#Beauty that defies description.

[kismetconstellations]

"If only the banks would take joy as collateral." "They may not. But, I will."

[haledamage]

me, reading DBDA fanfic: it's really cute that no two writers quite agree what color Edwin's eyes are (genuine) (affectionate)

me, trying to write my first DBDA fanfic: *staring at pictures of George Rexstrew* what color are your eyes, you lovely boy?????

[stllmnstr]

every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition. 

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill. 

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best. 

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath. 

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come. 

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin. 

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you. 

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track? 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals. 

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this. 

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly. 

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question. 

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.” 

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace. 

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully. 

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. 

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue. 

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space. 

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left. 

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision. 

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door. 

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.  

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though. 

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next. 

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows. 

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.” 

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you. 

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes. 

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes. 

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs. 

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice. 

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it. 

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up. 

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either. 

A beat passes. 

Two. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second. 

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?” 

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink. 

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect. 

Oh, you know him alright. 

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well. 

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough. 

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess. 

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again. 

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions. 

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started. 

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours. 

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule. 

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes. 

Including him. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be. 

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around. 

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.” 

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.” 

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.” 

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade. 

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.” 

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room. 

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible. 

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last. 

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back. 

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you. 

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.  

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance. 

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth. 

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin. 

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you. 

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate. 

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.” 

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out. 

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends. 

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant. 

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong. 

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious. 

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look. 

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all. 

“No way.” Jake says. 

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission. 

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap. 

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them. 

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces. 

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees. 

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s. 

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice. 

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time. 

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater. 

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip. 

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once. 

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks. 

Not until it all shattered in a single moment. 

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart. 

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all. 

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn. 

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger. 

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner. 

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance. 

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself. 

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed. 

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him. 

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone. 

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses. 

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods. 

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage. 

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other. 

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side. 

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always. 

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead. 

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight. 

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile. 

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he. 

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car. 

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely. 

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering. 

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home. 

And he never says your name once. 

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness. 

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again. 

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays. 

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that. 

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first. 

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze. 

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat. 

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head. 

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests. 

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day. 

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern. 

“Or something,” Jake agrees. 

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program. 

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts. 

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice. 

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake. 

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question. 

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off. 

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor. 

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again. 

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.  

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know. 

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine. 

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips. 

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod. 

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing. 

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant. 

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid. 

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife. 

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier. 

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later. 

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local  band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long. 

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low. 

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations. 

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off. 

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing. 

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body. 

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you. 

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp. 

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation. 

Last time, he let you fall. 

You have no idea what he’ll do now. 

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target. 

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin. 

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.” 

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon. 

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room. 

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought. 

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt. 

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting. 

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier. 

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer. 

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation. 

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception. 

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape. 

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have. 

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe. 

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you. 

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie. 

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread. 

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd. 

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction. 

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared. 

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink. 

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible. 

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice. 

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year. 

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes. 

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.  

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief. 

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past. 

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.” 

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?” 

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to. 

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes. 

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him. 

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response. 

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame. 

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry. 

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes. 

And then another. 

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to. 

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right. 

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong. 

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning. 

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace. 

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time. 

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought. 

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet. 

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most. 

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates. 

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough? 

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels. 

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout. 

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return. 

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin. 

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs. 

…

outtake—five years ago. 

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission. 

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down. 

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore. 

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse. 

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact. 

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through. 

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger. 

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck. 

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him. 

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors. 

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own. 

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him. 

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later. 

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you. 

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts. 

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Defied (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

Warnings: evil!reader, that Celebrimbor scene in 2x08, so torture and death (the description isn’t too graphic and reader doesn’t torture him directly but she plays good cop to Sauron’s bad cop) angst + comfort, biting, some manhandling, mention of reader killing people

Note: one more fic in the evil!reader collection. Works on its own too but reader’s backstory is more detailed than here in Old Wounds. I think I broke myself writing this.

Celebrimbor awakens to a damp cloth gently brushing the blood and sweat off his feverish brow. A touch kinder than he had imagined he would ever feel again. He groans weakly, awash with relief as he opens his eyes.

Any trace of comfort vanishes when he sees it is the wife of Sauron who is administering the merciful treatment.

“Shh,” you murmur as he tries to lift his head. The soft pillow on which it’s resting are your thighs, your legs folded beneath you as you sit sideways on the floor. It takes only the lightest push for you to hold him down by the shoulder, but it still sends pain shooting through his tormented body.

“We do not have long,” you whisper, throwing a slightly nervous glance towards the door. “He will return soon.”

Frowning and too weak to do anything but lie there, Celebrimbor searches the room with his eyes, finding that the two of you are, indeed, alone. He also finds that you have removed the arrows from his body while he had been unconscious, his wounds still painful but at least more bearable than before. To his surprise, they don’t seem to be bleeding as profusely as one would expect.

“I’ve done what I could,” you say regretfully, gently pressing the cloth to his temple. “I can do more.”

Your voice leads him to raise his gaze to yours. There’s a shaft of light pouring through the window at just the right angle so that it bathes your face in an ethereal glow. Looking at him from above, all beauty and light in the midst of his forge’s ruins, you seem like a gift from the Valar themselves. You could be his salvation, his way back to freedom, if only he would—

“If only I would give you the Nine.”

His voice is so weak and hoarse, he barely hears it himself. Your brow furrows, as sympathetic as the small smile you grace him with.

“There is no other way,” you whisper.

Despite it all, the weakest of chuckles escapes his parched throat.

“After he is done inflicting his torment,” he says, somehow finding enough strength within himself to pour into his voice, “you come to me with a kind word and soothing touch. Seeking to melt my will, rather than break it.” He shakes his head once, meeting your gaze unwaveringly, even from below. “I see through the illusions now. His... and yours.”

You breathe in. Slowly, deeply. As you exhale, the divine light dims and vanishes, leaving your expression as it truly is—cold and utterly frustrated as you give a sharp sigh.

“And how is that to your benefit?” you deadpan. You cast the bloodied cloth aside and remove your legs from under him. He groans in pain as you maneuver him so that he’s sitting up against a column, standing to your full height beside him. There’s nothing soothing whatsoever about the sight of you looking down at him now.

“Seriously, Celebrimbor,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. You’ve already sacrificed those poor guards of yours to do it. I mean,” you shake your head, chuckling with pity, “trying to have my husband arrested, like some common Elf? What did you imagine that would accomplish?”

“Does it not pain you,” he ignores your taunts, voice trembling as it grows in despair, “to see me tormented as the one you claim to love once was, at the hands of Morgoth? You said you were there. You said Morgoth had you mend him with your gifts, only so he could begin his tortures anew. Did you not weep as you told that story? Does it not pain you, then,” he cries out, “that your beloved husband would force you to relive that past by having you do the very same to another?!”

“It’s not him that is forcing me!” you scream out in return.

He had said that word—husband—which you use so often, and with such delight, as if it were the greatest poison known to Middle-Earth. That cracked something within you, tears of anger burning in your eyes as you begin to pace like an animal in a cage.

“Do you think this is what I would have chosen? Do you think this is what I’ve always wanted?”

Before you know what you are doing, you grab a piece of rubble and flung it against the pillar, above Celebrimbor. He gasps and flinches as pieces of shattered stone rain down dangerously close to him, though he’s lucky enough to only become covered in dust.

“There was a time,” you say, practically trembling with anger as you rush to Celebrimbor’s side, “after Morgoth was defeated, when he and I were perfectly content to simply... exist! That was enough. More than enough. We were finally free from Morgoth, finally free to be together.” You shake your head and close your eyes, breathing to regain your composure. After that, you are no longer shaking, and your voice is grim. “But we both had been free before. And we knew how easily that can be taken away. The only being who truly has freedom... is that who controls all else. And so that had to be us.”

“Perfectly sound logic.”

His words drip sarcasm. Your jaw clenches.

“Mock me all you want,” you say, crouching to his level and forcing him to look straight your merciless gaze with a firm knuckle beneath his chin. “Which one of us has their freedom now?”

Celebrimbor meets your ire with a sympathetic smile.

“Neither, my false friend,” he murmurs. “Neither.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes you. You have truly underestimated his willpower. But he has done the same with your ruthlessness.

“We’ll see,” you hiss. “Love,” you call out, the word fierce but ragged on your tongue as you release Celebrimbor’s face and stand up. He hasn’t noticed your husband walk into the room, or come to stand no longer than an arm’s length away from you. Most likely he had been lingering in the shadows, waiting for a sign from you to reveal himself. Even as you turn to him, you’re still glaring daggers meant for Celebrimbor.

“I think he likes you better,” you say.

Sauron looks at you, impassive. “Perhaps you’ve lost your touch.”

What might have otherwise been simply another tease cuts into your chest. He is a particular kind of distant now, has been since you have lost the Nine. The setback angered you as well, but your husband seems wholly consumed with the need to have them in his grasp again. Perhaps because he had poured part of himself into the making of those Rings. Not like that is any consolation. There’s a strain between you now, and nothing playful about it—only a sense of dread sinking its claws into your heart.

At an uncharacteristic loss for a snide reply, you clench your mouth shut and step aside to let him do the work.

But Celebrimbor does not relent. No matter how many arrows your husband plants in him, how much pain he endures, his lips remain sealed and the location of the Nine firmly withheld. Your husband speaks of the Orcs ravaging his city, and Celebrimbor speaks of the birds that used to fly to the river who are now silenced. Your husband pleads with him to let him share the wonders of the Rings with the world, and Celebrimbor speaks of the peace he is soon to find in death.

“There are ways to keep you alive,” is Sauron’s grim reply. “My wife’s skill being the most efficient of them.”

“Is it?” you question quietly. “I thought I’d... ‘lost my touch’.”

You don’t bother to look at him as you speak the bitter words. For a while now, you’ve been leaning against the wall near the window, staring out at the darkened horizon. You don’t need to see your husband to picture the piercing gaze he turns towards you, or the tick in his jaw as he grouses, “Now is not the time—”

“It’s never the time.” Your head whips to look at him, and you flinch when you find him closer already than you had expected, staring you down. But you’re long past being intimidated by such gestures. You only meet your husband’s gaze defiantly. “I no longer wish to do this.”

There is the smallest furrow of his brow, equal parts surprised and disturbed. You hardly ever refuse each other. Especially in moments as critical as this. Glancing at Celebrimbor, you see his bloody brow is knitted in confusion, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to give heed to his words. And it is not for him that you are doing this—but your husband follows your line of sight, and his gaze has gone from displeased to wrathful as it returns to yours.

“I’ve never known you to shy away from a little blood,” he says, voice low and menacing as he steps closer, crowding you into the wall. “Or perhaps it is not the torment, but the Elf on whom it is being inflicted that stays your hand?” He takes hold of your wrist as he speaks, lifting it between your chests as he closes his fingers over yours with misleading delicacy. “Is that it, my love? Has our dear Celebrimbor grown on you at last?”

“Don’t be absurd,” you huff out, making to walk past him—but he slams your hand into the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours, trapping you as you gasp and glare. Your free hand pushes against his chest to no avail, while his cups your cheek to make you look him in the eye.

“Is this why you tell him of our past so freely?” he growls, his breath hot and heavy on your lips. “Why you justify yourself, hoping to find forgiveness, perhaps? Compassion?” He trembles with rage as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip. “...desire?”

Rage blinds you, raw and animalistic—and like an animal, you bite onto his finger, shoving him in the chest at the same time. He stumbles back, glaring down at his hand. Your teeth have drawn black blood, and you furiously wipe it off your lips with the back of your hand.

“How dare you?” You charge for him and hit his chest again, putting enough of your powers behind it that he almost doesn’t catch himself and tumbles to the ground. “How dare you accuse me of such treachery?” you scream. Tears of rage gather in your eyes, while his are a mix of disbelief and anger. “After all I have done for you. All the ways I have proven my devotion, the oaths we swore, the centuries we have lived for nothing but each other—”

“You speak as though I were a stranger to your jealous anger,” he retorts. “As if you did not pierce me with your rageful glare each time as I so much as looked Mirdania’s way—”

“I did not mean it as you do!” you cry out. “It was a game, it’s what we do! You know that.”

For a moment, only your heavy breathing fills the room. Yours and your husband’s as you stare each other down, neither willing to yield. But there is also the faint sound of Celebrimbor’s, who lies nearly forgotten in the rubble. It reminds you what it was that had been gnawing at you in the first place. You shut your eyes briefly, willing your voice to be calm and composed as you speak.

“I’ve done my fair share of dark deeds, most in the name of our love,” you say, this time heading towards your husband in a peaceful manner. “I shall do more, if needed. Worse. But this—what is happening here...” You nod your head, infuriatingly helpless as you admit, “He’s right. It means something to me. To us. This is exactly what Morgoth put us through. You are asking me to do what he made me to do you.” Your voice begins to tremble with long-suppressed grief. “And you, in your greed for those Rings, could not care less what it does to me to think of that time, let alone reenact it.”

Your husband stares as though you’ve said something incomprehensible.

“All depends upon the Rings,” he all but whispers, willing you to understand. This time when he takes one of your hands in his, the gesture is somehow both tender and desperate, as if you’ll slip away. “All of this... is for us,” he vows.

That sliver of doubt in your chest is enough to break you.

“Is it?” you breathe out shakily, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Because it is your blood you have poured into the Nine. Not ours.”

You pull away from him—to his devastation, written plainly on his face. Your hand shakes as you wipe away your tears. A deep, aching desire burns in you to be away from this place, to start anew. You feel it is the only way to fix what has been broken, even if you can’t even tell where the divide between you lies or where it has begun.

“We shall soon have an army,” you try to reason. “Power beyond imagining, even without the Nine. No doubt, with time the Rings will find their way to you—”

“And you would have me wait for them even one moment more?” he says in disbelief. You give him a sorrowful smile.

“I have awaited your return for an eternity,” you say. “Perhaps it is your turn to wait for my sake.”

His voice is so faint you barely hear as he asks, “Or what?”

A terrible pause follows. There’s a threat in your eyes, which you don’t dare to speak out loud. You are not even sure you would be capable of doing such a thing—if, even just as another game between you, as an attempt to rile him up, even just for a brief time, you might truly find the strength or the will to turn and walk away—

It’s as if he senses the shape of those words in your mind, and they clip his breath. In an instant, he takes your face in his hands, his hold on you desperate and his eyes feral.

“If you betray me... if you forsake me...” he breathes out the word like it’s poison, planting daggers in his throat as he speaks it, “I shall forget all thoughts of healing, and raze Middle-Earth to the ground so that I am all that is left in the world for you to return to.”

“Even the Rings?” you ask, gripping his wrists to keep him close, every inch of you weak at the tortured yearning in his declaration. “Would you vanquish them as well, if it meant I would return to you?”

For a moment, his eyes widen as though you have stabbed him. Then they darken with determination.

“I shall have you... and the Rings,” he swears. “Nothing less.” His lips meet yours roughly, briefly, like he wants to prove they are still his to kiss. “Nothing...” He does it again. “...less.”

And this time, you believe him. You are desperate to, and mad with longing, ready to lose yourself to your husband’s touch and let it purge this new fear that has crept inside your heart, whispering insidiously that peril for the love you share lies on the path ahead of you. But your embrace is cut short by Celebrimbor’s voice.

“Shadow of Morgoth!” he calls out. You and your husband break away and turn to him, and the sheer defiance in his gaze chills you to the bone. “You shall have neither,” he says fiercely. “The Rings of Power shall destroy you. This twisted... mockery of love shall be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. And in the end,” his voice grows to a guttural cry, “I foresee it is the very fruit of it that shall be your utter ruin!”

You gasp in horror. It’s as though the dread within you has spoken from his mouth. Your husband is equally affected, though he is moved to rage rather than fear. In an instant, he has picked up a spear, reached Celebrimbor and impaled him in the stomach, lifting him up against the pillar.

“You’re wrong!” he growls up at the Elf moaning in pain. “We shall rule together,” he declares, almost in a craze, “and be masters of our own creations.”

Even now, even like this, Celebrimbor smiles defiantly. “No,” he says. “You shall be slaves to them. And to each other. Sauron... the Abhorred... and his Accursed Bride. Lord and Lady of the Rings.”

And so, Celebrimbor gives his last breath.

You’ve seen beings die before. You’ve been responsible for it. You can’t remember the last time it’s left you as hollow as it does now, Celebrimbor’s final words still lingering in the air around you.

“It’s only words,” you murmur in the silence, to convince the both of you. “They mean nothing.”

Your husband drives the end of the spear into the ground, leaving the body propped up against the pillar.

“I wanted to do worse,” he says blankly, staring at the ground. “But you wished for this to be over. So I did as you asked.” He lifts his gaze to yours. “How could his words be true... when there is nothing I would not do to keep you?”

His words steal your breath—but what truly claws at your heart, leaving it raw and trembling within your chest, is the fact that a lone tear has swelled in his eye, and slipped down his cheek.

“You are weeping,” you whisper, awe-stricken. “I have not seen your tears since...”

Your throat closes around the words.

“Do you doubt me, my love?” he murmurs. “Do you doubt us?”

His voice, weak and pained, undoes you.

“No,” you breathe out. “No, no, no!”

You all but run to him and throw your arms around his neck, whimpering as he wraps you in a desperate embrace. He releases a ragged breath, his heartbeat rampant against your chest, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder that makes you shiver. “We will have all that we have been striving for,” you promise against his neck, then pull back to look into his eyes. “Soon. Together.”

“My love,” is all he whispers in return. You cup his face with the most gentle touch, fingers brushing his fair hair before you press your lips to his cheek, cherishing each drop of his tears that you are kissing away.

“My love,” you repeat as if in prayer. You rest your hand on the back of his head, fingers gently nudging at the bow made of his hair as you simply stand there, holding him with his cheek to yours.

Celebrimbor was wrong. You were wrong to fear. No feeling so soul-consuming in its might could ever be shattered. Not by powers of flesh, not by those over flesh. You are sure of it now.

It’s like this that the Orcs find you as they barge into the forge room with bloody weapons in their hands. One gestures for the others to halt while you and your husband face them, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Are you him?” he asks, some semblance of hope in his gruff voice. “Are you Sauron?”

“I have many names,” your husband says, as always. “But her...” he wraps his arm around your waist as you hold your chin high, “you shall call ‘my Queen’.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Kill and make up

Next fic with same reader -> The Two

[imperator-titus]

Favorite Party Banter [Gale Edition]

[Astarion (Ascended)] [Halsin/Jaheira] [Gale] [Karlach] [Lae'zel] [Minsc] [Minthara] [Shadowheart] [Wyll]

I often miss party banter because of party comp (and sometimes just straight up can't hear??) so here's a collection of my favorite bants while going through dialogue files. I know the wiki has the banter (most? all?) but I added the file names and dev notes.

Either Gale is the main speaker/subject or I think his reaction is good shit.

Not in any particular order.

[PB_Laezel_Gale_ROM_Act2]

Gale: So, Lae’zel - have you ever been tempted to use psionics in your, erm, romantic endeavors? {Devnote: Curiosity winning out over awkwardness}

Lae’zel: Only once. Did you know, in low-gravity settings, githyanki can maintain aerial suspension for hours at a time? {Devnote: cheekily}

Gale: Fascinating - I think the archmage Tasha described a spell with similar effect. I really must look that up… {Devnote: latter part almost to self}

[PB_Gale_Astarion_ROM_Act3_Spawn]

Gale: If you’re feeling faint after your bout with Cazador, Astarion, I don’t mind donating some blood. {Devnote: Sincere/Genuinely trying to help}

Astarion: When you’re still full of that Netherese bile? I’ll pass, thank you.

Astarion: Besides, I have someone else to nibble on. And they are delicious.

[PB_Gale_Shadowheart_Morgue]

Gale: Look at this place. Such horrors defy descriptions…{Devnote: In very bleak/grim surroundings}

Shadowheart: Silence can be best. Give it a try sometime. {Devnote: A little cheeky, though they’re in a grim place}

[PB_Gale_Shadowheart_ROM_Act3_Selune]

Gale: I must tell you, Shadowheart, the bathing waters here leave much to be desired. {Devnote: a bit know it all}

Gale: The ablutions offered at the Temple of Beauty in Waterdeep are far superior. And they have the most excellent soaps. 

Shadowheart: Hmm. I was wondering why you always smelled like a wealthy dowager. {Devnote: teasing}

[PB_Wyll_Gale_ROM_Act2]

Gale: I’ve heard that in Baldur’s Gate, ‘wizard’ is also a term used for one who eschews their more, ahem, carnal desires. Is that true, Wyll? {Devnote: Fishing for info, a bit annoyed about what he’s heard.}

Wyll: Where are we going with this, Gale?

Gale: Oh, nowhere. I just think it a rather cruel misnomer. Not at all reflective of the glamour wizarding life affords. {Devnote: A bit sulky/sensitive about it}

[PB_Gale_Astarion_ROM_Act2]

Gale: I fear I've been rather hasty to judge you, Astarion. {Devnote: sincere/sympathetic}

Gale: One heartbreak was quite enough for me, but to experience it as many times as you have must change a person.

Astarion: Thank you, Gale. Let us both hope that broken hearts are a thing of the past.

[PB_Karlach_Gale_BlushingMermaid]

Karlach: Man, it's good to be home. First round on who?

Gale: She who thirsts buys drink the first. {Devnote: Like it's a well-known saying}

Karlach: You won't pin me down with a rhyme, wizard! {Devnote: jockeying with Gale}

Gale: She who declines gets the worst of the wines.

[PB_Laezel_Gale_ROM_Act3_001]

Lae'zel: Gale, I've heard you talking in your sleep. Your mate needs better rest for our journey.

Gale: And deprive them of the pleasure of hearing my nocturnal postulations? I'd never be so cruel.

Gale: The mind absorbs much while we believe ourselves dormant. To lie beside Gale of Waterdeep is positively educational.

[PB_Karlach_Gale_ROM_Act1]

Gale: Karlach... a hypothetical question for you.

Gale: If someone - not me, of course - detected a hint of romantic interest in them from another, unnamed individual, what might that someone do about it?

Karlach: Whoever it is, just talk to them, Gale. And leave out the hypotheticals.

Gale: Talking. Right. I'm good at that.

[nicoscheer]

Source ; Simon definitely fell a lil in love with Alex there 🤣 can’t blame him can we

As someone who left education early but has admitted to opening at least one eye during English lessons, via

Humbug themed!!

[cryptidghostgirl]

Lovely (Lucifer x Reader)

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Description: Lucifer had heard rumor of the demon with the ability to alter people's memories. Y/n was a marvel and he had her wrapped right around his pinky.

Warnings: Same angst, new target.

Word Count: 1,631

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N This fic is inspired by Spud Cannon's song Lovely. Also don't mind me and my silly little Latin obsessed brain (Lucifer translates to light bringer and is a combination of the latin verb ferre, to bring, and lux, light. I fuck around with that in this.)

That was what had drawn her to him first: the elegance. Lucifer was a graceful man, a beautiful man, a terribly sad person. In retrospect, that should have been Y/n's sign to take a step back but, it is always so difficult to find the right path in the moment. He had seemed so utterly heartbroken, because, as she now knew, he was so utterly heartbroken, and Y/n had thought: maybe I can help?

Her motivations had just been that at first, helping. It wasn't her fault that he was charming and funny and did things that made her want to be more than friends with him with such alarming regularity that it felt like her life was the worst rollercoaster at an amusement park. The one with eight billion sharp turns and uncomfortable seats that left rider's tailbones bruised. It was almost too much to bear.

Lucifer had heard rumors of the demon who had been gifted with the ability to alter people's memories. It had never been gossip that had interested him much until Lilith had left. Suddenly, his mind had felt like a curse. In the throws of despair, he had looked for her, hunted her down. It hadn't take long, he was Lucifer after all. When he was the one asking the questions, few dared to defy.

The shop was a hole in the wall, drenched in the smell of incense and covered in crystals and other odd objects of curiosity. Lucifer could've sworn he recognized the imp horns on the wall but, ignored it. He was there for a reason and asking questions like that were not the path to his end goal.

The demon herself, the famed mystery, was statuesque. She had sat her table in the back of the shop, draped in jewelry made of bones and gold. She had gifted him the first session free of charge.

In order to keep the pain at bay, Lucifer had been required to come to her shop at least once a month. Y/n was a comfort to him, he associated her with the feeling of relief. The two became fast friends.

"Light bringer." she would beckon him in with a smile, "Still counting those forget-me-nots?"

She spoke to him in Latin, in his first eternal language. She weaved images in the air with the smoke from her fires. She was amazing, a miracle worker. Lucifer was grateful for her, for her skill.

Y/n knew the truth behind it. She tried to ignore it, tried to still her raging heart. She knew it was doomed, had seen with her own eyes the way he was still so in love with someone else. Still, when he had asked her on that first date, a year into them knowing one another, she hadn't been able to bring herself to refuse. He had been so sweet, so earnest, so cheesy. He had asked her to be his and she had told him the truth: she already was.

