#also the title is to fit it in with the rest are you proud of me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rd0265667 · 21 days ago

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Karina x Reader: Worthy

A/N: This is the sequel to my previous fic, Extra #2, reading it gives this piece a little more context too. Made this cos of the aespa cb, and also because the original was one of the few that people asked for a continuation of

hope yall enjoy:)

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon @justme-idle

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Yoo Jimin had to be the main character.

That title came with strength, reassurance, and most importantly, worth. Yoo Jimin so desperately wanted to be worthy. Being born to a wealthy family had its benefits, and its downsides. The comfortable living, the luxurious house, came with expectations. Constantly fighting for the love of parents who lived in the office, fighting to prove that she was worth something. This drove Jimin to prove herself, to be the best player in her team, be the best student she could be, be the best. But it was never enough for Jimin. No matter how good her grades were, how precise her spikes were, how perfect she was, she could never be enough, never enough to fit the image she had for herself. And if she wasn't worthy enough for herself, how could she be worthy enough of love? Or of you?

Jimin never forgot you. You, who helped pull her out of her first ever "slump", as it were. Back then, hearing of Volleyball trials, Jimin signed up on a whim, thinking her lack of experience would immediately phase her out of contention. Surprisingly though, Jimin made it through the selection process. So here she stood, wearing the school's volleyball jersey, standing around with the other new players. She should have been proud, her school's volleyball program was nothing to scoff at, but Jimin wanted nothing more than to tear the jersey off. It felt suffocating, the seams of the collar biting into her skin as she pulled the collar from her neck, looking around as the other rookies began to start practising with the volleyball, all obviously more experienced than her. Not wanting to look weak, Jimin grabbed the nearest ball, trying to mimic the actions of those around her. Her inexperience betrayed her though, as she desperately tried to keep the ball up after fumbling again and again. The others around her began to look at her, and at that point, Jimin wanted nothing more than to run, hide her face, and never show it again. Embarrassed, Jimin immediately lowered her head, running out of the training hall. The other rookies may have stayed silent, but Jimin could hear what they thought. She wasn't good enough. What was she doing here? She didn't belong here. She di- "Are you alright?" Jimin heard a worried voice next to her, causing her to hurriedly wipe her tears away. She wasn't going to embarrass herself again. "Yeh, I'm alright." Jimin whispered, looking up to see you, the darkness of the corridor she had escaped to coupled with the light from the training hall behind you made you seem out of this world. Not of this world, someone sent down to help Jimin. Extending a hand to Jimin, you gave her a reassuring smile, watching Jimin look uncertainly at you, before taking your hand, allowing you to help her out. "Mr Zai wants us to pair up and rally a little. You ready?" You asked, moving to grab a ball. Discouraged by her previous blunders, Jimin shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I think you should find someone else, I'm just going to waste your time and make you look bad too." Jimin muttered. "Thought you'd say that. Think fast." You said, before chucking the ball straight at Jimin. In the moment, Jimin's instincts took over, her body unconsciously mimicking the forms she had seen earlier, allowing her to receive the ball pretty well. "How..." Jimin muttered, causing you to smirk a little. "You might be green, but we were all new once. You look like you have so much potential too, so don't worry alright?Let's go." You smiled, resting your hand reassuringly on Jimin's shoulder, gesturing to the training hall, Jimin nodding in response. "Also, my name's Y/N. What's your name?" You asked as the two of you walked back to the training hall. "Jimin. Yoo Jimin."

Jimin loved the game. The game gave her power, made her feel like a character plucked right out of a movie. Turns out Y/N was right, Jimin did have potential. Though she was the worst of the rookies at first, she picked up skills remarkably quickly, but especially spiking. Jimin fell in love with the feeling of soaring up into the air, feeling the wind in her face, the way she pushed herself off the ground, allowing herself to hang in the air, then sending the ball down with a boom, like thunder in the sky. The game was a poor substitute for the love her parents didn't care enough to give her, Jimin knew this, but she didn't have any alternatives, so volleyball was all she had. Jimin wished she had you too, but she witnessed the injury that took you out of the game, the gut-wrenching sight of your bone protruding from your right arm was all Jimin needed to know, you were done playing Volleyball. Thankfully though, you still had some classes with her, especially maths. God, you were the only thing that made maths bearable. Regardless, Jimin worked hard, proving her mettle through hard work, and when that wasn't enough, she proved her worth by outright beating anyone who challenged her. She played hard, eventually beginning to play with the older team. As an outsider, Jimin had to work harder than ever, it was never easy to integrate herself into an already established team after all, Team Dynamics were set, chemistry was established, but how could the main character be a reserve? So day and night, Jimin worked herself exceptionally hard, barely being able to stay awake in class. Exhausted, Jimin persisted, staying at the court way after hours to train, even a slight deviation in the accuracy of her serves and spikes was unacceptable. Panting, Jimin leaned at the side to the stage, heaving as she wiped the sweat off her brows. "Think fast." Jimin heard a voice from the side of the door. Looking up, Jimin raised her hand, catching a flung bottle of chilled energy drink. "Been working hard Rookie, impressive." The girl who threw the energy drink smirked, leaning on the side of the doorframe. "Gotta make it to the main team somehow. Thanks." Jimin raised the drink into the air, beginning to drink the energy drink. "I heard you're going to make the main team soon, and I think you need some specialised training." The girl smirked, beckoning to the court,Jimin nodding in excitement at the prospect of making the main team soon. "Sure, I'm Jimin by the way." "Ryujin."

Jimin loved Shin Ryujin. And for the longest time, Jimin thought Ryujin loved her too. Ryujin was the first one to ever make Jimin forget. Forget you, forget how empty her home life was, and only focus on her. Ryujin just always had a way with words, a way of making Jimin feel, for the first time in her life, like she was truly the main character. Like, she mattered, like she was worth something. Hell, she’s the one who suggested she should have the English name of Karina. Their off-court chemistry worked wonders on the court too, Ryujin's role as a setter making her and Jimin link up like a dynamic duo. Ryujin would bring her presents after big games, bring them for couples massages after extra long training sessions, take Jimin out for meals whenever the rookie spiker felt down. For the first time, Jimin really did feel like the main character. Jimin and Ryujin, the two female leads of the perfect Romance story. Then it all came crashing down. It was after a game against their biggest rivals, a tight game that had come down to the wire, where Ryujin first interacted with an older player from their rivals, renowned Ace Spiker, Hwang Yeji. Jimin had a bad feeling, feeling knots form in her stomach, looking at the way Ryujin looked at the feline-eyed spiker. "Ryu, you want to grab dinner soon? I heard there's a new place at the mall, they serve a killer steak, you want to grab some?" Jimin asked as she wiped her sweat off her brow, grabbing a towel. "Oh, I actually have plans tonight? Rain Check?" Ryujin casually said, touching up her makeup in the mirror. Plans? Ryujin never had plans on game days. Brushing it aside, Jimin nodded "Alright then, another day then?" Jimin asked, to which Ryujin nodded absentmindedly, looking at her phone, her face suddenly glowing up at a chime, before grabbing her bag, whistling as she exited the room. From that day onward, things felt different. The gifts stopped coming, the couples massages stopped, then everything stopped. Jimin was abandoned, and she knew it. A chance encounter at the mall while Ryujin was supposedly visiting some relatives out of town clued Jimin into what had happened, seeing Ryujin and Yeji at an ice cream parlour. Originally, Jimin tried her best to justify it to herself, that Ryujin just made a new friend, and was afraid of how Jimin would react. Yeah, that had to be it. It took Minjeong almost ripping her hair out trying to get Jimin to see straight again, did Jimin finally accept the truth. Ryujin wasn't hers anymore. Perhaps she never was. Jimin had a date circled in her calendar, crimson red, almost like blood dripping down the paper, the date she would finally get her revenge. Her clap back moment near the climax of the movie. She was facing their rivals once again. It was her chance to prove she was strictly superior to Hwang Yeji. The one who stole Ryujin. Or did she just speed up what Ryujin was going to do to Jimin anyway? It didn't matter, none of it did. Nothing would matter when Jimin sent the ball thundering down, proving once and for all, she was worth it all. So she worked herself even further to the bone, forgoing her studies for the game. Jimin was able to coast for a little though, she was good enough at all her subjects where her slipping up on revision wouldn't be too visible. Well, all but Math. Jimin's math teacher definitely noticed the drop. She tried talking to Jimin, but the girl's mind was obviously elsewhere. Jimin's math teacher was at her wits end, wondering how else she could help the overworked athlete. A tutor, maybe?

