#From me who has no father - from the girl who hates hers

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Merry Christmas to you too my wonderful friend!🎄💗

Aww poor Ben. I love how we start with shading in his past Christmases compared to what he's starting to experience now with the reader. We come at it from the same angle of headcanon, that Ben's mom was the only person who truly loved him in his family. So it was such a good detail that after she died, Christmases became just more of the same toxic/apathetic atmosphere with his father, compounded by the impact of his mom's death.

Thank you! I love this headcanon and I really hope that in the prequel series "Vought Rising" that we're able to see a little more of Ben's relationship with his father and hopefully let us learn more about his mother. I know that this headcanon is a little "dean-like" but I think it also kinda plays into the "angel in the house" phenomenon that started in the mid to late 1800s. But the headcanon to me, makes sense. Ben has so many issues with his dad and I honestly don't think that if his mother was around that Ben's father would give him such a hard time or allow Ben to grow up in that kind of enviornment.

I also wanted to give Ben some "happy" memories from his childhood that he could compare what the reader was doing for him to something that was familiar and something that resonated with him😊, something about Christmas that was "familiar."

Lmfao come on, Ben. Let's not take this out on others. 🤣

He is the KING of taking it out on others LOL 😂 He also takes it out on Hughie in this fic and I felt so bad doing that to Hughie, but it is so in character for Ben 😒

Wow, that's so interesting. Taking a trip literally through Memory Lane and walking through his family's mansion. I've never thought about that before, but I imagine it would be one of those things that Ben, for the longest time, couldn't bring himself to sell, but also couldn't visit. Like a mausoleum of his old life.

I use this headcanon in my other series Madness, (same with Ben's mother), but to me it seems to make sense. That Ben would have a family mansion somewhere that is full of terrible memories from his father being a total jerk to him and never wanted to set foot inside. "Like a mausoleum of his old life" EXACTLY! It's just a big drafty old house that Ben can't go into because even though he says he's not afraid of anything, he can still feel his father's disapproval and disappointment, and going "home" to where he grew up would only make it worse.

Ben doesn't know what a home is because of what his father did, and now the reader is slowly showing him what it means. I also low-key wanna write the fic of her and him coming back to his house and him being hesitant and her just wandering around in complete shock. 🤔

You're killin' me, friend!! 😭😭

Girl, I'm so sorry 😭😭😭 I had to 😂 It's really just pouring on the hurt and he just really loved his mom 😭

Lmaooo deeply relatable. I feel like it would be oh so funny to intentionally getting on his nerves (knowing he wouldn't hurt you). 😂

I knoooowwww. 😂 I love that about your BMD reader, that she isn't afraid to tease him and he just absolutely HATES it, but he loves her so he can't do anything about it and she knows it. I'll bet that he thinks the real problem is that she knows it LOL 😂

Oh, it's because he actually cares. 💗

He does, man is a total SIMP 😊

People want to think there aren't any good aspects to "traditional/old-fashioned" men, but for the men who are actually good men, traditional doesn't necessarily mean outdated or toxic, so thank you for including this tidbit.

Thank you! 😊 You're right, I think that there's a disconnect about the idea that a "traditional/old-fashioned" man can't be respectful and is always labeled "sexist" or "toxic." And it's wrong, because you can find a man who is respectful, forward thinking, and who has those "old-fashioned/traditional" values (CHIVALRY! 😂) that really translate into putting their girl first, being respectful of what she wants to say, trying to protect her (not because they don't think she can protect herself, but because they want to), and doing things for her (again not because they think she can't do it herself) but because they genuinely care about her. It's the difference between a man and a boy tbh 💅🏻

Her gift to him was so very sweet!! Of course she made him something heartfelt, and he appreciated it because it was a genuine "first" for him, having someone give him a hand-made gift from the heart. 💚💚💚

I know 💗, I really wanted the reader to make something for him, just so that he could again be reminded how much that she loves him and isn't staying with him just because it's convenient or because he's attractive or because she's settling. Also I like that you picked up on the "first" thing again, because that was exactly what I was trying to do lol 😊. It's hard to find firsts for a guy who's over 100 years old 😂

And his gift to her was absolutely perfect. 🥹 A keepsake from his mother? Him basically saying he wishes she could've met his girl? I'm dying of happiness from the sheer fluff. 😭💗

This one was extremely fluffy, but so fun to write! Ben getting her a gift that meant something so intimate to him that he wouldn't have given to anyone else in the past, really just made me melt when I wrote it 🥺 Because he's never wanted to share those pieces of himself with someone else and now he has the reader and I'm just *crying*😭. AND yes! Him saying that he would have brought her home to meet his mom just destroyed me 😭

This was a beautiful addition to the Take a Chance story, and kind of feels like an epilogue in a way, even though I know you're working on that one too. I loved this, friend!!

Thank you so much my wonderful talented friend! ���� It really does read like an epilogue and I did not notice that lol 😅

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary:  All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding,  and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late.  He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him. 

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You’d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.  

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you,  that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life,  you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss.  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry.  Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do!  And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck.  The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.” 

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly.  "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question. 

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

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[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. TW: suicide thoughts.

John’s War

When it begins, it’s subtle. A flutter in his stomach, which later turns into an ache in his heart. He knows it’s wrong, and he desperately tries to fight it. It’s like a war, and he is the only participant. 

John’s been in love many times. Audrey was the first, Bethany the last. And it’s been fine. Normal. Girls seem to like him. He’s got quite the reputation by the time he’s reached sixteen.

***

It all started to crumble when his sister, Harry, came out as a lesbian at fourteen. Their parents had been livid, but Harry came prepared and was totally unfazed. She’d even arranged to stay at her girlfriend’s family, fully aware that her own mum and dad would kick her out if she didn’t retract and started to act normal.

***

Lance was half American, half British. He and his mother had recently moved back to London after almost twenty years in America. The moment John laid his eyes on Lance, the fluttering began. Lance looked like a film star. Golden, curly hair, green eyes, androgyne features, a slender body, strong hands, long fingers. He was everything John wasn’t. Gay, for starters. And he wanted John of all people.

Words John’s father used on such people, played on repeat in his mind:

Faggot. Queer. Degenerate.

John tried to tell Lance, he was straight, but there was no denying how much John wanted Lance to kiss and touch him. His penis reminded him repeatedly and inconveniently every so often of that particular fact.

“John. Stop this. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Lance whispered softly and kissed John’s neck. “Haven’t you heard of bisexuality?”

***

Running away to Afghanistan was the only way forward for John when he couldn’t rescue Lance after his overdose. He felt the need to atone for his lack of observation. 

How had he not seen the self-destructing path Lance was heading down? He was a bloody doctor, for Christ’s sake! Had he been in denial about that too? Didn’t he want to believe that such a talented man Lance turned out to be, could choose to destroy himself just because he failed the interview for the main role in a West End play?