It was a constant state of denial, one big, overwhelming lie she convinced herself was true. In the beginning, Lucifer had been a doting partner. He surprised her with flowers, he always tried to make her smile. It had all stopped the day she had told him she couldn't use her gift on him anymore.

"Why not?" he has asked, alarmed.

"Because, Ferende Lucem (man bringing light), it's not healthy. I can't make things go away forever, just hide them. You still need to deal with them eventually."

Y/n had thought it was time, had figured that two years of dating and three years of knowing one another would be enough. She had been wrong. Lucifer had ceased in his affections in all but name. No longer was she whisked away to the palace, no longer did she wake to one of his creations on her bedside table.

After about a month, she had decided to take things into her own hands. She refused to recede into the gaps he was creating, refused to just let this all go. Y/n loved him, truly. She wouldn't let the love die without a fight.

The palace guards knew her well, had let her in without question. After some searching, Y/n had found Lucifer locked away in his office. The place smelled of despair. He didn't turn from his empty desk at the sound of the door opening.

"Light Bringer." Y/n hummed softly, rapping a knuckle on the already open door, "Counting your forget-me-not's?"

She hadn't asked him that in years, not since before they had gotten together. He lifted his head from his hands, looking over his shoulder just the slightest bit.

"Malefica (witch)." he replied, his voice low and hollow.

Y/n smiled softly at the pet name and entered the room, letting the door stand open in her wake. She approached him, wrapping her arms around his tired shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

"Please." Lucifer's voice cracked, "Please take them from me. It's too much, they're too heavy."

Y/n didn't reply, simply nestling her chin into his hair.

"Y/n, please."

"You know I can't do that." she sighed, "It's not healthy."

"This is what is not healthy."

Y/n let go of him and turned his chair so they faced one another. She kneeled down on the ground before him, clasping his hands in her own. His eyes were ringed with red. In that moment, they weren't a fallen angel and a demon, they were just two people. Two people in love and two people housing broken hearts they lied to themselves to stitch back together.

"Lucifer." her eyes searched his face.

It was rare she called him by his true name. The gravity of the moment clung to their skin.

"Lucifer, what am I to you?"

He looked away. Y/n sighed, her heart cracking straight down the middle within the confines of her chest.

"Can I..." she cleared her throat, steeling her nerves, "Am I ever going to be what you're looking for?"

Lucifer's eyes snapped back to Y/n.

"You are what I'm looking for." he insisted, taking his trembling hands from hers and cupping them gently around her face, "You, Y/n, are my sweet little magician, my salve."

"My magic is, you mean."

Lucifer had always been a terrible liar. It was one of the things Y/n loved about him, the way the truth bubbled to the surface of his being. Right now, she wished he could be the best liar on the planet, the best in all of Hell. Right now, she wished she could've been born blind.

Y/n got to her feet, Lucifer's hands hanging in the air where they had held her last. There was no more running, no more hiding from the truth. This was the precipice, the breaking point, the fall.

"You're my salve." he repeated again, his voice soft and sounding like he was trying to convince himself of the fact as much as he was trying to get through to her.

"Don't lie to me." Y/n demanded, tears pressing behind her eyes, "Don't. Just... just don't."

Oh how she wished she could turn back time, set the clocks to zero.

"You never loved me, did you?"

The question hung unanswered in the air. Y/n had known it for a long time, had known it since the beginning to be perfectly honest but saying it out loud made it all the more real. She was dazed, spinning, out of control.

"You don't love me."

"I wish I could. I'm..."

Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and holding back tears. She looked away.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll see myself out, I guess."

She hoped he'd call out for her, run after her into the hallway, ask if they could try again could start over. Of course Lucifer did no such thing.

For all the things she had helped her clients forget over the years, Y/n understood them even more now than she ever had before. It was complicated. Now she was going to have to reshape her life. If she ever saw him in the street, it would be her duty to pretend she didn't know him. The memories spawned the terror of potential futures, dreams where things worked out, where everything was okay. They sent her mind reeling.

She had known, all along she had feared the worst and feared confirmation of her knowledge. That was the worst part, it hadn't even been a surprise. It had simply been just that, a confirmation of the truth.

The world caved in around her as she walked home, houses and shops and people all blurring together into something undistinguished and undefinable.

Lovely, that's what he was. In all his misfortune, in all his despair, in all his grace. Lovely but oh god, oh god he didn't love her. Not the way she wanted him to. Not the way she loved him.

Y/n pulled the curtains shut to her little shop, moving methodically and without thought. She sat down at the table in the back, before the pot of incense. She lit it.

Not once in all her years had she ever tried to do use her magic on herself. It seemed like a line in the sand, something utterly forbidden. Y/n shut her eyes.

When she reopened them, the world felt different. Time had passed, she could tell it had but her mind refused to give shape to the years.

"So this is what it must feel like." she mumbled aloud, noticing the remnants of her ritual spread out on the table before her, "I wonder what happened."

[two-white-butterflies]

she's got away

Description: You frame your husband for your murder. It looks like Homelander has finally found his match.

Pairing: homelander/supe!reader

Warning: infidelity, murder, downfall of homelander, implied domestic abuse, planned suicide.

A/N: inspired by amy dunne. also, because i know that homelander isn't just gonna marry some basic bitch, he wants that crazy 😭

Homelander has read all news articles about you, your ex-boyfriends couldn't stop talking about the beauty of being the recipient of your love, but that was the thing. It was beautiful when the full warmth of your love is focused on them, but once the spotlight shifts - it leaves them feeling empty, reeling because of the loss.

When he married you, he expected that spotlight to be on him 24/7. "I can't believe that you convinced them to cancel the deal," a giggle escapes your mouth and Homelander's jaw clenches. Seeing you draped all over Stan Edgar made him want to kill that man. "It isn't that difficult when you have the D.A's office on retainer," the man boasts in a low whisper, but Homelander can hear him.

He can hear every little conversation happening inside the building. He glances at you - what did you have that he didn't? Why does Stan Edgar trust you of all people?

"Well that ought to remind them," you mused, taking a sip of your fizzing champagne. "Of what?" Stan raises an eyebrow.

You look straight at Homelander's eyes. Aware that he was listening in to your conversation with the executive. "that Vought isn't a superhero company. It's a pharmaceutical company." The sweet smile does not leave your lips, his jaw clenches - eyes glaring.

How dare you!

Openly defying him in front of Stan Edgar. Besmirching everything that he built and fought tirelessly for, just to twist the knife. Homelander had half the mind to march in your direction, to grab you by the arm and fuck you in front of all the executives that you tried to kiss-ass to. He takes a deep breath.

He mumbles a few curses, none loud enough for anyone to hear.

His heart sinks to the bottom of his chest once he realizes the glaring truth, that your love was beginning to slip away. The spotlight that all your exes couldn't stop talking about was now moving to the next big thing, and no one leaves Homelander! No one leaves him!

"Cheers," he hears you offer a toast.

He sees a woman standing in the table in front of him, clad in a black Etro dress that she probably rented just to wear. She looks like you in some lights. Homelander smiles - a lazy yet charismatic smile.

He walks towards her.

"It must be boring for you, watching all these idiots drink wine." He opens his mouth to speak, and the woman's attention turns towards him. Oh, he was going to move his spotlight before you move yours.

You lazily walk towards your shared apartment with Homelander. It was never a great pleasure spending the night here, the decorations were too manly and corporate for you to ever feel at peace with the surroundings. Dark blue walls - endless fake pictures, and that constant smell of perfume makes your head hurt.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you sink deeper into the sheets. His bed was magnificent - almost like he slept all the time. You sent him a message an hour ago, but he hasn't responded yet. "Where the hell are you," you mumbled while opening your phone - quickly navigating towards the 'find my phone' app.

Uh, yes, you put a tracker on your husband without his consent.

The app loads rather quickly, and you zoom out of the map - to see John inside of a Hilton Hotel. "Son of a bitch," you cursed. You rise from the sheets, sitting down and leaning on the bed-frame. You dial Ashley's number, and she answers on the first ring. "Where is Homelander?" You ask before she could say hello.

"Um, uh, I-" she stumbles in her words.

"Don't lie to me, please." Your voice was surprisingly soft. If the phone call was recorded, you didn't want it to come biting your ass in the future. "I don't want to tell you," Ashley responds in a firm tone. "I won't tell him that I know. It's a promise." You vowed.

"He's going to kill me. I don't want to get in the middle of this." She begged, her voice sounded desperate. "Well, you are in the middle of this and if you don't tell me then I'll find a way to screw you over." You threatened, recorded call be damned, playing good cop was over.

"He's at the Mandarin. He met with someone, please don't tell him that I told you!" She cried, a scoff escapes your mouth.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

yourname: This cape stands for everything that I believe in! It is also a reminder of how thankful I am to call this beautiful land my home. #FosteringTheFuture #Homelander

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homelandertruther: No supe has ever done as much damage to America than Starlight. Thank you homelander 🦅🇺🇸

MyEyesOpen: God bless this country

BootySheath99: Christians for Homelander >>>>

A fake smile ghosts your face as you feel his muscled arms wrap around your body. "Where were you?" You question. Not a nerve in his body showed signs of nervousness, which only made you think that he's been doing this for a long time. How it didn't eclipse your radar? You're not entirely sure. "I had a meeting with Madeline." He lies, pressing a kiss to your naked shoulder.

All men do is lie.

"At the Mandarin?" You raised an eyebrow, a sigh escapes his mouth. He presses another kiss to your naked shoulder, before pressing his face to the crook of your neck. "You don't have to be so damn possessive. It was just a meeting and Madeline is a prude." He talked down on the woman who was responsible for his success.

Your fingers danced across his clothed body, playing with the strands of his perfect blonde hair. This love story began because of a coffee shop, because he wanted to see the good in this world - and found it inside of you. He liked getting his ego stroked, you stoked his ego and then some. He liked watching old american films in his room projector, and you listened to him ramble about every little detail. He wanted a cool girl, and he got her.

Being a cool girl and being his wife is a mutually exclusive event. The occurrence of one supersedes the other and vice versa. You can't be 'cool girl' and also be his wife. It is humbling to become something that you once mocked. "I can't help it," you mumbled.

"No one is going to steal me from you," he promised. Oh, this was the first time that he addressed your feelings towards one another - and it looks like he's only doing it to not get caught. Who is his mistress? You wondered. Was she more beautiful than you? Did she have blonde hair or piercing blue eyes? Was she a southern belle, or perhaps a foreign woman who he has never seen before?

"What's happening to us? We're not happy anymore," you breathed out, watching as his features turned darker. His pupils dilated, his jaw clenched, and his grip on you tightened. This was another one of your mind games, one of the things that you'd do before pushing him off the edge. "We are happy." He insisted, because the truth is - there is no use being in a relationship with someone when you're not at your happiest. "We were happy." You corrected, pulling away.

"I know that you met with someone else," you whispered - almost in fear that someone else could hear. "I'm angry - disappointed, but I also love you. I want to be happy, again, with you." You confessed.

He kept staring at you, looking deep into your eyes, almost unable to decipher between the truth and your lies. "John," you refer to him by the name closest to his heart. His eyes soften, thrown back into the reality that you're nothing like him - there was not a bone inside of your body that schemed, or got jealous, or thought of bad things. You are good - the only good part of him.

"I'm sorry, baby." He apologized.

You press a kiss to his lips. Fuck you.

"Hello, you may all know me as Homelander's wife or Comet which is my superhero name. But my real name is Y/N Gillman. A few days ago the NYC District Attorney subpoena'ed me and I agreed to testify against my husband. He's done a lot of bad things. I'm not really sure if I'll be safe. If something happens to me, Homelander did it, my husband killed me."

The television screen fades to black, and his daunting reflection stares right back at him. A few hours ago you were reported missing, seemingly abducted in the middle of the day - and now this video is going viral. Homelander admits that it doesn't look good on him. "What the fuck is going on!" Madeline barged into the office, obviously as discombobulated as he was.

"I was hoping that you could tell me," a shrill air of madness hovers over his poignant figure. He wanted to kill the person in charge of posting this video, he wanted to know if you did this on your own accord - or if there was a gun pointed at your head. The thought of both sends him reeling into a cage of madness.

"I-I think that there's a reasonable explaination for this. She could be abducted by a terrorist group and forced to film this confession." Ashley came to your defense.

Homelander clenches his fist.

"If my wife was abducted under Vought's watch, then, I'm going to kill everyone, and I don't care how this plays out in social media." He threatened, glaring at Madeline - who he was sure had everything to do with this. Madeline takes a deep breath, regaining her composure - and an unnerving smile ghosts her lips. "We should all calm down, Vought is trying its best to track her down right now." She smiles.

"Make it fast!" Homelander raises his voice, throwing a vase in Madeline's direction.

Y/N GILLMAN'S DIARY ENTRY #30

Dear Diary,

My husband looks at me so sweetly, I can't help but think that he's the man of my dreams, the father of my future children, and the love of my life. Lately, I think that this man of mine is going to kill me.

He had sex with someone else. Mandarin Oriental. Find my Phone. It wasn't that hard to figure out. I confronted him last night, and the way that he promised me that he was going to change - almost had me believing that he would. My mother always said: men never change. My mother was right.

I opened his phone (don't ask me why I know his password) but I saw that woman's message. MISS U INSIDE ME. I fucking hate her.

Like any good wife, I confronted him about it (again) and he told me that it was nothing. I can't remember the other parts of our conversation, but it dragged on for so long that I almost thought that it would never end. He told me that he'd kill me. I think he's going to.

"Detective Harold Brink. I'm here to solve your wife's disappearance," the man shook Homelander's hand. The Detective had a certain rogue-ish charm to him, tanned skin with a light stubble. He had a head as big as his ego. Harold Brink seemed confident in his skills. Homelander is going to be the judge of that.

"Shouldn't you be out in the field doing exactly that? You wasted time coming here," Homelander gritted his teeth, staring at the man from his head down to his toes. "Nothing but protocol, Homelander. I don't want to point a finger but there was a video going viral, an accusation made by the person missing, if you may." Harold states.

He doesn't have to be a genius to understand that this incompetent detective was pointing a finger in his direction. "We also found her diary when we searched your apartment." The man lays the book on the table in front of him. He sees your beautiful handwriting, with loops and straight lines. Your handwriting always danced between the line of print and cursive. "I think this man of mine is going to kill me, a direct quote if you weren't able to read." Harold says smugly.

Homelander contemplates killing the man, but it would be obvious. His demographics were going down, he was already facing a media trial - Harold was his hail mary, whether he liked it or not.

"Hyperbole. You don't know my wife." Homelander insisted, seeing the glaring red lights in his periphery. The cameras were rolling, he needed to make a performance of the lifetime. "- and clearly you don't either. I have a video of her saying that if she were ever to go missing, then you'd be the one responsible for it. I also have a page from her diary alleging that you wanted to kill her." Harold says.

"I'm not at a deposition." Homelander glares.

"You will be, soon." Harold stands up, hearing footsteps from the outside. Most probably Homelander's lawyer. "I'll give the subpoena to your attorney," he informs.

Homelander stands up.

"Give me all the papers that you want, but my wife is out there. Instead of spending time trying to back me into a corner, maybe you should actually begin to do what the American taxpayers are paying you to do. Find my wife!" Homelander yells, and on cue the door opens. "How dare you talk to my client." His lawyer says.

Homelander sighs, this was going to be a long month.

homelander: My wife is missing. If you have seen her please report to the authorities. Keep us in your prayers ❤️🙏🏻

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homelander: There has been an avalanche of fake news coming my direction. I want to make it clear that I would never do anything to hurt my wife. The video that has been going viral is a deepfake. 📍 pinned comment

cometfanbase: There's literally evidence of u cheating on her 😭

kuchie92: #WeStandWithHomelander #HereForHomelander

"What is this?" Homelander shoves the phone in Ashley's direction. "Your legal counsel and the PR firm decided that it would be wise to post something in light of..." Ashley does not finish her words. She keeps her distance from Homelander. "I'm surrounded by fucking idiots. What if someone looks into that video and finds out that it isn't a deepfake?" He questions.

These people at Vought keep underestimating the power of social media. "We already took care of that. We own all the deepfake detection software, and they all flag that video down. Plus, our influencers have been posting a lot of videos to sway public opinion." The woman continues speaking, after three shots of vodka - fear doesn't make itself evident.

Homelander sits down at the head of the table. "Updates about the case?" He wanted all the insider information. He also wanted to know if you were really abducted - or just faking it to punish him. "They think that she was abducted, there was blood on the floor, signs of struggle. Vought thinks that we're dealing with a larger force, people who have the resources to pull this off inside of Vought Tower." Ashley avoids his stare, placing a stack of files on the table.

If Homelander was to find out that she was the one who told you about the affair, then she was going to be food for the worms. "Cameras?" He takes a sharp breath. "All records have been wiped from the database. They're trying to recover it but it's a slippery slope." Ashley continues, shifting as she stands.

Should she really be the person to tell him about all of these? One wrong word and he's going to shoot a laser through her head. "Get out of my sight," Homelander leaned on his chair - Ashley scattered faster than pigeons do at the sight of danger.

Madeline warned him about his temper, told him that he wasn't allowed to kill anyone until they were able to find you. She really thinks that he has something to do with your abduction. For the first time, Homelander is innocent in this crime.

His heart beats a little faster at the thought of you being held in danger. Hopeless against your abductors because he wasn't there to protect you. He looks like a goddamn pussy. It is his duty as your husband to protect you, and he couldn't even make sure that the cameras in Vought Tower were working.

When he finds you - when he finds the person responsible for this. He is going to kill them. He's going to torture them gently until they beg for death, and he's never going to give them death. He's just going to make their existence a meaningless chore. Born to be tortured. Born to be reduced to nothing but limbs and organs.

The perfect radical justice.

He was just about to shoot his lasers through the window but Harold Brink walks through the sliding doors of the Seven meeting room. "Homelander, you're coming with me. You have the right to remain silent..." Harold's voice drowns out once he feels himself stand up, his hands wrapped around by cold steel handcuffs.

You will remain in police custody until the investigation is over.

The following day, his lawyer came marching. His pays the man $10,000,000 annually and Homelander can say that he is worth the money. His cell (if he could call it that) was luxurious, a double mattress bed and five star dining - it was almost a vacation. But his mind couldn't rest - all he could think about was you.

If you were safe, fucking with him, or actually dead in a ditch.

"You need to make a public statement." His lawyer made his message very clear. "The Seven has been doing work without you. Vought has been talking about suspending you, most of all, half of the public thinks that you killed your wife." The man updated.

"If I speak then everyone is going to think that I did it for public opinion." Homelander gritted his teeth. He could easily get out of this facility in a blink, but due to propriety he must stay. "If you don't speak then everyone is going to think that your shameless," his lawyer enunciated. "- if we allow that fact to sit then it will become the truth." He added, handing him a file.

Presumably, the script for his 'public' message. Homelander brought to his knees by a goddamn missing person's report. "My wife is still missing. I'm not seeing anyone do anything about that. They're all pretty determined to point the finger at me." Homelander scoffs.

The man in front of him adjusts his glasses. "Did you do it?" He questioned, aware that Vought made contingency plans - so that no one would be able to record Homelander during his 'jail' time. "No," Homelander said with all the strength in his chest.

His people, the Americans, were turning against him.

"It doesn't matter anyways. As long as there is no body, they can't make us do shit. Now, about that public announcement, I'll be back here tomorrow - and ease up on the whiskey." His lawyer stands up.

HOMELANDER'S INTERVIEW

Cameron Coleman: Did you kill your wife, Homelander?

Homelander: I did not kill my wife, I am not a murderer.

Cameron Coleman: But you hurt her. You were unfaithful to her.

Homelander: I was. I am not proud.

Cameron Coleman: How do you expect us to believe you, when we all know that you're a liar?

Homelander: I didn't come forward about that fact because I knew that it would make me look bad. I knew that no one would trust me if that fact ever came forth. A real man doesn't hurt his wife. A good superhero protects everyone, but I'm just a man. I don't care about my reputation anymore. I need my wife, because I know that I need to make it better. I was a bad husband to a wonderful wife, that is the truth, Cam.

Cameron Coleman: And you expect us to [cuts off]

Homelander: I met Y/N L/N ten years ago and I was enchanted by everything that she did. She made me believe that there was good in this world, as I was always exposed to all the bad sorts, all the bad crimes. My job as a superhero has desensitized me to violence, I thought that violence was normal. When she came into my world I realized that it wasn't, life could be and can be gentle and kind. I wanted her to love me so I pretended to be something that I was not.

Cameron Coleman: You talk like a man who believes that his wife is still alive. Is she?

Homelander: She is alive. Please stop talking like she isn't.

Cameron Coleman: Okay, what would you like to say to your wife?

Homelander: Y/N, I love you. You are the most special person in this world, and I have hurt myself over the things that I've done to you. Come home, please baby. I'll spend my whole life trying to make it up to you, trying to be the man that I promised to be. The man who makes you happy, the man who thinks and remembers everything that you love. I'm sorry for doing the easy things instead of doing the right things. Come back, please.

Homelander: I'll do everything that you want me to do. We'll build a house by the beach, I'll stop being Homelander. I'll give you kids and dogs and make you that surfboard that I always promised to buy.

[tear trickles down Homelander's eyes]

[screen fades to black]

A gasp escapes your mouth as you finished watching his interview. A sudden realization comes to you. This man has killed for you - this man is killing himself for you. He has stripped himself bare of everything that he holds dear (he only holds his reputation dear). The American consensus on his morality has waned significantly.

They all think of his name and spit on the ground. Once he realizes that no one loves him, he's going to burn the world. And isn't it your duty to keep Homelander down to earth?

This husband of yours has hurt you so much, but he also knows what kind of words to say to keep you drawn back to him. You were twin flames, both with large fires, just waiting to burn each other out. No one understood you like him (vice versa) and he is the only person who's able to match your craziness.

The wanton desire that he feels over destruction. The wanton desire that you feel over destroying him. We are born for each other, you thought. You made that man - filled his boring and touch-starved self with attention until he began forming his own ambitions. He's nothing without you, and Vought is nothing without you.

A few weeks ago, you really wanted to kill yourself.

You planned on slitting your throat down the river. Your dead body would wash up on the shores, and everyone will point their fingers at Homelander. His life was going to be ruined, his reputation, his demographics - he was going to be a FAIL in all demographics. But now, maybe you should get back to him.

Because he really loves you. He wants to make it up to you. He knows the words to say to rile you up, and he knows what words to say to make you forgive him. He was the Adam to your Eve.

Your creator and your ruin.

If love doesn't rile you up, make you change yourself, make you evil, then it isn't love in the first place. It's dependence.

This thing that you feel for Homelander. It's love.

Love in its own twisted way.

[midnightorchids]

Slightly controversial opinion!!

I’m gonna be honest I don’t like most Jason fan casts (especially that one hockey player that everyone keeps using recently and obviously that one guy from shadow hunters).

In my head, Jason’s got slightly tan skin and a big (kinda crooked) nose. I don’t think he’s one of those “conventionally attractive” guys. Don’t get me wrong, he’s gorgeous, but like in a way that defies the beauty standard. I think that’s why the face claims make me annoyed, people just grab a random pretty boy and call it a day.

But anyways, I think he has messy wavy/curly hair (with the streak ofc), which he only really styles when there’s a gala.

He has super sharp features, his cheekbones are crazy. He’s got random cuts and scars on his face and neck. I think he has a longer face shape? If that makes sense? I also don’t know how to describe this, but he just has a sad face? Like you know how people have a rbf, it’s that but he just looks kinda sad.

He has dark green eyes, that sometimes feel like they’re glowing (because of the pit). I think he has very intense dark circles and eye bags as well. I like to think that he wears kohl or eyeliner in his waterline sometimes because he’s edgy like that lol.

He’s tall but he’s not insanely tall. He’s huge in terms of muscle, big neck, big thighs, massive back and shoulders, he’s just a really big guy. On top of that, I think he wears baggy hoodies and big cargos, so he just looks even bigger. Another reason why I don’t like the face claims is because most of the guys look so small? And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that but that’s just not Jason?

Also, he wears chunky rings and I think he has massive hands, I mean it only makes sense considering his size. His hands are super rough and covered in bruises, his knuckles are almost always taped up.

Anyways that was my rant! If you know someone that fits this description let me know!!

[kismetconstellations]

"Mr. Barnum, I can't just run off and join the circus." "Why not? Sounds thrilling, doesn't it?"

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | prologue

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | prologue: the realm's craving

In honor of Queen Aemma's labors beginning, King Viserys the First and his two twin daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/n, host and sponsor an heir's tournament. The Realm's Delight was a title owned to Rhaenyra, rider of Syrax and the King's cup bearer, the older twin. Though Y/n wore the title: The Realm's Craving, rider of Nymeria and wielder of Blackfyre; Y/n made her reputation known for being the princess whom was outspoken and untouchable, wielding the conqueror's blade just after Jaehaerys.

word count: 2.4k | warnings: reader is described to have pale white hair and to look like visenya (plus largely endowed in the chest…), graphic descriptions of violence, y/n is otto's biggest opp, viserys you fool, slight misogyny. | author's note: welcome back! i fear i will not get over elliott tittensor as ser erryk, i hope you enjoy this series and it will be much longer! also, i took the liberties to spice up the reader. - i will update the meadow in which you lay soon!

next

"Since the dawn of our birth, father has exceedingly taken an interest in marrying us both off to a Valyrian house dear sister" you teased to your sister just before you saddled onto your dragon mounts, "And solemnly for us, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys have only one male child".

