#actually saying that I read them is generous because I immediately dipped out
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
You know a Jason Todd fic don't know shit about Jason Todd when they have him:
Make misogynistic remarks/talk all types of ways to women
Let his guns/knives/safehouses be dirty/disorganized
#jason todd#two fics. I just read two fics guilty of this#actually saying that I read them is generous because I immediately dipped out#the second that I saw they were on some bullshit#he would not fucking say that#he would not fucking do that
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
this life is sweeter than fiction
Summary: Alex & Michael have a lunch date at the Crashdown
A/N: i said i wasn't writing again until next year, but this happened that same night and i was going to save it until i wrote the sequel to "all the stars aligned" but now it's just gonna be part of a series set within that universe instead.
[Read on AO3]
----------
Liz places a milkshake on the table in front of him, but doesn't leave. Instead she stands there, hand on her hip, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Carefully, Alex glances across to Michael, who's brow is furrowed in adorable confusion as he glances back and forth between the two of them.
“Liz?”
“Alex.”
“Something wrong?”
She leans forward just enough to gently bump the milkshake glass again with her finger.
“Can we please take this off the menu?”
“What is it?” Michael immediately chimes in, reaching out to dip a finger into the ice cream. Alex watches as he pulls his hand back, slipping the finger between his lips and into his mouth. He's too focused on the explaining Liz is going to make him do to really enjoy the way Michael sucks on his own finger, even in the middle of the Crashdown with Liz standing a foot away.
“This is the worst selling milkshake on the menu, and Alex won't let me and Papi take it off.”
“It's good,” Michael replies innocently, reaching back over and trying it again. “Is that caramel?”
“It's Bananas Foster Ranch.”
The thing is, Alex doesn't want to let them remove it from the menu, even if he's the only one to ever order it so that it generates at least a bit of revenue. The timing of it appearing on the menu at the Crashdown had felt almost serendipitous - it first made an appearance the summer after senior year, Arturo clearly trying to add some new puns to the menu in his own effort to distract from the hurt of both Rosa's death and Liz's sudden departure. He knew it'd disappeared some time during the decade he was away - not enough people ordering it to justify keeping the option on the menu for long. But once he'd been back in town, once he'd been fully settled into Roswell once more, Alex had inquired to Arturo one day if he could whip one up for him, for nostalgia's sake.
And within a couple days, it had been added back.
Liz had taken note almost immediately when she'd arrived back in town several months later, wasting no time demanding to know the reason why. But back then, Alex couldn't tell her. Because back then, there was no Alex and Michael - if anything there was only Alex and the mysterious Museum Guy. And to admit why he liked seeing the Bananas Foster Ranch milkshake on the menu felt almost like a declaration. It felt like once someone knew about him and Michael, it was too easy to connect the remaining dots.
“I don't understand,” Michael says, forgoing sticking his finger back in the glass again and just pulling the entire thing over towards him, straw between his lips as he sucks the ice cream up into his mouth.
“Took me way way too long to realize but-” Liz turns to look down at him, an eyebrow raised. “You want to do the honors?”
Alex wants to tell Liz to get lost, to take the milkshake with her and forget this entire exchange ever happened. But there's something in the way Michael is looking back at him, waiting expectantly for the answer, that makes Alex feel a tiny bit braver.
“It reminded me of you, Michael.”
He immediately covers his face in his hands, screwing his eyes shut and groaning at himself for the embarrassment he feels. He knows he shouldn't, that it's just another thing on a laundry list of items that have long allowed Alex to think about Michael when he couldn't actually talk about him in public, or mention him to anyone.
He hears the familiar sound of Liz walking away from the table, boots stomping on the linoleum floor as she goes, and slowly drops his hands to see Michael watching him. Michael reaches over to gently grab hold of his hands, pulling them the rest of the way down, but not letting go and resting them on the table together between them.
“Hasn't this been on the menu since we were kids?”
“Summer after senior year, actually.”
A smile spreads across Michael's face as he tugs at their hands, pulling Alex's own up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. It's the simplest little action, but it has Alex's heart soaring in his chest. Two years ago, he never could have imagined being able to do any of this with someone he liked - let alone with Michael. And there once was a time where he believed that no matter who he dated, who he tried to have a public relationship with, his father would always find some way to interfere. His goal became trying to be happy enough , find something he could live with so that no one else would ever know what it was like to be at the end of his father's rage.
Maria had always been his plan for happy enough, the plans made long ago sometime in high school before Michael Guerin swooped in and stole his guitar. He always knew that while he would never be in love with her, he'd never feel that rush of excitement that came with falling in love with someone - but he loved her enough, and she was the safest he ever managed to feel at a time when there was no one else in his life reminding him of his own worth. Her presence has always been his safety net, that person who no matter what, will always be there for him - and he would always be there for her in return.
But his father's death had changed everything for him. No longer did he have to look over his shoulder, no longer did he feel like there would always be someone lurking around the corner, ready to ruin any moment of happiness Alex may try and take for himself. And now, with the statue in the square gone, he didn't have to stare at the reminder each time he walked through town with Michael, the two of them holding hands and strolling down the sidewalk. For the first time in his life, Alex felt like he was starting to truly reap the benefits of the war he'd been waging since he was a kid.
“Didn't know you were so sentimental, Manes.”
Alex smiles at Michael across the table, because there's no way that's true. Not when Michael had found him last year in that portal dimension, sitting on the tailgate of Michael's truck, watching reels that contained his own memories as if they were movies.
Alex gently removes his hand from Michael's, and carefully pulls the milkshake glass towards himself across the table. He takes a sip from the straw, savoring the taste of banana and caramel. Nothing about the flavor of the milkshake reminds Alex about Michael, it's always been completely and totally about the name.
“Liked having things that reminded me of you, even before there was really an us .”
Michael chuckles quietly in response. “Would you change anything? If you could?”
It's a question Alex has asked himself before, not necessarily needing an answer, but more just a general curiosity. And while he wishes the incident in the shed never happened, Alex wonders who they both would be as people right now without it. Because he knows that, regardless of what happened there that night, there's also the incident with Noah, and Isobel, and Rosa that took place that night - a whole combination of which was the reason in the end that Michael gave up his scholarship to UNM, and stayed in Roswell for the next decade instead. Would he change his father, perhaps? But that would require going back even further and convincing Harlan that the aliens who crash landed in 1947 weren't dangerous, they weren't invaders, and they weren't here to murder humans. Everything feels like dominoes, one event after another, but all of them tied together.
“Only if you and I still ended up here,” he replies, carefully considering his words.
Liz comes back over to the table, looking slightly impatient. There's a brand new stain on the front of her uniform - something that looks like rocket relish, Alex thinks.
“Everything okay, Ortecho?”
“You have ten seconds to order.”
Michael laughs out loud, smiling over at him across the table. “Such great service here.”
Liz thrusts her arm out in front of Michael, showing him the face of the watch on her wrist.
“May I remind you, I have a life outside this diner. And a date with a very handsome, very sexy cowboy tonight. So god help you if I don't clock out from my shift in exactly 28 minutes.”
They both quickly place orders - hamburgers, fries, extra flying sauce. Liz glares at both of them as Michael asks for another Bananas Foster Ranch milkshake, but Alex decides to opt for Abducted by Chocolate instead.
Better to dip his fries into.
“I'd ban both of you if I didn't think Papi would just ignore it.”
Alex watches Liz head towards the kitchen, pausing the scribble their orders down on her pad and sticking it in the window. The cafe is busy - a typical midday lunch rush, and Alex had been working from home today, so he'd shown up at the junkyard unannounced to ask Michael to grab something to eat with him. It felt like one of the perks of working from home instead of commuting out to Deep Sky for the day, because that would mean he wouldn't be home until closer to dinner if he did a full day at the office. Plus, he's certain that Sanders doesn't mind him dragging Michael away for an hour or so. The old man might be a crank, but Alex is convinced there is a soft spot buried somewhere deep inside him.
He turns back towards Michael, only to see him watching him, as if there is nowhere else to look in the whole of the diner. The milkshake glass is at the end of the table, Michael having finished the last of it off rather quickly, like now that he's learned why it's still on the menu he actually likes it.
“How'd you get them to keep this on the menu if it doesn't sell?” Michael asks, bumping the empty glass with his hand for emphasis.
Alex doesn’t know the answer to that question, only that every time it has been taken off, he's come into the diner and tried to order it. Perhaps it's less trouble to keep it on the menu than deal with explaining to each new waiter that gets hired why if a certain customer orders that one specific milkshake that isn't actually on the menu, they still have to make it for him.
“Guess Arturo just likes me,” he replies with a wink and a smile.
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
Deep dive into my personal thoughts on determining if I am autistic. Feel free to read or not read, but please refrain from dismissive language. I'm just trying to get this stuff written down and posted, because often that's cathartic for me. TW for negativity, mentions of mental illness, and verbal/emotional abuse.
I’ve been seriously considering the idea that I’m autistic for a little over a year now (probably longer if I’m being honest), though a conversation with a good friend yesterday sparked an interest in putting everything into writing. This past year was exceptionally bad as far as mental health is concerned, and I generally assumed depression and anxiety were responsible for a lot of my issues getting worse. And that’s definitely true. But as I thought about myself and became more aware of certain traits I have and things I do and say and think outside of just a depression standpoint, I kept wondering if I’ve been framing some things wrong for years. I had always assumed that certain things I do are “wrong” and “bad” because they’re caused by depression. When in fact they might be features of myself that can be reframed and understood better and I can learn to accept them. I’ve been wondering if getting screened for autism might be useful for me. I still don’t know. A lot of the things I’m about to list sound really negative. But I want to learn how to love myself and take care of myself so that positivity can come out of this.
So anyway, here are some things I do or think that, if I get screened for autism or at least dip my toes into the community, I might be able to understand more clearly. Not all of these are signs of autism, and some can absolutely be attributed to depression or self esteem issues, which I do have. But I want to get all of this down anyway.
Social anxiety. I have a lot of it. Always have, though I tended to mask it better in school. In my 30s, I’m not forced to interact with people outside of work, so my social anxiety has only gotten worse. I’m god awful at social interactions with almost everyone. Especially in-person social interactions (online is easier, though I tend to not have much to say in online conversations). Very close friends and immediate family are the only people I feel I can speak to properly, but even then I get nervous and have to really think before I say something. I think very carefully before every social interaction, and ponder them constantly afterwards. I tend to cancel plans VERY frequently if I feel like I can’t handle being around more people than just my close friends or immediate family. And when I am with new people, I fret constantly about being perceived as awkward. Which brings me to…
I have a deep fear of being perceived as awkward or weird. Of being recognized as someone who can’t communicate normally. I feel like an alien wandering around at all times. Everything I say sounds awkward coming from my mouth. Speaking leads to embarrassment. I sit in a room filled with extended family and all I can think of is how I can seem “normal” without having to talk to them. Because of this, I have become hyperaware of visual cues/facial cues/reactions of other people around me when I’m near them or speaking to them. I always thought that “recognizing social cues” meant that I couldn’t have autism. But I think in this case, I may have just worked extra hard to notice people’s reactions because of the fear of being perceived as different. I trained myself, if that makes sense. Though sometimes I realize too late that I actually said something weird, and I stress about it for weeks. Which brings me to…
I vocal stim. Because of my horrible fear of being perceived as awkward, I tend to replay social interactions in my head over and over for days and weeks after they happen. My brain does this thing where the moment I start to think about an awkward interaction, I immediately and involuntarily say a specific word out loud. It doesn’t happen in public while I’m in the situations, but it does happen every time I think about them afterwards, usually when I’m alone. This is a frequent, daily occurrence. I think of the vocal stim as trying to help me stop thinking about the thing, or reminding me that I’m thinking about it in the first place. When I hear myself say the word, I inwardly cringe for a moment, then try to refocus on something else. The word has changed a couple times over the years, but it’s usually the name of a fictional character I really like at the time.
I know this one will sound more like severe depression, but… My executive dysfunction is bad. REAL BAD. I have entire rooms of my house filled with garbage and junk because I can’t take a single step to clean and sort. Even the idea of taking a small step is stressful for me. Organization is a huge challenge. Starting any kind of task that involves cleaning or organizing gets me confused and anxious. And often even fun hobby tasks seem impossible to start or do, because my brain constantly tells me I don’t actually want to do them.
Also I space out and can’t focus when someone, like my mom, is talking to me. She complains that I don’t listen to details when she’s talking and she claims I “do it on purpose to spite her”. When in reality, I do it without thinking. It causes poor memory issues. One specific and horrible example is from last Christmas. My mom said she wanted new pot holders for Christmas— a specific kind that aren’t “mittens” and don’t include silicone grips, but instead are made of really thick fabric. She told me this a couple times, but for some reason I couldn’t process the details, or I immediately forgot them because I didn’t write them down. I eventually told my sibling that she could get the pot holders for my mom and I would get her something else on her list. But I neglected to tell my sibling any of the details of what my mom wanted. So my sibling got her really nice, big silicone grip oven mitts. When my mom opened them, she immediately said: “this isn’t what I wanted. Kristin I told you exactly what I wanted a dozen times. Did you seriously not listen? Why don’t you listen to me?” So in essence, I had completely ruined my sibling’s gift to my mom. I broke down and started sobbing. On Christmas. In front of my family. At age 35. My mom got really angry and told me I was crying on purpose to get sympathy, and that there’s no excuse for not listening to her, and that I’m being spiteful. I tried to explain to my family that lately I’ve been feeling like my brain doesn’t work properly. I don’t know if they really “got it”. It was AWFUL. I’m tearing up just thinking about it. Anyway… on to other things…
When I get a new project at work, I have to ask a lot of questions and talk it out for a while with my manager (who is very patient), pretty much every time. Just takes a while to process things. I spiral a little if I don’t have all the facts of a project right away. And speaking of not processing, please do not ask me to play a card or board game with a zillion rules. My brain shuts down. I get overwhelmed just thinking about it and I get stressed when someone invites me to play a game I’ve never played before.
