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kingofbodyrolls · 6 months

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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | nine

🐴Chapter summary: You haven’t talked to Jimin in months— he has been successful in avoiding you since he saw Yoongi kiss you. But when a charity gala forces you together, will you erupt like an active volcano? 🐴Chapter title: Take the Rain Away 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: yelling and curse words 🤭 Jin’s pink slipper is finally here (though it’s not him wielding it lol) 🩴 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 8.2k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

🛑 psa to all you lovely people on the taglist, I’ve seen that some of you aren’t interacting… I’m wondering if you’re still reading or not— do you wish to be removed from the taglist? It’s okay if you don’t like it anymore, I can remove you if you want to 🛑

🐴Now playing 💿 “Take the Rain Away” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: can you tell I wrote this chapter while severely depressed (as I did the previous)? 🥲 But, it was very easy to channel all my feelings into it, so I wrote it in like a day while crying most of the time. But here it is! Also, again I’m sorry. I’m really going through it and dealing with my depression, so I’m sorry if I take longer to reply… I do look at your messages though! I don’t know, life is hard and I’m waiting to get a referral from my doctor… all that shit takes such a freaking long time! But yeah, I’m still struggling, but I’m doing my best to hang in there; bad days and a few good days finally. Thank you all so much for reading and for sticking with the story, tbh there were a few times in the latest chapters where I just wanted to delete it all and stop posting.. But yeah, thank fuck🫂 Also… I really hope you’ll love the next chapter and please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts in either a comment or a reblog ☀️💦 🐴Author’s note #2: I'm sorry… today I'm feeling extremely emotional and anxious. It’s making me cry and my head is so heavy with a lot of thoughts… I hope you still like the chapter, right now I’m afraid it’s crap, so I’ll go hide (don't mind me, this is 50% my anxiety speaking). See ya on Thursday lovelies!

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“Take the rain away Take the rain away Give me hope Give me love Make it sweet from above Take the rain away Oh take the rain away Give me praise Give me heart Take the rain away”- ‘Take the Rain Away’ by Rebecca Lavelle

The rain pelts on your windows, a rhythmic symphony against the glass that serves as the melodic backdrop to your dance with the paintbrush. Each stroke elicits a clench in your heart, a poignant harmony with the emotions that escape onto the canvas. Despite a tear finding its way down your cheek, you persist. The canvas becomes a vibrant tapestry, weaving through an array of red hues, from the delicate blush of pink to the profound richness of vermillion. In this intimate dance, you surrender to the guidance of the brush, allowing the strokes to tell a story only your heart understands.

The paintbrush becomes the voice of your unspoken thoughts, an ethereal extension of your mind that guides you through an escape. It whisks you away to an alternate reality, a place where joy and serenity prevail. Yet, as you gaze upon your canvas, the illusion shatters – a mosaic of red tones, a stark reflection of your inner turmoil. You’re aware of the truth it conceals, reluctant to acknowledge the lingering ache for a man who remains silent, a man whose choices have been clear and that choice wasn’t you. But why the heck would he decide to date someone that looks like you?

The baffling revelation still eludes you, a persistent enigma that has gnawed at your thoughts for days since the girls disclosed it. The meaning behind it remains a puzzle, and you find yourself grappling with the uncertainty. There’s an urge to confront Jimin, to seek answers, but the apprehension holds you back.

Instead, you retreat to the solace of your bedroom, losing yourself in the strokes of your paintbrush. Each canvas becomes a testament to your emotional turmoil, saturated in shades of red that echo anger and sadness. The thought of whether anyone would buy these artworks fades into insignificance; the therapeutic process takes precedence, offering a semblance of peace in the midst of your inner storm.

For a solid week, the relentless rain has played its melancholic symphony, a constant companion to your shifting moods. While you don’t inherently despise the rain, its prolonged presence begins to cast a subtle veil of gloom. The weather, once a neutral backdrop, now becomes a weight on your shoulders, a persistent force tugging at the edges of your mind, leaving a trace of subtle melancholy in its wake.

Perhaps a twinge of bitterness creeps in, accompanied by an admission of jealousy as you observe Jungkook becoming a frequent overnight guest. Their shared moments are anything but discreet, the resonance of their love making echoing through the walls. You’ve mastered the art of drowning out those sounds, resorting to nocturnal strolls when needed. In the depths of your heart, you yearn for the same intimacy, but with Jimin.

You sigh, feeling utterly deflated. Life never goes the way to want it to. Why can’t you just have something good happening for once?

In the dead of night, raindrops patter on your skin as you venture out once more for a solitary walk. The rhythmic percussion of raindrops becomes a welcome reprieve, drowning out the less-than-subtle sounds emanating from your sister’s room. Ugh. it’s just great— now you can’t stand people in love anymore! Despite your genuine happiness for your sister and Jungkook, witnessing their affectionate gestures becomes a bitter pill to swallow. The kisses, the embraces, the whispered words—all of it, a poignant reminder of what you yearn for with Jimin.

If only you could have that.

You know that jealousy is a nasty feeling and it leaves you feeling bitter inside.

The rain penetrates your jacket, seeping through to your skin—a subtle reminder of your lack of preparation. Cursing under your breath, you navigate through the yard, each step burdened with the weight of your drenched attire. As you reach one of the paddocks, darkness envelops you, the atmosphere dense and humid, mirroring the warmth and heaviness echoing in your chest. Yet, you yearn for this feeling to dissipate, much like the wishful thought that the rain will cease, allowing the sun to once again cast its hopeful rays upon you.

Lifting your gaze to the sky, the night sky unfolds above you, a vast canvas adorned with innumerable stars shimmering in their cosmic dance. A sigh escapes your lips, a blend of appreciation and melancholy. The celestial display, though undeniably beautiful, carries a bittersweet weight tonight, stirring emotions that twirl like distant constellations in the vast expanse above.

With the rain as your shield, you ponder whether it’s safe to return inside again or not. Opting to let the rhythmic dance of raindrops cloak you further, you choose the soothing drumbeat of rain over the potential moans echoing through the walls. It’s better to give them more time to finish whatever they are doing, instead of going back and having to listen to it.

As the rain clings to your clothes and skin, an uncomfortable yet strangely welcomed sensation, you yearn for more than just the soothing touch of the downpour. Hoping against hope, you wish the rain could wash away the turmoil in your chest, or perhaps, deliver to you the one thing you crave and need the most—love.

Jimin.

In the recesses of your heart, the truth echoes loudly— he is the one meant for you, and the regret gnaws at your soul for not confessing your feelings earlier. The fear of disrupting and jeopardizing his current relationship hangs heavy, a bitter pill you swallow. His decision is made, and you must bear the weight of it.

Frustration clenches your hands as you yearn for a conversation, a connection—anything to breach the walls he’s created, leaving you to wonder why he’s avoiding you or won’t acknowledge you at all.

As your breath quickens, tears intertwine with the raindrops on your cheeks, a blurred fusion where your own sorrows become indistinguishable from the weeping sky.

Your clothes cling to you, saturated by the persistent rain, and you decide it’s time to retreat from the star-studded night. With a silent farewell to the celestial display, you make your way back into the house, yearning for the solace of a quiet room, and silently hoping your sister and Jungkook have concluded their love making.

As you open the door and traverse the hallway, the muffled exchange of hushed voices reaches your ears, causing your heart to sink. Determined, you press on and step into your bedroom, conveniently situated next to your sister’s. Lately, you’ve cursed this proximity, contemplating the idea of seeking refuge downstairs in the guestroom.

The rhythmic creaking of the bed and muted moans persist, making you release a weary sigh, hastily snatching your pillow to shield your ears from the intimate sounds infiltrating the air.

Morning arrives, and you’re weary, having fallen asleep with the pillow cocooned around your head. Your once-neat hair now resembles a bird’s nest, and your body, feeling rigid and sore, yearns for the elusive embrace of a restful night’s sleep.

Fatigue clinging to every step, you drag your weary body to the bathroom, performing the mundane rituals of brushing teeth and washing your face. The mirror mercilessly reflects the under-eye bags, taunting reminders of restless nights. A scoff escapes your lips as you splash water on your face, a futile attempt to shake off the lingering exhaustion and rouse yourself from the morning haze.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Jungkook steps out of your sister’s room, wearing a sheepish yet gentle smile. Weariness etched on your features, you respond with a weary nod, acknowledging his presence.

Apology etched in his expression, he inquires, “Did we disturb your sleep?”

Concern lines his face, yet beneath the surface, a subtle smirk plays on his lips as his eyes sweep over your tired form.

“It’s fine,” you sigh, the weight of exhaustion evident in your voice, though deep down, you acknowledge that ’fine’ is a distant echo from the truth.

“We’ll keep it down,” he assures, a warm smile gracing his features as he absentmindedly scratches his head. A soft chuckle escapes you, an acknowledgment of the genuine sweetness and kindness that radiate from him.

“Jungkook, really, you don’t have to worry. I’ll grab some earplugs or whatever,” you laugh, the sound devoid of true joy. Despite your attempts at humor, each forced smile or chuckle only serves as a reminder of the hollowness and sorrow settling in your chest.

Jungkook gives you a reluctant nod, a silent acknowledgment of your weariness and the deflated emotions you carry. With a heavy heart, you retreat into your room to get dressed, the weight of the morning and the unresolved thoughts lingering in the air.

As you descend and enter the kitchen, the comforting aroma of Ha-rin’s nearly finished breakfast fills the air. Offering a hand, you assist her in setting up the table in the cozy dining room. The rarity of having everyone gather for a meal is not lost on you; usually, you’re consumed by solitary, hurried bites as the demands of the ranch beckon. However, today unfolds differently, marked by an unusual slowness in the rhythm of ranch life.

“You look tired,” she observes with a gentle concern in her voice as the two of you collaborate in setting the table. A soft chuckle escapes you, a mixture of acknowledgment and self-deprecating humor. It’s as if they’ve pointed out the obvious—yes, you’re aware you don’t look your best, but must they bring attention to it?

“Thanks. Jungkook and Jessi kept me up again,” you respond with a weariness that seeps into both your voice and posture, a tiredness underscored by a stifled yawn.

As you turn your head, Jungkook and Jessi stand in the doorframe, wearing apologetic expressions that mirror the remorse evident in their eyes.

“We’re sorry,” your sister offers a sincere smile as she pulls out a chair, settling down. Jungkook follows suit, immediately diving into the meal with an eagerness that hints at his hunger.

“It’s fine,” you brush off their apologies with weary eyes and a nonchalant wave. “At least you’re getting some,” you jest, but an awkward hush descends upon the room. The atmosphere turns dense, and their uncertain expressions reveal they’re unsure how to react. “Don’t mind me; I’m just... frustrated. Not at you, though!” you quickly reassure them, taking a seat and joining in the meal.

For a few minutes, an uncomfortable silence descends, wrapping around the room like an unwelcome guest. It’s the kind of awkward stillness that feels stifling and peculiar, and you find yourself yearning for someone to break it, to utter anything to shatter the tension lingering in the air.

“We actually have something to tell you,” your sister begins, and as you meet her eyes, you notice a sparkle of excitement, maybe even love, dancing in them. Her happiness is contagious; a radiant smile graces her lips, and a delicate pink hue adorns her cheeks, complementing her beautifully. It’s a sight that warms your heart, pulling a genuine smile from you in return.

Jungkook gently moves his hand over Jessi’s, giving it a tender squeeze, and his eyes gleam with a radiant light, an unmistakable shimmer of affection, you presume. Their laughter dances in the air, and their shared smiles are like a silent declaration of the love that binds them.

“We’ve been meaning to share something with you,” your sister begins, her voice laced with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Jungkook and I are dating,” she announces, and you can’t help but feel your smile broaden. You observe the subtle exchange of glances between them, a blend of happiness and nervousness, as if unsure of how you’ll react to this newfound chapter in their relationship.

Your eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you can’t help but beam, your emotions laid bare. “That makes me so happy to hear!” A single tear escapes, and you playfully scold yourself, but deep down, you’re overwhelmed with joy for your sister and Jungkook.

Your sister’s concern deepens as she leans in, her eyes reflecting worry. “Are you okay with this? You seem a bit sad…”

With tear-streaked cheeks, you point to your clearly emotional face, chuckling through the joyful tears. “This? I’m just thrilled for you. I just... wish I had that too. But I’m genuinely happy for you.” Sniffling, you manage a smile, though your plate is nearly obscured by your overwhelming emotions.

Jungkook, your sister, and Ha-rin exchange concerned glances, but wisely refrain from prying further. You believe they’ve caught on; your weeks of moping and the emotional rollercoaster have left little room for secrets. It’s ridiculous, you scold yourself internally, navigating the intricate maze of your own emotions. The irony of grieving a relationship that never truly existed weighs heavy on your chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for what could have been.

Genuine happiness radiates within you for their newfound relationship, and you don’t perceive it as strange. Sure, there was a fleeting encounter with Jungkook, as Jessi pointed out, but it was just that—a passing moment. You never harbored romantic feelings for him; your joy stems from seeing them genuinely happy together. Yet, an undeniable pang echoes in your heart, a yearning for that elusive connection you witness in them, to have that special someone— and that someone is Jimin.

Caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, you grapple with the uncertainty of your feelings for Jimin. Every attempt to navigate this emotional maze has hit a dead end – avoiding him, attempting conversations that fall on deaf ears, and even embracing silence only to be met with his intense gaze.

The enigma that is Jimin remains beyond your comprehension. Your desire for him lingers, leaving you in a perplexing predicament with no clear path forward.

“Relax your shoulders,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the rhythmic sounds of hooves against the earth, offering guidance as a fiery-red mare gracefully circles you in the pen. Perched atop the fence, Yoongi, accompanied by Hoseok, shares his insights. Lately, with the challenging task of taming wild horses, Hoseok has become an invaluable ally, contributing his skill and energy to the shared pursuit.

His involvement extends beyond mere assistance; he actively contributes to the preparations, occasionally joining your rides and, on other occasions, simply sharing moments as you engage in the day’s tasks. Today, he observes with keen interest, his presence an unspoken support in the rhythm of your work.

You attempt to find your focus, and you let your shoulders sag, reminding yourself of the importance of a calm and clear mind in handling the unpredictable nature of the horses. Despite your efforts, stress and frustration linger, making the task more challenging. Today seems particularly difficult. Your gaze repeatedly drifts toward Yoongi and Hoseok, seated closely. The air between them carries a subtle tension, Yoongi fidgeting with his shirt, an uncharacteristic unease marking his demeanor. It’s funny how being around someone you like can change the way you behave.

You let out a soft chuckle, finding Yoongi’s crush on Hoseok endearing. The uncertainty of whether Hoseok reciprocates, or even what his preferences are— if he’s into men, women or both. You have no clue, but you genuinely hope that Hoseok shares Yoongi’s feelings; knowing that Yoongi could use a guy like Hoseok in his life.

The red mare’s whinny echoes through the air as it breaks into a wild gallop, gracefully navigating the pen with powerful bucks. This one, a recent addition, demands more patience than its counterparts. However, you embrace the challenge, recognizing that each horse is unique, and you’re willing to invest the time needed to build trust and understanding.

You let the spirited mare run around the pen, attempting to divert your attention from its antics. Instead, your gaze returns to the two men on the fence. They’re engaged in casual conversation, possibly about work, but the genuine smile on Yoongi’s face has an inexplicable effect on your heart. Hoseok’s eyes light up at every word from Yoongi, and it feels as if your heart could burst into a garden of blossoming flowers. In that moment, you yearn for a connection as beautiful and captivating as the one unfolding before you.

As your gaze drifts, it travels up to the yard, settling on the house that holds the thoughts of the man who occupies your every waking moment—Jimin. The silence between you two persists, leaving you in a state of anticipation. Every now and then, you catch glimpses of him with Deiji, their laughter echoing through the air. Despite the small flower in your chest withering at the sight, you remind yourself it’s okay, even though anger still lingers.

“Watch out!” Hoseok shouts, leaping down from the fence with Yoongi in tow. Before you can react, you find yourself sprawled on the ground with a thud. A frustrated groan escapes your lips as you rub your back, rolling over to your side.

You spot Yoongi approaching the red mare, hands raised in the air, skillfully redirecting its attention away from you. Meanwhile, Hoseok is already down on his knees beside you. As your eyes flutter open, a wave of confusion washes over you.

Concern fills Hoseok’s voice as he asks, “Are you okay?”

Your gaze meets his, lingering confusion evident. Meanwhile, Yoongi persists in his attempt to soothe the red mare, now employing a gentler approach, his words whispered in a hushed tone.

Your eyes lock with Hoseok’s as you ask, “What happened?”

His outstretched hand becomes your anchor, pulling you up into a sitting position, your fingers instinctively rubbing your sore back again.

His words hit you, “The horse ran you over,” accompanied by a subtle chuckle. Yet, his eyes reveal a deeper concern as he carefully scans you, ensuring that you’re genuinely okay.

You glance around in confusion at the sandy expanse of the pen.

“It did?” you inquire, perplexed, your gaze shifting down to the ground where you find yourself. You must have blacked out or something. You assess your body, feeling a general lack of pain, at least not as much as you expected.

“I think I’m fine,” you assure Hoseok, allowing him to help you up as you stand. You dust off the sand from your pants and shirt, trying to regain a sense of composure.

Yoongi, having calmed the mare, walks over to you. “Are you sure you’re fine?” he asks, raising a brow as he looks you up and down. You chuckle, dismissing any concern with a wave of your hand. There’s no need for a fuss over a simple fall.

“I’m fine. I was just pushed. No biggie!” you declare, gesturing with your hands to reassure them that everything is under control.

“Maybe we should take a look at you at the house?” Hoseok suggests, and you instantly flinch, a wave of apprehension washing over you.

“Oh god no. I’m fine, and I really don’t want to go in there,” you state firmly, a pressed smile on your face. The last thing you need is to see Jimin with Deiji again; better to stay clear of them, as you’ve been doing recently. Both Yoongi and Hoseok laugh, and you notice the way they look at each other, as if there’s something you’ve missed. For a split second, you feel left out before joining in the laughter yourself.

You ask Yoongi to finish working on the red mare while you and Hoseok take a seat on top of the fence. From there, you observe him letting the horse run about, much like you did earlier. Yoongi always appears so relaxed when he’s working. His ability to keep his mind sealed off and clear during tasks is incredible. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for you or Hoseok. The dynamic between the three of you is unique, each with your own way of approaching the work at hand.

The happy-go-lucky man next to you appears captivated by watching Yoongi work; his eyes shine as bright as the sun. The way he holds his breath, as if the air is too thick with something, sparks a glimmer of hope within you. Perhaps it’s because he might harbor feelings for Yoongi.

You meticulously apply eyeliner and mascara, ensuring you look flawless. Returning to your room, your eyes fall upon the elegant purple satin gown laid out on your bed. The floor-length attire boasts a sweetheart neckline, perfectly complemented by a pair of carefully chosen low heels that you gracefully slip into.

Before stepping out, you steal a moment to gaze at your reflection in the mirror, and what stares back at you is nothing short of captivating.

As you step outside your door, you encounter your sister, adorned in a floor-length gown of deep blue that borders on the verge of velvety blackness.

“Wow, you look stunning,” you compliment your sister, and she responds with a soft smile, her fingers nervously dancing with the edges of her purse.

“Thanks, you look incredible too,” she smiles warmly, and together you descend the stairs to join the other girls.

