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valeisaslut · 7 days ago

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lost in the fire - mdni (+18)

⚢ pairing: Ellie Williams (The Last Of Us II, 2020) x Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

ෆ synopsis: It all started off as a game. A game where both sides won, the normal friends with benefits thing. The problem is that, more often than not, what sounds perfect in words is rarely perfect in practice. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ word count: 7.14 k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♱ content: angst and smut!!, dom/switch! Ellie, sub/switch! reader, fingering (r! giving and receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), pet names, mention of parties and alcohol, a real rollercoaster of emotions, got a little dense with the fire analogy, kinda really cheesy bc im a hopeless romantic and got poetical at the end, etc. MDNI!!! 𖥔 ݁ ˖

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ Hey! SO...... SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING LMAO, I was busy with college and had no imagination, BUT IM BACK! AND WITH A 7K WORDS FIC! (thank you the weeknd's song for bringing back my writing skills) This is one of my fist smutty fics and english isn't my first language, so if there's some misspelling or writing mistakes I will be happy to receive constructive criticism <3 𖥔 ݁ ˖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Anyone who plays with fire, most of the time will end up getting burned.

And if you keep playing with fire after you have been burned, only ashes will remain.

It all started off as a game. A game where both sides won, it sounded perfect. The problem is that, more often than not, what sounds perfect in words is rarely perfect in practice.

You and Ellie have been friends since high school, and from the instant your paths crossed, you became inseparable. You shared secrets, laughter and tears, and you stuck together through the hardest times of your lives.

Together you grew up, watching as the shy pre-teens you once were transformed into two confident, strong college women marked by a bond that seemed unbreakable.

You trusted her more than you trusted anyone; she knew everything about you, and you knew everything about her.

Or so you did until now....

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It all started off, literally, as a game. A night of laughter and music at a college party, surrounded by your friends, when the random fate of a “truth or dare” game traced the first thread of a destiny that neither of you could have imagined.

"_____, I dare you to kiss Ellie" Dina said with a mischievous tone after you chose “dare”, looking at you as she sipped her beer.

The question of “what would have happened” if you had chosen truth is a question that will be repeated for the rest of your life. The butterfly effect of that decision materialized in the first spark.

You remained static. You automatically turned to Ellie, who was sitting next to you. You two had never kissed before; you hadn't even considered the idea. But in her eyes there was something different, a particular sparkle, a mischievousness that completely disarmed you. On her face, a lopsided smile seemed to invite you to take that next move.

"So, _____, what you waiting for? A dare is a dare" said Dina with a smirk that mirrored the expectant gleam in everyone else's eyes, the air becoming heavy with anticipation.

"For god's sake, fine! I'll do it... but I don't want ANY jokes about it afterwards" you said, and with trembling hands, you approached Ellie slowly. You closed your eyes and felt her hand land on the back of your neck, pulling you into her and joining your lips in a kiss.

The kiss was brief, a sigh in time, but enough to release a swarm of butterflies inside you, fluttering with intensity. Her lips were soft, warm, and the scent emanating from her skin suddenly became intoxicating, enveloping you completely.

That fiery spark, which at first barely glowed, began to grow, transforming into a faint, but irrevocably unstoppable fire.

When you separated, her eyes were still fixed on yours, shining with an intensity that hid something deeper, a desire that you were both trying to conceal, a hunger that wanted more. Her freckled cheeks were tinged crimson, as so were yours, the color becoming more intense with each passing second. For a moment, the world disappeared, and only the two of you existed.

"Damn, that was intense" Jesse remarked with a surprised tone, causing the bubble that had formed around you to burst and bringing both of you back to reality. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?".

"Well, a dare is a dare, isn't it?" Ellie said, laughing a little trying to relieve the tension that had quickly formed in the air. She sit up and drank the last remains of her beer before talking again “And no, it’s not just you”.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A month had passed after the party, but since then, an undeniable tension had been born between the two of you. Every time you looked at her, the memory of the kiss came back with such a force that it even scared you.

You told yourself that it was something stupid, a simple dare, nothing important. Many friends kiss, everything stays the same and then they laugh about it. But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, that moment and the feeling that echoed loudly in your heart haunted you.

But it was impossible to deny. It was impossible to hide.

"______.... have you ever... thought about our kiss again?" Ellie whispered as you both were in your room, hanging out sitting on your bed. You were chatting about stupid things, but the minute silence fell, Ellie could no longer hide the uncertainty that tormented her.

The question took you by surprise. You assumed that you would never talk about it again and the memory would fade with time. But it seems that you weren’t the only one who was still tormented by it.

"Well... yes. I think about it a lot" you admitted, unable to hide it any longer, and looked at her nervously "Why do you even ask?"

" ‘Cause I do too" she answered, her voice more husky and full of sincerity.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it was charged with electricity, that fire burning again, but now with more intensity. After a few seconds that felt like hours, Ellie spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And would you like to..... repeat it sometime?"

You stared at her, your heart beating wildly.

"Would you like to?" you asked back, in a deeper tone. Both of your connected eyes emanated sparks around you and your bodies involuntarily moved closer and closer.

"You really wanna know?" she said, and her green eyed gaze went down to your lips, up to your eyes, and then down again to your lips. There was hunger in her gaze, pure desire. “I would like to. And I would like it a lot”.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you replied, no longer having the energy to fight the feeling. You madly wanted her to kiss you, and you couldn't hide it anymore.

Without further waiting, Ellie drew you to her in the same way as the first time, and her lips met yours again. This time the kiss was very different; more passionate, more hungry. Your mouths moved as if you wanted to devour each other, pouring that hunger in your gazes in the movement of your lips, in the way your tongues moved together.

That dim fire became a blaze that did not stop until you were both breathless. It was as if that relentless fire sought to incinerate the two of you, and leave behind nothing but ashes.

And that fire burned until it consumed the night completely, bringing everything to a point of no return. It was your first true encounter, where you shared a pleasure so immense that it seemed ripped from a dream. The outside world ceased to exist and you were the only ones left, immersed in that heat.

That night was only the beginning of something more intimate and secret. From that moment on, you both agreed that you would keep hooking up and continue your friendship as if nothing was going on. The famous “friends with benefits” as people often call it.

It was the best of both worlds, and for some brief months, it worked perfectly. Your friendship remained intact, and since you knew each other's most intimate side, it was as if a new level of trust had unlocked. At the same time, you had an amazing lover, who had shown you a pleasure that no one had ever shown you before, and you never wanted it to stop.

No one knew about what you had, it was a mutual secret that made everything more exciting, like something dark that made you complicit in something that felt even criminal. Your friends didn't suspect a thing, or at least they never dared to mention the overwhelming sexual tension between the two of you.

No commitments, no strings attached, no being exclusive, just pleasure with the person you trusted the most in the world. It was a balance that seemed impossible, but worked.

What could possibly go wrong?

.....

Everything.

Everything could go wrong. And to your misfortune, it got really fucked up from one second to another.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was a regular Saturday, surrounded by your friends at a college party. Ellie was there as usual, since she was part of your friendgroup.

The night was going on perfectly, dancing and having fun, while the alcohol was enveloping you in a warm feeling of disinhibition. Until suddenly, you noticed that the auburn-haired had disappeared, as if she had faded away without leaving a trace. You hadn't even noticed it at first, but when you did, something inside you began to wonder if her absence had any meaning.

You said you had to go to the bathroom, assuring Dina that you could go alone, because you were actually on your way to find her. As you walked through the halls of the big house, a deep gut feeling began to seep into your thoughts, an uncomfortable feeling that clouded your mind. As you walked up the stairs, that same intuition caused you to turn your head. And what you saw froze you.

You saw Ellie holding hands with an unknown girl, guiding her with steady steps, her gaze loaded with silent promises. With a subtle smile, she whispered something in her ear, opening the door of the house before fading into the darkness. Their silhouettes got lost in the night, both with a mutual complicity and desire that spoke louder than a thousand words. There was no room for doubt, it was painfully obvious what they were about to do.

You felt an ice-cold stream mercilessly piercing your chest.

A dense, painful knot formed in your throat, squeezing so tightly that you could barely breathe, while a bitter nausea shook your foundations. Your eyes began to water, betraying your effort to maintain your composure. You stood frozen on the stairs, as if by remaining still you could convince yourself that this was not real, but a product of your imagination.

The situation was ridiculous. You were nothing serious. It was just an arrangement that sounded and worked perfectly. Passionate encounters at night, mornings full of words of complicity, a shared secret. It shouldn't hurt so much.

Your legs moved to the door, starting to walk as if they had a life of their own towards your place. Thousands of messy thoughts were making a disaster in your head, until you felt a wet droplet running down your cheek. Why were you crying? It never meant anything. You were non-exclusive, she had the right to be with whoever she pleased.

Then why did you feel as if your heart had been ripped out of your chest, thrown on the ground and then stepped on? It was all just so stupid, you felt stupid. You meant nothing to her, and she should mean nothing to you. She should....

And at that very moment, the truth hit you with a force that suddenly stopped you in your tracks.

You had fallen in love with her.

You had fallen in love with her gaze, her smile, her face, her body, her humor, her personality, her nerdy hobbies, absolutely everything about her. You had always been, but since everything became so intimate, the feeling intensified on a huge scale, but up until now, you had never been strong enough to accept it. When you saw what you never wanted to see, the weight of your own feelings crushed you.

Friends with benefits, you agreed, although only now did you realize that you weren't friends at all. Not with the way she looked at you after every kiss. Not with the way your heart raced every time she brushed your skin.

You didn't want to realize what you felt for her before, because it terrified you. You were terrified that she wouldn't feel the same and loose everything you had; but what really shattered you was seeing her with someone else, as if what you had didn't mean anything.

You were head over heels in love with her, how could you not accept that before? It was so absurdly clear, and as inevitable as death. She inhabited your days and nights, your first thought when you opened your eyes and the last murmur of your mind when you closed them. She was everywhere: in the air you breathed, in the shadows of every corner, in the beating of your heart…

The fire that once wanted to consume you both had done its job, but only with you as its victim, devouring you cruelly and slowly. It left you feeling like cold ashes on the ground, temporarily carried away by the wind.

You walked back to your place, each step heavier and more painful than the last. When you arrived, you barely managed to open the door before your legs simply gave out. You let yourself fall, your back sliding against the wall until you hit the cold floor.

Then the tears, held back until that moment, poured out uncontrollably. You covered your face with your hands, trying to muffle the sobs that escaped from your chest, unable to handle the pain that seemed to tear at your heart apart.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A week had passed since that day, and the memory still burned like an open wound. You didn't answer her texts, you didn't answer her calls. Every vibration of your phone was a reminder of how much it hurt, and it was easier to ignore it than to accept the reality.

The reality was that you had absolutely no idea what to do now. All that love you felt for her was unrequited, and now that you had accepted it, you couldn't look at her without feeling your heart shattering even more. You couldn't pretend nothing happened and be her best friend again, let alone have sex with her again. That would only feel like rubbing salt in the wound.

So ignoring her was your simplest solution, even though you knew it wouldn't work for long. She would soon realize that you were completely avoiding her, and you knew that once she got fed up, she'd take real action. She could not be indifferent, she was always direct, blunt, and would not stand still in the face of your silence. You just wanted to delay that moment as long as possible.

But it was like ignoring the elephant in the room. Like not acknowledging a storm that you knew was about to shake the foundations of your world. You didn't know exactly when. But you knew it would happen at any moment.

It was almost two in the morning and you were lying in your bed staring at the ceiling. Your mind was a mess, as it had been all that goddamn week. You couldn't stop thinking about her, and all the words you couldn't say to her piled up in your chest like an unbearable weight.

As if you had called out to her telepathically, a knock on your door resounded like thunder. You knew it was her. No one else would come unannounced, especially at this hour.

You hesitated for a second, but your feet already carried you to the entrance of your apartment. It seemed like it was impossible for you not to answer that knock. When you opened the door, there was Ellie, her hair disheveled, her eyes dark, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had that unmistakable thing about her, that mix of determination and vulnerability that always made your throat tighten.

