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#like for fic writing n stuff

lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

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.

”Y/N 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.

It's been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn't left the bed once. 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 bare 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 glaring 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's 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 the 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 sympathy 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 Y/N 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 Y/N,” 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 Y/N 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're 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.

“Y/N, 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'm 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 thirteen, 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 tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fanning 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, I hope this was bearable, 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) 💞 my masterlist 🎵 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. 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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shoezuki · 2 months

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Sampo has taken him to dozens of planets at this point, massive ships the size of celestial bodies and burnt out stars that have turned lush with discolored plant life over billions of years. Massive, writhing metropolitans and quaint, warm planets with people who gawked at their appearance. He's seen massive astral leviathans' open maws that span galaxies and ingest stars, phantom ships made of wood and bone slice through shimmering fogs. Planets composed of intertwined living beings, made of twisting and layered plant matter, places where the stars speak low sharp words and dance over his closed eyelids and make him dizzy.

But he hasn't take Gepard to his home planet.

Gepard assumed it was inevitable; he had known a while before Sampo had taken him off Jarilo-IV that Sampo wasn't from Belobog. He'd suspected it but been unsure long before Sampo mended him back to health. It was a partially spoken truth now, while Sampo divulged more information about every aspect of the universe to him.

"When are we going to your home planet?" Gepard had asked, openly, one night they spent on a waterlogged planet with specks of land, watching as the ocean jumped up and strange aquatic creatures swam through thick air.

Sampo had scoffed, Gepard watching him stand and look out over the horizon with his arms crossed. "My home planet? Please, no need to go to that lump of rock! Trust me, it's the worst planet out here. I've walked on gas giants and burning sun's that were better than that place."

"You came from it," Gepard said softly, maybe thinking Sampo would understand why there's something clinging on the inner walls of his heart that make him want to see where Sampo came from so bad. "It can't be that horrible then, right?"

Sampo doesn't speak, but he shakes his head. "Do you wanna go out? Do you think we could swim in the water... sky... thing?" He grins and Gepard let's him change the topic, content to follow Sampo.

He doesn't talk about his planet without Gepard pushing him. He doesn't talk much of anything about where he came from, how he grew up, why he apparently spent years jumping across planets long before he ended up in Belobog. Gepard asks, sometimes, when he feels maybe he can coax a response from Sampo. But he always deflects, gives vague or contradictory answers, or only responds with tame non-answers.

Sampo acts as usual; he talks constantly, about little things or memories or stuff he wants to show Gepard. When he's not talking, he's humming, tapping his fingers against the glass control panels of the ship, kicking his foot absentmindedly against his chair with a constant metallic thunkthunkthunkthunk. He always grins wide when he looks at Gepard, sometimes grabbing Gepard by his face and pressing kisses against every inch of skin so rapidly it's almost overwhelming.

Sampo talks to Gepard when he thinks he's asleep. Gepard, every time, pretends not to listen.

"I don't want to take you back."

Their bed is small, more like a cot made for one person. Gepard had offered it to Sampo the first time they'd investigated their stolen ship but Sampo had just laughed and pulled Gepard to lay with him. Every night Sampo holds Gepard, arms locked around him and keeping his head pressed to Sampo's chest, or his own body weight draped over Gepard like a weighted blanket.

Right now, he hooks his chin over Gepard's shoulder, running fingers through his blonde hair, one hand over his side. Sampo's hand ghosts over his ribs, burning through Gepard's shirt, directly over the rough, newly healed scar.

He's quiet, so painfully quiet, and gentle, with his touch faint and entirely for Sampo's own gain. Gepard nearly drifted off, but now he keeps his eyes closed, his breathing soft, hoping Sampo doesn't feel how his heart jumps when Sampo brushes a finger over the shell of his ear.

"I don't want to take you back," he repeats softly, his words dark and low with the confession, "I'd keep you in this... stupid little ship, in the stars with me forever. If I could. If you wanted. Only if you wanted."

Gepard does want it: to keep waking up to nothing but stars and Sampo's sleeping face or exhausted grin; to listen to Sampo drawl on about all the stars and planets and strange celestial lifeforms they pass with knowledge that feels bigger than Sampo himself; to be dragged from planet to planet, Sampo's hand searing new marks into his own palm and finger prints, his excitement electric and tangible.

Gepard does, deep down, want it. He wants Sampo to himself, too. To give himself entirely to Sampo. But a part of him will always be in Belebog. They both know it.

Sampo is quiet, the next morning. More than quiet--he's subdued, faraway, as if locked inside himself. Even when Sampo isn't speaking he's loud, his presence always drawing and begging for Gepard's attention. Now he seems small, curled in on himself in the piloting seat.

"Sampo?" It feels rude, wrong to break the silence with his own voice, but Gepard does. "Are you okay?" Sampo turns his head, barely, to look at Gepard where he stands against the wall. He shoots him just a smile, but says nothing. It makes more concern coil and simmer deep in his gut.