Ara, Soo-ah, and Ha-rin await you downstairs, adorned in stunning gowns for the night’s gala in town. The charity event, featuring an auction, aims to raise funds for the local hospital’s children’s ward. Ara stuns in a radiant red dress, Soo-ah elegantly dons baby blue, prompting you to ponder if it’s her favorite color, and Ha-rin exudes sophistication in a black gown. The quartet, a vision of beauty, gathers in the kitchen, the air buzzing with excitement for the glamorous night ahead.

“Ready for an enchanting evening, everyone?” you inquire, casting a smile across the group, your eyes dancing with anticipation.

“Yeah!” Soo-ah cheers with infectious joy, and without a second thought, you all rush to the door, hitch up your dresses, and dash into the yard, the relentless rain already kissing your gowns with its playful touch.

You hastily hop into the car, and Jessi swiftly ignites the engine, reversing out of the yard. The rain’s symphony dances on the windshield, while the sun gracefully sets, painting the sky in captivating shades of gold and pink.

Jessi navigates the road with precision, and the group settles into a comfortable ease. Casual conversations and light-hearted jokes fill the air, yet your mind strays elsewhere, tethered to thoughts of Jimin. Anticipating his presence at the gala, you resolve to keep a careful distance, aware that the crowd might offer a shield for the avoidance you seek.

Navigating the rain-drenched roads adds extra time to your journey into town, but finally, you pull up in front of City Hall. The building itself seems to have donned its best attire for the occasion, adorned with banners and a vibrant red carpet that unfurls invitingly through the grand entrance.

As Jessi skillfully parks the car, you hastily step out, seeking refuge under the overhang of the building to escape the relentless rain. A quick scan of the parking lot reveals the presence of Jimin and Jungkook’s trucks, instantly causing a pang in your chest. The prospect of encountering Jimin tonight tightens your heart, and you brace yourself for the emotional storm that might follow.

“Ugh I fucking hate the rain,” Soo-ah groans beside you, her disdain for the downpour resonating with your own sentiments. Your chuckle, a small escape from the damp reality, lingers in the misty air.

Ensuring everyone is prepared, you lead the way into the grand hall. The opulence hits you instantly – a symphony of golds and reds creating a lavish spectacle. The vast space is adorned with small, round tables draped in rich red cloth, each topped with flickering candles. Towards the front, a podium commands attention, surrounded by carefully curated art pieces. Among them, proudly displayed, are a couple of your own paintings, awaiting their moment in tonight’s charitable auction.

Approaching the guys, you’re met with a sight to behold—Jungkook impeccably clad in a black tux adorned with subtle stripes, while Yoongi and Hoseok exude charm in their tuxedos, each strand of hair meticulously styled. Embracing them warmly, your attention shifts to Jimin, not far off, accompanied by his stunning girlfriend. The duo radiates elegance, and you can’t help but curse Jimin silently for his undeniable allure— his ass looks so good in those pants. His tux drapes his frame flawlessly, accentuating every curve, and you catch yourself practically drooling before quickly averting your eyes.

Spotting his gaze directed your way, you respond with a silent nod. Despite your desire to keep your distance, you choose the path of politeness, offering this small acknowledgment in the crowded elegance of the gala.

The room swells with a mix of familiar faces and strangers. Across the expanse, you catch sight of Namjoon and Seokjin at a neighboring table. With a warm smile, you extend a friendly wave in their direction.

As the auction commences, you navigate through the crowd toward a table, silently grateful for opting for low heels to spare your feet. A glass of champagne in hand, you join Yoongi, Hoseok, Soo-ah, and Ara at a table. Meanwhile, Ha-rin has engaged in a lively conversation with Namjoon and Seokjin across the room, their friendship evident even from a distance.

Jessi and Jungkook are stationed at a table alongside Jimin and Deiji, and a scoff escapes you when your gaze lands on Jimin. The silence between you two remains, a lack of surprise settling in as a familiar companion at this point.

He appears incredibly alluring, like a full-course meal, and something stirs within your veins—a concoction of anger and jealousy, perhaps. The desire to speak to him, to feel his touch, clashes with the urge to tear him apart. Later, the thought of dancing with him lingers, but the awkwardness stemming from his radio silence and the undeniable truth that he isn’t yours keeps you at a wary distance.

The auctioneer’s voice becomes a distant murmur, his words lost in the whirl of paintings and various items on the stand. Your attention, however, is not tethered to the auction; instead, it’s ensnared by the intensity in Jimin’s gaze. The way his eyes lock onto yours mirrors a familiarity, reminiscent of the look he gave you weeks ago during Jessi’s cast celebration dinner. The unspoken depth in his eyes unsettles you, inducing a subtle sweat, nervous energy, and an involuntary gulp.

With no refuge in sight, you attempt to anchor yourself in the rhythm of your heartbeat, a desperate bid to quell the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Indeed— sin personified gazes your way, but what does it matter? His silence, his refusal to engage, grates on your last nerves. You know you’re at an auction right now, and it would be weird to talk at this event, but dammit, he could just come over and ask you for a talk, pull you off to another room. Anything, really.

A sly smile graces your lips as Yoongi playfully nudges your shoulder, and you, in turn, lean into the comfort of his presence. A subtle shift in Jimin’s gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, the intensity of his eyes deepening as the unspoken tension weaves through the air.

Hoseok playfully nudges you as your vibrant red painting graces the auction stage. Surprisingly, an elegant elderly lady becomes enamored with it, bidding generously and claiming it as her own. Gratitude swells within you, knowing that the proceeds will contribute to a worthy cause.

Jimin’s unwavering gaze continues to linger on you, an irritation bubbling within. You question why he can’t redirect his attention to his girlfriend or, at the very least, the ongoing auction.

The auction unfolds in the background, but your focus remains unyielding to the bidding, stolen by the persistent gaze of the blonde man. His intense gaze feels like he’s stripping you down with his eyes. Yet you remain nonchalant, indifferent to his silent advances.

During a brief respite, as delectable appetizers circulate the room, you discreetly savor the miniature delights, determinedly diverting your attention from Jimin as per your original strategy.

Abruptly, you interject into the group’s conversation, “Is there something on my face?” Their perplexed gazes pivot towards you, uncertain of the sudden inquiry.

As you munch on a bite of food, you nonchalantly toss in, “Jimin keeps giving me these intense stares, and I just don’t get it.”

Yoongi and Hoseok share a knowing chuckle, their eyes reflecting a camaraderie that Soo-ah and Ara immediately catch onto, shooting you looks of playful understanding.

“No, there’s nothing on your face,” Soo-ah says with a teasing smile, her words dripping with a playful undertone.

“Maybe you should talk to him?” Ara suggests, her voice carrying a gentle note of encouragement, like a flicker of a candle in the dim room of uncertainty.

“He doesn’t want to talk, and I hardly think this is the place for it…” you say, the words hanging in the air like a fleeting sigh, drowned out by the buzz of conversations around you as you take a thoughtful sip of your champagne.

You redirect your attention to the auctioneer, a black vase taking center stage this time. As the bidding unfolds, you indulge in another sip of champagne, feeling the effervescent bubbles dance teasingly across your tongue, a subtle distraction from the tension in the room.

As the final gavel falls, signaling the end of the auction, a wave of relief washes over you. The speakers come alive with soulful melodies, casting a warm ambiance over the room. To your surprise, the atmosphere becomes infectious, and you observe couples from other tables swaying to the rhythmic tunes. A chuckle escapes you, realizing you’ve never been one to dance at such formal events. Nevertheless, the music’s allure beckons, and you find yourself succumbing to the rhythm, ready to embrace the unexpected joy of the night.

Yoongi seizes your hands, whisking you onto the dance floor in a whirl of laughter and joy. The dance is a delightful blend of fun and friendship, his every move resonating with an infectious rhythm. As you twirl under the dazzling lights, you catch Hoseok’s gaze fixed on Yoongi. Leaning in, you share a whispered observation, “Hoseok’s eyes are practically glued to you, you know?”

His laughter reverberates through the air, a melody that resonates with a warmth you find comforting. “I know,” he chuckles, the sound a harmonious note in the symphony of the evening.

As he smirks, a playful glint in his eyes, you can’t help but reciprocate with a grateful smile. He twirls you around, a dance of understanding, letting you sway out of his embrace only to draw you back in. Oh, the dance you share with him is a temporary refuge, a wishful escape from the reality you yearn to change. However, your joy falters as you catch Jimin’s gaze; his eyes, far from angelic, hold a mysterious intensity that pierces through the rhythm of the music.

With a chuckle, Yoongi leans in, “Jimin’s got his eyes on you too.”

“I’ve felt his eyes on me since we walked through that door,” you admit with a sigh, your gaze wandering over the dance floor where your sister twirls with Jungkook, and Ha-rin gracefully dances with Seokjin.

“You should consider talking to him,” he suggests again, but you dismiss the idea with a subtle shake of your head.

“I doubt it would make any difference, honestly,” you laugh, pressing your body into Yoongi’s. His warmth envelops you, and for a brief moment, in his embrace, everything feels like it might just be okay.

Taking a step back from Yoongi, you express the need for a break. As you make your way back to the table to sip on more champagne, you observe Yoongi inviting Hoseok to dance, a proposal met with a willing agreement. Soo-ah joins you at the table, casting a gentle gaze in your direction.

“You danced with Hoseok?” You inquire, your gaze softened with curiosity.

“I did,” she admits with a smile. “He’s a really nice guy.” You nod, acknowledging her words. However, you can’t shake the understanding that someone in your circle might end up with a bruised heart, considering both Yoongi and Soo-ah have affections for Hoseok.

As you watch Hoseok and Yoongi gracefully moving on the dance floor, impressed by Hoseok’s skilled control over his body, a genuine smile plays on your lips. However, that fleeting moment of joy is interrupted as you sense the weight of brown eyes piercing into your back. Turning around, you find Jimin dancing intimately with Deiji, the intensity of his gaze making your smile fade.

You observe Jimin and Deiji dancing cheek to cheek, their bodies pressed tightly together, making you scoff and redirect your attention to Soo-ah. Just as you try to shake off the unsettling sight, a tap on your shoulder interrupts your thoughts. You turn around to find Hoseok, his bright smile inviting, “Do you want to dance?”

You seize his hand, allowing him to whisk you onto the dance floor, reminiscent of how Yoongi did earlier. Hoseok effortlessly twirls you around, evoking laughter that bubbles up from deep within. Knowing you’re not the most adept dancer, you surrender to his guidance, and he proves to be exceptionally skilled at leading you through the dance.

Amid the enjoyment, a surge of audacity overcomes you, prompting an uncharacteristic move. “What do you think about Yoongi?” The words spill out unexpectedly, catching Hoseok off guard, a reaction vividly displayed on his face. A chuckle escapes you as you revel in the spontaneity of the moment.

“What do you mean?” he asks, catching off guard.

Unable to contain your mischievous grin, you lean in and tease, “You know he likes you, right?” As the words escape your lips, you’re conscious of the trust you might be breaking but convinced that mingling is the key to any potential connection. Hoseok, though initially shocked, isn’t repulsed as you feared. Instead, his eyes widen, and a subtle pink tint adorns his cheeks, leaving you wondering how he’ll respond.

“He does?” Hoseok stammers, caught off guard and missing a beat. Your chuckle only intensifies as you nod in confirmation. The revelation lingers in the air, and you sense that you might not have to do much more to set things in motion.

As you continue to dance, a comfortable silence envelops you both before Hoseok breaks it, his words hanging in the air, “You know Jimin likes you too.”

You roll your eyes, well aware of the situation. “Yeah, not much to do about it when he has a girlfriend,” you admit with a wry smile. Despite Hoseok’s good intentions, you’ve firmly decided not to act on your feelings while Jimin is still in a relationship. It’s a line you won’t cross.

You dance a little longer until Yoongi is at your side again, grabbing your arm and pulling you into his embrace. He wears a curious smile as he asks, “What were you talking about with Hoseok?”

You chuckle softly, “I told him.”

He glances at you, a puzzled expression on his face, “Told him what?”

“That you’ve got a crush on him,” you declare, matter-of-factly, in a hushed tone meant just for the two of you. However, with the rain tapping on the roof and the music playing, it’s a challenge to catch every word.

Yoongi’s expression doesn’t exactly radiate joy, but there’s a subtle softness to his features, an almost-relaxed demeanor. He releases a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair in apparent exasperation.

“I’m sorry. I know it isn’t my place to say anything. But he actually seemed intrigued!” You share, your words riding the rhythm of the music as you sway with Yoongi. His tension eases, and he responds with a soft expression, a subtle acknowledgment of the revelation.

“It’s okay,” he breathes out, “it wasn’t your place, but it’s fine.”

You lean into him, embracing him gently and offering a reassuring pat on the back. In that moment, you catch Jimin’s gaze fixed on you once again. The repetitive stares leave you puzzled. Why is he focused on you instead of his girlfriend?

You feel your heart quicken, your nostrils flare, and your hands clench around Yoongi’s back. He pulls you away, confusion etched on his face, questioning what’s wrong. But you see red. It’s reached a boiling point. The anger simmers inside you, consuming every inch of your being, and with determination, you let go of Yoongi and stride purposefully over to Jimin and Deiji.

Standing before them, you take a deep inhale, a turbulent storm of emotions brewing beneath your skin. “Why the hell are you staring at me like that?” Your voice slices through the ambient sounds, a piercing question that fractures the comfortable cocoon around Jimin and Deiji. Jimin slowly turns to face you, his expression shifting from surprise to a somber acknowledgment, as if he’s been caught in the act of something he’d rather keep hidden.

“Shouldn’t your eyes be on your girlfriend, huh? Why the fuck do you keep gazing at me? Look at your damn girlfriend!” you hiss, your hands tightly clenched at your sides, radiating with anger.

“And while you’re at it, why the fuck can’t you talk to me like a normal human being?” you raise your voice, the anger boiling so fiercely within you that you feel breathless as you unleash your words.

“You’re a damn coward, aren’t you? You shouldn’t be casting your eyes my way when you have a girlfriend right there!” You jab your finger accusingly at her, and she flinches, uncertain about how to react. Jimin simply gazes at you, as though you’ve lost your marbles—and maybe you have, because the words keep pouring out.

“You fucking jerk. If you had the decency to communicate, to use your damn voice instead of making baseless assumptions, we wouldn’t be in this ridiculous situation!” You huff, the waves of anger radiating from your body. The sudden realization hits you that the entire room is now fixated on the spectacle, and an eerie silence envelops the space, punctuated only by the intensity of your heated words.

Yoongi steps up beside you, a silent force attempting to ground you, but you refuse to yield. The torrent of anger surges within you, and with an accusatory finger, you unleash your fury on Jimin.

“I fucking hate you! You’re stupid. I hate you. I fucking hate you. I love you. I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much!” Your words, laden with venom, spill from your lips in a torrent of conflicting emotions. You seethe, feeling strangely lighter, though the room spins around you. Yoongi releases your arm, his face a mix of shock, and confusion mirrors the peculiar glances from those around you, leaving you wondering why everyone is now looking at you even more strangely than before.

“You fucking bastard. Stop looking at me like that,” you hiss at Jimin, catching him off guard. Deiji wears a displeased expression, and Jimin’s features soften in a way that leaves you utterly bewildered.

Deiji appears visibly irritated, and you’re left wondering if her frustration is directed at you or if she shares your exasperation for Jimin. As the tension simmers, Jimin unexpectedly breaks into laughter, his audacity fueling the fire of your anger. The laughter grates on your nerves, aggravating you further. Why on earth is he finding amusement in this situation? There’s nothing remotely funny about it, intensifying the blaze of your already fiery emotions.

You jab your accusatory finger at him once more, your voice cutting through the tension, “Stop laughing. This isn’t funny!”

Your voice may carry the tone of an angered child denied its desires, but you couldn’t care less. In this moment, you’re finally confronting Jimin, even if the conversation seems to be one-sided.

You observe as he parts his lips, ready to utter words that you don’t wish to hear.

“I don’t want to hear it! You know what? I’m done!” You hiss in frustration, ready to pivot away from the awkward situation, aware of the collective gaze of all the guests upon you. As you start to turn, Jimin’s firm grip on your wrist stops you, compelling you to face him again.

“You can stick your dick where the sun doesn’t shine!” You shriek, wrenching your arm free, and storming out of the building. The erratic thumping of your heart resonates like a dissonant ringing in your ears, mirroring the chaos within.

Gasping frantically for air, your breath catching in turbulent spasms, you step outside, feeling as if your body is unraveling at the seams. Collapsing on the stairs, you surrender to the tremors of anger pulsating through you. Attempting to regain composure, you strive to slow your breath, but the task proves as challenging as holding back a tempest.

Regret floods your senses, a torrent of remorse for every word unleashed in the heat of anger, half of them lost to the haze of fury. The weight of all eyes fixed upon you, their gaze searing into your soul, amplifies the desire for the ground to open up and engulf you whole.

What transpired in that room, and how did it all spiral into such chaos?

A symphony of hooves shatters the tranquility of your peaceful slumber, jerking you awake. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hurry to the window to witness the commotion outside. In the distance, a captivating spectacle unfolds — a wild herd of horses, led by the majestic brown stallion, thundering across the landscape. These creatures have become frequent visitors, drawing nearer to the ranch with each passing day. Curiosity grips you; what secrets do these untamed spirits carry, and why do they venture closer to your haven?

With a contented sigh, you wearily make your way back to your bed, sinking into its welcoming embrace. A spontaneous yawn escapes, accompanied by a luxurious stretch that sends waves of relaxation through your well-rested body. The simple joy of a peaceful night’s sleep settles over you, like a comforting blanket enveloping your weary soul.

Entering the bathroom, you brace yourself for the day ahead. Under the rejuvenating spray of a quick shower, you allow the cascading water to serve as a cleansing force, washing away not only yesterday’s mistakes but also the lingering regret that clings to your every thought. The steam clouds your reflection, a metaphorical veil between the past and the potential for a better today.

The bracing cold water jolts you into wakefulness, a refreshing prelude to the day ahead. As rivulets of water cascade down, you ensure every trace of sleep is banished, emerging invigorated and ready for the rigors of another day on the ranch. Donning a weathered shirt, worn-in pants, and your trusty boots, you complete the ensemble with the signature hat that shields your face from the sun’s relentless gaze. Descending the stairs, you find Ara in the kitchen, skillfully crafting a sandwich for her morning appetite.

“Hey there!” you chirp, a grin lighting up your face, buoyed by the rare joy of a restful night’s sleep. A subtle acknowledgment forms in your mind—thankful for your sister and Jungkook opting for a night at his place, granting you the serenity that fueled the upbeat mood.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Ara inquires, her attention focused on putting away the butter, as if carefully choosing the moment to meet your eyes.

“Actually, leave it out. I could use one too,” you interject, and Ara obligingly retrieves the butter, finally meeting your gaze. “As for how I’m doing—just fine.”

She hands you the butter and a knife, a wry smile playing on her lips, “Some party, huh?”

She chuckles, and you roll your eyes. The weight of her laughter only intensifies your embarrassment, a vivid reminder of the scene you created at the gala. You find yourself wishing for the ground to open up and spare you from the aftermath of your emotional outburst. Why did you have to make such a spectacle?

Damn you and your relentless emotions. Now the whole world, or at least everyone at the gala, knows the depth of your disdain for Jimin, you assume. You bury your face in your hands, releasing a frustrated grunt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to create such a spectacle.”

Ara’s laughter rings out, much to your dismay, intensifying the furrow in your brow. You don’t see the humor; you’ve practically made a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

“Well, we all had a blast,” she laughs, a beautiful smile playing on her lips, “I’m sure Jimin is having a good laugh about it too.”