I often take things people say too seriously, or it takes me a while to process what they are joking about with enough time to respond properly. I work extremely hard to mask this. I do understand sarcasm and jokes, but often I don’t know how to react to them. For instance, I have an uncle (Uncle Mike) who is notorious for saying incomprehensible shit and making inscrutable jokes about people (I’m sure you can guess that he is NOT my favorite relative). I was with him the other day, along with another uncle (Uncle Dave) who I hadn’t seen in years. My dad said something like “oh everybody’s gone through a lot of dog drama this year”. Which is true, though I personally don’t have a dog and did not have “dog drama”. Uncle Mike turned to Uncle Dave and just said offhandedly “Oh don’t bring the dog drama up around Kristin.” The comment made zero sense and I didn’t recognize it as a bizarre joke right away (he didn’t even know my cat was sick). So I felt the need to defend myself to my other uncle. I turned to Uncle Dave and said “well no, I don’t have dog drama but I do have cat drama. My cat was sick and had surgery, but he’s doing a lot better now.” Then I kind of went off on a tangent explaining the cat’s surgery. My Uncle in turn had no idea how to react to this. So I felt extremely awkward afterwards and sat there quietly contemplating how fucking awkward I am and how I can’t take a joke (even when the jokes are inscrutable). Anyway.
I get VERY overstimulated and anxious when my parents force me to come with them to local hockey games (they love going). I despise it. The competitiveness, the angry fans, the tension, the fighting on the ice… it’s awful. It sounds weird and counterintuitive, but I’m able to distract myself with the advertisements on the digital screens and the Jumbotron. But actually watching the game? Can’t do it. Serious overstimulation.
I have physical tics. I’ve cycled through different ones over the years— digging my fingernail into my palm, licking my lips, torso and neck twisting… etc.
I eat the same food every day. Takes A LOT to get me to branch out. I’m really picky. There are foods (like cheese, garlic, and fish) that just the idea of eating them makes me physically ill. I’ve actually puked from smelling mac & cheese and garlic pretzels cooking in the oven. I don’t have food texture issues, but I’m hypersensitive to taste and smell. I gag ALL the time when trying new foods, so I tend to avoid them.
I do hyperfixate on occasion. It’s not particularly extreme, but it does occur. Especially when I am too burnt out to do anything else, I find a single thing I really like doing at the time and become consumed by doing that one thing that makes me happy. Whether it’s writing fanfic for days on end or editing Digimon BGM or identifying bugs, I tend to ignore other tasks in favor of that one thing.
And finally, the suspected autistic burnout, which I am experiencing right now. I went through a VERY stressful August with my cat needing emergency surgery and his anxiety-inducing recovery. During that time and since then, my brain has been completely unable to start or focus on ANY task. I mindlessly scroll tumblr wishing I could do anything other than that, but feeling anxiety when I try. I’m exhausted. Everything makes me exhausted. Existing makes me mentally and physically exhausted. I’ve been really withdrawn.
Anyway, in general, I’ve always felt that I didn’t have traits that would get me diagnosed as autistic. And there’s a good chance I won’t be diagnosed. But I do have some traits. Maybe? My problem is fear of not being accepted and understood, because people in my life will think I’m “too old to be diagnosed” or “exaggerating” or “just have depression”. I have a childhood friend who got diagnosed a few years ago. When she told her mom she had autism, her mom was insulted, angry, and dismissive. Her mom brought out the “is it my fault? Was I a bad mother? There’s no way my child has autism” cards. Knowing my own mother and how she reacts to anything I tell her about myself, she would do the same thing. She would tell me I’m over-exaggerating and making stuff up in my head. And having my mom be insulted by my autism is a deep fear, because when she says dismissive things, they tend to burn into my mind for eternity. Like when I was 21 and she told me “don’t think you’re gay just because your friends are gay.” GOD that was a bad one. That one line held me back from understanding my sexuality for well over a decade, and it still haunts the back of my mind. I can’t imagine what her dismissing me as neurodivergent would do. The fight and guilt tripping and dismissiveness it would cause would be outrageously terrible for my mental health. My mom is staunchly anti-psychiatry, so I guess I will never EVER tell her. Maybe her acceptance wouldn’t make me feel better anyway.
But other people’s acceptances— the people who truly matter— might be what I’m looking for. I don’t know what to make of anything I just wrote down. I said a lot of things about myself… and it would be nice to frame some of them more positively, and to work on certain things with a better knowledge of who I am.
#Zuzu note;#personal post for ts#tw mental illness#mental health mention#thoughts on autism#tw verbal abuse#tw emotional abuse
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey so as a new DM getting into WoD (coming from D&D and Cyberpunk) where would you recommend starting for reading up on Mage?
I’ve got both VtM and HtR and there good sourcebooks but I’ve been told Mage has all the ‘deeper’ lore. I just don’t know where to start.
[Note: I answered this question in typical long-winded fashion, so you can skip to the numbered list at the end for a somewhat shorter summary of how I’d get into Mage, if you prefer. Also, this is my own opinion— I can’t promise it’ll work, but I know it worked for me, at least when I started actually doing it intentionally.]
This is a relatable problem!
So, I got into Mage by picking up pieces of the lore from a distance over the course of a couple years, and then diving into the M20 corebook while they were offering it for free during the pandemic. I read the intro, then skimmed the book, with a focus on parts I was interested in, and over the course of the past three years I’ve read almost all of it by now. It’s almost 700 pages of weird, dense material and while if I wanted to I could have gotten all of it read much quicker, it still would have been quite the task, which is not ideal for a game.
Alright, how should you do it then?
Okay, first, put aside the notion of “deeper” lore at least for the moment. Don’t let the fans of Mage who wax lyrical about how important and wild and vast the implications of the Ascension books are. While Mage does get pretty out there, it does not and should not overshadow the other games. Gehenna’s still coming, for instance, don’t let the incident with what was *maybe* the Ravnos Antediluvian take away from that.
Seriously though, it’s easy to get intimidated by certain Mage fans. They can be kind of a snobby crowd, frankly, and not just in the fun pretentious way. Enjoy it at you own pace, those guys think they know the game— nah. A lot of them just know the metaplot, and that does not a game make.
Approach Mage more like an all you can eat buffet, and you’re getting from it what you want. As much or as little, as big or as small, as focused or as broad as makes sense for your interests. You take the parts you want as you like, and go from there. There’ll be time for the rest when you’ve found your footing.
So, if I were to do it all over…
1st— Get ready to take the plunge—but carefully, and with some intent. Steel yourself with some deep breaths, and grab a book to get started with. I do actually recommend the 20th Anniversary Edition to get started, but it is a lot, so if you’re worried about getting distracted or overwhelmed, Revised should work too. (I personally think Revised is just a bit too limited in its take on the setting, but that’s really subjective.) Don’t start reading quite yet, though, just pick the book you want to start with.
2nd— Be ready to ask questions. I’m putting this up early not because you’ll necessarily have questions immediately, but it’s always intimidating to be confused and have questions, so just know that there are folks in the community who will be polite in answering questions.
I’ve had luck with r/WhiteWolfRPG in the past, but I haven’t dipped in there for a while so they may have gotten worse. The Onyx Path forums are generally fairly nice, though. And here on Tumblr I have to think there are people, though I’m new here. Still, I can speak for myself and say— I love questions!
3rd— Alright, here’s what I’d do now. Read the first chapter or so, enough that you know what this setting even is, and then it’s time to find the parts that you are interested in specifically. For example, I’m really into alchemy, hermeticism, that kind of ceremonial magic, and mashing that into a modern setting— playing someone trying to do this old school classical wizardry in the 21st century, basically. So I’d jump into the relevant sections of M20– I’d read about the Traditions, the faction most into old school magic, then read specifically about the Order of Hermes, the Verbena, maybe a few other factions like the Children of Knowledge and the Hollow Ones, and go to any linked relevant sections I’m interested in, such as the write-ups for Alchemy and High Ritual Magick in M20. I would recommend doing something similar. If you don’t know where to start at all, I’d recommend looking at paradigms, the Orphans, and maybe Avatars. That’ll give you the kind of basic introduction a newly-Awakened mage would get. Also, probably stay away from the Umbra for now. It’s got a ratio of weirdness-to-size that makes it a tricky thing to grasp, at least at first.
At this point you might still be confused, just cause it’s a lot to reckon with, but you should be grounded in the details that you plan on working with. You’re building the foundation, hopefully in a way that’s not too confusing.
4th— Something I find helpful for getting to know a game is making my own character, so when you’re comfortable with that notion, I’d suggedt getting a character sheet and finding the section for character creation, then going through it and filling out that sheet as needed. You may never play this character, but in doing so you’re getting a feel for how the mechanics and setting interact, and you’ll probably start to get some knowledge of the basic Mage-specific rules. If you’re like me, you’ll naturally be curious enough to check out those sections, but even if not you’ll still learn more.
5th— Now I’d say to just widen out from where you are. This may take the form of just reading the whole damned thing now, straight through, but for me with M20 that was still kinda scary. There’s just so much. So I read about the things I felt that I knew about, but only vaguely. The Technocratic Union, the nature of Paradox, how paradigm works mechanically, Avatars, that sort of thing. At this point you’ll likely be familiar with your corner of the setting and get a view of how it fits into the wider whole. If you’re feeling ambitious, you might jump into some crossover stuff— what happens if a mage drinks vampire blood, or how werewolves and the Awakened fight over Caerns/Nodes… I was a little overcautious about weaving in the larger World of Darkness when I was getting started, but I know that’s how some new players get a foothold.
(Optional 6th— On that note, I find Mage is a lot easier to run if you’ve gotten some experience with other WoD games. Maybe run a one-shot of one of them, or even a quick mini-chronicle, just so you know the basic rules and find your grove for Storytelling in the setting. You might feel you’re ready to just dive into Mage, and you might be! But I learned that I needed more practice, so just a word of advice.)
I wish you the best of luck! You’re stepping into some weird and wonderful stuff— magic, mystery, and madness, all that— and it takes some time. I hope you enjoy your journey, and remember, it’s never wrong to have questions.
Other than that…
You’re ready.
It’s time to Awaken. Begin walking your Path.
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Endearing things about Sim!Ed and Sim!Stede that keep making me smile, in no particular order:
This is Sim!Stede. (It took me a while to find suitably slutty shirts for him.) Who is he looking at like that?
Sim!Ed of course. They have been sitting there (the bar in their open space kitchen/living room) for a while, completely absorbed in chatting each other up in the cute simlish gibberish language. You can just sit one of them down somewhere and the other is going to join and talk to him for hours. They will ignore anything else.
- In a hilarious parallel to canon, after Ed confessed his crush to Stede and told him he's into guys in general and into Stede specifically, Stede went on a while like "this is my best friend Ed who's great" (they were already best friends at that time). Sim!Ed was sitting there making heart eyes across the breakfast table (because OMG they were roommates) and Sim!Stede was like "gotta tell my best friend Ed how much I like spending time with him and talking about hobbies!" 😂
Then Stede caught on, and decided to make up for the delay by being very into the wooing bit. Like, he'd get up, and immediately think of wanting to kiss Ed. No thoughts, only Ed.
- He's not alone there, Ed is equally Stede-focused. I had them spend a date at a local park early on. They had barbecue, then wandered around. Stop to chat with each other. Some random female NPC walks by. Takes one look at Sim!Ed and apparently decides he's her new crush (not blaming her, he's adorable, probably irresistible if you are another little virtual person), so she stops and starts hitting on him. Unfortunately for her, Sim!Ed is a) gay and b) currently busy staring at Sim!Stede, who just offered him a rose. Sim!Ed has little hearts floating around his little head and only eyes for Stede. He doesn't even notice the NPC trying to hit on him. Sim!Stede notices her, but instead of saying anything to her takes Sim!Ed by the waist and dips him in a kiss. NPC girl throws a fit and stalks off. Sim!Ed has failed to notice anything about that. He still has hearts floating around his pretty little head, and absolutely zero thoughts inside it. 💖
- It took like what felt a ridiculously short time until they were both completely obsessed with each other. One of them is doing something, no matter what it is, and chances are he will randomly think of the other one and how much he needs to flirt or just hang out with him. They see each other and bam, their mood goes right to either very happy or directly to flirty.
At this point they frequently just stop in the middle of an activity if the other happens to walk by. Yesterday Stede was supposed to make pancakes for breakfast. He got up before Ed (he usually does), so I figured that means he's in charge of breakfast, so I sent him to make pancakes. He got out a little bowl and mixed the batter. The next step would have been taking that to the stove and getting a pan to make the actual pancakes in. But, alas, Ed got up, and wandered by the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, in a purple robe and fluffy socks, looking really soft and cute, and Stede forgot about the pancakes entirely. They made out and chatted for half an hour, and I was sitting there like "Stede, your pancakes! And Ed really needs to pee!" 😂
- They also have really cute little character quirks I didn't set or expect to be there in the game at all. Stede has a bookworm trait, so his love of reading is understandable. But he's also obsessed with his phone (kinda more than with books, tbh). It's the only thing that can mildly distract him away from his one-track-Ed-focus mindset. He gets that thing out mid-conversation. He doesn't stop talking to Ed, he just also scrolls his phone. (Ed also has a phone, but he only opens it when nothing else is going on.)
- Ed is a napper. Stede sleeps and naps when he has low energy, which is reasonable. Ed just likes naps? He doesn't even need to be tired. It's like he sees a vaguely suitable piece of furniture, asks "is anyone sleeping on that?" and doesn't wait for an answer. If you wonder where Ed is, chances are he'll be having a nap. In the bed in the middle of the day. On the small living room/library loveseat by the fireplace. On the. Park bench in the public area that borders their garden? Ed, you have so many nice napping spots at home!
He slept on all the couches in the house, on either side of the bed, on the pool loungers, on a random bench in the public area that borders his and Stede's garden... He's just a sleepy little guy.🥹 (Sometimes I just watch him for a while. It's so cute. Very peaceful. Blorbo simulator is going great, guys, I get to watch them be happy!)
- Ed loves bubble baths. When I first got them into their (then) little house, I got them both a shower and a tub. I sent them both to try out the bath and shower. So they know they have options. (Do you need to do that? Probably not, but I do it like that.) But when deciding to go wash up on their own, Stede takes a shower and is done with it. Ed only showers when told to. Ed has tried the bathtub once and fell in love with it. (I was actually a little bummed that Stede doesn't do that, because in my head canon!Ed and Stede are a bathtub queen for bathtub queen couple, but I'm not going to take away Sim!Stede's shower if he prefers that, who am I, an evil god?)
- Stede cheats at chess. Ed overall seems to like the chess set better, he plays with it by himself, too. Stede only plays video games unprompted lol. He plays chess with Ed when Ed invites him to. And then he distracts Ed by pointing at something behind him and when Ed turns to look he rearranges the pieces.