Gepard has no clue where they are now, in the vast impossibility of space. The universe is foreign to him, but Sampo treats it like an old friend, like he knows it intimately. Gepard has let Sampo take the reigns, guide them to wherever he wants to go. It had stressed him out, at first, the lack of knowing, the unfamiliarity of new worlds. But now more than ever, he's content just being with Sampo. He'd go with him anywhere.

Where they are now, though, feels different. The outside space is dark, swirling celestial bodies of black and grey and bloody reds and browns the colour of bruises. The terrain is made up of fragments of comets, rocks, shattered formations and debris. The debris varies from collections of dust to meteors larger than their ship, jagged and broken apart like Qlipoth had shattered them open with his hammer. Gepard sees the metallic glint of wrecked ships, metal shards embedded in rock and flayed among it all.

He hates this place. Gepard doesn't know if it's him, or if it's some sort of cosmic effect, but there's a heaviness pressing on him. Maybe it's something real, tangible, or maybe it's the way Sampo navigates the wreckages and meteors with a stiff ease in his shoulders.

Gepard walks up to him, quiet behind him. He wants to touch Sampo, feel the heat of him against his palms, but for some reason he feels like he can't. Instead he places his hands on the back of Sampo's seat, his fingers barely brushing against Sampo's back.

"Sampo, are you okay? If... if something is the matter, you can tell me--"

"What d'ya think?"

Gepard blinks, finding himself shocked by the weight of Sampo's gaze suddenly on him. His eyes always have a dull quality to them, the shine underneath his pupils gone save for when Gepard whispers against his skin or presses his lips across his face. Now, though, his eyes are dark, all consuming. They absorb the light and snuff it out, making the small ship feel cold. "I... what?"

"This place," Sampo hums, turning back to focus on navigating. His smile is a practised, stiff line. "It's lovely, isn't it? Or do you find it creepy? Messy? I mean, it's a lot of destruction. There's a good reason no one but ol' Sampo comes around here anymore."

Gepard frowns, feeling like Sampo's having a conversation he's not a part of. "What do you mean? What is this place?"

"There used to be a planet," he pauses, making a noise in the back of his throat, "actually, a few planets. Small ones. They'd been under the IPC's control for a looonnng time. Until they abandoned 'em after clearing all the minerals out and leaving the planets hollow."

His mouth is dry, his fingers digging into the back of Sampo's seat harshly. Sampo's voice is light, conversational, like he's explaining one of the allegedly 'boring and lame' planets they'd passed before. "The planets were basically just rocks, before the IPC made them into mining projects and shipped a bunch of people to work away there. They left the workers when the mines dried up.

"Rivet Town looks almost exactly like the mining planets did, back then." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. "The people who'd scrounged up enough money took off, taking everything they could with them. Mine supervisors left behind their working families and their kids and went back with the IPC while the planets starved slowly."

The ship slows, between asteroids and at the edge of a vast, whirling expanse of debris. It swirls around out and around a burning, black body of... of something, within the center of a shattered planet light years away from them. Gepard stares, and the sight of it burns into his eyes.

"D'you know how Masked Fools recruit people?" Sampo says it with a giggle, not waiting for a response. "Sometimes they just whisk kids away from happy families before they can remember anything. Sometimes people go to the taverns themselves and try and choke down the drinks, but that's not often. Most often, though, the Fools find hopeless, little planets and whisk away orphans seconds before... boom! Planet gone! You never forget the popping noise a collapsing, imploding planet makes."

He cackles, laughter loud and echoing off the metal walls. Gepard's hands are shaking, staring out into the ruined abyss, the remnants of planets and lives and a past Gepard can never, ever see or understand. His eyes burn and his heart aches.

Gepard lunges forward, pressing himself harshly against the chair as he wraps his arms around Sampo. He circles his chest and presses his face into the curve of his neck, holding him so tightly as if Gepard is trying to squeeze Sampo into his very being. Sampo's laughter becomes broken, wet and frantic when Gepard holds him tightly. He shakes under Gepard's tight grip, the shine of tears of Sampo's face as he continues to stare into ruined space. Sampo bites his lip, hard, to stifle himself.

"Come home," Gepard exhales, pressing his words into Sampo's skin, "come home with me. After-- after all this. I don't care how long we're out here or where else we go but please. Please come home with me. I'll copy the key to my apartment. I have enough room in my closet for you. We can--I can buy you wigs and dresses and whatever the fuck you want. Anything."

"Why?" It's a whisper, barely a question. Sampo lifts his hand and grasps the forearm pressed over his chest. "Why?"

"Because Natasha probably still needs your help, and Seele will gut me if you don't return, and Hook without a doubt misses you, and Serval pretends she hates you but still asks me how you are when you text me, and I'm in love with you." He sucks in a breath; saying it always makes him feel airy, lightheaded. "I'm in love with you, and I want you there. Why else?"