The resounding smash of the volleyball drew the murmurs of the other members in the team. Jimin was always a good spiker, sure, of that they had no doubt. But something was wrong today. Some thought Jimin was possessed by a ghost. That didn’t seem likely. Ghosts got tired. Yoo Jimin never did. “That’s the ace spiker for you.” The onlookers murmured as they sipped their water, looking on in shock and awe. “Is she…okay?” Chaewon quietly asked Minjeong. She’d usually be making jokes, but now, even she knew something was wrong. “She’s working through some stuff. Don’t worry about it, let’s get back to practising alright?” “Hey, Karina, you should take a break. The boys need the court for a game soon too.” Ryujin walked up to Jimin, tapping her on her shoulder to get her attention. “I don’t need it.” Jimin coldly replied, slapping Ryujin’s hand off her shoulder, before taking the ball, walking to a side of the court to continue practising her spikes. “What’s the issue now?” Ryujin said with a sigh, rolling her eyes “You know damn well what the issue is.” Jimin coldly replied. “I-” Ryujin begins to stutter, unable to formulate anything close to a response. “Save whatever you have to say, I’m not interested. But don’t let your new affection for your newfound love throw your game off. If I sense even a hint of deference to Hwang, I’m bringing this up to Coach, and you will never see the court wearing this Jersey again. Is that understood?” “Whatever.” Ryujin paused for a moment, before walking away, grabbing her bag before leaving practice early. “What happened?” Coach Starr asked, his usual stoic face on display “She’s going to find her girlfriend I guess, it’ll be fine. Though we should watch her performance tomorrow. I’m not too sure she can play up to par against our rivals anymore.” Jimin commented, all the while unleashing her unrelenting assault on the ground, her spikes raining down like artillery strikes. “She with that Hwang girl?” Coach Starr asked with a sigh, Jimin stopping her practice for a moment to nod. “Karina.” He began, one hand in front of her to block her from spiking. “Do you want Ryujin on the court with you tomorrow? If she’s really dating the opponent team’s spiker, even if she’s still playing for us, it’s going to mess up team chemistry. If she could turn her back on you, who’s to say she won’t turn hers on the whole team.” “It’s your call coach. I trust you.” “All right, I’ll inform you guys about the lineup by tonight. Don’t practise till too late. You need fresh legs tomorrow.” Coach Starr commented, tossing Jimin an isotonic drink, walking out of the hall, a resounding slap to the door frame. Jimin looked at the drink, twisting the cap open, the fizzle of the drink simmering. “Oh, and, Karina.” Jimin heard Coach suddenly speak out. “Bring the hammer down kid.”

Jimin loved the pressure. The pressure felt like the hammer to forge the sword that would split the sun. The atmosphere in the gym was unparalleled. Fans from both teams cheered their lungs out, the stomps from the grandstand seemed to shake the ground on which the stadium was built. “Huddle up. Huddle up.” Coach shouted out, the rapid tapping of his marker on the whiteboard, notes from the game thus far. Jimin’s sweat trickled from her forehead, a hurried wipe as she quickly sipped her water, looking to the score. They had won the first set pretty handily, a 25-16 scoreline, spearheaded by a vicious barrage from Jimin, assisted not by Ryujin, but instead the sub spiker, Chaewon, who had been mostly deployed defensively together with Minjeong, the trusty libero. This tactic clearly threw the opponents off, as setter duties had always lied firmly on Ryujin’s shoulder. It was clear to any bystander that Ryujin was getting frozen out of the team. She was rarely part of the rally, and barely in the defence. This was clearly noted by the opponents too. In the second set, instead of spiking the ball to the back, where Minjeong would usually effortlessly save it, they began tipping the ball instead, and the areas that usually were covered by Chaewon now found itself woefully undefended, and easily exploited. Jimin tried to attack back in force, but their defence had also adapted, she found shots shoved back into her face, only saved by Sakura’s nimble feet. Nevertheless, the scoreline went in favour of the opponents, 25-20. “This is bullshit!” Jimin was pulled from her thoughts with a shout. “Ryujin, you’ve been invisible on the court. The hits are just going to Chaewon, and she’s doing well. We need another defensive anchor alongside Yuna to cover the tip, so you’re coming off for Yunjin.” Coach Starr said calmly. “Coach, I’m the best setter on the team and you know it! I can contribute so much more if I’m involved in the plays.” Ryujin lamented, frustrated as she threw her hands in the air. “You wouldn’t bring a defective gun to war.” Minjeong quietly muttered. “What was that?” Ryujin shouted, turning to Minjeong, tempers flaring as she clenched her fist. “You heard me.” Minjeong spat back, rolling her eyes. It took two other members each to hold the two angry members back. Just as they seemed to burst out from the hold, a member from the officiating team walked over to the bench. “Coach, do ensure your athletes do not cause too much of a commotion, or we will be forced to consider this a forfeit.” The official said in a monotone voice, before turning, walking back to the table, where she shared a disapproving glare at the team’s bench “Enough. Or I’m taking you both off the team.” Coach yelled, shutting the entire group up. It was rare to see him raise his voice, so it quickly stunned the team. “Whatever.” Ryujin grumbled, slamming her bottle into the ground before grabbing her bag, walking away. “Good riddance.” Minjeong mumbled. “You owe me 40 suicides after this game Minjeong.” Coach Starr said, Minjeong looking back at him with a sigh. “Okay team huddle up. They’ve been killing us on the tip. Chaewon, you’re gonna be playing slightly higher up, Yunjin, cover Chaewon’s back. Jimin, they’re beginning to hone in on you, so I need you to play a setter role, or a decoy even. So when Minjeong or Yunjin get the ball up, if it gets to you, draw their defence in, then let Sakura work.” Defer? But…this was her moment. The main character didn’t defer. She ploughs through, she asserts her power. “Coach, I don’t think that’s the best choice. Karina’s our best weapon, I don’t think it’s best if I’m the one attacking.” Sakura piped up, sensing Jimin’s hesitance. “No, no, we stick to the plays. I trust you, Sakura, we’ve got this.” Jimin places her hand on Sakura’s shoulder, slightly hesitating, but shaking her worry away, a small smile. “Alright champs. Wreak Havok.” Coach said with a smile

Going back to the court, Jimin prepped herself, getting into a ready position right next to Yeji. “Break a leg.” Yeji said with a smirk Jimin seethed, but stayed silent, keeping her head in the game. She had to win this game. This was the climax. Main Characters didn’t lose.

“Timeout!” The opposition coach shouted out, a tense moment in the game. Jimin’s team was up, 24-23, with the serve now coming from the opposition. As the team huddled up, Jimin noted a small smirk on the Coach’s face. “All right, good work champs. Sakura’s been killing them, since their defence has been compressing on her. For this next one, Karina, get the spike in two, break their rhythm, we’ve lulled them into a pattern, it’s time to break them. Understood?” This was it, Jimin thought. This was her moment.

The serve soared over, a well controlled dig by Minjeong placing the ball right above Jimin. This is it. Jimin rose up, hands primed for a set to Sakura, but at the last second, she sent the ball thundering down. Yeji had seen it, her hands going up as soon as she could, but she had been caught unaware, and she could only watch as the ball slipped helplessly above her fingers. The court erupted into celebration as the bench charged the court, confetti flying and people jumping in jubilation. Jimin smiled. It was time for the credits now. In the corner of her eye, however, Jimin noticed Yeji, who had sat down on the court, followed by a figure, who patted her back in an attempt to cheer her up. “It’s okay baby, you’ll get it next time. You played amazing.” She whispered, Yeji nodding with a smile, as the two shared a kiss. Yeh, Jimin won the game, but as she looked at Ryujin and Yeji, her eyes were dull and lifeless. She couldn’t even say she had lost Ryujin’s love. It was hard to lose something she had never had. Jimin knew one thing for sure though. This wouldn’t have happened to the main character. The main character would have gotten their happily ever after, or some semblance of it by now. Maybe this was the overlord’s plan, the writer of this story way of punishing her, how could Jimin had even dared think herself worthy of being the main character, or of love. Worth anything?