“I’m sorry, darling, but there’ll be other roles. New chances. No one gets them on the first try, surely,” John had tried to reassure his lover, but to no avail.

So, there he was. In Afghanistan where danger lurked around every corner. John was quite startled that he enjoyed the danger so much. He felt alive, thrilled, his broken heart notwithstanding. 

And then, another man invaded his thoughts, and eventually his bed. Major James Sholto.

***

Mike Stamford had never seen a more broken man in his life than John Watson, as he limped past the bench, where he was sitting thinking about Sherlock's words from earlier: 

“Who would want me for a flatmate? I’m a difficult man at best. People hate being around me. Can you imagine someone actually living with me? Who is alive themselves. No, Mike. There exists no such human, I assure you.”

“John! John Watson!” he called out. 

When John just gave him a blank stare, Mike sighed and introduced himself. The response was insulting to say the least. No “oh, nice to see you again, mate,” or “what have you been up to?” There was…nothing.

“Who has left you heartbroken, John?” Mike didn’t say and let John walk away without having said a word.

***

After his meeting with Mike, John finds himself outside Barts hospital. He’s got fond memories from his practise here. With Mike. He winces when he reminisces how rude he was to the jovial man. But it couldn’t be helped. John’s a broken man in so many ways, and he just wants to be left alone. He looks up. Wonders how it would feel to stand on the edge of that roof. Would he dare to jump off it if the opportunity arose? He’s never been afraid of heights. And he longs for the pain to subside. The emotional pain. The pain that scars his heart.

Time eludes him. Why are his knees hurting? He opens his eyes. Is he kneeling on the pavement? Apparently. When did that happen? How long? His thoughts stop abruptly when a warm hand is placed on his good shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

A deep baritone. John perceives a posh accent. The warmth from the man’s hand travel down his spine like lava. 

Radiant. Alluring. Dangerous. 

He lifts his head. At first glance, the man could be Lance’s twin. But then, John realises that it’s only the curly hair and height they have in common. This man’s hair is almost black with tinges of auburn. His eyes are blue, but also green and blue green. The colours are constantly shifting. They’re mesmerising. John wants to drown himself in them.

John stands. He still hasn’t said a word. The man hands him his cane and speaks again.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

For the first time in years John’s first response isn’t to flee. Instead, he straightens his back, lifts his chin and asks:

“How? Tell me.”

The flicker of surprise, quickly followed by insecurity on the man’s face, makes John realise that this can be, if he lets it, a new beginning.

“Go on,” John prompts.

When the man speaks again, John is lost. An ease sets within him, and his heart stops cracking.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[soapcan18]

I’m just gonna post my Ithaca Saga live-reaction rambles here bc I can’t form coherent sentences rn and I need to express my excitement:

The Challenge

PENELOPE OH MY GOD UR VOICE IS SO BEAUTIFUL

SHE KNOWS ABT THE STORM

THE BACKUPS??? HOLYY

WHOEVER CAN STRINGGGG

Am I tripping or is that the horse and the infant motif

PENELOPE UR VOICEEE AHH THE STRENGTH AND THE GENTLENESS AHH

Hold Them Down

Oh my god I’m gonna tweak

It’s about to get DARK

FUCK THE SUITORS!!

ANTINOUS!!!!

OH OH GET IT ANTINOUS

TELEMACHUS ON DIPLOMATIC MISSION I REMEMBER THAT!!!

YOOO THIS IS DARK

BOOONESSS

ONLY THE OCEAN AND I WILL KNOWWW

NO GET AWAY FROM PENELOPE!!!!

ANTINOUS UR A FUCKIN CREEP!!!!!!

KILL THEM AAALLLLLLL

THE VOCALS DEAR LORD

YEAHHHH ODYSSEUS KILL HIS ASS

Odysseus

ODYSSEUS!!!!!!

OH MY GOD JORGEEEE UR VOICEEE

I HEAR U DARE TO TOUCH MY WIFE AND HURT MY BOYYY

I. Have had. Enough.

THE ELECTRIC GUITAR OH MY GODDD

THE SUITORS’ TIME TO SHINE

THE BOW AND SCREAM EFFECT AHHH

WHERE IS HE??? WHERE IS HE???

“You think I don’t know my own palace? I BUILT IT.”

“U destroyed the serpents head” EYY BOOK REFERENCE

NO OPEN ARMS

“No” YOOOO THATS COLDDD THAT’S A POSEIDON REF

I love him just popping in here and then makes us feel like the suitors

“BEHIND YOU”

LEGENDARY MOTIF????

AGHH TELEMACHUS IS HEREEEEE

ATHENA!! OH MY GODDDD ATHENAAA

I HEARD THAT FUCKIN PIANO TRILL

“Ur very presence has doomed the king, young prince. We don’t fight fair!”

WHO IS SINGINNNN

“And he’s made a grave mistaaake”

GET OFF ME!! GET OFF ME!!

HOLD HIM DOWNNN

THE ELECTRICCCC OH MY GODDD HES FULL MONSTER

“Mercy? MERCY? My mercy’s long since drowned. It died to bring me home. And as long as you’re around, my family’s fate is left unknown. You plotted to kill my son. You planned to R### MY WIFE. ALL OF YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.”

THEY SAID THE WORD???

“You filled my heart with hate. All of you who have done me wrong. THIS WILL BE YOUR FATE!”

THE CHOIRRR AHHH ITS BEEN A NO LONGER YOU REF THIS WHOLE TIME

THE SCREAMS???? THEYRE SO REALISTIC OMLLL

I Can’t Help but Wonder

THESE SONGS ARE LONG DAMN

TELEMACHUSSS 🥹

ITS AN ACOUSTIC GUITAR NOW

My heaartttt

OMG WAIT ITS TELEMACHUS SINGING

MILO SOUNDS TOO MUCH LIKE JORGE

His voice is so gentle oh my goddd

MY SON IM FINALLY HOME!

FATHER HOW IVE LONGED TO SEE YOUU

THE HARMONIZINGGGG

ATHENA

ATHENA!!!!

I HEAR HER QUICK THOUGHT

“Show yourself. I know you’re watching me. Show yourself.”

THE PIANOOO THE CLOCKKKK

“You were never one for hellos.”

“I can’t help but wonder what this world can be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy. I can’t help but feel like I led you astray. What if there’s a world where we don’t have to live this way?”

“If that world exists, it’s far away from here. It’s one I’ll have to miss for it’s far beyond my years. You might live forever, so you can make it be. But I’ve got one endeavor. There’s a girl I have to see.”

“Very well.”

WARRIOR OF THE MIND MOTIFFF

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again

FINAL SONGGG

SIX MINUTESS

PENELOPEEEE

THE CACOPHONY OF INSTRUMENTS OH MY GODDD ITS LIKE ODY’S ANTICIPATION

THE DOOR SOUNDD

Youuu look different

Your eyes look tired

IM GONNA RIP MY HEART OUT

I AM NOT THE MAN U FELL IN LOVE WITHHH

Waaaitinggg waaaitingggg

The stringssss godddd

“Left a trail of red on every islanddd” RUTHLESSNESS MOTIF OH MY GODD

“As I traded friends like objects I could use”CIRCE MOTIF??

“Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands” I CANT MAKE OUT A SINGLE ONE BUT PIANO IMPLIES ATHENA??

OMG WAIT CALYPSO “FOR LOVING YOU” MOTIF

WAAAITINGGGG

“If that’s true, could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor? That would bring me some peace. See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here?”

I REMEMBER THIS FROM THE BOOK AGHH

“I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat…”

THE ELECTRIC GUITAR COMING BACKKK AS HE GETS MORE INTENSE

“The only way to move it is to cut it from ITS ROOTS!” “ONLY MY HUSBAND KNEW THAATTT!”

AHHH I REMEMBERRRRR

PENELOPE TEAR IT UP

THE EMOTIONNNN IN HER VOICEEE

WAAAITTINGGGGG

PENELOPEEEEE

WAAAITINGGGGG

PENELOOPPEEEEEE

WAAAAITINGGGG WAAAAITINGGG WAAAAAAAITINGGGGGG AHHHHHHHHH

forrrrrr (was that the remember them motif???) youuu

Damn she sang so high

THE SYMPHONYYY

JUST A MANNNN ITS BAAACKKKK

THE ANIMATICS R GONNA GO SO HARD DEAR LORD

“How long has it been?” “20 years.”

“I love youuuu”

BRAVO 🥹

JORGE I LOVE YOUUU

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

is episode 8 the domitian arc ? more on this and EVEN MORE narratives i’ve been ignoring that the show said “actually,,,” about in 5

[prodixal]

"I am your brother. It is my job to worry for you, and your safety." he speaks frankly, taking the first sip of cold wine as it is delivered to him. There are many guests around them, engaged in their own little conversations, so Varyn does not shy away from his truths. "Sometimes I can't help fear you might be too sweet -- to see the many dangers lurking in the shadows of this place you've grown to consider home. And these people you've grown to consider...family."

He never did understand why his lord father sent the young girl away at such a pivotal age. Though he assumed it may have had something to do with the passing of their mother. Telessa was a stark reminder of the woman who had birthed them, and perhaps such reminder weighed too heavy on the old mens sickly chest. There was no way to truly tell, and Varyn never asked. -- But one thing was certain, lady Telessa would have been safer in Casterly Rock. And had she remained back home, she would not have developed this deep fondness for the royal family.

"That is certainly a benefit to my new position. Getting to see more of you." he nudges her gently, but does not wish to discuss this matter further. Varyn had yet to decide if the benefits of this entrapment, outweighs the disadvantages. "Brother has given me no indication of your prospects. But I should assume there are many. Do give it some thought, dear sister -- I would hate for your wishes on the matter to be overlooked. Especially for the sake of politics."

telessa tilts her head slightly with curiosity. why would varyn need to make this place a home? she lets the comment slide for the moment, and moves on to what he says next. she nods her head but reaches forward to grab his hand, giving it a gentle but reassuring squeeze. "do not worry about me, brother, i promise that the dragons are not as menacing as they may seem." okay, maybe the queen is, but that is different.

"ridiculous? varyn, this is wonderful news! master of coin... what an honor it is to be appointed a member of the small council. and this means i will be able to see you now," she says excitedly, grinning. "a match, yes... um. perhaps not as much thought as i should?" she says sheepishly. "i know that i must marry eventually, though, and i will do my duty without resistance when the time does come. has brother given you any indication on who he wishes to give me away to?"

[righteous-pines]

The last living relative of the great Pinestar. As his granddaughter, and as an extremely talented young warrior, in her own right, great things are expected of Alpineknoll. Only time will tell if she will fulfill this presumed destiny, but thanks to the careful rearing and training of her grandmother, Graypelt, she shows great promise towards her destiny.

[sercphs]

Father's Day

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Featuring Cradle Verse || Honkai: Star Rail

⠀⠀⠀⠀Another year, as the residents of the universe called it. A standardized measurement perpetrated by the great IPC across the stars, as far as their reach let them - and even further beyond that. This is something she became accustomed to in the time since she had ventured into the universe at large.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Was it ironic then, that this "Father's Day" was the day she set out all that time ago, that it was an arbitrarily named day to celebrate paternity? Or perhaps that was merely the one she had come to see as the 'real' version of the day, for her own reasons. Perhaps it wasn't a standardized thing in this universe - she would never truly be able to tell. Even now after all these years, she doesn't truly understand these things that are so woefully human.

⠀⠀⠀⠀In spite of this she continues to learn, to sink her hands into the matter, to understand what makes these humans and their sibling species the way they are. The drive, the motivation, the justifications - all of it far beyond her understanding even now, yet every cycle she is one step closer to understanding. One step closer to knowing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But never any closer to loving.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It is something that exists so far beyond her understanding, beyond what she is capable of feeling. She sees it everywhere, this thing that is called 'love' that people share for each other. A thing that some have declared ever feeling toward her on some rare occasions, but she cannot even begin to fathom what it feels like.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Even further beyond her understanding is this love of Fathers. This day dedicated to them, this day she takes out of every cycle like a great many others, but for reasons so far from what she understands to be it's true reason. To celebrate your Fathers, to show appreciate them, to let them know they are 'loved' by their children...

"Mm... Is that something so very human, too?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀The thought escapes her mouth as she she sets foot on the moon, a desolate and barren place at the edge of infinity. A place so far from those she had become accustomed to, somewhere that one could live without ever knowing about the great Aeons deeper in the universe. A place where one could easily live their life without even so much as knowing about The Destruction, without having heard of The Propagation and it's consequences...

⠀⠀⠀⠀An edge of infinity where the only thing known is Despair.

"Perhaps. I wonder what they would say if they could see this place?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Gentle footsteps guide her across the surface, through the ruins of a civilization long passed away. Step by step, the same footprints she left last cycle - and the cycle before that. How many cycles had she been leaving these footprints? Always on this same day, the same footprints, one galactic cycle after another. They felt so close together, yet so far apart - so telling of the timelessness of her body and mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Closer and closer, until she comes to a stop at a faded red cloth set upon the ground in a crater, a place she can turn her head to the sky and see the world this desolate place orbits. A world she is bound to never set foot upon, locked away from Despair in its entirety after the great tragedies that befell it. A bubble of time sealed away, locked by a poison that permeates all existence...

"Mm... As it has already been another cycle, once again..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀The Emanator kneels on the fabric, setting out a small incense burner in the heart of the piece of fabric. A pair of incense sticks are lit, and her hands pressed together - drawn apart to produce a single black rose. Placing the rose before the incense burner, she turns her gaze to the darkness surrounding the world she gazed upon, her crimson stare peering into the Darkness of Despair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀To her Father, she utters the same promise that she has made every year, every galactic cycle - a promise she will make forevermore, until the day it is fulfilled.