There's silence for some moments too long, Sampo still shaky in Gepard's grip. He starts to worry that he's suffocating, that it's too much, but when he tries to pull away Sampo grabs his arms and holds them there, stopping him from moving.

"... but my criminal record's gone," Sampo whines, the faintest bit of humour in his voice. He tilts his head back, eyes still red rimmed when he looks up at Gepard with a searching smile. Gepard, having spent so long with him at this point, knows what he's really saying.

"I'm sure you'll record will be as long as it was before in no time." Gepard grumbles, wrinkling his nose and letting his conflicted feelings into his tone. But he lets it drop away with a sigh, shaking his head and feeling fond. "... as long as you try not to give my Guards too much grief, Koski."

Sampo doesn't say anything, but when he smiles and laughs, when he pokes into Gepard's cheek and says that the Silvermane Captain better not go soft on him, his eyes are shining.

#sampard #honkai star rail #sampo koski #gepard landau #in the bones #this mini fic has been half done in my drafts n i been unsure on finishing it cuz its quite. obvious. how this relates to other. stuff #but i want to write more minifics of these idiots going around the universe n shit #anyways i hc that sampo became so fond of jarilo and belobog cuz he had a childhood a lot like the kids in the underworld #before he became a fool

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urdepressedslut · 1 year

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Stray ❝part six❞

♡ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader/The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You run into someone from the past, no way this can be real? Bucky finds you in distress, and is there to comfort you.

♡ Warnings: dark themes, angst, abuse, nightmares, fluff, language

Part 7

After sitting on the porch steps until the sun went down, you headed inside without another word to Bucky. Desperately needing your brain to shut off, no more thinking.

But you were never that lucky.

You stayed curled up on your bed, having a staring contest with the ceiling until your body didn’t have the strength to keep your eyes open anymore. You wish it didn’t have to be so difficult, but you didn’t complain, and welcomed the darkness.

For the first time, your mind wasn’t wandering, wasn’t latching onto horrifying memories to drown itself in. Instead, you found nothing, like a blank page in a notebook. Nothing pulled your focus, only the never ending emptiness. Although unsettling, you welcomed the view immediately.

Until a loud scream from downstairs frazzled you from your thoughtless sleep.

Sitting up in bed, your body felt tingly, skin erupting in goosebumps in fear. It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake in the middle of the night. The strange, eerie noises weren’t new to you either, but something about the way that scream sounded, it had been too clear.

In nothing but your silk nightgown, you padded down the stairs, in random curiosity. You should’ve been more scared, but perhaps this was becoming your normal.

The house was dark, and deadly silent. Only the sound of the creaking steps could be heard.

“(Y/n)…”

A voice whispered from downstairs, making you clench your fists anxiously, forcing yourself to swallow through the tightness of your throat.

You couldn’t distinguish the voice, it didn’t sound like Bucky. The thought of someone breaking into the house added more panic, and you couldn’t help your mind to wonder first…

Was Bucky okay?

Making it all the way down the stairs, you were met with darkness, the house looking vacant. Bucky was nowhere to be seen, his makeshift bed on the living room couch, gone.

“Bucky?” You whispered out, hoping he was around somewhere.

Your chest suddenly ached, the familiar burn returning in your nose. The thought worked it’s way to the front of your mind.

Did he leave me?

You couldn’t help the tears that trailed down your cheeks, the betrayal physically trying to rip your heart from your chest. Soon you were quietly sobbing, gripping the couch cushions from behind, occasionally clenching your eyes shut, opening them in hopes he’d appear. The threat of an intruder was forgotten, the aching pain of being abandoned consuming you.

“Sweetie?”

The horrifyingly familiar voice spoke from behind you, your whole body freezing, limbs stiff in disbelief. With a tear stained face, you turned slowly, your fear blown orbs meeting with a pair of eyes you thought you’d never see again.

“M-mommy?” You gasped out, the name sour rolling off your tongue.

Mother’s eyes held warmth, tenderness. Her smile was inviting and infectious, but you knew better. She outstretched her arms, opening them, silently inviting you to her embrace. You couldn’t help the flinch when she had moved her arms, remembering her touch too well.

Mother’s happy facade slipped the slightest bit, falling back into a fake smile when she caught your flinch.

“Come here daughter.” She cooed, her voice smooth like honey, mocking the warmth a true Mother would have.

Your feet were frozen in place, body shaking slightly in panic. She couldn’t be back, no.

“This isn’t real.” You muttered to yourself, digging your fingernails into your palm, cutting the delicate skin in attempt to wake from this nightmare.

“Oh honey… It’s very real. I’m real. I’m not dead.” She told you genuinely.

Tears unknowingly began to fall from your eyes again, overwhelmed with the image of your Mother standing before you.