“Karina. Could you stay back for a short while?” Ms Kam said, organising her papers. “I think you know why I held you back today.” Ms Kam said with her hands crossed, sighing as she leaned forward. “Now I don’t blame you, you’ve always been a stellar student, your track record is unblemished, but it’s undeniable that your grades are slipping. So I think it’ll be in your best interest if you get a tutor. I’ve arranged for another student to come tutor you.” “I-” Jimin was just about to interject. She didn’t need help. “I’ve talked to them earlier, and they’ve agreed. Y/N is going to be tutoring you. Is that going to be a problem?” Ms Kam asked. “Not at all, Ms Kam.”

“No, Karina, you bring the exponent down here, not change it." You explained as you leaned over, using your pencil to trace the workings. “Oh, right…” Jimin groaned, looking at the paper. Jimin already knew this, logarithms curiously were one of the topics she was okay at. But she found it hard to focus while you sat next to her, looking at her inquisitively, eyes piercing. What made it worse however, was Karina. Only people who knew her recently called her Karina. In her mind, to you, she was Jimin. She let out a groan just thinking about it. Was she that unworthy of attention, was she really such a side character that you didn’t even remember what she introduced herself to you as? She shook the thought from her mind, instead revelling in your presence. It hadn’t been long since…well, since Ryujin, so it was good to have you around. A comforting presence, a guardian, the same guardian that had reached into the depths and pulled her out of the darkness. Jimin had friends of course, but funnily enough, no matter how much they did for her, they didn’t come close to the serenity that you brought her. The last time she had felt this was well…but you weren’t a bad person. You couldn’t be. Jimin doubted she’d be able to take that blow. Speaking of friends… "Umm, Karina, do you know them?" you asked as you lightly nudged Jimin, gesturing to the three girls who instantly tried to duck away. ‘Shit!’ Jimin thought to herself. Hadn’t she told them not to come so early? Now you probably thought she was weird. "Ning, Aeri, Min, stop being weird, you're scaring my friend!" She chided as she gestured them over, the three sheepishly walking over "Sorry about that Ji, this one insisted we watch." Winter explained, gesturing to Giselle, who raised her hands to surrender. ‘I’m going to delete your tumblr account Aeri I swear.’ Jimin thought to herself, quietly seething "Y/N, I've got to go, I'll see you here tomorrow, same time?" She asked as she hurriedly shoved her stuff into the bag "Sure thing Karina, see you!" You waved, smiling awkwardly "Call me Jimin!" She said, before running off with the 3 other girls “Aeri I’m going to fucking kill you!” Jimin shouted as soon as she was sure you were out of earshot. “What the fuck!” Jimin shook her head, the three looking at each other in confusion. They wanted to prank her a little, but this reaction was…more than they had really expected. “Sorry about that, it’s just…don’t do that again okay?” Jimin asked the three girls, who cautiously nodded, sharing looks as they tried to decipher what Karina was doing. “Umm, Ning, Min, you girls, go get us a seat? I need to ask Jimin something.” Aeri fibbed, shooing them away. “That’s the one you partnered with didn’t you? When you first joined? I recognise them. They’re the one that you-” Aeri said teasingly before Jimin jumped at her, her hand covering Aeri’s mouth, looking around hurriedly to ensure no one could have overheard them. “It was a long time ago.” Jimin rolled her eyes “Still, there was obviously something there. Maybe you can go for a ride there, get your mind off of the other bitch.” Aeri rolled her eyes at the mention “I’m not going to treat Y/N like a rebound. They deserve someone who loves them. Someone good, someone kind, someone…” “Someone that?” Aeri asked in confusion. “Hey, they found a seat, let’s go.” Jimin said, grabbing Aeri by the arm, pulling her to the table.

“Tell Jimin I can see her looking, she’s not being slick.” Jimin looks at Aeri’s phone in shock, before looking at Minjeong, who teasingly waved at her. Jimin stuck her tongue out at Minjeong, before quickly turning away from you, not wanting you to catch her staring. She had finally somewhat made up for lost time with you, being able to spend time with you. Under the guise of tutoring lessons of course, but still, it helped Jimin get her mind off of everything, and she was beyond grateful for that. It would be detrimental to the cause if you were to catch Jimin staring, like some sort of creep. “I don’t know why she thinks there’s anything going on with Y/N and I. They spend more time with Minjeong than they do with me anyways.” Jimin said, trying to quash the jealous tone in her voice. “Who knows? Jealous.” Aeri mumbled the last word under her breath, but Jimin clearly heard it, shooting Aeri a look. “Listen, the two of you clearly have something going on, but you both aren’t doing anything for god knows why.” Aeri says, leaning back in her chair. “That’s not the case, it’s j-” “Hey guys!” Yi Zhuo quickly said, a smile plastered on her face as she threw her bag down to the ground and jumped next to Aeri. “Woah, class is over already?” Aeri commented as she playfully wrestled with Yi Zhuo, Jimin’s gaze turning to you and Minjeong, Jimin’s eyebrow raising as she noted a slightly worried expression on her face. “Umm, I need a rain check on the hang out later. There was some sudden shift in schedules and there’s going to be some technicians heading to my place later. I’ll need to go back since Hanni can’t handle it on her own.” You said apologetically, hastily packing up your bag. “And I’m not sure if I can do our tutoring session today Ji, I’m sorry.” You turned to Jimin with a disappointed look on your face, and she shared in your disappointment, having been looking forward to this for a good while. “Oh, if it’s not too much trouble, I can just go with you to your place. We can just have the lesson there if you don’t mind.” Jimin quickly offered, though she was pretty sure she hadn’t even processed it in her mind before carelessly blurting out the offer. Jimin looked hopefully at you, while also shooting a dirty glance at Minjeong and Aeri, who clearly had some thoughts about your proposition. “Oh…umm, sure thing. But just a warning, my sister is a little bit of a gremlin.” You said with a slight chuckle. “Sounds familiar.” Jimin chuckled as you scrunch your nose in faux anger. “Hey!” You chuckled “Alright, you guys have fun, we’ll go get ice cream, make this more of a bicycle situation.” Minjeong said, Aeri stifling a chuckle before walking off together. “What are they talking about? I don’t have a bicycle?” You asked Jimin, who shook her head in exasperation. “Don’t worry about it, let’s go.”

“Umm, you can just sit here, I’ll go talk to the technicians.” You said to Jimin, who nodded with a smile, getting seated at the sofa. Just as she was about to pull her phone out, she heard someone call out to you, before sitting on the couch next to Jimin. “Who’s this? Why’s she so pretty? Did you kidnap her?” Hanni shouted out. “I’m gonna ground you!” Was the only reply back which elicited a chuckle from Jimin “You must be Karina. I’m friends with Yunjin.” Hanni said with a smile “You can just call me Jimin. I take it you’re Hanni, Y/N’s sister.” “Sister, Superior, Caretaker, take your pick. I take it you’re Y/N’s long suffering girlfriend?” Hanni asked with a curious look. “No, no, nothing like that. Y/N’s my tutor.” Jimin said, rapidly shaking her head. “Oh, you’re the girl they won’t shut up about.” Hanni said, a light blush on Jimin’s face now. “I’m sure Y/N complains a lot about me.” Jimin awkwardly chuckles. “Nope, not really, they can’t shut up about how amazing you are, and about how smart you are.” Hanni nonchalantly said “Just for the record, I wouldn’t mind if you dated my idiot sibling. They’re a little slow sometimes, but they’ve been through alot, and they deserve someone who’ll take care of them, and love them. I can’t take care of them forever, you know?” Hanni ended the last line with a small chuckle, Jimin letting out a light giggle too, but was still plagued by a thought. “Y/N’s great. Anyone would be lucky to have them.” Jimin quickly replies, a futile attempt to hide her opinions that Hanni does not let go unnoticed. “But not you?”