"Why are you ignoring me?" she asked suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you replied, trying to keep your composure and lie as best as you could, but your voice cracked. You turned around and left the door open, not inviting her in. She entered your place anyway, of course, loudly closing the door behind her.

"I don't understand what did I do to you" she said, and her tone wasn't one of accusation, but of genuine confusion "I texted you like a million times and called you a hundred more. You never ignored me like this since we've known each other. Come on _____, a whole week? stop beating around the bush and tell me what the fuck is your problem"

"You want me to tell you? Fine, I'll tell you" You turned to face her, pent-up anger rising like a torrent "I saw you. At the party. Leaving with her".

Her eyebrows furrowed, but something in her realized something. For a moment you thought she was going to deny it, but instead she let out a heavy sigh.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked suddenly, but her tone wasn't cold or accusatory. There was a strong uncertainty behind it.

"Why do you care? You wouldn't understand it anyways, Ellie." you said, avoiding her and looking down at the ground. You didn't have the courage, you didn't have the strength to tell her how you felt. You had this feeling in your chest that knew you could ruin everything if you did, that you would lose everything in a second because she wouldn't reciprocate you. "It's obvious that this was just a game for you".

"Why do I care? I care a lot more than you think" she raised her tone, beginning to despair at the situation. "And it was never 'just a game' for me, but I thought we agreed that we weren't exclusive".

"Believe me, i fucking know about that arrangement." you spat, your anger completely overtaking you, your tone rising to the same pitch as hers. "Do you even care about me at all?".

"What do you mean I don't care about you?" Her voice broke and she looked at you confusedly before she continued "I thought you were ok with-".

"I was!" you shouted, interrupting her before she could finish the sentence, unable to hold back the anger running through your veins "But that was before I saw how you were going to hook up with her!".

"She didn’t mean anything!" she replied again, her tone much higher now, impatience flooding her voice and expression "Now answer me, why do you care so much?!"

It was if the ground had been ripped out from under your feet, leaving you suspended in a void that squeezed your chest. The pain inside you was so strong that your words shot out before you could even think of them, running over each other, overflowing like a force you could no longer restrain.

And you screamed it out, your voice cracking under the pressure of a truth that had consumed you in silence until you could no longer hold it in the shadows.

"Because I fell in love with you! Is that answer enough for you?! I'm so in love with you that it's fucking killing me!"

You stood still, unable to believe that your heart acted faster than your brain, and still unable to believe what you had just confessed. You felt the weight on your chest lighten, but it became an even bigger one, the weight of rejection.

The silence that followed was deafening. Ellie’'s eyes grew wide. She just watched you, as if trying to understand something she hadn't expected to hear.

"You.... love me?" she whispered, almost as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, letting the words slip out carefully, as if they were so fragile they might break.

"For a long time...but after seeing you with her, I realized it was much deeper than I thought...." you said, your eyes still on the ground, a knot forming in your throat, and the fear that your now watery eyes would betray you. The fear that rejection was all that would be left was eating you from the inside out. ".... And I know you don't feel the same way, so if you want to end it all here, I'll accept it."

Ellie closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to gather strength. When she opened them, something changed in her gaze.

"You really think I don't feel the same?" she said, her voice shaking but charged with something that made you stop breathing. She took a step toward you, cupping your face with both hands to lift your face, her touch warm and familiar, but different now, as if she was breaking down an invisible wall.

There was urgency in her eyes, a trace of something that made the rest of the world fade away, the distance between you shrinking until it disappeared. You slowly looked up to meet her bright green eyes, filled with a light you had never seen before.

"I got scared" she went on, her voice barely a whisper "What I feel for you is so.... big, i didn't know how to handle it. I thought being with someone else would help me forget it, but it didn't work. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't be away from you, even if it scares me"

You stood there transfixed, caught in those dark eyes that now burned as intensely as a fire. And then, before you could even process it, her lips found yours. The kiss was anything but tender; it was an explosion of pent-up emotions, of frustration and desire, of all the words that had never been spoken. It was burning with that same fire, now burning brighter than it ever did before.

"I hate you so much" you murmured against her lips, though you both knew that was a lie.

She smiled slightly, her fingers tracing a path from your waist to your lower back.

"Liar." she whispered, her voice hoarse.

She pushed you gently against the wall, her body pressed against yours, and everything else faded away. The world stopped spinning outside that moment, outside of her hands exploring your skin as if trying to memorize it, her lips seeking yours with an urgency that made you shudder.

Her lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of fire that made you arch your back. Your hands sank into her hair, tugging lightly and drawing a sigh from her that made you shiver.

"Ellie... " you whispered her name as if it was a prayer, as if it could somehow explain everything you felt. She lifted her head to look at you, her breathing as erratic as yours.

"I don't want this to be just words" she murmured, her voice trembling but steady at the same time. Her breath brushed against your skin and something inside you snapped again, but this time it was not pain. It was pure desire.

"Then make them more" you replied without thinking, looking at her with an urgency you didn't know you felt until now.

And that was all it took. In one fluid movement, she carried you to the room, opening the door and entering the place dimly lit by the hanging lights that adorned the ceiling. Upon reaching the corner of the bed, she gently pushed you against the mattress and pounced on you like a hungry woman.

Her body was so close to yours that you could feel the heat emanating from it. Her lips found yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation, only need. It was a kiss that demanded everything, that made you forget the days of silence, the insecurities, and all the pain.

Her hands slowly moved down your arms, leaving a burning trail in their wake, until they reached your waist. You stood up slightly as if you didn't want there to be even a space between you. The softness of her lips were different from the strength of her grip, and that contrast made you lose yourself completely.

"You have no idea how much I missed you" she murmured against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made you shudder. Her voice was deep, laden with something you had never heard before.

"And you have no idea how much it hurt to see you with her" you answered, almost breathless, but your words had no accusation, only honesty.

She stopped for a second, resting her forehead against yours, and with that gaze, she transmitted something that made you feel both vulnerable and safe.

"I never wanted to hurt you. You are the only thing I want. You are the only person I want to be with." she murmured against your lips, and that confession was enough to undo any barrier that remained between you.

The distance between your bodies disappeared completely. Her hands explored your skin with a mixture of tenderness and desperation, as if she tried to memorize every inch of you. Each touch was a reminder of what you had been denying for so long.

Her lips sucked and her teeth sank into the delicate skin from your neck all the way to your collarbone. As she pulled back slightly to admire her handiwork, she felt a savage satisfaction knowing that you would be wearing those marks for the next five to seven business days, at least.

Ellie lets out a soft gasp, pulling her shirt from her back with one hand and tossing it somewhere behind her. You let out a sigh at the sight of her bare torso, and your hands went straight to tug on her hair, pulling her closer to you.

Your eyes watch her as she pushes up the hem of your shirt, letting out a deep breath as she finally manages to discard the garment, murmuring a curse. You were wearing only a huge nightshirt that reached mid-thigh, leaving you without any other clothing.

"You’re perfect" she says in a husky, lustful tone as her dilated pupils land on your breasts, and you can see in the corner of your eye how she licks her lips. Your hands go to her sweats, and as you pull them down, you can hear her kick off her shoes and help you take them off, kicking them back the moment they hit the floor.

The air in the room thickened with an intoxicating warmth as each kiss and gentle caress talked the unspoken words that had lingered between you for far too long. The soft brush of skin against skin ignited a searing heat that enveloped you both, almost overwhelming.

The intimacy deepened as your whispered breath carried her name. She met your gaze with a tender smile, then leaned in closer, her lips finding yours again with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine. It was a kiss filled with urgency, as if she wanted to make sure you understood that this wasn't just another moment for her.

You broke away from the kiss, and you feel her smooth fingers against your lips. Your mouth opens as easily as she remembers, and she has to swallow another thick moan as you suck her fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them to taste her intoxicating skin, and the sensation runs through her like an electric current.

“God... fuck…” she murmurs lightly in a moan, pulling her fingers out of your mouth as she adjusts you so you’re straddling one of her thighs, your own thigh pressing between her legs to rub deliciously against her sensitive, aching pussy.

She hisses lightly as your hips roll down her leg, your head lolling back. Picking up a slow rhythm, you grind against her, your wetness spreading along her skin as you let out moans every time you rock your hips back and forth.

Ellie’s mind begins to become a blur at the sight of you, your nipples hard from the cool air of the room. She leans down and opens her mouth slowly to close it on your nipple, teasing her teeth over the sensitive flesh, and smirking at the way it makes the rhythm of your hips falter. Your fingers pull harder at her hair and you let out an almost pornographic moan, her other hand sliding up to knead your other breast. She can't help the little jerks of her own hips against your thigh as well, her underwear now soaked.

"Els- Els..." you gasp her name, and the sound goes straight to her pussy like an electric current.

"Tell me... tell me what you want..." She moans as you move and your thigh presses harder against her, her mouth half open.

"Your fingers...please....." You whisper in her ear haltingly, and she feels like she could have a heart attack at any moment. Something in her brain chemistry changes every time she's next to you, and she swears that the effect you have on her should be studied by scientists.

"Shit… you're gonna be the death of me” she murmurs after swallowing heavily, adjusting herself back as you lift your hips. She pauses when she feels you grab the elastic of her boxers. A small laugh escapes her chest at your anxious gaze and your shaky hands.

"Out." you say, almost petulantly, as Ellie moves her own hips so that she can slide her legs, kicking them to the side.

"Happy now? "

"Yeah, much better" you smile, sinking back into her thigh, as your arms wrapping around her shoulders. She moves her right hand to your soaked part, teasing two fingers around your entrance.

Her eyes lock onto yours, a silent plea for your permission, and you nod eagerly, anticipation going through you like electricity. She pushes a finger past your soaked folds and immediately feels you enveloping her, the pressure making her own cunt clench. Ellie hisses, moving her hips against your leg.

“God, just like that…” you gasp, raising your hips to lower them again, your nails digging into the skin of her back.

“Want more?” She asks, as you go up and down a couple more times. You nod, just as fervently as the first time, if not more so.

“Atta girl” She whispers low as she sinks another finger into you and rejoices in the way you moan, how loud and strong it sounds coming from the back of your throat. Your eyes roll back as you begin to ride her fingers, your hair falling messily around your shoulders. She reaches up her free hand to take a handful of it in her palm, pulling it back to give her more access to your neck and leaning forward to suck another dark hickey over the skin where your pulse is.

Ellie’s head spins, going delirious with desire as she pushes a third finger into you, watching as your mouth opens in a silent moan and your entire body shudders around her. You’re so wet, so tight, that the building arousal between her legs is beginning to reach a climax, as she moves shamelessly against your thigh still between her legs.

The scene seems straight out of a movie, those kids aren’t allowed to watch. Your mind can't formulate a single coherent thought. All that exists now is Ellie: her fingers, her scent, her ecstatic face, her half-open mouth, and the enormous satisfaction that consumes you. The air in the room is thick and dense, almost as if it could be cut with a knife.

You both feel like you always do when you are in these moments; as if you are the only two people that exist in the world. No one and nothing else matters; nothing else makes sense except the immeasurable pleasure that threatens to tear you apart with the intensity of a natural disaster.

That same fire that always existed now burns with the power of a forest fire that sought to destroy everything in its path, including the two of you in that destruction.

And you swear this is what heaven must feel like.

"God fuck! Yes! Ellie!" you scream, nothing else matters anymore. You move up and down so hard and fast that Ellie has to take a second to admire how strong your legs are. She thanks the gods for having someone like you in that instant, before her thoughts become tangled in a sizzling mess when you slide your hand into the space between her legs and yours, your fingers pressing messily between her folds.

"Can I? I wanna make you feel good too… "

Ellie nearly has that heart attack she thought of earlier, nodding fervently and spreading her legs to give you more access, feeling you slide two fingers inside her without warning.