“Yo- you’re d-dead.,” You mumbled to yourself, You’re dead.” You continued to repeat, hoping that you’d somehow believe yourself.

“That’s all you want you little bitch! Wishing I was dead! You’re a waste of space you fucking demon!” Mother spat venomously, the false warmth and comfort gone like it had never existed.

Flinching back from her words, you couldn’t help but be ashamed at the normalcy of it all. This was your normal, or it used to be that is.

“Not real… You’re not real.” You repeated, heart pounding, your ears ringing in alert.

Your mumbling only made her angrier, though she hadn’t made a move towards you yet, the suspense of when she’d pounce was killing you.

“You’ll see soon enough how real I am… When I’m cutting off your chest while you’re still awake! Then you’ll see how real I fucking am!” Mother screamed, her threat chilling, bile collecting in your throat.

“No…” You whimpered out, ”You’re not—”

“You finish that and I will shatter your fucking spine, you hear me?” Mother warned, taking slow steps towards you.

Feeling the bile threatening to shoot up, you keep your lips sealed. Trembling, tears painting your cheeks, neck and chest.

“I just wanted to see my daughter,” She spoke softly suddenly, “But I can see you’ve been bad. You know what has to happen, right honey?”

A sob escaped your lips, the scars littering your back aching from just the thought of what was to come.

“Now, turn around. Take your dress off.” She demanded.

Almost instinctively, you had turned around with swaying steps, sliding your gown off, and kneeled to the floor. The tears were trailing faster down your cheeks now, in defeat. The sound of her whip was much like an old friend, familiar. You had been in this position many, many times.

Except before, you didn’t know of Bucky. Now as you prepared to count your slashes, you let your mind wander to Bucky. In a way, you felt comforted, despite him leaving you. The warmth you felt in your chest when you thought of him could not be avoided.

“Stupid girl.” Mother hissed, before letting her whip fly. The last thing you felt, was the agonizing burn on your back, before everything went black.

Bucky was staring into the wall, in hopes his brain would eventually shut off. His mind was everywhere, paranoia mixed with restlessness. Joy mixed with confusion. And then there was you.

He fought to keep himself from drowning in the sea that was you. He couldn’t help but feel some sort of attachment to you. You cared for him at his worst, even after getting to know him little, you offered your home. You were sweet and gentle, only ever doing what would make him comfortable, happy. You actually saw him as a person.

He didn’t know how long you’d let him stay until you got annoyed of his presence. But he’d stay as long as you allowed him to, until you sent him away. Even then, he’d want to stay. But if you told him to go, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He felt like he owed his entire life to you.

A startling thud against the window had him jumping from his spot, standing up defensively. His heartbeat was threatening to burst out of his chest, his pupils blown in fear. Afraid that they finally found him.

With cautious steps, he made his way to the window, the one that now had a small crack in it. With furrowed brows, and was going to head outside to investigate further.

Until he heard you screaming from upstairs.

Immediately, adrenaline was pumping through his veins. His body on high alert because you were in distress. Without hesitation, he forgot about the thud against the window, sprinting up the stairs.

Your screams were getting louder the closer he got to your room, which he’d never been in. Now that he was close to your door, he could hear the pure terror and desperation in your screams, causing his heart to ache.

Deciding that now wasn’t the time to be polite, he swung the door open, only to physically feel his heart break at the sight in front of him.

You were on the floor in front of your bed, nightgown pooling around you, leaving you bare. Thrashing around, with your eyes clenched shut, you were holding onto the edge of the bed frame, exposing your scarred back to him.

Bucky quickly sensed that you were having a nightmare, and without thinking, he ran to you, squatting down to your level.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)?!” Bucky spoke desperately, letting his hands cradle your face, attempting to wipe away the tears.

“It’s just a nightmare! I’m here with you!” He spoke loudly, listening to your screams die down, while your sobbing quieted.

Suddenly, you opened your eyes with a pained gasp, eyes wide, pupils blown in panic. You looked around in paranoia, the nightmare still fresh on your mind.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay.” Bucky told you softly, his gentle voice soothing you.

Your eyes locked on his and you felt your entire body relax, despite being so vulnerable, nude in front of him. You wanted nothing more than to feel safe and protected in his arms.

“Bucky…” You whimpered, voice hoarse and desperate.

Bucky’s eyes softened at your weak voice, his hands releasing your face, hovering by his sides.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. Nothing is gonna hurt you.” He told you genuinely, his voice quiet and gentle, making sure he didn’t scare you.

Without another thought, you launched yourself in his arms. Burying yourself into his chest, snuggling your face in the crook of his neck. You kept your arms cradled to your chest, attempting to mold yourself into him.

Bucky’s eyes widened at your sudden movements, his body freezing up at the feel of your body so tightly snug against his. He could feel your body trembling, he could feel your erratic breath, warm against his neck.