Time flew fast, and before any of you knew it, the National Exams that would dictate the trajectory of your lives had come and gone. Jimin had found those months particularly off putting. She had all the faith in her exams, of course, she didn’t like to be a braggart but she was naturally adept at the subjects, and her one weak spot was patched up by you, the person Jimin wished could help her patch her broken heart too, but alas, circumstance made it difficult to hang out. Jimin felt herself too big a burden on you already, “wasting” your time to help her make progress on a subject, and thus, despite her longing for some proximity with you, she had decided to leave you alone to study. These exams were important after all, the last thing Jimin wanted to be was a burden, or a distraction. She wasn’t worth that after all. Now, the last chapter of her school life. Grad Night. She had been excited for this, really, really excited. But her eyebrows creased as she looked in the mirror. This was supposed to be a glorious day with not just her girls, but you too. Jimin had pulled all the stops for this, she was sure she was prepared. But that goddamn pimple just had to show up. Jimin tried what she could, makeup, patches, but nothing seemed to work. With a sigh, she sat down on her bed, seeing the group chat light up. Noticing a stunning lack of the group’s resident chronically online queen, Jimin and Yi Zhuo were forced to come to the conclusion that Aeri had overslept, and likely not done any preparations. “I’ll get the cab to drop by your place and then send us to Aeri’s place alright? Help her out a little.” Yi Zhuo texted, to which Jimin agreed. After dressing up, Jimin let out a short sigh, before getting a surgery mask, covering her face up.

“Hey!” Yi Zhuo enthusiastically greeted you and Minjeong before climbing into the limousine, followed closely by Aeri and Jimin. Jimin noticed you frown, probably having noticed the mask. This was supposed to be a night full of pictures afterall.

“Sorry about being late, someone was up too late reading Fanfiction.” Jimin jokingly said, throwing a playful glance at Aeri who raised her hand in defence.

“Let me guess, there was a meet cute in college, and after some drama, one misunderstanding, maybe a love triangle, maybe even parents disapproval, the two leads finally get together and share a kiss to cap the story. Did I miss anything?” Minjeong playfully asked, Jimin and Yi Zhuo suppressing a chuckle as Aeri’s head lowered a little in embarrassment.

“Listen, it’s cute alright? It may be cliche, but it's nice to think about. That one day, at the end of the rainbow, there’ll be someone who truly gets you, loves and accepts you for who you are.” Aeri began to retort, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“That’s for the main characters only though…” You muttered, to which Aeri tilted her head in confusion.

“These kind of happy endings aren’t for everyone, those are reserved for main characters only isn’t it?” You questioned, maybe a little too passionately as all eyes in the limousine turned to you. You could even see the driver’s eyebrow raise in the rear view mirror.

“That might be true, but everyone’s a main character, be it in their own story or someone else’s.” Aeri replied, sharing a little glance with Yi Zhuo, Minjeong and Jimin. ‘Them too, huh…’ Jimin mused, her light amusement at the situation snuffed out by the rather depressing thought that both of you had resigned yourselves to being background characters, extras there to fill in the screen. Wanting to lighten the mood, Jimin immediately spoke up

“You’re a main character in my Story Y/N. All of you are. So don’t lose hope alright? I’m sure you’ll get together with the one right for you soon. Also, it’s prom, lighten up!” Jimin said as she jokingly punched you in the shoulder. At that moment, Jimin was glad she was wearing a mask, it helped alleviate a little embarrassment at that moment

Once the group had gotten to the hotel where the grad night was being held, Aeri, Yi Zhuo and Minjeong had all mostly scattered, looking for their friends for some quick pictures. Jimin would have, she wasn’t the socialising type, but someone of her reputation had to have friends that she would look for to go take pictures with. Normally, a small pimple wouldn’t stop her from taking pictures, her masked face would just be a point of intrigue, but any desire to socialise faded to dust as two people walked into the hotel, adorned in blue and yellow ballgowns, Hwang Yeji, and Shin Ryujin. It was weird, just the sight of the two was enough to cause Jimin to shrink behind you, which of course drew a confused look from you. Jimin hadn’t done anything wrong, she knew as much too. Ryujin was the one who was unfaithful, the blame rests squarely on her shoulders, so why did the mere sight of them cause Jimin to fold into herself, unable to look at anyone. It wasn’t her fault right? It couldn’t be. Or was she just a jealous ex trying to break up a happy couple, all because she couldn’t be happy. No, this couldn’t be…thi- “Hey Ji, let’s get a picture together.” You said with that goofy smile, that Jimin couldn’t help smile at. But a small bit of her still worried. She didn’t want to tell you about Ryujin though. It would be worse to seem so damn weak. “Umm, I have a pimple, do you mind if I take the picture with my mask on?” Jimin whispered “You’ll look amazing Jimin, it’s you, you’re always stunning. Anyways, I’m sure it’s not even that big anyways.” You reassured her, causing her to nod, letting you take the mask off her.

“See, pretty as always.” You smiled, causing a smile to spread across Jimin’s face as she kept her mask in her bag. It was impressive the speed at which you could make Jimin’s heart pump just with a few words. Turning to Sakura, Jimin looked at you confusedly, unsure why you had suddenly pulled away, looking at Sakura as you both shared a confused shrug “Why so awkward Y/N, come on!” Jimin said, quickly wrapping her hand around your waist then pulling you closer to her, her other hand guiding you hand over her shoulder.

“I swear you’ve never taken one of these pictures.” Jimin playfully jabbed, to which you wordlessly nodded. After Sakura had given you the thumbs up, you quickly slinked away, causing Jimin to slightly regret, had she been too touchy, pulling you towards her like that. Maybe she made you uncomfortable? Just then, as the other girls had come back, the ushers had announced that doors were open, and Jimin found herself whisked to the banquet tables by Yi Zhuo, who began showing Jimin some reels, thankfully taking Jimin’s mind of what had previously transpired Sitting at the banquet tables, the group sat about, consuming fine dining that was not exactly worth the price tag, but that’s grad night for you. With the student council’s organised performances, many laughs were shared, applauses given, smuggled in whisky shared, though the group made it a point to drink in moderation, much to Jimin’s delight. As the evening drew to a close, the event photographer made her way to your group’s table, signalling for you to huddle together. As the 5 of you huddle together, Jimin noticed Aeri whispering to you, causing Jimin to look at her in confusion, though she quickly felt a force pushing her forward, which quickly wiped any confusion from her mind, replacing it instead with panic. Quickly though, Jimin felt a hand holding her up, stopping her from falling, though it had the rather unfortunate effect where Jimin stayed there, you and Jimin staring into each other’s eyes, Jimin’s heart palpitation speeding up as she pondered the look you shot her. Was it affection? Was it concern? Jimin couldn’t be sure, still working on slowing her rapidly beating heart. This time, it was Aeri who had pulled Jimin along, pulling her onto the limousine that was scheduled to send them back. “What’s the route by the way?” Jimin asked Aeri. “Oh, it’s Minjeong’s place first, then Yi Zhuo, it’s my place, Y/N’s, then yours. You two lovebirds get the limo together.” Aeri teased, which caused Jimin to lightly blush, but just as luck would have it, just before the door was shut, she was greeted by the sight of Yeji and Ryujin in a rather public show of affection. It was probably good that Jimin wasn’t going to be in a relationship. Just the sight of Ryujin had reminded her of that truth. Following Jimin’s eyeline, Aeri quickly shut the door, a playful shrug when Jimin quickly turned to look at her. When you and Minjeong had finally gotten up on to the limousine, the ride back was a rather uneventful one, mostly just joking around, and talking about what had happened during grad night. One by one, however, the other girls left, first Minjeong, then Yi Zhuo, finally Aeri, who after a quick whisper to you, got off from the limousine.You and Jimin made small talk, something you both enjoyed, making the rather long ride feel like just another one of your hang out sessions waiting for the other 3 girls after tutoring sessions. This was what made time with you so precious to Jimin. It was the greatest way to just unwind. Jimin could talk about her internship, you could talk about possibly beginning to write, simple stuff like that could fill conversations for hours. "Hey, Jimin. Do you think we'll hang out in the future?" You asked, Jimin looking to you in confusion, though she found it hard not to let out a small giggle, you looked like you had sucked a lemon. Besides, this was a rather preposterous question.