"In my infinite hatred, I give you this gift - Father. May your death come soon, so that I may put an end to suffering."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Father's Day...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀...What a horrible day.

[usuallydyinginside]

"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba

Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.

"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.

You get the picture.

Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.

Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.

For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.

Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.

And who does Glinda have?

Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.

And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.

I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.

But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.

As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...

Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!

And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.

Well, isn't it?

Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.

It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.

So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.

She's singing about herself.

The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.

Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.

It leaves her lonely.

Entirely alone.

[ultimatebottom69]

...If i tell you all IRL that my step-mother actually made jokes about my lityle brother huge balls when he was birthed and how she was extremely graphic about how early on in the pregnancy every doctor and X-ray graphic showed it so she felt forced to do another kid to have a daughter.

Would you believe me ?

I can't I can't I can't I can't

[kamiversee]

Big ruby shaded eyes, matching that of her father’s, have this adorable thin layer of gloss over them as she pleads with her parent for the millionth time.

“Daddy pwease?” She has the cutest little pout on her face, one that’s worked on her mother time and time again that’s sure to work on her father too—

“No.” Sukuna says yet again.

The child is tired of asking and receiving that same answer over and over. She doesn’t understand one bit why but she hates hearing that word. Folding her arms, she lets out an annoyed puff, “Mommy would never tell me no…”

One statement and there’s already another vein bulging in the right corner of Sukuna Ryomen’s forehead. “Go away, brat.” He breathes out in an overly irritated tone.

The child, unable to take no for an answer and more like her father than she even realizes, takes her foot and brings it down on the curse’s foot in frustration.

If he wasn’t ticked off before, he damn sure is now. “You little—“

“Sukuna,” And there it is, the voice of the sole human in this reality who could ever even dream of cutting the king of curses off mid-sentence. Not only is it you, the mother of his overly insolent child, but you have the nerve to give him that scolding tone he hates (loves).

He scowls for a long moment before looking down to the smaller human who carries more of your features than his. “Fine, child.” Sukuna drawls out after a long roll of his many eyes.

Then, with a big smile plastered all over her small face, her hands are shooting up and she’s making a grab motion with her hands.

Sukuna stares down at her and sighs, “You really are a spoiled brat, y’know…” He grumps while leaning down to pick his daughter up with one out of his two pairs of hands. “…Just like your damn mother.”

The child’s smile fades for a moment and she tilts her head, “Damn?” She repeats in a confused tone, making Sukuna’s heart spike.

“Wait-, don’t… don’t say that.” He’s been down this road one two many times—having taught the child how to say ‘fuck’ the moment she began spewing words. He received an earful from you that he didn’t care for so, here he is now, “That’s a bad word.”

His daughter blinks, “But, Daddy said it.”

Sukuna groans lowly in irritation, “Daddy can say whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hell?” Oh she had to be doing this on purpose, knowing her mother was only a room away.

“Child.” The curse scolds, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

She shrugs playfully, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

“You asked me if you could draw on my face.” He deadpans.

“And you should’ve said yes,” You suddenly chime in, entering the room, “Instead of teaching her more curse words.”

The little girl snickers in Sukuna’s arms and he swears he has an image of the child being flung across the room for just a moment. That image is interrupted by the girl speaking again.

“Like fuck?” She says loud and clear. “I heard Daddy say it again earlier today—“

A big hand goes over her mouth (practically her entire face) and she’s cut off by her father who’s innocently smiling at you, his darling wife.

“Ignore her. I was just about to let her draw on my face so,” He glances down at his daughter who’s giggling victoriously beneath his palm and then sighs, “If you’ll excuse us.”

You’re left smiling at the two as Sukuna turns away with his daughter and exits the room—the sound of them bickering as soon as they’re out of sight heard moments later.

And the next time you lay eyes on the two, Sukuna’s got a face full of stickers and marker and his little mini-me has a mocking face full of her father’s markings. To which you just had to take a million and one pictures of.

[sqtorux]

love makes a man tender— the same could be said for a monster.

sukuna sits patiently with his daughter on his lap while she applies various colours on his face he finds so hideous.

her small little hands pat the products into his skin, a bit too aggressively for his liking but he lets her regardless, not without a few grunts and huffs of annoyance though.

"pick another one" sukuna says in an irritated tone when she brought a bright pink blush close to his face.

the child only pouts "but 'ts pretty!!" now if you must know, sukuna dislikes pink; hates it even. it looks lively and soft — the exact opposite of who he was. (also maybe because a certain someone aka his least favourite niece has the exact same hair colour but the girl doesn't need to know that).

despite that, sukuna finds himself giving into that stupid pout he somehow catches himself adoring. all four of his eyes roll "get on with it then."

the giggles that follow after almost made him want to paint all of himself pink. almost.

however, what drove him to the edge was when he was asked to close his eyes so she could apply yet another colour onto them.

being the kid she is, she does it a bit sloppy— accidentally poking his eyes once or twice. "brat that hurts" sukuna growls but makes no move to stop her.

he thinks the foolish eye pokes were worth it when a light peck lands on each of his eyes "sorry daddy!" the child chuckles and sukuna opens his eyes.

one of his four hands make their way to her lips stained with a faint black— which he guesses were from his eyes, and wipes them away gently. "you look stupid."

the girl ignores his half assed words and brings yet another bright shade and begins applying it onto his lips. he sits obediently.

"there! you're done. you're so pretty daddy!!" the child squeals in excitement and brings a mirror to her father's face.

sukuna stares into the mirror and frowns "how horrifying."

"do you not like it?"

sukuna scoffs and places the mirror down "i have always wanted to look abominable."

"yes you look adorable!" the girl giggles while clapping her tiny hands together happily. sukuna doesn't correct her.

later when she sleeps and you're talking the makeup off for him, sukuna complaints.

"this is the result of the small brat's assault."

you only laugh in response and his eyes stare up to you. "i am being very serious."

"then why didn't you stop her?"

sukuna doesn't have an answer to that because that would mean he had to admit his affection for yet another person after you.

"that's right, you'd do anything for her won't you?" your chuckle makes all four of his eyes roll. he seems to do that a lot lately.

"the small brat and the big brat love tormenting me."

you raise a brow at this, "and do you have a problem with that?"

sukuna huffs but the soft expression replacing his usually grim one betrays the act of annoyance he puts up.

"i wouldn't have it any other way."

[buggachat]

adrien never went to public school / adrienette have never met AU where Ladynoir are dating but Marinette has beef with Adrien Agreste™ on twitter, spurred by her interest in the fashion industry and her friendship with Mylene. ads are all over the place of Adrien promoting products like air in a bottle and NFTs and just generally so many products that are extremely poor taste/bad for the environment. Marinette tweets about beauty standards in the industry and all the shit Gabriel brand does to the environment and how Adrien Agreste perfectly encapsulates it all.