You felt his body go rigid from your touch, and immediately you felt guilty. You knew he didn’t like to be touched, but you desperately needed a comforting hold. You needed his touch.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s rigid body was only because he was so shocked. The feeling of your body finally pressed against him. The warmth melting into his skin from yours. Your skin feeling as soft as he had imagined it would be. He couldn’t believe he’d been near you for months, without being able to feel your gentle touch. Now that he’s gotten a taste, he didn’t want to go without it. He was starved of touch, and you were suddenly filling the void.

Snapping out of his shock, he let his palms gently touch your textured back, feeling you lean into his touch immediately. He slowly pulled you tighter against him, fully wrapping his arms around you, caging you in his protective embrace.

You sighed into his neck, feeling his arms curl around you just how you needed them to be.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, (Y/n).” Bucky whispered, internally promising to be your protector.

This time, tears of relief and happiness started to run from your eyes. The moisture rubbing against his neck, only making him hold you tighter. You had never felt so protected, in his arms you felt invincible.

You tried to speak, but couldn’t find the energy to move your mouth. Your entire body exhausted. Instead, you shifted slightly, snuggling comfortably in his arms, letting your eyes shut.

You were quickly falling into a peaceful slumber, knowing you had someone to protect you while you were away.

Bucky’s heart swelled at your fragile, curled up form in his lap. Moving himself slowly, he leaned back up against the bed, holding you in his arms.

And before you were completely out, you heard the faintest whisper.

“My guardian angel.”

A/N: omg they touched 🥹 pls let me know if you’re missing from the taglist, and i’ll add you! how’d you like this part?? love feedback! 🤍

TAGLIST: @tortilla-maria1 @lizslibrary @sebastians-love @xiaosluvr @navs-bhat @ragingrainbowshipl @delicatecapnerd @buckybarnesandmarvel @viperchick47 @hunitweet @vixi-3303 @buckyb-stan @happinessinthebeing @mirtaqueen

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gettiregretti · 8 months

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I think once we start seeing fictional characters as equal to real people who are oppressed or perpetuate oppression, then we place a morality onus on creators that isn’t their responsibility. “You have to write it like this or your work is problematic. And you have done something ethically wrong by writing it or enjoying engaging with it. You have to get better.”

I disagree entirely.

Kallus isn’t real. The Lasat aren’t real. If you want to make him a sweet little baby boy who never did anything wrong in his life, that’s completely fine. If you want to make the villain of his story (Saw and his merc) completely irredeemable, that’s also fine. The empathy we extend to living victims of oppression is not appropriate when using a character and can be put aside; they are a dead thing. They are a stick of wood or a Barbie doll. They have not oppressed nor been oppressed.

If you hate reading that, that’s also okay. If you don’t like that interpretation of Kallus or the merc, that��s fine. We all encounter things in fics we find distasteful or upsetting. It’s completely fine to think it’s a case of bad writing or misunderstanding a character. It’s okay to leave the fic and never read the author again.

But it’s not okay to suggest there was anything ethically dubious about that fic in a public forum. If you want something more in line with your preferences, you need to write it yourself or commission someone you trust to write it the way you want it to be written. Suggesting anyone has to create in only one way requires more control than you have over other people. No one should have that control. And I’d argue that guilting people into complying is worse than writing the most depraved little story man can think of.

Creators have no responsibility to create things in ways that cater to you, or don’t upset you. You have to be in control of what you consume and your reactions to that yourself. It’s a you thing. You can’t grasp for a morality club to beat people with just because something makes you uncomfortable or disappointed.

And, because ‘say you like waffles must mean you hate pancakes’ is the rule of the internet: This is not the same as discussion about how, for example, Black characters are treated in fandom, or cases where marginalised creators are ignored. This is about the fictional content you are creating/consuming for fun not being capable of telegraphing or morphing your personal morals.

Brought to you mostly by people yelling at me on Twitter and people having a discussion on how to write this pairing here on tumblr. My respect to you all but I deeply disagree with these takes. Example below.

#kalluzeb #alexsandr kallus #fandom wank #it always makes me uncomfortable to post stuff like this but I think it’s important #no one is a bad person for the fic they write #or the ships they enjoy #or the k i n k s they have #I do think you’re all very chill but please think about it a little more critically #except the people on Twitter they were Not Chill #TheEthicsOfKallus

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idesireelysian · 1 year

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discovering their gun kink

how i think you would discover tokrev men’s gun kinks

characters: sanzu, naoto, mikey

wordcount: 0.6k

cw/tw: gn!reader, guns, gun kink, pet names (once; baby), slight talk of kink, suggestive but not nsfw, you can interpret this as a romantic relationship qpr fwbs etc tried to keep it ambigous but what’s established is that you’re fucking

☆—`sanzu

he’s known about his gun kink for a while now

has even lived out the fantasy with someone before you two started fucking

so he’s wanted to tell you for a while

he’s not insecure or embarassed about it at all but communication is kind of hard for him, which is why he thought he could maybe just hint at it. which didn’t work at all

one day, the two of you are on a party hosted by the haitani brothers

somehow, you end up playing truth or dare, and sanzu gets asked what one of his biggest kinks is

he admits that he has a gun kink

later, when you’re in private, you tell him that you’re surprised but certainly open to try it out sometime

he grabs your face and hungrily kisses you right then & there.