You roll your eyes once more, highly skeptical. After all, you called him so many terrible names, didn’t allow him a word in, and basically told him to stick it in his ass.

Wonderful. Great. Peachy. Words that utterly fail to capture the chaotic storm of emotions swirling within you at this very moment. The vivid memories of your passionate outburst yesterday haunt you, casting a shadow over any semblance of composure. There’s a lingering wish to escape the possibility of encountering Jimin and his girlfriend again, but deep down, you acknowledge that luck doesn’t favor you so generously.

You hastily slather butter onto your bread, devouring it in its pure simplicity. The imminent need to depart gnaws at you; the day awaits, beckoning you to gallop over to the Bell ranch, where the untamed spirits of the wild horses entwine with the shared endeavors of you and Yoongi.

“I have to go,” you declare, snatching the bread in your mouth, and dash outdoors toward the barn. The sun, now radiantly shining, bestows a sense of hope upon your day, propelling you forward with anticipation.

As you saddle up Marshmallow and guide him outdoors, a faint sound begins to patter on the roof—a soft, rhythmic reminder of the rain.

Out in the open, the rain embraces you in seconds, a relentless downpour that draws a scoff. Undeterred, you plant your foot in the stirrup and swing the other leg over, urging Marshmallow into a full gallop. The rain pelts your face, but you ride on, indifferent to the weather’s challenge.

As you ride, thoughts of Jimin’s expression at the gala linger in your mind. Despite his initial composure, his face betrayed offense and anger, as if restraining the urge to shout back. He stood there, his girlfriend by his side, absorbing every word you hurled at him. Regret tugs at you, but the words are irreversible, a turbulent exchange you can’t undo, even if you wished otherwise.

A yearning lingers within you, hoping that Jimin would have retorted, engaged in a verbal sparring, or at least defended himself. However, his silence echoes louder than any words, leaving you to ponder the significance of his unspoken response.

You sense that words were poised on the tip of Jimin’s tongue, ready to spill out, but a conscious decision to shield yourself from his potential revelations compelled you to shut down any communication before it began.

The peculiar weather paints a contradictory scene: raindrops cascade, yet the sun defiantly radiates its warmth, creating a surreal ambiance. In the midst of this meteorological paradox, a double rainbow graces the distant horizon. The sight, both enchanting and whimsical, elicits a genuine smile, urging you to spur Marshmallow into an even faster gallop. Each rhythmic beat of his hooves seems to synchronize with the cadence of your heart, a determined attempt to outride the persistent thoughts of Jimin that linger in your mind.

As the ranch emerges on the horizon, a welcoming sight after the turbulent events, you guide Marshmallow down to the pen where Yoongi and Hoseok eagerly await your arrival. Skillfully securing Marshmallow to the fence, you exchange greetings with the two men, the atmosphere pregnant with anticipation for the day’s tasks on the ranch.

Hoseok’s laughter greets you even before you utter a single word, prompting an eye roll from you in response.

As Yoongi dedicates himself to the fiery-red mare once more, you find your way to the fence, settling in next to Hoseok with a sense of camaraderie.

“Nice gala, huh?” Hoseok teases, raising his eyebrows in a way that suggests he’s well aware of the evening’s drama. You respond with a loud groan, wondering why people find the need to rub your failures in your face.

“Shit. I regret how I behaved. It’s so embarrassing,” you confess, closing your eyes as if wishing to erase yesterday from existence.

“I understand. But it was fun to watch,” he laughs heartily, his entire being pulsating with mirth.

You shift your gaze downward to Yoongi in the pen, “Have you noticed the herd of wild horses getting closer?”

Yoongi nods knowingly, “Yeah.”

You observe the mare’s lively movements before turning your attention back to Yoongi, “What do you think it means?”

Yoongi looks up from the mare, his expression serious, “Nothing good.”

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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#jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader #my heart's home series #reader: female #au: cowboy #au: ranch #au: soulmates #au: childhood friends #au: friends to lovers #au: slice of life #theme: summer #vibe: smutty #vibe: romcom #vibe: angst #vibe: fluffy

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theoldaeroplane · 2 months

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If, like me, you've wanted a place to blog, but hate all the services and don't have the time or energy to mess with Neocities and the like---

try blot.im.

I wanted a place to host my original writing, but I didn't want to use Tumblr. I didn't want to use fictionpress or ao3, etc, and I really didn't want to have to convert everything to html every time I wanted to share a 500 word thing about my OC of the moment with someone. Blot fills all those needs.

Blot turns a folder into a website. You can sync it using Dropbox, git, or Google drive. It's been around for years and it's well documented. It's almost unheard of, for some reason, which is a damn shame. It can take a little bit of fiddling to set up how you want, but once it's done it's done. I post all my writing as raw Markdown files, with the only tweaks being to add some metadata to the beginning. It updates almost instantly. I've been using it for a few months now, and it's been a really good experience. From what I can tell there is also no moratorium on using it to host (legal) nsfw content.

Blot costs $5 a month, but you can self-host it if that's in your wheelhouse. You get a subdomain.blot.im url by default, but you can also use your own. Mine is at heycorgi.com. The site is a little messy but you can see it functioning, and there's a lot if you Google for people's blot.im blogs.

I don't get anything out of spreading this, I don't have a referral code or anything. I just think it's a really good tool. (It would be cool if it got bigger, though, mostly with the hope that more resources and themes for it might arise. There's a startling lack of themes.)

Start a blog! Tell a friend!

#blogging #blog #writing #blot #tf do i tag this

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asoiafsworld · 2 years

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STAND BY ME.

pairing; aemond targaryen x original female character (alysanne velaryon)

summary; alysanne velaryon, jacaerys velaryon's twin sister and daughter to queen rhaenyra targaryen, has been betrothed to aemond targaryen since she was a little girl and has loved him since then too. king viserys dies however and war breaks out between their families. when alysanne learns of her brother's death caused by the man she loves, she does the only right thing.

warnings; hotd 1x10 spoilers, mentions of stillbirth, mentions and descriptions of self harm, major character death, very sad and painful, alysanne has bad anger issues, and she has psychopathic tendencies, my oc is really a emotional rollercoaster, blood, violence, revenge, sad ending

author's note; this fic is very painful to read at times so i just want to warn once more and its not all about her relationship with aemond, theres a lot of stuff about alysanne with her family too. i was going to make this a reader imagine but i felt that an oc would suit this more since its so angsty and gets pretty violent, i hope u guys still enjoy <3 jacaerys and alysanne are aged up here and are both only two years younger than aemond (jace and alysanne are 18, aemond is 20) and alysanne referrs to daemon as her father but hes not. also i imagine a young jodie comer as alysanne but u can imagine whoever u want! and everything that is written in cursive is a flashback an anything that is only in bold is alysanne's thoughts!! pls tell me what u guys think

masterlist

⊱ ───────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ───────── ⊰

"Shh! We need to be quiet!"

Aemond tried to look at her as sternly as possible but couldn't hold on to his giggle as she looked at him as apologetically and sweetly as she could. Before he could think any longer about how beautiful she looked as only the fire in the dungeons illuminated her face, he grabbed her hand and went further down the stairs to the underground room where the skull of Balerion the Black Dread was kept.

Alysanne gasped at the sight and was sure she had never seen a head this big from the dragons that lived still. She was small, a growing girl of four and ten and was definitely dwarfed even more as she stood in front of the skull of a creature that lived not too long ago.

"What a huge skull... He must have crushed people just by laying his head on them! Do you think Vhagar will be so big too one day?"

Aemond smiled at her and cupped her cheek with one hand, softly brushing his thumb over her temple.

"I know she will. And when she is that big, you will be in the skies with her, with me. Right by my side where you belong."

Alysanne smiled shyly, her cheeks red from how sweetly he was holding her and looking at her. She had liked Aemond for so long even though their families were so opposed to each other. To their luck, her grandfather, King Viserys announced on Aemond's eight nameday that they would be betrothed and no one else was delighted except the two of them. She remembered her mother pleading with her father to still wait and to not rush into betrothals and Queen Alicent had said the same but the King would hear none of it. He saw how the two of them spent most of their time with each other after all.

Aemond was closer to her now, his breath on her lips, his hand going from her cheek to holding the back of her head in place. His forehead found its place on hers and even though he had only one eye, it stared at her in intensity and adoration.

"You look beautiful like this... Just the fire that gives me a sight of your incredible, gorgeous face. How do I deserve a betrothed like you? Tell me, what Gods did I please for you to be mine?"

She blushed even more at his words, so sweet and unrelenting in making her see that she was the most beautiful woman that ever lived, in his eyes. She brought up her hand to his cheek, the one that bared his scar. She softly admired how brave it made him look, how it proved that he was the bravest warrior of them all with the scar to prove it.

"You deserve it by simply being you, Aemond. I am yours and you are mine and in due time, we will marry and it will be official. I will be yours as you are mine, now and always."

His heart clenched at her words and he pressed the softest of kisses on her lips, his touch as gentle as if he was holding a flower... His little flower, forever his.

Alysanne's heart feels as it's ripped apart in two. She is confused, she is angry, she is sad but does not know at what or whom. The gods are playing tricks on us, she thinks as she helps her mother in wrapping up her dead little sister. Cruel and selfish tricks.

It does not make sense to her, none of it. Her grandsire dies, the Greens crown a usurper and tell everyone a lie, that the King had wished for Aegon to be King in his last breath and Alysanne and her family sit at Dragonstone, unbeknownst of the horrors that were going on in the capital. She does not understand it, none of it. Does not understand why Aemond is letting them do this, letting them crown anyone else other than her mother... He could never marry Alysanne like this.

Her hands are covered in blood, in her dead sister's and mother's from the wrapping. She does not wish to wash it off, wants to keep it on her hands, fly to King's Landing at this moment and present her bloodied hands to the Queen Dowager and her father. Look at what you have done, she wants to scream. She wants to take the bundled up baby on the table and present it to them, make the bitch of a Queen look at it. Look at how you've killed my sister. My little Visenya.

"Alysanne." She hears her mother's voice clear up the fog of anger in her mind and wonders how many times she had called her already. The princess of eight and ten looks up at her mother and sees the grief and sorrow in her eyes but mostly concern. "My darling, do not let your anger take you over again, it is unneeded at this moment. Come, wash the blood of. We need to... do the burning."

"I do not wish to wash my blood off, mother. I want to smear it in her face and tell her that she deserves death for what she has done. Letting grandsire rot in his place for days before telling anyone he was even dead, killing my sister in cold blood and putting Aegon on the throne. She will pay for this... she will."

Rhaenyra knows she can say nothing to sway her mind at the moment, her only daughter's bloodlust and want for revenge mirroring something that Daemon would probably be proud of. She wonders when this happened, wonders when her own daughter became such a hardened woman, when the love she had for her family turned into protectiveness and when that turned into anger. No one except for Rhaenyra knows that everything Alysanne does is out of love for her family, not even Jacaerys who is the girl's own twin realizes this. She wonders if that anger will be reflected at Aemond too, the only person she holds any love for outside of her family. Alysanne has not uttered a single word of him ever since Rhaenys told them of what had happened.

Alysanne listens to her all the same because she could not be mad at her mother, the woman who loves her so much and lost everything. She may be a bloodthirsty, angry woman but she is still her mother's child, nothing changes that, ever. So she washes the blood off of herself, gets dressed in an all black dress and attends her sister's funeral. She stands next to her brothers and her face remains stone cold but a few tears slip past her cheeks as her sister's tiny, small body burns. She has to breathe in and out through her nose to control her emotions from overboiling and does not know what would happen if she could not control herself.

They stole my mother's crown and her throne. They stole her and my brother's birthright. They stole me of my sweet sister... And for that, the Hightowers will burn, she thinks. Otto, Alicent, Aegon. Otto, Alicent, Aegon. Otto, Alicent, Aegon.

She repeats their names in her head. She would not kill Helaena, the sister wife of the usurper had done no harm to her or her family, just like Aegon's children.

She does not think of Aemond, of what will happen to him, of what she will do about him... or what her father will do to him. She wonders if he's trying to find an excuse in his head for betraying her like this, if he tells himself that him and his brother will make sure her family will be gone before long and force her to marry him... But that is not Aemond's way.

She can not think of Aemond. She does not want to think of Aemond. She still loves Aemond.

They stood on opposing sides of the throne room, so close yet so far away. Aemond studied her closely, how much taller she had grown, how her beauty could not match that of a single lady in the Seven Kingdoms. The sun was she to him, feeling as if he could stand and live with her in his presence. The air was she to him, needing her to breathe and to calm himself down when his mind was plagued by his demons once more. Life was she to him, something worth fighting for and the sole reason he put up with her rather annoying family.

Alysanne could tell that her betrothed had eyes for no one but her, he was not listening to the Hand when he sat the throne, nor did he look away from her when the King marched up to his throne and settled matters. She only stole a few glances at him but had to hide her smile at the way he did not stop staring at her all the same. To him, none of what was happening mattered... He only cared about meeting his lovely betrothed again.

To her however, it was not so unimportant. Her brother's legitimacy was being questioned and ever since the accident at Driftmark where her brother had taken her betrothed's eye, tensions were as high as ever between the two families. She remembered that night, when she was called upon from her bed and had to look at her brothers' bloodied faces and wondered how foolish they could have been to do something like that. If she thought back on it, it was probably the moment that made her into the cold, hardened woman that she became over the years, realizing that no one but her family would be there for her, care for her and protect her... and she strived to do the same for them.

Aemond only ripped his eyes away from her when Daemon sliced Dark Sister through Vaemond, a move that shocked most people in the throne room. She was glad to see him gone and dead for calling her brothers bastards and her mother a whore... he deserved it.

Everyone in the throne room left as the matter was settled. Lucerys would inherit Driftmark as was his birthright and the young princess was glad of it because she would not have the Hightower snakes get their way, no matter what it was.

She had been told that the King had requested a dinner with the entire family and she wondered how well that would pass but Alysanne got ready for it nonetheless. She wore a beautiful black and red gown, accentuated with the dragon sigil of her mother's house that she had always been proud of. After the handmaidens had left, there was a knock on the door and when she turned around, it was Aemond entering through the door.

She looked at him with wide eyes and walked up to him, pulling him into the room by his arm and closing the doors before anyone else could see him. Her mind was reeling from where she had touched Aemond's skin and she hoped that the effect he had on her was not so apparent to him as she turned around. But Aemond clearly did not care for not showing his feelings as he caged her against the door, so close to her again like the first and last time they kissed. His hand came up to hold her chin and made her look up at him and oh, how the touch burned under his gentle fingers.

"Tell me, my little flower, has anything changed between us?" Alysanne knew that he did not wish to show his insecurity to her but it was reflected in his voice all the same, sounding scared of her feelings not being the same as they were before. She knew that he still very clearly felt just like four years ago when they had last seen each other, his love just as she always knew it... Resistant, powerful and undying.

"Well, I have changed in the years since we last met. I am a woman grown now, did you know? My nameday was a few moons ago. I have grown colder, harder and stronger in every way. It may be that even my heart has turned to ice for I do not wish for anyone in my company except the people I love." Alysanne leaned closer to him, their lips almost touching, the distance between them able to be closed in less than a second.

"But whatever part of my heart holds it's love for you has clearly not turned into ice... because I look at you and see you standing in front of me so closely, see you looking at me like you'll never love someone like you'll love me. And I realize that yes, I do love you still, have loved you for so many years and might never love anyone else except for you. I do not believe I could ever be with another man."

Aemond did not show it but she saw the relief take over his body, his shoulders releasing it's tension and he sighed deeply, closed his eye and leaned his forehead against hers. She placed a small, featherlight kiss on his lips and furrowed her eyebrows at how little it did to satisfy her. She tried to press her lips to his again but he held her back with a thumb on her lips and his eye opened again, looking at her with hunger and resistance.

"I wish to kiss you until you are breathless and beg me for more but we can not, my love. If we do, I could not stop and control myself from doing something so sinful that would have our mothers marry us swiftly in the sept tomorrow. Which of course, I would not oppose to but I shall not risk things with you. I want to do it properly, have a feast for us and have everyone in Westeros celebrate our union. With you, I will do things right. You deserve no less, my dragon."

Alysanne hated how her heart swelled at his words, hated how he spoke so gently and softly with her like he had when they were children. When she was a different woman, a girl still, she would have embraced and loved the way he made her feel and how he confessed his love for her and his wish to marry. But as it was, Alysanne was a changed woman and hated that she had so long ago fallen for a man that she was supposed to hate... One day, war would break out and they would be on opposite sides.

She did not have to think about it much longer as Aemond had to leave to get ready for the dinner himself. He pressed a small kiss to her lips that stirred things in her heart that she could not explain, a turmoil of emotions in her heart and mind after every word and every kiss of his lips. She composed herself and decided to visit her sickly grandsire since he had asked her to come see him before they would have dinner when she was there with her mother, father and siblings this morning.

Alysanne always had a special bond with King Viserys. It was widely known that Rhaenyra was his favorite child and that he loved her very dearly and therefore loved her grandchildren as well. When he held Jacaerys and Alysanne for the first time in his arms, he cried and blessed them both, her mother had told her. When she was a child and still lived in the Red Keep, she had often played with him, let him help her learn to read and write. It pained her to see him so weak and in pain but she would still go to see him, simply because she loved him so dearly.

She entered his chambers just as he had seemingly gotten ready dressing with the help of maids and servants. He seemed clearer in his state of mind than he was before, a crooked smile on his lips as he saw her entering. The maids and servants left them and Alysanne sat down next to her grandsire in front of the fire place. He looked at her lovingly and gently grabbed her hand, his grip weak but still full of adoration for his oldest granddaughter.

"My dearest Alysanne, my pride and joy. I know they say that we should not pick favorites, in children or grandchildren... but I think you know that I have loved you so much since you were placed in my arms, as if it was Rhaenyra put in my arms all over again. Because I love you so dearly, I need to ask you this and want to give you a choice, something that I sadly could not do for Rhaenyra."

The King spoke slowly but he still commanded presence even in his weakly state. Alysanne wanted to cry at how he looked, so breakable and ill, as if he could die at this very moment but she continued to listen to him attentively. He looked up with the one eye that was visible and she saw all the love he held for her, just like when she was a little girl.

"Alysanne, please be truthful when you answer me this. Do you love Aemond?"

Alysanne's breath hitched at the question and she felt a lump so heavy in her throat that the words would not come out at first. She knew that the only reason for his question was to possibly confirm a future marriage and maybe even set a loose date for a wedding and knew that if she said no, her grandfather would not hesitate in calling the marriage off. It was his hope for Alysanne to marry Aemond so that an inevitable conflict in the future could be avoided... besides that, Aemond had demanded since Alysanne's most recent nameday to plan the wedding. She knew that if she said no, her parents and brothers would be more than pleased and happy about it. She knew that if she said no, she could avoid having to live with the awful, other side of her family. She knew that if she said no, she would avoid the inner turmoil inside her that told her that she could not love, that she was too cold and unloving for marriage.

"Yes."

Alysanne knew of the dangers that would come if she said yes. She did it anyway.

Alysanne had claimed the Cannibal at the mere age of four and ten to everyone's great surprise. When her, Jace and her younger siblings were born, they had all received dragon eggs from Syrax as their mother wanted her children to have a lifelong bond with their dragons as well. Jace, Luke and Joffrey's eggs all hatched and all three of them, respectively, had Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes as their bonded dragons. Alysanne's egg however had turned into stone when she was still a babe and in that entire time, Syrax did not hatch more eggs for the young princess to claim.