"Of course, Aeri's been thinking of getting us to get together to play badminton, and, we’re all in the group chat, we can organise meetups anytime, so yeh, I'm sure we'll hang out in the future." Replied Jimin, a little confused at the question.

"No, I mean, me and you." You replied resolutely, nerves gripping you even tighter.

"Hmm?" Jimin hummed in curiosity, though she felt her chest grow heavy, as if knowing what your next words were going to be "What I'm saying is, do you want to grab dinner together some time soon?" You blurted out. Those words sent the bricks tumbling down, as Jimin sat in her seat, stunned as she looked at you. In hindsight, she would have handled it better, but in the spur of the moment, Jimin's smile dropped a little, turning to an awkward smile.

"Oh my g-, Y/N. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. It's not you, bu-" Jimin replied, feeling her chest sink heavier with each word. Not wanting her to continue, you quickly cut her off, "Don't worry about it, it was a stupid question, and I knew what was going to happen anyways. I just didn't want to look back on tonight and regret not asking. "

Jimin smiled at you apologetically, trying to hide her grimace as the weight in her chest grew heavier, then heavier still. "Let's just pretend this didn't happen alright? I don't want things to be awkward with the rest of the girls." Jimin asked. Why did she say that? Was she trying to make things worse?

As Jimin saw your house around the corner, she noticed you hurriedly packed your belongings. "Take care of yourself alright?" You quickly muttered under your breath, turning to the front to thank the limousine driver, then getting out of the taxi.

Jimin could only muster a soft mutter of a goodbye, the weight in her chest finally fully sinking as the limousine slowly drove away, and you didn’t even turn. Jimin’s arms quickly wrapped around herself, her tears uncontrollably flowing as she leaned on the door, her tears staining her dress like blood on the grass. “That wasn’t pretty.” The limousine driver commented, a sympathetic smile on his face as he handed Jimin tissue to wipe her tears. “I really fucked it up didn’t I?” Jimin muttered through her sobs, to which the limousine driver shrugged. “I’ve driven the 5 of you so many places, I’ll be honest, the two of you were obvious, I was kind of rooting for the two of you. Sad it has to be this way though. It’s obvious you have feelings for that poor kid anyways” The driver commented as he continued driving “We can’t be together.” Jimin muttered with a fist clenched “Whatever you say Miss.” The limousine driver said with a sigh. Jimin had feelings for you, that much she couldn’t deny. But you were a great person. You deserve someone who loves you. Someone good, someone kind, someone who could make you the main character of the story. Jimin was far from that. She wasn’t worthy of her parents' love, she wasn’t worthy of the grades she got, she wasn’t worthy of Ryujin, she wasn’t worthy of her team or her accolades, she wasn’t worthy of love, and she sure as hell wasn’t worthy enough for herself. And if she wasn't worthy enough for herself, how could she be worthy enough of love? Or of you?

She wasn’t the main character, she wasn’t worthy of it. She’d never be worthy of it

}}}

#angst #fluff?#rd0265667 #aespa karina #aespa x reader #aespa #karina x reader #karina #yoo jimin fanfic #yoo jimin x reader #aespa karina fanfic #karina fanfic

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francis-writes · 7 months ago

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SFW alphabet anon here ngl im one of the feyd rautha lovers so if you could do him first thatd be lovelyy <3 thanks

A/N: Sorry for being chaotic, i wrote it partially at 3 am when i woke up, partially on uni and partially half asleep. Also, sorry for personal stories, it will happen again. My bf knows that i start going on with stories about my friends and cousin of my grandma's nephew in the least proper times.

Warnings: Some mentions of toxic relationships, but nothing that can't be worked on

FEYD-RAUTHA SFW ALPHABET

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

It varies, depending on the stage of your relationship and whether you're alone or in public. Publicly, he's more reluctant to show feelings, but he likes physical affection, like keeping his arm around your waist or putting a hand on your thigh. He also compliments you in conversations with other people, after all, you are his partner, and he's proud to praise you. In privacy, he's more open to affection, but you need to get him used to it. Of course, as I mentioned, he shows you affections himself, but at first, it's all planned, he keeps his composure. Praises and sweet talking are true but spoken more jokingly, teasingly. You get the point, he tries to show his appreciation without seeming soft or weak. It's better if at first you are more openly affectionate. Feyd really appreciates when you hold his hand, or kiss his cheek or give him a small thing that reminds you about him or when you make him a playlist. And after some time, he may feel confident enough to return the affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

It's a bit harder to start a friendship when you belong to a great House, especially House Harkonnen. But I guess Feyd has a few friends - and since his childhood, they are mostly his training partners. He had a lot of time to get to know them while fighting together, and they could gain his sympathy as a skilled warriors.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Surprisingly, he likes to cuddle, especially when you relax in bed. Sometimes he rests his head on your chest or on your lap and lets you hug him or stroke his head. Sometimes he's a big spoon and you fall asleep with him clinging to you like koala to a tree.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I mean, you rather quickly move into his residency, but it's kinda different. Because his family, court and servants live there as well so your shared house has a population of small city. And yeah, servants clean and cook for him, so there's no reason for him to learn these skills.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It depends. If you weren't long together and/or it was kinda your "fault" (you cheated or wanted to leave him, because for example, you didn't support his actions), it's possible that he would kill you out of anger. Or maybe because if he can't have you, nobody will.

If you already got closer to each other, then he lets you go away. He makes it quick and emotionless but he may make sure that you have somewhere to go and some money for a living.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

It's kinda complicated question. Feyd himself would like to marry you quickly - not because he believes that much in formalities, but it's a way to solidify your bond and show that you're his. On the other hand, he still has some limitations as an heir. Even if you have a higher social standing or belong to one of the Major Houses, it doesn't mean that Baron Harkonnen will find you fitting his ambition or offering the best alliance. He may threaten Feyd that if he wants to inherit the title and everything, he has to get married according to Baron's decision. When Feyd notices that Baron doesn't have other heirs, unless he wants to leave everything to Rabban, Vladimir suggest that Feyd may have you as a concubine, or he may have you dead. So well, most probably you won't get the official title but you would still be his dearest concubine (and his wife would be like Irulan to Paul). He may even make a small private ceremony to celebrate your bond. Or maybe Baron dies before any wedding (with or without Feyd's help) and there's nothing stopping him from marrying you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Well, considering that you're together and he cares about you, he can be really gentle. Sometimes he likes to tease you or his jokes and comments may go to far but when you confront him about it, he may tone down his malicious games.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

It's similar to the general affection headcanon. He enjoys hugging you (he grips you tight then, as if he wasn't going to ever let you go. If he can, he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck) as well as when you hug him but he's still getting used to openly showing non-sexual affection.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He says it first, but at the beginning it's still with a tone of amusent, he's manipulating you a bit. He mixes it with other sweet words to get you wrapped around your finger but he doesn't really notice when his words become more and more honest and heartfelt. If you know baldur's gate 3, it kinda reminds romance with astarion. At first, even if he likes you, Feyd plays you like a game and his words are part of the strategy; that's just how he treats everything and everybody. But as time passes, it becomes less of a strategy and more a true confession.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I made a whole post about this but in summary: Feyd isn't very jealous, he's too confident to be afraid that you would leave him. But he's very possesive and doesn't like other people trying to take away his possesions (yes, in this case you). He doesn't get suspicious for no reason, but when there's actual threat to his position - like, someone flirts with you, or gets too touchy, or maybe you enjoy someone's company too much - he takes quick action. He joins you, wraps his hand around your waist and joins the conversation. He's not threatening his rival openly but he emphasizes in the conversation that you're together, you're very happy and devoted to each other and you will stay together until death. If somebody gets really too close to you, Feyd may fuck you in semi-public place, so his rival hears who is your actual lover and who can make you feel good. Well, that's if his rival is of higher standing. If they are a servant, Feyd will willingly kill them. Maybe behind your back. So you don't protest.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Passionate, hungry, possesive. Wherever he kisses you, he likes to bite, but his favourite place is your neck.