Ed, sweetie, don't look so confused, you are losing because your boyfriend is cheating!
Also I think that particular game of chess was foreplay for them. They were sitting there at the table, doing 90% flirty conversation and 10% chess playing. And immediately, unprompted, decided to fuck after. (I don't even know who won the game or if they completed it.)
I suppose the game went well enough? They don't look unhappy about the outcome. 😉
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
I've been toying with the idea of the "Superman > Foolish One > I Can See You > Ours > Dear John > The Story Of Us" sequence of events and I need to know if I'm completely deluded.
While I'm pretty deadset on this timeline, the one iffy part is Foolish One. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Anon, Foolish One is a breakup song. How could she have written it before they got together," and to that I say I KNOW, BUT, there are SO many lyrical parallels between Foolish One and all the *confirmed John songs that I find it very difficult to believe.
In terms of the timeline, something that I recently learned after listening to Jessica Simpson's book, is that after they had been off for over a year, John had begun pursuing her in mid 2009, whilst she was dating Tony Romo (it's slightly ironic that this whole sequence is preceded by Jessica making mention of the fact that Rascal Flatts asked her to be their replacement opener after Taylor finished touring with them).
She then implies that the two slept together throughout the latter half and the year, and that she confronted him about "sleeping with another/other girls" after reading a quote from him where he said he "only wanted to f*ck girls he'd already f*cked because he didn't want to explain to them that he was interested in them."
(She also makes mention of the fact that he told her she and inspired basically the entirety of Battle Studies including Half Of My Heart. There is a lot of parallel here but that's a topic for another time.)
With that whole messy timeline, I am toying with the idea of this:
Superman:
the early stages of their working relationship.
She pines, hopeful that one day they will be together despite her current entanglement, and his potential entanglements.
Foolish One:
being hit with the sudden realisation that they will Not be together Someday.
Said realisation may or may not be be spurred on by a certain former flame, or a certain comment about whether she actually writes her music, something that is obviously deeply personal to her.
I Can See You:
A mark of a shift in their dynamic
Her waiting is finally paying off, and she is eager to explore it
It is seemingly pre "confession" of interest, but post denial of it.
Ours:
There are now "together" and subscribing to an Us and against the world mentality.
Takes place in the very brief "Happy" stage of the relationship, however despite this there is still a level of distance, something followed up on in the music video
Dear John:
The realisation that she REALLY should've known better.
The immediate fallout from the relationship
"F*ck you, we're done. You're broke, I'm up."
The Story Of Us:
"Hey, what if we just like... talked it out?"
The internal debate of whether or not to offer out an olive branch to someone who caused you great pain, but you still hold a torch for (she described the song as being about "pining" over someone in her journal)
The realisation that she got nothing out of the relationship, despite her high expectations.
This is VERY long, and I am SORRY, but if you took the time to read this, thank you, and if you take the time to respond to my midnight ramblings, THANK YOU🙏
oh no i see foolish one as very much a situationship song like it can absolutely fit “i have a crush and you keep PLAYING WITH IT AND THEN DIPPING”
and i think that does fit his and taylor’s relationship in 2009! like, they were flirting over twitter like, all year. may-december there was lots of flirty tweets. though, i don’t know if it’s about john specifically, or just the general idea of a man? like, that feb 2009 lover diary where she randomly brings up “i feel like i’m the one before the one” is before she really got involved with john and feels very foolish one to me
ALSO ALSO ABOUT OURS
i’m pretty sure it was written before they were Together Together? like? idk she said it was written the week before her 19th birthday and she didn’t break up with taylor lautner until at least the december 14? not that— like, i don’t think her and taylor lautner were ever seriously dating to the point of exclusivity, i think it was just a ‘while we’re both in the same city’ thing, BUT at the very least that implies ours was written before she was exclusive with john? idk fall 2009 is so. so teenage mess
i also think all of the 2010 songs are about her kinda. coming to terms with that. like mine -> innocent -> back to december -> mean -> long live is so. it drives me insane. chosing kindness, trying to apologize to those you hurt, rebuilding self worth— it’s such a fascinating little mini arc, that healing from that heartbreak (amongst other things) set her on
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
No-Spoilers Review #2: School Zone Girls (School Zone)
Content Warnings: one of the girls has this incest-y thing going on but it's actually surprisingly quite well-written as a conflict later on. Like genuinely I mean it
Next is another series I own in print! School Zone by Ningiyau, a manga series. It's primarily a comedy manga with yuri as an overtone, but romance itself isn't a big focus. It's about a bunch of high school girls who are just really dumb, in the way that a legit group of friends might do dumb crap, but there's always depth under the surface.
Is it good? Yes! It's one of the most expressive and funny mangas I've read, and the yuri is a welcome bonus. I recommend it to everybody!
Our two main leads are Rei Yokoe and Kei Sugiura. That said, it has a pretty large supporting cast (like the fan favorite Yatsude Negoro) and it can go several chapters at a time without either of them appearing at all. Yokoe (the one with hair covering one eye) has good looks but she's extremely brainless, and although Sugiura (blonde on the cover, short hair) looks like the voice of reason, she's also her own unique brand of stupid. I swear to god they're braindead. It's half the appeal.
Yokoe is in love with Sugiura, but she's purposely "boy who cried wolf"-ed her way out of getting taken seriously because she's afraid of changing their current super-close relationship as friends. Meanwhile, Sugiura takes this friendship completely for granted. (The chapters that dip into the depth of their feelings are just as strong, if not stronger, compared to the usual comedy chapters!)
There's a lot of other characters as well, like a weird loser girl who spends 80,000 yen on a crane game and still doesn't win anything. The art is extremely expressive and fun and isn't afraid to make the girls look extremely goofy, but the page listed above doesn't show it off very well...
One of the main character groups are two twins. One of them is obsessed with the other, who ABSOLUTELY hates her in return, even saying she'd rather light on fire than accept ANY kind of gift from her sister. It's definitely weird, but there's actual reasoning for their lopsided relationship, it's shown to be extremely negative, and they're both discrete characters separately from that. For one, for some reason each of them have their own gyaru who likes them. LOL Normally this is enough to make me quit a series immediately, but you have to trust me on this one. You really have to trust me OK!!
Final Thoughts:
This manga is currently on hiatus. It's because this is Ningiyau's first-ever work (it's posted on Twitter) and she wanted to avoid burning out on School Zone, so she's changed focuses to work on new series.
Still, because it's very episodic and overall "romance progress" is intentionally pretty slow given that comedy is the main focus, it's a great read! It's one of my absolute favorite titles and generally everybody I know who's read it enjoyed it a lot.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
It took me far too long to realize that all the hard work had paid off and continued to do so, in regards to my writing. In the past, when I'd feel proud of a story or a scene, I'd immediately scramble back to, "Well, someone will read it, and they'll find the flaws, and they'll know I'm an imposter."
Every single person who writes - even those who've done it 50, 60 years - doesn't do it perfectly. That's impossible.
The definition of what makes "good" writing also varies per person. I personally love it when the writing style is a bit more poetic (you can see that influence slowly infiltrating my own work) and we hear details about the characters that give us more depth about their background and personality. Meanwhile, some people want that to be kept vague and for the story to cut to the chase.
I though my writing was too simple/basic, and I've been told my writing wasn't good enough for anyone to read in writing circles. I've been told my characters all fall into the same category. There's more history with this, but people read my fics and my original works and still liked them. I know these things weren't true then and they're especially not true now, but I was so insecure and afraid that I believed the negative commentary most.
I don't think being hard on myself was all that helpful, either. So none of that improved me. My methods of going about improvement did, but I might have done better at this stage in life if I hadn't let terrible people confirm my negative feelings.
(This isn't about criticism, either. I like concrit! But insulting someone's work or tearing it down in a public space for your friends to have a go just makes you a shitty person. It doesn't make you helpful whatsoever.)
I've also not been able to trust writing circles for years, which sucks. I have some friends who also write, but I'm typically pretty careful and don't do well integrating into new writing circles. Not really fair to the writers in them, so I've finally dipped out of trying to get involved in any until I figure out how to socialize without fearing that I'll end up the butt of all jokes.
And getting over that is hard, I tell you. Even now, I hesitate. "My writing might actually be all those things, and I'm defying reason by saying it's good." Only to then realize that if I wrote exactly like those people's favorite authors, but they knew it was me, it wouldn't matter how good it was. They were out to make fun. Maybe that stems from jealousy or just their own general insecurity that makes them need to drag down others with them. I'm sure some were not into whatever I was writing, but it's improtant to learn how to handle that without being cruel to the author and their work.
All I can really do about it is make sure that's the type of writer I never become. That's the best I can do: support writers by buying books, leaving genuine commentary on AO3, and enjoying my own writing journey.
I love writing. The joy of creating characters and worlds, of weaving them into words... I love that entire process so much. I told myself a year ago - when I took down all my writing from the public eye and locked my works in a private AO3 collection - that I wanted to focus on that for a while. It helped me so much to take a step back for about three months. I also don't mind that most of that stuff is still private.
I did leave up a couple of anon works, but only because I didn't want them to disappear at the same time that all my other writing did. (And those are still anon, and people don't know I've written them.)
These days, I still worry that even the writing I've set aside for publication will never take off, and that I won't have my writing career, but... that's never going to stop me from writing any of it. At this point, I don't think anything beyond a life-altering severe health issue or death is capable of stopping me.
This doesn't mean I doubt my writing quality! I think that the book industry isn't particularly great to begin with, and self-publication is complicated when you have to be your own PR person. What I write is also not for everyone. It's a little weird to say it's niche, as if that makes it special, but I just mean that it might only ever appeal to a small group of people.
I have to keep writing what's in my heart. But after all this time, I'm glad I'm still here, that I have always and will always write what I need to, for myself.
And it's also okay if I want to monetize some of it and share some of it for free, if I want to post or publish it because I think it's good enough to share. Libraries and book stores exist because people do that. We now have the internet to share our writing, whether it be original or fic, and I think that's a beautiful thing. (Side note that fic is just as valuable as original, and I don't condone saying one is better than the other. That's needlessly cruel to people who work hard on their writing writing, regardless of what they write. The publishing industry has its messes, but fics/fandoms do too, and you just have to find the writers who deliver what you like. If you exclusively prefer fic to original or original to fic, that's fine, just don't make your personal tastes a reason to insult millions of writers whose works you've never read. As an author of both and as a fan of authors who write both... I have a wider pool of writing to enjoy!) Anyway, I suppose I'll always fight some imposter syndrome, but... it's nice to also recognize my own skill level. It's nice to have others recognize it, too. I do think that helps a little. We all need some support and encouragement. We shouldn't forget our roots, but it's not necessary to take the journey through writing alone unless that's what we prefer. :)
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
I've done some listening on and off (including lately) to the Animorphs podcast The Fandalite Academy, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in deep discussions of the Animorphs books. The podcasters are two siblings, both (I think) around their mid-20's and pursuing academic degrees in areas relevant to children and literature, and one of which runs a very impressive Animorphs blog here on Tumblr. (I'm not going to tag them here because I'd rather not get their attention and would prefer others keep this preference in mind if they want to reblog; I've very occasionally interacted with them over the years but unfortunately in a slightly head-butting way which doesn't reflect how much I overall admire their blog.)
There is one episode dedicated to each of the Animorphs books (including Megamorphs #1,2) up through book #20, each of which I've listened to at least once. I don't know why they didn't continue with the podcast after that; maybe life circumstances/responsibilities intervened, but I do hope they get back to it someday.
Apart from benefiting from an intricate memory of basically everything that happens in ~60 Animorphs novels (which is apparent also from the Tumblr blog), these podcast episodes are very educational for the listener, reflecting the perspective of enthusiastic students of child psychology and children's literature. A certain slant shows through in much of their focus and analyses which reflects some among the set of social values/views which characterize Tumblr and which I tend to find myself grinding against (e.g. generally young-and-very-online SJ-ish views that lead to conclusions mentioned without justification like "a 13-year-old boy liking to watch teenage girls in leotards is reflective of rape culture and should have been treated as Problematic", as well as Tumblr levels of children's-rights-ism manifested in readings of the book series that I consider frankly absurd). They often reach pretty far to latch onto a philosophical or literary concept that sometimes seems only very tangentially related to what is happening in one of the books, but I would rather a podcast that does this from time to time than one which strictly adheres to the literal plots and characterizations, which by themselves are not always actually all that deep (as much as I feel bad for saying this rather than holding as profound an appreciation for Animorphs as these podcasters do). A lot of the time, the analyses they dive into do help me to appreciate Animorphs on a deeper level and/or provide an insightful discussion that is quite relevant to a major plot point: as an example, I'll mention their incisive unpacking of the incoherence innate to the concept of the Chees' absolute nonviolence protocols in #10 (which goes on to play a major role in whichever books where the Chee later appear).
There is one thing that is very striking to me in this podcast, which is that the podcasters, who became considerably more deeply invested in Animorphs than I ever was (and that's saying quite a lot actually!) are too young to remember when the books were coming out. (In fact, at least one of them read the final Animorphs book first or second, I believe? Which makes me die a little inside.) This is present as sort of an undercurrent through the entire sequence of podcast episodes. It's surreal to me on more than one level: first of all, I'm still getting used to the fact that there's a whole generation of very well-developed adults distinctly younger than my generation, and secondly, so much of my experience with Animorphs (as with Harry Potter) was bound in the process of them coming out one by one. Dipping back into Animorphs now immediately gives me a blast of nostalgia for the late 90's which it's clear that the podcasters don't experience; they're always talking about the 90's as quite a foreign decade to them. This is a tangible case of people who have been passionate about the same work for similar reasons experiencing that passion in sharply different ways owing to the circumstances in which the work was consumed.
I don't mean to bring this up as a criticism of the podcasters, obviously, although I'm tempted to tease them a little for being very confused on, for instance, whether or not Megamorphs #1 came out between Animorphs #7 and #8: events from #7 are mentioned in MM#1 and events from MM#1 are mentioned in #8, and there's a list of release dates right on Wikipedia! I do think however that they could benefit (and perhaps are benefiting, away from the podcast let's say) from discussing Animorphs with a millennial who was lucky enough to be the exact right age for it during the years it was coming out, who was forced to read them in close to their chronological order, who remembers the state of the internet at the time, the dynamic between the fans and the author (K. A. Applegate) as the series was developing, who knows firsthand the culture contemporary to the stories, and so on. Complimenting their academic knowledge of 90's-era children's literature with someone else's direct knowledge of what it felt like to be growing up during the 90's would make for an excellent exchange, I think.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
part 2 is here!!