“______! Shit! " she curses your name as you curl your fingers up and stars blur her vision. She moans as you pump your fingers into the knot of nerves inside her, her own fingers soaked as you fuck yourself on them.

It’s all becoming too much, and before she knows it, the tension in her lower stomach snaps like a thread. Her core throbs around your fingers as her orgasm shakes through her, white bursts of pleasure flashing through her eyes.

“Mm - Holy shit _____....,” she gulps, blinking as your silhouette comes back into focus in her vision, the buzzing inside her head still echoes from the aftermath of her orgasm. She vaguely notices you smiling at her for a second before you lean into her to give her a sweet kiss.

Ellie moans into the kiss, her breathing evens slightly as you pull your fingers out. When you pull back to slide them into your mouth, she feels like she’s going to cum again just from watching that. You look up at her with blown pupils and heavy eyelids, your tongue sliding around your fingers, tasting the taste of her climax, intense and unmistakable. A taste you could never get tired of; a taste that screams “Ellie”.

“Jesus…Christ....” Ellie gasps, and somewhere in her head, there’s a small voice screaming “holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit, how did I get so lucky?” over and over again until it becomes the impulse that makes her lean up, pushing you down and letting your back fall onto the bed with a smug, indulgent smile.

“Mmm... come closer, beautiful.” She makes her way down your body, trailing kisses down your chest and pausing to circle her tongue around your nipples only for you to arch closer to her. She drops a few lingering kisses down the line of your stomach, before blowing a little air over your throbbing clit, her fingers parting the folds of your soaked centre.

She swallows dryly, moaning to herself, as you feel your body jerk and tremble at the feel of her hot breath on your most sensitive part, impatient and eager from so much arousal.

“You've got the prettiest fucking pussy” she murmurs as you let out a soft whimper, your fingers sinking into her hair. "I’ve been dreamin' bout this for weeks"

She looks up at you and marvels at the sight of your body, naked above the mess of sheets, as beautiful as a work of art. A work of art meant for her eyes only.

She squirms with desire and finally drops her mouth to you, licking a long stripe along your entrance, her eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of you soaking her tongue.

“A-ah! Ellie!” you cry out as your head falls completely back, making a thud sound against the pillow. Your fingers pull her hair even tighter, and your thighs clench at the sides of her face. You both swear this is the hottest moment you’ve ever experienced.

Not long after that, she gives a few hard sucks on your clit, pushes three fingers inside you and just like that you’re falling apart beneath her. Your thighs shake as you moan, shudder and gasp through your orgasm.

If you felt like you were in heaven before, now you were experiencing the presence of God himself. The knot in your lower stomach unties and breaks in a crash that shatters you, leaving you breathless, white flashing through your eyes and a broken, desperate cry escapes from your mouth.

Ellie talks you through it, pulling away from your centre to press a kiss to your shoulder, your breaths beginning to even out and your vision finally coming into focus.

“Hey there, princess,” he smiles.

You’re still breathless, but you pull her down for another long kiss, tracing her jaw with your thumb.

“Wow..... just.... wow" you murmured, breaking away from the kiss and looking at her with a flushed face.

Ellie laughs, throwing herself like a dead weight next to you, staring at the ceiling, getting a little lost in tought. The warmth of your old hanging lights illuminate everything with a soft, diffuse glow. She feels you turn to look at her, your cheek resting on your arm. She turns to mirror your position, reaching out a hand to caress your cheek. After a few minutes of silence, she finally speaks.

"Maybe it'll sound kinda rushed but I.... love you. I love you, _____ " she whispers, her voice like a caress that slides gently through the air before her lips kiss your forehead, an action that seems to stop time. You feel like your insides melting, as if every part of you finds refuge in that moment.

"I don't wanna hide what I feel anymore" she continues, with that same tenderness capable of breaking all your barriers. "From now on, I want everything between us to be sincere, only truth."

Your arms wrap around her chest, trying to bring her closer, until there is no space between you. Curve by curve, skin on skin, her warmth envelops you, and an indescribable tenderness blossoms between the two of you. In her embrace, you feel like you found your place in the world, a corner where everything makes sense.

"I love you too, Ellie... more than you could ever imagine" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, sweet and full of contained emotion.

The silence that now falls is not awkward, but a silence in which both of you take the chance to admire each other. For eternal minutes her eyes trace every detail of your face, and yours do the same, as if she wanted to memorize every line, every shadow. A smile, shy and full of love, curves on her lips, reflected by yours. In that moment, everything is perfect, there are no more masks or fears, only the love you found in each other.

"So... does that mean we are... dating now?" you murmured, the doubt evident in your words, although your heart screamed the answer you wanted to hear. You needed her to say it, you needed her to confirm it.

Ellie stared at you. And she continued to stare at you with that green eyed gaze of hers that makes you forget how to breathe. The pause was brief, but it felt endless. She suddenly let herself fall back with an over-the-top groan that could only belong in a cheesy soap opera.

"Are you for real right now?" she exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest in an offended manner. "Are you really hitting me with the “what are we” question after all that drama?! I showed up at your place, we fought, made up, I bared my soul and told you that I love you, we had a movie-worthy confession, i mean, we even fucke- "

"ELLIE WILLIAMS! I get it!” you yelled, crawling forward to push her before she could finish that dangerous sentence. You managed to quickly get her to lie down completely while you positioned yourself over her, your hands holding her wrists. You were blushing up to your ears in embarrassment, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little at her drama.

Ellie arched an eyebrow, an “Are you seriously doing this to me?” expression etched on her face, even as you tried to hold on to your dignity.

“It’s just that…”

“It’s just that… what?” she asked with a hint of amusement, through her eyes sparkled with tenderness.

“It’s just that neither of us have asked it properly…and-”

“Shhh…” She cut you off gently, as if she had completely forgotten her moment of theatrics, and with a certainty that made you nervous.

You froze. Your hands instinctively let go of her wrists as she sat up, making you fall onto her lap with almost insulting ease. Her hands settled on your waist, holding you tenderly. Her eyes met yours, and a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

"______, love of my life, light of my eyes, owner of my heart" she began to speak with an slightly mocking and sarcastic tone, but after a few seconds of suspense, she said what you had longed to hear for so long.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

And the question floated in the air like a feather. Her warm and now not at all mocking tone made your heart explode. You felt the air completely leave your lungs, because in her gaze there was nothing but sincere love. A smile spread across your lips, so pure and sweet that Ellie narrowed her eyes as if it was too bright to handle.

"I swear that smile of yours is gonna give me cavities..."

But you didn't give her time to say anything else. You leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a kiss that answered her question more than all the words in the world. When you finally broke the kiss, gasping softly against her lips, your hands tangled in her hair.

“Yes, yes… I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Ellie held you tightly, whispering in your ear, her voice so soft it almost knocked you over.

“You know, I never thought I’d find something so beautiful in this world,

but then you came along.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

In that instant, as you both smiled with wild, imperfect love, both hearts beating in unison, something was revealed deep within you.

It didn't matter that the fire had consumed both of you to the bone, or that your souls melted in the flames of desire, because in the end, the ashes, although fragile and crumbling, will always be worth it.

Those that remain, golden and full of life, are those that speak of what it was, of what was true, of what cannot be extinguished. Love, though it can devastate, also gifts us something pure amid the ruins. And that, being its crudest form, is the most beautiful form.

It doesn't matter that the fire burned you completely.

The ashes will always be worth it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

DAMN THAT WAS INTENSE! sorry for the end lmao i got a lil Shakespeare complex

Hope yall enjoyed and I'm SUPER grateful for every repost, like or share you wanna give!!! :D

(sorry again if there's any spelling or writing mistakes)

#lesbian #lesbian pride #lgbtq #ellie williams imagine #lesbian shot #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #the last of us 2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #shappic #wlw smut #wlw ns/fw

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multi-fandom-imagine · 5 months ago

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Lαst Kıss ➤ Stan Pines

A/n: been dying to use this song, so here is a quick little fic i wrote on my way to work

Oh, where oh where can my baby be?

The Lord took her away from me

She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good

So I can see my baby when I leave this world

It was prom night, and Stan knew he had to get you home but of but just because he had to drop you off didn't mean he couldn't spend a bit more time with you first, which meant that he needed to drop Ford off at home.

Despite his brother initial protest, he eventually slipped out of the car warning Stan to 'Bring dad's car back in one piece.'

Rolling his eyes, Stan drove off smiling to himself as you rested your head on his chest. "Did ya have fun tonight dollface?"

Biting back a snort you shook her head closing your eyes. "It was nice until you dumped punch on yourself."

We were out on a date in my daddy's car

We hadn't driven very far

There in the road, straight ahead

A car was stalled, the engine was dead

Letting out a hum, Stan let his fingers glide across your neck. He knew you were smiling, he could tell by the tone in your voice.

With how popular you are, yet you still fell for a guy like him and he couldn't have been happier.

Doing his best to take his time, Stan's eyes flicked to a car stalled in the middle of the road. His hand's gripping the wheel tight, he could tell by just how they were trying to start it that the engine was dead.

I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right

I'll never forget, the sound that night

The screamin' tires, the bustin' glass

The painful scream, that I heard last

Stan knew it was pointless in trying to stop, he knew it would have been a head on collision if he did, so he did the only thing though he could. Hand's gripping the steering wheel, he jerked the car to the right.

The sound would forever be engrained in his memory, the screeching off the tires, smell of burning rubber, the sound of the glass bursting and your scream.

That painful scream he heard last before everything went black.

When I woke up, the rain was pourin' down

There were people standing all around

Something warm flowin' through my eyes

But somehow I found my baby that night

I lifted her head, she looked at me and said

It hurt....everything hurt when he finally opened his eyes. He could barely register the people standing all around the wrecked car. He blinked feeling something warmth trickle down past his eyes.

A painful feeling in his chest as he finally looked at you. Stan could feel tears spring from his eyes as he did his best to hold you. His hand on your cheek as your eyes fluttered open for a moment as you gave him a smile.

"Hold me darling, just a little while"

Lips trembling, Stan lent in as he rested his head against your own, his lips brushing yours softly as he held you as best as he could.

I held her close, I kissed her our last kiss

I found the love, that I knew I had missed

And now she's gone, even though I hold her tight

I lost my love, my life that night

It didn't matter that he could hear the ambulance in the distance. It didn't matter because he could feel your body grow cold, lip against him.

He didn't know how much he held you, how much he begged for you to wake up.

You were gone and you weren't coming back, your funeral really solidified that. Stan stopped talking to anyone after his death, he couldn't look your parents in the eyes know matter how kind they were being to him.

So he did what made sense to him at the time, the only thing that made sense. He joined the United States Marine Corps and soon he was being shipped off to fight in the Vietnam War.

He did his best, he was a good soldier but all it took was one bullet but as he laid dying a smile graced his lips because he was going to see you again.

It was the second funeral Ford had to attend, he just never thought it would have been for his brother. He did his best to not look at the casket. Barley listened as his father loudly exclaimed that is son died a hero, that he'd proudly display the purple heart.

Ford knew he would have to steal that before his father could pawn it.

He wandered off the moment they handled his mother a folded flag and before he knew it he was back at the swing set. Sitting down, his grip tightened around the chain.

"I miss you Stan."

"Ha...you'll be alright sixer."

Tensing, Ford's head snapped to the voice. He felt like he was going insane because standing in front of him was his very dead brother. "Stan."

"I'm happy...don't think to much about it alright"

Then another voice chimed in, one we hadn't heard in years. And then he saw you, still clad in that prom dress. "Stan! Come on we're gonna be late."

"Sorry, gotta go Sixer...can't be late...take care of ma for me and the others."

Ford watched Stan link arms with you and with a blink of an eye you were gone. He didn't know if he was going insane or if he really saw the spirit's of you and his brother but as he sat down on the swing he couldn't help but smile.

Everything was going to be alright.