Adrien, of course, never responds to any of her tweets. her tweets are just white noise in the background. she is nowhere near on his level. one day Marinette tweets out something akin to "if I saw Adrien Agreste irl i'd punch him in the face" and her twitter gets banned for Threats of Violence, Alya draws attention to the injustice of it via the Ladyblog and suddenly "I want to punch Adrien Agreste in the face [gets banned]" becomes a bit of a meme. NOW people know who Marinette is and are listening to what she's saying (on her new account or whatever). Chat Noir also tweets that he wants to punch Adrien in the face

A hashtag trends. Marinette caves and starts tweeting about the scandals of the industry on her Ladybug twitter too. Adrien's twitter and instagram comments are flooded with both threats to punch him but also just generally critical comments like "nice pic and all but are you not going to address the sweatshop allegations?". Adrien still does not address it. At most he turns comments off. Marinette is gnawing at the wood of her desk.

Then a Ladybug and Chat Noir identity reveal happens.

Marinette is stunned. Absolutely mouth agape. Cannot form words. Chat Noi— NO, ADRIEN— ADRIEN FUCKING AGRESTE looks at her and is like "oh ha :) .... Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right? You're the girl who wanted to punch me hahaha"

after recovering from her world being shattered, she's like...... "hahaha...... um............... yeah...... uh..... so you... DO know who i am. and you're just. ignoring it then. hahaha... ok... thats....... fine..... anyway..... u-uh...... im not... gonna actually punch you. but. um. k-kitty do you um. maybe want to stop promoting deforestation and all that"

he's like "I don't"

she's like. "yes you do. literally in your newest ad you said to the camera 'who needs trees when bottled air is the way of the future'. like did you really read that line out loud and not see a problem with it"

"yeah, that wasn't me"

"what are you talking abou—"

"it's deepfaked"

"..... what"

"all of my ads in the past few years are deepfakes. I complained too much so my father fired me. turns out that i signed away all rights to my face and voice to him when I was 13 or something. he can just use my face and voice and name however he wants. he generates ads. i dont even have access to the 'Adrien Agreste' twitter or insta accounts. sometimes he makes me do runways but beyond that I'm not involved in all."

"... ... ... ... ... what"

"yeah haha... :") im sorry. i wish i could help you more. but he never listens to me. i don't like it either, i.... i've asked him to stop sooo many times. but he never listens to me. i hate seeing my face used without my consent but haha.... i don't... have any rights here so. sorry. i really wish i could help more"

and now marinette hates "Adrien Agreste"™ ads/posts EVEN MORE and is threatening to kill Gabriel Agreste himself. all while kissing the real adrien agreste silly

[peachysunrize]

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys. 

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid… 

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing. 

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily. 

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives. 

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.  

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way… 

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs. 

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him. 

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say. 

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke. 

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,”  he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,” 

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup. 

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face. 

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness?  How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him? 

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.” 

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans. 

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

 He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

���Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore. 

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this? 

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body. 

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little. 

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you. 

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

[astonmartinii]

the father who stepped up | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem gasly!reader

mr leclerc has been spotted with an all too familiar dog recently.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | BROTHER'S BFF MASTERLIST

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 1,094,523 others

yourusername: ceo of milf industries

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user1: i am NO better than a man

user2: i think enough time has passed... when do we get enzo's paddock debut

user3: i'm hearing monaco at least

pierregasly: this is false advertising

yourusername: enzo is my child, i am his mother

pierregasly: you're not cute enough to be a milf, sorry!

yourusername: just cause you've got the hairline of a grandpa is not mine or enzo's fault

pierregasly: MY HAIRLINE IS FINE

yourusername: PUSH BACK THE FRINGE

pierregasly: how dare you! this is a big insecurity of mine - you are NOT a girl's girl

yourusername: pierre why is mum calling me? PIERRE WHY IS MUM CALLING ME?

user4: i bet they have a get along shirt

yourusername: all i can say is that someone rocks it, and someone doesn't

pierregasly: are you still being mean while on the phone to mum????

yourusername: the hater grind never stops

estebanocon: enzo is getting so big 😭😭😭

yourusername: time flies, oh gosh i'm crying

estebanocon: motherhood does that to you

user5: i love how pierre and este are mortal enemies but y/n is besties with him regardless

yourusername: an opp of pierre is a friend of mine

charles_leclerc: cutest boy in the world

yourusername: i didn't know you had given up that title?

charles_leclerc: oh i-

pierregasly: STOP FLIRTING WITH HIM AND STOP BLUSHING IT'S JUST Y/N

user6: say it's just y/n as if it's NOT Y/N??

liked by charles_leclerc

pierregasly: I SAW THAT

pierregasly

liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 897,556 others

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly: what's the point of having a sister if you can't steal her dog

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user7: this pooch has to be one of the most spoilt and pampered dogs in the world

user8: i wish i died and was reincarnated as enzo

yourusername: oh sure, i'm sure i'm great for plucking your eyebrows and helping you text back girls (@francisca.cgomes you're welcome)

pierregasly: do you mind?

yourusername: did you really ever think you'd pull kika with your charm alone?

pierregasly: yes?

yourusername: the delusion of men should be studied

pierregasly: do i have to call mum again?

yourusername: you call yourself tripod, if anything i should be calling the POLICE

user9: i know kika must have the patience of a saint to deal with their bickering

user10: i fear for any man who wants to get with y/n cause lord knows at his big age pierre will be wheeling out the overprotective brother act

pierregasly: that's my god given right

yukitsunoda0511: not in the photo dump... i see how it is

yourusername: every girl for themselves sorry yuki san

yukitsunoda0511: i think pierre is just jealous of our looks

yourusername: i think that is exactly it yuki

charles_leclerc: yuki not in the post but i wasn't even invited 🤨

pierregasly: you're literally in italy?

charles_leclerc: and?

pierregasly: god forbid a man doesn't want to be bullied by you and y/n

yourusername: (pussy)

user11: not to be a freak but charles and y/n would be so cute together

pierregasly: say anything like that again and you're getting blocked

yourusername: they hate to see a girlboss winning

pierregasly: excuse me?