And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.
that's actually sweet considering how much i imagine he cares about his pride
the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far,
christ almighty
but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.
the word is time and context accurate for sure but i can't stop imagining him saying 'woo her' with jazz hands and idk why but it's beautiful
More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.
“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.
Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in.
AEGON LORE LETS GO BESTIES
Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?
this girl like me fr
He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”
oh babe you've royally fucked it before you even started
It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.
no bby i love you somebody please help me give this woman a sword
So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…
Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.
They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.
OH MY GOD IT'S LIKE THE HOUSE MEME YES
Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”
AWWW THIS MAN IS TRYING
Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.
pfffttt boy is so goofy when it comes to her
Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.
yesss
Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.
AWWWW
What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.
boy wants to play matchmaker so bad that it gonna make him look stupid i can feel it
Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it. Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
at the near-pleading in his eye,
AWWWWW
“This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”
what the diddly daddly da da?
You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.
STOPPP I WANNA GIVE HER A HUG
In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.
i would like to donate this man a brain but im not sure he deserves it yet
He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.
no sweet girl i bet it's beautiful
But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.
You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.
i don't know how to describe it but author if your reading this, your writing keeps sending little shockwaves to my heart i swear
Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.
babe you're only making it worse
Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.
oh god he has so much trauma can we bundle him up? someone get the blankets i'll get the hot coco
When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’
Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.
You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.
nooo get that religious guilt out of here lovie
poor bby
You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”
they're growinggg
“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.” You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised. Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”
they're connectingg
To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.
Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:
LETS GO BESTIES
I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much
STOPPP IM GONNA SOB
So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.
Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+
After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)
Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness
Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!
Read Part I Here
My Masterlist
Taglist below the cut
Studious II
The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.
He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.
For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.
Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.
Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.
The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.
But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.
And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.
She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.
So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.
They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.
The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.
At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.
Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.
Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.
But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.
Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.
After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.
“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.
Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.
Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”
He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.
He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.
More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.
But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.
She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.
He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.
Until she had come into his life.
From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.
“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.
A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.
But that was before Driftmark.
Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.
He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.
“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ��like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”
-
You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.
Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.
It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.
More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.
Or so you thought.
A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.
And met the single violet eye of your husband.
“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.
With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.
Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”
Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.
Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?
Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”
Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.
Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.
But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…
“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”
He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.
“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.
Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?
When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.
You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.
He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.
And then he left. Again.
But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?
You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.
What he wanted from you was.
You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.
So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”
His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.
You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.
He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.
It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.
Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.
When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.
“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.
His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.
“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.
He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.
“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”
If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.
But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.
Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?
“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.
Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”
“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”
His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.
“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”
He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”
You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”
That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.
If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.
-
You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.
It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.
Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.
That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?
It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.
But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.
You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.
Oh gods, what if he had?
He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.
You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…
Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.
Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.
You needed to pray.
That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.
You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.
Not again.
“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.
“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”
A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.
Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”
-
The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.
‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.
Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.
But not today.
Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.
None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.
So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…
Damn.
You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.
“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.
There was silence.
“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”
You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’
“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.
The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.
But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.
Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.
The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.
They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.
Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”
You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.
“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”
His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.
As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.
You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.
They would do so without you this year.
Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”
You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.
As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.
“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.
Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”
Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.
As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.
-
After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.
Somehow, they were.
You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.
But you did not find sleep.
Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.
He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.
You had never felt more stupid.
And now you felt like you needed to apologise.
So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.
Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.
Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.
Aegon began laughing hysterically.
Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”
“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”
As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.
You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.
He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.
Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.
Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.
Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.
You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.
If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.
You made sure to be very careful.
What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.
Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.
Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.
“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”
You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.
As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.
The silence was palpable and nearly painful.
“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”
You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.
Silence fell once more.
“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”
Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.
“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”
Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.
You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”
He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.
That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.
You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.
“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”
They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.
In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.
-
The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.
But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.
He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.
Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.
It was familiar – it was home.
Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.
Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.
But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.
No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.
You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.
With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.
Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.
So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.
Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.
That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.
You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.
He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.
The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.
You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.
Though perhaps not.
At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.
“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”
But it was not only the one strike.
Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.
Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.
This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).
Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.
You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.
The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.
A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.
Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.
Without a single glance your way.
-
Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.
Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.
Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.
When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.
He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.
Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.
How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.
That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.
When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’
“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.
Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”
It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.
And each night, like now, he practised.
After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.
It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.
Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.
The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.
He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.
He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.
And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.
Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.
-
The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.
So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.
Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.
You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…
As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.
Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.
But then you took another step forward, and you knew.
You desired him.
The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.
You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.
Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.
You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.
Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.
Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.
Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.
This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.
You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.
But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.
Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.
It took some time, but you found it.
Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.
You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.
Your moon’s blood was here.
You were not pregnant.
-
The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.
Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.
At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…
A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.
Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.
You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.
So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.
You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.
Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.
It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.
He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?
You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.
“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”
Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”
“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.
Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.
But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”
You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”
He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.
Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.
You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.
Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.
You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.
“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”
You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.
Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”
Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”
Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.
-
You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.
But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.
You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.
Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.
“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.
Your chest tightened.
You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…
“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.
Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.
Your failure to be a good wife.
As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.
Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?
You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.
He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.
“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.
Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.
His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”
And then he left. Again.
To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.
-
You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.
You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.
After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.
For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.
But he did not come.
Eventually, you fell asleep again.
When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.
Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:
My dearest wife,
Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.
I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.
There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.
For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.
But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.
So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.
If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.
I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.
Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.
I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.
I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.
With all my love, more than you know,
Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen
As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.
It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.
But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.
So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.
-
Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!
@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfic#aemond fluff#aemond imagine#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond x you#hotd aemond#house of the dragon aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd#hotd smut#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon#fic recs#thea's fic recs
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
GENRE | smut, idolverse!
WARNINGS | smut
WC | 2.6k +
A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3
You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.
The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.
Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.
“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.
“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.
You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.
“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.
He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”
Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”
The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.
The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.
After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.
You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”
It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.
His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.
The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.
The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”
“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.
You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”
“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”
He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.
“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”
He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.
He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.
“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”
He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.
Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”
“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.
“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.
“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.
And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.
A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.
“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.
“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.
He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.
He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”
Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.
Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.
“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.
“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.
He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.
“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.
You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.
“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.
“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.
“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.
With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.
“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.
“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?
Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.
“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.
“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.
“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.
“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.
“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.
“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.
“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”
#nct smut#haechan smut#nct haechan smut#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut#nct drabble#nct fic#nct scenario#hyuck smut#doyoung
849 notes
·
View notes
Text
Promise: Yandere Godfather Hawks x Todoroki reader
This is a side story takes place in the YRHR series, after part 1, when the reader returns home, blind.
Check out my MASTERLIST for more!
"Y/n... Come on, wake up. Its 9 already." You heard him say, feeling the bed dip as he sat on it, gently touching the back of your shoulder. "Aren't you hungry? Mom's making your favourite."
When you gave no response, Shotou pulled the covers away from your face, his brows furrowing at the bandages around your eyes that had loosened up. You had did that, clawing at the meticulously tight knot Natsuo had done; you didn't like how it settled on your eyes.
"You're awake, right?" The only answer he got was you turning your cheek further away from him when he tried to caress it. Shotou didn't like your silence and he missed it when you used to ramble about almost anything to him. He missed when you were happy.
The door bell rang.
Shotou looked at his watch confused. Wasn't Natsuo supposed to come around at 11? He could hear Enji walking to the main door, and after a few seconds of silence, he heard footsteps coming towards your room. But then he heard some scuffling, and people talking- he recognised Enji's and Dabi's voices, his brother's getting louder by the second.
"I'll check who's there. Stay."
Stay? You would've rolled your eyes if, you know, you still had them.
A few more minutes passed and you could hear Dabi arguing with someone, and you think that Shotou is trying to calm him down. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, you got up from the bed. For the past whole month, Shotou would come to wake you up everyday, carrying you in his arms to the bathroom, never letting you walk on your own, claiming "you'll get hurt".
Idiot.
Taking one small step at a time, you stretched your arms out trying to reach the wall. Once you felt the cold, smooth surface, you used it to guide you towards the door.
No matter what you did, or how many times you told them to back off, that you can do this on your own, they wouldn't let you. Hell, you were pretty sure that if they could, they would breathe for you too. As if trying to instil in your mind that you're helpless without them, incapable of making your own decisions.
I'll show them how fucking capable I am.
After stubbing your toe only once, you finally reached the door, your hand gripping the metal knob. You placed your ear on the door, trying to figure out who and where everyone is standing. The corridor seemed empty and you think everyone is downstairs.
Opening the door, you used another wall to guide you towards the stairs. You hoped Shotou doesn't see you; he'd throw a hissy fit at you attempting to walk down the stairs.
As you took one careful step at a time, you heard the commotion grow louder. You could hear Dabi yelling profanities at the other person, certainly not Enji because Rei or Fuyumi would've stepped in by now to stop him. You used to stop him too, but ever since what happened, you don't really care anymore.
"Why the fuck are you even here?! She doesn't fucking want to see you!"
"Dabi-!"
"And who is gonna stop me? You? I'd be happy to knock you down on your ass- its about goddamn time!"
"Hawks!"
Hawks?
Hawks.
Hawks!
You almost stumbled down the last few steps, but you needed to know- was he, was he really here?
"K-Keigo?"
You heard his wings flap before you felt him, the wind gushed at your body strongly, making you lose your balance. But muscular arms wrapped around you before you could fall, and the winged hero lifted you up and spun you around, making you burst into laughter.
Rei was the first one to cry.
You laughed.
Not a bitter, sarcastic one.
A genuinely happy laugh.
And she missed her baby's laugh so much.
Dabi's eyes widened slightly. His heart clenching up a bit as he realised how he missed that beaming look on your face. He realised how fucking naive you were, how you were his little sister that he needed to protect.
Shotou felt envy. Why- why didn't you laugh like that with him? Why didn't you laugh for him? Was he... not a good brother?
Fuyumi actually rushed out of the kitchen when she heard you, her hands coming up to her mouth to suppress the sob that was building up. Too long. It had been too long since you were happy.
Natsuo smiled. He smiled as he saw you chortle when the hero's feathers tickled your cheek. He wished you would smile more often.
Enji's breath hitched as he saw you chuckle into Hawk's shoulder. It was so natural, so lively, so radiant. He had been dying to hear that sweet sound again.
Your heart was beating fast and your stomach was doing somersaults as you felt the air rushing through your hair and cooling on to your neck, the soft feathers brushing across your skin.
He really was here.
But so were they.
And you could feel their eyes on you.
Keigo frowned when he saw you curl yourself into him, as if trying to bury yourself into his chest. When he looked around, he saw them glaring and that's when he puffed out his wings before curling them around you; shielding you.
"I'll be spending time with my goddaughter. Do not disturb us." And with that, Hawks flew you up to your room, locking the door before they could sat anything. He could hear Dabi arguing, but he trusted Enji to handle him.
He set you on your bed, chuckling as you didn't let go of his collar.
"Its okay, dove. I'm here, now- ow!" You cut him off by punching his arm.
"Where were you?!"
"In your heart- ow! Stop hitting me!" He caught your wrists.
"You said you were gonna visit me at home! Its been a whole month-"
"I know, I know. I'm sorry but believe me, I really was busy!" Sighing, he continued. "The hero commission sent me to Europe for a mission and things got a bit messy, so I got caught up."
Yanking your hands out of his grip, you scowled. "Would it have killed you to call?"
"I mean I wouldn't say kill, but I probably could've lost a limb or two-" He started laughing when when you began getting up to walk to the door.
Keigo wrapped his arms around you, smiling cheekily"Y/n- I'm sorry, I'm just kidding. Come back-"
"No, let go! I don't have time for your bullshit" He continued laughing, easily picking you up and dropping you back on your bed.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Come on, now. Stop being mad." You heard him shuffling. "Besides, I've got something for you!"
He dropped something in your lap. You picked an item, your hands feeling around it, trying to figure out what the rectangular shaped box was.
"Whats this?"
"Oh, here. Let me help you." He lifted the lid of the box and you were immediately hit by a familiar smell.
"Chocolate?"
He hummed in confirmation"Your favourite ones too! They were always sold out! Luckily, I was able to use my charm on the owner."
"Charm? Oh, you mean where you pull that ugly smirk and do that half lidded look with your eyes, and you think that you look hot but you actually just look creepy?"
"Yeah- hey!"
And then the next 3 hours were spent like that, Hawks telling you about Europe and the bad guys he caught, you telling him about the way your family had been treating you.
"They don't let me do anything, they don't give me any privacy! Its like- its like they want me to be a doll!" You gave an exasperated sigh. "They- they act like they are being so generous. Like it was somehow my fault that my eyes got fried!"
"Oh come on. They can't be that bad-"
"They are! So much worse than before. Look, I'm a grown up- I need my space too! You know what Shotou said when I asked him to get me a walking stick? He said I don't need one since he can carry me everywhere. Do you know how embarrassing it is to get carried to the toilet every single day? Do you?!"
"Well, no-"
"And then Fuyumi cuts up my food and spoon feeds me herself! I know I'm blind but its not like I'm gonna stuff the food up my nose or something!"
The hero snickered at that.
"And then Enji reads me these novels or the newspaper and he skips over the parts he thinks I'm too "young" or "immature" to understand! They even monitor what I listen to! Fuyumi or Shotou would be quick to change the channel if something above pg 10 comes on!" You ran a hand through your hair frustratedly. "I asked Enji to get me a Braille and the first few time he pretended like he didn't hear me, before finally saying that I don't need one!"
"Don't worry, I'll sneak in a Braille for dummies the next time I visit."
"Hey-! Wait... what do you mean "next time"?"
"Oh come on! I promise I'll come earlier next time. Maybe in like 2 weeks-"
"No."
"What-"
"No. I want to leave this place today. You promised."
"Y/n-"Keigo reached to place a hand on your shoulder but you pushed him off.
"You. Promised. You said you'll get me out of here when I leave the hospital" You inhaled deeply. "Well, guess what, Hawks? Its been a whole month."
"I know but you're not well enough-"
"I AM! If anything, staying here is harming me more!" Your tone was getting angrier. "You said- you said you would take me away from them."