To be truthful, Alysanne did not care much for having a dragon. The bond and the care for a dragon was not something she deemed herself to have and having three brothers who rode dragons was surely enough in the family. However, after the incident at Driftmark, Alysanne changed her mind about it. She loved Aemond back then, knew he would not hurt her but him having Vhagar would make things difficult for her in the future, she knew that.

She had thought about claiming Sea Smoke whilst she was still at Driftmark then but knew that she needed a dragon that would match Vhagar not just in fiercness but in size. So when she was back at Dragonstone, she tried her luck first with Silverwing, the dragon that ironically belonged to her namesake once before and followed the advice of the Dragonkeepers at Dragonstone. Alysanne had tried to claim her in a duration of many moons but the Dragonkeepers deemed it a hopeless cause. She tried Vermithor next, the largest unclaimed dragon that had been ridden before by the Old King, Jaehaerys I. She tried to claim him for almost a year, sang to him in Valyrian as he liked it, didn't show her fear in front of him. The Dragonkeepers decided to observe her the last time that she went to tell her what she was doing wrong.

"You are too fierce for them, my princess. Dragons can feel our emotions, our feelings and our true ambitions and they bond with whoever they match best with. And I'm sorry to say it, my princess but you are simply too angry for them, even for Vermithor."

She was frustrated at that and wondered how she was ever supposed to have a dragon when she remembered the three wild dragons that still resided on Dragonstone that were never claimed by anyone. Surely, I must be angry enough for them, she thinks. One of them has to be as hateful and angry as me.

The first two wild dragons that she came across in the more abandoned areas of Dragonstone, Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer fled her as soon as she came closer, there was no real chance at getting close to them which disappointed her greatly. She was in all seriousness not considering to approach the Cannibal so she just wanted to leave the dragon be that was feasting on a poor animal just in her line of sight. The beast however had other plans for her, letting off of the dead animal and focusing on her and coming closer at a speed that she did not expect. He stopped right in front of her and his eyes studied her closely, circling her from left to right as if asessing if she was worth to be eaten. She was not scared however and only looked him in his eyes bravely. After a few more minutes, he stopped and gave her a nudge with its big head. From that day on, she understood what was meant with that bond, knew that he had assessed her and let her claim him because she matched his anger

The Cannibal was overall the second largest dragon that still lived but the size difference between this dragon and Vhagar was so small that most people assumed that they were the same size. Besides, the Cannibal was suprisingly quick, in the sky and on the ground which was an advantage against Vhagar who, due to her oldness, had become rather slow.

Neverthless, it was a miracle that the beast had accepted Alysanne as it's first ever rider, Alysanne, who was only four and ten and still a tiny girl, rode the second largest dragon in the world and a wild dragon at that, the first one to tame it. She was of course scolded greatly for it by her mother but Daemon could only look at her proudly.

It was ironic, really. Alysanne was scolded all night by her mother who kept asking her why she did it, why she was so obsessed with having a dragon, one that was impossible to claim and terrifying as well. To prepare for war, she thought. To prepare for a war to defend you and my family. A war I have been preparing for since I was a child.

Holding council is truly a dreadful thing. Counting out who would support their side, who would hold honor their oaths given to her mother many years ago and which dragons could fight for their side.

"My prince, we may be in the lead with dragons but Prince Aemond still possesses the largest dragon alive. It will be a hard task to defeat Vhagar." The other lords around the table seem to agree and she cuts Daemon off before he can reply.

"Leave Vhagar to me, my lord. I'm sure that me and Cannibal can handle her." The table falls into silence at that and she sees from the corners of her eye that her mother and father are not agreed on that statement. The silence is interrupted by Ser Erryk who informs the council that a ship from the Greens had been seen on the shores and the council room is quickly cleared, leaving only Alysanne, Jace and Luke in the room.

She continues to assess the table and what allies they have when Luke places his hand on hers on the table. She looks over at him and sees that he looks concerned for her, his hand soft and warm on hers and so small. She pulls her hand out and places it on top of his, softly brushing her thumb over his. Sadly, her change in personality had also affected her relationships with her brothers. She spent so much time training Cannibal for possible fights with other dragons and herself spent more time into training with a sword as well. Still, she never acts cold towards them, never lashes her anger out at them because she lives for them and for the affection and love she receives from them. Luke still looks concerned but doesn't voice his worries. Instead, Jace does.

"Alysanne... If you mean to 'take care' of Vhagar, you mean to kill her... But for that, you will need to kill Aemond too."

She knew that it was exactly what all the lords around the table had questioned because Aemond's affections and love for his long time betrothed were so well known by everyone in the realm. She sighs deeply and knows deep down in her heart that it rebels at the thought of having to kill her one true love, the one man she loves. She hides her turmoil and problems under a practiced mask and puts on a smile that fools Luke and almost would have fooled Jacaerys. She softly grabs his hand and holds it tightly, needing to feel her twins' presence next to her.

"Don't worry about me, brothers. We aren't officially at war yet but when it comes to it, I will do what I must to defend us and to fight for our mother's and your birthright."

"I may not live for much longer... but I wish for one last thing before I might leave this earth forever." The King looks at Aemond and then at Alysanne at the dinner table with something that she assumed was a smile on his face. She realized then that this was it, that she had sealed her fate forever with the words she had uttered just hours ago in his chambers... She just didn't know that it would happen so soon.

"To mend the estrangement between our families, I have decided that Prince Aemond and Princess Alysanne shall be married to each other swiftly and soon, possibly after Rhaenyra gives birth. Then, we will celebrate the biggest wedding the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen. Then the gods can happily take me away."

The news of the wedding was a shock for everyone at the table and Alysanne swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat for she could feel the stares from both sides. Pretty much everyone either forgot the betrothal or opted to ignore it, knowing it still existed but not truly thinking of what would further happen with it. So to hear the King's words made both of her parents look at her in confusion and shock and Jace was almost uncontrollable with anger, wanting to punch the one eyed Prince right in his face. Before anything further could escalate, Aemond stood up with his cup in his hand, looking right at Alysanne who only had her cold gaze on the table.

"I wish to toast to my betrothed and soon enough, my wife. It has been twelve years since we were engaged and throughout our shared youth, you didn't fail to make me fall in love with you. Every time that I have seen you since only further proves that my love for you never dwindled or disappeared but simply resurfaced when I saw your evergrowing beauty through the years. I have loved you for years and will continue to love you until my dying breath. To You, my love."

Even though Alysanne felt sick at the looks that her family was giving her, she still had a tiny smile on her face and looked at Aemond lovingly, unable to hold her stoic, cold expression any longer. He smiled at her, genuinely and she wished he didn't.

Nothing in this world was more difficult for Alysanne than loving Aemond Targaryen.

Her father is furious as he comes back from their meeting with Otto Hightower, her mother as unreadable as ever. Alysanne thinks it was a good idea that she did not come for she would have ripped him apart, whether her mother commanded otherwise or not. The Council is only reconvened for a few moments before everyone is told to leave the room except for Alysanne, Jacaerys and Lucerys. The oldest daughter watches Daemon walk up and down the fireplace as he thinks hard about something she does not know. Her mother is across from her on the other side of the table, her brothers are next to her.

"Otto Hightower also mentioned your promised betrothal to Aemond. He said that we should go through with it and that it would mend the drift between our families and prevent war."

Alysanne's mind reels as she thinks about those words and wonders if a simple marriage between a second son and an eldest daughter would really mend anything... her mind immediately answers her, clear and aggressive. She does not believe she can marry Aemond with how he had betrayed her. Suddenly, Daemon turns around and looks at Alysanne, almost menacingly.

"If you had never said a single word to my brother no one would care for this stupid betrothal anymore. But you had to go through with it, didn't you? Why, because you love Aemond so much? Because you wanted to be with him? I am happy to know that you never will. You were stupid to think that you could ever marry him when you know the positions our families stand at. I don't know if you even care about your family when you were willing to marry your own enemy."

His fury is one that she had not ever seen directed at her and his words sting, just like he wants them to. Daemon has been a father to Alysanne ever since he had married her mother and he had never said anything so vile and hurtful to her. Her mother looks at him in a certain way that is silently trying to tell him to stop, to tone it down but he does not listen and keeps staring at her with anger that makes her furious in return.

"Yes, I know it was stupid, of course I knew! I knew what could happen, what the dangers were to wanting to marry him but believe it or not, at some point, I did love him. It was stupid and I let him love me and that was even stupider. But don't ever tell me that I do not care for this family, Daemon. Do not act as if that is true when you know it isn't."

"How would I know? You can not even outright say that you will kill him when you eventually face him and Vhagar with Cannibal! No, I do not believe you care for your family, Alysanne, not with the way you behave."

She sees her mother's mouth form words, something that looks like she's saying stop but it is too late for Alysanne is as angry and mad as anyone could ever be. She's hurt, she's sad, she's furious. In this moment, she feels like driving a sword through Daemon's chest.

"You liar! I have always cared for my family! Every single moment of my life, I have wanted to protect my family! Ever since Aemond lost his eye at Driftmark I have known and understood the consequences of the separation between our families. Why do you think I wanted a dragon the moment we got back? Why do you think I spent two years trying to claim and bond to dragons? Why do you think that, out of all the wild dragons, I claimed Cannibal? Because I knew none of the other ones stood a chance against Vhagar! Why do you think I have been obsessed with learning how to fight with a sword? Why do you think I always worry about where my brothers and sisters are? Because I have been preparing for this war since I was a child! I have been scared of it, of what would happen to my family and about what would happen to Aemond, yes, I worried over him because I love him. But don't ever tell me that I do not care for my family when I know deep down in my heart that I would kill Aemond the moment I get my hands on him. Don't ever make assumptions and accusations like that ever again, Daemon."

Alysanne is screaming at him in fury and her hands are shaking from how angry she feels. She starts crying at some point too but she does not care and later on realizes that confessing all her insecurities and worries to her family is an awful thing. Her grip on the table makes her feel like it will break apart soon and she feels like she will break apart in a similar way. She knows her brothers are staring at her in shock next to her, her mother looks at her with concern and her father remains unreadable. Before anything else can be said, she storms away from the painted table and out of the room, furiously wiping her tears away as if they were poison to her.

She hears her mother calling after her but no one follows her which she deems as good. It's good, she should be alone. She loves to be alone. She needs to be alone. She does not want to be alone.

Anger and sadness rage inside her in a tandem and she keeps having to stop herself from throwing a punch at the wall just so she would be rid of this agonizing feeling. She hears a distant roar that echoes out, Cannibal feeling her emotions through the bond and most likely trying to pick a fight with one of the other dragons now. With this fury inside her and Cannibal, she thinks she could burn King's Landing down at this very moment.

She walks back to her chambers quickly to prevent herself from actually going to Cannibal's nest and take off with him. Once she is inside her room, she practices the calming breathing techniques that the Maestar had taught her. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

She feels like it works although she is never so sure because her rage never truly leaves her, only retreats and waits to come back in the worst possible times. She walks around in her room, closing her eyes and wills herself to be normal, be normal, be fucking normal.

She hears the door open behind her and it's Jace. She does not say anything as he comes closer to her and stops right in front of her, his face etched in concern and love. She wonders what he possibly could love about her. He closes the distance between them and takes her in his arms, holding her close and hugging her tightly like he used to when they were small. She hugs him back and wonders how long it has been since she hugged her own twin because her heart aches at how much she missed this. Her face is buried in his neck and she smells his scent on him, undeniably her twin. She wishes she would cry in his arms and tell him that she's sorry but she doesn't.

He breaks away from their hug and stares into her eyes. She wonders if he can see how broken she truly is, how incredibly awful and terrible she is at her core but she does not think of it, not now. Maybe in the dead of the night under the covers when she can cry herself to sleep. She takes Jacaerys's face into her hands and hopes to make him understand how she feels.

"Everything I have done... Claiming Cannibal, learning how to fight, closing myself off to anyone who is not my family... I have done this for mother and for her birthright because I knew that someday, we would go to war and have to fight for it and we have arrived at that day. But I want you to know that by extension, I do not only do this for mother but for you too. I believe in you, Jacaerys. Your reign over the Kingdom will be peaceful and good because you are a kind man and have learned all your life how to rule, unlike Aegon. I will breathe, live and die to put mother and you on the Iron Throne. I swear by this, nothing will ever change that, not even Aemond."

Alysanne sees his eyes gather with tears and she wonders if her brother knows that she would really do anything for him to have his birthright, which was promised to him all his life. His hands hold her wrists and his tears fall as if a waterfall had opened and she tries to control her emotions so she won't cry. He is taller than her but she goes up on her toes and plants a soft kiss on his forehead and wipes the tears from his face. She holds onto him so dearly, so tightly because she's scared of losing him, scared of what will happen during the war. People die so quickly and easily and her heart aches at the thought of having to lose a single person in her family... Mother, Father, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon, Viserys. Nothing can happen to them. Nothing, not ever.

"I will make sure you will sit on the throne after our mother, trust this, Jace. I will forever be by your side."

"I know you are worried about our families but please, set it aside for now. I just want to be with you and not worry about their stupid problems for once."

Alysanne continued to stare into the fireplace, hoping for an answer to her worries and fears. She basked in the closeness she was enjoying with Aemond, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, leaning onto him. She played with the string of his shirt as she contemplated on anything and everything, whatever that was.

"The reason I worry is because they hate each other. I don't know how this will work out... But at least it is set in stone now. Only a few moons until we are to be married... It doesn't feel real."

His hand was so gentle as it went through her hair, so loving and caring, attributes that no one would ever think of Aemond. No one but Alysanne. She wondered if she was cursed for it in the end, if her love for Aemond would be ill-placed and she wanted to forget about it just now. She was in the arms of the man she loved, a man she maybe should not be marrying but she could worry about that later. She broke herself away from her cozy place only to sit on his lap, her legs on either side of his body and she looked at him with nothing but love. He looked down at where Alysanne was sitting on his thigh and looked back up again, the smallest smile on his lips.

Alysanne reached up and took the eyepatch off to reveal the beautiful blue sapphire that was in the place of his eye. She brushed over his scarred cheek and studied his hidden eye closely, Aemond was not phased by this in any way. He liked that Alysanne did not feel uncomfortable about seeing him without the eyepatch and his heart clenched once more at how carefully she was touching him. She was everything to him, his beautiful Alysanne, his perfect girl, the sun to his moon. He wished to have her in his arms forever like this. She studied the years old scar as if it would rip open and tell her all of Aemond's secrets and thoughts.

"Don't worry. I'll get back at your brother for this one day."

She glared at him but didn't say anything since he laughed right after and it made her heart skip. He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and held one side of her face with his hand. He knew that many thought of her as a brute, cold woman but she was never like that to him, always so soft and gentle and he wished he could keep her right here forever, in his arms, until the world crashed and burned around them.

He knew it would not bother them. They would be happy together, for the rest of their days.

Alysanne hates it, she lets everyone know by making a show of protesting it. She tells her mother that it's foolish to send Jacaerys and Lucerys away to be messengers, that the ravens would be enough, that she could go to the Vale, Winterfell and Storm's End to deliver the messages on Cannibal. Her mother immediately renounces that idea, telling her that sending Cannibal and her would send the wrong message to these lords. She would remain at Dragonstone with her and father to continue plans and be present at the council.

The nervousness strikes her, her worry for her brothers immense and unrelenting. She stands by their dragons as they swear to not act as warriors on their journeys but as messengers. Alysanne knows they will be fine because they have to be. They have no other choice but to come back to her safe and sound.

They leave mother with one last hug and approach her now as they are about to fly off. She is clearly worried and nervous as they come closer and Jace is the first to hug her, holding her close just like last time. She closes her eyes at how familiar it feels to be held by him and presses him close. She leaves a small kiss on his cheek before they part and she holds onto his shoulders, wondering if she can keep him here if she holds on strongly enough. He sees the worry in his twin's eyes and squeezes her shoulder.

"I will come back, sister, do not worry."

Alysanne thinks he's foolish for telling her not to worry but lets him leap onto Vermax either way. She is then faced with Luke who looks up at her with wide, scared eyes from the nest of brown locks on his head. Alysanne's heart hurts at how small he looks and she wants to pick him up like she used to when they were younger and hide him in the castle, wrap him in a blanket and never let him see the horrors of the world. He is almost as tall as her and it frightens her that her younger brother is growing up so quickly. She never gave him permission for that. She cups his small face in her hands and wants to cry at how much more it dwarfs him, so small and yet so brave to fly to Storm's End all on his own.

"My little brother, I'll miss you but you'll be back in no time anyway. Either way, be careful. I wish I could go instead but maybe I can secretly follow after you on Cannibal."

Luke lets out a small laugh at that and smiles at her, his nervousness not so bad now. "I think mother would kill you if you did."

Alysanne smiles at that too and agrees. She ruffles his pretty locks and leans down to be closer to him and kisses his forehead as gently as ever. He had always loved when his elder sister was sweet to him, always felt safe and secure with her. Luke then turns to approach his dragon but comes running back just a few seconds later and hugs Alysanne tightly.

"Don't blame yourself for Aemond. It's alright for you to love him, you can't choose over it but please don't blame yourself, sister. I know what you have done for us and I'm happy that you're my sister and protect me from everything. I love you, Alysanne."

The princess is startled by his words but she smiles at them nonetheless, her heart bursting at how sweet her brother is. Her smart boy, her little Luke.

"I love you too, sweet boy. Don't worry about me, you make sure that you come back safely to me."

My dearest Alysanne,

it has been only a day since you left but I miss you so terribly already. I hope you arrive safely at Dragonstone and think of me as much as I think of you. Soon we will be wed and everyone will see that we are bound and meant to be together, in the eyes of god and men.

It almost pains me physically to not have you by my side now, to hold you close to me and to let you see me as I am. There is no one in the Seven Kingdoms that I have ever met that has made me feel like you do. There is no one in the Known World, living or dead, that will ever enthrall me like you. I could not explain it, can not tell you why I love you so much, just that I do. I am yours and you are mine until the end of our days. I wish to get on Vhagar and fly after you and Cannibal to Dragonstone just so I can be with you, hold your hands, your face, tell you that my heart desires no one but you and that you will forever have me trapped, that I chase you like the moon chases the sun, forever.

I hope to meet up at our spot soon. The little island will always be there and I will be there too, waiting for you.

I love you. Now and always.

Forever yours, Aemond

She hates him. Now and always.

She doesn't believe it when she's told, only shakes her head when her mother comes into her room, tears all over her face. She tells him that Lucerys had died, attacked by another dragon. Her mother is silent when Alysanne asks which dragon and who it was. Did it matter? She does not believe her anyway because it's not true. Lucerys is still alive, just on his way back from Storm's End.

She's completely still as her mother tells her that it was Vhagar who had attacked and killed him. She doesn't move, doesn't breathe, doesn't see anything but red. She did not believe it because who would hurt her Luke like this? Who? Her sweet little brother who was only a child, a little boy still so young and unaware of the horrors of war. But now she believes it because she sees the way her mother continues to sob and cry.

Alysanne believes it now.

I'll get back at your brother for this one day.

A loud dragon roar is heard outside, Cannibal is so loud that it almost deafens her. It must have been heard to King's Landing.

Good, she thinks. Let them hear the roar of a dragon.