Nymeria was a pale purple dragon, reminiscent of your eyes that passed down through generations of Targaryen lineages, your sister's eyes were painted blue, just as your mother's and father's. The townsfolk all spoke of your appearance in great detail in the days they ever saw you. "The favorable yet quieter and fiercer twin", "The twin with more Targaryen than Arryn in her", "The Princess with the mounds of Valryia", "The actual Dark Sister", and your personal favorite, "*King Maegor as a consort".

"I love our father dearly but I do not wish to be married off… especially to someone of father's tastes" Rhaenyra spoke as she pet Syrax, earning a light coo from the dragon. Nymeria was larger than Syrax though smaller than Vhagar due to age, the Dragonkeepers all spoke of Nymeria being the dragonseed of Meraxes or Vhagar.

As your sister and yourself took off on riding into the skies of King's Landing, jesting one another into a race. Nymeria outshined Syrax though both dragons were quite fond of one another, sisters though did not share an eggs hatch. If Rhaenyra were to be the daughter of Westeros, you were the daughter of the dragons. Though your father was staunchly disagreed with your attitude and the lack of conformity both you and your sister paraded, he wished you both to be near silent and seen sisters, rather than heard.

The clouds felt soft against your skin, your hair braided strategically and your dress flowing in the wind, the fabric straining against your body leaving little to the imagination of what you were gifted with when you came of age. Your father always ordered your clothes to be modest, fearing the great houses and his council were to mistake you for a whore he would say, though you defied him endlessly, giving the king no ounce of rest. The high-born folk and townsfolk were the same when it came to you and commenting on your bodice, horny men clutched to their belts in restraint and shifted in their seats or stance whenever you were present in court, jealous women who were displeased by your body as their husband's had lack the respect for their wife, it was not your problem you told yourself. It was nature's design to be given a body like yours, your mother tiredly reassured you, being of Targaryen and Arryn lineage, your body was evidence of years of warriors. Though, she refrained from calling you what everyone else did, "Visenya's twin".

You did not see being compared to Visenya as an insult, though not your direct ancestor, Visenya was still a beautiful woman- who's beauty matched her brain. She is the reason your father has a Kingsguard by his side, the reason Daemon now has Dark Sister, the reason for your own beauty. You wore it as a badge of honor rather than a distasteful insult, often wondering if Daemon did not stain and smear your family name with his unfiltered temper that aged well before you and Rhaenyra were birthed, if you were to be named Visenya as well. Daemon's temper was compared to that of Maegor and his mother's, when you came of age of six-and-ten with Rhaenyra, your father once joked, "Now we must wait and see whom Visenya will be, and whom will be Maegor". His eyes landed on you at the instance of saying Maegor's name; you remember viscerally crying in your chambers that night, questioning if your father saw you as a nuisance of the family. Twins only meant that one child was not planned, and Rhaenyra was the older twin.

They used to speak of Aegon's feats as a soldier and warrior, though never of him being a husband or a father. Rumors and tales were spoken of Targaryen men, they are either fierce knights, or wonderful fathers. You'd wager your father was neither, but only under your breath you'd say such a thing. They would also speak of Aegon's love for his wives, for every one night he'd spend with Visenya, he'd spend ten with Rhaenys. They'd also speak of Visenya's unfaltering fidelity to Aegon, but how there were whispers at court that Rhaenys took younger men to her bed on the nights Aegon would be with Visenya. You almost felt pity for the woman, her son abused and neglected whilst her sister's sired kin were cherished and respected. Underneath it all, Visenya was still an amazing queen and consort, even with the wicked feats of Maegor, that was still her baby, even so as she waged the revenge of her younger sister's death. Though you were technically younger than Rhaenyra, you were her Visenya.

"We should see ourselves back, to check on mother" you spoke up to your sister, shouted as she was a distance away from you. She nodded at your advisement, both of you delving down into the ground, racing once again. Upon reaching the ground, met with Ser Harold and the dragonkeepers, along with a carriage that revealed Alicent. You were never too fond of Alicent, though she was your sister's dear friend and lady-in-waiting, your fondness resided in Laena, forming an inseparable bond as she rode Vhagar and you rode seemingly, Vhagar's closest kin.

"I am taking you are here for the tourney our fathers are planning Alicent?" you questioned as you removed your gloves and slid off Nymeria's mount, petting your dragon once more before touching her with your forehead in order to bid farewell as she was taken by the dragonkeepers. Walking up to the Lady before looking back to see your sister dismounting from Syrax. Alicent only nodded at your question, you could barely earn a few words from Alicent, often wondering if it was because you were the second daughter to the king, yet still a higher-born daughter than any great house of Westeros. Or if it was due to the desire her brother held for you, though you always shut down his advances, it was insult to you that he felt the privilege to speak to you, the eldest son of the second son to a noble but not great house. You'd never soil your family's name and heritage to wed a Hightower, it was not your taste.

As you walked off, Rhaenyra and Alicent engaged in conversation, you mounted yourself on a horse before looking at Ser Ryam, you were fond of him though, wildly attracted to his newly appointed kingsguard, the Cargyll twins. Tall lads they were, only two-name days older than you and your sister, their hairs match each other's short and disheveled but strategically disheveled, almost as if they both wanted to appear more desirable. Though your desire for the new brothers did not blind you of the health of Ser Ryam, noticing his energy and will to live deplete as the days pass.

"Will you follow me to the castle Ser Ryam? You look awfully tired" you asked, earning a nod from the knight, before he was named Lord Commander once again, your father had him as your sworn shield for several years. As you rode back to the Red Keep, taking sparing glances back at Ser Ryam, just as you wondered into the woods just before reaching the Keep, slowing down in order to conversate with Ser Ryam.

"Anything on your mind dear princess?" Ser Ryam questioned, his horse taking small gallops.

"Do you believe me to be inept?" you asked for his opinion, "I am taunted with the fact that I am in the body of a woman, yet I decline every Lord's hand, including the handsome Stark boys, though the only man to ever catch my intrigue…" you nearly spoke too much yet too little.

"Is bound to another?" Ser Ryam questioned in confusion. You looked up at the sky in defeat, sighing before shaking your head, chuckling in the depravity of your mind.

"Bound to oaths" you then broke the pregnant silence, "Ser Erryk makes a fine knight, does he? Seeing that he and his brother were sworn in just under a year of training. He is quite the handsome man the townsfolk yelp about" you bit your lip, allowing yourself to vent to the knight.

"He may not take a wife I am afraid, my princess" Ser Ryam begun, only earning a somber look from your face, "I too loved a woman before being knighted, she had gone off to marry one of the Tully lads due to my oath. I see her once every blue moon, my love never faltered or betrayed me. I do not blame her for going off to marry, she deserved to be loved in more ways than words, stolen kisses, and nights".

"Do all members of the Kingsguard follow the vow of chastity?" you questioned further.

"We do. Granted I was not in a sticky situation being that of equal ranking to the maiden, though her honor was one I did not want to take lightly. I do pity her husband, it should have been him to be the one to take her maidenhead, not a kingsguard besmirching both her's and I's honor. Our vows are sworn under the seven, as every woman is a picture of the mother, no matter how much we wish it to be individual" Ser Ryam answered honestly, "I am to guard your secrets as well my Princess, any words spoken in this moment are under the eyes of you and me. Though I do advise you, being unmarried puts you at odds if you fall pregnant".

You laughed at the knight's comment, "It is only a crush I am afraid; I am too socially inept to talk to him more than the simply escorts to and from my chambers in the morning and eve".

As you and Rhaenyra walked into the chambers of your mother, being met with kisses on your forehead. You quickly made way to apply warm towels to your mothers' legs as they were swollen, kissing your mother's forehead before moving her hair out of her face as the sweat led it cling onto her skin. You did not envy your mother though she was carrying the burden and joy of life in her. It was you and Rhaenyra who held royal wombs, as your mother would say.

"I will be in the council mother; I will see you in the eve" you told her before dismissing yourself. You never could stomach seeing your mother in agony, Rhaenyra knew it, your mother and father knew it.

As you were met with the knight of your dreams, you smiled carelessly, "May you escort me to the council room, Ser Erryk? I find myself craving conversation to someone who isn't completely eager to marry me off". The knight offered his forearm for you to hold, escorting you to the council room across the Keep and floors down.

"Are you enjoying the preparations for the tourney Princess?" Ser Erryk asked you, both of you never were sure of what to talk about.

"I do wish I were involved in combat I must say, I envy you men for being able to succumb yourselves to violence for a day" you jested, earning a soft smile from the knight, "Are you and Arryk participating? Perhaps I can bless you both with my favor or offer you to hold Blackfyre".

Erryk was stunned greatly of your offer, Blackfyre was a noble sword, the Conqueror's no less, "You honor me more than I deserve princess, though yes, Aryk and I are participating, hopefully we do wish to not have to face your uncle, the prince".

You scoffed silently, smirking at the knight, "Which is why I offered Blackfyre" you instigated the knight as you made your way through the halls. "Daemon wields Dark Sister and I envy him for it, it is an easier fit for a woman's hand. Though, Blackfyre was sworn to me instead of my father by Jaehaerys himself".

Once you made the way to the council room you dismissed Erryk before stating once again, "If you wish to take upon my offer, you can meet me in my chambers tonight" the bold words flowed out of your tongue as if it were familiar to you.

The knight nodded, hand finding purchase on the small of your back as you stepped onto the stairs that led into the council room. You bit your lip once again, holding his eyes for a bit too long before Ser Rickard Thorne took notice, clearing his throat in the process. As you straightened your back and bid him a farewell in a glance, moving your body to enter the council room. Noting the heat that electrified between you and the loyal knight. Only choosing to distract yourself with the bland conversations held at your father's table before Rhaenyra made her way into the council room, only then you found yourself amused once again. Tomorrow will be the heir's tournament, a babe outshining you and Rhaenyra, though you hoped to the god's that tonight, the knight of your dreams finds himself taking your offer.

taglist: @wolvestitches

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Cupid's Shot🩷

pairing: lee felix x reader

genre: fluff, angst, slow burn

word count: 10.4k

description: what happens when Cupid breaks the rules and falls in love with a mortal?

warning/s: there are suggestive parts so mdni! not proofread!

a/n: here i go again with another felix fic and i'm really proud of it, except i feel like the ending is rushed but i had to write it twice cause i accidentally didn't save it the first time jddkdll

but anyways there will be a second part to this, with smut. it will be a continuation on this main fic but could also be read as its own thing.

please reblog if you like it!🩷

Their purpose is simple: bring two destined souls together by helping them get rid of their fears and insecurities, assist them to find the happiness they deserve, the love they would nurture with their soul mate.

Contrary to popular belief and the information in many books, there isn't only one Cupid, there is a whole nation of them, living in another realm, invisible to the eyes of the mortals, but they can see everything. Including the mortals auras, souls and their destined lovers.

The only rule they have to abide by is to not fall in love with a mortal. None of them really questioned it, they're just beings of light, existing to fulfill their purpose, until they disperse into little particles of shiny dust, disappearing into The Great Source Of Light.

They would get their assigned charges and do everything they can to cross them off the list after they manage to finally match them with their loved one.

Felix often wondered about a lot of things, like why was he born a Cupid, was he even born and where he actually came from if he wasn't. He wondered what The Great Source Of Light actually is and where it would take him after he fulfilled his duties. He wondered why wasn't he allowed to fall in love when love was so soft, warm and fuzzy. Wasn't love the ultimate goal? Was this some kind of punishment because of what he did in a past life; to be a mere messenger of love but never be able to experience it?

Ofcourse, he never dared to say anything like that out loud for the fear of what would happen if he did. He's never actually seen any punishments or violence happening in his little world, everything was cheerful and perfect, the Cupids worked and flew around with blushing cheeks and smiles painted on their faces; never complaining, never tiring. But he didn't want to risk it, or seem like he is defying the natural order of things, he is only curious.

Felix gets a scroll with names of his new charges, and he opens up the paper. Scanning over the names as they shine in a white-ish glow off the paper, something calls to him. His eyes flick around until they land on your name. Something inside him blooms, chimes and explodes in little fireworks. He chants your name in his head. It's time to find you. His eyes close and he focuses on your aura. Mixes of purples and blues swirl behind his closed eyelids and he can feel it closer, smell the sweet flowery scent with a hint of petrichor in it.

He opens his eyes and he's transported, his eyes meeting yours but ofcourse you don't see him. Your chin is resting on your palms, elbows perched on the table as you stare a hole into the computer screen in front of you. Felix quickly takes note of the surroundings, the clacking sounds, telephones ringing and chatter in the distance. He's in an office building, and you're sitting in your cubicle, your hair neatly tied and face devoid of any emotions. But he can see your aura, it's swirling and wilding around your frame, painting pretty designs around you. He thinks he's never seen something as beautiful as you are.

"Y/n!"- someone slams a stack of papers on your desk, startling both you and your Cupid, making him float back a little as he observes you.

"These papers need to be finished today."- the woman says, a malicious undertone in her voice.

"B-but it's almost six. I've worked overtime and-"

"It's not my fault you're slow. Next time work during lunch."- the woman turns around, leaving like it's none of her business.

Felix sees you immediately slump in your chair, the pretty blues and purples of your aura dimming down a little as you grip the papers and start going through them. Cupids weren't supposed to feel bad feelings like anger or envy or anything of that sort but Felix somehow felt annoyed at the woman, and moreover he felt bad for you. He wished he could help you get home faster somehow, but he knows he shouldn't meddle into anything except your soul mate.

Speaking of soul mates, as soon as Felix came down from his realm to yours, he couldn't feel another soul that's supposed to be binded to you. That was unusual but not impossible, sometimes charges had their hearts closed off and the Cupids had to try and open up their hearts first before actually connecting them with love.

He dismissed it for now and focused on you, trying to send you a lovely boost of energy so you don't feel too bad. You were tired and stressed, sick od being mistreated at work, seen as less than. There is a lump forming in your throat and tears threating to spill down your cheeks as you keep working. Suddenly, you feel relief, like someone untied the knot inside your chest and you take a deep breath in and somehow feel more energetic to keep working.

It's already past 9pm when you're done and you're beyond exhausted. All you want right now is a nice shower, a warm bowl of noodles and your bed. Felix observes as you tidy your desk and he follows you when you leave the building to your car. The walk through the empty dark parking lot is eerie and Felix can sense the fear creeping up inside you so he floats a little closer to you, his pink soft wings almost touching you. Not that you would feel it even if they did.

Your apartment is small, but it's cozy and clean and it smells like you, like your aura. It makes Felix's senses fuzzy, something he never experienced before. He looks around the living room full of plants you obviously love taking care of, pictures of you and your friends and family, little knick knacks you collect. He does a full turn and comes face to face with you, in your bra and he panics and scrambles away, almost flying into your lamp. The lamp swings ever so slightly and Felix is not sure how his wings have effect on anything physical in this world because they usually don't. He turns away from you giving you your privacy, waiting for you to leave to the bathroom.

When you do, he slowly flies back closer to the lamp and tries to touch it but his hand goes right through it. It was nothing, he sighs, relief washing over him. He keeps looking around, gathering information about his charge so he knows how to help you open up your heart and find love. Some kind of weird feeling washes over him shortly but he shakes it off. You come out of the bathroom, thankfully in your pjs which look adorable on you, Felix thinks as he smiles and watches you.

After your quiet dinner, you get ready for sleep and crawl into your bed, finally relieved to be in your safe space where no one can harm you. Felix ofcourse doesn't want to intrude and be around while you sleep, at least not yet, not when it's to early to enter your dreams. He turns around to fly out, back to his realm but a sniffle stops him. He stays still and listens, another sniffle coming from under your blanket.

A pang hits his chest when he realizes you're crying. He turns back to you and floats closer, the closer he gets, the more pain in his chest he feels. Why is it like this? Felix has always felt emotions of his charges to a certain degree but never this intense. It's almost unbearable to him and he struggles to come closer to you. He tries anyways, shining a little light he made inside his palms to look at you, but you're in the dark and can't see it. But he sees you and you look completely shattered as tears stream down your cheeks, eyes already red from crying. Your lips quiver, your aura fades more into gray and Felix feels what you feel.

He feels used and abandoned, ridiculed and lonely, unloveable. The feelings are so strong that they force him back away from you, tossing him into the wardrobe behind him, making the door rattle. You gasp and scramble into a sitting position, turning on the lamp beside your bed as fast as you can. You swallow in sudden fear as you look around but nothing's there. Felix is still, he's looking at you and he feels so bad that he scared you, especially while you were in a vunerable state. He still has no idea how he managed to make the door rattle or the lamp swing but that scares him too even though he didn't even feel any pain from the impact.

You shake your head and lay back down, turning the lamp off and wiping your tears away. Felix slowly floats towards the window, cautious not to touch or knock anything down. He looks at you one more time before he shimmers himself back into his realm.

"Have you ever moved a physical item in the earth realm?"- Felix whispers to his coworker and friend, Hyunjin, one of the Cupids he was close to.

"What?"- Hyunjin looks at him, his pink lips pouty and eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Like... like have you ever accidentally made a lamp swing or a door rattle?"- he tries again and Hyunjin chuckles at his friend.

"Did you hit your head somewhere, Lix? We literally can't touch anything, we're not made from the same stuff earth beings and their things are made of."- Hyunjin says, closing his scroll and looking at Felix again.

"Yeah, yeah I know. It was just a stupid question."- Felix says quickly.

"Are you sure?"- Hyunjin squints his eyes at him.

"Yeah, positive. Don't worry about it."- Felix smiles in hopes to get the other Cupid to not ask any further questions since Cupids weren't really capable of lying.

"Eh, alright."- Hyunjin shrugs, opening up his scroll again and Felix sighs in relief. His friend was never one to pry information out of someone or ask incessant questions, which in this moment Felix is thankful for.

He's more than excited to see you again today, hoping you feel better than you did yesterday. He concentrates on your soul and aura, seeking you amongst the 8 billion souls on earth. As soon as he senses you he's transported into... the office bathroom? He's about to fly out because this is a breach of privacy but then he hears a familiar sniffle. There's no way you're crying in the office bathroom stall, is there? Felix slowly floats, looking for the source of the sound until he stops in front of the last door. He inhales and pushes himself through it, his eyes shut tightly. He slowly opens his eyes and squints, praying that you're not in some kind of compromising position.

You're not, you're just sitting on the closed toilet, your face in your hands and you're crying. Felix feels it again, the negative feelings drowning you in sorrow, one especially prominent. You feel excluded, invisible. Unimportant. Cupids don't really have a reason to cry usually, but Felix can feel your pain deeply with all of his being and his eyes water, golden sparkly tears sliding down his freckled cheeks. He reaches his hand towards you, trying to channel anything good through it, simultaneously fighting the bad feelings pushing him away. He knows he's not supposed to touch you or transfer any kind of light into you unless it's a dire soulmate situation but at this moment he doesn't care. He just doesn't want you to feel so sad and hurt so much. He places his palm on the top of your head, gently sliding it towards the back of your head and your head snaps up, your hand touching your hair where he just touched you.

Felix backs away immediately, pulling his hand to his chest as he panics, his big doe eyes wide as you look around in confusion. How did you feel that? You were only supposed to feel the light energy, but you actually felt his touch. Felix panics more when you reach towards him and he floats back out of the stall. Turns out you were just reaching for the door as you swung them open and hurried towards the sink.

Felix's heart beats hard in his chest, a strong fuzzy feeling shimmering in his insides, so dizzying to him that he doesn't even realize he floated right next to you. He gasps and looks at you but luckily you don't see him, you just splashed your face with water and you're looking at your reflection. He wonders what's happening to him, because a charge never made him feel like this nor did they feel him as you apparently did. He didn't even know who to ask about these things, and his friend Hyunjin seemed to know as much if not less than he does.

Felix throws that in the back of his mind for now, his main concern being; what or who made you cry at work? He follows you back to your cubicle and notices a few people gathered around another woman in the office, they're talking and throwing glances at you. Felix floats closer to listen in, even though he shouldn't really be doing that.

"Wow, Natasha, that ring really is beautiful."- one of the woman gushes as she speaks to the so called Natasha.

"I'm glad you're doing a bachelorette party."- one of them squeals.

"And I'm glad you didn't invite that weirdo. She seriously gives me the creeps."- another woman says, and Felix quickly realizes they're talking about you.

"Ugh, who cares about her. Let's talk about the party."- Natasha waves her hand and Felix feels something boiling in his blood, something he never felt before. Something that scares him and makes him wish he could do bad things to anyone who hurts you or makes you cry, but it quickly dissipates when he looks at your face. You look so dejected and he doesn't want you to think you're alone. He flies back to your cubicle and settles right next to you. And you're boiling. With sadness, anger and hurt, you're on the verge of exploding. Felix feels the push you're involuntarily making, pushing him and essentially pushing love away from you. Your aura is in the darker hues of blue and purple, swirling angrily. You stand up and as much as Felix wants you to stand up for yourself, he feels that you're not in the right state of mind and you might get yourself in trouble.

He quickly stands behind you, his hands hovering above your shoulders, scared now to actually touch you so you don't get spooked. He only hovers his hands above, as close to your skin as he can and sends some soothing light energy into your tense muscles. You relax visibly, the feelings of anger subsiding a little. You shake your head and sit down, deciding to ignore the bitches in your office because who really gives a damn about Natasha's wedding? You for sure don't so you go back to your work and Felix sighs behind you.

As you did yesterday, you continue working late into the night, leaving the building last again, crossing the creepy parking lot to your car and Felix follows closely like he did the day before. There's something different about your aura after that bout of anger you had in the office, something wilder brewing inside you. Felix can feel it and for some reason he doesn't recognize the feeling and he's left confused the whole way home as you drive, your hands gripping the wheel harshly.

You're calmer when you walk into your apartment and you do your nightly routine just like you did yesterday while Felix observes you patiently. You take a shower, he waits in the living room, he joins you for dinner and waits for you again in your room while you get ready for bed.

You lay down in your bed and the unfamiliar feeling that floated through you earlier is back. Felix struggles with it, he can't really comprehend the swirling he feels in his gut and he can't wrap his head around it being either a good or a bad feeling. He should leave but his curiosity gets the best of him, especially when you start making noises. Are you crying again?, Felix thinks and floats closer to you slowly only to realize in shock and horror that you're touching yourself.

He gasps, that feeling deep inside him stronger the closer he is to you and he feels like his insides are throbbing. Cupids don't exactly have a body they can touch but they know what sex is, after all that's part of relationships and love. And they also know they shouldn't be intruding on a private moment like this so Felix floats away towards the door, ignoring the fuzziness blurring his senses and vision. He tries to float through the door, the physical barriers never stopping him before, but his forehead collides hard with the door causing him to fall down on his butt, and he groans in pain. Pain? Since when do Cupids feel physical pain from impact like that?, he panics, his hand coming up to rub at his forehead.

"What the hell?"- he hears you say as you sit up and turn your lamp on, your eyes trained on the door. Felix guesses he made a lot of noise, again, and startled you, again.

"If there's a ghost in here now, you're sick!"- you yell out into the room and Felix looks up at you but luckily you don't seem to see him.

"Ugh, ghosts are scary."- he shivers, muttering to himself. You don't hear him, you sigh and lay back down, leaving the lamp on and opting to grab your phone. You open up Instagram, the mood you were in gone now.

Felix lifts up, dusting off the imaginary speckles of dust and glances at you again, feeling embarassed about this whole situation. He's confused about the door and how you managed to hear him smack into it. There's only one person he could ask about these happenings, and he's beyond nervous because of that.

"Hey Lix, how's it going?"- Changbin, one of the more experienced Cupids greets Felix as he makes his way to the Elders. Specifically, one he wants to talk to. Minho. For some reason, everyone is scared of him and there are rumours going around, rumours Felix doesn't even wanna think about because he gets scared easily.

"I- I need to talk to Minho."- Felix gulps and Changbin's smile falters.

"Oh? What for?"- he asks.

"It's personal. About my charge."- Felix answers.

"Ah, you got a tough one? Probably doesn't want to open their heart up for love, hm?"- Changbin wears a small smirk on his face as he plays around with the scroll he holds in his hands.

"Something like that, yeah."- Felix answers.

"You summoned me?"- there's a voice behind Felix and he shivers and turns around quickly, only to be greeted by a very pretty being, one that has sharp eyes and facial features but somehow there is softness underneath all that.

"Y-yes I did. I'm Felix."

"I know who you are. Tell me what you need."- the Elder called Minho talks calmly.

Felix turns to Changbin and he understands and shimmers away from them.

"Well, something weird is happening with my charge."- Felix says, clearing his throat.