☆—`naoto

he hasn’t discovered his gun kink yet.

as a detective, he has his own gun. he decides to show it to you one day because you seemed interested

he lets you hold it and all that, but he unloaded it beforehand for safety

so you jokingly point it at him, slowly drawing closer

naoto doesn’t react at all, which is why you decide to only stop walking right in front of him. you lay a hand on his nape and hold the gun to his temple

so close to him, you can see a blush spread from his cheeks all the way up to his ears

he stays still, no signs of moving away. ,,y/n, can you put the gun down, please?’’, he asks, voice raspy

you do as you’re told, lowering your hand with the gun. ,,why’s that, though? i can see that you’re enjoying it, you know...’’

,,i just- i didn’t expect to get turned on by being held at gunpoint’’, he admits, not looking into your eyes

,,oh? if you want to, we can explore your newly discovered kink’’, you offer and smile

his blush gets even darker, and he nods. ,,please put it back on my temple’’, he asks shyly

,,of course, baby.’’ you shove him against the nearest wall and comply.

☆—`mikey

i feel like he straight up tells you tbh

you’re coming home after work, and see him standing in the kitchen, reaching for his beloved taiyaki

obviously, you decide to sneak up on him and hug him from behind. it earns you a surprised yelp

,,y/n! now you made me drop my food..’’, he complains, but doesn’t make any attempts to leave your grasp and pick it up again

,,yeah, yeah, love you too.’’ you roll your eyes, though can’t help to smile

mikey leans back into your touch, tilting his head back to look at your face

you gently kiss his forehead

,,more..?’’, he asks, and grins

you like kissing him anyway, so you comply, spinning him around to face you first

he immediately leans in to kiss your lips, trying not to smile too much to ruin it

after a few kisses, it starts to get more and more heated, and mikey’s clinging to your body, trying to find naked skin

you shove him against the counter, taiyaki long forgotten

,,y/n? could we.. try something a little more extreme today, maybe?’’, he asks against your lips

,,like what, exactly?’’

,,well, you know. i have a sort of gun kink..’’, he admits, looking right into your eyes. he isn’t ashamed of it

,,hm... sure, if you’d like that!’’ you smile, and cup his cheeks, pulling him into another passionate kiss.

#tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #mikey #sano manjiro #sanzu haruchiyo #naoto tachibana #mikey x reader #mikey x you #sanzu x reader #sanzu x you #naoto x reader #naoto x you #tw gun #have the most self indulgent hcs i could possibly write #remind me to never directly write on tumlr in mobile again bc you can’t copy shit so i had to count the words by hand.#suddenly got hyperfixated on writing x reader stuff instead of normal fics like i usually do ??#idk. might post more in a few days might not idfk how my adhd brain works #i really wanna write smth for kisaki rn tho i just need a good idea

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savvylittlecoxswain · 21 days

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AU where Bobby got super sick his Freshman year after he’d already been accepted into the rowing team, but before his first race. And he had to get surgery and had some complications, because of course he does, and he’s forced to drop out that semester and quit the rowing team because he’s in the hospital for so long. He comes back the next semester but isn’t able to rejoin the rowing team because they’re mid season.

The next year he’s so freaking determined to make the team and he does. Then the year after that, technically his junior year, he makes Varsity. Then there’s the issues and he gets kicked off, but brought back a several weeks into his “senior” year to cox the JV crew and they win gold at the Olympics. He’s left feeling super accomplished and everyone is super excited for him because like like what a way to go out for your last year. But sike, he’s actually gotta stick around for another semester because he’s behind on some credits he missed his freshman year, not that anyone on the crew knows that. And he would love to stay with his boys for another year, even if he’s gotta stay for another full year and even if they lose every race (which Bobby knows for a fact they won’t), it’ll be worth it.

He’s a pre-law student so he looks through the every handbook and rulebook for athletics and academics and he discovers that technically he’s still eligible since he didn’t even get to compete in a single race his freshman year. So he gathers his extensive medical records and stuff and goes to Ulbrickson. He keeps it a secret because he doesn’t want to get the other boys’ hopes up, and the other coaches have to agree to it or something.