"I can't do it right now. The hero commission needs me-"
"I need you! Or am I just not worth your time?"
"Please, dove- try to understand. How will I take care of you if I'm out at the agency?"He tried to pet your head but you smacked his hand away, snarling at him.
"You're a liar. A big fucking liar! Was this the plan all along? To give me hope that you'll save me, only to fucking crush it?!" The hero managed to dodge the box of chocolates you threw at him. "I don't need fucking chocolate or your stupid presents. I need to get out of this goddamn house!"
The hero began walking towards the door. "You're not thinking rationally- I'll- I'll leave." But before the hero could manage to take another step, you were leaping towards him, but since you couldn't see, you only managed to fall near his feet. When he grabbed your shoulders to help you up, you were quick to latch onto him, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly.
"No- no! Don't go. Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Please, don't be mad. I swear I'll behave, just don't leave me here!" Your hold onto him was becoming painfully tight.
Keigo felt like someone was breaking his heart piece by piece as he looked at you. The way your body shook from your pitiful sobs, the way you held onto his jacket as if your life depended on it- he was forced to remember how vulnerable you looked the night he brought you back to the this house. The same night when you begged and begged him to fly you away, that you'll do anything as long as he didn't dropped you back at the Todoroki estate.
"Y/n- darling, love, listen to me. I promised you that I'll keep you save, didn't I? I promise I'll come back soon-"
"YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE! CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT SHE'S DONE TO ME! SHE BURNED MY FUCKING EYES HAWKS! I'M FUCKING BLIND! DO I NEED TO LOSE A LIMB FOR YOU TO GET ME OUT OF HERE?! DO I HAVE TO SUFFER FROM ANOTHER "ACCIDENT"?!"
Hawks knew that bitch Rei did this on purpose, he knew and it killed him that he couldn't save you from her. He wanted to tell you that he believed you, and he was preparing a place for you. But the hero knows your siblings were eavesdropping, right on the other side of the door.
He had to be careful and play the fool if he wanted to get you out of this hell hole.
"Y/n please-"
You shook your head repeatedly, pulling him closer to you as you shrieked at him. "No. NO! I wont let you go! I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE WITHOUT ME! Keigo, I'm begging you! Take me with you, please! I'll die! I'll die! I'LL FUCKING DIE, KEIGO! PLEASE!"
Your loud screams had your siblings bursting through the door, obviously using a spare key. "Y/n, whats wrong-" You jumped away when they touched your shoulder, giving Hawks chance to slip away.
You instantly reached out for him, flailing your arms around to get a hold of him again. But the hero was already out the door and your siblings quickly pulled you back into their arms, shushing you, trying to calm you down.
But you were inconsolable. Thrashing around in Shotou's arms, you kept begging for Hawks to come back. "HAWKS COME BACK! LET ME GO! HAWKS, PLEASE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE!" It pained them to see you like this, so hysterical; Shotou and Fuyumi whispered sweet nothings but you payed them no mind. Natsuo knew you were going to hyperventilate soon, but he was more worried about you bursting a vessel in your head.
Thinking fast, he quickly brought up a tranquilliser- and the moment the sharp smell of the alcohol swab hit your nose, you were wrestling harder to get out Shotou's and Fuyumi's arms.
"Y/n, please calm down-"
"FUCK YOU! LET ME GO! KEIGO! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! COME BACK- STOP! STOP TOUCHING ME! STOP!" You screamed louder than before when you felt her cold hands gripping your arm, holding it still so that your brother could administer the dose.
As the drug began taking effect, your thrashing slowed down before you finally slumped into Shotou's arms. The tranquilliser numbed the headache that was forming, and you felt Fuyumi use a tissue to wipe the snot and the spit off your face.
"I'll die... I'll die... And you won't be there. And I'll die..."
Hawks was in a trance like state as he watched Shotou tuck you under the covers. He wanted to use his sharp feathers to slice off that cold bitch's hand that brushed the hair out of your face, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your daunting screams rang through his ears; his chest felt like some was shoving a knife through it slowly as he played back the image of you trying to wring yourself free from their arms, one hand still reaching out for him. It took everything in him not to grab it and pull you away from those monsters, but he had to remind himself of the bigger picture.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the pyromaniac standing next to him until he spoke.
"This is all your fault."
Hawks looked at Dabi. His fault?
"You shouldn't have come here."
"She's my goddaughter-"
"Shut the fuck up." Dabi narrowed his eyes at the hero. "She's like this because you gave her false hope. Hope, that one day she'll get away from us. You and I both know that's not gonna happen." He sighed before continuing. "You call yourself a hero, but in reality, you're no better than us."
As Hawks turned to leave, not willing to let the villian get on his nerves, Dabi spoke again.
"Dont bother coming back. She won't forgive you. She'll never forget this betrayal."
Hurtful as they were, he knew the words he said were true.
Hawks was almost out the gates when he saw Enji sitting in the garden, looking at the koi pond. He should've left, should've flown away but there was something in Enji's eyes that had the winged hero walking towards him. He recognised the emotion as soon as he got close.
Sorrow.
Or was it guilt?
Perhaps a mixture of both.
"Endeavour, are you... alright?"
The number 1 hero looked away from the fish and blinked at him.
"Hawks? What are you still doing here?"
The blonde chuckled nervously. "I was just on my way out." He gazed at him. "Are you okay? You seem to be in deep thought."
Enji only stared at him. Taking his silence as the answer, Hawks turned to leave.
"Why did you come here today, Keigo?"
Keigo.
He suppressed the urge to shudder the way his name rolled off his tongue.
"She's my goddaughter too. Why? Do you think it was a bad decision to come?"
"No." Enji sighed. "I just- she hadn't laughed like that in a long time."
Hawks stood beside him. "She's still traumatised from the kitchen accident. Its understable-"
"No. She hadn't laughed like that for a long time, even before this happened." Enji's eyes moved towards the night sky. The stars were twinkling extra bright tonight. How he wished you could see it. "Before she lost her sight, she used to look out the window, her eyes searching sky." He gulped. "She was looking for you, Keigo. You- you made her happy, you make her laugh. I don't."
Hawks placed his hand on Enji's shoulder. "That's not true, Enji. You do make her happy. She loves you. She feels safe with you. She sees you as her protector."
"She does?"
He nodded. "Of course. If you want things to return to normal, you need to treat her normally too. Just- just talk to her. Sort out the issues and wash away whatever fears she has." Hawks wanted Enji to listen to you, to really listen to you and protect you from Rei. He could only hope that Enji understood what he meant.
Hawks was right, Enji realised. Whatever delusions you have of Rei wanting to hurt you on purpose, of being the "bad person", they can all be cleared up if he just talked to you. Ever since the incident, the family avoided talking to you about Rei or the events that had occurred that day.
If he just talked to you, things will return to normal. You'll become happy again.
"Thank you, Keigo."
Hawks only smiled in return. "I'll be leaving now."
"Okay. When will you visit again?"
"I'll be gone for longer now. The hero commission is sending me on another mission again."
"Oh. Safe travels, then."
As Hawks flew away, he began thinking about the house.
The house where he was going to take you to soon. He just needs to add a few finishing touches before he sets his plan in motion. The plan to rescue you, and eventually Enji, from those sadist that call themselves your family.
He will not let his dove get hurt again.
He'll save you this time.
He promises.
Thoughts?
Idk how this turned out, angst wasn't the plan initially. Guess I'll write godfather Hawks fluff for another day.
Anyways, now that this is done, I'll start working on RE 8 fic now.
#yandere hawks#yandere godfather hawks#yandere hawks x reader#yandere keigo takami#yandere enji todoroki#yandere todoroki clan#yandere todoroki family#yandere endeavor#yandere dabi#yandere bnha#yandere dabi x reader#yandere rei todoroki#yandere natsuo todoroki#yandere fuyumi todoroki#yandere shotou todoroki#yandere shoto todoroki#enji todoroki#enji todoroki x reader#endeavour x reader#keigo tamaki#keigo takami x reader#hawks x reader#dabi x reader#platonic yandere#yandere#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere platonic#yandere enji x reader#shotou todoroki#rei todoroki
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hiiiii this was over a year or 2 ago I think but I have an update !!Huge giant tw, this is a Vent Post and a huge bummer!! I am focusing on negative interactions with one person and a decline of my mental health (not bc of the relationship, but definitely not helped by it). Depression can make you think your friends don't give a shit about you, but remember this isn't everybody. If you're depressed or generally insecure, I'd click off of this, fr. Official trigger warning ⚠️
-
I was reading my old post abt this person cause I remembered it, and I wanted some perspective.
To the person who reblogged,
Thank you for the advice!
Seeing your advice now, I kinda wish I would've seen this and taken it more to heart. I'm not sure when you reblogged, but our situations WERE(are?) Weirdly similar (hope that worked out better on your end, btw). Only thing different was that my friend is ALL about cutting ppl off. If someone does something, anything, deemed toxic and abusive to her or somebody else, she can just start hating them. Like a switch. Crazy shit, but anyway-
So. I did not get rid of the friend. And I'm still having issues with her. Surprise fucking surprise. Except, get this-
WE'RE ROOMMATES NOW. ROOMMATES.
IM SUCH A DUMBASS, MAN.
*Thomas Sanders Voice* Storytime!
Here is a timeline of the last year or so
-we both have a shitty encounter (not criminally shitty) with a guy from previous university. She gets a lot more hateful about it than me. She lies to me to go hang out with friends the day after who give her a shoulder to cry on, while I sit alone in my dorm the whole rest of the weekend. I tell her she's an ass for that, and she apologizes. I forgive her.
-me and friend's major gets cut from our university, forcing us to leave and find somewhere else to go. I had just made new friends.
-I move back in with my parents and my mental health takes a dip. (I'm transmasc and closeted, and they are very much unsupportive/conservative/alittlebitinsane)
-I hang out and sleep over with her frequently through the summer, and she claims to be a safe haven from my religious and conservative family (her family is supportive of her lgbt identities)
-I apply to a diff university for an animation degree and get in. She applies way later, for a different degree, and gets in as well.
-I tell her my depression is getting really bad and into suicidal ideation territory, so I need her to give the constant complaints a rest. She says shes sorry and agrees. She says she will try to be more considerate (this is the third time she's said this to me so far). She doesn't.
-one night before we leave for college round 2, at a sleepover, as we discuss our respective bad father figures. She drops an "oh, but mine was worse." I make an annoyed face and she immediately backtracks. Says she didn't mean it and that she actually thinks mine is worse (??). I tell her I forgive her, but I'm lying.
-we decide to get an apartment with a couple in a complex near the university. There's a shuttle that drives to the school, and I drive myself to night classes. Friend can't drive, doesnt have her license. She's 22. I take her everywhere else she needs to go as long as she asks.
-its okay at first. Made some friends, but they're her friends too. My depression is somehow worse. She doesn't really know. I stopped talking about my issues after the summer. Her complaints are worse because she's unable to find a job.
-our relationship turns into one where she brings me food at work (part time at uni) and barely speaks to me for days besides that. She randomly becomes very friendly at times and I soak it up like a fucking sponge, until we stop again. Goes back to one word replies.
-my new friend I met thru a classmate looks at her the wrong way and she tells them they triggered her ptsd at the fucking dennys dining room table. We're all uncomfortable. I tell her that was fucked up on Halloween night and she cries in my car. She says she's spiraling because she can't accept when she does something wrong. So she's at least a little bit aware. We go watch rocky horror at midnight.
-I go home for Christmas. I have a huge falling out with my dad. I start having what I call "grief episodes" where I mourn nothing for days at a time. I don't tell her. I visit her for her birthday and hang out a few times.
-one night, me and her go to meet up with some ppl from out of town. It's raining heavily on our way back and she has the map. I run right up on a median, where the road split. I couldn't see anything and already have bad anxiety around driving, she is aware. She didn't have the map up. She was texting when it happened. I stop letting her navigate.
(She did ask me if I was alright the day after. I tell her no, but there's nothing she can do about it, so "its whatever". I don't want her support anymore, but im still angry i never had it. I want to leave her, but I don't want to be alone. A standstill.)
-i get a good psych appt. Before driving us both back for the next semester. First few weeks are fine. Friend gets a job waiting tables at a new spot a mile down the road from our apartment. I drive her to and from every chance I get. She pays for gas every other refill.
-i tell her she could walk to work during the day, since theres sidewalks all the way there. She won't. She gets rides from coworkers when I'm not available, and complains about the ride when she sees me next.
-i ask if she's still saving for a car. She's been giving me gas money, and occasionally covering the 10 pm "dinner" we have after her late shifts, since the job started, so I'm not pushy about it. She says no, and that her dad's getting her an electric bike instead. I know I will be giving her rides until we graduate, unless I just stop answering texts. She continues to give me little to no notice before she needs rides despite me asking for it.
-she complains about walking, biking, and the job itself. She brags about how she's androgynous when I try to bring up gender dysphoria. She goes on rants about my own parents even though I haven't talked about them in months. At this point, I'm very short with her most of the time. I don't like getting to comfortable.
-I start new meds and start having bad nightmares again. I still pick her up on nights, but I tell her I can't go get food every evening because I have to fix my sleep schedule. She says "that's fine." She tells me I should try a new medication. I've tried at least 6 in the past year, but she didn't remember. She says "I think it's depression."
-I start going to group therapy for depressed/anxious college kids. I connect to them more than I ever have to friend. She's going too, a different session than mine. "Time management" or something. I don't ask about it. She doesn't ask about mine.
-she sent me a text saying "did you eat" last Sunday after she gets home from a morning-afternoon shift. I replied "why are you asking me that." I Hadn't. She knows I struggle with food, but she's never asked that, so I was taken aback. Almost offended that she'd try to care, and then-
"cause if you don't actually need food rn i'm not gonna ask you to drive somewhere for me only"
-i take us to dennys to eat again, and think about the Halloween before. I'm not sure if anything has changed.
- sometimes we laugh and it's like we're back before, when I didn't know she was this way. So selfish and focused on being liked. She's shown me how fake she really is over these years, and I'm desperate to have a real friend. I don't trust a word she says. I'm really reluctant to trust any of my friends and acquaintances anymore when they say they care. I worry they just want to seem good, but they don't actually care about me. She's said that to me before. "I care the most about seeming like a good friend to people."
-im dreading summer again, but I'm not letting myself run to her like I did last time. No fuckin way.