"Weird how?"- Minho asks, the white light shining around him almost blinding Felix.

"I can feel her feelings, emotional and physical ones very strongly. So strongly that they managed to hurl me into her wardrobe and... and the door made noise. And then last night... I tried to float through her bedroom door and I banged my head into it."- Felix explains and he gets quieter and quieter as he talks, looking at Minho's face. The expressions Minho made during Felix's speech looked like he went through the five stages of grief in a few seconds.

"Has she heard you or seen you yet?"- Minho asks sternly and Felix is now scared for real.

"Yet? No, I mean no, she didn't. But she felt my touch. At least I think she did."- he mutters the last part.

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, a long sigh coming out of his mouth.

"Someone screwed up. Again."- he says, annoyed.

"W-what do you mean?"- Felix feels like he's about to cry.

"Okay listen, just keep watching over your charge like you normally would. Create a link with her and infiltrate her dreams, fill them up with love. I'll talk to the others and we'll see what we can do. You just keep doing what you're doing. And don't be scared."- Minho places his hand on Felix's shoulder gently, in hopes of calming the young Cupid down. But nothing about Felix is calm in this moment.

It must be something big if Minho didn't tell him what's happening and he's asking to meet the other Elders. Something seriously bad is happening and Felix can't help but panic. In that moment of distress, he suddenly yearns to be by your side, the sweet scent of your aura, of you enveloping him and caressing him from the inside out. Felix opens his eyes and he's transported into your room. He didn't mean to do that and it startles him, he merely had a thought about you and he was suddenly there.

It's morning in the earth realm, way past your time to go to work but you're still in bed. It must be your day off or the weekend, Felix reckons. He hovers over your sleeping form and looks at you. Your aura is peaceful right now, the blues and purples leaning more to the pastel hues, and a slight silver shimmer between them swirling and dancing slowly. You must be having a good dream, Felix thinks as he smiles and reaches his hand towards you. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help himself. His palm rests on your cheek, and a buzzing feeling goes through him. A feeling he knows too well.

He gasps, retracting his hand as you stir in your sleep. Did you feel it too? His touch? The buzzing, the one that Felix always feels when a charges soulmate is near by. He couldn't believe it, he suddenly felt the other soul binded to you. But it was weird, like it's so close, almost like it's part of him. Something washes over him, a kind of melancholy and he doesn't know what to do with it. Sparkly tears brim at his eyes for a reason unknown to him and you're finally awake.

Your eyes flutter open and you stare straight at Felix, your sleep covered eyes boring into his wide ones. You freeze and he freezes too, his brain short-circuiting at the moment.

"What in the-" - you start and he shimmers away as fast as he can. There's no way. There's no freaking way you just saw him. He hopes he was fast enough so you'd think you were still dreaming. He shimmers back into his realm and accidentally bumps into Hyunjin hard, throwing him off balance.

"Woah! Felix?"- Hyunjin looks at him wide-eyed. "How did you do that?"- he asks.

"Do what?"- Felix's panic spreads wider inside him.

"You pushed me. How did you push me?"- Hyunjin looks confused.

"I- I don't know. I can't explain it right now, I just need to talk to Minho."

"You can't. The Elders are having a meeting. It's something serious by the look of it. Even The Great Source Of Light is attending the meeting. You know it's something bad when they're there."- his fellow Cupid explains.

"Oh my god!"- Felix cries, tears streaming down his cheeks and his friend gasps.

"Oh! You're crying! Why are you crying?"- Hyunjin flails both his arms and wings. He's never seen his fellow Cupids cry like this, especially not the always smiling Felix.

"I can't tell you. I need to go!"- Felix shuts his eyes tightly, concentrating on you again. He hears Hyunjin shouting his name, but it's too late, Felix is transported into your apartment again.

Only this time, it's the living room and you're sitting on the couch, talking to someone on the phone.

"I'm telling you it looked real. He was like some kind of angel. But like Barbie pink version."- you say and Felix accidentally chuckles. He covers his mouth fast but you didn't seem to hear him behind you. He slowly circles the couch to stand in front of you but you look through him.

"Well alright then my dreams are vivid as always. He was kinda cute tho."- you giggle and Felix feels warmness spreading in his face and chest.

"Sure, sure I need to get laid. According to you."- you laugh into the speaker, playing with the hem of your shirt, your legs tucked under one of the decorative pillows on your couch.

"Okay, let me know when you find a normal one."- you chuckle again. "I'll see you soon then. Bye!"

You hang up and shake your head, thinking to yourself that you've really gone mad if you started hallucinating like that. You get up and make your way to your room and Felix follows behind you silently, his senses buzzing again. You open up your closet and start sifting through your dresses. Felix heats up when he realizes you're about to undress. He turns around fast, closing his eyes, trying to be respectful even though there's a strong pull inside him telling him to just turn back around to face you. But he fights it and stays with his back turned to you.

When he's sure you're dressed he whips back around and his eyes land on you, dressed in a pretty dress and checking yourself in the mirror.

"Oh."- Felix gasps, his chest fluttering. He's never seen you dressed like that and his senses start buzzing even more. He's dizzy suddenly so he moves away from you, into the living room. He doesn't want to risk bumping into something or you seeing him again even though he has no idea what actually triggered that.

You finish getting ready and head out, Felix floating behind you. It's a beautiful sunny day and you walk to the park near your house, where your best friend waits for you.

"Y/n!"- Jisung waves at you, getting up from the bench he was sitting on and opening up his arms.

"Sungie!"- you yell back and close the distance, returning the hug.

Felix's lips fall open, and he feels something stirring inside him, something kind of uncomfortable at the sight of you hugging another man like that. You and Jisung part and start walking down the path together. Felix hurries up behind you, trying to put his hand on Jisung's shoulder so he can feel his soul. Jisung's aura is invisible to Felix, since he's not his charge but he can still 'read' his soul only if he manages to make the connection.

"So, how did your date go?"- you ask your friend.

"Which date? The one on Wednesday or the one last night?"- he smirks and you chuckle, smacking his arm and unkowingly startling your Cupid.

"Which ever one was better... or more eventful."- you wiggle your eyebrows.

"Honestly, they were both a snooze. This guy last night almost bored me to death. I'm beginning to think I'll never find my soulmate."- Jisung sighs. Felix's hand is almost on his shoulder.

"Aww, don't say that. I believe that you of all people will actually find your soulmate."- you say.

"I don't see it, unless Cupid personally comes down to earth and finds someone for me."- Jisung jokes and Felix freezes and retracts his hand.

Why did he say that? Did he actually believe in Cupid? Or was he just saying it?

You reach your favorite diner, and Felix manages to float through the door this time while following you. He stands behind your friend's chair as you chat and order, his hands hovering above Jisung's shoulder. He finally places them down, little lights forming from them as he tries to feel around for that familiar buzz and warmness.

But, nothing happens. Jisung doesn't flinch, you keep talking and laughing, and there is no buzz or warmness or love. At least not that kind, Felix can feel that Jisung cares about you as a friend but he isn't your soulmate and Felix feels relieved. Why is he relieved?! He's supposed to find your soulmate, that's his only purpose! He feels confused suddenly, thoughts swirling inside him and he decides - tonight will be the night he will try to infiltrate your dreams.

Felix waits for you to fall asleep instead of shimmering away this evening. When he's sure you're entering deeper into your dreams, he floats closer to you and hovers over you. He places his hands above your head and closes his eyes, concentrating on your energy. Little particles of light shine out of his hands onto your face, warming you up and creating the link your Cupid needs to basically transport himself into your mind.

You're dreaming, at least you think you are but it feels real. More real than any other dream you had before. You're in a field that seems to stretch forever, it's warm and sunny, you're surrounded by beautiful flowers but there's something different about them, different than flowers you see in real life. They're glowing, you realize. The light on their petals glimmers into million different colors, you've never seen anything like it.

"Pretty, isn't it?"- you hear a deep voice behind you and you whip around fast, but you're met with more flowers and grass.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"- you say.

"Not yet."- the voice says. "I don't want to spook you."

"Who are you?"- you ask.

"I'm... someone who's trying to help you open up your heart to love."- the voice reckons.

"Oh? I don't think my heart's closed though."

"Then why do you feel so lonely?"

"Ouch! That's none of your business!"- you feel slightly annoyed at the voice, but this is also just a dream so it must be your subconscious.

"Actually, that is exactly my business-"

"Honestly, I feel crazy talking to a void. Just come out from wherever you're hiding."- you hear a deep sigh and then you see a blinding light. Your arms come up to shield your eyes as you wait for the flickering to subside. When you put your arms down, you come face to face with a beautiful creature. You've never seen anyone as pretty as this creature is, they're practically glowing, their pretty pink wings shimmering and moving lightly as they hover over the ground.

"Hey, I know you!"- you say suddenly, pointing at him and waving your finger. "I saw you this morning when I opened my eyes. Oh my god, I am going crazy. I've conjured up some kind of pretty man in my dreams! You are a man, right?"

"Ugh, well, I'm not technically human. But for humans I am male presenting. I'm actually-" - Felix doesn't get to finish his sentence, he's suddenly forcefully thrown out of your mind.

The link is broken, why? Felix opens his eyes and you're awake. It's still night so why did you wake up? He floats away from you, giving you space as he sees you fumbling for your night lamp.

You turn the light on, your hand coming up to rest on your forehead. The connection must've been too much for you that it caused you a headache and that's why you woke up. Your Cupid feels bad that he caused you pain so he comes closer to you again, lifting his hands up over your hair to take the pain away. His light heals you and the pressure that was throbbing inside your head and behind your eyelids is suddenly gone. You go back to sleep feeling exhausted and confused about your dream even though you couldn't remember the details of it. Felix decides to stay next to you tonight.

It's been a few weeks, and the Elders haven't said a word about their meeting or Felix's 'situation' to him. He was still scared and panicky but he tried to stay calm for the sake of his charge - you, who he had to help find love. He tried to ignore the constant buzzing he felt whenever he got closer to you, but it was consuming him and making him feel weaker. Like his powers were harder to call upon, and he had no idea how you or the soul binded to you were doing that. Speaking of that soul, he had yet to find them and he tried to 'read' every single person interacting with you, but every time the reading came up blank.

Tonight, Felix decided to appear in your dreams again and try to make the dream longer so you could have a proper conversation.

You find yourself on the pretty field again, those wondrous flowers glowing beautifully around you.

"Hello?"- you say, looking around the now familiar place.

"I'm here."- the deep voice says and you turn around towards it.

"Indeed you are."- you chuckle. "I must be crazy."

"I assure you, you're not. Let me properly introduce myself. My name is Felix, and I am... well I'm your Cupid."- he says and you look at him in disbelief before you burst out into laughter, startling the poor creature.

"Okay, this is just a dream."- you shake your head.

"Yes, it is."

"At least I'm not hallucinating in real life."- you say.

"I've come to talk to you. I'm having some problems in finding the soul binded to you. I feel them close but I can't find them. It must mean that your heart is closed off to love."

"Is that like a soulmate?"- you play along this illusion you created in your head, when in fact you know you're just talking to yourself.

The glowing creature nods.

"What if I don't have one?"- you ask.

"Nonsense! Everyone has a soulmate."

"Even you?"

"I am just a messenger of love."- Felix shakes his head.

"Maybe I'm not meant for love. Maybe I'm an exception and I don't have a soulmate or whatever."- you sigh and Cupid floats closer to you.

"Is that how you feel? Undeserving of love?"

"Are you going all psychological on me?"- you chuckle, he's now closer to you and you feel warmth radiating from the light around him.

"Well, I need to know what's stopping you from finding love."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."- you say, your mood sour suddenly and Felix feels it.

"Okay, we can talk about anything else."- he smiles at you.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be? Aren't you supposed to help people find love?"

"I am one of many."- Felix chuckles. "I'm supposed to be right here now. With you."

You're about to talk but your alarm blasts next to your ear and you realize you're waking up. The pretty field, flowers, sunshine and Cupid disappear into oblivion and you wake up in your room. The clock is showing 6:30am and you have to get ready for work. You have a warm feeling inside you and you feel like you just came from somewhere, some happy place and you're trying to grasp it again. You hate when you forget your dreams like that, but it must've been a good one because you're feeling more positive than you usually do.

Jisung calls you that evening, all excited about finding you the perfect date. He's been yapping about his coworker, Chan, for days, trying to get you to go out with him.

"Just take a risk. It's one date, what do you have to lose? If you don't like him just ghost him or something."

"Because that's very nice to do, Jisung."- you roll your eyes even though he can't see you over the phone and he laughs.

"Look, maybe it will just be some nice dick, but god knows you need that anyways."

"Oh my god!"- you laugh. "Alright then, I'll go out with him."

"Yes!"- you can imagine Jisung jumping up and down in excitement. "Wear that pretty black dress you have!"

And you do, you wear the dress, you put your heels on, you even put a little more makeup than you usually do and Felix watches.

He seethes in jelaousy, he recognizes it now, it's something Cupids aren't supposed to feel but he does. He wants you to make yourself this pretty for him, only for him. He knows it's the highest rule he's breaking but he can't help it, he's fallen in love with you.

You really don't have high expectations out of tonight, having been disappointed in people again and again. So you're surprised when Chan turns out not only handsome and funny but a real gentleman and someone you can actually have an intelligent conversation with. But you're cautious and don't want to jump to conclusions, or start anything serious.

That's why you decide to let go for the night, after a few encouraging drinks in your system, you invite Chan over to your place. You haven't been touched in so long, you forgot how good it feels to have someone kiss you as passionately as he does. You forgot how it feels to have gentle hands on your skin, worshipping you, laying you down on your bed.

Glowing golden tears slide down Felix's cheeks as he watches from the corner of the room. He knows Chan's not your soulmate, he linked to his soul back at the restaurant you had dinner at. And while he sensed that Chan was a good man, he still didn't want him anywhere near you. Felix still wants to give you privacy, but the buzzing and fuzziness clouding his senses don't let him move his wings or shimmer. He feels paralyzed and all he can do is turn his back to the bed, forced to listen to your pleasure, your strained moans, short breaths, your wetness caused by the man touching you and kissing you, the way you kept chanting his name.

Felix wishes to disappear, but at the same time his gut is stirring and he feels shame wash over him. He shuts his eyes tight, ignoring all the feelings brewing inside him, and suddenly he feels like he's being pulled up. He almost screams in fear but when he opens his eyes, he realizes he's back in his realm. Minho is glowing as he stands in front of him and Felix, still out of breath, slightly bows to his Elder.

"Felix."- Minho says and the Cupid gulps.

"Your powers are weakening fast, even as we speak."

"What's happening to me?"- Felix asks, fresh sparkly tears spilling out his eyes, lips quivering.

"You're losing your powers. You're becoming human, Felix."- Minho announces and Felix gasps.

"H-how is that possible?"- he's shivering now.

"I can't tell you yet. You need to find out on your own. Go back to your charge."

"B-but she's-"

"Go to her. Don't be afraid. Everything will be fine, Cupid."- Minho waves his hands towards Felix, little sparkly clouds coming out of them, soothing the Cupid's pain as much as he can.

"I can't shimmer."- Felix shakes his head, shaking a little.

"Just try to focus on your charge's energy and you'll be transported."- Minho says and Felix tries again, he senses you but he can't move.

"Hyunjin!"- Minho summons the other Cupid and he appears next to them. He takes in the state of his friend, shaking and tears still streaming down his cheeks. He's never seen him this weak or this sad.

"What's wrong?"- Hyunjin's brows furrow.

"He can't shimmer. Help him, just bring him to his charge, he'll show you the way."- Minho explains.

Hyunjin grabs Felix's hands gently and they both close their eyes, communicating with their minds, Felix sending his emotions and your soul's energy to Hyunjin. They manage to shimmer into your living room and Felix looks around. It's obviously the next day after that date, since time goes by differently in different realms.

"Hey, whatever happens, everything will be okay in the end, you know?"- Hyunjin smiles sympathetically at Felix, gently putting his hand on his friend's cheek.

"How do you know that?"- Felix's bottom lip quivers. "Do you know something I don't?"- he asks, vision blurry from tears. Hyunjin wipes them off.

"I don't. But I trust the Elders know what they're doing. And so does The Great Source Of Light. They would never harm us or anyone else for that matter."- Hyunjin reassures him.

"You really think that?"- Felix sniffles.

"I do. You'll be fine, my friend."- Hyunjin pats his head and shimmers away. Felix looks around again and you're not in the living room. He hears rummaging in your kitchen and he hopes and prays that Chan isn't still here. He wipes his tears away, trying to come to his senses, and you walk out of the kitchen towards your sofa.

You look up and freeze.

"What the fuck?!"- you squeal, grabbing the nearest object to you, which was just a decorative pillow in the shape of a flower and hurl it into the intruder standing next to your tv. Felix gasps, lifting his arms up to cover his face and the pillow flies right through him, a few particles of light dispersing around him as the pillow hits the wall with a thud.

"Okay, what the hell is this?!"- you say, obviously panicked and trying to pinch yourself so you wake up cause there's no way this is real.

"Don't hurt me!"- the 'intruder' speaks in a deep voice that's somehow familiar to you.

"What are you? What is happening?!"- you panic, half hiding behind your sofa. "Are you a ghost?"

"Ghosts are scary."- the creature shakes his head and comes closer. You squint your eyes, moving back a little, before realization dawns on you.

"I know you!"- you wave your finger at him and Felix feels a sense of deja vu. "You appear in my dreams. You talk to me. In some field with weird flowers."

"How do you remember that?"- he gasps. His powers must be really weakening.

"I remember a lot of my dreams. I don't remember what we talk about though. Am I going crazy and hallucinating right now? Talking to myself?"- you ask.

"No, I'm real."- the creature says.

You don't feel threatened for some reason so you come closer to him. Warmth radiates off of him and he looks ethereally beautiful up close. His hair is long and blonde, eyes dark but sparkles swim inside them, eyelashes long, freckles adorning his face, some of them in the shape of little hearts, even his upper lip is shaped like a heart. He glows, his pink shiny wings moving ever so slightly as he hovers above the ground just a little, before he plants his feet down on your carpet.

You reach your hand towards him, something pulling you closer to him and Felix stays completely still as he feels that buzzing again. His soul vibrates as your fingertips touch his ever so slightly and his eyes flutter. You gasp, only feeling electrifying warmness when you touch him, not actual skin like you would if you were touching a human.

"W-what are you?"- you whisper.

"I'm a Cupid. One of many. I was sent to help you find your soulmate."- he says and you laugh in disbelief, much like you did in your dream.

"I should call a doctor and get my head checked."- you sigh, sitting down on your sofa. Felix joins you reluctantly, almost shyly, and you eye him.

"I'm telling you, you're not crazy, this is real. It's just that you're not supposed to see me. But somehow you can."- he says.

"And why's that?"- you ask.

"I don't know. The Elders do. But they never told me anything, they said I should find out on my own."- the Cupid explains.

"The Elders?"- you play along to the madness.

"Yeah. Ugh, they're like beings of light like us, but like upper level. They take care of everything, keep the balance of Good in the world. All the positive feelings and such."- the Cupid explains.

"So is your name Cupid or?"- you say, trying to wrap your head around what's happening right now.

"No, my name's Felix."- he says.

"Okay then, Felix."- you emphasize his name and his chest flutters, some kind of vibrating wave washing over him. "How are you supposed to help me find my soulmate?"

"Well, I watched you and got to know you... and I'm supposed to feel the soul-"

"Wait, wait. You watch me? Isn't that kinda creepy?"- you stop him.

"N-no, it's literally what I'm supposed to do! Or it was, at least. I never intruded on your personal moments. I mean, not on purpose."- Felix says, looking away from you.

"What do you mean not on purpose?"

"I couldn't shimmer while you were here with your date last night. But I was summoned by the Elders anyways."

"Shimmer?"

"It's how Cupids transport through realms."- he explains, and you shake your head, your brows lifting up in disbelief.

"So you just watched me have sex?"

Felix cringes, the feelings stirring inside him last night threatening to resurface again.

"No, I didn't! I turned away. And just so you know, Chan is not your soulmate."

You scoff at him and grab your phone.

"Okay, I've had enough of this craziness. I'm gonna call the only person I trust, and if he can see you then you're real."- you nod to yourself.

"Jisung?"- Felix asks and you roll your eyes at him.

"You know eeeeverything about me, now do you?"- you say before Jisung picks up. You tell him it's an emergency and to come over asap.

And he does, just 10 minutes later, he's walking through your door.

"Come, I need to show you something."- you say grabbing his arm and pulling him into your living room.

"Where is the damn emergency?"- Jisung whines.

"There."- you point at Felix, who's standing next to the sofa now. "Do you see him?"

"You mean the pretty man with pink wings that's floating in your living room? Yeah I do and what the actual fuck?"- Jisung asks, his eyes widdened in shock.

"This is Cupid. One of many, as he says. His name is Felix and he's here to help me find love."- you sigh and Jisung laughs, shaking his head. "And since you can see him, either he's real or we're sharing a hallucination."

"I can't believe your ass was so lonely that you got your own personal Cupid to help you date."- Jisung jokes and you smack his head.

"Not funny!"- you say.

"Actually, you have your own personal Cupid too."- Felix chimes in.

"I do?"- Jisung's eyes widden again, his hand still rubbing where you smacked him.

"Everyone does."- Felix nods.

"So why can we see you?"- Jisung asks.

"I don't know. I don't know why any of this is happening. It all started when I accidentally swung the lamp and hit the wardrobe door-"

"That was you?"

"Yeah, and I'm not supposed to be able to influence physical stuff in the earth realm like that. I'm only made of light."- Felix explains.

"Okay then, you obviously need help. Since you can't shimmer or whatever, and people can see you, you have to stay here while I'm out. I mean people would probably be weirded out if they saw a guy with wings floating around me all day."- you chuckle and Felix nods, some kind of turmoil swirling in his chest.

"Shimmer?"- Jisung asks.

"Don't ask."- you say and Felix suddenly feels dizzy, he grabs at his chest, vibration going through his body.

"Felix?"- you tilt your head as you turn back to him.

He's buzzing even more now, little particles of light dispersing constantly around him.

"What's happening to him?!"- Jisung panics getting up and trying to get closer to the Cupid, only to be blinded by light.

Both of you lift your hands up to shield your eyes, and you hear some kind of little explosions like fireworks all around you.

The lights are so bright that you can see them under your closed eyelids.

You hear a thud and the lights disappear so you finally open your eyes. Felix is laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious and both you and Jisung rush to him.

You place your hand on Felix's shoulder and try to shake him only to realize you can actually feel him like he was made of flesh, not only the warmness and electricity that went through your palm earlier.

Felix is slowly waking up and he can hear Minho summoning him, at the same time he feels your hand on him, he feels the floor beneath him and he panics. He's pulled up suddenly, the action hurting him, his now human body screaming with pain.

"Felix."- he hears Minho's warm voice.

"What happened?"- Felix asks, slowly opening his eyes, all the light and swirling clouds that he was surrounded by every day of his existence suddenly making him naseous, intensifying the headache behind his eyelids.

"You're almost completely human. Have you realized why you're turning human?"- Minho asks and Felix shakes his head no.

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing in annoyance.

"Think about it. The buzzing you feel when you're close to your charge."

Felix thinks, despite the horrible aches going through his body, he tries hard to think about everything he knows. He gasps as realization dawns on him.

"I'm- I'm her soulmate?"- he says, his chest beating now and he clutches at it, realizing he now has a heart pumping blood through him.

"Finally!"- Minho chuckles.

"But how is that possible? Cupids aren't supposed to fall in love, especially not with mortals."- Felix recites the rule he learned the first day he opened his eyes.

"Well, someone screwed up. As you know, us Elders deal with good souls too, we help them reincarnate or pass on into different existences. Cupids souls are the souls of people who are done with their life on earthly realms, promoting them to a higher state of being. I mean, not only Cupids, but also Muses for inspiration, Sandman for dreams and many other light beings. The point is, your soul was supposed to be reincarnated as your charge's soulmate. But instead someone accidentally reincarnated you into a Cupid. Still, the pull of love is stronger than anything, travelling through realms and your soulmate ended up as your charge just so you can find love in each other. Weird how destiny works, but that is yours."- Minho explains and Felix just stares at him, the overwhelming amount of information seemingly suffocating him.

"Wh-what about my powers... My other charges..."

"Your charges have been divided between different Cupids, so don't worry about that. Your powers are actually what I wanted to talk to you about. They were one with you since the day you started existing, connected to your emotions so it will take some time for them to completely disappear. The transition will be hard but it will be worth it."

"B-but... what if she doesn't love me?"- Felix asks weakly.

"Oh, she already does. After all, she's your soulmate too."- Minho smiles, seemingly glowing even brighter than before.

"So what do I do now?"

"I will send you back to the earth realm. This is goodbye, former-Cupid. You did a great job helping people find love. It's your turn now to find yours."- Minho says beckoning Felix's friends to come closer. Hyunjin and Changbin float closer to Felix, both of them with golden tears sparkling in their eyes, threatening to spill out.

"You'll be fine, Felix. You deserve to feel love."- Hyunjin smiles at his friend and Changbin agrees.