She wants to throw the chair she leans on at the wall, wants to take her sword and break her bed with it, wants to scream and pull her hair and bash her head on the ground and punch herself and punch her fist at the wall until it breaks-

She feels arms envelop her and it's her mother that had been crying so bitterly at the loss of her son, holding her close, so close because she's scared of losing her. Alysanne's mind swallows her anger automatically with her mother so close in her vicinity. She can not be violent towards her mother, she would rather die. Maybe her mother senses that she's feeling awful and that she wants to hurt herself to make the pain go away and hugs her so she won't. Alysanne doesn't know. She holds onto her mother either way, like a child she wails in her arms and screams for him. She screams for Lucerys to come back, she doesn't understand why he's not coming and running to her at her distress, doesn't understand that the little brother she held in her arms and kissed on his forehead just hours ago was dead.

The Gods play tricks on her indeed.

Her mother leaves her alone a little while later at her request and Alysanne goes to Lucerys' room because maybe he'll be hiding somewhere, waiting for Alysanne to find him. She looks around the room and wonders how it can suddenly feel so empty, so void as if no one lived here anymore. She takes a few more steps into the room, looks at the strewn and messy books on his study table and remembers that she told him once to keep his mess organized. He never listened to her.

He'll never listen to her ever again.

Her eyes go over his bed and she spots a small plush toy that she knows all too well. She approaches the bed and takes it in her hands, almost feeling like it will dissolve when she picks it up. She had made it for him, years ago when she still had lessons with a septa, she learned how to make these small plush toys. When she was young, she had made one for each of her brothers and made them look like their dragons. She sits there with a toy version of Arrax and her heart hurts, screams, burns like a wildfire. Their bodies are gone, she realizes. Lucerys and Arrax are both lost somewhere in the sea. They can not even be burned.

Another loud, angry roar is heard from Cannibal. She's never heard him sound this angry.

She's never been this angry.

She puts the plush toy back and swiftly walks out of the room, her face stone cold as she marches to her room. All she takes is her sword and small dagger, nothing to protect her from the cold.

Good, she thinks. I shall feel what Lucerys felt when he died. Cold, scared and frightened.

She passes guards as she makes her way outside but they pay her no mind and pass by her quickly because they are scared of Cannibal's roars and know that he is only so loud because of her anger. Her dragon is already perched right outside of the gates. He looks as black and dreadful and menacing as ever, his roars still sounding all over Dragonstone. The guards that stand outside are terrified, not willing to get any closer to him but Alysanne does not care. She approaches him and climbs onto his back, the huge dragon is not at all phased by this.

As soon as she is in her saddle the dragon shouts out another menacing roar and takes off, not having to listen to his rider's orders. Alysanne believes he can read her mind and knows where to go without her having to say anything. She loves him for it.

It's a short flight to the island that they called theirs, somewhere in the middle in between King's Landing and Dragonstone. It was just large enough for Vhagar and Cannibal to reside on and for Aemond and Alysanne to have time for themselves when they could.

Yes, she thinks. We'll be by ourselves with no one to hear his or Vhagar's screams and roars.

She does not know for sure if he is there but behold the gods, he is. She spots the large dragon figure on the island and a figure of white long hair in black clothes sitting on the beach. His head is downcast when she comes closer but he does not raise his head even though Cannibal is more than loud. He lands her a safe distance away from Vhagar, the older dragon staying at her spot with her snout next to Aemond. Alysanne gets off of Cannibal and approaches Aemond who is crying into his hands. She doesn't concern herself with it, only pulls her sword out towards him and the sound of the metal finally makes him turn his head. He looks horrified at who's standing in front of him but Alysanne remains cold, stoic, hard. His tear streaked face and his tired, sorrowful expression do not hurt her.

He is frantic to come closer and she lets him but only until the tip of her sword touches his chest. He looks at her beggingly but she only shakes her head. He feels cold and awful at the empty eyes she's looking at him with and it seems to terrify him that she held no love for him in her eyes. Before he can say anything, she cuts him off.

"I thought about killing Aegon first, you know? An eye for an eye, a brother for a brother. That's what all this was about after all. But then I realized that you do not love Aegon nearly as much as I love Lucerys. In fact, if I killed him, you would be better off since the crown would fall to you, his children are still so little after all. Then I thought and thought about whose death would pain you as much as Luke's pains me... That's why I thought of killing myself in front of you."

Aemond looks horrified at her words and does not believe that this is really his Alysanne. He had never, ever felt any of the anger or animosity she held inside of her directed to him so this hurts him deeply, cuts his heart in half so painfully. He shakes his head at her word and falls on his knees, powerless and defeated by the murder he had done and by the hatred of the woman he loves.

"Please, Alysanne, I beg you, do not hurt yourself. Please, I'm sorry, I swear it was an accident. I lost control of Vhagar, I didn't mean to do it! I never wanted to kill him, I just wanted his eye! Please, you have to believe me, please, I will do anything for you, please don't hate me."

Aemond sobs and cries like she did earlier and it satisfies her to know that he is in pain. She does not think that he deserves to cry like this just because she wants to hurt him. She lost a brother, he only lost his love. Unfortunately however, she still loves him and a small part of her is in pain at seeing him so distraught and hysterical. She wants to hold him, comfort him, hug him...

And then she remembers that Luke is dead. And all those feelings are gone immediately.

"Don't worry, I won't kill myself. I still have a war to win, a mother to put on a throne, a birthright to restore for my brother. My family needs me and Cannibal so no, I can not give myself the pleasure of killing myself for your misery." Alysanne then smiles, a tiny smile but it is so scaring and horrifying that Aemond shivers from where he's looking up to her.

"But I'm happy that you mention Vhagar. I was going to kill her anyway for killing Luke and Arrax but now, I want you to watch her die. I want you to watch me take away the one only thing that has ever given you power in your life and want you to feel what it's like to lose everything."

Aemond only looks at her in disbelief and horror and watches as if he is trapped in his body as Alysanne commands for Cannibal to attack and kill. Vhagar is still lazily lying there, clearly exhausted from the turmoil of emotions her rider is feeling. Because of this, she is weak and her already old state makes her slow to move. It's almost funny that Cannibal is almost as old as her but so much quicker and more brutal. Even Aemond had once admitted that Cannibal was a better war dragon than Vhagar, simply because he was large but because of his long body, still quick to move. Besides, wild dragons are truly ruthless creatures, taking whatever they want and being used to much more brutally by themselves and without a rider.

Alysanne smiles as Cannibal bites the old dragon's tail and simply rips it off, tossing it on the beach next to him, never one to waste his food. Vhagar roars out but it's weak, lame and it takes a long time for her to move, so long that Cannibal is already bursting his massive fire at the old creature. The pain from the fire only makes it worse for the she-dragon and just as Vhagar is about to attack and spew fire of her own, Cannibal grips his teeth around her neck. They struggle back and forth for a few seconds and Alysanne sees the blood drip from Vhagar's neck. Eventually, Cannibal bites all around her neck completely and the dragon's head slices slowly to the ground, making a wet, disgusting sound as it lands on the sand. The huge body of the dragon sacks down in itself and Cannibal begins to feast on her carcass. He will have plenty of food for at least a week.

Alysanne turns back to Aemond who had just watched in horror this whole time, did not say a single word or command Vhagar to attack back. His mouth is open in shock and tears fall down his face as he watches Cannibal feast on his dragon. This is what it feels like, Alysanne thinks. You should feel even more.

Aemond turns back to her and his expression is unchanged, only shock and disbelief in his eyes. She only holds her sword up and points it at his chest once again. She doesn't know how stupid he is but clearly, he is very stupid because he makes no move to get away or attack her. She hardens the grip on her handle and holds the sword right where his heart is. She looks down on his chest and then back up again into his eye. She reaches forward and rips his eyepatch off in anger. Her expression is just as cold as before but her heart beats in fear now and she does not know if she can bring herself to slice it into his chest.

For him, she thinks. For Luke. Your little Luke who only ever wanted to be held by you and talk to you about his worries over ruling one day. Luke who only ever wanted to know that he was loved. Luke who did not wish to go, did not wish to fly into a trap to his own death.

Her inner demons make the decision for her and she pushes the sword in with all her strength and feels it go through his skin, his blood spilling out like a fountain. She doesn't stop pushing in until she feels the sword come out at the other end and only then does she rip it out. The blood flows out even more and Aemond doesn't scream at the pain, only holds his chest in shock and falls backwards on the sand onto his back. Alysanne throws her sword to the side and pulls out the dagger as she falls to her knees next to his body. He looks at her, has been looking at her this whole time and still does not say anything, does not attack her or tell her to stop. He has accepted his demise, so it seems.

His blood covered hand from his chest reaches up with all the strength he has left and he touches her cheek, so softly and gently. Alysanne is crying now and can not hold her emotions at bay anymore as she feels his warm, almost hot blood cover her cheek. He wipes away her tears and she drops the dagger that she had planned to take his eye out with as he cries too but strangely, there's a smile on his face. She leans down now and lies next to him, half her body on his as she continues to cry over her lost love. She puts one hand on his where it's holding his wound and smiles back at him. She feels happiness but sadness, sorrow and relief, darkness and light all at the same time. She sees how much harder it gets for him to breathe and the blood continues to come out of his chest, staining her dress but she doesn't care.

"Will you... come back here? Sometimes, just to remember me? When you have found... someone else you will love and be with and marry, will you still.. remember me?"

He talks slowly and his voice is almost at a whisper, taking breaths in between his words and Alysanne cries and cries and cries. She sobs for him and at what she had to do and asks why in hell he had to kill her brother but she nods all the same, can not let go of her first and only real love she ever had. Her heart feels just like Aemond's wound, bleeding and pierced with a sword and she leans her head on his, her tears falling on his face and mixing with his tears.

"No, I won't ever take anyone else. I can never love anyone like I love you, Aemond. I do not understand it... I despise you and I adore you. I hate you and I love you. I kill you and cry over you dying. What have you done with me, Aemond? What is this spell that you have put on me? I can never love someone again, never in my life. And I will think of you in every breath I take, with every turn of the sun, with every time I wake and go to sleep. You will never leave me, Aemond Targaryen. In death and in life. I love you, now and always."

Alysanne sobs and cries so bitterly, so painfully that she feels like she can not breathe from her sobs. She looks at Aemond and can see the life slowly leaving his eyes and she only holds on tighter to his hand on his chest, sobs and cries as if she had not done this to him. She reaches down and kisses him, one last time and wishes she had kissed him more in the past so she could remember what it really felt like. He looks at her with still so much love and smiles at her.

"I love you, Alysanne. Now and always."

She feels his hand on her cheek slowly slip away, the strength leaving his body and it pains and fills her with joy in a way that she does not understand. She only cries more as his hand falls down, his other hand turning motionless too. She sees the moment life leaves his eyes, that his soul departs from his body. Alysanne screams now and sobs and cries and can not stop her emotions from overflowing. She leans closer to him, her head on his chest right next to where his wound is and holds onto his hand with both of her hands as she lies there next to him. Her love was gone, forever perished by her hand and would never wake up again, tell her that he loved her, hold her so gently and speak of their wedding and how happy he would finally be to not be apart, to have her at his side at all times. He would never feel that happiness again, he would never feel his love for her again, he would never feel anything ever again. She sobs and cries next to his body for some time more, knowing that what she had done would haunt her for the rest of her life. It was terrible. Terrible but necessary.

Aemond Targaryen is dead.

Lucerys Velaryon is avenged.

When she comes flying back on Cannibal hours later her family is standing at the gates, seemingly worried for her. She sees her parents waiting for her and wonders if they will judge her for what she has done today.

Cannibal lands and Alysanne quickly gets off of the dragon. Her mother and father rush to her but stop when she sees that the blood she is covered in is not hers. She must look as insane as she feels, her white dress covered in blood at almost every part, her face and hands covered in it even more. She doesn't look at either of them as she gets off, too ashamed for how they would see her now. She gives Cannibal two pats and Aemond's body rolls out of his jaw with a horrifying splat and her dragon flies off to his nest, resting from the emotional and physically turmoil he had felt today. Rhaenyra and Daemon both look at him in shock and then at Alysanne. She only looks at Aemond, his eyes now closed but his body grotesquely bloodied all the same. Her mother steps closer and holds her by her shoulder, begging her to look up but she does not. She needs to remember Aemond's face, one last time before he's truly gone.

"What happened to Vhagar?" Her father questions, his shock now over but he still seems hesitant about how he feels. She looks up now and looks Daemon in the eyes, nothing but coldness in her eyes.

"Dead, lying on an island not far from here where I found her with him. Cannibal gave her a quick death and ate half her carcass already. He'll go back for more in the next few days until there's nothing left."

She now finally looks at her mother, who looks horrified at what she has done. She wonders if her own mother might not see her in the same light anymore but she brings the hand from her shoulder to her cheek and softly holds it there, uncaring about the blood.

"You did not have to do this, my little one." Her mother has tears in her eyes and she doesn't stop them from flowing out, in sadness over how her little girl had to go through so much pain just because of the man she loved. She looks at her mother and tries to soften her gaze. She does not know if it works or if she will ever be able to feel something again after what she has done.

"But I did. I loved him but I had to kill him at the same time. I could not let him live knowing what he had done to Luke. I just couldn't."

She looks away and back down at Aemond, his face so at peace now with his eye closed and almost a ghost of a smile on his lips. She stares at him for a few seconds, tries to memorize every detail about his beautiful face and feels herself crying again without sobbing this time. The tears just fall down her face without her wanting them to, just like everything else feels out of her control. She then bends down to him and leans his head in her direction, his body already growing cold and it pains her, burns her to feel that there was no more dragon blood in his body. She reaches her hand up to his face and softly cradles his cheeks and then takes the sapphire out of his eye socket. She does not look at him after that anymore, knowing he would not have wanted her to see him without it. She stands upright again and looks at the small blue sapphire in her hands, her last memory of him. She balls her hand into a fist around the sapphire and wishes she could just be at peace in her life, for once. She does not get peace, will never get it.

She walks past her parents and into the castle, the guards she passes looking at her in horror and shock. Now they see me as I am, she thinks. A monster.

She wants to start crying again when she remembers that Aemond had once said the same thing to her about himself. She wishes to hold him again, one last time just like on the beach, hold hands with him and tell him that she loved him and could never forget him. She wishes to hold him, to be with him but she does not wish for him to be alive again because it would then rip her apart to know that the man who had murdered her brother still lived. But she wished to turn back time for the rest of her life, lay in his arms again on the beach, kiss him and tell him that she will never forget about him. But she can not.

Aemond Targaryen is dead. Lucerys Velaryon is avenged.

Alysanne Velaryon brought justice for her brother and for her family. It was justice for the world and a small consolation prize for her pain of losing Luke.

An eye for an eye, she thinks. A life for a life.

Alysanne wishes justice for herself too. She wishes death for herself too.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon spoilers

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 days

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𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

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This Side of Forever

| PAIRING(s): Marcus Pike x fem!OC Bodie Edunn

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 6.6k | CONTENT: angsty!Marcus throughout, pining?, Bodie talks a lil whimsical but that’s bc she’s based on a Goddess ok?, half of this is me self-therapizing, lots of allusions to magic and fruit, following your dreams, is somebody gonna match my freak? vibes, accepting fate, overly sentimental bc it’s Marcus duh

| SYNOPSIS: After back to back failed relationships, Marcus tries to find meaning and distraction in his work. When he's presented with an offer that appears to be a nudge in a whole new direction, he isn't sure he can make the leap of faith.

The consultation offer had come through at just the right time. Marcus had been burnt out with his work despite the change in scenery and job title. As it turned out, being head of the International Art Theft Task Force in D.C. wasn’t a whole lot more gratifying than being Special Agent Marcus Pike with the Austin Art Squad Unit. It was a bitter pill to swallow, the rhapsodic thrill of getting a second chance at love and life in Texas turning to nothing more than ash and heartache come Virginia.

It was torment being back in Austin for an assignment and learning that he’d ultimately been nothing more than a bridge for his would-be fiancé and her now other half to finally realize what they felt for one another. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who had told him that night at dinner she, too, felt the same things for him. That she couldn’t deny their chemistry and connection. He loved that she was independent and really thought about his offer to move to D.C. with him before she’d accepted.

And then he’d gone and followed his heart again with the proposal. The words felt like poison clinging to his lips almost the moment he uttered them, her expression one of stunned anxiety making his stomach turn. Then it all seemed okay again when she said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, too. Looking back it was easier to see that she didn’t feel as strongly for him as he did for her, but in the moment he’d thought that maybe it was just a lot for her to take in. He had a tendency to be too much for the people he cared about.

He spent a lot of time in the aftermath of the breakup lamenting over every word and action, playing them over and over again in his head to try to figure out where he’d gone wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret honoring his emotions in the moment. He’d been forthright and honest from the start with her because it felt real. It was real. Until it all fell apart.

So, he finished his assignment and returned home to D.C. with nothing but an empty, cold apartment waiting for him. The thought of just leaving all this behind and starting over from scratch was becoming more and more appealing. The ghosts of the past followed him everywhere, and it was beginning to feel like he’d always be chasing some phantom of a dream that resembled happiness. His voluntary sabbatical might not have been the best idea with all this inner turmoil brewing, but he had to take a step back and at least attempt to get himself together. The third night in a row of packaged ramen noodles for dinner, ass firmly parked on the couch with reruns of Antiques Roadshow playing back to back, her email had come through.

He read it twice to make sure it hadn’t been sent in error. As the sole owner of the wildly successful spa and wellness center Eternity Hill Orchard, Bodie Edunn was looking for a consultant regarding the yet to be established Art Director position and coinciding Art Program for her resort. A former colleague and shared mutual had passed his name along to her with a soft endorsement for the job. The referral name checked out and everything seemed legitimate, but Marcus had been burned too many times to believe his luck could be this good.

A phone call with her the next day had that thought going right out the window. He could hear the smile in her voice and how genuinely excited she was that he received the offer and reached out. Before he knew it, agreements were outlined and plans were made. The last few weeks of his sabbatical were going to be spent back and forth between the few hours of travel from D.C. to the mountains of Virginia where Eternity Hill Orchard was located.

The payday was already enough of an incentive, but the picturesque scenery as the vehicle climbed switchback roads wasn’t too bad, either. The ascent felt like he was heading to some other world entirely, and perhaps given the constant grind of life in D.C., this was a completely different life up here in the mountains. His first step onto the grounds already felt energizing, the inhale of fresh air crisp in his lungs.

He could just make out a distant figure atop a rather grand set of steps leading up to a striking manor structure. It was somehow modern and antique all at once, as if it had been built here so long ago that it simply transcended the concept of time. Lush greenery at every opening and slope gave an impression of liveliness and growth. Small, warm white bulbs danced in the darker recesses of the flora, and Marcus could imagine the balmy, intimate glow it would emit come nighttime.

Despite the impressive scene, he found himself eagerly skimming back to the figure coming into focus as they climbed down the stairs towards him. The pictures and videos he’d seen of her on the website did no justice to the firsthand encounter. He’d thought it was high quality editing – something to sell the whole wellness image the business touted - but seeing her here in person made it clear there was no alteration involved.

It was hard to pinpoint an age, but she looked like she’d sipped on every enchanted youth tonic from every fairytale ever told. A “glow from within” hue to her skin. Soft, supple curvature of pink appled cheeks. Piercing but kind green eyes. A sharp mouth with a delicate cupid’s bow, all balancing the mesmerizing smile underneath.