When it comes to you kissing him, it’s has a different vibe. Feyd enjoy all your kisses, but if he had to pick his one favourite kind, it would be kisses on the forehead. He isn't eager to admit that, but he loves the affection you put in these kisses and how they make him feel cared for. Maybe he isn't as touch-starved as Rabban, maybe he hides it better but still both brothers subconsciously yearn for a gentle touch and kind words.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Again, complicated topic. Feyd probably wants children but not for the... proper reasons. He needs an heir to preserve his blood and his lineage. Also passing his genes is important for his ego. If you're able to give birth to his child, he may also see getting you pregnant as matter of dominance and control. But does he really like children? Maybe. He can take care of them for some time and be that cool dad who treats you as a fellow adult. But he wouldn’t like the everyday responsibilities and the less entertaining aspects of raising a child and would probably leave it to grow up with a nanny and teachers.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He usually has to get up early for his duties (there's either some council or a training), but if there's more time, he likes to just lay in bed and cuddle with you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Putting aside the NSFW aspect, well, I think that Feyd goes to sleep really late, so he either continues his duties or goes to relax with you. And there are many possibilities, you can just sit there and talk in peace or maybe go on a walk. Are there any places on Giedi Prime or Arrakis where you can go out for entertainment? That's a topic for maybe different post, but if the answer is yes, Feyd would eagerly enjoy the night life with you. Sometimes he just go to train a bit more, you can either just watch him or join the training (it makes sense, i often work out or go on a long aimless walk through the city when I can't sleep; it helps to get tired and to get rid of stress and emotions).

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Slowly, definitely slowly. No matter, how much he cares about you, on Giedi Prime being vulnerable and talking about feelings is seen as weakness. And as it looks with everybody, it's hard for him to change the views they raised him in. So he either hides any more hurtful or other emotional memories, or mentions them without bigger, or treats as a joke. You need to get really close together, and he must really trust you to honestly speak with you about them.

When it comes to more neutral or positive things, he may not be too quick to tell too much about himself (growing up on Harkonnen's court made him careful about sharing important informations that can be potentially used against him), but he doesn't hide them too much as well - after all, he enjoys talking about himself and he wants to impress you, so as you get closer to him, you learn more and more "safer" facts about him. Also if you're vulnerable with him first, it helps him be more open and trust you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I know I keep repeating it but it's hard to say. Even when he gets annoyed, Feyd is very good at keeping his composure and controling his emotions. Also when he gets angry, it's not loud, screaming rage, like with Rabban. He gets more cold and reserved, showing his anger by pushing you off or treating you with superiority. He may humiliate you or show his anger in a different way. But I would say, that it's not so easy to push him to that point. If you know what he hates (for example lying to him, trying to control him, insulting him etc), you can avoid this easily.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He has extremely good memory and remembers most details you mention. On the court he got used to catching and remembering every information that may be important, and that political skill is very useful in relationship as well (also, he cares about what you tell him, so don't think that he treats these informations just as a tool to control you)

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Okay, it may sound like an easy answer but I don't think he would choose just one? Every day is his favourite, as every brings something new to your relationship. It was great when he met you for the first time. Great, if not greater, when he started getting to know you closer. Or when you started dating. Or when you celebrated your bond. Or....

Every day develops your relationship and brings you new opportunities, so he can't simply choose.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He isn't too worried about you, but not because he doesn't care. Just as a partner of heir to House Harkonnen, you are well protected - even if you aren't a formal couple due to political reasons. There are always guards and soldiers around, in case Feyd isn't there to help you. And in any case, he trained you and made sure that you're able to defend yourself.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Feyd himself isn't exactly the most romantic person so it depends on what you like. He's still very devoted to you, if i can call it that. Anyway, he would do anything (that doesn't go against his plans and desires, for example he wouldn't stop killing) to make you happy or to impress you so if you're into dates, anniversaries and other celebrations, he does it and he doesn't use half measures. As I mentioned in Q, he rembembers what you tell him, what you like and what you dream about so he makes sure that his gifts and dates fit your tastes. And he doesn't refuse to do something because it's too sweet or silly. If you like things he finds cheesy, he may just find it cute and an interesting break from his serious life and duties. The line is at keeping things that can hurt his reputation as a strong leader and warrior private.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Well, he's not an angel but some of his bad habits made you fell in love in him. And I will mention the one of the others, that may be a problem in relationship and life in general: recklessness. Yeah, it's cool when he's bold and like to take a risk, but he could care about his life more. He's a masochist, he's honourable and he likes to fight but it goes too far. Like when he fought Paul and after being stabbed he said only "you fought well, Atreides". Dude, I know you're horny for your cousin but maybe there are other ways to show it than dying with a smile. Every time I think about this scene, I understad how my bf feels when I do some careless impulsive shit.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

It's not the most important thing for him but he likes to look good. After premiere of 2023 movie I googled why does he have black teeth (other Harkonnens doesn’t so it's not genetic). Some people noticed that his "pets" have black teeth as well, and blood on Giedi Prime is black so it may be effect of cannibalism. It makes sense but personally I prefer theory that it's more a fashion thing. Actually in some cultures dyeing your teeth black is a sign of status. So I keep thinking that for youth on Giedi Prime dyeing teeth is like getting a tattoo or a piercing and Feyd may be an heir to powerful House and ruler of Arrakis, but he also wants to look cool while being one.

(Also it makes sense that neither his uncle nor older brother have black teeth. I imagine them being like my family every time I get another body mod. Or like my friend's older sister when they got a tattoo. "You think it looks cool Feyd? It's disgusting. And controversial. You will get bored soon. If you wanted to look good, you could just buy a new coat. No one will trust a baron with black teeth, you have to look normal in work")

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Well, it's a tough question but I suppose yes. I know that he seems cold and uncaring, people call him sociopath. And well, I have ASPD (which is a professional term for so called sociopathy), which results in low empathy (or lack of it). I also have suspected NPD, commonly known as narcissism. Sorry for that long personal rant but I have a good information for people who simp over characters like this. And I also like to fight the stigma and prejudices about personality disorders. Anyway, I can't speak for everyone, but despite myths of narcissists and sociopaths loving only themselves, I still can form close bonds with people. I don't feel what they feel, so I am not too worried when they are sad but in general I want them to be happy. And I lose someone (either because we broke up, they are away or they died), I may seem less moved but I still miss them and our time together. Anyway, I would consider Feyd to be similar. Without you, he will still go on. Find someone else, focus on his goals. World doesn't end on you. But he will miss you and he will try to keep you with him as much as he can. (I don't know if i sound clear or complicate things too much). Anyway, he's his own person and he can deal well on his own but you make his life much more pleasant.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Being underappreciated or feeling controlled. You may have an equal relationship with him, even though he may try to gain domination, it's possible to work on that power dynamic and get him to accept being equals. He even enjoys that challenge and somebody standing up to him. But Feyd wouldn’t stand being the one controlled and powerless. He would also hate if you saw him as weak and incapable leader or underappreciated his skills. You don't have to gush about everything he does, but you can praise him once now and then. Or just in any way, make him feel supported.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

I might be wrong but Feyd makes impression of those people who needs only a few hours of sleep and they are full of energy. Like my friend who in high school one day said "you know what? I discovered today that sleeping more than three hours is an amazing experience" and I was like. How. How are you alive.

#feyd rautha #dune part two #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha headcannons #feyd rautha imagine #dune imagine

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arcielee · 1 year ago

Text

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note: I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of the rays dancing against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age.

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married.

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North.

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.”

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others.

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place.

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged.

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.”

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.”

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!”

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.”

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.”

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric.

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.”

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?”

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap.

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?”

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.”

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises.

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins.

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne.

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II.

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled.

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques.

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it.

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome.

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel.

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless.

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines.

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…”

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them.

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother.

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled.

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy.

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships.

“What are you doing here?” He spat.

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive.

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration.

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.”

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.”

And then, her granddam continued.

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell.

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince.

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward.

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not.

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket.