Felix tries to hug them, but all he feels is the warmness of the light particles they're made of as they embrace him. It's enough for him to feel the love they hold.

"Shimmer him to his love."- is the last thing Felix hears before everything goes black.

It has been three weeks exactly since Felix disappeared and appeared again in your living room, without his wings, unconscious and running a high fever.

You and Jisung carried him to your bed when he appeared, unsure if you should call an ambulance or not. Jisung remembered that Chan's close to a doctor who's really good at what he does but you felt awkward since you never contacted him again after that night. He was still happy to help, holding no grudges against you and his doctor friend welcomes you to his ordination the same day.

You can't really explain the whole situation to the doctor lest he deems you crazy, but even with the little information you give to him, he takes care of Felix.

"Hm."- doctor Yang muses, staring at the papers in his hands. "He just has a fever, while all his other vitals are fine. It's just like he's burning up from the inside, like there's some kind of light or fire inside him."

Even after running all the possible tests, the doctor couldn't find the source of Felix's state, but you know it's gonna take more than any kind of human medicine to make him better.

And now it's been three weeks, Felix is falling in and out of consciousness, and you've tried everything and anything you could think of. Jisung's been helping you take care of him, and you've had time to think. Your heart ached for Felix, seeing him on the brink between life and death, holding on by a thread.

In the mean time, you decide to say fuck it and quit your job. It's not what you wanted to do originally anyways, you just had to pay bills like everyone else so you settled. But, after finding out about Cupids, Elders and whatnot, your earthly problems and concerns seemed kind of nonsensical. Life is so much greater than you thought it was, there is meaning in it, there is love and destiny and soulmates.

That's why you feel connected to Felix, in a way, he was excluded too, something you felt every single day of your life, especially at work. He was cut off from the only life he knew, he had no family or friends, no past on Earth, at least not in this life. You feel like you want to protect him in any way you can.

"Sungie, I'm worried. His breathing is really shallow."- you say, placing your hand on Felix's forehead.

Jisung is silent for a few moments, deep in thought.

"Jisung?"- you tilt your head at him.

"You know what I've been thinking? Since he is - well was Cupid, and he's made of light and love... wouldn't a true love's kiss make him better?"- Jisung suggests.

"Have you been reading fairytales?"- you chuckle.

"Cupid is kind of a fairytale though, isn't he? Or a myth, rather. I don't know, just think about it."

"That's so cliché though."- you shake your head in disbelief.

"Cliché or not, it could be the only way to help him."

That evening, you're alone with Felix and thinking about what your friend said earlier. It couldn't hurt to try, right? You got nothing to lose.

You get up from the couch that you've been sleeping on ever since Felix fell ill, and make your way to your room. He's laying on his back, his breathing fast and shallow, beads of sweat running down his forehead. You sit on the bed, nervousness suddenly washing over you and making your heart beat faster in your chest.

"Felix?"- you try like many times before, but to no avail. Your eyes water and you're afraid. If this doesn't work, he may not have much more time. The thought of that creates an empty hole in your stomach.

You lean in closer to his face and slowly press your lips on his. They're chapped but still soft and you feel something hit you, leaving you out of breath. Thousands of years of love, his soul that was binded to you since the beginning, stretching into forever, taking different shapes, nationalities, species. You may have even been two rocks on a shore when Earth first came into existence. You know him, you know his lips, you know his love.

You hear fireworks much like that day in the living room and you quickly pull back. Little lights are exploding around Felix and he opens his eyes.

"Y-y/n?"- he says weakly, his voice deep and raspy as he squints his eyes at you. The little lights from the fireworks disperse around you both.

"Felix?!"- you gasp. You can't believe it actually worked! Jisung is a damn genius, you think, smiling at Felix.

"W-what-"

"It's okay."- you touch his forehead and his fever seems to be subsiding quickly. "You have to drink some water."

Felix just nods, feeling completely confused and out of it. You grab a water bottle and help him drink.

"Oh, that's better."- he says. "What happened?"

"You were kind of unconscious for three weeks. Jisung and I took care of you. I thought you... I thought you wouldn't make it."- you say, your stomach swirling with many different emotions.

"How did you make me better then?"- he asks and your face warms up.

"I- ugh- I kissed you."- you declare and Felix's eyes widden, his cheeks rosy.

"Oh."- he looks away and awkwardness settles between you both as you have no idea what to do or say.

Felix's stomach suddenly grumbles making you chuckle as he gasps and grabs at it.

"I guess you're fully human now."- you say. "Let's go eat something."- you reach your hands towards him.

He grabs them, wobbling on his feet and you help him steady himself. After not using his legs for 3 weeks, he still feels weak and fuzzy even though your kiss basically healed him.

"My wings!"- he realizes suddenly. "They're gone!"

"Actually, they were gone as soon as you were brought back from your realm."- you tell him and he doesn't answer, seemingly deep in thought.

You decide not to pry with any questions as you both settle in the kitchen, he'll tell you what's on his mind when he's ready.

You whip up some instant noodles and bring two bowls to the table. Felix doesn't wait, he starts digging in with his chopsticks right away.

"Woah, woah, wait a little or you'll get burned."- you warn him, gently grabbing his hand.

His face flushes as he looks at you sheepishly.

"Sorry."- he mumbles.

"It's okay."- you smile at him. "You have lots of things to get used to."

When he does try the food, his eyes widden comically, lips falling open.

"Oh wow, this is so good! Must be food for gods."- he gasps.

"Thank you, but it's just instant noodles."- you chuckle. He smiles a little and continues eating as thoughts swirl around his head.

Now that he's completely human, everything he knew before and everyone he cared about was gone. Everything he ever was just evaporated, his powers, his wings, his duties. And even though he knows you're his soulmate, and you're bound to fall in love with him like he fell in love with you, he was still scared. If you didn't want him, he'd have nowhere to go.

"What's on your mind?"- you ask Felix after dinner, as you both sit on your couch.

"Well... I basically don't exist in this realm. I don't have a family, not even a last name. No one, but you I guess."- he sighs shyly.

"I know it's not the same, but I kind of of have no one except Jisung and well you either. I'm not really close to my family anymore."

"But the pictures-"

"Are old. They didn't agree with my choices and they didn't care for me when I was down. Jisung was there for me at my lowest so he's more like family to me than my actual one."- you say.

"I understand. It's just that... I'm scared."- Felix looks away from you.

"Of what?"

"I know we're soulmates but I'm afraid you wont see me the way I see you and then I'll truly have no one."- he says quietly. You chuckle, making him look up at you.

"You know what I felt when I kissed you?"- you ask and he shakes his head.

"I felt like I've known you for a thousand years. Like I loved you for a thousand years."- his lips tremble. "I've always been kind of a dreamer when it comes to love. But after being with wrong people I stopped believing. In soulmates, destiny, Cupids and whatnot. But kissing you tonight changed everything."

"Do you maybe want to try that again?"

Instead of answering verbally you start leaning in towards him slowly, your eyes travelling to his plump lips. Felix's heart starts beating hard against his chest as he leans in too. Your heart matches the beating of his as his breath hits your lips. He meets you halfway, your lips pressing together and you place your hands on his cheeks gently. You start moving your lips and he's stunned for a moment before he follows your lead. And suddenly, he feels all of it. All the precious moments of love you shared in your past lives. The purpose of his existence, he realizes as his soul buzzes is to love you. You smile into the kiss and he knows everything will be just fine.

[bellaveux]

hi! could you do one with wanda x reader being college best friends, and both of them being popular, but wanda is actually in love with reader and decides to tell her at one of their sleepovers? love love your writing :)

I ALWAYS HAVE | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: after a long night, wanda shows up at your apartment, carrying the heavy rain and her love for you past your doorstep.

content warnings: fluff, college!au, best friend!wanda, best friends to lovers, wanda is in looove, confessions

word count: 4.5k

note. srry for the long wait! i hope u like it n ty for requesting :)

Life without you was something Wanda could not picture. Each time she planned out her future, you were always there right beside her. To Wanda, life without you was unimaginable, a dark and lonely existence that held no joy or meaning. She was in love with you. You were her light in the darkness, her anchor in the storm, her best friend. Though the road ahead was uncertain, Wanda knew that she would always love you, with all her heart and soul, for as long as she lived. For Wanda, the love she felt for her best friend was a force that defied description, a deep, and abiding affection that consumed her heart and soul. From the moment she met you, Wanda knew that there was something special about you—so special that she wanted to be with you for the rest of her life.

Your friendship with Wanda was a beautiful paradox—a yin and yang of personalities that complemented each other perfectly. Despite your contrasting natures, the two of you were inseparable, joined at the hip in a bond of friendship that was the envy of all who knew the two of you. Your outgoing nature and sparkling personality were the perfect foil to Wanda's natural reserve and introspective tendencies.

She was always there for you, as you were for her. As best friends, you shared everything—your dreams, your fears, your triumphs, and your failures. Wanda was a steady presence in your life, offering a listening ear and a comforting hug whenever you needed it most. Whether it was a tough exam, a broken heart, or a difficult decision, Wanda was always there to support and encourage you, regardless of what was happening, offering her wisdom and perspective born of her own experiences.

It wasn’t easy to hide how she felt for you as they only intensified after time passed, and yet, Wanda could not bring herself to tell you the truth yet, afraid of the consequences that might follow. She knew the grace danger of losing you if you didn’t return her feelings. She pictured it; the confession, drifting apart from each other, to the point where you barely talk anymore, then becoming strangers. That timeline in her head was a dreadful imagination, and she prayed for it to never happen. Though, in her mind, she’d always think about what it would be like if you were hers, how she would kiss you, how she would hold you, how she would tell you that she loved you. She loved to imagine it; being the person you loved. It would’ve been heaven. But for a long time now, she was content to love you from afar, cherishing your friendship and silently yearning for something more.

“Hey, (y/n)!” A voice called out from behind you as you gathered your books.

Natasha walked up to you and smiled. She was the embodiment of the perfect blend of athleticism, intelligence, and charm. You were one of the fortunate few who had the privilege of calling Natasha a friend and found in Natasha a confidante, someone who was always willing to listen and offer sage advice. And Natasha, for her part, cherished your steadfast loyalty and unwavering support.

You’ve always known the unwavering attraction she had always had for you since you met, and always flirted with you lightly, wanting to have the honor take you out. But as flattering as it was, you never reciprocated as you weren’t really interested in being in a relationship with Natasha.

“Tony’s having a gathering again,” she informed you with a smirk. “It’s at his new house, the one with the big backyard. Think they’re doing some kind of campfire thing and Steve’s in charge of barbecue… Wanna go with me?”

“New mansion, you mean?” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the sound of her sultry voice. “Also, isn’t it going to rain today, Nat? I’m not trying to be a party pooper, but barbecue in the rain doesn’t sound too inviting.”

Natasha shrugged, softly wrapping an arm around your waist, “It’s pretty sunny out, so maybe the forecast is wrong today.”

“Well, you should hope that it is,” you say, pulling away from her before she could get any closer. “I’ll be home enjoying some time to myself while you guys have your little barbecue.”

Natasha watched with a smile, shaking her head as you waved and walked away from her. She left the classroom shortly after a few seconds passed, and you made your way over to the back of the room, where your best friend sat far from you, thanks to your crazy professor’s decision to have assigned seats.

Wanda sat near the back of the lecture hall, towards the top of the seats, where she had the power to overlook everything. She was talking to someone, you noticed. Some blonde who stood by her seat, clutching her books against her chest with a slight blush on her cheeks, while Wanda stared with that cold gaze like she always did. She, the enigmatic figure of the college campus, was known for her striking beauty and effortless charisma. Everywhere she went, people seemed to be drawn to her, hoping for a chance to catch her attention. Her reputation preceded her, with stories of her charm and poise spreading like wildfire amongst the student body. However, despite her overwhelming popularity, Wanda remained steadfastly serious and uninterested in the throngs of admirers vying for her attention.

That is, until it came to you.

“Who was that?” you sang, walking up to her long after the girl left and walked away.

“No one,” she shook her head, eyes lighting up the moment you stepped into her line of sight.

Truthfully, it really was no one—no one Wanda was interested in at least. The girl did seem to like her, and it showed in her mannerisms; the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the nervous laughter, and the rosy cheeks that donned her face as she spoke. It was all too obvious, but as always, Wanda was never interested.

But, she wished it were you who stood in her place instead.

Wanda had always been a serious and focused individual, her demeanor reflecting her dedication to her work and her determination to succeed. Yet, amidst her stoic exterior, there was a hidden softness, a tenderness that few had ever seen. And it was this tenderness that was reserved only for you, the one person who could make Wanda's serious façade crumble. Whenever Wanda was around you, her stern countenance would give way to a smile, her eyes lighting up with a warmth and affection that she rarely showed to anyone else.

“No one?” you repeated with a smirk playing at your lips. “Looked like she was in love with you.”

“In love? What are you talking about?” Wanda's smile grew wider, and she began to collect her books, nudging you slightly as she stood up.

You leaned against the edge of the desk behind you and shook your head at her, “God, Wanda… Did not you see how she was looking at you?”

“Yes, I did. In love is kind of a stretch, don’t you think?” Wanda raised her eyebrows and smirked. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“If you started dating someone, you’ll start seeing them more than me, so obviously, I am jealous,” you rolled your eyes and let a soft laugh fall past your lips.

Wanda couldn’t help but admire how pretty you looked in front of her, as you always do. Her green eyes took in every detail of your appearance, from the soft curves of your face to the graceful lines of your body. And yet, it wasn’t just your physical beauty that captivated Wanda. It was also the playful glint in your eyes as you rolled them, a subtle expression of humor and self-awareness that only served to enhance your charm.

Everyone else seemed to like you too, although, you practically chose not to notice. Your kindness and beauty were two sides of the same coin, each enhancing the other in a way that was truly breathtaking. With your radiant smile, you were a natural head-turner, drawing admiring glances from all who crossed your path. And yet, it was your innate kindness that made you truly remarkable, for you had a way of making others feel seen and valued, no matter who they were or where they came from.

God, was she in love with you.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Wanda said honestly, gazing at you tenderly.

“You could literally have anyone you want, Wanda. I don't understand why you haven’t started dating anyone yet.” She watched as you brushed off her last statement as a joke and started to go on a rant about how many people liked her, “But, I’m not complaining… I’d keep you all to myself if I could.”

If only you knew how much Wanda’s heart fluttered at your last sentence.

“Are you going to Tony’s later?” she asked as you linked your arm with hers, beginning your walk out of the room.

“No, I think I’ll stay home tonight. I’ve got some studying to do anyway,” you told her. “Are you?”

“Well, Pietro’s going, and you know how he is so…”

“Yeah, okay,” you smiled. “Well, I think it’s raining later, so you might want to dress properly and bring an umbrella.”

And you were right. It did rain.

As the day wore on and the sun gradually dipped below the horizon, time seems to slip away from you like sand through your fingers. Your college classes, once a focal point of your day, now felt like a distant memory, and the sky, once bright and clear, now grew darker and more ominous with every passing moment until the clouds finally let the rain fall.

You sat by the window in your cozy apartment on a tranquil night, the soothing sound of raindrops tapping against the glass adds to the serene ambiance of your home. With a captivating book in your hand, you lose yourself in its pages, finding solace in the words that transport her to another world. The dim light from the lampposts outside casts a gentle glow, highlighting the pages of your book as you read with intense focus. The occasional flash of lightning illuminates the sky, offering a brief glimpse of the city below. The pitter-patter of the rain creates a symphony of sounds, creating a peaceful backdrop for your reading.

Yet, despite the tranquil setting, your mind raced with thoughts of your best friend and the party she had attended. A sense of curiosity and longing to know what Wanda was up to consumed your thoughts, as you began to watch the rain fall in a mesmerizing cascade. At this moment, your emotions were palpable, and your longing for connection with Wanda was almost tangible. The subdued light that filtered through the rain gave a melancholic tinge to the scene, mirroring your feelings of wistfulness and yearning.

As you glanced at the clock on your wall, you felt a sense of dismay wash over you as you saw the glowing digits read 1:42am. The late hour had crept up on you while you had been engrossed in your book, and now you realized with a tinge of regret that you had let time slip away from you once again. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly closed the book and set it aside, feeling a sense of longing to continue reading, but also a growing awareness of the importance of rest. You began your nightly routine of getting ready for bed. You brushed your teeth with care, changed into your comfy clothes, and fluffed up your pillows.

Just as you were about to settle into bed and drift off to sleep, a notification from your phone interrupted the tranquility of the moment. It was a text message from Wanda.

can i come over?

You raised your eyebrows as you read it. While it wasn’t new for her to be sleeping over at your place, the timing of when she asked felt a little unfamiliar. Usually, she’d ask way earlier during the day, giving you time to prepare for it to do things like clean, although she never minded your mess, or buy food and snacks, renting a movie. You’d stay up late into the night, swapping stories and sharing each other’s deepest secrets. You’d talk about hopes and dreams, fears and doubts, and everything in between. Your conversations are always filled with warmth, kindness, and empathy, as you listen intently to each other's thoughts and feelings.

You sent a quick reply back as you sat on your bed, telling her that she can and not even a minute later, you heard a knock at the front door of your apartment. Had she been standing there? Waiting for your permission before she knocked? That sort of behavior was quite new, coming from Wanda. At this point, you even wondered if it was Wanda who was at your door right now, but all your questions were thrown out the window when you opened the door to see her standing before you, drenched from head to toe in the pouring rain outside. The droplets of water cascaded down her hair and clothes, leaving trails of wetness in their wake.

You let out an incredulous laugh, almost not believing your eyes, “Are you insane, Wanda? Did you walk all the way here? Can’t you see it’s pouring outside? I even told you to bring an umbrella!”

Questions followed out of your mouth as you grabbed her hand and pulled her into your apartment. Wanda couldn’t really focus on what you were saying in the moment, eyes falling down you to the hand that was intertwined with yours, feeling how perfectly they fit in her palm and wanting to soothe her thumb over your skin.

As Wanda stepped into your apartment, a sense of relief washed over her like a warm, cozy blanket. Her skin, drenched from the rain, was immediately enveloped by the comforting warmth of the room. The contrast between the cold, wet world outside and the snug sanctuary of the apartment was stark and palpable. Wanda could feel the heat radiating from the walls, radiators and the soft furnishings, creating an inviting ambiance that invited her to linger. As she stood there, basking in the toasty atmosphere, the chill from the rain slowly dissipated, leaving her feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

She took in your fragrance and smiled lightly as you pulled her all the way through, leading her into your bathroom. Much to Wanda’s disappointment, you let go of her hand and gave her a clean towel, shaking your head as you eyed her closely. You still wondered why she’d shown up so abruptly, worried that something happened that made her seek your comfort.

“You should take a warm shower before anything else,” you said. “Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

As Wanda stripped off her rain-soaked clothes, you couldn't help but notice the shivers wracking her body. Determined to provide with some much-needed comfort, you turned the shower on to let the water heat up. As Wanda stepped into the welcoming warmth of the shower, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at being able to provide with a small slice of respite from the tumultuous world outside.

You glanced down at her body for a brief moment, noticing the tiny scars she had told you about long before. She was beautiful. You’ve always thought it, and you always let Wanda know that she was, even when she felt like she wasn’t. And she truly is. Everyone on campus would agree with you.

Wanda comes out of your bathroom some time later with her hair damp, a small towel around her neck, sporting the clothes you had given her to borrow — which were practically already hers, since the two of you shared clothes quite often already. She met you in your kitchen with your back facing her as you fiddled with a mug, making tea for your unexpected guest.

“Care to explain to me why you were out in the rain this late at night?” You asked, turning towards her to pass her the mug.

Truth is, she just missed you. She spent the whole night at this party Tony threw, inviting practically half of the school. What was just a small gathering with a barbecue quickly turned into one of the largest and hectic parties known to man. Of course, it was nothing new for Tony, but she still felt out of place, especially since you weren’t there with her. And to be fair, she was getting tired of listening to Natasha talk about pursuing you and how she thought you’d have no choice but to give in if she continued to insist.

“Nothing,” she lied, sipping her tea before setting it down on the counter behind her.

You stared her down, almost as if you were trying to read her mind, “Is everything okay?”

“I said it’s nothing, (y/n).”

“Well, I don’t believe you,” you told her, the worry slowly making its way on to your face as you looked at her. “You can tell me anything, Wanda, you know that.”

Wanda remained quiet. And for a moment there, you almost wanted to cry, wondering what was eating up at her that she couldn’t even tell you. You know her. You know when something is wrong. But, you weren’t going to force it out of her. You knew that she’d tell you when she was ready, whatever it was. You just wished she’d ask for your help sooner.

“I just… I wanted to see you,” she said, staring down at her feet.

After a beat, you wasted no time walking up to her, wrapping your arms around her frame, softly pulling her into a hug. She sighed contentedly, dropping her head onto your shoulder as the air seemed to still and time stood still. The warmth of your body and the gentle pressure of your arms created a cocoon of safety and comfort that enveloped Wanda. Her heart, which had been racing with fear and uncertainty just moments before, began to slow down as she breathed in the scent of your hair. The tension in her shoulders and back melted away, and she felt herself surrender to the moment.

She hated nothing about you as much as she loved you. She loved how you smelled, how you felt against her, how soft you were. She loved everything about you.

“I’m here,” you whispered.

When you pulled your head back to look up at her, you smiled softly, one of your hands cupping the side of her face with the pad of your thumb soothing over her soft cheeks and her damp hair dripping onto your skin. You couldn't help but be drawn to the intense gaze that met yours. Wanda's green eyes seemed to be filled with a deep and pure love, one that you had never experienced before. The way Wanda looked at you was both tender and vulnerable, as if she was entrusting all of her heart to your care. And yet, there was also a hint of sadness in her expression, a small pout that seemed to suggest she wished the moment would last forever.

“Wanda?” You said softly, eyebrows turning up in concern as she moved her arms over to wrap them around your waist.

And for a moment, it was quiet. All Wanda did was stare with that same expression, silently wishing she could keep you in her arms forever.

But then, Wanda's eyes seemed to shimmer with a newfound intensity as they darted down towards your lips. The way your full, plush mouth parted slightly as you embraced only served to intensify Wanda's desire to kiss you. The sudden rush of desire stirred within her, a longing to taste those lips and feel the warmth of you in an entirely different way. Wanda's heart raced as she tried to compose herself, but the yearning inside of her was too strong. Her mind was filled with thoughts of what it would be like to kiss you, to explore the depths of your soft and inviting mouth.

And in that moment, Wanda decided to follow her heart's desire. With a quick and impulsive movement, she leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, surprising you with the suddenness of the action.

As Wanda's lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, she felt a yearning deep within her finally fulfilled. For so long, she had kept her feelings for her best friend locked away, afraid of what might happen if she dared to act on them. But now, as she tasted your sweetness, all of her fears and doubts melted away. Wanda savored the sensation of your lips moving against hers, the warmth of your breath mingling with her own. She was struck by how perfectly they fit together, like two puzzle pieces finally coming together to form a complete picture. The softness of your lips against hers was a revelation, a culmination of the yearning that had built inside her for so long. Wanda's body tingled with electricity as she pressed closer to you.

You pulled away softly for a breath of air, and Wanda chased your lips with hers, kissing you softly once again. You hummed and sighed against her lips, and it sent shivers down her spine, only for her to want more and more—to turn your breathing into pretty moans. God, you tasted so good. So soft. So perfect.

And when you pulled away again, Wanda wanted to start over and kiss you, over and over.

“Wanda,” you breathed, her forehead pressed against yours with your hands on her shoulders.

Panic suddenly began to rise in Wanda’s chest as you said her name. Was this a mistake? Did she just ruin everything she had between you two? Questions filled her brain left and right as she watched you closely.

You kept your hands on her as did she, keeping you close as if you’d slip away from her if she wasn’t careful. She was scared. She was scared of what you might say. Scared of you turning her down. She wanted to say it first, before you said anything else.

“Please don’t push me away,” she whispered, staring down at your lips instead of your eyes. “I love you.”

Your eyes only widened as you listened to her, and Wanda silently thanked you for not moving away yet.

“Please say something,” Wanda pleaded.

You let the seconds go by without saying a word and Wanda almost wanted to run away, to never be seen again, that is until you finally spoke, “Say it again.”

Wanda stared at you for a moment, wondering what was going inside that pretty head of yours. She looked into your eyes and noticed you were looking down at her lips this time, and Wanda couldn’t help but curve her lips into a soft, tender smile.

“I love you, (y/n),” she said earnestly. “I love you… I always have.”

As you listened to Wanda's words of affection, a gentle warmth spread throughout your being, suffusing every inch of your body with a sense of peace and contentment. The soft timbre of Wanda's voice, infused with love and sincerity, seemed to fill the room, permeating every corner and crevice with its gentle resonance. You felt a sense of belonging wash over yourself, as though you had found your place in the world, and all was right with the universe. In that moment, the worries and anxieties that had plagued your heart seemed to evaporate, replaced by a serene sense of joy and fulfillment.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered closed, sighing when she felt your hands run through her slightly damp hair. Your fingertips pressed into her scalp softly.