How old was she? How could someone establish and develop this level of business acumen all before the age of 50? Was she just the face of the business while some gnarled, hunched octogenarian hid away in the shadows and counted his payday? Was she some sort of trust fund baby? Was this all just an elaborate babysitting project to keep her out of the trouble that wealthy, bored children often found themselves in?

“Marcus, I’m so glad you made it,” Bodie softly greets him as she makes it to the bottom of the stairs. She envelops him before he has time to insist on a handshake, pulling back after a moment and rubbing each of his biceps in a welcoming gesture.

He isn’t sure where to put his hands, and he internally cringes at the realization of just how touch starved he is. His mouth feels a little dry, and he can only attribute some of that to the higher altitude. “Wow. Hi. I mean– Yes. You’re– It’s beautiful,” he responds a little breathlessly. “Glad to be here.”

The mischievous twinkle in her eyes blooms into the grin curving her mouth. “I’m partial, of course, but I really think there’s nowhere else as special as here. I hope you’ll come to find the same thing.”

The closer she was to him, the thinner the air felt. The sun cast a hazy blur of light around her long flax tresses, forming a little halo of brightness that made her seem all the more ethereal and divine. Bodie had several science degrees according to the website, although it didn’t say from where or when. Maybe this place was the real deal after all. Usually these retreat spaces offered little more than a whopping dose of placebo laden manipulations meant to drain desperate people’s wallets. He tried not to be so jaded about it all, very much aware of the more bitter version of himself he’d been morphing into for the past several months.

Obliging staff appeared from nowhere and whisked his things away. He really didn’t care where his things were going or where he was being led as he walked along quietly while Bodie conducted a guided tour of the grounds and the buildings. She carried herself so effortlessly and spoke so confidently. None of it sounded rehearsed, either, as they both meandered through the picturesque backdrop of the plot. She shared all the history of the resort and the scientific approach to wellness that incorporated the native resources as much as possible.

Everything he sees is nothing short of magnificent. He can envision sitting out here and painting a quick oil landscape while Bodie sits nearby and chats. He can hear her unwavering knowledge and commentary in his mind’s eye, but he forces himself to focus on the present. The sprawling backdrop of mountains and trees and orchards frame the welcoming facilities and services here. An expansive natural swimming pond lined with large rocks that lead to private cabanas and plush lounge chairs. He wonders if Bodie ever goes swimming.

An indoor heated pool with adjacent teak sauna. Three stories worth of amenities built right into the mountainside with multiple buildings above that she explains are guest rooms. One building has a long, shared balcony with large potted trees and rooftop gardens. The other building has private balconies with big, round lounge beds and floor to ceiling fireplaces. He wonders which one of them is hers and what she sees when she wakes every morning.

The winding decks that slope into each other feel endless, and yet Marcus could enjoy hours of hearing her talk about anything and everything. It was infectious and calming, almost like walking through an art museum and discovering all the tiny surprise gems amongst the overarching beauty of artistry. Even the staff looked young in the way of someone who has never experienced a day of stress in their life. They don plain uniforms – soft white linen shirts with loose taupe colored pants – with some sporting half aprons or utility belts, depending on their job.

It was one thing for every patron thus far to look relaxed and content, but the workers also appearing well and youthful? How on earth did Bodie manage all of this? She was still talking about some sort of zero gravity massage clinic when the intrusive thoughts got the better of him.

“So how old are you anyway?” he blurts out.

The back of his neck blazes with embarrassment, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact. She smiles at him again in that easy sort of way, and his stomach flips. Whatever secret restorative methods she had up here were certainly doing something to him. Either that or he hadn’t adjusted to the altitude yet.

“I’m thirty one,” she answers graciously.

His jaw parts, all agog and inelegant, while she titters and waves off his unspoken compliment.

“I apologize for the question. I’m usually not so–” He motions with his hand aimlessly in the air, floundering for a coherent end to his sentence. “Your methods and programs are obviously very effective.”

“I guess you could say between the mountain air and enough apples a day to keep the doctor away for a lifetime…,” she trails off and shrugs with a lopsided smile.

God, he could really get used to seeing that. It made his knees all jittery every time she directed that energy his way. He’s so wrapped up in it that he misses something she said and has to ask her to repeat herself.

“I said: I’m proud of everything we’ve built here, but I’m always looking for what else we can incorporate to enhance the experience,” she says again. “It’s always been a sort of bad habit of mine, always looking for something to take everything to the next level.”

She doesn't even know how much it resonates with him when she says it. If he had to identify a singular fault of his, it would be the hope of the next best thing. He had a well-worn pattern of romanticizing things and letting his thoughts run away, all buoyant and hopeful. A big part of that had been stripped from him after the failed marriage, divorce, and then failed proposal, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe he wouldn’t get hurt so much if he didn’t put himself so far out there.

“I get what you mean,” he commiserates. “It can be hard to feel like you’ve done all you can. That you’ve upturned every stone and made something as good as it can be.”

Bodie eyes him thoughtfully and, after a moment of contemplation, nods. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly it.”

“So, am I the ‘taking it to the next level’ in this equation?” he jokes, attempting to steer the conversation back to the consultation at hand and away from things that remind him of past failures.

Her grin is devastating and intoxicating, and Marcus turns a lovely shade of pink at the poor phrasing of his question.

“I-I meant– not me personally. I meant the art director and art program,” he stammers. “You know, me being here to help with that.”

“Something like that,” she replies with a gentle laugh.

It’s not until she’s finished showing him around and walking him to his private suite that his head feels clear. Every syllable that fell from her lips felt like a tugging thread, whipstitching musings and what-could-be’s across the divots in his mind and suturing them together with thoughts of her cinched in between and tucked away tight. The feeling doesn’t let up over the next few days where every interaction with her feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

This wasn’t the same sort of draw he’d experienced before with his ex-wife and ex- fiancé. This was the opposite pole of the magnet hurtling towards him and grabbing hold. This was some sameness, some kindred nucleus of existence. A funhouse mirror reflecting parts of himself back, a warped delineation. Something metaphysical and mystic putting him exactly where he was meant to be: here in this side of paradise with Bodie coming to drip soothing words of perpetuity into his ear. He belonged here, although he couldn’t exactly explain why or how he knew it to be true.

It took everything in him to focus on the task at hand. He’s better acquainted after a couple of days with the grounds, resort scheduling, and “wellness lifestyle” habits being taught and practiced. He wasn’t expecting the legitimacy in some of the newer programs, like the accredited and licensed therapists onsite who conduct group sessions as well as individualized, immersive sessions for select guests. The idea of an art based therapy program felt like a natural addition, according to Bodie. It was the “next logical step” in what Eternity Hill Orchard could offer, and he couldn’t agree more.

By the time he knew it, he’d extended his stay by three more days, but she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she seemed delighted that he was even able to. For some reason, he divulged his voluntary sabbatical from work and the fact that he was only able to take this job because of it. She’d simply smiled warmly and said it “sounded like fate.”

It should’ve been hokey. It should’ve been an eyeroll the moment she turned away. Instead, he found himself inclined to agree. Throughout his rapid appraisal of the resort, it started feeling less like work and more like a challenge, something stimulating and meaningful. The overwhelming sense of magic in the atmosphere had him questioning himself almost daily. He’d take breaks from his assignment and join Bodie in several of the offerings at the resort, and every time without fail his head felt cloudy and light and elastic. He hadn’t felt this way since his first few months in the FBI when the world was laid at his feet for the taking.

He almost wished this bubble would pop already so he could fall back to reality, but day after day it remained intact. Gentle brushes of her hand. Leaning closer when they spoke. Angling her body towards him whenever he sat down next to her – and there somehow was always an empty seat, like she’d saved it just for him. The warm, dizzying embrace the first day he got here was just the beginning of an endless well. He wanted so badly to know how her lips would feel against his. He tried to stop himself imagining the sorts of sounds he could pull from her, all the ways he could make her feel good. They could fall asleep here every night together, dreaming up new programs and projects.

As much as he wanted to stretch out his time with her, he loathed the idea of wearing out his welcome or, worse yet, letting hope fester long enough to make him entertain all his delusions about a life here. The trek back home to D.C. is tedious and pallid. It’s as though every foot of elevation lost on the ride down leached color and life from the world.

The dreary silence in his apartment might be the worst of all as he sets his things down and takes a long breath – one that doesn’t feel satisfying no matter how deeply he pulls for air. At least there was an objective and a deadline to keep his mind occupied and distracted from his stifling abode. He compiled his recommendations with due heed, never rushing through the retrospection and assessment he was being generously compensated to produce.

He didn’t have any legitimate reason to go back for another visit since he’d extended his initial one by so many days. Any clarifying questions could be answered via email or phone, and it better served his timeline to not travel again right now anyway. The Art Therapy Degree Program tabs in his browser stare loudly back at him. It was initially a portion of his informational findings, but he’d made the mistake of venturing into the curiosity of what it would take for him to obtain such a degree. Turns out, not very much. The extensive training and education accrued throughout his years before and during his life as an Agent meant he was fit for most bridge programs out there.

He didn’t know what to do with this new possibility, and the knowledge of it was more disquieting than anything. The awareness that something else existed out there for him felt cruel and imposing, like it was trying to force his hand to take the leap of faith. He’d done that before, and it’s what got him into the shadowlands in the first place. It started to eat at him the longer he sat with it, and what irked him most was the sole thing he knew would make him feel better: a trip to Eternity Hill Orchard.

He racked his brain for a reason – any reason – to go up there again. He concocted some weak excuse about needing to evaluate some of the spaces before making a final recommendation, and of course Bodie was immediately receptive. He steeled himself to remain professional and impartial about things as he made his way back to the fated resort. His late start out the door meant the sun was nearly setting by the time he arrived, but it was just as enchanting as he remembered it. Bodie wasn’t at the top of the stairs to greet him this time around, but he attempted to quell the disappointment of not seeing her by reminding himself that he was here for work and that he’d see her when it was appropriate. It was bad enough that he’d let his whims bring him here again.

After checking in and getting settled, he figures a walk around the grounds is his best bet at coming across Bodie organically. So, he sets off and silently scouts potential spots for an art studio and corresponding office space. The dwindling daylight makes the endeavor less than fruitful, but he isn’t really focused on it, anyway. He’s really just out here hoping to find her. When he turns onto a secluded pathway off the side of the natural pond, the first instance of dissonance in this place emerges: a man’s aggravated voice. A few beats and then what Marcus thinks might just be Bodie’s more neutral voice. He edges closer to the sound.

“Because it’s bullshit, and you know it,” the man fumes.

“I don’t think it’s anything of the so–”

“I come here spending an ungodly amount of money, and for what? For this sham of a place?”

Marcus picks up his pace and follows the voices until he finds Bodie standing face to face with a visibly angry man. She appears in no distress despite the aggression being hurled her way. He keeps his distance until he can fully assess the situation, but his extensive federal training has him ready to intervene if needed.

“You feel like your time here has been unproductive?” She poses the question tactfully, but the man doesn’t waver.

“Well I sure as hell thought I’d get more out of it than I have! I mean, how much time and money can I throw down the drain before I speak up for myself and demand answers?”

“And what is it you were hoping to get out of your visits here?”

“I dunno! Maybe some-some sort of control back in my life?! All this wishy washy feel good bullshit hasn’t done anything! It’s all some scam to take advantage of people like me who are desperate!” he snaps, taking a step forward with arms raised to the side.

Marcus starts to close the gap but stops when Bodie gestures for him to hang back. A glance isn’t even spared his way as she focuses her attention on the angry man.

“I hear you, and I hear your frustrations. I do, however, feel that you are missing a key consideration.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” the man laughs through his nose.

“Finding and using tools to help you regain control of your life is much more beneficial than some external force coming through and offering some temporary illusion of control. And, above all that, there are things that will never be under our authority.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!”“It means that, yes, we could create some fantasy of the self-actualization you’re after and make you feel like it’s true, but the whole illusion would fall apart the moment you left because it wouldn’t be real. There is no handing ‘it’ over to you – by us or anyone. The entire notion that control is something we give or take from you defeats the entire purpose of you learning to take hold of things yourself. And, you can learn all the coping skills and interventions under the sun, but they will never be useful if you try to pit them against something that will never be in your control no matter how hard you try to force it.”

The man stands straight and blinks a few times, the words overtly taking hold of something inside him.

“Part of control is acceptance, Gordon,” she explains and extends a comforting hand to his bicep. “You have to accept there are things you cannot and will not ever be able to control, and those are the things you have to learn to let go of. No amount of fighting them or screaming or anger will ever change that.”

The man – Gordon, apparently – deflates a bit at this and hangs his head. His voice becomes so quiet Marcus can’t make out half of what he’s saying. His body language speaks to remorse and embarrassment, but Marcus moves in closer just in case he is misreading the energy. He can hear the apologies now and the all too understanding acceptance of them from Bodie. Gordon catches sight of Marcus and quickly excuses himself with Bodie calling after him that she will follow up with him tomorrow.

“Well that’s a first,” Marcus quips, trying to break the dissipating tension altogether. “I was starting to believe nobody could get upset here.”

“Glad to have you back, Marcus,” she deadpans with a budding smile that gives her away.

“In all seriousness, that was, uh, that was pretty impressive.”

“What?”

“Deescalating that situation. Keeping your cool. Maintaining control of the conversation. Actually the sort of thing that makes a really great undercover or intelligence agent.”

“Well, you’d know what it takes, wouldn’t you?” she agrees warmly.

His smile falls a little at the reminder. He was, indeed, the person that would know. At the end of the day, he was still employed with the FBI. This fairy tale in the mountains was on borrowed time, and a couple of weeks from now, he’d be back to his usual responsibilities at work. It’ll be like none of this ever happened, the souvenir of a padded bank account the only remnant of this experience. The realization that he doesn’t want to be Special Agent Marcus Pike anymore hits him like a blow to the gut.

“Marcus? Are you okay?” She reaches out and slots her hand into his.

“Hm? What? Oh, oh yeah, I’m fine.” He forces a chuckle and waves off her worries, but he knows she won’t buy it.

“If you’re not too busy right now, I’d really love for you to join me on my walk.”

And of course he agrees. How could he not? Even if he knows he’s being led to the death of his guard, he can’t turn her down. The tranquil sky and mellow breeze amidst the lines of apple trees are no match for his racing mind. The last time he was here, it felt pacifying and calming. This time it feels as though all the defenses and excuses have been stripped from his brain, leaving nothing but the bare, candid emotions underneath.

“You know,” she begins, interrupting his storming thoughts, “I was thinking back to how you were talking about never being satisfied with what you’ve got. You know, how we’re both guilty of always looking for the next best thing. Worrying about ‘leaving a stone unturned’, as you put it. It made me think back to when I almost gave this up because I thought some place closer to the interstate was a better investment.”

Marcus listens in quiet disbelief as Bodie shares the memory of when she’d come across a great plot of land that was closer to the main highways in the area but located further away from the mountains. She was content at the time with the state of Eternity Hill Orchard, but it wasn’t anything near what it is today. It wasn’t even a fraction of what it is currently because she was so consumed with worry over whether or not there was something better out there. The new plot would’ve been more readily accessible for travelers, which could’ve potentially meant more patrons and a wider reach. It wasn’t until the last moment that she rescinded the offer and decided to keep what she already had and give it the devotion and nurturing it needed to thrive.

“I’m grateful every day that I didn’t go through with it,” she reflects. “The things that I thought were drawbacks were actually what made this place special. The seclusion. The terrain. You can’t get this atmosphere anywhere else. I could’ve lost all of it if I had let my fears override my instincts.”

“I couldn’t imagine this place anywhere else,” he concurs.

“And I didn’t realize my unturned stone was right under my feet.” She levels him with a probing gaze and silently waits for him to speak.

“I’m supposed to start up my position again in a few weeks…..” he begins weakly.

She doesn’t respond beyond a gentle nod, and it compels him to keep going.

“But I don’t think– I feel like maybe there’s… maybe there’s something else for me.” He swallows hard and drops her hand, opting instead to lean against the sturdy base of an apple tree for some kind of support.

“You found a new opportunity, but you’re afraid it’s just another case of chasing after the next best thing?” she surmises.

“Yeah, I– Something like that. I think.” He laughs and drops his head back. “God, this is so unprofessional. I apologize. I really shouldn’t be talking like this.”

She ignores his appeal to decorum and instead pushes for candor. “So, Marcus, where’s the line between romanticizing a hypothetical and following your heart?”

When he doesn’t have an answer, she leans against the tree beside him, and Marcus feels a thousand fiery licks of magnetic pull.

“This whole experience with you has made me consider leaving my work to become an Art Therapist.” It comes out before he can stop it, but he’s rewarded with a beatific smile that makes his insides feel warm and syrupy.

“You know, I have it on good intel that there’s a really nice place up in the mountains that’s in the market for an Art Therapist. I mean, they’re awaiting a report from a consultant about how to implement the Program, but still. I mean, hey, one lucky Art Therapist might just find themselves with the freedom of creating the entire structure of the Program from start to finish.”

Marcus shakes his head, unwilling to accept the insinuation of being offered a job he wasn’t even qualified for. Yet.

“And I bet that Art Therapist would be able to help a lot of people,” she adds softly. “Could really change the lives of the people he’s around.”

He turns to meet her gaze at that and fumbles for the right thing to say. “I can’t— I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“You didn’t ask. I offered,” she points out.

“So, what? I’m just– I start tomorrow, just narrowing down a list of online bridge programs? Until I find one and apply? And then magically I just use that degree here?” he scoffs.

“Either that or you could spend the next few days trying and failing to talk yourself out of it,” she muses with a grin.

He balks and stalls but can’t argue with the assertion. Truth be told, he doesn’t even feel like trying to talk himself out of it. The fight left in him to ignore his heart is quickly faltering.

“And, if I might take a turn being unprofessional, I really, really wouldn’t mind you being here on a more … permanent basis. It was nice having you around.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Mmmhhmmmm.”

Marcus’s eyes flit between her glittery eyes and plush lips. All those years of unfulfilled promises melt away. Every unreciprocated outpouring of love and emotion, gone by the wayside. No more were the feelings of having so much to give without anyone to give it to.

“I really want to kiss you,” he admits in a hush.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmurs back.

He doesn’t give himself the opportunity to linger on hesitations. He dips his head and presses his mouth against hers and finds an ardent response. The kiss is slow and deliberate, like so much time has been lost to the absence of it that every facet must be savored. Her tongue rolls along the ridge of his lip, and he opens with a soft gasp when she pushes their bodies together.

She tastes of sugar and earth, body firm and potent. Still, he holds her like a delicate, timeless artifact meant to be admired and cherished. He follows her pull to the cool grass below and groans at the weight of his body sagging against hers. She hooks a foot behind each knee and tugs, the shift of it sending him off balance. Her pliant body eagerly accommodates his searching hands. The dip and swell of her form under his touch has his mind tracing static orbits, something barely tethered to anything resembling cognizance.

When they finally part for a breath, chests heaving and lips swollen, he sees the incisive tenacity burning bright in her eyes. She rolls their fused bodies until his back settles against the ground, and he lies as a stone unturned beneath her feet, ready to be inverted and suffused by her entirety.

“I’ve known I wanted you from the moment we spoke on the phone,” she confesses quietly. Her hand drifts down his torso, stopping carefully at the button of his waistband.

His heart lurches at the disclosure, brazen in all its laid bare inelegance. “All I could think about was getting back to you,” he confides. “All I wanted was to be back here with you.”