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, joris_trouche and 2.784,566 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: no paternity test needed

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user15: okay.... like... they're slay

user16: i'm personally going to celebrate now before the pierre tantrum

yourusername: oh i've already blocked his number lol

pierregasly: knock knock

yourusername: HELP HE DROVE ALL THE WAY FROM PARIS

user17: is charles dead? can we have a sign of life?

charles_leclerc: they can't get rid of me bitch

pierregasly: you're hiding in the bathroom I CAN HEAR YOU GUYS GIGGLING

yourusername: you're BREAKING AND ENTERING

pierregasly: i have a key?

charles_leclerc: for emergencies?

pierregasly: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I NEED TO BEAT YOUR ASS

yourusername: not his ass!!!! it's so cute :(

pierregasly: not the time

user18: i can't - why are they having a conversation in the comment section when they're separated by a single door

pierregasly: WHY IS ESTEBAN HERE????????????

estebanocon: 1. i love drama and i love annoying you 2. y/n called me as back up

yourusername: you're being insane and i needed the lanky man to escort you out!

pierregasly: i just want to talk

yourusername: I CAN HEAR THE SOCK

charles_leclerc: THE SOCK?

estebanocon: i can confirm he has the sock

yukitsunoda0511: why don't i know what the sock is :(

yourusername: it's a sock full of loose change that you swing as a weapon @ MEN OF ITALY PLEASE MOBILISE YOUR GOD IS IN DANGER

charles_leclerc: tell enzo i love him :((((((

pierregasly: WHY IS MAX HERE AS WELL?

maxverstappen1: i am nosey

maxverstappen1: and esteban left the door open

danielricciardo: i am also here

alexalbon: me too, @yourusername can i have some of the dessert in the fridge?

yourusername: is the entire population of monaco in our house?

charles_leclerc: with that many witnesses he can't do anything

pierregasly: WHY DID YOU GUYS GIVE THEM ENOUGH TIME TO GET OUT AND LET Y/N GET HER SOCK

pierregasly: HELPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

user19: what the fuck have i just read?

user20: are alpine down a driver?

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, estebanocon and 1,789,467 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: did you guys know i recently became an only child?

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user23: now this could either mean that she has disowned pierre or that we did actually witness murder by sock

user24: enzo down an uncle

maxverstappen1: i am more than ready to take his spot

danielricciardo: me too

alexalbon: me three

pierregasly: i'm still alive?

yourusername: GHOST 🫵🏻

charles_leclerc: someone get the sage STAT

pierregasly; do not try and cleanse me away

yourusername: then stop STINKING UP THE GAFF WITH YOUR ATTITUDE

pierregasly: THEN STOP FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND

charles_leclerc: 🤓👆 she's actually in love with me

yourusername: that's true i am actually in love with him

pierregasly: there's a difference?

yourusername: your fuckboy is showing... kika i'm so sorry

user25: we got a 'LOVE' guys it's real

yourusername: we have a child, this is so real

charles_leclerc: locked in for life 🫰🏻

estebanocon: he just passed out in the sim

yourusername: good 👍🏻

charles_leclerc: he'll come around at some point, but for right now i love you too much to care

yourusername: i love you too charlie x

charles_leclerc: i love you more

yourusername: NOT POSSIBLE

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, arthurleclerc and 2,309,877 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: two years strong, no pierre tantrum can stop that :P

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user26: this is my official countdown to another pierre meltdown.

pierregasly: TWO YEARS? TWO YEARS? 730 DAYS? I CAN'T BE BOTHERED/CAN'T DO ANY MORE MATHS THAN THAT?

charles_leclerc: bro is proving why we didn't tell him in real time

pierregasly: i will choke you

charles_leclerc: you can't kill enzo's dad and be an absent uncle?

pierregasly: I AM NOT AN ABSENT UNCLE WHERE ARE YOU?

yourusername: newsflash bozo we thought ahead and are at a super secret second location

pierregasly: are you at max's?

yourusername: yes.

pierregasly: i knew you were too lazy to leave the building

yourusername: but you don't have a key to his place 😤

user27: y/n is real for that

maxverstappen1: EVERYONE BEHOLD I AM ABOUT TO COMPLIMENT CHARLES: enzo is very well trained and good with the cats

charles_leclerc: why thank you max

maxverstappen1: he must get it from his mother

charles_leclerc: rude! i thought this was a compliment to me?

yourusername: if it is my trait, it's singularly mine god lord it hasn't been passed down to all the gasly kids

pierregasly: i can read that you know

yourusername: you can read? next you're going to tell me you're potty trained as well

pierregasly: that's it i'm calling mum again

charles_leclerc: btw she already knows about us - i got permission from your parents

pierregasly: SO EVERYONE KNEW

yukitsunoda0511: i didn't :(

pierregasly: you're not in the family yuki that's not a big surprise

yukitsunoda0511: that's not what you said the other day... :((((((

pierregasly: i can't win these days

user28: first the alpine tractor and now this, pierre can't catch a break

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,784,560 others

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

pierregasly: i guess we're bffs for life now

view all comments

user32: balance has been restored to the force

user33: the way it only took some puppy dog eyes from both charles and enzo and the past three week civil war was forgiven

yourusername: thank god, you really aren't made to be a drama queen, keep it for the radio

pierregasly: you're just lucky you chose a guy i like

yourusername: you forced me to hang out with him my whole life, so really this is all your fault.

pierregasly: ????

yourusername: it's always a man's fault

pierregasly: i give up. you win. sure it was my fault

user34: y/n ain't never losing an argument i feel sorry for pierre and charles

charles_leclerc: she's never wrong 🫡

yourusername: this is how it should be ladies

charles_leclerc: how does it feel to be the third favourite to your parents now?

pierregasly: really? i can get the sock back out?

charles_leclerc: i'm sorry!!!

pierregasly: but you are right, y/n is the favourite

yourusername: baby is always the favourite

arthurleclerc: true

charles_leclerc: 🙄

pierregasly: 🙄

yourusername: are we done being dramatic now? can i come to races and can we go to dinner?

pierregasly: don't you dare wear red

yourusername: too late :P

pierregasly: excuse me

yourusername: i've always been wearing red in some way every race

charles_leclerc: i can confirm

pierregasly: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

fin.

note: finally back with my fave ever trope and the pics of little leo just gave me that burst of inspiration. leo is so cute and so is the ice cream, charles really coming for babygirl of the year

[kingkaizen]

𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼

∘ desc: months after divorcing your ex-husband, you must both be on your best behavior for your daughter's birthday party. will seeing each other again bring up old feelings that you tried so hard to bury?

∘ ft: ex-husband!geto

∘ word count & a/n: 3.8k | this has been in my wips forever and im so happy to finally get this out, i hope you all enjoy reading <3

∘ includes: angst, cunnilingus, edging, missionary, praise, smug geto

The sound of children’s laughter filled the air, blending in with the bass of the party music. The backyard was completely decorated with balloons and streamers, colors representing your daughter’s favorites. As much as you adore your little girl, you can confidently say that you’ve been dreading this day. Not the celebration part of course, but the person that you would be forced to run into. 

Glancing around the yard, you feel your heart skip for a second as you spotted him–Suguru. He had a huge smile on his face, crouching down to give his daughter a kiss on her forehead. You could tell how happy she is to see him, watching her jump up and down at the excitement of just seeing her father. Even now, after everything that’s happened, he was still undeniably him. The quiet confidence and the beaming smile. It was frustrating how attractive he still was, especially considering how you’ve spent the last year trying to forget it. 

His gaze flickers to yours, catching you staring. He held your eyes in his, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turned back to your daughter. You break eye-contact at the same time, your fingers tightening around your drink. It was the first time that you’ve both been in the same space for more than five minutes since the divorce, the tension between you bubbling up.