“Why haven’t you told me earlier?” You asked, voice soft and soothing as Wanda dropped her head down to your shoulder once more.

“I was scared. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way,” she confessed, savoring the feeling of you in her arms. “I still am.”

Wanda's heart was pounding in her chest as she stood there, waiting for your response to her heartfelt confession of love. The air felt thick with tension and uncertainty as she anxiously waited for your reaction. Wanda's mind raced with thoughts of doubt and fear, wondering if she had made a mistake in revealing her true feelings. She was scared that you didn't feel the same way, and the thought of rejection filled her with another deep sense of sadness and longing.

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” you whispered into her hair.

With those words, Wanda pulled her head back up immediately, her green eyes locking with yours as she searched for any sign of rejection. There was none.

“What?” She breathed out, almost unable to believe what she had just heard.

“I love you, Wanda.”

Wanda's heart fluttered as your words echoed in her mind. Shocked but elated, Wanda felt as though her entire world had suddenly lit up with an indescribable warmth. It was a moment she had longed for, yearned for, and now that it was finally here, she could hardly believe it. As she gazed into your eyes, she felt a sense of completeness, as though everything in her life had fallen into place. The shock of the moment slowly melted away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of happiness that filled her to the brim.

“You really do?” Wanda brought her hands up to cup both of your cheeks in her hands, watching that lovely smile she loved so much creeping its way onto your face.

“I always have,” you repeated her words as you looked up at her, and Wanda couldn’t help but smile back.

As Wanda gazed into your deep eyes, her heart swelled with a joy so pure and intense that it felt like it might burst out of her chest. When you finally whispered those three words that Wanda had been longing to hear, Wanda felt as if all of the colors of the world had suddenly come to life. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaned in and pressed her soft lips to yours one again, savoring the sweet taste of your mouth and the gentle warmth of your embrace. It was a moment that Wanda knew she would remember for the rest of her life—a moment of perfect bliss, of love and acceptance, of two souls coming together as one. And as you pulled away from each other, still lost in each other's gaze, Wanda knew that nothing could ever come between them—for her love was too strong, too deep, and too beautiful to ever be broken.

She would make sure to keep you all to herself this time, not giving you a chance to slip away from her. She loved you forever, and Wanda planned to be with you forever.

— navigation | masterlist

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did - Part Four, An Interlude

Text divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader; Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

WORD COUNT | 12k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

AUTHOR'S NOTE | This chapter does not pick up where chapter 3 left off. This is a short interlude that looks into Aemond and Alys and how they came to be, and what it is that keeps them together. Or atleast, this is my attempt at writing a complicated relationship that was doomed from the get go. The next chapter is the last one.

I do not entertain comments that so obviously reek of hate, an intent to provoke or misogyny of any kind. The fact that I've learnt to expect this is sad as it is. Be nice, or be civil and constructive and open to conversation. It's not hard, really. This is, after all, just a silly story. :)

MORE THAN A YEAR AGO - AEMOND POV

"Of course I'm here. It’s summer vacation, and it’s only one of the biggest gallery openings in the country," Wylde said with a grin. He was still new to Oldtown, while she was heading into her final year of school at King’s Landing—but they both knew where they belonged in the world. He would eventually take his place at the top, running one of the oldest commercial institutions in the realm. She would become a prominent socialite, wielding her family’s art connections with pride and skill, possibly on the arm of one of the men in this room.

For a fleeting moment back home, he had wished that man would be him. But that had passed—or so he liked to believe.

"Hm."

"Anyway, I have to make my rounds, shake hands," she sighed, as if already exhausted by the thought. "Most of them will try to get to my father through me, hoping for a chance at our family’s paintings for their displays." She paused, her expression softening. "My plane to King’s Landing leaves soon after, so I might not catch you to say goodbye, okay?"

She leaned in on the tips of her toes, instinctively brushing her lips against his cheek, a gesture so familiar it felt natural. His skin warmed under her touch as he held onto her for a moment, before letting her go and watching her slip into the crowd.

"It was nice to see you, Aemond," she said, giving him one last smile before she disappeared among the other guests.

He watched as the crowd welcomed her with open arms. And why wouldn’t they?

Aemond stood quietly near the back of the gallery, his head turned as he swirled his wine and pretended to be interested in the pieces around him. But his focus had already drifted.

From across the room, she had become the only thing he could think about.

She was magnetic in a way that defied simple description. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he could hardly deny that. There was something in the way she moved - fluid, deliberate, as if every gesture, every glance, was part of a conversation only she knew how to conduct. Aemond watched as she floated through the crowd with an easy grace, her black dress brushing the tops of her heels - not revealing, but just enough. 

But it wasn’t her appearance that intrigued him the most. It was her detachment. The way she seemed to occupy the room and yet remain entirely separate from it. Like she knew she was better than the herd. How can she possibly not? He knew it, and he’d barely known her for ten minutes.

He studied her carefully, trying to decode the way she interacted with her surroundings. The other guests barely held her interest, even her husband - Brynden Rivers, the artist on feature - who was basking in the attention of his admirers, seemed peripheral to her thoughts. She would smile and nod at the right moments, offering polite responses when addressed, but her eyes - sharp, dark, endlessly curious - always strayed back to the art. It was as though she were in search of something she hadn’t quite found, or perhaps she was testing the art itself, waiting to see if it would reveal anything worth caring about.

He found himself wondering what she saw. What was it that drew her attention so intensely? Was she, like him, disillusioned by the pageantry of it all? Or was she simply beyond it, a part of a world he hadn’t yet glimpsed?

Aemond’s eyes lingered on her, captivated by her subtle confidence. He could tell she knew he was watching - how could she not? And yet, she gave no indication that she minded. Instead, there was a knowingness in her movements, a quiet acknowledgment of his gaze that sent a strange thrill through him.

Almost as if she moved just for him.

As she turned from the group around her to admire one of the larger paintings, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. It was fleeting, just a flicker of recognition, but the brief moment stretched out in Aemond’s mind. She didn’t look away immediately, nor did she smile - there was something almost challenging in her gaze, as though she were testing him, daring him to keep watching.

And he did.

Their eyes met again several times as the night wore on, each moment charged with tension that had heat penetrating him through his black turtleneck. He couldn’t place it - this feeling that they were circling each other from opposite ends of the room. They had not spoken a word, yet it felt as though they were in conversation, their glances exchanging ideas, questions, provocations. What was she thinking? Did she feel this pull too, or was she simply toying with him, amused by the attention of a younger man?

She leaned in to whisper something to her husband, her lips barely moving, and Aemond felt an unexpected surge of jealousy - irrational, yes, but undeniable. She was so at ease, so unattainable, yet there was something in the way she kept looking at him, as if she wanted him to see her just as much as he wanted to understand her.

He’d never, in his entire life, felt like this before.

Their eyes locked again, and this time her lips curved into the faintest smile, not of politeness or pretense, but of acknowledgment. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Aemond, for all his careful control, felt the thrill of the chase. It wasn’t just desire - though there was plenty of that - it was the curiosity that gripped him. Who was she? What did she want from this night, from this life? And why did it feel like, in this crowded room, they were the only two people who mattered?

There was a moment when their gaze lingered just a little longer than before, the silence between them almost deafening, despite the buzz of conversation around them. Aemond felt something stir deep within him, a strange excitement, as though this unspoken challenge had a life of its own. What was he to her? Just another man in the gallery, or had she singled him out the way he had her?

It wasn’t until she broke the connection - turning back to the painting in front of her - that he realized he had been holding his breath.

Aemond had been standing in the corner of the gallery, nursing a drink that had long gone flat. His eyes drifted back to her, stealing glances, trying to untangle the mystery she presented without making it too obvious. He couldn't quite understand why she fascinated him so much, but her presence demanded his attention.

Then, it happened.

She moved.

At first, he thought she was simply changing her position to get a better view of a painting, but when their eyes met across the room for the third time that evening, something shifted. She wasn't just glancing anymore - she was walking toward him.

Aemond’s heart rate spiked. He forced himself to remain calm, to not show his surprise, but he could hardly believe she was coming up to him. The crowd of art enthusiasts seemed to blur, and the distant hum of voices faded into nothingness as she neared. He couldn't help but track every step she took, as though each one was part of a dance he hadn’t learned yet.

And then she was there, standing in front of him. Up close, she was even more striking than he had imagined - her features sharp and graceful, with an aura of confidence that was almost magnetic. She had an air of quiet authority, but not in the way the old-money elite around them carried themselves. Hers was different, more subtle, more powerful.

“Aemond Targaryen,” she said, her voice smooth and knowing, as though they were already well acquainted.

He blinked, still processing the fact that she was speaking to him at all. “You know me,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly a question. It made sense - he was a Targaryen after all, but still, something about her saying his name with such ease unnerved him.

“To no one's surprise, yes.” She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that was almost teasing. “You didn’t think I’d notice the only one in this room who's barely looked at the art?”

The comment threw him for a moment, but then, intrigued, he leaned in slightly. “A room full of some of the finest art, and yet you’ve been watching me,” he pointed out. 

Did she notice him before, the same way he’s noticed her?

For a moment, her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Alys Rivers,” she began, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly, as if inviting him to puzzle it out.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. "Rivers?" he muttered, almost to himself, trying to jog his memory. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn’t quite place it. And then it came to him - he hadn’t heard that surname in relation to anyone important in his world. 

“Strong,” she corrected softly, the name falling like a small bomb between them. “My maiden name is Strong.”

Aemond’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. Strong. Of course. Lionel Strong, the headmaster of the school he attended for years. Harwin Strong, whose presence in Rhaenyra’s life had always been whispered about, and whose children were a constant point of rumor and speculation.

She is a sister to them both. How had he not known of her all this time?

His gaze snapped back to her face, searching for any sign that might have connected her to that family before, but there was nothing immediately obvious. “Lionel Strong...” he said aloud, piecing it together, more for himself than for her benefit.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Lionel is my half-brother. Harwin, too.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it sink in. It was like a secret door had been unlocked, revealing more about her than he ever could’ve guessed. She had roots in his world, in his life, that had been there all along, just hidden beneath the surface.

Alys smirked, clearly enjoying the way his mind raced to catch up. "Surprised?"

“More than I’d like to admit,” he replied, a slow smile pulling at his lips as he found himself even more intrigued than before.

Aemond leaned back slightly, still processing everything. His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slower than usual in the presence of Alys Rivers - or Strong, as she had just revealed. But as much as her family ties surprised him, it didn’t change the allure she carried. She was still an enigma, now with even more layers to uncover.

Alys shifted her gaze to the painting nearest them - a sprawling canvas of abstract forms, colors bleeding into one another in what he deduces as an intentional mess. “So, what do you think of the work?” she asked casually, her eyes tracing the chaotic lines as if she already knew exactly what he was going to say.

He tilted his head, not willing to offer anything up too quickly. “It’s… bold.”

“Bold,” she repeated, her lips quivering. “That’s a safe assessment.”

“I suppose it is,” he conceded, allowing himself a small smile. “But it’s honest. What about you? You seem like someone with stronger opinions on art.”

“I do,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest as she took in the piece again. “This one... it’s my husband’s.”

Her words hung in the air, and Aemond couldn’t stop the faint sting of jealousy that crept into his chest at the way she said ‘husband’ - with a sense of familiarity that only came from many years of being tied together. He glanced back at the painting, trying to find some reflection of the man behind it.

“Your husband’s quite the artist,” he said, keeping his tone even, but his interest was undeniable.

Alys nodded, her gaze still on the painting. “Yes, he is. Brynden is one of the best, I suppose, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone else here already has.” There was something dismissive in her voice, a casual indifference that caught Aemond off guard.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And what do you think of his work?”

Alys tilted her head and gave a half-smile, as though considering the question for the first time. “It’s... fine. I appreciate what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t speak to me in the way art should.” She paused, then turned to him, her dark eyes finding him with a sharpness that left him momentarily breathless. “But you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

Aemond smirked, amused by how easily she read him. “It’s a little obvious. The way you talk about him, about his work… It’s almost as if you’re disconnected from it.”

She met his gaze, unflinching, her smile growing. “You’re observant, aren’t you? That must be exhausting.”

He chuckled softly, unable to help himself. “I’ve been told as much.” There was something thrilling about it - this mutual understanding, this wordless challenge.

“So,” he said, redirecting the conversation with purpose, “if your husband’s work doesn’t speak to you, what does? What kind of art do you appreciate?”

Alys turned away from the painting, her attention fully on him now. “The kind that demands something of me. Something that won’t let me look away. I want to be moved, even unsettled. The sort of art that makes you question everything you thought you knew.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, intrigued. “You mean the kind that unsettles you in the same way a person can?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Exactly. Sometimes, the most impactful art is the kind that forces you to confront things you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy, uncomfortable, but unforgettable.”

He found himself nodding in agreement, feeling the conversation dip. “I suppose that’s why art and history are so closely linked. Both make you confront uncomfortable truths. The more you understand the world, the more you realize how fragile everything is.”

She sighed softly, as though she’d found someone who shared her exact thoughts. “Yes, and that fragility - that’s where the beauty lies. When you can’t control it. And when it’s gone, you’re left wondering why you didn’t appreciate it enough.”

They weren’t just talking about art anymore, and both of them knew it.

“And history,” she continued, her voice softer now, “is like the ultimate piece of art, isn’t it? Layered and complex, full of contradictions. No matter how much you study it, there’s always something more to uncover.”

Aemond nodded, his gaze intense. “It’s a reminder that nothing is permanent. Not power, not legacy, not even love.”

The way he said it, the quiet certainty in his voice, made Alys pause. She studied him for a long moment, as if searching for something behind his words. “You’re quite young. Do you really believe that?” she asked, her tone challenging, though her smile remained.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “Everything has its limits.”

As their conversation deepened, they moved through the gallery, eventually stopping in front of a painting that caught Alys’s attention. The piece was striking - two figures, intertwined in an abstract embrace, their forms blurring at the edges, as if they were dissolving into one another. The colors were bold, almost chaotic, bleeding into one another in a way that suggested both unity and dissolution.

Alys tilted her head, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “What do you make of this one?”

Aemond studied the painting, the mingling figures, the way their outlines seemed to waver as if they could hardly contain themselves within the frame. It was both intimate and unsettling, a reflection of connection and the inevitable loss that comes with it.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, voice measured. “There’s something about the way they’re almost… becoming each other. But it’s not peaceful, is it? It’s like they’re losing themselves in the process.”

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the canvas. “It’s about boundaries, I think. How much of yourself are you willing to give before you start losing pieces of who you are?”

Aemond glanced at her, sensing the weight behind her words. “Isn’t that what love does, in a way? It strips you down, forces you to let go of your boundaries until you’re not sure where you end and the other person begins.”

Alys met his gaze, her eyes sharp, thoughtful. “But that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Giving up so much of yourself. Maybe that’s why so many people cling to the idea of monogamy - one person, one connection, to keep things simple. Less risk.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do you think monogamy keeps things simple?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not at all. Monogamy is just another way of complicating things, if you ask me. The idea that one person can meet all your needs… it feels like an illusion.”

He considered her words, watching her closely as she turned back to the painting. “So you don’t believe in it?”

Alys shrugged, her smile a little mischievous. “I believe in connection. But I also believe in freedom. Sometimes, those things don’t go hand in hand.”

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, his mind swirling with the implications of her words. “Is that why you don’t believe in monogamy?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead turning to look at him with that same sly, knowing smile. “I didn’t say that - I can’t, given that I am married. But I don’t think it’s the only way to live.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I think monogamy works for some people. But for others... perhaps it’s just another form of control.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her gaze locking with his, challenging him again. “Do you crave control, Aemond?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the intensity of her gaze made his heart race. “I think we all do, in some way. It’s human nature.”

Alys took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But sometimes, the most exhilarating moments come when you let go of control. When you surrender to something - or someone - you can’t predict.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he felt the air between them grow charged. The flirtation between them had evolved into something far more potent, far more dangerous.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, his voice lower now, the distance between them shrinking.

She didn’t break eye contact, her lips curving slightly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Aemond glanced around the bustling gallery, the laughter and chatter of art enthusiasts fading into a background hum as his focus narrowed back to Alys. The way her eyes sparkled, the slight tilt of her head, and the intoxicating warmth of her presence drew him in like a moth to flame.

In a bold, instinctive move, he reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Her skin felt warm against his, soft yet somehow grounding, and he marveled at how effortlessly their hands fit together.

Without a word, he began to lead her away from the crowd. They slipped through a doorway and into an empty stairwell. As they stepped into the dim light, Aemond turned to face her fully, their hands still clasped. He felt a rush of exhilaration, the act of holding her hand feeling significant, almost intimate. 

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and playful, her gaze unwavering.

He hesitated, caught in the intensity of the moment, the gravity of her presence. He reached into his trouser pockets for a cigarette and lighter, and soon there was the ashy smell of smoke around them. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to find out.”

The smoke from Aemond’s cigarette curling lazily into the quiet space. He took a drag, exhaling slowly as his mind raced, the sharp taste of nicotine mingling with the tension. He kept his gaze on the blank space ahead, the smoke filling the air around them. She, however, hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He could feel it—the way she watched him, measured him, waiting to see what he would do next. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt charged.

He took one last drag before carelessly flicking the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his boot without a second thought. The small, defiant gesture felt freeing, as though he was stamping out a part of himself—his restraint, his hesitation. He turned to face her again, her gaze steady, her lips slightly parted as if she was waiting for something.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the stairwell ceased to exist. Then, with a low exhale, he stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. It was a split second of tension before he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, testing the boundaries between them. But the moment her lips parted, the intensity between them flared to life.

Aemond pressed her back against the cold, hard wall, the warmth of her body against his heightening his awareness of every touch, every breath. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup her face, the other finding her waist, pulling her closer. As the kiss deepened, his fingers traced the line of her neck, her collarbone, before they slipped lower, teasing the hem of her dress.

She let out a soft gasp as his fingers found their way between her thighs, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth. There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling—only the smooth, practiced confidence.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as he continued, the rhythm of his fingers drawing soft moans from her lips. He could feel her tightening, her body trembling as she reached the edge. His thumb brushed over her in just the right way, and that was all it took. Alys stifled a cry as she came, her body arching against the wall, and Aemond kissed her again, this time slower, more tender, as if savoring the moment. Her breathing slowly evened out, and Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. Neither of them spoke. There was no need for words. 

They simply stood there, foreheads pressed together, sharing the stillness as the world outside continued to move without them.

Aemond had spotted her almost immediately as he entered the courtyard of the university, the gathering of faculty and students milling about in conversation. He had been here long enough to know some faces but not enough to blend in completely. Most of them were talking about papers and projects he couldn't care less about, not today.

And then there she was.

Alys Rivers. Standing among a group of intellectuals, professors, and lecturers—all older, some of them even more seasoned than she was. They looked at her with respect due to someone who held both knowledge and authority. But Aemond? He couldn't help but view her through a lens far removed from the polite deference that the others offered. He could still taste the memory of her kiss, still feel the warmth of her body beneath his fingers.

From where he stood, he could tell she’d seen him, even though she was pretending not to. Her posture had stiffened slightly, her smile at whatever quip had been made by one of her colleagues was just a bit too strained. But it was her eyes that told him the truth—fleetingly, they flicked in his direction, locking onto him for the briefest of seconds before quickly darting away.

And in that brief glance, Aemond knew. Something had changed.

The gaze she gave him wasn’t the smoldering intensity he remembered from their night in the stairwell. It wasn’t the playful challenge or the simmering heat. No, it was something colder, more distant. Her eyes held a reservation that hadn’t been there before, a guardedness he couldn’t quite place.

It made him want to tear himself apart.

He could feel a knot of frustration building in his chest, knowing what that look meant—she had figured it out. That he was just a student here, not some intriguing enigma from outside her world. She had likely put it together: that he was young, still tethered to his academic life, and most probably someone she could regret ever getting involved with.

His feet carried him forward on instinct, not even aware of what he would say or do. He just needed to close the distance between them. But as he approached, he could sense her retreat, even from across the courtyard. She didn’t move away physically, but in every other way, she had already begun to pull back.

The light in her eyes when she’d looked at him the night they first met—the spark that had drawn them together so easily—was dimmed now, like she was shielding herself from it. He could feel the walls she was putting up, the distance she was trying to create. And he hated it.

Aemond finally stopped a few feet away, his eyes fixed on her, willing her to look at him again. To acknowledge that this wasn’t over, that what they’d shared wasn’t something she could just forget. But Alys barely glanced his way, her attention deliberately on the conversation around her, offering a polite smile to some professor who was undoubtedly droning on about some obscure piece of art history.

She wasn’t ignoring him. That would have been easier to handle. No, she was acknowledging him just enough to let him know that she had seen him—but not in the way he wanted.

It was a calculated withdrawal, a signal that this—whatever this was—couldn’t continue.

He clenched his fists at his sides, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He didn’t understand. She was Alys Rivers, confident, self-assured, worldly. And now she was shrinking back, locking herself behind the very walls he thought she had long since broken down. He knew she was regretting it, regretting him. Regretting the way she had let herself lose control with him.

But Aemond couldn’t let that be the end. He wouldn’t let her slip away that easily, not after what they’d shared.

His jaw clenched as he took a deep breath, watching her from across the space. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This was a woman who had opened a door in him he hadn’t even known existed, and now, she was shutting it without so much as a word.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Not yet.

Three nights.

Three nights had passed since that brief, fleeting glance across the courtyard. Alys had been there, wrapped in her distant composure, surrounded by those professors and intellectuals as though nothing had ever happened between them. But the space between them had spoken volumes—more than any words could. She had pulled back, retreated into the safety of her old life, her mind likely full of regrets.

But Aemond couldn’t let it go. The memory of her—of that night, her breathless sighs, the way her body had responded to his touch—had been burning in the back of his mind since. He had tried to shake it, tried to focus on the mundanity of university life, but the tension gnawed at him, unraveling him from the inside.

Tonight, it was too much.

Driving through Oldtown’s winding streets, the engine of Vhagar thrummed beneath him, a low growl matching the storm raging inside. He knew where he was headed before he had even set out, his body moving on instinct. He had to see her again. He needed answers, something more than that cold look she’d given him.

He parked down the street from her house—small, secluded, the same one where they’d fucked for the first time. His hands gripped the steering wheel for a moment, the echoes of that night replaying in his mind. He remembered every touch, every word, the way her laughter had turned to breathless gasps.

But tonight would be different. He wasn’t sure what he would say to her. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted from her. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her fade away like this—not without understanding.

The quiet crunch of his boots against the gravel as he approached her front door made his pulse quicken. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he almost turned back. But his hand was already lifting, knuckles tapping lightly on the wood.

When the door opened, she stood there, looking nothing like the composed and untouchable woman from the gallery. Her hair was down, soft and tousled, falling around her face, and she wore sleep clothes—an oversized, faded shirt and loose pants. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She must have been reading. He had to know what she’d been reading. What had captivated her mind enough to distract her tonight, of all nights? He so desperately wanted to ask.

But he couldn’t.

Because when Alys saw him standing there—her face wilted. It was like watching her defenses crumble in slow motion, a mixture of resignation and regret playing out in the slight downturn of her lips, in the way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

“Aemond,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but before he could speak, she grabbed him by the arm and tugged him inside, glancing quickly at the dark street behind him to make sure no one had seen.

She closed the door with a quiet click, sealing them both inside.

His eyes followed her, drinking in every detail. The loose fabric of her shirt, the way her hair moved with each step, and the quiet way she carried herself now, so different from the confidence she had exuded at the gallery and that night in the stairwell.

She moved to the kitchen, her steps quiet but purposeful. Aemond stood behind her, watching as she reached for a small coffee pot, her movements practiced and deliberate, as if she were stalling for time. The familiar hiss of the coffee beginning to brew filled the silence, but Aemond’s eyes remained fixed on her. His heart still pounded in his chest, an anxious rhythm that echoed in the quiet space between them.

He wanted to ask why she had pulled back. Why did she change so quickly? He wanted to know everything—why she had retreated, why she was here now, brewing coffee in the middle of the night as though they were nothing more than casual acquaintances.

But most of all, he wanted to know if she regretted him.

Aemond stood there, watching her small, quiet movements. The coffee pot sputtered softly, the scent of fresh grounds filling the kitchen, but all his attention was on her—the way her shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the way her fingers tightened momentarily on the countertop as though she was trying to steady herself. He couldn’t resist the pull any longer. His body moved before his mind could catch up.

Slowly, deliberately, he crossed the space between them, closing the distance. His chest brushed against her back, and he could feel her tense, though she didn’t pull away. His hands found her waist, fingers tightening just enough to hold her there, to ground both of them in this moment. She exhaled, a soft sound that almost broke him.

Aemond lowered his head, his lips grazing the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. He could feel the faintest strands of her hair brushing against his face, tickling his lips as he kissed the smallest, most intimate part of her. His breath was warm against her skin, and he felt her body shift—just the slightest tremor beneath his hands.

Her grip on the countertop tightened as she whispered, “Aemond… this isn’t right.”

