

Mahiru nods and sits there for a moment, not sure what to do.

She glances over at the table, spotting the bouquet. She looks at Mikoto, who has a smile on his face as he tries to cook some soup.

She knows why she likes getting these flowers.

They remind her of Mikoto.

They remind her of how much she loves him.

She loves him.

“Hey, let me help you, okay~?” Mahiru sings as she hops up and skips over to the kitchen. “No, I’m okay. I can cook, see?” Mahiru looks at the small pot Mikoto is using to cook soup.

It’s… hm… not the best soup…?

“Just let me help you, alright?” “Alright, alright.” Mikoto, stepping back, raises his hands. “Show me what you want to do.”

Mahiru quickly slides in front of Mikoto and glances at the pot. "Can you wrap your arms around me?"

"Eh–?" Mikoto coughs in shock. "Yeah, yeah– Um…"

Mikoto quickly wraps her arms around Mahiru and looks over her shoulder as he tries to stir.

“Mhm~” Mahiru hums. “You’re stirring a little too harshly. Relax, okay?” “Alright.” Mikoto slowly stirs the soup. “Still too tense. Okay, hold on.” Mahiru places her hands on his. “Okay, now… We’ll do this together, okay?”

Mikoto is quiet. Mahiru takes that as his yes.

Mahiru, with Mikoto’s hands in hers, slowly stirs the soup. She murmurs some small compliments.

Mahiru lets go of his hands and smiles. “See, you’re doing it now!” Mikoto breathes a sigh of relief. “Is it better? Honestly, I really couldn’t tell the difference.” “Hmm… Well, I guess there really isn’t.” Mahiru shrugs. “But, I think the amount of quiet, slow care you put into something will show itself." She's made herself learn that love can be soft and strong. Ever since her last boyfriend and she broke up on... amicable terms, she's tried being better. For love, and for who she loves. “I see.” “...I know it really doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.” Mahiru shakes her head and slides out from in front of Mikoto.

“No, no. It makes sense, I promise.” Mikoto looks over at Mahiru with a smile. “It shows that you care.”

Mahiru smiles back.

After a few moments with Mahiru helping Mikoto cook, they finally eat together at the table.

“Mappi?” Mikoto fidgets with his spoon. “Hmm?” Mahiru hums, food in her mouth. “Thank you.”

Mahiru blinks and just nods. “Y-yeah, of course…!”

Ah– That was so embarrassing…! Not at all lady-like! I should’ve just…!!

“I really don’t cook often, so that was really helpful. Haha…” Mikoto rubs his neck with a smile. “I mean, I do cook! It’s just… noodles and stuff.” “Well, now you know how to cook one more thing!” Mahiru smiles.

“Yeah.” Mikoto looks at Mahiru with a loving smile on his face.

His smile is so sweet. He even tries to do stuff he’s never done before for me! Ack… My heart can’t take it–!!

I love you.

Mikoto stares at Mahiru before laughing.

“E-eh?? What did I do??” “Nothing, nothing. I love you, too.” Mikoto grins.

…she said that out loud…

Mahiru is instantly embarrassed. She feels warm again, but she’s not wearing a blanket. “Oh… Ah–” “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s sort of cute, I think…?” Mikoto rubs his neck. “Ah– If you say so…!!”

The two of them continue eating when Mikoto suddenly speaks up again. “Hey, did you mean to make you help me feel like one of those scenes from a movie…?” “E-eh?? No, no, wait– Ah. I really didn’t, I swear!!” Mahiru frantically shakes her head. Mikoto blinks, seeming to realize Mahiru is a little panicked. “Hey, no! I thought it was sweet–!”

Mahiru awkwardly laughs. “I’m glad you do… Um… Maybe I was subconsciously inspired by something…?”

“That’s okay.” Mikoto shrugs. “Everything you do is sweet.”

Mahiru beams.

“If it’s for you, I’ll make sure it’s worth everything.”

#mug writes #mug draws #milgram #milgram project #mikoto kayano #kayano mikoto #mahiru shiina #shiina mahiru #milgram fanfic #milgramvalentine's2024 #milgram valentine's exchange #we're going to have some afterward notes so let's see uhh #the notes are more detailed on ao3 so you can also check int out there lol #i wanted to have small references to what their crimes were #so you can see John pop in for a moment because he believed Mikoto was about to get attacked but once John realized it was Mahiru he relaxe #I wanted Mahiru and her boyfriend to break up amicably because their relationship is really crucial to Mahiru's character #I think actually beans' break-up fic they wrote was REALLY good and was what I was thinking about when I wrote that #I wanna say that Mahiru and Mikoto are both trying to get better at the things they messed up at #They should go to therapy actually /j #I wrote this before Mikoto's interrogation came out so that marriage question came flying back at me #he probably hasn't accumulated a “track record” yet to make his own business but i'd say mahiru might get him to quit early and go work #elsewhere because of how much his job is putting him through #Mahiru checking Mikoto's hair was supposed to be Mahiru carrying Mikoto to the couch but I didn't know how to write it without making it #awkward so I'm sorry wome #Looking back on it I think I realized that the lines that end both sides of the fic kinda...#go straight back to MILGRAM but trying to be better?#Everything's perfect - Mikoto said his life was fine; that he had done nothing wrong (An unconscious lie)#Here you have Mikoto actually believing he's doing okay; that he's fine and everything is okay #And while work is a hassle at least there's some aspect of his life that he connects to #If it's for you I'll make sure it's worth everything. - Mahiru wants to love perfectly she wants to love because it's the reason she elives

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