“Mommy!” your daughter’s voice broke your trance, and you turned to see her running toward you, her tiny hands clutching box. “Daddy said that you can help me open this!”

You smiled, but your chest tightened as Suguru approached behind her, his presence looming larger than life. For her sake, you kept the smile on your face, even as your pulse quickened with every step he took.

“Of course, birthday girl,” you said, setting your drink down to take the wrapped box from her hands. You knelt down to her level, plastering on your best smile, even as you felt Suguru’s presence settle beside you.

“Here,” Suguru said, his voice low as he handed you a pair of scissors from the nearby table. You flinched slightly at how close he’d gotten, his arm brushing yours as he crouched beside you. You hated how good that one second of touch felt. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you carefully opened her gift.

Your daughter squealed with delight as you revealed a plush animal inside, her little hands grabbing it before you could fully pull it out. She hugged it tightly, looking up at both of you with a beaming smile.

“I love it daddy, you’re the best!” she declared, skipping off to show her friends.

Left alone, you stood up quickly, awkwardly brushing imaginary dust from your hands. Suguru rose too, his movements slower, more deliberate.

“You didn’t have to get that,” you said, your tone abrupt.

“She wanted it,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes were on you, and for a moment, you felt pinned under the weight of his gaze, unable to escape.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a group of kids ran between you, cutting off whatever sharp remark you were about to make. Suguru chuckled softly, the sound pulling your focus back to him.

“She’s happy,” he said, nodding toward your daughter, who was now showing off her new toy. “That’s all that matters, right?” He tilted his head at you, his face unreadable.

You hated how easily he could shift the conversation, deflecting any tension with his calm demeanor. You hated even more how your chest tightened at the sight of him being so effortlessly good with her.

“Right,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

The rest of the party passed in a blur of small talk, laughter, and the occasional shared glance that lingered a second too long. You tried to avoid him as much as possible, but Suguru seemed to always be nearby—helping you cut the cake, handing out goodie bags, and playing games with your daughter.

It was infuriating how natural he made it all look, like he hadn’t made the choice to leave this life behind. Like he hadn’t left you.

By the time the party wound down and the last of the guests had said their goodbyes, the house was quiet again, like it usually is with just you and your daughter. She was upstairs, tucked into bed after an exhausting but joy-filled day with her family and friends. You stood in the kitchen, trying to clean up the remnants of the cake, when you felt him enter the room.

“You don’t have to stay, I can clean up on my own” you said without turning around.

“I know,” Suguru said, his voice soft but steady. He grabs a garbage bag and begins to help you out anyways, taking down some balloons and other decorations. “You look good today.”

You turned to face him, your hands clutching a dishrag. “Why are you even here?”

His dark eyes met yours, and for the first time in this entire day, the mask he’d been wearing began to crack. There was something raw in his gaze—regret, longing, something you didn’t want to name, fearing that you would only begin to crack too. 

“Because I can’t keep pretending,” he said, taking a step closer. “Not after today. Not after seeing you like this.”

“Seeing me like what?,” you throw the rag down, completely exasperated. “Seeing me continue to be a good mom despite all of the shit you put me through? Seeing how happy she still is, despite the fact that you don’t make the effort?” 

Suguru flinched at your words, his expression tightening. He looked down for a moment, his jaw clenching before he met your eyes again, the softness in them now sharpened by frustration.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly, but there was a weight to his voice that made you pause. “You don’t think that I care? As if it doesn’t kill me to be apart from you both?”

“You left, Suguru!” Your voice cracked, the emotions you’d been bottling up all day finally breaking free. “You decided this wasn’t what you wanted anymore. You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the one hurting, you weren’t fair to us the moment you walked out that door for good.”

He took another step closer, the distance between you shrinking as the tension swirled like a storm between you both. “You think this was easy for me?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back. “I made mistakes, I know that. But don’t for a second think I stopped loving her, or stopped loving you.”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you like a brick. “Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t say things like that just because you feel guilty. How could you stand there and say that, after everything?”

“It’s not guilt,” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side, longing to reach for you but knowing that he shouldn’t. “It’s the truth.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and the weight of everything unsaid between you threatened to crush you both.

“Then why did you leave?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident all over his face. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do. For you, for her, for everyone. But I was wrong. I just wish that I realized that before...”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Your hands were trembling, and you didn’t know if it was from anger, sadness, or the way he was looking at you now—like he was desperate, like he was afraid you might slip away for good. At this point, you didn’t even know what you truly wanted.

“Don’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t make me feel like this again.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “I just... I need you to know that I still love you. That I never stopped. And today—seeing you, seeing her—it made me realize how much I want this back.” He was so close to you at this point, his face mere inches away from your own. His hand reluctantly reached for your chin, and you allowed him to tilt your head up to fully face him. His words began to sink in, tugging at your heart. Before you could even wrap your head around it, he speaks up again.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Tell me I haven’t lost you completely.”

Your breath hitched, the room closing in around you as the weight of his confession hung in the air. Your head is telling you to take a step back and let him go for good. Nevertheless, the choice was yours now—to let the past consume you both, or to take the first step toward something neither of you could fully let go of.

Wordlessly, you closed the small distance between you, your hand reaching up to grip the front of his shirt. The fabric bunched beneath your fingers as you looked up at him, the storm of emotions in your chest threatening to spill over, just like the tears filling your lash line.

Suguru froze, his breath catching as his eyes searched yours for a sign, any indication of what you were about to do.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “You don’t get to walk back in and say things like that—make me feel like this again.”

“I know,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested against his chest. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not when I still—”

You didn’t let him finish, some part of you doesn’t think that you’d be able to handle what he was going to say next. Before he could say anything else, you pulled him down, capturing his lips with yours. It was a kiss full of longing with a faint sign of anger, and Suguru responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as if he was afraid you might slip away if he let go again.

The kiss deepened, months of hurt and unspoken feelings pouring out between you. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, the familiar feeling softening your heart as the walls you built around it began to crumble. When you finally pulled back, breathless and shaken, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed as if he was afraid that you wouldn’t be there when he opened them.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll walk away. I’ll let you go.”

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your body betraying the answer your mind hadn’t fully caught up to yet. “I hate you for making me feel this way,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I can’t lie to you. I still—”

Suguru’s lips were on yours again before you could finish, cutting off your words with a kiss that left no room for doubt. Whatever you had both tried to bury between you was rising to the surface now, unstoppable and undeniable. There was no question how you felt about one another, and you both made it your mission to prove it.

His hands began to explore your body, feeling hot to the touch as they rested beneath your thighs. He lifts you up as you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. He pulls away to chuckle against your lips.

“You always know exactly what I want you to do, huh?” Suguru teased, his voice a low murmur as he carried you effortlessly toward the once-shared bedroom. His smirk sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of frustration and desire building in your chest.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the breathless edge to your voice betrayed you.