He paused, his lips hovering above her skin as her words cut through the haze of desire between them. Slowly, she turned around to face him, her expression a mix of guilt and something more difficult to define. Her eyes searched his, lingering for a moment before she looked down, as if she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze for too long.

“I teach at Oldtown,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “You’re a student. I didn’t know... I never knew.”

She was visibly conflicted, her hands pressing flat against the counter as if to steady herself against the weight of her own words. “This... this isn’t right.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening in frustration. “You teach art history,” he countered, his voice sharp, but controlled. “I’m in economics. You don’t teach me.”

Her eyes flicked back up to his, but there was still a shadow of doubt there. “It doesn’t matter. The lines are blurred, Aemond. We’re from the same world, the same institution. It complicates everything.”

“And what?” He leaned in closer, his voice low and heated now, laced with frustration. “Because we’re in the same place, suddenly this—” his hand tightened on her waist, “—suddenly this isn’t real? Or doesn’t count?”

She shook her head, but her breath hitched as his grip became firmer. “No, it’s not that—”

“Then what?” He demanded softly, his mouth inches from hers, his words a mix of desperation and desire. “What is it that makes you think this is wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her hesitation, the conflict in her gaze, only fueled his frustration.

“I need you, Alys,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to make me feel alive.”

The vulnerability in his words hung between them, raw and unguarded. For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen was filled with the quiet hum of the coffee pot, the only sound punctuating the thick tension.

Alys exhaled shakily, her gaze softening. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her hand lingering there as though she was holding herself together. “Aemond...” she began, her voice quieter now, more fragile. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, stepping even closer, his lips brushing against hers. “I don’t care about any of it.”

Their lips collided with a fierce, almost desperate need. His hand slipped from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer, while her fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him toward her as if she couldn’t fight it anymore. The kiss was electric, a surge of everything they had been holding back. All the conflict, all the tension melted into the heat between them.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were ragged, their foreheads pressed together. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel hers too, fast and erratic against him.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, though there was no conviction in her words. “I can’t…”

“You can,” he murmured, brushing his lips softly against her cheek, his hand still resting on her back. “You can.”

She let out a soft, conflicted sigh, her head resting against his chest for just a moment before she stepped back slightly, enough to put some distance between them. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly, her eyes searching for his once again, though this time, there was a trace of hope.

Aemond lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of contentment. Beside him, Alys stretched languidly. The sheets had slipped down, revealing the smooth curve of her back and the hint of tattoos peeking along her spine—small, deliberate symbols that only made her more intriguing.

Months have passed since they began what she calls a clandestine affair, and yet, he supposed he’d never get used to the feeling of being able to hold someone as exquisite as her.

He turned his head slightly, studying her in the faint light, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, the way she seemed completely at ease in the quiet space between them. 

She shifted, rolling onto her side to face him, propping her head up on her hand. Her eyes, dark and sharp as ever, flicked up to meet his, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I was thinking,” she began, her voice low and languid, “about the mural at the Starry Sept.”

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a small smirk. Of course she would talk about art history after a night like this. “Oh?” he prompted, turning fully to face her, his arm resting beneath his head. “What about it?”

Alys leaned closer, her voice dropping into that tone she used when she was fully in her element—an intoxicating mix of mystique and allure. “The mural depicts Aegon’s Conquest, but what most people overlook is the subtle inclusion of symbols that reference the Valyrian Freehold’s decline. It's not just a celebration of Aegon's victory but a commentary on the fall of an empire—and, perhaps, a warning about the fragility of power.”

He watched her intently, captivated by the way she spoke, her words moving effortlessly between history and art, tying together themes in a way that made even the most obscure details seem relevant, significant. She was always like this— her intelligence wrapping around him in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“You think it was intentional?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious. “The decline of Valyria, woven into the heart of a Westerosi victory mural?”

Alys smirked, her fingers tracing small, idle patterns on the sheets. “I do. Art isn’t just about what’s obvious—it’s about what’s hidden, what’s suggested. Power, love, history—it’s all layered. And those who know how to look will always find more than what’s on the surface.”

Aemond chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. “You’ve quite the understanding of it all.”

Her smile widened, a little more playful now, her fingers brushing over his arm. “Maybe. I should, given that I teach it.”

He felt a rush of admiration for her, this woman who could so effortlessly transition from a fierce intellectual to someone who could make him feel utterly insignificant and yet completely seen at the same time. She was unlike anyone he had ever met.

“You’re wasted in Oldtown,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more serious. “You should be part of the think tank at the Citadel, teaching them all how to see the world the way you do.”

Alys laughed softly, shaking her head. “The Citadel doesn’t want women like me, Aemond. They want their history clean and simple. But the way I see it… history is messy—it’s complicated, just like everything else.”

He couldn’t argue with that, not when she had such a profound grasp of the chaos beneath the surface of things. He reached out, his hand sliding into her hair, tugging her just a little closer. “Messy can be beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher now, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

Her gaze softened slightly, her sharpness dimming just a little in the warm intimacy of the moment. “You’re full of surprises, Targaryen.”

He smirked, leaning in to kiss her softly, their lips brushing in a slow, deliberate way. When he pulled back, he caught the way her gaze lingered on him, as though she were sizing him up, trying to decide if she should let him in a little more.

“So,” she said after a moment, her voice softer but still holding that edge of curiosity. “If Westerosi art is a reflection of its history, what do you think it says about you? About the Targaryens?”

Aemond tilted his head, considering her question carefully. “It says that we are a people obsessed with legacy. Everything we do is about ensuring our names, our houses, are remembered. Even our art is full of dragons, of conquest and fire—it’s about showing power.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her eyes locked onto his, searching. “What do you want your legacy to be?”

He paused, the question hanging between them. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. His whole life had been spent chasing power, chasing recognition. But here, in this moment, with her, he felt something shift. Something deeper, more personal.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he had intended. “But I think I want it to be more than just a name in the books.”

Alys studied him for a long moment, her expression softening. She reached out, her hand resting on his chest, just over his heart. “Maybe that’s the first step. Realizing there’s more to life than what the world expects from you.”

Aemond’s heart beat a little faster under her touch. That’s when it hits him. For the first time, he wasn’t chasing power, authority or perfection.

He was chasing her.

“There's always this sense of danger, of forbidden pleasure. But people are drawn to it.”

She set her plate aside, her fingers brushing absently over the arm of the sofa. “In most of the stories, it’s either villainized or fetishized. Affairs are always catastrophic, or they’re seen as something scandalous, and yet… they’re everywhere. The stories, the songs, the histories—they all revolve around love triangles, mistresses, lovers. It's as though the idea of being with more than one person is at the center of so many lives, but no one ever talks about it openly.”

Alys turned toward him, her eyes sharper now, more focused. “That’s because monogamy is a construct. It’s a way of controlling love, of organizing it into something neat and manageable. But love isn’t manageable, Aemond. It’s messy. It’s wild. And sometimes, it doesn’t fit into one person, or one life.”

There was a quiet intensity in her words, the kind that made him listen more carefully. “And you?” he asked, his voice soft, probing. “What about your own life?”

Alys sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she set her plate down on the coffee table. “Brynden and I—we’re not monogamous, though we were, once upon a time. We’ve been married for over a decade, but we realized early on that there were things we both wanted, things that didn’t always align.”

Aemond frowned slightly, not quite understanding. “But if you love each other…”

She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression, a kind of resigned wisdom. “We do love each other. We care deeply about each other, we love each other. But we’re not in love. Not in the way that most people expect or demand from a marriage.”

Aemond’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his mind. “So, you just… see other people? Without it affecting you?”

Alys shook her head, leaning forward slightly. “It only works if both people are one hundred percent okay with it. That’s the thing, Aemond. You can’t force this kind of relationship. Brynden and I have different things we need out of life. There’s very little I can do to satisfy myself if I have to compromise for him. The same goes for him too. He’s my best friend. We’ve found a balance, a way to live together and still have space for ourselves.”

She glanced at him, watching his reaction carefully. “But it’s not easy. It takes a lot of trust. And it doesn’t always make sense to people who see love as something that has to be exclusive.”

Aemond sat back, his lips curling slightly in that familiar way when his mind was working through something, his ego surfacing. He couldn’t help himself. “I suppose I’m lucky, then,” he said, a faint note of arrogance in his voice. “To be the one who gets to benefit from that.”

Alys’s expression froze. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, the warm, intimate atmosphere between them cracked. She stood up abruptly, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Lucky?” she echoed, her gaze piercing. “You think this is about luck? Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain something like this without everything falling apart?”

Aemond realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. He shot to his feet, his hand reaching for hers. “Alys, I didn’t mean—”

But she pulled her hand back, shaking her head, her frustration evident. “No, you don’t get to reduce my life, my choices, to something as simple as luck.”

He stepped closer, his hands moving to her shoulders, his voice softer now, more genuine. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Alys stared at him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with restrained emotion. He could see the tension in her, the wariness that came with it all. In a rare display, her years showed.

Without a word, Aemond leaned in and kissed her, his lips capturing hers in a way that was both apologetic and filled with longing. She responded, hesitantly at first, but then with more intensity, as though she were letting go of something. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet space. Aemond held her close, his fingers brushing over her sides, and he spoke softly, almost reverently. “I meant what I said, Alys.”

Alys closed her eyes for a moment, her breathing steadying as she absorbed his words. She sighed softly, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. 

“I know.”

Aemond lay beside Alys, his shirt barely clinging to her, the fabric slipping off one shoulder, exposing her pale skin. She moved beneath the sheets with a languid grace that only made her more irresistible. His fingers skimmed over her body, memorizing the dips and curves, the way her skin felt like silk under his touch. Every breath she took was a silent invitation, every brush of her lips against his a reminder of what had just transpired.

Her scent—something faintly floral and utterly intoxicating—clung to the air, mixing with the musky scent of sweat and sex. Aemond felt suspended in the moment, tethered to her in a way he hadn’t anticipated. His gaze drifted from the ceiling to her face, watching as she nestled deeper into the bed, her hair splayed out across the pillow like a dark halo. The way she looked in his shirt, the way she wore it so effortlessly, made his pulse quicken. Everything about her was sensual, down to the simplest gestures, like the lazy curl of her fingers as she reached for him, grazing her nails along his chest.

Her lips brushed his once more, a teasing kiss that made his head spin, like she knew just how far she could push him before he crumbled beneath her. There was an ease to her movements, a confidence that drove him wild, made him want to lose himself in her all over again. She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against his, the heat of her skin sparking something primal within him.

But then her voice cut through the haze, soft and matter-of-fact, as if she were commenting on the weather. "I’m going to see Brynden tomorrow."

The words struck him like a slow-burning match, igniting something deep inside. The stillness in the room suddenly felt suffocating, the heat they’d shared now turning into a simmering tension. His hand, which had been gently tracing the curve of her waist, stilled. Aemond’s pulse quickened, but outwardly, he gave no sign of the fire starting to rage inside him.

Brynden. Her husband.

He tried to keep his breathing steady, but the thought of her with someone else—him—was enough to send a surge of possessiveness coursing through him. Aemond prided himself on his ability to control his emotions, to keep them tightly reined in, but this was different. 

She wasn’t just anyone. She was Alys. And the idea of her in another man’s bed, even if it was her husband's, twisted something deep inside him.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at the ceiling, trying to keep his jealousy in check. He didn’t have any right to feel this way. She had made it clear from the beginning. He knew what this was, knew the rules—yet none of that mattered in this moment. Not when the image of her leaving his bed for Brynden was clawing at him, filling him with a need he could barely control.

Alys shifted beside him, her fingers trailing lightly down his chest, as if she were unaware of the storm brewing inside him. But she always knew. She was far too perceptive not to notice the tension that had settled between them.

She tilted her head up, her eyes locking onto his, and there was a playful glint in them. “Are you jealous?” she asked, her tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t respond, his fingers now gripping her waist with more intensity than before. He swallowed hard, the words tasting bitter on his tongue, but he couldn’t hold back. “I just fucked you, and you’re telling me you’re going to see someone else tomorrow.”

Her laughter was soft, almost like a sigh, but it stoked the flames inside him. She pulled away slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You always knew what this was,” she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm, as if she was reminding him of the rules they had both agreed to.

He turned his head, staring down at her. She looked so effortlessly beautiful, so at ease, but the casualness of her words only intensified the gnawing jealousy inside him. You always knew what this was. Maybe he did, but hearing her say it aloud, hearing her reaffirm the boundaries that she had always been so careful to maintain—it made him feel helpless in a way he hadn’t expected.

His mind couldn’t help but wander, the images of what tomorrow would bring gnawing at him. He thought of her with Brynden, imagined them together, tangled in sheets that weren’t his. Would he touch her the way Aemond did? Would he know the places to kiss that made her gasp softly into his mouth? Would he know the way she liked to be held, the way she would bite her lip when she was just on the edge of ecstasy?

Would he even care?

Or worse, did he know better than him?

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightened, his possessiveness flaring, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled from his lips. “Are you seeing others as well? Or is it just me and Brynden?”

Alys paused, her fingers stopping their idle movements as she looked at him, her gaze thoughtful. She didn’t seem surprised by his question, as if she had been expecting it. “Right now,” she said slowly, “it’s just the two of you.” Her lips curved into a small smile, one that sent a thrill through him despite the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. 

The fact—that men would come running if she wanted them to—remains unsaid.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a tight line as he absorbed her words. Of course they would. She was magnetic—her beauty, her intelligence, the way she moved through the world with such ease—it was impossible not to be drawn to her. But even knowing that didn’t make the tightness in his chest any easier to bear.

He sat up slightly, his hand trailing up her back, fingers brushing over the exposed skin where his shirt had slipped down her shoulder. He wanted to pull her close, to keep her here with him, but he knew he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to be the only one, to claim her in a way no one else could, he knew the limits of what he was allowed.

This arrangement works because everyone knows where they stand.

She smiled softly, pulling him down to her for a kiss, her lips warm and inviting against his. But as she pulled away, her gaze lingered on his, and there was something knowing in her eyes, something that told him she understood all too well.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low, rough with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “I am jealous.”

Alys didn’t say anything, but the soft look in her eyes said enough. She knew. She had always known.

And he should have too.

Aemond had spent days trying to shake the feeling, trying to claw his way back to the control he’d once prided himself on. But the jealousy gnawed at him, a constant, gnawing tension in his chest. He hadn’t seen Alys since that night—had barely even let himself think of her—but she was everywhere. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying in his bed, felt her skin beneath his fingers, heard her voice as she casually mentioned her husband’s name, as if it were nothing.

He tried to drown himself in distractions—meetings, late-night study sessions, endless hours at the gym—but none of it worked. The silence of his apartment felt louder than ever, and every time he glanced at his phone, he half-expected to see a message from her. But it never came.

Not until Wylde’s name appeared on his screen.

He was standing by the window, mindlessly staring at the city lights when the familiar vibration startled him from his thoughts. He glanced down, and for a brief, disorienting second, his heart stopped. The photo of her flashed on his phone—a candid shot she had sent him months ago, a sunlit snapshot of her by the cliffs, her eyes gleaming with mischief and an easy smile that always made him feel lighter.

His stomach flipped, warmth spreading through him at the sight of her name.

It was as if all the heaviness he had been carrying suddenly lifted, the fog of jealousy and frustration dissipating in an instant. Without thinking, he grabbed the phone and answered, bringing it to his ear.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a hint of surprise in his tone.

He leaned into his pillows on the bed as she talked, her singsong voice making him feel lighter with each second. His cigarette burned idly between his fingers, ash falling unnoticed to the floor as he listened to her voice on the other end of the line. It had been days since they’d last talked, and the sound of her now felt like a balm to his burned heart.

“So, I tried that new coffee place you told me about,” Wylde said, her voice light, teasing. He could hear the smile in it. “The one with the ridiculously overpriced pastries.”

He smirked, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “And?”

She sighed dramatically. “Never again. I’m convinced you only recommended it for the aesthetics.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the tension in his chest loosening just a fraction. “Maybe. The coffee’s not terrible though.”

“Not terrible? I’ve had better instant coffee.”

There was a pause on her end before her tone shifted, more thoughtful now. “So… Daeron talked to me today.”

Aemond’s fingers stilled on his cigarette. “And?”

“I don’t know. He apologized, and we talked. One thing led to another and I told him I loved him.”

The warmth that had spread through him a moment ago began to ebb as she continued.

“I asked him why he never said anything, and he said he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“Hm.” He lit another cigarette, the click of the lighter distinct even through the phone. He could picture her so clearly, lying in bed with the phone pressed to her ear, her face soft with thought. He flexed his knuckles as he always did when he needed to keep his hands busy, the tension creeping back into his muscles.

“And then we just… I don’t know. We just sort of sat there for a bit.”

“Hm.” He inhaled slowly, letting the smoke fill his lungs, waiting for her to continue. Aemond had never been one to rush her, especially when it came to things like this. He imagined the awkward silence that must have hung between her and Daeron, and it stirred something low in his chest.

“We didn’t say much after. I was too embarrassed to continue, and he seemed tired. We just finished our drinks and then he insisted on walking me home.”

Aemond didn’t respond right away. He let the silence stretch between them, processing her words. His thumb absently flicked at the filter of his cigarette as he stared out into the dim city skyline, feeling the familiar weight settle on him. The thought of Daeron, after everything, still having a hold over her – it bothered him more than it should. He knew it was irrational, but knowing didn’t make it any easier to shake.

He shifted in his seat, the leather of his jacket rustling faintly. 

A slight creak of her bed sounded through the phone as she shifted. “Are you still there?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone quiet, more subdued than before. He hesitated for a moment, flexing his knuckles again before asking, “Are you… do you still have feelings for him?”

The question was out before he could stop it, and immediately, he regretted how vulnerable it made him sound. He tried to keep his voice even, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

There was a pause on her end, the kind that made his chest tighten. He could almost picture her expression—surprised, maybe, but not angry.

“It hasn’t completely gone away,” she finally admitted, her voice measured. “There’s always going to be something there. But no, not quite as I used to.”

He took another slow drag, the smoke clouding his vision as he exhaled. Good. Maybe it’s time to focus on other things. Other people.”

He hoped his voice sounded casual, like it didn’t matter much to him either way.

“Yeah. Maybe it is,” she replied, her voice softer now, as though she was giving the idea some real thought.

Aemond let the silence stretch between them again, and this time, it felt a little lighter. He could feel the tension that had gripped him earlier easing. The jealousy that had been simmering for days was still there, but now it felt manageable, less like a gnawing ache and more like a dull throb he could ignore.

“Speaking of other people,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Have you made any new friends at university? Met anyone interesting?”

Aemond felt his jaw tighten for a second before he forced himself to relax. He could almost hear her smirking through the phone.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his voice deliberately noncommittal. “A few people.”

“Oh? Anyone special?” she pressed, clearly enjoying the chance to prod at him.

He hesitated, and the pause was long enough that he knew she’d pick up on it.

“Hm…”

“Aemond,” she said, exasperation seeping into her voice, though he could tell she was smiling. “Is that a yes?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, knowing it would drive her crazy.

“Come on! You can’t just say ‘perhaps’ and leave it at that. Tell me!” she urged, her voice rising with excitement.

He sighed, trying to hide the smirk playing at his lips. “There’s someone. But it’s nothing serious.”

“Someone? What’s their name?” she asked eagerly.

“No.”

Her laughter bubbled through the phone, warm and familiar. “You’re no fun.”

“Nothing much to say,” he countered, taking another drag. “It’s… too soon.”

She sighed dramatically, though he could hear the smile in her voice. “Fine, but you owe me details eventually.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been in days.

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smile this time. He could picture her so clearly, lying there in bed with that mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

“I’m tired. Good night, Aemond,” her voice was soft, gentle, as though the day’s weight had finally eased off her shoulders. There was something warm in the way she said it, something familiar that made him pause.

“Good night, Wylde,” he murmured back, his own voice laced with a quiet fondness he hadn’t meant to let slip.

As the call ended, the stillness of the room settled over him. Aemond leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone for a long moment, her name still glowing on the screen. The corners of his lips lifted slightly as he thought of her. Even now, after everything, she could still make his chest tighten with just a word. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers smolder and fade.

For a moment, his mind drifted back to last summer. How he almost told her when they sat in her bed before he left, how the words had been on the tip of his tongue so many times. The late nights they’d spent talking, the stolen glances when she wasn’t looking—he’d convinced himself it was just a crush, a fleeting thing. But the way his heart would flip whenever she smiled at him, or how his pulse would race when her hand brushed his... Maybe it was something more. He’d wondered if, just maybe, she’d felt it too.

But then he left. And in Oldtown, everything changed.

Alys.

Aemond closed his eyes, feeling a familiar heat coil in his chest at the mere thought of her. Gods, Alys. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known—intense, dangerous, and undeniably captivating. He remembered the first time they met, the way her eyes had seemed to see right through him, peeling back layers he hadn’t even known were there. And before he knew it, he was tangled in her, in whatever it was they had together. It wasn’t love, no, but it was something—something that gripped him hard and wouldn’t let go.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. Even now, his heart still flipped when Wylde called, but it didn’t beg for her the way it did for Alys. With Wylde, it was soft, warm, comforting. But with Alys... oh gods, with Alys it was something else entirely. The heat between them, the way his body craved hers—it was raw, electric, and it consumed him in ways that were almost terrifying.

And yet... he thought of Wylde, her soft pining after Daeron, how she still held onto the hope of something that had never truly been hers. It infuriated him in a way he couldn’t explain. He hated that she didn’t see how beneath her it was. Daeron, who despite being his own brother, would never be someone who would give her what she deserved. She didn’t see it, and maybe she never would.

His thoughts flickered back to Alys, to the way he’d let himself get caught up in her. He hadn’t intended for it to go this far. He didn’t need commitment, he didn’t need to belong to anyone. Not when he had someone like Alys—someone who didn’t ask for anything more than what he could give. What they had worked for him. It was perfect, just the way it was. So why did his mind keep slipping, why did the thought of Wylde still linger, hovering just at the edge of his thoughts?

He clenched his jaw, pushing the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. Wylde was still tied up in Daeron, in whatever heartbreak she was clinging to. And Alys... Alys was what he needed. She gave him exactly what he wanted without the complications, without the demands.

The next night, Aemond found himself standing at Alys’ door, barely able to breathe as she opened it. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and before she could say anything, he was on her, slamming the door shut with a force that echoed through the room.

His hands were on her in an instant, pushing her back against the wall, his lips crashing down on hers with a hunger he hadn’t realized had built up inside him. The kiss was fierce, unrelenting, and she barely had time to gasp before he was lifting her, his fingers digging into her skin, his body pressing against hers.

He didn’t stop to think, didn’t slow down, didn’t give her a moment to ask what was happening. He just took the way he liked. Her breath was ragged, matching his own, her nails digging into his back as she responded with equal fervor.

This was what he needed.

She twirled a strand of dark hair between her fingers, her eyes locked onto him as he talked about the upcoming summer trip to Valyria. Aegon’s relationship with Sara Snow had opened doors that were otherwise sealed shut for nearly everyone else. A summer expedition to the ancient, forbidden land—one that was so deeply tied to his heritage—felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and yet the anticipation thrummed through his veins in a way that was almost... understated.

“You’ll see things no one’s seen for centuries,” Alys said. Her gaze flicked over him as if she was sizing him up, wondering how deeply the land’s mysteries would affect him. “If you’re lucky, they’ll let you wander off the program. See the real Valyria, not just the parts the academics have planned out for their research.”

Aemond’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Sara Snow runs a tight ship. There’s not much leeway. But Aegon mentioned there might be an opportunity if I slip away during one of the less critical site studies. She’s obsessed with the subterranean temples. It’s the landmarks I’m after—those that would bear the sigils or icons linked to House Targaryen. Dragons. The Three-headed Beast.”

Alys leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, intrigued. “You think the old sigils might still be there? Carved into stone or etched into relics buried beneath volcanic ash?”

“I have a feeling they would be,” Aemond murmured, his eyes flickering with a hint of excitement. “The Targaryens came from there. It’s in our blood, our bones. The architecture, the ancient monuments, it would all tie back to our origins. Even if some of it’s eroded or destroyed, Valyria’s foundation was built on the backs of dragonlords.”

Alys’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Keep your eyes open for anything that seems... too deliberate. Valyrian artisans were methodical. They hid their secrets in plain sight, but only for those who know where to look.”

He nodded, his mind already racing through what he’d studied about Valyria—the imagery, the symbolism, the deep-rooted history he was about to walk into. His excitement was tempered, though, controlled as always. Aemond’s passions ran deep, but they were guarded.

As they continued to speak, his phone buzzed softly in his pocket. He almost didn’t reach for it, but something told him to look. The moment he saw the name on the screen, his expression softened, the tension in his body easing in a way Alys had never quite seen before.

“Who is it?” Alys asked, noticing the subtle shift in him.

Without answering, Aemond gave her a brief, almost apologetic smile as he slid his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Wylde,” he greeted, his voice warmer, softer than it had been in the last few hours. “What’s up?”

Alys raised a brow, watching as he leaned back in his seat, a trace of amusement flickering in her dark eyes as she observed the man in front of her transform into something gentler, less guarded.