#SoundCloud #drabbles #drabble #stan pines #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines #stanley pines x you #stan x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you

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formulawolff · 7 months ago

Text

just how things come together, they fall apart - d.r.

pairing: female driver!reader x red bull!daniel ricciardo

word count: 2.5k

warnings: cursing, angst, unresolved romantic and sexual tension, a falling out of a friendship, some banter, the other drivers being little shits (especially kimi), allusions to smut, light alcohol use, "it was always you" trope, yadayadayada

a/n: this is my first time for our ol' boy danny ric! i hope i did a good job with this one! <3 i always love writing angst!

song inspo: friends by chase atlantic

"so this is it?"

"i mean," he won't even look at you, his eyes fixated on the floor, his head dipped low, "i guess so."

your lower lip trembles, fiery, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes, "i don't even know what the fuck i did wrong. i haven't done shit to you and here you are, kicking my ass to the curb."

"oh come on," he groans, bringing a hand to his temple, "you can't even be that upset with me. it's nothing personal. i just need to distance myself from you for a while. maybe forever. i don't know. i just know that i need to do this."

"i would be okay with it if i did something to make you upset with me or hate me," you wipe a tear, careful to not let him see you like this, "but i thought we were good. i guess not."

daniel grimaces, "like i said, it's nothing personal or against you. i think it's best if we're no longer friends."

"right," you nod, sucking in a sharp breath, "got it."

"i'm sorry-" he begins, but you stick up a hand, swiftly interrupting.

"don't even start with that bullshit. don't act like you're sorry just because you feel guilty."

"fine," he exhales, throwing his hands up in the air, "fine! i won't be sorry."

"see you around," you mutter, shaking your head, the tears streaming now, caking your heated cheeks.

storming out of the garage, you keep your head low, the other drivers mingling about, their voices hushed. yet, as they notice you, their attention shifts. sebastian makes his way towards you, concern plastered across his features.

"hey!" he calls, "what the fuck just happened?"

"ask daniel about it," your voice is shaky, "just fucking ask daniel about it."

"hey," arms envelop your frame, bringing you in close, "you can talk about it if you want."

"trouble in paradise?" a voice rumbles.

kimi.

"kimi," sebastian hisses, placing kisses along the crown of your head, "did you guys just fight?"

well, it more than just a little spat.

merely minutes ago, daniel announced that he was no longer interested in a friendship with you. a friendship that had blossomed and developed over the course of two years was gone in an instant, with no explanation why.

your heart felt like it was being torn into shreds, your breathing labored as you sobbed into sebastian's chest, the driver rubbing your back, his chin resting on top of your head.

"did something happen?" another voice cuts in, crisp with that oh so familiar accent.

lewis.

"i think they got into a pretty heated argument," sebastian murmurs, "he's kind of a piece of shit for doing that right before a race."

"what a dickhead," lewis whistles, "do you know what it was about?"

"no idea," sebastian shrugs, still clinging onto you, "she hasn't said much since she left the garage. just told me to ask daniel about it."

"hey," lewis places a tender hand on your shoulder, "you don't need that loser anyway. you have us. we'll be your besties."

"now is not the time," you grumble, "can we just get this fucking race over with?"

"only if you dust his ass," lewis pries you away from sebastian, wrapping you up in his own embrace. he squeezes you gently, "if you manage to get on the podium, will you please fill us in after?"

"so nosy," a giggle manages to bubble up in your throat, "nosy, nosy, lewis. always wanting the gossip."

"you know me," a chuckle vibrates in his chest, "i do love a good gossip session."

thank god for sebastian and lewis. and well, kimi was there too.

as one of the few female drivers in formula one, you were thrust into the oh so competitive world of racing around the 2016 season, right at the time max verstappen started his career. although it was your lifelong dream to drive for red bull, you were offered a seat at mclaren due to jenson button's announcement that he was retiring.

since it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, you decided to take it, accepting the contract offer.

not many women competed in formula one, and you were determined to make the world know your name.

that burning desire to win and your outspoken nature is what initially drew daniel ricciardo in, the red bull driver approaching you one night after qualifying in sochi. he struck up a simple conversation, complimenting your lap and your ability to navigate the track despite some unfavorable weather conditions.

from that moment, the two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip. if you weren't in the red bull paddock between races, he was at mclaren, the team principals grumbling to one another at your tight-knit friendship.

there were tons of sleepless nights where the two of you would lie awake, bodies snuggled together, rambling about everything and anything that came to mind. after the first grand prix where you scored points in 2016, daniel was right there after the race, hugging onto you so tightly, lifting you up in the air and spinning you around.

there were plenty of hungover mornings where he would hold your hair for you as you threw up in the toilet, rubbing your back, encouraging you to let it all out. there were nights where he would need your affection, begging you to come over to his motorhome so that he could fall asleep on your chest, your hand tangled in his curly locks as he dozed off.

sure, there were moments in which it was a little more than just a friendship.

there was the unforgettable night in azerbaijan, where daniel won. that night, you found yourself completely intertwined with the australian driver, skin on skin, his mouth roaming every inch of your body.

that was the first night daniel told you he loved you.

and there was something more than just a platonic sort of love in those words.

something along the lines of romantic love.

the kind where his presence sent your heart fluttering, bliss rippling in your chest the moment he flashed you that beautiful smile, dimples and all.

the kind of love where the moment his eyes met yours, you found yourself spiraling, completely and utterly speechless at the sight of his gorgeous mocha-hued gaze.

the kind of love where his touch sent a shiver down your spine, every movement electric.

there was no denying the feelings you harbored for the red bull driver.

you were in love with him.

completely and hopelessly in love.

and there was no going back, not since that night in azerbaijan.

you were in deep. probably way too deep for a friendship.

there was that minuscule hope that you clung onto nearly every second of every day. the inkling that maybe, just maybe daniel felt the same way.

after all, he had told you he loved you.

more than once.

surely that meant something, right?

the chemistry between the two of you was undeniable, often clouding over like an intense fog. the other drivers on the grid noticed it. your team principals were aware of it. fuck, even the media speculated the two of you were involved romantically, that you had more than just a friendly "buddy-buddy" relationship.

friends didn't fuck, right?

friends didn't snuggle together every night, drifting off together, right?

friends didn't share longing glances in the paddocks, right?

"hmmph," kimi's lip curls in disgust, "look over at the red bull garage."

your head swivels to your right, the blood roaring in your ears as you spot what kimi was referring to.

out of the garage comes daniel, greeting a slim, lithe blonde. he pulls her in for a lengthy embrace, peppering her face with chaste kisses. your palms calm up, your heart thumping against your rib-cage.

daniel's attention hones in on the four of you, the aussie waving a hand over.

"hey guys! come meet my girlfriend, anastasia!"

"you. have. got. to. be. shitting. me," sebastian's eyes widen, his lips parted.

"yeah," lewis runs his tongue along his teeth, placing his hands on his hips, "i'm not participating in any of that fuckery."

yet, you're silent, the tears threatening to spill over once again, your hands trembling.

how the fuck were you expected to race when your entire world was just flipped upside down?

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

all around you, the space is swathed by darkness.

you're buried beneath your blankets, swiping through your camera roll, pressing that fateful icon in the bottom right corner.

dried tears plastered your cheeks, your hair an unkempt mess, sweats clinging to your frame. inside your chest, your heart ached, the pain consuming you whole.

there's nothing but silence, the dull whir of fans merely white noise.

a sharp noise rattles through your motorhome.

the sound of a knock.

three of them, actually.

groaning, you untangle yourself from the blankets, shuffling down the hall to the main room. once you approach the door, you stifle a yawn, swinging it open.

there stands daniel, his hands shoved in his pockets, shifting uneasily.

"hey."

"shouldn't you be with your girlfriend?" there's a venom laced in your tone, oozing with a bitterness as you begin to close the door.

yet, daniel stops you, quickly wedging his foot in, "let me in."

"why should i?" you retort, brows furrowing, "you literally ended our friendship hours ago and now you want inside my home? fuck that. i'm not going to be some little side piece to fill your cravings while your little girlfriend is away. i'm worth more than that."

"can you just let me in for fuck's sakes?" he lets out an exasperated sigh, "i just wanted to make sure you were okay. jesus fucking christ. am i not allowed to do that?"

"i don't know," you shrug, "did you girlfriend give you permission to come by?"

"is that what you're all upset about?"

"no!" you retaliate, "i'm fucking upset because you never mentioned her until now! you never once said to me, 'hey, i'm dating this girl named anastasia. she's pretty neat! how about you meet her sometime?' fuck, daniel. you know i'm in love with you for fuck's sakes. you should know how much this fucking hurts me!"

as you finish, your knees buckle, wails rising in your throat. daniel swallows a lump in his throat, taking a step forward.

"why do you think i ended our friendship today? i couldn't bear the thought of you having to see me with her."

"you told me you loved me," you sob, shoulders shaking, "you fucking tell me you love me all of the time. i thought that-"

that's when his arms nearly crush you, squeezing you against his chest. he holds you for a moment, murmuring words you can't quite decipher.

"i'm sorry. i'm so fucking sorry."

"i don't know if that's going to fix everything," you mumble, sniffling, "apparently to you, words only mean so much."

"i thought that pushing you away would fix everything. that it would make my life easier. that i wouldn't have to worry about hurting anyone in the long run. i know i was wrong for that, and i'm so sorry."

his hand glides along your back, going in soothing, slow circular motions. you can't help but nuzzle into the fabric of his crewneck, inhaling his oh so familiar cologne.

as much as your head was screaming at you to push him out of your doorway, to tell him to leave and never come back, your heart yearned.

it yearned for him. his touch. his presence. the sound of his voice.

it craved him, fluttering as his mouth connects with your temple, pressing tender kisses down to your cheekbone.

"obviously i can't stay away," his voice is barely audible, "you just do something to me."

"and what's that?" you tilt your head upward, meeting his gaze.

"you make me weak. i only pushed you away because i thought that was the solution to the way i felt. if you were out of the picture, i wouldn't end up getting hurt. now look at both of us, nearly in tears and utterly heartbroken."

his fingers caress your cheek, tracing along your cheekbone as your lashes flutter, savoring the touch, "why didn't you just talk to me first about things? why did you think that getting a new girlfriend was the answer?"

"you know how i am about expressing how i feel. and i don't know, i thought it would fix temporarily fix things."

"i think it ended up fucking you over even more than you thought," you brush a curl out of his face, careful to not let him too close.

"you're right, per usual. what do you want me to do then? break up with her?"

"well you love me," you counter, pursing your lips, "don't deny it either, daniel. we both know you do."

he leans in, the corners of his lips curling into a giddy grin, "i wasn't saying i didn't love you."

"if you loved me you'd end things with her."

"if i did that, you would have to promise me one thing," his mouth hovers above yours, the tension accumulating by the second.

"and that is?" you arch a brow.

"you would never let sebastian hug you like that ever again."

"oh? did that get you a little riled up all the way over in the garage?"

daniel rolls his eyes, scoffing, "how did you think it was going to make me feel?"

"okay fine," you tut, pressing a finger to his lips, "i'm not going to kiss you until you end things with anastasia. get that phone out of your pocket right now and call her. let her down gently, though. she seemed sweet."

"surely not as sweet as you though," he teases, yet fumbles with his pocket, fishing out his phone.

as he steps away for a moment, bringing the phone to his ear, you tap your foot against the concrete, pointing to your wrist. daniel shakes his head, putting a finger up as if to say, one more second.

the call doesn't even last two minutes, the austrailian making his way back to you.

before you know it, his mouth is on yours, an open-mouthed kiss brimmed with a needy passion. your head rolls back, granting him more access and his hands grip your waist, one sliding further and further down as the kisses intensify, cupping the curve of your ass.

he pulls away, breathless.

"i love you. i love you. i love you. it's always been you, and it's always going to be you. i'm sorry i'm such a dumbass and can't navigate my feelings."

"you know you can talk to me about things, right?" you suppress a giggle, "you don't have to ruin a friendship over it."

"well i didn't quite ruin it," he leans in once more.

"oh yeah? how do you know that?"

"because you're still in love with me. and you're going to be my girlfriend in no time."