I don't say this for sympathy, and I don't really consider it a full on vent (it's more coherent, I hope). I don't want pity, even tho this post is a total fuckin bummer. It's more for me to remember how this was. And how a hard time showed who I could and couldn't rely on.
To the person who reblogged this, I really hope you got some better friends. If you're still around that person, do not base your whole being on them. Don't let yourself revolve around them. They are not a baby, or made of glass. If you can separate, do it. Please try to build up a real support system if you don't have one.
And that goes to whoever else is reading this. Fr, if you relate to my ass you prob do need to seek our a professional, but also.
This is a genuine fucking cautionary tale. If you have friends that seem legit, please hold onto them. Tell them what's going on. Make sacrifices for them, stay up at night when they're sad even if it's gonna make you tired the next day, tell them you love them even if it feels weird, go get them if they have car trouble, give them hugs as often as you can. If they can't do the same, don't wait. Don't let them talk you into second chances.
And if you have any advice on how to change- be more friendly, more open, less bitter, and able to build real supportive friendships and relationships- drop the recipe pls 🙏 I got a lot of work to do
This isn't miraculous related, just a vent. Using this site like reddit cause reddit sucks.
So like. Hear me out here.
I've had some shit friends before. Like, the gaslight, gatekeep, getawayfromme kind. And I ended that relationship, and the friend I have an issue with now is WORLDS better than the toxic ones I've had in the past. So trust me when I say I know this could be worse.
However,
Every time I talk to this friend I just get SO pissed off. She has PTSD, as well as OCD, and she just got taken off of some medication a few weeks ago, which has made things really hard for her. And I've been trying to be patient and be there for her. But I'm about to be at my mf limit y'all.
So the main issue is the complaints. Usually, I dont mind complaining, I'm pretty pessimistic myself so I do understand. It's hard not to. But god, every conversation we have is about how horrible her life is. Any time we talk, it always wraps back around to how "her brain hates her" and she can't catch a break. It's exhausting.
It's pretty clear that shes not lying, though. Something really is wrong. She has been missing class cause she has trouble making herself get out of bed, and her grades are steadily dropping. I know she doesn't want that and really beats herself up about it. And I have empathy for her, because I really do understand. I'm diagnosed with depression myself, and man, it takes me a LONG time to get myself ready in the mornings for that very reason. I take a lot of steps to make sure I have no other choice but to get out of bed. I even tried to share some of those strategies with her, like setting your alarm or phone far away from where you sleep so you have to at least get up to turn it off. Of course, she provided an excuse to why she cannot do that.
Now, more recently its gotten worse. I can't tell if I'm fed up or if she's gone downhill, or both. To preface, we spend a LOT of time with each other. We're both in college, and we're basically each others only friends. We knew each other in high school, so this isnt a new friendship. I could go on for another essay length post ab how I wish I would've forced myself to make friends at the beginning of the year instead of relying on her, but that's not what this is about.
So, she has OCD. She also has a lot of health issues, like allergies and asthma and all that. Pre-serum steve rogers comes to mind, except not that severe, of course. So, with these things combined, she's become a bit of a hypochondriac. Any time she has a cold, it's basically the end of the world. She'll convince herself she has a fever even if she hasn't taken her temperature, and hole herself up inside her room saying she's too sick to walk. Of course, when it all comes down to it, she usually doesn't have anything specific wrong with her, just a bad cold. Or maybe nothing at all. Now, I should preface that with this pandemic, I am certainly not saying she shouldn't be cautious. However, at this point, she has been tested and she is indeed negative for covid. She didn't even have a fever. And yet, I am still eating lunch alone, like I have been for days. I'm still receiving texts about how miserable she is for having to do her laundry or attend class in her state. I'm not her, so I can't say that this sickness is being blown out of proportion or not, but man is it exhausting anyway.
This situation where she leaves me to fend for myself for days, complaining the whole time, only to come back and have me by her side to keep her company, has become a trend. It's hard to let her wallow in her dorm alone like I do, because I'm usually so sick of sitting with my own thoughts that I take any opportunity to have some human interaction. If she's done self-isolating, I'm there. Even if I leave her company feeling worse than before. This is a weird issue to deal with as an introvert, so I'm navigating is as well as I can.
The last issue I have is the one I'm the most unsure about. This is because, as much as I've been complaining about her, she is actually a good friend to me most of the time. She is one of the only people that has ever let me talk to her about my problems, and recognized them as real problems instead of dramatics. For a while, I thought our relationship was strong, considering how many times we had talked about our respective traumas to each other. I truly can't thank her enough for letting me talk through some hard times over message with her.
But it's been a lot different lately. When I talk about my issues, it always circles back to hers. Her past is horrible, and the reason for her ptsd, so I completely support her talking about it openly instead of internalizing it. But man, she talks about it a LOT. I think its partly my fault, as I have trouble controlling my tone when talking about my mental health, past, etc. Its hard for me to be vulnerable like that, so I usually have a sort of neutral, emotionless tone. Even leaning towards the lighthearted side sometimes. Because of this, I assume she thinks its fine to talk about her problems too, because I dont sound upset. But when she brings up her issues, it does usually end up with her being sad or angry and me replying with a lot of "yeah, that's awful" and "man that really sucks, why would he do that to you." Its not that she DOESN'T listen to me, like I said, I do talk about my problems to her. It just feels disingenuous when the conversation always ends in us talking about her trauma, even if I started it by opening up about my own. And because I talk about mine some too, it feels wrong to tell her I'm not in a good place mentally to talk about hers. I'm really not in such a bad place that I cant handle her talking about her past, or even her present struggles. But it feels like mine are just- idk, overlooked? (Not to mention, any time I've confronted her about these things she apologizes profusely, but ends by telling me she's already internalized what I've said to her, and that she needs to talk to her therapist. Of course, she covers it with a lighthearted, self deprecating tone. But I still feel like shit. And somehow, she's the victim again.)
I've been struggling a lot lately, with a lot of similar issues (depression especially, although I have mental illnesses that she doesn't share, and vice versa. I realize our situations are not the same.) And I've even told her, or tried to. I know that people deal with depression in all different forms, but it's hard not to feel a bit of resentment when she complains about not being able to get out of bed. Like, god, I know. I really, really do. I have to scare myself awake with my alarm and force myself out of bed to turn it off. I have to wake up such a long time before my class starts because I get stalled with every step I take. So much of my mornings are spent staring at the floor in a loop of thoughts about how badly I want to get back in my bed and pretend I don't exist. But, lo and behold, I get to class. I cant afford to miss. And I know skipping class isn't good, it feels awful, I know that guilt well. But still, listening to her complain about not going to class feels like listening to someone complain about not being able to run into fire because they're not fireproof. No one's fucking fireproof. But still, here I am, covered in burns every day. Listening to someone whine about how horrible it is to watch everything burn from their window.
No, I don't feel the guilt of not trying. But that doesn't mean it's easy. That doesn't mean I come out unscathed.
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
you like their hands
character(s) : shinsou hitoshi, kirishima eijirou, monoma neito (2/?)
legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns, quirk left unmentioned
post type : headcanons + small scenario [fluff, the mildest of spice] not even nsfw
note(s) : i was gonna put denki in this but i had a hard time thinking about what kinda hands he’d have, so i’m putting him in the next post
»»————- ♡ ————-««
shinsou hitoshi
his hands are big, and his fingers are quite thick.
really likes wearing rings and bracelets, but he usually doesn’t wear them when he’s working (i’d say that bc wearing jewelry while doing physical activity HURTS)
regarding texture, his hands were initially soft— but due to transferring in the hero course, they roughened up over time
he’ll use hand cream if you want, but he doesn’t go the extra mile. and his nails are trimmed at all times. painting his nails a black color would be great once in a while.
lol i forgot to mention nails in the last post
he notices right away that you like his hands when he catches you staring at them when he’s cracking his knuckles
like.. people have said that his hands are nice, but he doesn’t really say much about them bc they’re not you
scenario
a crack sound is briefly heard in the rather silent room. the scrolling on your phone halts, and your eyes follow the sound of the crack.
ah, he’s cracking his knuckles. you think to yourself, and you’re left just simply admiring the way he applies pressure on a knuckle. who knew that his rather— large hand would look appealing, even while cracking his knuckles.
you snap out of your observation, but instead of just simply going back to whatever you were doing, you’re met with lilac eyes. “you were staring again.”
your cheeks heat up, and you opt to just turn your head to the opposite direction. “sorry,” you apologize. however— that’s not what hitoshi was looking for apparantly.
“if you like my hands alot,” he scoots next to you, hands sliding up and down your arms— his firm grip practically making the pre existing butterflies in your stomach act up again. “then you should’ve said so, kitty.”
is he conscious of his actions? hm. you could say that
he’ll purposely play with his capture tool right in front of you— the material wrapping around his hand. and he can only laugh when you immediately get absorbed into it
the back of his hand will brush against your cheek. then, when he comes in to kiss you, he’ll cup your cheek— kissing you with his other hand resting at your nape
under the table, his hand will start to slide against yours, interlocking hands with you. he’ll act like nothing is happening, but on the inside— he’s taking in your reaction
a little spicy, but when he wants you to look at him— he’ll do that thing where his thumb brushed against your bottom lip, as it almost dips right into your mouth
if he feels a little extra, his hand will also be tugging on your hair (if you’re fine with that. otherwise, he’s sticking to the one above)
oh and he also does that thing where he rests his hand on your neck, thick fingers squeezing your throat lightly.
overall— THIS MAN omg, he’ll entertain your interest in his hand nicely, just for you. and every single thing he does is memorable
kirishima eijirou
his hands are quite normal regarding size, they are almost always veiny, a lot more than bakugou’s actually. i think at some point he was concerned about them
his hands are rather flushed in color, but that’s because of his quirk. his fingers have a few tiny scars here and there,
he occasionally has pen marks on his wrists due to bad penmanship, and his nails.. don’t look the best, but they’re not the worst it’s bc of his quirk
the palms of his hands are ridden with callouses. but he wears them with pride because it’s the pure evidence of his hard work with his training.
but he starts to get worried about them when he goes to hold your hand.
you always had a thing for kirishima’s hands, but you just never had the chance to tell him that. i guess asking you did it for him
scenario
did you even realize how hard you were staring at his hands right now? it happened every single time he enlaced his arms around you, his hands resting at the sides of your arms
at first, he thought it might’ve been because his hands are too rough, or you might’ve been in discomfort— because maybe, just maybe, he accidentally activated his quirk?
the fact that he can’t exactly tell what it is worried him, maybe he should just ask you.
but his worry washed off when you told him upfront that you ‘liked his hands’
“wait so.. you’re staring at my hands because you like them?” kirishima wants to confirm your words, and— so casually, by the way— nod in agreement.
tracing the veins on his hands, you elaborate “your hands are really nice, i can tell how hard you must’ve worked.” pressing your smaller hand against his, you smile.
eijirou takes a moment to process it, but it’s surprisingly quick. “oh t-thanks!” he sheepishly took the compliment, a small blush sporting on his cheeks. “i’m glad it wasn’t because you thought they were weird.”
kirishima unintentionally feeds your interest with his hands. like sometimes.. he’s just not aware of it, but yes— he is feeding your interest well
will always make you compare hand sizes with him, chuckling softly at the dazed look on your face when your palms touch
if you allow him, he’ll fix your hair for you. doesn’t matter what hair type you have, he’ll do LOTS of research to know how to style it
those hands are magical
if you get a papercut, or a wound from cooking— he’ll patch you up, then he’ll press a kiss on the bandaid.
he’ll do this thing where he’ll squeeze your sides when you pull in for a hug. but if you’re not okay with that, he’ll opt to just rubbing your back with his hand— rocking you softly as he hugs you
a little spicy, but his hands do wander a lot. you might need to even hold them in place to make sure they don’t go too wild
in addition to that, he’ll just SLIGHTLY, activate his quirk to make sure you’re conscious of his touch. his finger tips gliding against your back, sending shivers down your spine.
but of course, he’s careful. he doesn’t activate it to the point it causes scratch marks, nor will his actions draw blood. he doesn’t wanna do that
in short— kirishima’s a little clueless at first. he wouldn’t really tease you in public, but he’s surprisingly attentive to your interest.
monoma neito
his hands are on the tipping edge of slightly above average. he doesn’t have a lot of veins on his hands, but they do pop out depending on what quirk he’s using
monoma’s hands are pretty spotless of any scars (from cuts, abrasions, etc.) because he gets REALLY annoyed with wounds pretty easily
to the point he’d want to attend to the wound immediately, he doesn’t let them sit— it’s just a personal preference
his nails are at the perfect length. not too long and not too short to the point it hurts, you don’t know how he does it.
wears watches on his wrists, and not the digital type— he sorta acts like he can read it easily, but it takes him a few seconds to even get to know the time
you know this because kendo snitched on him and told you LOL
you secretly hate yourself for this, but you really like his hands because of how he takes care of them. you’d never tell monoma even though you’re dating him
scenario
you’re unsure of yourself on how your boyfriend— monoma, found out about your fascination with his hands. it was supposed to be a secret for the rest of your life, and you only remember talking about it once out loud
which you assumed was a close call, considering that you thought he didn’t hear it at all— but he did.
“so i heard you like my hands, huh Y/N?” monoma’s teasing tone does not aid the situation. your cheeks heat up with embarassment, and you can’t get yourself to answer his question— without sounding like a fool anyway.
you fake annoyance, “where’d that come from?” you ask, and monoma doesn’t seem to want to switch the topic
“i’m asking you a question, dear Y/N— i heard you like my hands,” his tone would’ve sounded condescending to any other person, but you can tell that he’s either genuinely curious
or just teasing you, because that’s how he is.
to aid his question, he brushes his fingers along your neck— near your pulse. you jolt, stunned by the sudden action— heart beating rapidly against your chest.
“see,” monoma presses his hand against your chest, where your heart is palpitating, grinning in a way that’s teasing you “it’s true, isn’t it? sweet Y/N has a thing for my hands, hm?”
you furrow your eyebrows, and flick his forehead— and he hisses in reaction, “fine then, i do like your hands.” you finally give in, admitting final defeat.
ever since then, you haven’t heard the end of it
definitely that person that’ll just randomly bring it up to you, no matter what hour of the day it is.