More so the boy that he is.

Her voice was muffled, but Aemond listened intently, nodding along as if she could see him. His eyes brightened subtly, the corners of his lips twitching as she told him about her graduation gown fitting.

“Finally packing for Oldtown, huh?” he asked, a rare note of quiet excitement in his voice. “Good.”

There was a pause as Wylde spoke again, and Aemond’s gaze flickered toward Alys for a brief moment, remembering that he wasn’t alone. “I’m with someone right now, but I’ll call you later, alright?”

She said something else, something lighthearted, and Aemond’s lips curled into a small, barely-there smile as he ended the call.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, and when he looked up, Alys was watching him with that same knowing smile that made it clear she’d picked up on everything.

“Wylde?” she asked casually, though her tone was tinged with curiosity.

Aemond didn’t answer immediately, his features slipping back into the cool detachment he was known for, but Alys could see the faint trace of warmth still lingering in his eyes.

“She’s an old friend of the family,” he said, his voice measured, but Alys didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed slightly, as if he was still holding onto the echo of the conversation.

Alys leaned back in her seat, smirking. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”

Aemond’s gaze met Alys’s, cool and steady, the warmth from moments before already fading as if it had never existed. His fingers absently flexed against the edge of the table, and he gave a small shrug.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Alys didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to watch him with that knowing smile, her lips curving as if she saw right through him. She leaned forward slightly, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as her eyes locked onto his, sharp and unreadable.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, her tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity, probing.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “No. It doesn’t.”

He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and took a slow drag, the smoke curling lazily between them. Alys tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction, as if his denial was amusing to her. She didn’t push further, though. That wasn’t her style. Alys knew when to press and when to let things be. She had him figured out well enough to know that some things were better left unspoken.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost soothing, though the amusement in her eyes never quite left. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs casually. “If you say so.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating into the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. But Alys’s smile lingered, just on the edge of her lips, like she knew something he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

Two months later, she stood at his doorstep in Oldtown.

“Hey, missed me?” Wylde said, her voice light, that familiar carelessness in her tone that always managed to put him at ease. The way she looked at him—like nothing had changed—made something in his chest shift, the way it always did.

She stepped forward to hug him, and he held her for a moment longer after, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Have you moved into your new place yet?" he asked, trying to sound casual, as if her being here wasn’t undoing everything he had told himself.

As if he hadn’t spent months imagining this exact moment and wondering how it would feel.

"The boxes are in," she replied with a shrug, her eyes meeting his, bright and untroubled, unguarded in a way that made him feel like he could breathe again. "I should probably start unpacking soon."

He nodded, a small smile forming. "Let me know if you need help."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned back slightly, as if assessing him. “How was Valyria?”

And then, it all unraveled. The way she said it, like she genuinely wanted to know, like she’d missed hearing about his life. He began talking, and for the first time in what felt like a year, he felt that spark of excitement again, the kind that came naturally around her. He found himself smiling in a way he hadn’t in months, feeling the weight lift off his shoulders as he told her about the trip, about the ruins and relics, his voice lighter than it had been in so long. She listened, leaning in, her eyes tracing his face like she was searching for something she’d missed.

He didn’t even realize he was still holding her. He hadn’t let go, and his hands were warm where they rested on her, like something slotting into place. And suddenly, for the first time since he’d moved here, everything felt right.

Lighter. Like home.

He was fucked. Completely. He could feel it now, the rush of everything he’d tried to bury for months rising up, all at once.

How did he ever convince himself he’d gotten over her?

MASTERLIST

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[k0juki]

You don't wanna dance?

vampire hunter!Lando Norris x vampire!fem!reader au!

Warnings: mentions of drugs and killing but it's just a mention!

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! Also picture is not mine! Credit goes to the owner! Request are open!

More posts here! I'm gonna make it a little series.

Words: over 2k.

---

For the last couple of centuries, I spent my importantly traveling and hiding from vampire hunters. They almost killed all mine kind and because of that, vampires have become mere legends and myths.

A lot of them died, but others learned how to survive. Most of young vampires stayed in groups with others, more older vampires. Who protect them.

And in the heart of the loud city, where cobblestone streets echoed with human laughter, stood a lone figure cloaked in shadows. It was Lando.

Lando is a renowned vampire hunter, prowling the night with purpose, his senses honed to detect even the faintest trace of the undead. He always knew what he had to do. What is his purpose in this world. And mostly, he knew where to look for his prey.

They always hide in places like this, with loud music and a lot of people that spend all their money on doubtful drugs that get them killed.

Places like night clubs and bars are no stranger to Lando, and if he wasn't tangled up in this kind of job, he would have joined everyone there and enjoyed his young life with pretty women and one night stands.

"It's always clubs, never the quiet, relaxing places." Lando sighed and stepped inside. Saint and Sinners, an amazing name for a club. The air was a lot heavier and smoke from cigarettes could be smelled. A perfect place for vampires.

Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the club, neon lights danced and shadows whispered secrets in dark corners, the vampires were here, he was sure of it. Lando stood like a solitary sentinel, his gaze sweeping the crowded dance floor with practiced vigilance.

He's from a family full of vampire hunters and as a seasoned vampire hunter, he was no stranger to the dark allure of the night, but this night would test his resolve in ways he could never have imagined.

Across the smoky haze of the dimly lit room, his eyes locked on one woman whose back was towards him. Her hair was moving around as she danced carelessly. But then it was like something had stopped her.

As she turned around and her eyes locked with his, it was like when time stops. Who is she? What a girl like her is doing here? Surely she wasn't here for some drugs, she isn't this type of girl. And when you live long enough, you start to recognise the same people in different bodies but with the same intrigues.

She knew who he was the moment she saw him, only a fool wouldn't know who he is, but she wanted to know what he was doing here. She decided to move towards him with an ethereal grace, her every step a was grace and allure that she knew that drew him in like a moth to flame.

That woman is Y/n, a vampire whose beauty defies description, her eyes like pools of liquid moonlight that held him captive with their magnetic gaze. Despite the danger she posed, Lando found himself unable to tear his gaze away, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of fear and fascination.

As the music pulsed through the air like a heartbeat, Lando felt the pull that drew him ever closer to her, like two stars destined to collide in the vast expanse of the night sky. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrowed until they stood mere inches apart, the air thick with anticipation.

"Who are you?" Lando's voice was barely a whisper, lost amidst the cacophony of the club around them.

Y/n's lips curled into a seductive smile, her voice a melody that sent shivers down his spine.

"I could ask you the same thing, handsome stranger." She replied, her tone playful yet tinged with a hint of danger. "But I think we both know the answer to that."

Lando felt a surge of heat rush through him at her proximity, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of her icy perfume and the electricity that crackled between them.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Y/n's smile widened, her gaze never wavering from his. "What do you think I want?" she teased, her words laced with a hint of danger.

She stepped closer to him and said "Isn't it obvious? I wanna dance." She whispered in his left ear and wrapped her arms around his neck. Inhaling his scent that filled her lungs, she felt as he put his hands on her hips.

His cold rings burned against her soft, yet cold skin, but his hands were so much warmer. She knew that she will lose control, but he smelled so godamn good.

"Dance? Is that what you want?" He thought that was a strange request, so he couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah, you're at the night club and you don't want to dance?" She started to pull away, but he was quick to take her back in.

"No, no, I just…I don't know you, you know? How could I trust you?" He still wasn't sure if she was a vampire, but vampires are known for how they can manipulate you into things you would even dream about. And he felt like she could be one of them.

"Hmm…you're right, we don't know each other so well," she spoke "and you're right, you can't trust nobody" and completely pulled away from him and stepped back, so he couldn't grab her like last time.

"Maybe it's better if it's stay like that." She answered somehow coldly, she wanted to vanish into a crowd of dancing bodies when she felt his hand grasp her wrist.

Turning to look at him, she was about to say something, but he beamed her with "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry." He felt the cold skin in his hand and decided if his theory of her being that mystical creature was true.

Y/n wasn't stupid. She knew he was a very dangerous man and that she shouldn't be playing around with him, but because she knew who he really was, she thought it could be fun to mess with him a little and play along with her being just a tipsy little girl that has a little drunk crush on him.

"It's alright. Let's just dance, yeah?" She asked and he just nodded with a smile on his face. She tugged him more into the dance floor and gosh, he was beautiful, with his green eyes that had sparks in them, his curly hair that was so soft to touch and with that gorgeous smile, he was just amazing.

"So" She started, breaking their silence.

"So?"

"So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" Curious little thing she is. Always needs to know all the answers. And you know what they say, curiosity killed a cat. But, well, she was already dead, so she couldn't care less though.

"I could have asked you the same thing?" He wasn't going to tell her that he's here because of her kind. That he's going to kill her if she is something that he thinks she is, no, he knows it.

"Yeah, but I asked first."

"I'm looking for someone." He stated after a few seconds. His green eyes looked around the club and then back to her.

"For who?"

"I don't know yet," he started "but I think it could be you." He wasn't so smooth about it at all and took her back in his hold.

She knew what he meant by it and he knew it was her that he was looking for, but she just smiled at him and pulled him closer by the collar of his white shirt that had a few open buttons down.

"Yeah? And how do you know it's me you are looking for?" She chuckled, maybe because she knew he couldn't do anything to hurt her. There was too many people and other vampires that were watching them in dark corners and if he even tried something, she could end him by just snapping fingers. That's how powerful she really is.

He didn't say anything, he just looked at her and as they danced together in the dimly lit room, Lando found himself drawn deeper into this woman's web of temptation, his every instinct screaming at him to flee, even as his heart urged him to stay.

"You know I can't stay here" he whispered, "stay here with you." His voice barely audible above the din of the club. It was something about her that just took him in and he knew he had to leave or else things could get bad.

Y/n's eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability passing across her features, strange. "I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the moment while it lasts."

He was mesmerized by her. She wasn't just an ordinary vampire, no, he was pretty sure that she is one of the vampires that lives so long because they live in clans, with other, more older and wiser vampires.

This could be his chance.

His chance to get closer to her and her vampire family. To kill them. To kill all the remaining vampires like he promised to do, because that's his job. His purpose.

But each of them, was playing their own dangerous game.

"I'm Lando, by the way." He introduced himself with his British accent. "Lando Norris."

As Lando extended his hand towards her, Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew the game he was playing.

"It's nice to meet you Lando," she answered "but unfortunately for you, I already know your name." Her smile was getting bigger and that sweet playfulness was now becoming a little less and less funny.

That made him stop. She knew him? How does she know him? They had never met before, did they? Confusion could be seen on his pretty face and she loved every second of it. She lives for it.

"You really think I'm this stupid?" She said as laughter left her mouth. The music swelled around them and Lando leaned in closer to that pale woman, his voice a low murmur against her ear.

"How? How do you know my name then?"

"I had hanky-panky with your father too," she pointed out back in his left ear, "and with your grandfather as well and so on...you are all very similar.”

Lando said nothing. He just stood there like a fool. Who was this woman? Was she really this old vampire that knew his family members better than he did himself?

"Your family is notorious for hunting my kind Lando. You really think I wouldn't know you? Or your family?" She teased, her voice a soft melody that sent shivers down his spine.

And he knew that he should be afraid. He was in the lair of vampires. He had every right to be afraid. But then again, he needed to know her. Her true identity and what she is capable of, if she is a threat.

"You won't tell me your name?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "I haven't decided." Y/n liked to play hard to get. It was in her nature.

“You want to know my name hunter?” she felt his hands tighten on her hips and how he started to rub his thumbs up and down.

“Yes, of course I do.” What was he doing? He should have left and not be asking for her name. And definitely not holding her close to him.

“It's Y/n”

It's Simple, but effective. He liked that name, he liked her. She had this something inside of her, that he hasn't seen in everyone else. Something special.

As the music continued to pulse through the club and the crowd swirled around them, Y/n suddenly pulled away from Lando's soft grasp, leaving him standing alone on the dance floor, bewildered and disoriented.

"Well...I guess i will see you around, Lando"

For a moment, Lando stood frozen in place, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched that strange vampire woman disappear into the sea of dancing bodies.

He felt a surge of panic rising within him, a sense of vulnerability he hadn't felt in years. "Wait!" he called out, his voice lost in the loud music of the club around him.

But she was gone, vanished into the dark club without a trace, leaving Lando to wonder if their encounter had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. No, no, she was real. She has to be real, she knew his family, she knew him.

As he stood there, alone in the dimly lit club, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within. He had been so sure of himself, so confident in his abilities as a hunter, but now he felt lost and adrift in a world he no longer recognized.

With a heavy heart, Lando turned and made his way towards the exit, the sounds of the club fading into the background as he stepped out into the cool night air. He felt like he could finally breathe again.

As he disappeared into the darkness, he couldn't help but wonder, if he would ever see that woman again, or if she had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion in the night.

—

Do you want a part 2? Or just some blurbs, imagines, etc. from this au?...write me!🩷

Don't copy or translate my work!

[amateurvoltaire]

Summer holidays are over, and if you’re anything like me—still pretending that your inbox full of emails doesn’t exist (Yes, Sharon, I’ll get to your spreadsheet eventually!) and scrolling through holiday snaps on repeat—here’s something to help ease the pain: Robespierre’s Journey to Carvin, the ultimate travel blog (1).

In June 1783, a 25-year-old Maximilien Robespierre embarked on a modest 35 km trip from Arras to Carvin to visit his relatives. He wrote a delightfully dramatic account of this journey, addressed to Antoine Buissart, his friend, mentor, and his wife Charlotte.

For anyone who thinks of Robespierre as some cold, humourless figure, I present this letter as evidence to the contrary. His wit, self-mockery, and unexpected humour shine through. He likens himself to Aeneas, takes jabs at his own inflated sense of importance, and, of course, waxes lyrical about tarts (2). Absolutely brilliant!

As always, this is my own translation, and honestly, there are more polished ones out there. Robespierre is in full show-off mode, packing the text with references to Greek and Roman history and mythology—because why not? I’ve done my best to explain them all, but it’s possible I may have missed a few...

Translation: Impressions of a Journey to Carvin (3)

Monsieur,  

There are no pleasures truly agreeable unless shared with one’s friends. I shall therefore impart to you a description of those I have lately enjoyed.

Expect not an account of my journey, for such works have been so prodigiously multiplied of late years that the public must surely be sated with them. I know of an author who, having travelled but five leagues (4), immortalised the event in both verse and prose.

But what, pray, is such an endeavour compared to the one I have undertaken? I have not merely travelled five leagues; I have covered six—and six good leagues, I assure you—so much so that, by the reckoning of the locals, they are worth at least seven ordinary leagues. Yet, I shall not say a word of my journey. I lament for your sake, for it would have afforded you the most infinitely interesting adventures—those of Ulysses and Telemachus (5)  would pale in comparison.

It was at five o'clock in the morning when we set out; the carriage which bore us passed through the city gates at the very moment the chariot of the Sun rose from the bosom of the Ocean. Our vehicle was adorned with a cloth of dazzling whiteness, a portion of which fluttered freely in the breath of the zephyrs. In this manner, we passed in triumph before the customs house. You may imagine that I could not resist turning my gaze in that direction, eager to see whether the sentinels of the excise office would betray their ancient reputation for courtesy. Filled with noble emulation, I dared aspire to outshine them in politeness, should it be possible. Leaning over the side of the carriage, I doffed my new hat and saluted them with a gracious smile. I had expected a courteous return. Would you believe it? These officials, motionless as statues at the entrance to their hut, fixed their eyes upon me, offering no return of my greeting. Ever possessed of an infinite sense of pride, I was deeply wounded by this sign of disdain, and it soured my temper for the remainder of the day (6).

Nonetheless, our steeds bore us with a swiftness that defies imagination. They appeared as if they sought to rival the Sun’s own horses (7) flying above us. Just as I had endeavoured to surpass the customs officials at the Méaulens gate in civility, our horses leapt over the suburb of Sainte-Catherine with a single bound (8), and with a second, we found ourselves upon the square in Lens (9). There we paused briefly. I took advantage of this respite to survey the beauties of the town that might engage the curiosity of travellers. While the rest of the company breakfasted, I stole away and ascended the hill upon which stands the Calvary. From this vantage, I cast my gaze, with mingled sentiments of tenderness and admiration, over the vast plain where Condé, at the tender age of twenty, won that famous victory over the Spaniards, saving the fatherland (10) . Yet a more compelling object drew my attention: the Town Hall. Though neither remarkable in size nor magnificence, it still had every claim to inspire my keenest interest. “This modest edifice,” I mused as I gazed upon it, “is the very sanctuary wherein Mayor T..., with a round wig and the scales of Themis (11) in hand, once weighed with impartial justice the rights of his fellow citizens. A minister of justice, favoured by Aesculapius (12), after pronouncing sentence, he would immediately dictate a medical prescription. Both criminal and patient alike trembled at his presence, and this great man, by virtue of dual authority, wielded the most extensive power ever exercised by one man over his compatriots.”

In the fervour of my enthusiasm, I could not rest until I had penetrated the precincts of the Town Hall. I was determined to see the courtroom and the tribunal where the aldermen sit. I had the porter sought throughout the town; at length he came, unlocked the doors, and I rushed into the courtroom. Seized by a religious reverence, I fell to my knees within this august temple and passionately kissed the seat that had once been pressed by the posterior of the great T....

Thus did Alexander prostrate himself before the tomb of Achilles (13), and thus did Caesar render homage to the monument which housed the ashes of the conqueror of Asia (14).

We resumed our journey; scarce had I settled upon my bundle of straw when Carvin came into view. At the sight of this fortunate land, we all let out a cry of joy, much like the Trojans, escaped from the ruin of Ilium, upon first sighting the shores of Italy (15).

The good folk of this village gave us a reception which amply compensated for the indifference we had endured from the officials at the Méaulens gate. Citizens of all ranks vied with one another in their eagerness to behold us. The cobbler paused, tool in hand, on the verge of piercing a sole, so that he might gaze at us at leisure; the barber, abandoning a half-shaven beard, rushed towards us, razor still in hand; the housewife, in her curiosity, risked the burning of her tarts. I beheld three gossips interrupt a most animated conversation to fly to their windows. Alas, the journey was all too brief, but during that time, we savoured the flattering pleasure of being the sole object of the populace’s attention. “How sweet it is to travel!” I mused. Indeed, they say that no man is a prophet in his own land; at the gates of one’s own city, one is scorned; six leagues further, one becomes a figure of public curiosity.

I was lost in these reflections when we arrived at the house that marked the end of our journey. I shall make no attempt to describe to you the outpouring of tenderness that accompanied our embraces—such a scene would have moved you to tears. Indeed, I know of but one comparable moment in all of history: when Aeneas, having fled the ruins of Troy, arrived in Epirus with his fleet and was reunited with Helenus and Andromache, whom fate had placed on the throne of Pyrrhus (16). Their reunion, it is said, was one of the tenderest on record. I do not doubt it. Aeneas, with his excellent heart, Helenus, the finest Trojan, and Andromache, the sensitive widow of Hector, surely shed many tears and heaved many sighs upon that occasion. I am willing to believe that their emotion was equal to ours; but after Helenus, Aeneas, Andromache, and ourselves, one must draw the line.

Since our arrival, our days have been filled with nothing but pleasures. Since last Saturday, I have been indulging in tarts, undeterred by others’ envy. By fate’s decree, my bed was placed in a chamber that serves as a storeroom for pastries, thus exposing me to the temptation of indulging all night. But I reflected that it is noble to master one’s passions, and so I slept, surrounded by these seductive objects. It is true, however, that I made up for this long abstinence during the day.

I give thanks to thee, O skilled hand,  

That first shaped pliant dough  

And offered to mortals this delicious dish.  

But have they honoured thee as they ought?  

Have they raised altars to thy glory?  

Hundreds of peoples, offering incense and vows,  

Have filled the earth with temples and gods,  

Yet all have forgotten that sublime genius  

Who brought ambrosia to mankind.  

The tart, with due honour, graces their feasts,  

But do they think of its first creator?  

Of all the acts of ingratitude for which mankind has been guilty toward its benefactors, this has always shocked me the most. It is the people of Artois who must atone for it, for by the judgement of all Europe, they know the worth of tarts better than any other people in the world. Their honour demands that they erect a temple to its inventor. I must tell you, in confidence, that I have a project in mind, which I propose to present to the Estates of Artois (17). I fully expect it will be strongly supported by the clergy.

But it is not enough to eat tart; one must also eat it in good company. I have had this pleasure. Yesterday, I was granted the highest honour to which I could ever aspire: I dined with three lieutenants and the son of a bailiff. All the magistrates of the neighbouring villages were assembled at our table. At the centre of this Senate, shone the Lieutenant of Carvin, like Calypso amongst her nymphs(18). Ah! Had you but seen with what graciousness he conversed with the rest of the company, like an ordinary man! How indulgently he judged the champagne poured for him, and with what satisfaction he smiled at his reflection in his glass! I witnessed all this with my own eyes... And yet, see how difficult it is to content the human heart. Not all my desires have been fulfilled; I am soon to return to Arras, where I hope, upon seeing you, to find a pleasure far more genuine than those of which I have spoken. We shall meet again with the same joy that Ulysses and Telemachus felt after twenty years of absence. I shall have no trouble forgetting my bailiffs and lieutenants. However charming a lieutenant may be, believe me, Madame, he can never rival you.

His figure, even when the champagne lends it a soft blush, cannot approach the natural charms that are yours, and no company of bailiffs in the world could ever compensate me for the pleasure of your delightful conversation.

I remain, with the utmost sincerity, Monsieur, your most humble and obedient servant,  

Robespierre.

Carvin, 12 June 1783.

Notes

1) I’m also working on my own “travel blog” about frolicking through the Vendée, but—procrastination, you know. 

(2) If you ever find yourself in Northern France, eat the tarts. They are sensational.

(3) This describes his  journey from Arras to Carvin

(4) 1 league = around 5 km

(5) Ulysses (Odysseus) and his son, Telemachus, are central figures in The Odyssey, known for their epic and legendary adventures  filled with mythological dangers, gods, and heroic feats over many years. Ulysses faces numerous trials, including battles with monsters like the Cyclops, the Sirens, and the struggles against divine wrath, while Telemachus embarks on his own perilous journey to find his father.

(6) Robespierre’s original line, “J'ai toujours eu infiniment d'amour-propre,” reveals quite a bit of self-reflection and perhaps a healthy dose of self-awareness.

(7) In Greek mythology, the Sun (often represented by either the titan Helios or god Apollo) is said to ride across the sky in a chariot drawn by powerful horses that pull the Sun from east to west each day. These horses are often imagined as swift and unstoppable forces.

(8) Méaulens is a gate, and Sainte-Catherine is a neighbourhood, both in Arras.

(9) Lens is a village about 20km from Arras

(10) I assume Robespierre is referring to the Battle of Lens here (since he is in Lens), which occurred on 20 August 1648 and was significant because it helped solidify France’s position at the end of the Thirty Years' War. But Condé was 26 at the time, and Robespierre might be confusing it with the Battle of Rocroi, which Condé won at 22. Does Max suck at history? Maybe!

(11) Themis is the Greek goddess of justice who is often depicted holding scales

(12) Aesculapius is the Roman god of medicine

(13) Alexander the Great, the Macedonian conqueror, greatly admired Achilles, the legendary hero of the Iliad. During his military campaigns, Alexander visited the supposed tomb of Achilles near Troy. According to historical accounts, he prostrated himself (knelt or bowed) before Achilles' tomb as a sign of deep reverence, honouring the warrior he aspired to emulate. Alexander saw himself as a successor to Achilles, carrying the mantle of Greek heroism into his conquests.

(14)  Caesar, like many Romans, admired Alexander's achievements, particularly his conquests in Asia (which included vast territories from Greece to India). Caesar visited Alexander’s tomb in Alexandria, Egypt, where he reportedly paid homage to the great conqueror.  Obviously Robespierre is being ironic by comparing his kneeling in the town hall and kissing the seat of a local magistrate) to these monumental moments of history.

(15) This refers to Virgil’s Aeneid, where Aeneas and the surviving Trojans are filled with hope and relief upon reaching Italy after enduring numerous trials and suffering.

(16) Again, a reference to the  Aeneid. Aeneas, after fleeing the destruction of  Troy, arrives in Epirus  (a region in modern-day Greece and Albania) during his long journey to find a new home for the surviving Trojans. There, Aeneas encounters Helenus and Andromache. Helenus is a Trojan prince and the son of King Priam of Troy. After the fall of Troy, he ends up ruling part of Epirus, having taken control of the land once ruled by Pyrrhus (Neoptolemus), the son of Achilles.Andromache was the wife of the Trojan hero Hector  (who was killed by Achilles during the war). After Hector's death and the fall of Troy, Andromache becomes a captive of Pyrrhus, but in Epirus, she is eventually freed and marries Helenus.

(17)  The Estates of Artois were a were a regional representative assembly or parliament the Artois province. 

(18) Calypso is a nymph or Oceanid who appears in Homer’s Odyssey. Calypso lived on the island of Ogygia, where she detained the hero Ulysses for several years. She was surrounded by lesser nymphs who served her.