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #formula one #f1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x you #f1 x you #formula one fanfiction #red bull racing #formula 1

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accio-victuuri · 2 months ago

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for some reason this second section of songs are making cpfs go wild 👀

unlike the first set, which i think could have their cpns of their own but was really more of social/life commentary on xz’s side. these next ones, are superior. atleast to me. we don’t have the 3rd set yet so i can still be wrong. and i mean sweets aside, the 3 songs released today are instant favorites. i expect people to make bjyx fanvids with lighthouse as the bgm please do not disappoint me. lol.

what we first noticed was xz posting the qq links to the songs using a photo (p1). in it, you clearly see the hands of the watch point to 10 and 5 which is his bday. it made us remember all those times they showed off their watch with questionable numbers visible ( p3 and p4 because xz is not subtle at all ) . coincidentally, a 10:05 timed watch (p2) was also seen in wyb’s most recent NYE performance.

shut up you two. please. 😬

the title track of this section — DRIFTING’s concept sounds like it’s someone exploring an unfamiliar environment. which made is think of wyb’s recent show exploring the unknown. the choice of words and imagery he wants to show is also interesting. take note that xz wrote this song.

Lying on an island and waking up

The top of the cliff, tear it off and go with the flow.

while it’s pretty obvious that this means more than going out in the wilderness in the literal sense when you take the song as a whole — the fact that it fits what wyb has recently done is 😏. can someone please make a video too of ETU with drifting as the background. it would be perfect. thank you. to me, this is xz drawing inspiration from wyb’s experience and combining that to his own “exploration” and drifting in this world.

NOW TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE TRACK LIGHTHOUSE. Personally, it’s my fave and i think it’s the most romantic and bjyx-y of them all. 💕

first of all the imagery of a lighthouse and the sense of it being that only light you see amidst the storm. that no matter what happens, he can look at that. the timing of yibo posing with a light for GRA is making me overthink too. lol. also wyb’s album cover for twenty was a light bulb thing. that kind of symbolism really speaks to them.

and as for the lyrics lemme just leave this select lines for us to all cry about ok?

For whom to move forward? Even if there are thorns under my feet, I'll stay with you till the end.

Where is the storm now? I go against the wind I'm barefoot and go through the crowd…. An island in the dark, We must also go against the tide.

Run towards the lighthouse in the darkness. Even if it rains heavily, Let's go, let's go, we have to go home. Just live hard like this. I only see the lighthouse

The lighthouse in my heart. It will never go out.

songs can be interpreted in different ways and can go in a totally different direction from what the lyricist intended but i am understanding this in a romantic sense. not the cutesy kind of romance, but the one that has hardships, is not easy, but you know that you have each other. the lighthouse in his heart will never go out. in reality, their life is not easy. but they are stronger together. even if there are thorns under my feet i’ll stay with you till the end.

I CAN’T EVEN. AHHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭

and oh, talking about the rain and going home. more on the going home part, people are bringing back favorite line among cpfs from an LRLG contribution. supposedly said by yibo.

When I called, I said it was fine, but as I talked, it became like

🟢 : I want to go home. Come and take me home.

I was kinda nervous for track 8 cause that Bo. LOL. the song is also good but i don’t see much CPN from it. or maybe not yet. lol. i just hope they get to have time where they can have night walks together 🌙

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #accio victuuri translation

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ash5monster01 · 9 months ago

Note

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a charlie dalton x fem!reader inspired by guilty as sin? by taylor swift <333

Guilty as Sin?

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, sexual themes, sexual desire, heavy lust, language, big ego, fluff.

Summary: based on the song Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift. You have a longing for Charlie Dalton that you’re wishing would finally come true, lucky for you, Charlie thrives off of fulfilling fantasies. He’s happy to do the same for you.

word count: 2k

Masterlist

The sound of a book slamming against the table causes you to jump. Bringing you back to reality and tearing your eyes away from the boy on the other side of the library. With your heart now thrumming in your chest you eye the culprit, a frazzled student, rushing to drop his things on the other end of your table as he prepares to study. He has no idea he's just caused you to jump out of your skin but you're thankful to him anyway. If you weren't careful you could get too wrapped up in the idea of the brunette boy across the room and that was never good.

Charlie Dalton had become an all consuming thought. When Welton first became co-ed you had promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for any of the boys. Especially Charlie who had become the well known flirt amongst the school. Thing was, you couldn’t help it. Being in a place like Welton was like being trapped in a cage. It used to be fine but now you dreamed of breaking free. Dreamed of cracking locks, throwing your life to the wolves or ocean rocks, crashing into Charlie Dalton who was the definition of freedom simplified. The boy was a paradox.

Because of all this you couldn’t stop yourself from dreaming about him. It was the only exciting thing you had in this entire school. Seeing visions made up entirely of breaking every possible rule with the boy by your side. You weren’t sure if it made you bad, mad, or wise. All you knew is that you wanted Charlie Dalton in more ways than one. He was an ideology that made your heart soar and you dreamed of him claiming you as his own. Wishing he was written ‘mine’ on your upper thigh as his very hand slowly slide past your knee. Too bad it was only in your mind.

Feeling yourself slipping and falling back into the everlasting maze of dreaming about Charlie Dalton you quickly collected your things before it got too far. Even though dreaming about him would be lovely way to die, you had trigonometry homework that sadly the chestnut eyes of Charlie Dalton could not complete. Your safest option was getting as far away from him as possible. At least that was your goal until you bumped into a hard body after pushing open the doors to the library.

“Shit” the familiar voice swore as your books scattered across the ground. You froze in place as you spotted the apologetic smile on the boys face as he bends to collect your things. You hate that just the sight of him makes you recall things you never did. Things like needy top lip kisses, a longing for shared trysts, all without having ever touching his skin.

“It’s okay” you finally bring yourself to say, collecting your books back from him and probably looking like a deer in headlights. You hate even being around him made you feel guilty as sin. You had to keep these longings locked inside a vault before you got caught.

“You okay?” he asked with a soft chuckle, hand falling to your shoulder and you can’t help the goosebumps that cover your body just from the simple touch. Finally daring a glance into his eyes you hope he can’t see the desperate longing you have for him there.

“Do you want to hangout?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, instant regret fluttering in a breath behind them. Screw your trigonometry homework, Charlie Dalton was standing in front of you and you were going to take a chance.

“What?” he laughs, handsome eyes sparkling with amusement and you shake your head fastly even though the words coming out are opposite from the way you look.

“Yeah, I mean we have a few classes together and I just thought we could get to know each other” you look strained as you say it, contradicting yourself completely and the boy in front of you lets out a hearty laugh at the sight. Someone once told you there was no such thing as bad thoughts but you were having quite a few right now. At least your actions talked and hopefully he couldn’t see through the smoke screen that hid your fatal fantasies of labored breaths, him taking all of you, already doing it in your head.

“Yeah, I’d like to hangout. Got anything in mind?” he asks and it’s innocent. You know it is. That doesn’t stop your mind from running wild, recalling every dirty scenario you have put him in the last few months. If it was all make believe why does it feel like a vow you’re both going to uphold?

“Not particularly” you respond, nervously tucking strands of hair behind your ears and he just grins, arm reaching out and wrapping around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I know a place” he says confidently, sultry and smooth, the very personality you’ve been obsessed with. You hate that your cheeks redden, suddenly anxious about the fact that the same boys name you call out at night, building up like waves and crashing over your grave, has his arm around you.

“Is this the part where you kidnap me?” but he just grins and guides you out the doors and into the warm spring sun. You decide not to question him as he helps you sneak past the tree line and rush through the forest. In fact because of how obsessed you were with him he could murder you and you’d probably say thank you.

“Welcome to my humble abode” he says suddenly, a short cave in front of you both. Not in any place to question him, you duck inside just to see there are remnants of human life all around. Rubble from a previously burning fire lies in the center of the cave, blankets and a stack of playboy magazines on a rock to the side, some sort of lamp made out of a human statue. Whatever this place is, it was frequently visited.

“It’s… welcoming” is the word you find yourself saying as you perch yourself on a rock. Charlie just grins, settling onto the ground beside you, back pressed against the rock below you. If you moved only an inch you could hook your leg over his shoulder and the very thought has you stiffening your spine.

“Good, I’m glad. It doesn’t see nearly as much women as it should” Charlie says as he pulls a cigarette free from his pocket. You watch as he strikes a match along the rock you sit on before lighting the filter between his fingers.

“So this is where you take all your conquests?” you joke, crossing your arms over your chest before leaning back against the wall of the cave.

“Not all, but it would be a lie if I said none” he answers with a smirk, the cigarette pressed between his lips tipping upward at the action. You hate how attractive he is, the way you clench your legs together without even touching his skin.

“Does that make me one?” you find the confidence to question, realizing quickly if you’re going to do this little dance you might as well try your hardest to win. You may not be a conquest of Charlie’s but he was definitely one of yours.

Yet the look he gives you, a lustful stare burning behind his eyes, makes it easy to see you might be one of his too. So you anxiously wait as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke towards the hole in the roof of the cave. Finally dropping his head to look back at you. “Only if you want to be”

“I thought I made it pretty clear when I asked to hangout” you say, a tone that oozes honesty pushing the words out. Charlie smiles that dazzling smile and much to your surprise reaches to hook his hand around your leg. Just the simple touch of his fingers curling around your calf sends a shudder down your spine. This is was you had wanted, a chance to live out a daring fantasy with the boy beside you. There was no backing out now, you had to roll the stone away, you’d end up crucified anyway.

“I thought you stared because I was annoying” he mutters, snuffing out the butt end of his cigarettte and abandoning it beside him. You watch with a pounding heart as he lifts himself onto his knees, hand still locked around your leg as he sat before you.

Out of all the ways you had pictured Charlie before, nothing could top him on his knees in front of you, hands holding your legs, itching to make their way up. Taking another daring chance you reach to graze your fingers through his hair, smiling at the way the action makes him instantly close his eyes. “I stared because of how bad I wanted you, that was still annoying though”

He offers a devious grin at that and just hearing the confirmation of how badly you wanted him, he starts to lift his hands up your legs, smiling at the feeling of your bare skin as he moved closer and closer to the hem of your skirt. You can’t stop your head from tipping back and enjoying the way he holds you which is truly holy. Just before his hands reach the end of your skirt, you stop him with your hands landing on top of his.

“Before this gets too far I need you to know this is a long suffering propriety for me. You have no idea how much you’ve haunted me” you tell him, prepared for him to stop his movements and step away from you. He just bumped into you at the library and was looking for a hookup, where you had been in love with the idea of him for far too long.

“I’d be content if you were mine and only mine” he confirms, a sweetness to the usually cocky smile. You’re stunned for a moment, realizing he just chose for it to be only you and him. This alone has you leaning forward and capturing his lips in your own, a messy top lip kiss at first and then slowly shifting into something magical.

The kiss gives Charlie the confidence to continue his trail, fingers slipping beneath your skirt and up the tops of your thighs. You moan at the memory of earlier, where you had imagined him writing mine on your thigh. As if Charlie reads your mind he breaks his lips apart from you, hands bunching up your skirt and revealing the doughy flesh there. He flashes you a smile before pressing a kiss to the top of your thigh and you wish to have it tattooed there forever.

“This is so much better than I imagined” you grin at him, smiling when he lifts his head and slides his hands to your waist. In one swift motion he’s lifted you up, sitting where you just were and settling you on his lap. You grin at the feeling, skirt still bunched up as you straddle his waist.

“Agreed” he says before peppering kisses along your collar bone and you draw your eyebrows together, hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he grinds up into you.

“Wait, you thought of me too?” you ask and he pulls back with that dazzling smile, eyes glazed and shining into your own.

“Guilty as sin babe” he tells you and you can’t help the soft laugh that falls out of you before sealing your mouth around his own. He kisses back just as eagerly, squeezing at your hips as you officially determine this was so much better than trigonometry.

Finally so happy you wondered if you were even allowed to cry.

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year ago

Text

Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face.