“oh Y/N, you were totally fawning over my hands earlier—”
“i will castrate you.”
you know he means well most of the time, but sometimes he just loves teasing the heck out of you.
but that doesn’t mean he neglects your obvious interest in his hands.
he’ll compliment you, he’s a snarky person in general— but to you, he’s totally smooth with it.
slides his hand from your forearm to your hands, only to bring them up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your hand
squeezes your hand everytime he sees you, it’s kind of a nonverbal greeting at this point
similar to kirishima, he likes comparing hand sizes— teasing you about the size difference (even if it’s not even a big of a difference, he’ll take that chance.)
does this thing where he rubs his thumb against his palm. does it a lot when he’s concentrated about something, or just out of the blue
a little spicy, but he’ll make you tell him what you like about his hands, and what you like about the things he does with those hands of his. if that makes sense
he wants all of the details, doesn’t care if it’s mundane, or things he does when he’s feeling a certain way.
he wants to know, because as soon as you’re done with your spewl, he’ll do exactly what you like, teasing you while he’s at it. and so he can start incorporating those habits whenever he’s around you.
totally someone that’ll make you suck on those fingers. oh, but he’ll purposely get some dessert on them— asking you to suck them off
“good grief, i got some dessert on my fingers again. Y/N, come suck them off”
sometimes he’s serious, sometimes he’s just teasing.
overall— it’s pretty adventurous. he starts to act on it as soon as the revelation is revealed to him.
but i’d say he does just fine.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!
i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing, and i do not profit off of my hobby
do not plagiarize, translate, repost, or use my work for audio readings without my consent :))
#bnha imagines#bnha x reader#mha x reader#mha imagines#bnha x y/n#bnha fluff#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#shinsou x reader#shinsou hitoshi x reader#shinsou hitoshi x y/n#shinsou x y/n#shinsou imagines#kirishima eijirou x reader#kirishima eijirou x y/n#kirishima imagines#kirishima x reader#kirishima x y/n#shinsou x you#kirishima eijirou x you#monoma neito x reader#monoma x y/n#monoma x reader#monoma x you#monoma imagine#monoma headcanons#kirishima headcanons#shinsou headcanons#monoma neito x y/n#bnha scenarios
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
harmless (viii)
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)
Warnings: cursing, protesting, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, gamer (derogatory), smidge of angst
Word count: 3.5k
A/N: listen idk what goes on at construction site and im too sexy to research so we’re going with my version of the world. hello. how are we all doing?
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
He doesn’t expect to see you on TV.
In jail maybe, for something scandalous and completely unnecessary, but not TV.
But there you are, a sign board waving around furiously in your hand, voice in protest against the demolition of the community centre. You’re flipping the board back and forth to alternate between the messages you’ve scrawled on the cardboard.
You were among a few protesting, but clearly the loudest.
He thinks that maybe he has the weekend off if you’re too busy fighting big corporations. He’d send his support even.
Until he zeroes in on the sign when it flips over, finally reading what it says.
You better get your ass here, sarge
And so he does.
Half the crowd had dipped by the time he arrived. You were there, still the loudest, but he couldn’t help but notice the lack of people as compared to an hour or two ago on TV. He supposed that justice could wait as long as it took to get lunch from the nearest café.
“I can’t stop you from protesting, y’know.” He’s a little wary of approaching your raging self.
“Oh, hey Barnes. You got my message.” You break away for a second to scream a bunch of obscenities at the gigantic glass building before turning to him. “You wouldn’t be able to.”
“What’s your dumb plan then?”
“First of all, it’s not dumb. It’s stupid. Put some respect on my technological genius.” You held up a finger. “Second of all, it’s not here.”
“Where is it?”
“At the construction site.” You point down the road. “Come on.”
Right along the way you stop to chant another slogan. He waves his arm around meekly in support. He did, after all, have to stand up for what was right, but if his publicist saw him here she’d have an aneurysm.
The construction site isn’t very far off. It’s adjacent to the community centre, which he assumes they’re going to tear down to make more space for whatever shitty commercial building was going to take its place.
There are already a few excavators and dozers there but no one to man them since it was lunch time. What garners his attention is the small silver plate that’s on the floor a few feet ahead in the direction you’re walking towards.
“Here.” You stop once it nears. “The plan.”
“Am I supposed to know what this is?” He lightly kicked at it, earning a smack on the arm from you.
“Stop that,” you scolded, “and look at it. It’s not hard to figure out.”
He narrows his eyes. There’s a small u-shaped piece of metal in the middle of the plate. “That’s a magnet.”
“Exactly.” You clapped your hands together in excitement. “The world’s strongest electromagnet.”
He looks around. The only possibly magnetic things are the cranes and excavators around him.
“You’re going to... stop the machines from moving ahead?” he hesitates in his deduction.
“Yep. Can’t tear anything down if they can’t get to it first.”
Bucky looks down.
“Does this thing even work?” He toes at it again. “It’s kinda small.”
“It works beautifully, stop kicking at it, you demon-”
“What happens if I step on it, huh?” He knows this would get on your nerves wonderfully. He raises his leg. “Do I get to go home for the day?”
“You’re such a little shit,” you whine, reaching for your back pocket. “Stop bullying my invention.”
“’m gonna squish it like a bug.” He’s only half kidding about that part. “I’m gonna-”
Before he can finish his sentence something yanks him down hard. His head nearly hits the ground before his right arm shoots out to break his fall.
"Woah there, don't go falling for me as yet.”
“What the fu-” he begins, eyes locking on his metal arm that was pressed flat against the earth.
“I told you it works,” you say smugly. “Try crushing it now, Barnes. If you can even get off the floor.”
He tugs his hand but it’s firmly attached to the thing. No matter how or where he’s applying the effort, his limb refuses to move. He’s stuck.
“Turn it off,” he sighs. “You made your point.”
“No. Stay there.”
“Y/N, shut up and turn this off,” he groans, trying to find a better position rather than chin down on the ground.
“Lay there and rot. You deserve it for underestimating me.” You huff.
“I wasn’t underestimating you, Jesus Christ.” He really was planning to just step on it, but he had complete faith that it worked.
When he doesn’t receive a reply, his gaze follows yours. Suddenly the crane looks a lot closer than it initially did. Awesome.
“Those are moving towards me.” He picks up on the low groan and creak of metal.
“Yeah, they are.” You nod, one hand on your hip, watching them.
He didn’t think that getting crushed under construction equipment would be how his day went.
“Not my problem,” you decide finally after a bout of silence.
Now that simply wouldn’t do.
Death was definitely a problem, but what was more important was that he was going to get a dust allergy from the mud. He could already feel the blocked nose and temperature incoming.
“Are you really going to waste this on me? Don’t you have a demolition to stop?” He manages to twist his body so that he’s lying on his back.
“Good point,” you squint into the distance at the whirring of the heavy machinery. Their owners wouldn’t be happy to find them missing from their original spot. “But I still can’t help you out.”
“You’re willing to sacrifice your-”
“I can’t help you out because I don’t have an off switch. Yet,” you add the last part in a hurry.
“Then when the fuck were you planning to build one?” He sits up, leaning on his elbow. The cranes weren’t a mini object on the horizon now; the closer they got, the faster they were starting to move towards him.
“I don’t know, after they agreed not to take down the building?”
He could just detach his arm and come back for it later he but had no guarantee that you would stop here for the day or that the vibranium could withstand all that pressure.
“You better make a switch right now and get me out of this, I don’t care how.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, bending to assess how badly he was stuck. “You know, this thing runs really deep into the earth. It’d take forever to dig back up and then get you back to my lab and then build a switch.”
“How long?” He didn’t have a lot of time, clearly, but even generally he didn’t have the whole day to waste. He had a mission the next day. He had to put the fear of death into some Russians and bring some pirozhki back for Nat.
“I don’t know,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Too long for my schedule anyway, I have class prep to do.”
“Motherfucke- that thing’s like twenty feet away.” He’s worried about how you don’t look fazed at all when he points at the stupid machine.
He’s about to volunteer to detach his arm when he realises it’s definitely less than twenty feet now. He had a backup just in case. It didn’t move as smoothly, but who could tell the difference when a couple of tons of pressure was aiming for your face, and hell, if he explained his circumstances of the destruction of his arm to T’Challa-
“Okay, fine.” You reach into your backpack to grab something that looked like a wrist watch. It matched the one already around your hand.
You reach over and clasp it around his hand before turning a dial on the side.
“You ready?” you ask, ignoring the large crane that was starting to charge towards you.
“For what?” he replies, looking down at it. He can barely hear you over the sound of the whining of machinery.
“Teleportation, baby.” You send him a big grin before slamming down on his watch.
“Huh-” His voice cuts off immediately.
If there’s anything that can be said about teleportation, it’s that he feels like every atom in his entire body violently splits to float around briefly before suddenly rejoining again.
The ground beneath him feels different, and it takes him a second to realise that he was on the floor of your lair.
“What the fu-”
“Hello,” your voice comes from above him.
“You can teleport.” It’s not difficult for him to look at you now without the sun in his face. His arm is still stuck to the magnet but since the giant rod it was attached to was no longer deep in the ground, he could lift the entire apparatus up relatively easily.
“What, like it’s hard?” You discarded your bag on the floor. “You good? Takes a while to get used to.”
He gives you a grunt in acknowledgement, shaking his arm to see if he had any luck. It didn’t budge.
“Come on, take a seat.” You gesture to a lab chair you’ve pulled up for him on the raised platform at the front of the room. He realises that this is the first time he’s properly seen what’s actually inside your lair.
There are various buttons that do God knows what, drawers and cabinets painted black, several computer screens and gigantic pillars of glass on either side of the set up that encapsulate some green bubbling liquid. There’s a giant television set up against the wall, divided into several screens.
“Whaddya think?” You do a small swoop of your arm to show off the place.
“Gamer,” he says simply, testing his luck.
“What did you just say to me?” you recoil instantly, disgust on your face.
“It’s a gamer set up.” He points a finger at the TV screen. He was told by Shuri to use it as an insult, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. It just felt appropriate.
“Take that back right now.” You raise a finger accusatorially at him.
“No.” He was sticking with it even though he had no idea what exactly the context was.
“Fuck your arm,” you announce, throwing your hands up in surrender.
“Fuck your demolition then,” he replies simply, getting up from his place on the chair to leave with the thing still attached to him.
He takes one step ahead before your voice rings out.
“Sit down, drama queen,” your voice calls from behind him. “God, you’re annoying.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“I’m the best part of your week,” you fire back, ”and also your only way out of this. Now sit down.”
He didn’t even need the second warning, he was already on the chair the first time around.
“I’m not going to build a switch to turn this off. It’d take too long,” you examine the piece of equipment with more gentleness than he was expecting, “I’m going to remove it instead. It’s gonna take a while, so you better get comfortable.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s so sad,” you say without any indication of wanting to help.
He rolls his eyes.
You pull up next to him, welding glasses covering your face and the tool in your hand.
He turns away when you start, making sure his face is not directly within its trajectory.
He makes himself busy by looking around some more. There are details you’ve put into the place, materials that are non-flammable made up most of the architecture. It’s dramatic, sure, but somehow the designs and colours seemed to go together. It did look sinister, he’d give you props for that.
The space was quite big. It occurs to him only then that that’s how you manage to sneak up on him so often in the past. Everything clicked. Fucking teleportation.
“So,” your voice was raised to speak over the noise. “How’s it going?”
He decidedly doesn’t answer. His position is more than enough.
“Right.” You clear your throat.
He takes to counting the tiles on the floor, figuring out how many were there from the raised platform to the wall of the entrance.
“Not how you imagined your day to go, huh?” you continued despite his lack of response. “But some might say it’s a privilege to be spending the day with a cool, mad scie-”
“Are you going to keep talking?” he interrupts, losing his count on the floor.
“Yeah, duh,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You got anything better to do?”
He didn’t.
“What’s it like living with a bunch of superheroes?” You change course. He’s not sure if he’s really allowed to disclose top secret information. “I assume there’s a lot of protein shakes, talcum powder for the chafing-”
Then again, how much damage could you do by knowing that Steve preferred pancakes over waffles?
“It’s quiet,” he says. “Most of the time.”
“Save all your smart talking for the battlefield, huh?”
He doesn’t reply. It’s quiet around the Tower. A lot of their energy goes towards missions and recuperating once they’re back.
“You go on missions a lot?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Boo, you whore,” you say with mock disappointment.
He got that reference.
“What’s your favourite food then?”
He scrunches his eyebrows.
“What?” The welding stops for a second while you look at him. “Don’t tell me that’s classified too.”
It’s not, he’s just never thought about it.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, “Pasta?”
“Vague, but I’ll take it.”
He used to boil a lot of pasta, from what he could remember of his days in hiding. Cheap and bought in bulk before he saved up enough to buy things like fruits. A lot of the times the amount of sauce he had access to was enough for maybe seasoning, not a whole component on its own.
It’s one of the perks of being a free man in the 21st century he thinks, a steaming bowl of fettuccini drenched in sauce and garlic bread on the side.
“What do you do in your downtime?”
“Nothing.” Well, he considers it to be a pass time and doing nothing is a full time gig. It takes effort to do nothing. He even has days dedicated to doing nothing, as suggested to him by his therapist.
“Really?” You sound a little surprised, although it’s hard to make out when you’re already speaking a lot louder than usual. “No shining your penny collection? No software update for this thing?” You tap at his arm.
There really isn’t anything. Truth be told, he thinks he’s the most boring guy in the Tower. He sticks to himself, has a few succulents that he adores and occasionally watches trashy television. So then why are you so interested in him?
“You’re obsessed with me,” he says pointedly. “Why?”
You give a short laugh. “I think it’s the blue eyes, sarge, they’re really popping today. Gotta say, I’m loving this colour on you. Is it different from the black you wore last week? And from the one from the week before that?”
He looks down at his dark t-shirt and utility pants. He had other clothes but those were reserved for things that were not this.
“Or maybe it’s the grumpiness, I don’t know. I love it when someone shows absolutely no interest in me. Very sexy of you.” Oh jeez, you were going to continue. “Hell, maybe it’s the thighs-”
“Okay,” he interjects, feeling the need to count the tiles more than ever. He equates the heat in his neck from the welding going on beside him.
The loudness of your laughter is clearer than the sound of metal on metal when you tug a large piece of the invention off. Things were moving fast. He could get back home to his Star Trek marathon and forget this day ever happened.