TLDR; Bobby gets redshirted his Freshman year due to medical reasons (ie dropped out of school and rowing for his first semester) and finds a way to get approved for a “fifth” year

#1930s are a hard time period to write (and research) for the record #like idk how collegiate rules worked in the 1930s for this kind of stuff lmao #the boys in the boat #bobby moch #boys in the boat #boys n boats #bobby and his boys #bobby moch is stubborn af #Fic ideas #yall can always write any of these things I come up with for the record like please do #and tag me so I can read them becuase I WANT TO READ THEM 😭#botched appendectomy #<- my tag for anything related to Bobby’s medical history #someone write this please 🙏

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atopvisenyashill · 3 months

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@fantasynovel no fr bc i feel like asoiaf is almost infamous for having terrible fanfic. like there wasn’t a huge boom in fic and fandom for asoiaf until like 2011-2012 ish (essentially right as the show took off - i started reading the series bc fucking everyone online was talking about it, and i think s2 had just started airing when I picked it up), so even though the fandom is quite old, there really wasn’t people writing huge amounts of fic until the show started bc at that point, like,, there’s no point in trying to contain fanfiction when the fandom is that big lmao.

but there’s PLENTY of huge fandoms that started around the same time or AFTER that have better fic and a decade + is plenty of time for everyone to get their act together so idk why asoiaf fic just sucks 😭😭 it feels like most of it is written by casual show watchers even tho i would say like 99% of fanfic writers are NOT going to be casual fans, but you just get really simplistic readings of the characters, or really ooc stuff, or just like. badly written porn lmao.

#and i will try anything like i was in a fandom that for some reason wrote predominantly y/n fic #but i read a lot of it bc you know what some of it was really interesting and clearly well researched #so it’s not even me being like ‘ugh fic is just sex’ i am LOOKING for weird sex stuff half the time aksjsj #it’s so bizarre a series with such great writing has gif that’s just like. here’s my au where robb marries margaery and everything is fine.#or like a bajillion modern no magic aus. enough ENOUGH

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crybaby-bkg · 1 year

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I went to a wedding like a month ago and started a wip about a wedding meet cute with Bakugou that was supposed to be like 2-3k words but never finished it and I’m so mad bc it should be easy but school was so hard and UGH

but!!!!! it made me think about being friends with benefits with Bakugou and having just finished sleeping with him, rolling off of his chest as you both lay beside each other trying to catch your breaths. and you ask him if he’d like to go to to your friends wedding with you next weekend? that he doesn’t have to come, but you’d like to have some arm candy with you?

and at first, he doesn’t answer. gets kind of fidgety, scratches at his chest, murmurs under his breath that he’s not sure, he might have a shift, he’ll have to check later. and how can you not take that as a rejection? as a show of only being good enough for private time spent together, but unable to be seen together, publicly, as his date?

so you gather your things, quickly and embarrassed, stutter out that you were just joking, just fucking around and playing. you’re scurrying out of his apartment before he can stop you despite his pleading to hear him out.

and do you ignore him the entire weekend of the wedding? how couldn’t you, when you show up, dateless, with the memory of only being filled sexually but never emotionally? and does Bakugou regret it the entire time? how couldn’t he, when he was only tongue tied and nervous because he couldn’t believe the person he’s been in love with for months wanted to do more than just lie underneath him?

#is this angst?#possibly……#I’m so frikin sleepy I can’t this took me like half an hour to write bc I kept closing my eyes #I also feel poopy bc I think I have ANOTHER fucking ear infection UGH!!!!!!!#everything sucks #anyway I’m gonna finish that damn wedding meet cute if it’s the last thing I do #I’ve been thinking about posting long fics on here and like making banners n stuff for it #but for EVERY fic???? omg that’s so much work #okay bye I wanna read a little before I crash #—new treat in the streets! 🍫#bakugou treats! 🍬

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dipplinduo · 23 days

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If there's anything you could change about your writing setup what would it be?

Probably not at ALL what you're expecting me to answer with but I'd want better air circulation and more humidity in my current room LOL. I have dry eye syndrome and it gets bad sometimes. Literally my biggest obstacle to writing if not my regular life schedule, which is often obstacle #2.

I already do a bunch of things to protect my eyes and I'd honestly advise anyone to do the same if they notice any issues with their own/these are just good things to do for your eyes in general, as needed:

- Sleep enough. No like really, try to get 8 - 8 1/2 hours as often as you can. Sleep is no joke.

- Adjust the night light on your screen so it filters out a good chunk of the blue light.

- Lower the brightness and use dark modes on literally everything. Get extensions for things that don't have them, especially if you're using them a lot (e.g. I use google docs for fic writing)

- Use a humidifier (in drier environments; this literally ensures that I don't wake up with reddened eyes)

- Use a warm compress on your eyes for 5 mins or so (emphasis on warm, not hot. Be verryyyyy careful not to burn yourself, the skin around your eyes is sensitive).

- Eye gellllllll & eyedrops omg. I'd be dead without them.