Bodie’s lips crash against Marcus’s with unbridled force, the curve of her tongue licking and darting its way deeper into his mouth. The light blanket of night air ripples against their exposed skin as they hastily remove piece by piece of clothing until they’re laid bare against the strewn fabric. Bodie lies staring up at him, and Marcus somehow has the inkling of clarity left enough to pause and check in.

“Is this okay?” he pants.

“Stake your claim on your path forward, Marcus,” she purrs like it’s an invitation. “Leave your mark on what fate brought to you.”

All reason and restraint leaves his body at the call. His teeth graze and nip hungrily down her neck, across her chest, and tug at the hardened nubs he finds there all pert for his attention. Her body curves up from the ground to meet the wet slip of his mouth and rocks mindlessly when it connects with her sex.“I wanna taste you, I wanna taste you” is all she hears between greedy laps of his tongue. He ruts against the mounds of fabric laid about, desperate for any sort of friction after experiencing the high of her taste. Every little moan and gasp is a brush stroke in his portrait of her pleasure. He feeds off the taction and responsiveness, using those hues and depths of bliss to bring about the definitive, live rendering. A heavenly sound slithers up her throat when he slowly inserts two stacked fingers.

“I feel you. Christ you’re so wet,” he rasps. “Come on my fingers. I wanna feel it. C’mon, baby, come for me.”

She cries out under the careful movements of his mouth and fingers, the soft tufts of his hair gripped tight in her hands as she rides it out. His groans fill the air as he laps up each and every gush of arousal. She hauls him up to share another heated kiss, almost relishing in the taste of herself on his tongue.

Marcus breaks away first, pupils blown wide, with a small shiver running up his entire body. He knows going further is risky, and he knows, just like everything else about this moment, it’s driven entirely by raw connection and want. The feeling of finally having someone to pour himself into far too overwhelming to ignore, and there’s never been anything in his life that felt more right than everything in this moment.

“I don’t usual– I just– Can I….?” He trails off with a glance down at his thick length, bobbing heavily with every movement and demanding attention.

Bodie branches her legs out wider to make room for him – for the place he wishes to be buried in. “Please.”

He wastes no time notching himself at her entrance and slowly feeding his cock inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside. They groan in unison at the assimilation of their bodies merging into one synchronous entity. He’s rambling now, unable to stop the torrent of declarations and hopes and craving. Admitting to having already imagined pinning her down just like he is right now, legs pressed against her chest so he can drive deeper. Not hiding the multitudes of ways he wants to profess and display his affection for her.

Bodie responds in kind. Each kiss of his cockhead against the mouth of her womb punctuated with a rush of oaths and calls to freefall into one another. She clings to him like he holds her next breath. They sway and pitch in turn with heavy breaths and wanton cries of bliss released to the sky. Her lids are heavy with exertion when he brings her upright and back flush against his chest, both of their knees digging into the ground.

“I wanna fuck you slow,” he pants, gently rocking his hips against the swell of her ass. “Wanna feel this forever. Want to take my time with you.”

She grinds back onto him, meeting stroke for stroke, and hums contentedly. “You feel so good. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? You like when I make you feel good? You gonna let me make you feel good?”

“You always make me feel good,” she breathes.

He groans and rolls his hips faster, harder. She turns her head to kiss him, latching a hand onto his neck to hold him there. The momentum of his thrusts hastens and sends her to her hands and knees, and Marcus drapes himself across the plane of her back with an arm winding tight around her chest as he drives deeper. All the noises he imagined are nothing compared to the real thing. He can feel her getting closer, and he goads her on.

“There you go–there you go–yeah–let me have it–let me have it, baby.”

He sinks his teeth into the rounded skin on her shoulder and bares down as she moans and clenches around him. Her soft flesh pillows around his bite as the kick of his cock pulses against her walls. She cries out from the sting of his marking but leans into it all the same. Their bodies slump to the ground, still connected at the crux of her thighs, but it’s still not close enough for him.

They lay together in quiet content as their highs level off. He presses the wet of his lips to each little indentation he left, and he hopes they’ll be gone by morning. The guilt of having marked her so deeply – and the guilt of how much that turns him on – occupy his thoughts as he pays his penitence with each kiss. She interrupts his amends and turns to face him, a playful smirk emerging when he hisses at the last drag of her satiny clutches.

His half-lidded, nebulous expression is mirrored, and she can’t stop herself from seeking intimacy again by way of a kiss, which he readily returns. He cradles her to the sinuous line of his body, and it’s as though she was always meant to fit there. The night sky looks down on them as they struggle to not let sleep take them right then and there.

“We should really head back,” Bodie reluctantly points out.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Marcus agrees.

The task of dressing is much more appealing with one another’s help, and they do so until each is as put together as before they came up the hill. They walk hand in hand back toward the main buildings with easy, lulling conversation to pass the time. Marcus smiles ear to ear when Bodie asks a staff member to move his things to her room.

“Wow, moving in together already?” he jokes.

“I feel like it just makes things easier since we’re going to be planning the rest of our lives, you know?” she lobs back with a cheeky grin. “Logistics and all that.”

“So I guess tomorrow is the start of my new life, huh?” he half-teases, but the undercurrent of nerves still comes through.

“I think you knowing about it is new, but I’m pretty sure it was waiting here for you all along.”

And in that moment he wanted to tell her all the ways he adored her. Confess all the varieties of hope she instilled in him. Scream from the rooftops how much he loved her.

But there was no need to rush. Those things could wait, now that he had forever to say them.

This fic was my contribution to @perotovar's Frith Challenge where I received Marcus Pike x Idun. I don't even know where to start with how wild of a journey this fic was to write, and honestly idek if y'all would believe me if I told you lmao.

As always, thank you for reading and sharing!

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike smut #the mentalist #pedro pascal characters #frith challenge #marcus pike x oc

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zpookycodez · 1 year

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𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬. — Carrd template #002

Free ( pay what you want ) Carrd (Pro Lite) template designed for multimuse blogs! Inspired by one of my OCs <3

Preview here!

If you are going to upgrade, feel free to add my referral code ( ZPOOKYCODEZ ) at the checkout, or through this link <3

Guide to using: ➥ Don't claim as your own, and leave the credit in tact! You may edit the colour and size. I don't mind how you change it as long as it still links back to my blog. ➥ Link to the template's shop page is here. It is free, remember to make sure the amount is set to "0". However, if you would like to, you may leave a tip ( I would appreciate it a lot! )

#carrd template #rp template #rp resources #multimuse template #rp carrd #mine: carrd templates

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rreskk · 11 months

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Im a huge fan of all your writings, your page is my all time favourite on Tumblr and I jus noticed you’ve taken requests and was wondering if you can write some smut of Trevor x his Therapist or Doctor

I fucking love this idea! Sorry it took long, I've been having a brain-rotting phase about my OC :)

Summary: Your favourite client has become more... Of a "friend."

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Therapist Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1265

AUGUST, 26TH – 1985

You’ll see grieved people hover in and out of your office with a suicidal tendencies, more likely than never. You’d also have people who’ve been through wars, people who have slept with family members, confessed murderers, suicidal drug-addicts, sociopathic teenagers, depressed elderly ladies, wealthy white men, menopausal women, schizophrenics, sexually confused religious men, teenage dirtbags; the list going on and on and on and on. Your folders only stack up with every unstable being paying brain-surgeon bucks to talk about how crappy life is. Some stories you wept alongside them, some you had to give them the cold-shoulder, some you had to refuse service. All in which was based in the memo when you began working within the professionality.

However, there was this one man with mountains of issues and emotional depth, some criminal, some traumatic, some petty; but he interested you greatly. A so-called trainee pilot for the Airforce. Personal record was fresh, great skill in flying, physically active, single, citizen of Canada. However, he was referred after his team had identified slight dangers in his emotional intelligence and anger management. He was once called “a fucking pyscho” by his referral, which had caused some mishap of violence. Nonetheless, the front page had suggested he was aggressive when “provoked”.

The first session was tricky, as predicted from his difficulties on concealing emotional bondage. But as the sessions became a regular occurrence, he slowly loosened up. Only recently had he talked about his childhood. Through painful cries and many times of walking out of the office eruptively, in which he returns hours later to continue, believing you are “the only person who cares” – his words exactly when you question his behaviour.

Unconsciously, you both grew close. After a good few weeks of working along side him, Trevor had named every person in his life; mother, father, brother, past lovers, past friends, etc… He trusted you with this information, and when he spoke freely about them, his eyes would stare into yours with tensity. He self-indulged in the eye-contact. You understood that it was his way of seeing your internal reactions and thoughts. Trevor’s constantly assessing you like you are with him, and whether it was meant to happen, it fell into this hole of deep relation. He relied on you. Extremely clingy. His sessions would extend from an hour to 3 or 4. It had gotten to the point where you with drawled other patience, just so you could invite him in again. Your managers assumed he needed more focus, so they allowed. But was it about focus?

No.

It was something more personal than that. A transference. Therapist and patient romance. Forbidden touches of his hands against your thighs turned into extreme penetration in your office. From the desk to the sofa, from the floor to your bathroom. At some point, he had been everywhere with you. Trying to overcome this situation was flawed, and every-time you tried to give him this professional support, it turned into a lustful beg of his fingers and filthy tongue.

“Fuck – “ You panted when he crawled over you on the sofa-bed, his penis frantically searching for the entrance as he used his tongue to leave trails of his saliva against your jawline. Whereas the moments prior to this, he was talking about the lack of love given from his mother, and he instead admitted that the maternal need had been transferred onto you. Trevor struggled to explain his insane attraction to how “caring” you are, forgetting that it was your profession. But the way you’d reassure and rub his back – it always gave him a reason to go home and relieve that naughty arousal. And every session, he’s excited for this specific reason.

“I tried to book a session last week,” He murmured darkly as his cock injected into your pussy, “The prick downstairs told me you were busy – with what?” His voice crackled a bit at the pleasure of having your warmth surrounding his erection.

Holding onto his shoulders, you breathed out a shaky moan, his name staining the tip of your tongue. The question went ignored until you found the capacity to give him the deserved answer.

“I had training.” You could barely say.

Trevor huffed in jealousy, his hips finding a steady pace as he gripped your hips to line up the act of penetration. Despite the angry frown plastered on his face, you knew he was enjoying himself. The way his tongue curled up between his lips, the concentration dilating his pupils. You had analysed his behaviour from day 1, so it became an easy job to predict his overall mood.

“I’m more important…” He breathed softly and ushered you to wrap your legs around his hips.

“I know…”

“I fucking love how loose you are,” Trevor desperately kissed your quivering lips before breaking away to increase the speed and groaning your name. “Oh… Oh, fuck. Yes. Mmm…”

The clock was ticking and when he was occupying your cunt, eyes began to fall upon the ticks and the toks. You’ve mentioned before this that a patient was planned to arrive within the next hour, so the nerves were beginning to boil your blood. The last thing you’d want is to be caught; especially with one of your most dangerous clients who’s supposed to have “professional” support.

“Look at me.” He soon begged when noticing your lack of attention. His hands fell onto your breasts and gave them a loving squeeze, continuing the thrusting.

“I ought to…” It was hard to be vocal, so you tried a little harder, “I ought to prepare for the next – “

Trevor whimpered angrily and fucked you harder than before. His hands gripped onto your breasts, teeth grinding. He repetitively shook his head and silenced you from saying anything more.

“No, no, no!” He pled. His temper starting to spark.

You grasped his wrists, moaning out of pure bliss. This encouraged him to thrust a little faster, his shaggy mullet falling into different directions and flows. For a young pilot, he was especially rugged and quite ill-looking, but it made this more exciting. You were fucking an ill client… That was such an exciting experience, but why? The psychology was hard to work out, even for you. So his witchery could be blameful, the way his mouth casted spells on you.

“Please – “ You moaned and closed your eyes.

“Look at me!” Trevor whined again, his hands cradling your face as you both came close. He winced. The sluggish rock of his hips slapped against yours for the last time before he pulled out, cock ejaculating white fluids upon your stomach. “Oooohhh… Fuck!” Your patient ecstatically exaggerated.

You too had came. To refrain noise, it became a squeal of pure lust. When his warm semen painted your stomach, your fingers instantly rummaged through your clit, feeling how much cum he made you squirt. And with a moan, you felt him take charge of the inspection and licked up the white strands with his tongue. Trevor brushed your pussy and slurped up your taste with a puppy glimpse in his eyes. He looked at you when licking, begging to be praised.

“Fuck… Yes – “ Then the door knocked.

With quick motion, you threw on your shirt and zipped up your skirt as he groaned. Trevor wiped his mouth and gave your cheek a last kiss before throwing on a shirt and walking out. You noticed on the way out, he had gave your next client the meanest look to man-kind.

And the next week; that client had never returned.

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toxictoxicities · 1 year

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I've wanted to dive into how Ancients have their titles such as Count of House of Braids, 8 Living Blocks, Councilor of 16, Grandmaster of the twelfth pillar- as I have ancient ocs and I want to be able to have them formally introduce themselves and such!

This is all a theory of mine grasping at straws with what the game gives written and visually.

Another concept I forgot to input was the possibility of there being one Council in a city, in which a Count from each House make up this Council. While Grandmaster could possibly be the title of owning a pillar. Councilor just a general title of share owning or generally owning a Block rather than fully owning Blocks.

also after re reading this:

I'm to believe Pillars as well may have certain purposes such as Will referrers to 12th Council Pillar, The House of Braids as a "Government Temple Structure" So rather than assuming there's 12 councils perhaps in each House there is a Pillar specific to hosting other Counts (Leaders of other Houses) and each are numbered.

Soooo- Imma be working with these lil theories of mine when I make more ancients~! (As if Imma design over 40 ancients for a Council so I might call the trio I drew a "High Council" to save the work load HAHA)

#Theory #ToxTalk #rain world #Ancients #rw #rain world ancients #analysis post #shrugs #idk if im onto something or far from it

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ppth-obgyn-dept-head-real · 2 months

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yoo it’s dr pearl 🔥🔥

ask/roleplay blog 4 @asclexe’s oc, dr fluoxetine pearl!

oc intro post/backstory from my main

the other ocs (there’s a lot of us now)

basic info:

dr fluoxetine pearl ( full name fluoxetine millicent maxine marvin pearl )

they/them, aromantic allosexual bisexual

head of pussy at ppth 🔥🔥

i’m deaf in my left ear, i have bpd and ptsd :3

ask them anything :3 i’d prefer no nsfw but i’m pretty lenient

admin info:

main @asclexe, call me cameron, they/them pronouns, i’m a minor, EST timezone :3

i also run @ask-the-ducklings and @house-md-referrer

ooc posts will be smol and in character ones are normal

@ppth-staff @wilsons-three-legged-siamese :3

art/pfp by @magicmarkerz :3

#house md oc #ask blog #roleplay blog #dr fluoxetine pearl #oc #house md ocverse #original character #intro post #ppth #house md #head of gynecology #heyy other ocs :3

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aechii · 1 year

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₍⁠₍ SPEAK NO EViL ₎⁠₎ ~ CH. 2

[ a kylian mbappe series ]

SYNOPSiS ! it's summer break, where, yes, academic freedom ensues, but for stellar, upcoming young football stars, an unmissable opportunity springs. bondy elite summer academy prepares its youth for the professional world, and inevitably, everybody is hungry to succeed. girl or boy. life isn't kind to 18 year old kylian mbappe, and being mute seems to be a limiting factor of his progress. but once he's accepted into the football camp, he's determined to prove that his football speaks for itself. yet, in the midst of fatal determination and apathetic competitiveness, he doesn't expect to grow intrigue for [y/n], a profound player in the camp's feminine unit, whose kindness and exquisite skill awakens a visceral feeling within kylian, showing him someone else that he could love in a world filled with hate.

PAiRiNG ! mute!kylian x fem!reader | fem!reader x oc!boyfriend

A/N ! i would like to first sincerely apologise for the super long wait. life's been 🫨 but we move. i just love how i’ve written kylian and ethan’s relationship here 😭 like im over here shitting tears and scraping paints off walls cos they’re honestly too wholesome and the best brothers to exist (canonically and prbly irl but who knows?). brice and kylian’s bromance is BROMANCING, lemme just say; im very proud of the characterisation i’ve established for everyone tbh. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! things get a little bit more yk 👀 so im very excited for you lot to read this hehehe. tell me your thoughts in my askbox, i’m very eager to know 🤍

SERiES MASTERLiST ! here!

TAGLiST ! [ ask here, those in bold i couldn't tag ] @sad1esgf @ts1mp0ne @fezlvr @ippid @kyksgirl @user6373738 @kenjekwownwjn @lalunaenamoradasworld @mywhimsyjournal @imagesthatlive @heli991113 @cinderellawithashoe

the moment kylian exits the car, he’s encompassed by a wave of thick disbelief. his eyes seem stitched to the grandeur building that stands before him; it’s all glass, glittering in the sunlight that bleeds incinerating heat upon the earth below, and it sends the boy into a frenzy. hasn’t seen infrastructure that screams money to such an extent.

he flaps a hand in front of his face, fanning himself, although rather futile. brice, from the other side of the vehicle, walks up beside him, crossing his arms as he leans on the door.

“wow… just wow.”

kylian turns to face him, arching an eyebrow, as he signs, “haven’t you been here before? moreover, many, many times?”

they’re in public, and as usual, kylian finds his throat go stagnant and brain go blank, so decides to use his hands instead. he’s ever so grateful for brice’s present at that moment.

“yeah, but,” brice exhales, almost wistfully, “it’s always better in person.”

“you’re right about that.”

kylian’s father rolls his suitcase towards him, dumping his duffel bag on top. a smile, a proud one, is ever present on his face, akin to kylian’s. he knows his father sees himself in him, has so much faith in him, and it’s a driving force of his purpose here. not just for him, but his whole family; a referral is the only thing that gleams in his conscience, knows that he mustn’t let the 5 weeks be in vain.

wilfried puts a gentle, fatherly hand on his son’s shoulder, a grounding gesture that speaks much to kylian’s mind.

“do well, hm?”

“you mean, like i always do?” a cheshire grin fills his face, and it makes his father laugh.

“yes,” wilfried nods and chuckles, “like you always do, kylian mbappe.”

ethan materialises out of nowhere, hooking an arm over his brother’s shoulder. kylian almost pushes him off, but for the sake of goodbyes and farewells (for only 5 weeks, yes, but he’s never been away from ethan for even half of that), he tolerates his sudden attachment.

“that hurt, you know?” kylian brusquely signs. ethan removes his arm as he returns a sheepish, “sorry,” before resting his head upon his brother’s shoulder.

kylian exhales, then limply signs, “i’ll miss you bad.”

“it’s only 5 weeks?”

he looks at ethan incredulously, “only 5 weeks, you say? okay then. don’t call or text me at all.”

“you did not need to go there,” ethan’s response is deadpanned and immediate, making his older brother grin widely. kylian would definitely miss this. life will feel slightly sloped and discrepant without ethan’s constant antics, but kylian knows that his career comes with sacrifices, the most obvious one being stepping out of his comfort zone: the restricting boundaries that sees him remaining inert within the lines of local club football.

bondy is the light at the end of the tunnel, and kylian just hopes that the journey would be worth it.

ethan snaps him out of his mental dally with a tight side hug, then he realises that it’s time for him to depart and register himself in. beyond a certain point, marked out by a blue roped barrier hanging from gold posts (a colour combination kylian would need to get used to for the next month and more, all in the name of bondy patriarchy), family members are prohibited, and so last words are to be said within the parking lot.