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious.

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.”

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and —

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

#aemond targaryen #it took me 3 (THREE) months to find inspiration to finish the gif and I can't say I'm 100% happy so I will take NO criticism #to the ten people who will read this — I am forever grateful (I'm sending you cups of cacao as a treat)#my stuff #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfics #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond the kinslayer

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h-ngm-nssluttt · 2 months ago

Text

Color My World

Jake Seresin x Reader

Ella Kazansky never thought she would be able to find someone to bring color into her world after her boyfriend Max passed away. But someone she least’s expects brings the most vibrant new colors into her world.

This will be a series.

Color My World Chapter 2

Song: If I would have known - Kyle Hume

Chapter 1

I lay in our bed, comforter pulled tightly up to my chin as I lay there and stare at the empty space beside me. The sound of the rain outside is the only sound filling the quiet air. The dark gray sky and clouds swirling outside as the rain streaks down the window like tears. It’s like the sky decided to cry today because the world misses him too. I close my eyes as the tears slide down my cheeks.

2 years.

2 Years since the accident.

2 years since Max has been gone.

The scenery flew by as we drove down the road. The song on the radio playing as Max pretended to air drum as he tapped along on the steering wheel. His smile infectious as we sang and danced to “This is the day” by: The The

(when I think back on it now… how ironic that this is the song that was playing… because this is the day my world got flipped upside down in an instant)

I laugh as Max sings loudly as he looks over at me as he takes his sunglasses off.

“You ready for this weekend?”

“Beyond ready… you and me… good music… friends… and going back to the place we met… how could I not be ready”

Max smiled as he looked back to the road

“Still the greatest day of my life, you know that? Who would have thought that day would have led to us being together for the last 5 years?”

I smile as I look out at the world passing us by

“Oh I knew right away… love at first sight baby”

Max let out a laugh and a smile as he looked over at me. He knew that was true for the both of us. The second we met each other it was like… like suddenly my life went from black and white to full of color in an instant. From that moment on Max brought so much color into my life. It was beautiful. The life we had together was beautiful.

“While these 5 years have been great… I hope you know I expect forever with you”

“Forever with you sounds like heaven”

The sound of the music was taken over by the sound of screeching tires, shattering glass and then my world went black.

I opened my eyes as the harsh white light of the room I was in bombarded my blurry eyes. Various beeping sounds filled the air as I took a breath and looked around. My eyes landed on my mom. She quickly looks up and lets out a sigh as she grabs my hand. My father stood behind her. I could make out the dark blue of his Naval Uniform. My throat felt drier than a desert as I manage to speak

“Wh..what happened?”

My mother grabs my hand as she looks at me and brushes some of my hair out of my face.

“You were in a car accident sweetie.. you’ve been in a medically induced coma for the last week”

I lay there silently as I blink my eyes. An accident. I try to remember what happened. All I remember is smiling at Max and then nothing.

“Is Max okay?”

My mother turns her head to look back at my father before looking back at me as her grip on my hand tightens.

“honey… Max didn’t survive.. the doctors said he died on impact”

Those are two words that should never be in a sentence together. ‘Max’ and ‘Died’.

Those two words… are the words that drained all the color from my world.

The sound of my phone ringing pulls me back to reality as I wipe the tears from my eyes and glance at the screen. My mothers name is displayed. She’s tried calling twice now. I take a deep breath as I try to sound as normal as possible.

“hi mom…. I’m fine… I’m actually about to head out the door to go to work… Can I call you back later today?... perfect… love you too… bye”

Gizmo shuffles up the bed and lays right next to me as he lets out a soft whine. I put my arm around him as I lay there in bed.

“I know Giz.. I know…”

In reality, I didn’t go to work today. I didn’t move from our bed. I laid there until I had no choice but to get up and try to function like a somewhat normal human being for the rest of the afternoon. My phone kept dinging and dinging. Natasha called and texted. Max’s mom even called… but I eventually just shut it off. I know people think that checking in is what I need today… but in reality what I need is for Max to still be here but we all know that isn’t going to happen.

I find myself sitting in that same damn chair, staring at that same stain on the carpet. A few moments later I hear the same question as always

“How are you doing today Ella?”

I sit there and stare at Darla as she grabs her notebook and pen. The same lie coming out of my mouth.

“I’m doing okay”

She gives me a brief smile as she speaks again

“Today’s a big milestone. It’s been 2 years since the accident”

Milestone. I thought milestones were used to measure happy times. Like a baby walking for the first time. Their 1st birthday. Each year they live… another milestone….. but here we are labeling the years without Max as milestones…

“I know. Still feels like it was yesterday though…”

“2 years is still relatively fresh for a loss like you endured Ella”

I sigh as I look out the window of her office like I usually do watching the rain fall from the sky

“I just… I didn’t think I would still be feeling this deeply after 2 years… It’s making me feel like I’m incapable of moving on”

“You are capable Ella. Progress doesn’t always follow a linear path. It’s okay to still be struggling after 2 years.”

I sigh as I pull my legs up onto the couch as I turn my gaze back onto her

“I feel like I’ve been having more good days than bad… but… I just didn’t think it would hurt this badly to miss him”

Darla’s voice comes out soft as she looks at me

“It’s normal to have good days and bad days. It’s part of the healing process. Loss is never easy, and it’s okay to miss him. It shows that you cared. It shows that the love you two shared was real.”

I sigh as I start picking at the edge of my flannel trying to keep my emotions at bay.

“I know it was real… I just… I don’t know if I subconsciously keep taking 5 steps back in my progress because I’m scared that if I do make progress… it will make it feel less real? That I’ll begin to forget him? That I’ll stop remembering him”

Darla nods as she writes something down in her notebook.

“It’s natural to hold onto the memories and feelings of a loved one that’s passed. But it’s important to remember that moving forward and making progress in your healing doesn’t mean forgetting or erasing the memories. It means honoring his memory and allowing yourself to find peace and happiness in the future.”

“That’s the thing… he was supposed to be my happiness.. my future and now I….”

I look back out the window

“I know, and it’s a devastating loss. But you have to allow yourself to imagine a future without him. You deserve happiness, and he would want you to find peace and joy even without him.”

“I feel like he wouldn’t… I feel like.. I don’t know.. if I find happiness that I’m trying to replace him…”

Darla tilts her head at my response as she continues to pry into my thoughts

“And why do you feel that way?”

“I feel like everything was black and white before… and then Max came along and..”

I cut myself off as I take a deep breath and focus on the rain falling down the window

“and then? Can you tell me more about what happened when Max came along?”

My voice shakes as I feel the lump in my throat form and the tears trying to well up into my eyes

“he… he gave my life color and now I feel like everything’s back to black and white since he died”

“I understand. It’s natural to feel like life has lost its color after such a significant loss. But it’s important to remember that there are still beautiful colors out there waiting for you. Colors that Max would want you to see”

My voice comes out in a shaky whisper

“It’s not going to be the same though”

“No, it won't be the same. Nothing can replace what you had with Max. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t still beauty and happiness out there waiting for you. It doesn’t mean you can’t find new colors in your life even if they are different”

I sit there in silence. I know there’s other colors out there but I don’t want other colors. I only want the colors that Max brought into my life. The lump in my throat grows as I try to keep my tears down

“I had the thought again… of why him and not me… it’s been awhile since I’ve had it”

Darla looks at me as her attention to me piques momentarily

“That thought is common for people grieving a loss. It’s a reflection of the pain and unfairness you’re feeling. I’m glad though that you recognize that you haven’t had that thought in awhile. That shows progress Ella”

“It does?”

A small smile forms on Darla’s face as she looks at me

“Yes it does! The fact that you haven’t thought about it in awhile means that you’re gradually moving forward in your healing process. It shows that you’re slowly letting go of some of the pain and anger associated with the thought. It’s a sign of growth and resilience.”

“It doesn't feel like it.. I feel I’m going to be stuck as the girl who can’t get over her dead boyfriend…”

Darla’s expression softens as her voice softens

“No, that’s not true. You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re an incredible person who is going through a very difficult time. Two years is still fairly recent in the grieving process, especially for something as significant as a boyfriend, let alone a boyfriend who you spent 5 years of your life with. It’s okay to still be healing, and it’s okay to still be feeling the pain. That doesn’t make you ‘unable to get over him.’ It makes you human. And you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for Ella.”

I sit there in silence as I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I feel the tears begin to well up and fall down my cheeks. Darla sits there quietly for a few moments before speaking up again.

“Take a few deep breaths Ella. Allow yourself the space to feel the emotions that are coming up. You’re doing an incredible job working through this.”

“I just with it didn’t hurt this much to miss him”

“I know. Missing someone you love is one of the hardest things to go through. And the pain can feel unbearable at times. But it’s a testament to the depth of your love and the beautiful connection you shared with Max. It means he was worth every tear and every moment of hurt”

I quickly wipe the tears from my face

“Yeah.. worth every moment”

Darla shifts in her seat as she leans in a little closer to me

“Alright, let’s shift gears a little. Can you tell me a happy memory you have of Max?”

A soft smile forms on my lips despite the tears falling from my eyes

“There’s so many”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Can you share one that stands out a little more than the others?”

I sit there as I shuffle through the countless memories in my head that I have of Max and I before settling on one.

“My birthday 4 years ago… Max decided to get up early and make me my favorite breakfast…..

I rolled over to find the other side of the bed empty which was unusual. Max never woke up before me. I pull the covers back as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. A faint smile appears on my face as I can hear the soft sound of a record playing downstairs. I walked out of the room and stopped at the top of the steps.

“Max-a-million”

“Kitchen my love”

I quickly made my way down the stairs leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen as I watched him pour pancake batter into a hot pan, towel slung over his shoulder. His soft hums fill the kitchen along with the music. He turned his head and greeted me with his million-dollar smile

“one special birthday breakfast coming up for the love of my life”

I smile as I slowly make my way across the kitchen to him as he smiles and wraps his arms around me pulling me into a soft hug placing a kiss to my lips and telling me ‘I love you madly’ before taking my hand and twirling me away from him as he started dancing to the song playing on the record player. Smiles and laughter filled the kitchen as we danced and he sang into the spatula. We were so wrapped up in the moment and each other we both failed to realize that the pancakes in the pan started burning. The homemade breakfast was a bust after that and we ended up going to our favorite café on the beach instead.

“But it turned into us dancing and singing in the kitchen which resulted in him burning the pancakes because we were just so caught up in the moment together. It’s like I can hear his laugh and how he’d always say he loves me madly”

Darla’s smile widens as she listens to me talk about a memory of Max.

“That sounds like a beautiful memory. The carefree laughter, the dance, the love, the burned pancakes. It’s those little moments, those mundane yet special moments, that make us fall in love and feel truly happy isn’t it?”

“He made it so easy to fall in love with him more and more each day”

“That’s what makes the loss of someone we love so difficult. That daily dose of happiness and love suddenly disappears, leaving a void that feels unbearable at times. But it also speaks to the strength of your love – a love that was deep, intense and beautiful. It must have been incredible to experience that kind of connection with Max.”

“Those 5 years were the most incredible years of my life… and it was because of him”

“It sounds like you two had something truly special. To have a relationship that brought you so much happiness and fulfilled you in every way is a rare find. It speaks to the depth of his love for you, and yours for him. Do you think anything will ever compare?”

I look down at my hands as I whisper out my response as I feel my emotions bubbling up again.

“no”

Darla sets her notebook down and leans forward in her chair

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t feel ready. But I want to explore this topic a little further. When you say nothing will ever compare, how does that make you feel?”

I take a deep breath as I try to think of a word to describe how I feel

“Devastated I guess”

“It’s understandable to feel devastated by the thought that no one will ever compare to Max. It’s a painful realization to come to terms with. Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure”

“Sometimes, in the wake of a significant loss, we can develop what is known as ‘catastrophic thinking’. It’s when we start to think in black and white, all or nothing terms. Have you ever found yourself thinking that you’ll never find love like you did with Max again?”