- Oh and since I decided to unsolicitedly run in this direction with the ask pls wear sunglasses and sunscreen!!! Even in the winter!!

All of the above is legit a godsent for me and it's been my default for everything since before fic writing because yes I do need all that maintenance for my sensitive lil blue orbs. And they still give me problems anyways. 🙄

The orb part was a joke btw

#i am particularly shot down today from dry eye syndrome so excuse the health lecture LMAO #it just SUCKS and I want y'all to protect your eyes!!#especially important to think about if youre in front of a screen a lot #i was fine until like a few years ago #but it may also be the climate of where i am atm influencing stuff too #I will move soon back near AGUA and HUMIDITY so hopefully that fixes things~ LMFAO #asks #fun questions #oh i should say otherwise #my “writing setup” is my tiny lil laptop on a laptop stand and a dream #WHICH BTW USE LAPTOP STANDS TO HELP W UR POSTURE & NECK PAIN TRUST ME BRO #laptop stands are elite and i use mine everywhere #but yeah #my n key broke again and i think thats funny #this 👌 close to typing up fics on my phone while lying down #i can do it (no really i can)#that was a taylor pun btw #okay im done with the rambling now #can you tell im procrastinating?

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amoneki-ramblings · 4 months

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do you think Kaneki might ever pray with Amon despite not being catholic himself? just sitting next to him mumbling the words as Amon says it because he likes to be with him

speaking of religion, what kind of faith do you think Kaneki would follow? I hc him as an atheist :) but I think you know more about religions than me lol

Ooooh I like that idea a lot actually I have So Many Thoughts (rubs my hands together evilly)

also this is just a sidenote but i know some people may be uncomfortable with religious discussion, so if you are lmk and i'll start tagging it :thumbsup:

I feel like Amon hasn't prayed often in a while because of his past, but he may still on occasion (habit), and may get back into it properly after actually resolving his feelings with the past. At some point Kaneki starts to join him. He doesn't really know How to pray, especially since a lot of it is in silence, he probably just kneels there and silently wishes for safety for his friends, for strength and resolve, etc. etc. But when Amon starts saying the actual prayers out loud he just sits there and listens to him quietly saying them.

At some point Kaneki might start mumbling along with them, he vaguely knows some of the prayers and has heard Amon say them enough times to kind of know them. Amon is surprised when Kaneki starts doing that and it just kind of becomes a Thing; maybe Kaneki even asks Amon to tell him how to pray the rosary since he sees him doing that often as well (when the rosary is prayed in a group there's one person leading that says the first half of most of the prayers and the rest say the other half, and I think it would be interesting with them alternating like that)

While Kaneki isn't catholic himself he finds it reassuring, while it's unlikely to him that there's someone out there that'll actually grant his prayers it's a nice thought, y'know? It's also just very relaxing there, even if it was kind of awkward at first

I think he also finds the sound of Amon praying very relaxing *cough*

I also think Kaneki would be atheist, while he wouldn't completely deny the possibility of there being a god of some sort he also isn't really a follower of any particular belief system (note: ive actually been informed that there is a better term for this, agnostic, which is essentially being neutral lol). I think Amon would know this, and therefore doesn't really know why Kaneki chooses to pray with him despite this, but he figures that Kaneki does have a lot of things he would want to pray for, things he would want to seek forgiveness for, too, and he appreciates that Kaneki is willing to spend time with him like this anyway.

#asks #shewhoeatssand #tokyo ghoul #tg #amoneki #amoneki ramblings #amon koutarou #kaneki ken #Ive never posted a single one of my amoneki fics cuz they're all. incomplete but GOD do i love implementing bible references/verses in them #i end up with like paragraphs of notes listing them in detail because i am. pretentious #i one time looked at a bible verse and thought 'holy shit that's so Amon' and went on a whole mental rant about why it just fits him so Wel #i think i'm normal about this :) (<- not norma #GH. ALSO. EMPTY PRAYER BY NULUT AND 'THERE MUST BE NO MEANING TO MY LIFE' BY TATSUYA KITANI ARE SUCH AMON SONGS #the latter especially the feeling of being abandoned by god and questioning why you're still alive because. trauma. hrngh.#i should go into an unhinged rant about amoneki and lower ones eyes someday the song is speculated to be based off of a work by dazai osamu #about judas n jesus. so it gets my Bias Bonus but also the song is so amoneki. empty prayer is too they're very amoneki for the same reason #i just scrolled up and realized i'm leaving half the post in the tags i'm so embarrassed #I TOLD MYSELF I WOULDN'T WRITE A SUPER LONG RESPONSE AND UMM OOPS #OH YEA UNRELATED BUT ALSO !! you said you wanted to hear my analysis about amon/kaneki's childhood traumas and their parents n stuff #I'll get to it soon ! i am still compiling my thoughts but i am Cooking i swear #thank you for the ask !!

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