“You know, you’re more interesting than you think,” you pipe up casually.
He doesn’t expect this and therefore he supposes he can’t stop the curiosity from enveloping his face. He hasn’t told you anything about himself, so then the inference you reached came out of nowhere.
Apparently, you take notice of the confusion on his face, even though he can’t see through the giant welding mask, because you let out a chuckle.
“Oh, come on, really? You have no idea?” you ask lightly, pausing to see if he offers anything other than silence. “You’ve come back almost every week even though you know it’s a waste of your time, you always keep your promises and I know for a fact that if you wanted to stop me once and for all, you could have. But you’re not.”
He doesn’t realise you’ve stopped welding until you start again. Good, it gives him an excuse not to have to look at you after that.
Frankly, he’s a little stunned.
You’re not looking at him, he can tell from his peripheral vision. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a small crush on me.”
At that, he’s forced to roll his eyes out of instinct. Thankfully you do know better.
A few screws out later, another piece comes out. You inform him that’s it’s going to get trickier from there since the circuit was a little more intricate, a lot more time than the original few pieces. He can see his Star Trek marathon fade away in the distance.
You ask him a few more questions. Some he answers with silence, others maybe a tidbit here and there.
“How’s dating now compared to the forties?”
“Strange.” He purses his lips in thought. “One guy asked for a gym date. Didn’t know that was a thing.”
“How’d that turn out?” you laugh.
“He didn’t ask for a second one.” His Bumble matches with girls somehow had gone down since he cut his hair, but he’s not too bothered. Not like there was a huge shortage.
He likes cats, thinks the worst merchandise that they make is the stupid baseball card with his face on it, and doesn’t have social media for the sake of his sanity. He’s seen the thirst tweets.
Clearly, he’s revealed his deepest, darkest secrets. Utterly classified material. But he doesn’t know anything about you other than your name, number, address, where you teach, what your hobby is-
“You, uh-” he hesitates, “You got a favourite food?”
Your hands hold still to hover above what they’re working on. You fight back a smile. “Sure do.”
He asks a few more questions. Shuts up when he feels his social battery drain. That’s enough for the next month, he thinks.
The sun’s dipped down beyond the horizon by the time majority of the work is completed. Both of you have taken a few breaks to fight the feeling of stiffness that was creeping into your joints.
You scoff and tell him you’re not planning to poison him when he denies the offer of a soda. He doesn’t deter in his decision.
“How much to go?” He has a mission tomorrow that he’d really like to get some sleep in before. Waking up at 3am to get ready was the worst part of the job.
“Basically done.” You roll your chair back, rotating your shoulder and stretching your fingers. “There’s just this little part that I can’t access from this angle. How good are you at hanging upside down like a bat?”
Fuck it, he sighs to himself, it was almost finished anyway.
Bucky stands up, tilting his neck to the side slightly before pulling at a small latch under his arm, one so tiny that you’d never make out was even there unless you knew it existed. The arm releases from his shoulder with a small click.
He offers it to you, a piece of your magnet still attached to it.
Your eyes are slightly wide. He raises his eyebrows.
You don’t say anything, just accept it and flip it to a position you were comfortable with. It takes only a minute or two for the sound of the last piece hitting the floor to reverberate through the hall.
You give a small cheer. He lets out a tiny exhale in equal parts fatigue and relief.
“So,” you drawl, handing his arm back to him, “you could have just done that the whole time.”
He doesn’t reply, just slides it back onto his shoulder.
“You had the option of leaving your arm here and coming back later to get it.”
He gives it a few shakes, opens and clenches his fist shut a few times to make sure everything is working.
“You wanted to talk to me.”
He gives you a deadpan look. “I was distracting you.”
“Bullshit,” you laugh.
“Believe what you must.” He shrugs, turning around. “My job here is done regardless.”
“Oh, I believe alright,” you call out from behind him as he walks towards the entrance of your lair. “I believe you’re a sneaky bastard, Bucky Barnes.”
He doesn’t stop himself from smiling at the overdramatic gasp you give when he flips you a middle finger. From the metal arm, too.
Next part
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#mcu fic#bucky fic#bucky barnes fic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#bucky angst#bucky barnes angst#harmless fic#winter soldier x reader#Winter Soldier#bucky barnes#bucky
998 notes
·
View notes
Text
Here is an ask well half an ask from the lovely @meddowscrl please don’t hate me 🥺 I just can’t do happy endings. I tried, I just couldn’t. I can only do angst. I like to suffer ~nervous laughter intensified~ Also, please excuse the writing, I have a respiratory infection and am heavily medicated.
You were happy, weren’t you?
“I want a divorce.”
You stare at him, you had only asked if he wanted to change the drapes. And the answer, turned your world upside down. He had been your boyfriend since 1968, your husband since 1972 and yet with one sentence he was now nothing.
“The drapes, I just wanted to change the drapes.” You mutter out like a hapless child.
“We haven’t been good for months.” He looks at you, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
“We haven’t?” Since when haven’t you two been good? Since when haven’t you two shared one brain cell? That was news to you.
Roger stands firms, flicking his long hair back. “No, Y/N.” He sighs, “We haven’t been us for months.”
“Is there someone else?” You look at him, searching for something. “You promised me. You promised me.” The words come out like a chant or mantra, what you held onto when he was on the road. A promise from another lifetime ago.
He sighs, as if he wants to tell you the truth. But he looks at you, and he sees the brokenness he caused. And he can’t bare to make it worse. So, he lies.
“No.”
You walk past him, and he grabs your hand and you think for a moment he will tell you he change his mind. But he hasn’t, and you tear yourself away from him trudging up the staircase.
“Y/N, this has been a long time coming. I’m not happy…. I’m not happy with you anymore.”
“A long time coming for who?” You can’t even look at him while you are packing your things. Most of which, he bought you. So, you only bring what you can into this relationship with yourself. “For you? Because I was happy.” There are tears streaming down your face, like a waterfall, “And I thought we were happy, it’s news to me that we aren’t. And that’s we haven’t been for sometime. Or maybe that you haven’t been.”
You sit across from him in a London high-rise, a wood table between you two and armed with a divorce lawyer. It happened fast, or maybe you were out of it the last few months.
You looked over at Roger, his hair was shorter the last time you saw him.
He stopped by your new apartment to drop off things you left, you could remember his shocked face when you open the door. You heard rustling outside and curiously you opened the door to see Roger crouched down, putting a box by your door. Blue eyes meet yours, and it was like time hadn’t passed. And maybe that’s why you treated it that way, maybe that’s why you went with the old routine. And you wonder if it was the gleam in his eyes, that let you believe that there was something to hold onto; that hope remained.
“Just some bits and bobs of yours.” Roger said, fumbling his keys in his hand.
“Thanks, Rog.” You can’t move from the door frame, the gaze y’all shared unbroken. Years of memories dancing between tha gaze. The squeal of the kettle you put on earlier makes the both of you jump.
“Cuppa? I still have your favorite biscuits.” You couldn’t stop yourself from buying them. It was just normal. And sometimes normal in this new word you didn’t know, was what you needed to sleep at night.
“Really?!” His blue eyes light up, and you motion for him to come in. Staying for tea was a dangerous thing, an old and easy routine. It was weird being so comfortable with someone, who was leaving you behind. Funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Maybe it was because of the easiness of it all, that you left yourself fall back into the comfort of it all. As of you two were old friends, not two lovers frayed at the seams. Because of that easiness, you let yourself entertain a thought that maybe you could save your marriage. Put back the broken pieces into something recognizable, but it wasn’t enough. The yearning, the reminiscing of old times through the stuff he brought to you somehow turned into fumbled kisses and clothes thrown around haphazardly. It was something you thought would change the course of where your life was going. Instead of reconciling, it turned into Roger sneaking out when he thought you were asleep. It turned into your lawyer, letting you know Roger wanted you to have more than you asked for. It turned into more resentment and hurt from you, how he could use you and then leave you. How could he so easily but all those years together aside? It turned into something that shouldn’t have happened. And it turned into something that would stay with you forever. A funny word forever, because forever never is forever.
“Sign this, and your divorced will be finalized. All assets obtained during the marriage have been split, due to Mr. Taylor’s wishes.” Your lawyer says looking at you, sliding the papers across, while Roger’s lawyer speaks, “You will be comfortable, and well off Y/N. My client has been more than generous. In fact, I’ve never seen a settlement this amicable from the side of the main breadwinner .”
You sign the papers without any words, you don’t even look at Roger. You realize as you sign on the dotted line, this will be the last time you will use the surname you used for years. Funny how something you thought would never change, would be stagnant in your life just fades away. You then pass the papers across the table back to Roger’s lawyer, you watch as the lawyer slides the papers over to Roger for his signature.
And when Roger takes the paper, you stop breathing you wonder if his mind will change at the eleventh hour. But, he signs it without any hesitation. It’s a fluent and flawless movement, very unlike Roger- really. Part of you breaks at that, it was like he didn’t care he was closing the door on years of his life. Closing the door on you.
You stand up, smoothing out your wide legged pant suit. After the divorce, you had dipped your toes back into the world of working for a living. Putting that masters degree in business to use, and now it was time to separate yourself from the last of the rock n roll lifestyle you loved. And you turn to walk away, high heels on the marble floor when someone grabs your wrist turning you around.
“Take care of yourself, Y/N.” Roger looks at you with concern in his blue eyes. And you wonder if it’s for the friend he was losing, and not the marriage he let go of so easily.
You look at him, “I will. Don’t forget to wear your glasses, we both know you are blind. Don’t forget to call your mum once in while, she misses you. And try not to get so angry at the boys, they mean well.”
“Even after everything I’ve done, you don’t hate me.” You spot something in his eyes, you can’t put a name too. An emotion that seems out of place, it was almost looked like guilt and forlorn.
“I told you a long time ago, I could never hate you. No matter how much, I may want too. I just can’t.”
“You are too good, Y/N. I’ve forgot to remind myself of that. Maybe that’s why…” he drifts off, “Even those daft band mates of mine agreed. Never let me forget it. But, Im sure they are out to drive me mad!” He says with a small smirk.
“With the drum sets you destroy, I doubt the plan to make you mad.” You make a small sound, something between a strangled “hmph” and snort in retort.
“Same old, Y/N.”
“By the way, I have something to-”
“Roggiee!” A voice like a bell cuts through the hushed words you tell him.
You both turn to see a girl, or really a woman bounding toward y’all. And you look toward Roger, and you see the look in his eyes. A look that used to be reserved for you. And it clicked, the guilty look etched in his eyes, not even moments ago. The guilty look he wore that night. The whole reason your world was being upended and ruined. It was for her.
The bitterness filled you up, the way he could so easily toss you aside. The look you threw at Roger was one of pure resentment and unbridled rage.
“You lied.” Your hushed words, that come out through clinched teeth drip with a malice.
He looks at you with wide eyes, as if he was trying to shelter you from the truth. And you see that damned look again. “Y/N, please. I just couldn’t tell you.”
But before you can answer, she comes up with a smile on her pink lips and a twinkle in her dark brown eyes. “You must be, Roggie’s lawyer! I’m Gwen.” She smiles at you. And her smile is sickly sweet, and almost innocent.
It makes you want to scream, to throw something, to do something other than what you are doing.
“I’m Y/N, actually.” You extend your hand to her. Her eyes go wide, and she looks at Roger, who goes to her side immediately.
“Y/N, please listen.” He hold onto her side, and the whiteness of his knuckles against the material of her dark dress don’t go unnoticed by you. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with her.”
Gwen chimes in, “We honestly tried to stay away from each other, we just couldn’t. We were drawn to each other.”
If you weren’t so bitter, hurt, and angry perhaps the romantic side of you would find that notion tragic. You had read about it in books, and always rooted for the star-crossed lovers. But, now you were the collateral damage, you were the woman scorned.
“When we decided that what we had was something, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell you that I was in love with someone else, when you were there from the start. I just didn’t want you to find out after I got back from tour-”
“He couldn’t see you broken like that.” Gwen finishes for him.
You can’t even begin to comprehend the information given, you were gobsmacked. You were completely barred raw, for everyone is this godforsaken lobby to see. And because of that, you selfishly did not want to see how genuinely happy he looked with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you. So, you used the words you knew would cut him to the bone. “So, you thought it was better to make me believe it was my fault you weren’t happy. That I was ignorantly living in one sided marital bliss, while you were falling in love with someone else? While you were planning to leave, I was planning for a life with you?” Your eyes are blazing, your face hot with rage, “You thought it was better to make me believe I was the problem? I can’t believe you! After everything I did for you? After putting my life on hold for you?! This is how you repay me? I deserved the truth, but you, the both of you took that from me.”
“I just-” He sighs, “I just wanted to be happy again, and when I’m with Gwen I’m happy. And I was going to tell you, I was going to tell you that day with the drapes. But, you then you uttered that damn promise. And what was I supposed to do? How could I break my best friend? I’ve always been the asshole to everyone, but you.”
“I love you.”
You look at Roger, his long blonde hair disheveled with bright blue eyes. “I love you too, you are my friend. My very best friend.” You bump your shoulder against his, and let out a giggle.
“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”
You stare at him wide eyed, “Oh.”
“I have been for sometime.”
“Rog, I love you too. But, that doesn’t mean I want to date you. I know how you are, you will grow bored of me and find someone else. And love is sweet, but it’s not your nature. I don’t think I have it in me to me hate you, or to lose you. Please don’t make me lose my best friend.”
“You don’t get it, Y/N.” He looks at you like you hung the moon, and you like it. You crave that look. “I don’t want anyone else, it’s you. And I think it’s always been, and always will be you.”
“You promise? You promise it’s only me forever?” You bite your lip and stick out your pinky finger, like you had done so many times growing up.
“I cross my heart and hope to die.” He says as he raises your intertwined pinkies up to kiss it.
“And in that moment, I was back in Truro laughing with a curly haired little girl, and then I was in uni with that same girl, who was my best friend, I saw that girl. And, I couldn’t do that to her.”
You look at him, your face cold as stone. “I’m still that girl, I haven’t changed. You have. And that’s okay, it’s okay the change that’s life.”
That is how it ends, with a look of heartbreak on your face as the elevator doors close on the sight before you. And when the doors open, and you are greeted by the sight of the lobby. You realize, you didn’t even tell him what you wanted too.
Would it change anything?
147 notes
·
View notes