“Yes.. all the time” I wipe a tear from my cheek as I look at Darla. Of course I think that. How could I ever find someone to love me like Max did. Why would I want to find someone new. Max was my once in a lifetime love.

“It's a normal part of the grieving process to have these fears and doubts. It’s the mind’s way of trying to protect itself from further pain. But it can be a limiting belief that can keep us from fully healing and moving forward. Can I share something with you?”

“Of course”

“When we say things like ‘nobody will ever compare to Max’ or ‘I’ll never love like this again,’ we are not only limiting our own future but also, in a small way, limiting Max’s memory. Love isn’t stagnant, it’s fluid, and it can change and grow in unexpected ways. Do you think Max would want you to live the rest of your life alone thinking nobody will ever measure up?”

“No… he’d probably tell me to find someone who puts color into my world like he did”

I look up at Darla as she smiles at my answer

“That’s exactly right. He’d want you to find joy and love again. We often think about honoring the dead through rituals or momentos, but true honor comes in living a life that they’d be proud of. Do you think he’d be proud of you if you spend the rest of your life closed off to the possibility of loving and being loved again?”

“No… he wouldn’t”

“Exactly. By keeping yourself trapped in a black and white perspective, you're not allowing yourself the chance to experience the fullness of life again. The ‘color’ metaphor you used before is very relevant here. Max gave your life color. Maybe it’s time for you to let other colors back in. It doesn’t mean replacing Max or forgetting him. It means making room in your heart for new experiences and new love”

“But I feel like I’m not ready for ‘new color’ in my life”

“That’s completely understandable Ella. You’ve been through a significant loss, and it’s okay to feel like you’re not ready yet. Grieving takes time and it’s different for everyone. But remember, the point isn’t to replace or move on from Max. It’s about allowing your heart to expand. Maybe instead of looking at it as ‘new color’, think of it as ‘additional color.’ It doesn’t erase or diminish what you had with Max. It just adds to the beautiful palette of your life.”

I look back out the window at the gray sky swirling as the rain stops falling as I mumble,

“Additional Color…”

“Yes, additional color. It’s like adding a new shade to a painting without changing the original picture. That way, you’re not replacing Max or what you had, but you’re expanding on it. It’s about having space in your heart for new love and new experiences that are just as beautiful and worthwhile, even if they might not bring the same exact feeling or color that Max did. Does that make sense?”

“So essentially I’m just adding onto the colors Max has already given me”

“Exactly Ella. You’re not replacing or erasing Max’s colors from your heart. You’re not removing anything. You’re just adding more colors, potentially even brighter and richer than what you had before. It’s not about forgetting or moving on, but expanding your capacity to love and experience life fully, just as Max would want you to”

“That makes sense…”

Darla leans back into her chair before picking her notebook backup and writing a few things down

“So, it’s not a case of ‘nobody will ever compare to Max.’ Rather, it’s a case of ‘nobody will ever bring the exact same color as Max, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other beautiful colors out there that can add to my life in a different, but equally meaningful way.’ Can you see how that perspective might help ease the catastrophic thinking pattern you have?”

I nod my head as I see Darla glance at the clock before looking back at me.

“That’s wonderful. It’s important to remember that the purpose of therapy is growth, not just fixing things. And by challenging your catastrophic thinking, you’re showing a lot of strength. Can I give you some homework for the next time we meet?”

I nod my head yes as I put my feet back down onto the floor from the couch as Darla looks at me

“I’d like you to keep a journal between now and our next session. Every day, I want you to write down something beautiful, something that brings a bit of joy or color into your day. It could be a simple moment, like a bird singing outside your window, or something more significant, it doesn’t matter. The point is to practice focusing on the beauty and positives in life. Can you do that?

“I can do that”

“Excellent. I believe it will help you slowly start shifting your mindset towards a more positive and hopeful future. Is there anything else you like to talk about before we end our session today?”

“Not that I can think of… I think I’ve had enough for today…”

Darla puts her notebook back down before sliding forward in her chair and placing her hand on my knee in a comforting way

“That’s completely understandable. It can be overwhelming to go through these heavy topics, and it’s important to know when to take a break. I’m proud of you for being open and honest today Ella. Start that journal exercise and I will see you in a few weeks”

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. My phone dinging on the bedside table drawing me out from my thoughts. I see a text from Natasha

-Hey, I hope today was okay for you. You never called back and I understand but know I’m here if you need me… You’re coming out with me Saturday night. No excuses…

-okay

I felt bad for ignoring her all day but if anyone understands that I just want to be alone it’s Natasha. I lay there thinking about my therapy session today and her suggestion on letting ‘additional color’ into my life. It’s going to be damn near impossible to find any kind of color remotely close to the colors Max gave me… or so I thought…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Chapter 3 coming!

Jake makes his appearance in the next chapter!!!

If you want to be added to the tag list shoot me a message!

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick

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taeminsung · 1 year ago

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♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── love beyond a door..

pairing || changbin x reader summary || being neighbors with you was easy for changbin, just like it was falling for you. genre/s || love trope. fluff. romance. angst. trope || boy next door masterlist || stray kids as love tropes mina’s notes || dedicated to Lu, my binnie lover. please enjoy ♡

At first, Changbin didn’t think anything of the fact that you would often arrive at your door while he was leaving his. It led to exchanged pleasantries, and usually a compliment thrown in from you about his latest performance or song. In the beginning, he was nervous once you recognized him, not knowing whether you’d share with the world where he was currently living. When a month or two passed by and nothing was leaked, he grew to trust you and slowly started to participate when you’d ask questions about his day or comment on something they did. Before he knew it, leaving his apartment was the favorite part of his day.

Maybe it was the way your eyes lit up when they looked at him or how you played with your fingers when you asked him about Stray Kids, but it didn’t take long for his feelings to start to develop. The more he learned about you, the easier it was for his feelings to grow. However, your relationship, if anyone would call it that, only consisted of these little moments in the hall before you both went back to your own lives. Changbin didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to see you outside of the hallway walls. Every time he saw you coming home from a night out, he would mentally note that you were the most beautiful person he had ever met. After almost a year of being neighbors, he thought he could work up the courage to ask you out to coffee, yet every time he saw you, the words died on his tongue.

The frequency in which he’d run into you changed over time, but your smile never changed. There were days when he noticed the light didn’t meet your eyes, and then there were days when you seemed to vibrate with energy. However, he hated the days you wouldn’t look at him in greeting, instead choosing to focus on the ground with a soft greeting as you quickly would slip into your apartment. Those were the days he wanted more than anything to have more than his trivial relationship with you. Changbin wanted to be able to make sure you were taken care of in your time of need.

When a day passed that he didn’t see you, he didn’t think too much of it. Perhaps your schedules didn’t align today, or you went out of town. It was the second day when he noticed that your door was slightly ajar causing his heart rate to spike in concern. Did someone break into your place? Were you hurt? Questions quickly entered his brain before leaving. What should he do? Since he didn’t have your number, he figured he’d check on the place just to make sure nothing was wrong then close your door and wait to run into you again. That seemed like a good plan, right?

Slowly peeking in, Changbin took note of the things that gave him a further look into your life. Photos and art on the walls. Things were stacked on various surfaces, the most notable was the small stack of take-out boxes on your counter. Taking a few more steps into your place, he saw you wrapped in a blanket on your couch, lips slightly parted as you slept. His heart couldn’t take the sight. You looked so precious curled up with your hair covering part of your face. Tearing his eyes away from you, he finally saw the empty medicine bottles and tissue box. This was the reason he hadn’t seen you. Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving around your place tidying up the different messes.

In an instant he was closing your door, almost all the way before heading to the store around the corner to replace all the empty things he took note of. It felt weird for him, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing this for you. From the glimpse into your life, he hated the way that you didn’t have anyone to take care of you when you got sick. Before he knew it, was back in your living room, placing the new items on the now clean table. His lips tugged up to the side, seeing that you hadn’t moved out from the blanket that he draped over your shoulders. You were precious to him at this moment. Really, he wanted to be the person you called when you started to feel sick or needed anything at all.

˚⁎⁺˳

By the time you woke, the sun was no longer streaming through your windows, yet your room was still glowing from the lamp that was turned on in the corner. Maybe in your drugged state, you woke and turned on the lights before falling back asleep. Slowly, you got yourself to a sitting position pulling the blanket tighter around your frame. You hadn’t remembered falling asleep in but from the paused drama on the screen, you realized you didn’t make it very long after you’d the last of the medicine you had. A groan escaped your lips as you remembered you’d now need to go out to buy more.

The bright sticky note on your table caught your attention after you mentally hyped yourself up to get off the couch. Written in nice handwriting, you picked it up noticing the replaced medicine littering your table. Your door wasn’t closed so I panicked and came in… I noticed the empty medicine, so I ran to get you some more. I also tried to tidy up so you didn’t have to waste energy on it… I apologize if this is overstepping my boundary… or if this was creepy… your neighbor Changbin. Blinking a few times, you reread the note four more times to make sure you were actually reading it correctly. The adorable boy next door was worried about you enough to check on you and buy you more medicine? There was no way, was there? The sudden knock on your door spooked you back to reality as you got off the couch wondering if he’d come back.

Instead, you found a small bag outside your door and an empty hallway. Picking up the bag, you noticed another sticky note the same color as before. Setting everything down, you pulled the note off the bag reading over the same handwriting as before. I ordered you soup and a few other things. Try to eat before taking more medicine and going to bed. Message my number if you need anything else… your neighbor Changbin. At this point, you couldn’t stop the butterflies floating around in your chest. Unwrapping everything you sat back on the couch, eating the soup, before taking more medicine and sending a thank you to the number that was left.

˚⁎⁺˳

Changbin read the message from you every time he had a free moment in the studio. He worried that you would have found it creepy that he had gone into your apartment, touched your stuff, left, and come back. Yet, you thanked him instead. In truth, he didn’t really expect you to message him at all, but he was now over the moon that he had a different way to talk with you. When he didn’t see the light under your door when he got home, he hoped that you were able to sleep soundly through the night.

When morning came, Chanbin’s alarm went off earlier than he liked but rolled over nonetheless to grab his phone. He knew when he or the guys were sick, having food that you didn’t have to make always helped them speed along the process of healing. Knowing exactly what Minho would get the boys, he ordered something similar to be delivered to his house. Really, he should have had them leave it at your door, but he couldn’t help using this as an excuse to get closer to you. After a little bit, he was showered and knocking on your door with food in hand. Every rehearsed hello flew out the window when you opened the door hugging a blanket around your shivering body.

Carefully he shoved the food container in your hands before disappearing back into his place, grabbing the first sweatshirt he could find. In seconds he was back at your door, where you still stood, a small smile on your face as you stared at what you were holding. You didn’t have to get more soup, your voice scratchy from both the sickness and just waking up. Food helps you heal, Changbin replied as a matter of fact before handing you his sweatshirt, wear this today. It should help when you get cold. The fever must not have broken yet since he could feel the heat radiating from inside your place. Thank you, you whispered pulling everything closer to your frame. I’ll order you lunch since I have schedules all day. Once those are over, I’ll swing by with dinner, he spoke quickly, not leaving any room for you to say no. A small nod of your head was all you gave before backing into your apartment and letting the door click shut.

In the following days, the habit formed for Changbin to order you food early in the morning and bring it to you along with a new sweatshirt before leaving for the day. In between practices, he would find Minho to figure out which food would be best before ordering it to your place. After his day was over, he would knock on your door with food, medicine, and anything else that you may have needed. There were days when he didn’t have to ask you what you needed, instead you gave him that information willingly. He felt like it was a big step in your previous relationship boundaries of only talking in the halls.

Changbin wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do once you got over your cold, but for now, he was enjoying the time he got to spend with you. It became easy for him to fall into this routine of seeing you in the morning, calling you in the middle of the day, and then seeing you at night to eat dinner with you. He loved it, nearly as much as he was in love with you. Maybe he used this as an excuse to spend time with you, however, he watched the way your face would light up when he would show up at night food and drink in hand.