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his lips to the column of your neck. “Oh, I’m not. But I remember how you used to look at me like this… how you’d crave it when I took control.”

You bit back a retort as he kicked the bedroom door open with ease, the familiar space pulling memories you’d worked so hard to suppress back into focus. He set you down on the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as you laid back, his body moving to hover over yours.

His eyes found yours, darker than you remembered, the heat in his gaze setting your nerves off. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his hands sliding up just enough to make your breath hitch, his fingers hooking underneath the waistband of your pants. “And I will.”

Instead of answering, you pulled him down, crashing your lips against his again. It was messy and heated as his weight pressed you back against the mattress. His hands were everywhere, exploring like he was trying to memorize every inch of you all over again, and you let him.

“God, I missed this,” he muttered against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before his lips soothed the spot with a kiss. “Missed you.”

The confession made your heart clench, but there was no time to linger on it. Not when his hands were slipping beneath your shirt, his touch electrifying as he pushed the fabric up and over your head.

“Prove it,” you challenged, your voice steady despite the way your body trembled under his touch. You made quick work of his belt, tugging on his waistband as best as you could.

Suguru’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice dripping with certainty. He helped you completely take off his pants before he slipped off yours, his knees hitting the carpet of your room so that he was eye-level with your cunt. Only one thin piece of fabric was left between him and you, his intense gaze making you want to run away and hide. He wouldn’t let you though, hands gripping your thighs to keep them from closing.

“Don’t hide from me, beautiful,” he finally pulls the fabric completely off, kissing up the side of your thighs. His thumbs pull your folds apart, a groan leaving his lips at the sight of you. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.” He wastes no time, his tongue poking out to prod at your slick folds. Your fingers dug into his hair, locking onto the dark strands as you used what little strength you had to tug. He continues on, stroking firmly at your clit, looking up at you to watch your face contorted in pleasure. He loves making you feel good, he craves your moans and soft gasps as the overwhelming feeling of his tongue washes over your body. 

“God, you taste even better than what I remembered, baby,” you gushed around his tongue, not being able to respond as your brain fogged over. “What’s the matter sweetheart, can’t even respond to me anymore?” He loved pissing you off, even in a moment like this. You want so badly to respond to him and wipe that stupid smirk off of his face. Before you could do that, he slips two fingers inside, his lips wrapping firmly around your clit as he begins to steadily move them inside of you. 

The combination of his tongue and fingers was too much, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. His fingers worked inside you with deliberate precision, curling just right to press against that spot that made your breath hitch every time.

“Look at you,” he rasped against your clit, his breath hot and teasing. “So perfect for me. Taking everything I give you like you were made for it.” His voice was laced with pride, the smugness in his tone only making your desire burn hotter.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a feeble attempt to pull him closer or maybe to anchor yourself as your body threatened to unravel. He chuckled, low and rough, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Suguru,” you finally managed to gasp out, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his free hand sliding up to grip your hip, holding you steady as you squirmed under his touch. “Say my name, princess. Let me hear you.”

Every word, every flick of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your thighs quivered around his head, the heat coiling in your belly threatening to snap. He could feel it, too, the way your body clenched around his fingers, your breaths coming quicker, more erratic. Before you could reach your peak, he abruptly stopped his movements, completely ruining your high. 

A frustrated whine escaped your lips, your body twitching in protest at the sudden loss of stimulation. Your eyes flew open, locking onto Suguru’s face, which was now hovering just above yours. The smug grin plastered across his face made your frustration burn hotter.

“What the hell, Suguru?” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and annoyance.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence, his eyes never leaving yours. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone eerily calm. “I didn’t say I was done with you.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm yet teasing. He pressed his body against yours, pinning you beneath him, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to come when I say, and not a second before. Understood?”

The heat pooling in your belly flared again at his words, even as you glared up at him. You wanted to defy him, to push back against the control he always seemed to wield so effortlessly, but the intensity in his eyes left you speechless.

“Say it,” he pressed, his voice dangerously low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he praised, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt about who was in control.

This time, he wrapped his hand around himself, giving his raging hard-on some much needed attention. He took his time, covering his cock with your juices, looking at you with such a stare that made you want to crawl away and hide from his gaze forever. Continuing to hover over you, he hooked one leg up with his arm, his other hand guiding himself to your entrance.

You nearly sobbed with relief at the feeling of his tip prodding at you. He slowly begins to fill you up, enjoying the way your walls seem to perfectly take every inch of him, even though so much time has passed. “Feel s' good,” he murmured, his voice rough as he began to pick up on a steady rhythm. “Let me take care of you properly.” You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or your cunt, but you didn’t care as his movements began to pick up even more. Every pump inside of you felt deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against your ass, showing you no mercy. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes scrunched closed as he felt you squeeze around him. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against you, hips beginning to stutter from the feeling of your pussy choking him for everything that he has. “Pussy trying to milk me huh?” His movements were driving you relentlessly toward the edge. Pressing his lips against yours, he kissed you through it all, swallowing every noise that left your lips. Your body trembled beneath him, legs shaking against his body.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, beautiful.”

And with a cry that was equal parts his name and a broken gasp, you did, the tension in your body releasing in a wave of euphoria. Suguru didn’t stop, riding out every tremor with you, his own high coming shortly after yours as his dick twitched inside of you, spurts of cum filling you up quickly. His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you held each other through every wave of pleasure. 

When you finally came down, your chest heaving and your limbs trembling, he looked at you, a stupid smirk plastered on his face that you can’t help but giggle at. As your laughter faded into the quiet hum of the room, Suguru brushed a strand of hair from your damp forehead, his touch tender. Something so raw in his eyes struck you harder than any words in this moment could.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your mingled breaths. For once, there was no smugness in his expression, only sincerity that matched the ache in your own heart.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything between you settling in again. “This doesn’t fix anything, Suguru,” you said softly, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his chest. “There’s still so much—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone serious now. “I know I can’t erase my mistakes and what I did to you and our family. But this, tonight, can be a fresh start, if you’ll allow it to be.” You studied him for a long moment, searching for any hint of doubt or deceit, but all you saw was the man you once fell in love with some time ago, laying his heart on the table for you. Slowly, you nodded, though your heart still felt guarded. “I don’t know if I can forgive you completely. At least, not right now.

He smiled softly, a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’m not asking for that right now. Just allow me to spend every single day making it up to you, and every day after that.”

As he pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest. You allowed your eyes to close, letting your brain imagine what life might look like in the next years to come. Old wounds may never heal, but maybe it was time to let him back in again. If not for your own heart, but for your daughter who so desperately craves the equal attention of both of her parents that love her more than they do anything else. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep, the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat bringing you comfort that you thought you’d never be able to feel again. 

For a moment, you’re able to forget the pain and anger that once filled your heart, and replace it with the newfound hope of making something whole out of the broken pieces left behind.

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[narcjsistx]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of ​​a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of ​​just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of ​​having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him