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed.

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own.

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him.

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North.

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always.

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them.

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert.

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback.

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside.

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist.

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin.

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead.

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own.

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go.

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall.

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his.

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back.

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us.

Then he kissed me back.

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.”

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I.

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination.

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks.

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–”

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North.

And I knew I would not miss any of them.

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond.

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return.

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat.

He hummed. “Gevie.”

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own.

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North.

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow.

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin.

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.”

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…”

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.”

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him.

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions.

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking.

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him.

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon.

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing.

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…”

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.”

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince.

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys.

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled.

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son.

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal.

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond.

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained.

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.”

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.”

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant.

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.”

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end.

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.”

And granddam did.

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting.

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us.

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth.

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused.

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must.

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.”

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us.

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore.

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?”

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach.

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried.

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over.

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch.

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.”

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her.

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left.

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king.

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne.

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister.

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones.

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real.

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins.

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them.

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always.

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling.

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction.

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.”

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated.

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest.

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

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lovesunshinefelix · 6 months ago

Text

Blue

Tags: ex-husband!chan x reader, angst?, mentions of having children together but not specified how many, hints of a conflict but not stated

Warnings: not proofread, angst with no happy ending, italics = flashbacks

Word count: 967

Note: i don't believe this is good but there seems to be a lack of bang chan angst lately so i had to take matters into my hands (?) also i had a hard time thinking of a title for this until i remembered how much I love taeyeon's Blue, and I thought how much it would fit this blurb so here it is hehe

Watching your eldest daughter finish college is seemingly one of the happiest days of your life. You didn’t expect for you to reach such a milestone in your life since you didn’t even think you could take her there by yourself, but you were happy one of your kids is finally finished with their studies. Although it wasn't your milestone, you were happy, and you wanted to make sure you were going over the top for your eldest.

With the help of your kids, they put up some decorations for the occasion at home while the ceremony went on. On top of that, you were driving around to places yesterday to buy some of her favorite food. Although the other members suggested a potluck, you still wanted to make sure that her favorite food was being served. And before you left for the occasion, you were running around the house cleaning and making sure everything’s in place.

Evening came and you were both home from her ceremony, everyone she loves came to the small gathering you threw for her; yours and Chan’s family, the other members and their families, and some of her friends. She was truly happy celebrating her achievement with everyone that she loved. Hours passed and some of the guests started leaving, your kids left with some of their cousins to go off to god knows where, which leads you to continue entertaining the other guests. When everyone left, you began picking up some of the mess they left off.

You were cleaning up some of the things from the party and have moved on to washing dishes when Chan strides through the kitchen, seemingly pleased. “It was fun seeing everyone here. Thank you for doing this for y/d/n.” He said, grabbing a rug from your kitchen drawer and drying some dishes. You just gave Chan a faint smile. “Anything for my baby.” You let out a big breath, “She's worked so hard for this, and I want her to know that everyone around her supports her dreams and is proud of her hard work.” You smiled, giving him some of the dishes you finished washing.

“It only felt like yesterday when we brought her home. Now she's off to find a job.” He told you. You just smiled fondly at the memory. “I know. Remember that time she refused to go to daycare because she doesn’t wanna leave her siblings?” you asked, walking over to his side and keeping the rest of the dishes. He laughs at the thought, “Of course, I had to promise her to some ice cream after daycare.” He said, putting away some of your dishes and asking where things belong.

For a while, there was a silence between the two of you; putting away some of the things and slowly removing the decorations, until Chan broke it off. “Do you… ever wander off and think about us?” You looked at him, somewhat confused. “What was there to think about?”

“I don't know,” he rubs the back of his head. “But I often… wander off to it.” He said honestly. “… Sometimes, I wished things ended differently.”

“But they didn't.” You told him, not meaning to sound bitter. But he understands, he understood completely.

You were both silent for a while. Just cleaning up your kitchen, until you spoke. “I don’t even think I ever moved on from you…” you tell him honestly, chuckling at the thought of it. Chan was just stunned at your confession. “It's pathetic, I tried going on dates a few years after the divorce. All I could ever think about was you.” “… Then why didn't you give me a chance to start all over again with you when I came back 12 years ago?” He asked you.

You pondered on his question but it didn't last for long. You remember it all; the lying, the arguments, the sleepless nights. All of that and you had to keep yourself composed for your children. When he came back to you 12 years ago, all of that flew out the door.

“I know I’ve made some mistakes that led to our divorce, but I want to ask for a second chance. I want to be with you and our kids for as long as I live.”

“You have no idea what I had to put myself through to forget about you, and you come back here thinking we can fix this?!”

Even though it was years ago it felt like a scar that seemingly healed for years was cut open.

You just chuckled at him, tears rolling down your cheeks reliving all the memories it brought you. “No matter how much I love you, no amount of happiness could ever compare to the day you hurt me.” you said, “Especially since I saw everything myself. I can't do that to myself again, I was raising our kids all alone.” You sniffled. “I was there for you, I gave you the support our kids needed.” He said. “I have them during weekends and when they wanted to go out with me, how can you say you were alone?” he asked. “I know and I want to thank you for it, but I can’t help but feel alone in all of my battles the moment you walked out on me.” you said in between sniffles.

After that tense discussion you were both quiet for a while. You took in a deep breath, “I'm sorry, Chris. I don't want to have this discussion again.” You said, wiping away your tears and sniffling. He just nods defeated, out of respect to your wishes. He made his way out of your once shared home while you watched him walk away from you for the third time in your life.

#bang chan #bang chan angst #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #skz angst #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz imagine

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orchidyoonkook · 2 years ago

Text

Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process.

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k, @katykatmeow, @here4btsfics and @phthartic-fox for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness.

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are.

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy.

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’ having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base.

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering.

You’re always elsewhere.

And he’s finally figured out where that is.

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did.

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer.

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house.

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves.

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you.

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need.

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff.

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

“Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

“Pride and Prejudice.”

That was the last answer you expected.

“Why?”

He lifts his head to look at you.

“I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

“Just have to save up enough money first.”

You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

Who knew?

Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

“Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.

“Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

You grieved for him as he told you his story.

How he had to raise himself.

Just like you did.

“I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

Knowing how it felt to be alone.

You understood.

You did, you did, you did.

Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”

It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

How you’d…treated him.

A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

“My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

Even though it was August.

“He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips. He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too.

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition.

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle!

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate.

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy.

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours.

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well...

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided.

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen.

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to.

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips. A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you.

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving.

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away.

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help.

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight.

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do.

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust.

Of course he’s got you.

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere.

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss.

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years.

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them.

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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toomuchracket · 1 year ago

Text

when i found you, much younger than you are now (flatmate/dad!matty x reader)

ten years of self-titled!! can u believe!! anyway, a little fluffy drabble about the day the album was released, and also about the day it turned ten, as voted for by you guys. enjoy!

2013

when you enter the kitchen, the linoleum floor cold even through your fluffy socks, matty is staring at the fridge. namely, at the thing pinned between two shitty manchester fridge magnets - a futile attempt by you to reduce your shared homesickness when you moved down south.

he's staring at the calendar, which under today's date reads "75 album release day!!!!" in your handwriting, adorned with as many lovehearts and stars and smiley faces as you could fit in the tiny box.

not that either of you were at any risk of forgetting the date, mind, but you thought it would be cute to commemorate it anyway. "you can keep it as a memento in the future," you had said, as you wrestled with the paper and the bumblebee magnet and the laws of physics while putting the calendar up. "when you're living in a malibu beach house in a decade, married to a supermodel, you can look at that calendar and think of the day your first album came out. and maybe also of me, back in london, or manchester, or maybe edinburgh... i don't know where exactly, but most likely on the other side of the world from you and your gorgeous wife. it'll be cute!"

(neither of you thought it was cute whatsoever, though.)

matty turns when he hears your half-shuffling footsteps, face twisting into a sleepy smile that splinters your heart. he opens his arms as you near him, pulling you into a washing powder-scented hug and resting his lips on your hair. "hi, darlin'."

"hi," you murmur into his sweatshirt. "happy album day."