“i will miss you,” ethan mumbles. evokes a smile out of kylian as he notices ethan’s hesitation, “believe me, i know.”

from behind him, his father urges him to go as a line of participants accumulate, and begins to feel the trepidation press against his heart.

“love you, bro.” ethan signs. his mind screams, ‘don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.’

kylian’s mind shrieks, ‘don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.’

“that referral is yours.”

masks a pained smile behind a light-hearted one, ruffling ethan’s hair as he received a glare back. god, he’ll miss ethan more than he fathomed.

“it is.”

then they fistbump, for the last time.

+_-

inside is cool and dry, differing from the hot, humid, sticky air outside that had clung feverishly to skin. the interior structure of the academy puts its external counterpart to utter shame. high ceilings, suspending blue-jewel-embezzled chandeliers, ribbons of gold and royal blue traced in half-wave curves along the walls that seem to be the only thing in this unfathomable-acred campus that don't abide by the fervid colour scheme. kylian has never seen as many trophies in one glass cabinet (or, rather, walk-in closet; it is massive) as what just stood in the far corner of the foyer.

“close your mouth, ky,” brice leans in and whispers, snickering. they are unlucky, having to join the right foot of the queue after spending a few extra minutes receiving last minute warnings and advice from their mothers especially. nothing with ill intentions, but rather harsh loving concern.

kylian immediately shuts his mouth, flushed. brice grins wider, shoving a hand atop kylian’s hair and rubbing it roughly. he’s immediately slapped away and sent on his way with a pointed glare.

“you're a heathen."

brice snickers, albeit loudly, "right back at you."

they're both taken aback as two boys right in front of them, identical twins they suppose because they look eerily akin, glance behind with looks of confused judgement. the exchange is swift and they turn to face ahead no more than a second later, before huddling close to the other, and swapping whispers.

their thoughts, though internal, are vehemently blatant to kylian. from a retrospective point of view, he understands– it's as if brice had talked to thin air. he nudges his friend beside, and dejectedly gestures, "sign, please."

brice's understanding is immediate, and rather apologetically, he responds, "okay, sorry."

"don't be."

they stand and shuffle down the line in silence. it's unlike brice to be wordless for such an extended period of time, but as for kylian, it's second nature. an hour passes, they've only progressed by half of the queue, and its obvious that brice is becoming restless. they haven't sat once, and although kylian had suggested he sit on his suitcase (it was undoubtedly big enough), he refused, saying that it wasn't strong enough to bear his weight.

"you good, b?"

brice catches him a second too late in his peripheral vision, and asks him to repeat.

"i said, are you good?"

"it's like you're asking me to fight," brice signs humourously, "but yeah, i'm good. just… buzzing with every feeling you could think of."

kylian nods, but brice's words simmer properly, and he then realises what he had said, "every feeling? so you feel… angry, con-"

"why wouldn't i be?"

kylian's delirious, "why… would you be?"

he watches as brice glares at the boys in front of them, and he sighs, "i thought you would've gotten used to it by now, brice."

"you're my best friend— practically practically a brother to me. why would i just let it go, moreover, get 'used to it'?"

kylian notices how his signs get more rapid and hard to decipher. he has a habit of merging two words- subconsciously, he doesn't blame him- or missing out words entirely when he's angry. he stares more intently to understand his friend.

"i get you. but you're doing more harm than good when you retaliate."

brice doesn't sign back, and huffs begrudgingly. they fall into a prolonged silence once again, and it takes another half an hour before the reach the front counter.

"welcome to bondy academy! can i please have your names and factions?"

the receptionist is a young woman, probably only 3-4 years older than the two, with honey skin and honey skin and a frizzy afro. kylian looks at her gold-and-blue name tag and sees the name 'genevieve' written in bold black.

brice gives her a friendy smile, "my name is brice tchaga and his," he points at his friend, "is kylian mbappé. we're both in elite. we’re both in elite."

she nods, typing their names into the computer before again, nodding affirmatively again. she slides a clipboard upon the counter with a pen, and asks them to write their signature next to their name. brice does so, and slides it to kylian, who looks at him and discreetly signs, "i don't have a signature."

"you don't?" brice's face morphs into one of subtle surprise as kylian nods his head.

"just… make up one. or just write your name fancily, it's not that important here."

kylian is acquiescent, and as brice waits for him to finish writing, he looks up to see genevieve looking at them. her eyes, however, hold no malice, and rather watches them, smiling.

"you both sign?"

brice's mouth falls agape, "you sign?"

genevieve chuckles, "yeah. my mother is deaf so i had to learn early."

by now, kylian's noticed the exchange between the two, brice turning to him for permission to share his reason. he gives him a look, and brice knows that kylian can handle himself. he's probably happy that he's found a common ground with someone who's not brice, even though she may only be the receptionist.

"i've been selectively mute for a while, so i talk mostly by signing. brice here is my translator, i guess— wow, now i'm trauma dumping."

kylian is ever-glad that it's practically just the three of them in the foyer, save a couple of bustling workers who are too busy to notice them.

genevieve laughs heartily, grabbing two gold lanyards from beside her before handing it to the both of them.

"don't worry, you're good. those are your id and keycards by the way. you lose them, you have no access into your room for the next 24 hours."

kylian scrutinises his and makes a face when he notices the rather unflattering photo they had used.

"you two are running late now, so i'll let you go," genvieve says. her face suddenly turns stoic, "my only advice is to keep your head down, not everyone here is as nice as i am."

"i did come here expecting the worst, to be honest."

"pessimist."

"i'm being practical, brice."

genvieve intervenes, "it's not all that bad. arguably the best football experience you'll ever have before going professional."

she glances at her watch, alarmed, "okay, i really have to let you go now. the conference room is through those doors, down the stairs, and then the first door on your right."

kylian smiles at her, and expresses his gratitude as brice does the same. she dismisses it with a graceful wave of her hand.

"i'll be rooting for the both of you," genevieve chides, then signs, "good luck."

hopeful and with spirits elevated, brice and kylian amble to the conference room. it’s capacity is just as expected, if not larger, occupied by gold-rimmed blue chairs which accommodate several other competitors, in 6 rows of ten. their entrance alerts those already seated, and a few turn around to take a glance. he wasn’t expecting to see all factions congregating simultaneously, observing the range of ages situated around the room. kylian feels the heat of anxiety nip at his skin, and as he and brice stroll to take their seats, he begins to feel nauseous.

it’s only a few seconds later when a man, with salt and pepper hair and clad in a suit of a colour that quite frankly, kylian is absolutely tired of seeing and it’s only his first day, walks in. his aura of assertiveness is palpable, and as he, along with a few other adults, take their stand on the pulpit before them, the whole room falls silent.

a lean man, dressed in casual sporting gear and first born trainers steps forward, "all rise.'

a ripple of shuffling bodies and chairs permeates around the room. kylian observes his surroundings, analyses how he, along with brice, are one of the shortest boys in the elite faction. he grumbles internally at that.

the same voice tells them to sit, and the audience obeys, then the room slithers into another deafening quietude. it feels as if it's prohibited to even breathe and kylian can sense his hands gathering with sweat.

"good morning bondy," the same distinguished man from earlier pronounces, voice detailed with bass, "my name is jacob dubois and it is an utmost pleasure to have all 60 of you here; i hope the appreciation is reciprocated."

a few nods come from the kids around him and slight relief washes over kylian as he realises that they are free to move.

"you all have been selectively chosen to come here. we didn't choose random aspirants, but ones who show passion, determination and most of all, potential."

kylian's fingers tingle with excitement. he's here for a reason.

"thus, we expect all of you to follow our ethos with pride."

formalities extend for more than half an hour, kylian feels his buttcheeks ache and has had to nudge brice awake numerous times.

"did you not sleep?"

"i did," he signs back sluggishly, "this talk is always boring."

kylian can't deny that, shaking his head with a small grin.

as the clock strikes 11am, an hour since they had entered the room, the director finally graces them with the technicalities of the regime itself.

"your 5 weeks here will be filled with training, educational trips, end-of-week assessments and, most importantly, improvement. you're expected to be up at 5am everyday-"

murmurs erupt, mostly by the younger factions, and mr dubois brings a palm up to silence them.

"-and curfew is at 9pm. anybody who is seen outside of their accommodation past this hour will be punished."

he waits for any objections, doesn't get any, and proceeds.

"today is your first day of training. you'll first be taken to your rooms where your kit will be, then receive a tour of the campus. all factions will congregate in their designated parlour where their head coach will give itineraries, and tell you what to do next."

"who's ours?" kylian asks brice, and he shrugs, "dunno. i was asleep at that part."

rolling his eyes, kylian shifts his focus back to the man behind the pulpit.

"i wish all of you the best, and may the best 3 get their referrals."

a round of applause ensues as the line of coaches upfront move towards where they were sat, and, kylian guesses she's the junior faction's head coach, a tall woman with blond hair orders the kids sat right at the front to stand. they leave the room with their rolling luggages and the rest move into hushed, murmuring chatter.

"that was long for no reason," brice stretches his neck as he signs, yawning.

"i know, but sleeping? i thought you said you got 8 hours."

"well, i could barely sleep for 5. my aim was 8."

kylian brings a hand to brice's head, pushing it down to his shoulder.

"sleep for a bit, something's telling me we'll be here a while."

the boy snuggles in immediately, whispering a 'thank you', in which kylian just pats his knee in response.

by the time they're summoned, it's been another half hour. kylian taps brice awake, signalling at the suitcase, grateful that brice catches on quickly. his stomach churns in hunger, yet knows they won't be eating for while.

their head coach, kylian comes to learn, is coach moreau; dark-skinned, averagely talk with dark facial hair. he's not as intimidating as mr dubois, but both kylian and brice can smell his sternness from a mile away.

"your rooms are on the other side of campus so we'll have to walk to get there. at the lobby, i'll give you your door numbers and you can find your way. please keep your keycards safe, you hear?"

they all nod, and some verbally express their affirmatives.

"good. let's go."

their amble is a good 5 minutes, and both boys, at the end, don't see the need of having a tour. they had passed everything they could think of, and they wonder just what more bondy could have.

the accommodation is a sleek mini apartment complex, in kylian's words, and seeing as though it only seemed to have one floor, he's unsure if it'll fit all 20 of them. the main door is cut from space grey tempered glass and two security men stand mightily at the entrance, greeting coach moreau, shaking hands.

he then turns towards them again, "feminine and masculine units are separated. this building is for the boys and the girls' complex is behind this one."

kylian ignores the defeated sighs that come from a few boys in front of them as brice glances at him.

"get settled and dressed in your kits by," he checks his watch and gives a reasonable time, "12.15. do not wear your boots indoors, at all, so please keep them in the string bag we've provided for you. let's start rooming you lot."

pairs of names are stated with their room number and little by little, the group breaks off. kylian and brice's names come last, and they are given the number 5b.

they move towards the elevator, waiting for it to come back down. the metal doors slide open and they shuffle inside, kylian just about catching the sight of the girls leaving as the doors shut again.

brice releases an exaggerated sigh, "i need sleep."

"we've got a whole day ahead of us, if you're able to, you should buy some lucozade at lunch."

brice shakes his head, "i stay clear of those things, mr addicted-to-energy-drinks."

kylian huffs, throwing his hands in the air, "i'm not addicted, i just have one a day."

"have or need?"

kylian throws him a deadpanned look as the elevator opens, giving him the middle finger. brice snickers and follows him out, both looking at the doors they pass for their room. they reach the end of the corridor before finding it, and brice uses his card to open the door.

"holy. fucking. shit."

brice drops the handle of his suitcase, rushing in like a child gone feral at a candy shop. kylian rolls his eyes as he picks it up, but then freezes when he notices the interior.

the entire space as soon as they enter, is an enormous area of the living room. it's just about bigger than brice's own bedroom back at home (which, in turn, is much larger than kylian's) and everything feels too fresh to touch. a colour scheme of dark grey and white occupies the space, a large bondy logo stuck on an empty wall in dark blue.

"i'm surprised they didn't dump a bright gold sofa here," brice teases, and kylian hums in agreement, "with you on that one. i'm getting tired of seeing those colours, i swear."

brice opens one of the doors, notices that it's the bathroom, then closes it again.

"restroom?"

"yup."

brice goes to the one not far from the one he had just opened and storms inside screaming, "dibs this one!"

that triggers kylian, who runs to the room, completely astonished at the size. there's no way in hell that the other one's bigger.

brice jumps back first upon the bed, closing his eyes in bliss, " 've missed these beds."

kylian leans on the door frame, watching his friend in faux disdain, "didn't even give me a chance to fight for this room."

"it doesn't work like that, ky."

"you're sick."

he moves back upright, walking to the room beside brice's, and is succumbed by shock.

just what more surprises does bondy have?

his room is marginally larger than his friend's, a large king sized bed, protruding outwards from the wall situated to his right. a white desk sits near the window, which overlooks the bondy campus, and beside that, a white-washed timber wardrobe.

he grants brice the peace of mind at the moment, smirking to himself, and shuts the door quietly as he moves into the room. on the bed is a navy blue string bag, and kylian picks it up. the material is light yet sturdy, feeling the thin material of his kit inside, then he tugs it open.

the attire is navy blue, with one thick gold stripe running vertically on the left, the crest sitting right on top. he smiles warmly as he turns it around and sees his surname etched in gold as well. there's no number. he's the number 7 in his club, and knows he needs to prove that he's worthy of it here.

he changes into his kit and glances at the clock. it reads 12pm, and kylian exits his room to retrieve his case just his friend does the same.

"i feel expensive," brice chides, kylian agreeing. he's also clad in his kit, everything completely identical apart from the name scribbled on his back.

"we only have 15 minutes to unpack," kylian informs as brice wheels his suitcase into the room.

"i probably won't do all of it– only half."

they both sort out their wardrobe, almost getting carried away as brice barges into kylian's room telling him that they have 2 minutes to spare. they decide to take the stairs this time, woe betide them they leave their keycards, and reach the lobby just as coach moreau gets there too.

through the glass door awaits the feminine half of their faction, already socialising as a group, and kylian feels his chest dip. he tries not to think about it too much, afterall, he has brice, and it'll be very unlike his friend to ditch him for someone else during their say.

coach moreau moves them outside before talking, "we'll begin the tour down the south wing- here- before moving towards north. i hope all of you are ready because this campus is big."

brice leans into kylian and whispers, "you don't say." kylian breaks into a smile, pushing his friend gently.

during the hour the spend walking- walking!- around bondy's grounds, kylian's brain overspills with information that flies into his ear and out the other. salvages as little as the fact that south wing consists of their dorms, from junior to elite, and leisure spaces whereas its north counterpart inhabits the main and training pitches, every type of hall you could think of, separate parlours for factions to bask in and the canteen.

brices legs are completely spent, kylian's no different, and once they make their way into their designated space, brice wastes no time to sit on the blue settee.

"okay everybody, take a seat," coach moreau's voice comes from behind the bunch. they all find a place to sit as the man stands at the front.

“since i’m sure not everyone knows each other here, we’ll do short introductions. you can state your full name if you want, and what club you currently play for,” his eyes scan the room. the passion is definitely there, that’s undeniable, and coach moreau can see more potential than he ever has. “football is not just about skill and playing, but forming relationships with your teammates, as well. remember, bondy is competitive, but do not let it get to your heads, okay?”

a chorus of ‘yes coach’ follows, and he smiles at the teenagers before him. kylian’s brain seems to go stagnant and he feels scorched all over. he hadn’t planned for this, isn’t prepared. brice looks at him, silently asking if he’s okay, but he doesn’t find it in him to respond. before brice could initiate his concern, verbally, their coach is speaking again.

“alright, we’ll go clockwise, i’ll start; i’m coach moreau and i’ve been coaching here for about 20 years now. i’m normally accompanied by coach lambert, who teaches the feminine unit, but she’s been off for the past few hours. she should be back for training later today.”

the next boy starts to speak. he’s tan skinned, with dark brown hair that’s completely shaved into a buzzcut, “i’m zion saez and i play for l’aigles.”

the girl beside him shoots him a grin, and he returns it. if anyone present was any dumber, it would be unknown that they’re a couple. they try to be discreet, but their fleeting, prolonged touches sell them out.

“i’m [y/n], and i also play for l’aigles,” zion’s girlfriend states after. a girl beside her begins her introduction, and before kylian could fathom, it’s his turn. he doesn’t speak- for god’s sake he can’t- and the silence is nibbling at his ears.

“boy, it’s your turn,” coach moreau’s voice penetrates into the room. everyone’s staring, their eyes dig into his skin, and he brings his hands up to sign. he’s shaking, but hopes that brice can determine it good enough.

“i’m kylian, and i play for loc.”

no one makes a sound afterwards, and his heart collapses in on itself. coach moreau looks at him, his eyes speak of something he cannot understand, then a voice comes from his far left.

“can you not speak?” his tone is almost degrading, and the humiliation that permeates through kylian is an understatement.

“he’s mute,” brice seethes, “there’s no reason to be rude about it.”

the boy doesn’t respond, staring at brice with his face crumpled in scorn, and kylian nudges him to let it go. an expectant, yet awkward silence commences, and kylian has to nudge brice again, knowing that in his state of anger, his self-awareness is absent.

“brice. i play for toc too.”

coach moreau’s gaze interchanges between zion and brice, then he says, “what i said before isn’t a joke. football is about respect, and you’re taught that from early, or am i lying?”

there’s no reply, and he repeats himself, louder and miffed, “am i lying?! zion? brice?”

a collective, murmured ‘no coach’ comes from the both of them, and coach moreau hums.

“i’m glad i’m being heard. let’s go to lunch.”

+_-

their first training session succeeds after their lunch break, in which the meal was a simple plate of pasta, but kylian had to get seconds. the more bondy surprises him, the more he thinks there’s a catch. privilege cannot come so effortlessly and also have him running scot-free; he leaves that thought for his future self, though.

coach moreau has gathered them at the centre of one of the training pitches, with the feminine unit on another with coach lambert, after an exertive warm-up and drills ensemble.

“i feel like i’ve played a full 90,” brice complains to kylian as he stands beside him. his friend pats his shoulder apologetically.

“since it’s your first day, i think a good game of 5-a-side will really establish the skill we have in this team, don’t you think?”

a cacophony of excited cheers and hollers come from the boys and adrenaline finally pumps within kylian.

“team one will have…” he scans his clipboard, “brice, joel, kylian, rafael and kody. the rest of you on team two, get yourself some green bibs, you’ll be shooting to the goal on my right. let’s get going boys.”

kylian and brice get in position as they wait for the opposing team to situate themselves. once they do, the game begins with the shrill sound of coach moreau’s whistle, and kylian is already dashing for the ball. it’s passed to someone else on the green-bib team before he can reach it, and as brice is closer, he’s able to tackle it off the boy. he passes it back to kylian, who makes a run for the goal.

his speed gives coach moreau whiplash, he has never seen such like it; it’s almost an art to watch, elegantly swift and gets faster with every metre he runs. he circles kylian’s name and goes back to watching the game, just quick enough to notice zion barge into kylian with such vigour that he tumbles out of the pitch. he pushes his whistle between his lips and blows it forcefully.

everything happens with hastened velocity. kylian is quick to regenerate himself, standing up and immediately shoves zion’s back with all his strength. his sides throbs with a dull ache from the collision prior, yet all he sees is red as zion’s face comes uncomfortably close to his, lips stretched in a sickening smile as he taunts kylian.

“what are you gonna do, huh? you can’t even talk, you fucking freak.”

then he’s dragged away by coach moreau before his fist can even come close to zion’s cheek.

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