Weeks had passed since you had gotten over the cold that originally plagued you, and yet the constant routine that was developed during that time continued to happen. Even on nights when the members were with him, instead of going into their shared place, he would knock on your door, entering to spend the remaining hours of the day with you. Honestly, it had become so normal for him that he didn’t even realize he had confessed to you until he was curled up with you on the couch, a movie playing while your sleeping head was resting on his shoulder. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, on his off day, he would confess to you and make things official. Make this feeling in his chest permanent, because he just really loved you.

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ tag list || @orchid-mantis-petals; @i-dontevenknowman; @deadcrow-donteat; @turtledove824; @hhwangsmoon; @kidrauhlschik

#stray kids #stray kids love tropes #changbin #stray kids imagine #changbin imagine #skz imagine #stray kids fluff #changbin fluff #stray kids comfort #changbin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids oneshot #changbin oneshot #changbin fic #stray kids fic #stray kids dream

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rorywritesjunk · 1 year ago

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No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and “gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up.

This is the last chapter with the epilogue at the end. This has been a lot of fun to write and I've enjoyed it so much, thank you all for reading it and replying! I've loved responding to you all. So thank you thank you thank you. I liked how this chapter wrapped things up. Moments go a little quick but that was the intention. Nothing was to really be drawn out.

Title comes from “Sailing Song” by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu @fluffybunnyu @skyofsteel @lavalampskyy @gingernut1314 @ane5e @madam-o @the-angriest-angel

Chapter Six

Your husband decided to stay back on the ship while you and the kid went into the town. His excuse was he needed to get the crew ready or something, but you didn’t push him for a real reason. Part of you wanted him with you when you went into town because you didn’t know what to expect. Would some kind of portal open up and tear the kid away from you, kicking and screaming, or would it happen in an instant, like when he first appeared? You were going to cry either way, you just wish you had some kind of idea of what to expect.

But you also didn't want Buggy coming because again, what if some portal opened up and tore your husband away from you as well as the kid? You didn't want him disappearing on you at all so you just gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading off the ship with the kid.

“I think that the table was over here.” Kid Buggy said as he held your hand, leading you down a street. You knew what he was looking for but you let him take charge, wondering if he knew here to look. The table wouldn’t be there anymore, it hadn’t been since you turned 14 and left to start your apprenticeship and your parents moved elsewhere. They still made jewelry and sold it, but in another town on another island.

It was hard not to tell him everything, because even though Buggy said he doesn’t remember anything about this whole ordeal, what if this was different? What if something was triggered that changed the course of the kid’s life from this moment forward? You didn’t want to take the risk. You loved your life, your husband, and the life you two had together. Nothing could change that, so you never told Kid Buggy that he stole from your parents, or that he would become a Devil Fruit user at a young age (he never questioned Buggy’s head popping off his body during their first meeting), nor did Buggy ever tell him what happened between him and Shanks.

“You think so?” You replied as you followed after, smiling down at him as he turned his head in every direction, a look of concentration on his cute face as he tried to remember where to go. He stopped a few times, looking around, wondering where to turn. You were patient, giving his hand a squeeze whenever he’d start walking again.

“I’d bring you back with me if I could, y’know.” Buggy said as he looked up at you. “Introduce you to everyone. They’d think you were great.” He then looked away, searching for the table of merchandise that no longer existed. “But I know you wouldn’t wanna come with…”

“If I could come back to my husband in the end, I would.” You assured him with a smile. “But you’ve seen how you are as an adult, you can’t survive ten minutes without me, so I have to stay back with him.” Truthfully, if you met the crew, you would have brought hell down upon them. While your husband would speak highly of being an apprentice under Gold Roger, you had other opinions, ones that you wouldn’t share because you didn’t want to upset Buggy. There was always something under the surface whenever you listened to your husband speak about it. The self-doubt, fear of failure, everything, and one time when he was drunk he cried about Shanks, often feeling lesser than his friend, but then the next morning as he sobered up he would curse the same man.

“Yea?” He grinned. “Really? I think you’d like it. You could even meet Shanks, since you said you never got to meet him.”

“Maybe something will happen and I can someday, Buggy.” You steered him out of the main walkway, letting people pass as you knelt down in front of him. “I want you to know that I have loved spending time with you, sweetie. It’s been one of the best things ever.”

He blushed at that, avoiding your gaze as he looked away. “Are you saying goodbye to me?”

“No! Not yet, just…” You hesitated. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, the praise, compliments, affection even. You wanted to give him as much as you gave your husband because you saw the way he would brighten up when you’d tell Adult Buggy how handsome he looked in his coat while you’d straighten his cravat, or when you’d let him know how much you loved him every night before going to bed. You meant every word you spoke to Buggy as an adult, and you wanted him to know the same as a kid. “I want you to know you’re a wonderful kid, Buggy.”

He was still red in the face but he allowed you to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He mumbled something in response and you didn’t quite hear it, because he suddenly pulled away from you, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“I can hear Shanks!” He said as he looked over your shoulder. “I think he’s calling for me!”

You turned in the same direction but didn’t see or hear anything. What was going on? He grinned at you before he suddenly took off running in the direction he was looking. You got to your feet and started after him, but he was fast. He turned down an alleyway, calling for Shanks, and when you finally caught up to him your heart dropped. It was a dead end and he was nowhere in sight.

So this is how it ended then.

You came back to the ship an hour later and went right to your room, ignoring the looks of the crew and even your husband. He noticed you were alone, so he told the first mate to keep an eye on things while he went after you. Buggy wasn't sure how upset you would be, because even after ten years of marriage he wasn't sure how to handle it.

He found you sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with something in your hand. Buggy hung his coat and hat up before taking his boots off and climbing into bed next to you. You immediately leaned into him, curling up against his side as he put his arm around you.

“I'm going to miss seeing you as a kid.” You sniffled, looking at the once stolen pendant in your hand. “You were so sweet, Buggy.”

“I was a little shit.” He rolled his eyes, clearly having a different opinion on the whole matter. You looked up at him with watery eyes and he sighed. “Fine, yes, I was a sweet little shit.”

“I just wanted you to feel safe and loved, Buggy.” You wiped at the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “And you're not going to remember any of it. What was the point of any of this?”

He just shrugged, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He wasn't really good at using words to comfort you. He was used to actions like giving you gifts or finding ways to make you laugh instead. He hated seeing you so upset, but he knew better than to tell you to suck it up and move on. The one time he said that to you ended up with you giving him the cold shoulder for a week and he couldn't deal with that again.

“I just wanted you to be okay, Buggy.” You mumbled as you tucked the pendant away in your pocket. “I hate you went through so much before we met.” You rubbed your eyes. “And…and you're not going to remember any of this.”

“Yea, well…” He hated saying sappy things, like something out of a silly romance novel. He sighed and gritted his teeth. “If I didn't become an apprentice and continue being a pirate, we wouldn't have met.” You glanced up at him and his cheeks started to turn red. “The kid will be fine, because he will meet some way too nice tailor, fall madly in love with her and be an idiot about it, and she will show him all the love he will ever need.” He huffed and pulled his arm away from you, crossing them over his chest as he looked away. He felt a little uncomfortable but he knew you needed to hear this. “And when they hug for the first time he'll remember a moment of feeling safe as a kid but he won't know why, and when they kiss for the first time it will make him realize how much he wants her in his life.” He took a deep breath and exhaled before scowling. “Okay? So… so the kid won't remember what you did for him but he'll have a sense of familiarity when he meets his future wife, because she treats him with kindness and never asks for anything in return, and he really doesn't deserve someone like her.”

When he was finished with his rant he looked down at you, only to be horrified when he saw new tears streaming down your cheeks. Oh shit. He didn't mean to make you cry.

“S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-” He was at a loss for words. “Why are you-”

“R-Really?” You whimpered. “You felt that way when we met?”

He turned even redder if possible, unsure if he should keep talking or not, but you were almost smiling now as the tears rolled down your cheeks so he sighed and nodded.

“Y-Yes.” He said, looking away from you once more. “I… I knew the moment you gave me a hug that you and I were meant to be, because I felt safe in your arms and… and you took good care of me even before we started our relationship.” He scratched his cheek, looking so very uncomfortable to be carrying on like this, but your crying was letting up and you were looking at him with such love in your eyes that he thought he was going to literally fall to pieces in front of you. “Fixing my coat, clothes, even my gloves. It… it was nice and you didn't have to do that because I wasn't the nicest person to you at times, y’know.”

“I fixed your gloves just to spend extra time talking to you.” You said, giggling as you wiped your eyes with the hem of your shirt. He looked at you in confusion. “I made it up that your gloves needed fixing. I just… wanted to spend time with you after fixing other things, and you didn't know what I was talking about so you let me.” You smiled brightly at him. “I lied because I liked you, Buggy.”

His jaw dropped, a look of betrayal on his face. “What?! You lied?!”

You laughed. “What? I liked seeing your hands without them, honey, because you always wore them. That was the first time I felt your hands without gloves on, you know.”

“I can’t believe you lied!” He wouldn’t drop that tiny detail. “After all this time you lied about my gloves needing to be fixed?”

You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you from being upset, and you appreciated it. It still hurt having the kid disappear so quickly out of your sight but it was a comfort to hear from your husband the little bits he could recall, even if it wasn’t exact moments of his time with you. You didn’t want him to be hurt, or go through the heartaches of growing up, but if it meant the two of you meeting and falling in love, then maybe you could accept that you couldn’t fix everything.

“I love you, Buggy.” You told him as you leaned over to kiss his cheek. He turned red and looked away again but he put his arm back around you, pulling you closer to him before he looked back at you.

“Yea, yea.” He kissed you on the forehead and sighed. “I love you too.”

~*~*~

“Buggy! Where’ve ya been?” One of the older crewmen asked. Buggy didn’t turn around, instead looking at his now empty hands. Where did the pendant go? He just snatched it off that table and he had it in his hands just moments ago, but now it was missing. Did he somehow drop it? “It’s been twenty minutes, kid! Don’t take off like that!”

He glared up at the man. “Not my fault you can’t keep up with me!”

The man just laughed and patted him on the head; the kid immediately swatted at his hand, trying to get him to stop. He didn’t take off running, he had just been with the crew and then it seemed like everything went still for a moment. He didn’t want to say anything so he kept quiet, trailing after the adult as they went to join up with the others.

“We weren’t too worried, y’know. Figured you’d turn up once you got hungry.”

Buggy just nodded, glaring at the ground as he walked along. It’s not like he disappeared or anything. He was just out of sight for a few minutes. Shanks and him did it all the time.

They were walking down the street that the vendor was on where he took the pendant from. Did they somehow get it back? He hesitated but risked taking a look as they walked by. The adults were talking to a customer, showing off pieces while a girl around Buggy’s age sat nearby, looking completely bored. When their eyes met she perked up a bit and gave him a big smile. Buggy made a face and looked away but the adult he was with noticed the exchange and laughed.

“Flirtin’ with the local girls, Buggy?”

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Let’s get back to the ship!”

“Don’t you want to say bye to your girlfriend?” He teased as Buggy glared at him, his face red. He was about to say something else when something tugged on his sleeve. He spun around, ready to fight, but froze when he saw the girl standing there, holding a flower in her hand with a big smile on her face.

“The red flower looks like your nose.” She told him as she took his hand and placed the flower in it. “I like it.”

Buggy didn’t say anything as his hand closed around the flower. He was frozen where he stood, not sure how to respond to that, but the moment didn’t last because she turned and went back to her parents, taking her seat near the table once more. He didn’t know what to say or do next, but the adult grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him along, laughing and joking about young love and other stupid shit Buggy didn’t care about. He stuck the flower in his pocket and looked back at her once more, his face still as red as his nose. She was watching him leave and gave him a smile and wave as he left.

Yea, okay, he decided she was kind of nice, but he wouldn’t see her again so there was no point in saying hi to her or asking her name.

It was just a one time meeting by chance.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy x oc #buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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