"thanks," you feel matty's cheeks twitch into a smile against your head. "feels quite surreal, honestly. we have an album out. mad."

you caress the space between his shoulder blades. "i can imagine - it's insane for me to even think that my best friend in the world has an album out. m'so proud of you though, babe."

"couldn't have done it without you, sweetheart. oh, that reminds me..."

matty breaks the hug - and, in the process, your heart - to reach for one of the CDs piled haphazardly between the radio and the kettle. he hands you one with an all too familiar cover art, accompanying his "here" with a grin.

"matty, i said i would buy it!" you protest. "i want to be a part of getting you a number one."

"that's cute, babe, but nah," matty folds his arms and smirks. "there wouldn't be an album without you, because there wouldn't be EPs without you and your room at uni. so, the boys and i figured that you were the perfect person to get the first album CD actually made."

your eyes fill with tears at the ridiculously sweet, ridiculously too generous gesture. "wait, really?"

"i mean, it was my idea, of course," matty winks, which earns him a shove on the arm. "but yeah, that's the very first 1975 album disc. open it, darlin', look at the lyric booklet."

sniffling, you do as requested; your sniffles turn to full-blown sobs as you take in the "to our favourite girl. thanks for the love (and the pints) xx" dedication written on the first page, sobs which only increase in volume as you take in the lyrics, handwritten by matty rather than typed.

you gently place the CD and booklet back on the counter, and pull your sweetly-smiling best friend into a teary hug. "thank you, sweetheart. i feel very special."

"you are," matty replies, tenderly stroking the back of your head. "you're the most special, to me."

your heart jolts at that, and you squeeze matty even tighter, pull him even closer to you. but it's not close enough to satisfy you, it never is - nothing short of his skin cells grafting to yours and consuming them would stop your heart and brain and nervous system aching for him.

well, a kiss would probably do it, but that's far less likely to happen.

the painfully tender moment is interrupted by matty's back pocket buzzing, which provides a blissful relief from the thoughts about kissing your best friend that were beginning to awake from their dormancy. alas, the relief is short-lived - matty sighs in your ear, and murmurs "will you get that for me, sweetheart? don't wanna let go of you."

with a hopefully-unnoticeable gulp, you slide your hand down matty's back and into his pocket to pull out his phone. you squint at the caller ID. "s'george."

"should probably speak to him, i s'pose," matty says, planting a final (and devastating) kiss to your head before letting go of you and taking his phone. "are you gonna go and listen to the album while you get ready for the party later?"

you grin sheepishly. "already bought and listened to it on itunes."

"you're incorrigible. but i love you."

"ooh, big word! i love you too," you smile. "and tell george i love him too, and i can't wait to celebrate with you all later."

matty winks. "will do, darlin'."

you wink back and grab your CD, turning on your heel and wandering to your bedroom to begin the arduous process of getting ready for the album release dinner and subsequent party. it goes by quicker than usual, though, soundtracked by the boys, punctuated by congratulatory texts to and from ross and george and a half-hour congratulatory phone call with adam, and powered by the excitement of knowing you can be extra affectionate with matty today and it won't be weird.

it goes by so quickly, in fact, that you're almost completely finished your makeup when matty peers round your slightly-open door. "hey babe, would you mind- oh, wow, you look gorgeous!"

it's almost embarrassing how warm your cheeks get at that simple statement. you swivel to face your flatmate, smiling bashfully. "thanks, sweetheart. i was a bit worried the eye makeup was too much for dinner, but i've committed to it now, i s'pose."

"no, it's perfect," matty says softly, coming into the room and perching on the end of your bed. you're perfect, he wishes he could add - it's cliché, but god, is it true. "i love it."

your cheeks burn, and lift of their own accord. "i'm glad."

matty smiles back just as widely as you. there's a pleasant silence for a moment, reluctantly broken by you before matty forgets his train of thought. "did you want to ask me something, babe?"

"oh, shit, yeah," matty nods. "would you mind - if you have the time, that is - drying my hair for me? can never get it to sit right. but like it's cool if not, i can do it myself, i just like it more when it's you doing it and-"

"matty," you interject, before he talks himself unconscious. "of course i will. just let me do my lipstick first, yeah? then i'm all yours."

all his. christ, what he wouldn't give. "take your time, darlin'. thanks a lot."

"s'no problem," you say, turning back to your dressing table and rifling through a pile of lipsticks. matty smiles as you open a few in turn, furrowing your brow as you wordlessly narrow down your colour options; the smile is wiped clean off his face when you drop your jaw and swipe a dark pink over your lips, forming them into an O as you make sure the lipstick is applied perfectly. fuck. your mouth.

(the lyric from talk! is most definitely about you, but he'll never tell.)

after the most agonising minute of matty's life, you turn around to face him. "ok, i'm finished making myself pretty. your turn, babe."

"you're always pretty," matty says, kissing the top of your head as you stand up to let him sit in the chair; he finger guns towards his reflection as he does. "and so am i."

you roll your eyes. "maybe it's best if the album doesn't go to number one, actually. your head might explode, healy."

"best make sure my hair looks good then, babe."

"when has it not, when i've styled it? it's me you're talking to, not george."

"fair point."

with a wink to him through the mirror, you rake one hand through matty's hair and aim the hairdryer at it with the other. he closes his eyes, sinking back into the plush seat, enjoying the soothing combination of warm air and your gentle touch - your nails lightly scratch his scalp the way you know he loves, and he hums contentedly. fuck the dinner, fuck the party, fuck celebrating the album; matty would be happy just to stay like this forever with you.

you'd be happy with that too, to be honest.

matty slowly opens his eyes as you put down the hairdryer and finish shaping his hair with your hands. you crouch to get the back looking just so, then rest your chin on his shoulder and smile at him through the mirror. "beautiful boy."

tilting his head so it rests on yours, matty beams at you through the mirror. "thanks, sweetheart. we do look quite hot, don't we? we should memorialise it, i think."

"now? we're not even dressed for tonight yet," you say, as matty pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the camera.

"trust me, babe, this is just the first of many pictures i intend to take to document this very important day. and the first of many pictures i intend to take of you, looking all hot and glamorous."

"charmer. alright, take the pic."

"alright, darlin'."

2023

when you enter the kitchen, the déja vu of a moment from a decade ago practically smacks you in the face. never mind that it's a different house, with a different kitchen and a different floor (tiled, not lino, but still cold under socked feet).

just as he was exactly ten years ago to the day, albeit with different hair, matty is staring at something pinned between two shitty manchester magnets on the fridge (also different - a smeg you were embarrassingly excited about buying when you and matty moved here). rather than the calendar from before, though, it's the picture the two of you took while you were getting ready to celebrate the album release.

again, matty turns to smile at you as you near him - well, as best he can with a toddler clinging to his leg and a 7 month-old baby in his arms. you can see in his eyes that the déja vu is getting to him as well. that, and the way his smile widens as he says "hi, sweetheart".

"hi. happy ten years of your first album," you grin, moving closer to kiss him quickly. dylan lets go of her dad's leg and raises her arms towards you; when you pick her up and kiss her cheek, she giggles and hides her face in your neck. smiling, you do the same to elena, who beams mostly toothlessly at you in response. "and hello to you too, my babies! were you good for daddy while mummy was at work?"

soft curls tickling your neck tells you that dylan is nodding, an action matty copies enthusiastically. "they were perfect," he says, booping elena on her tiny nose and making her giggle - your favourite sound on the planet. "they take after their mum, of course."

you roll your eyes. "ever the charmer, healy."

"you know it, healy," matty grins, relishing the chance for acknowledgement of your shared last name, the same way he's done at any opportunity since you took it as your own four years ago. "we were just talking about mummy, weren't we, dyl? how in that photo she thought i was going to be married to somebody else by now, but daddy always knew he wouldn't marry anybody but her."

your heart glows with overwhelming love for matty and his words; it quickly begins to burn with embarrassment at your past utter cluelessness, though. "well, i genuinely didn't think you liked me in that way, the way i liked - like - you."

"silly mummy," dylan giggles, playing with the pendant on your necklace that bears her first initial, as well as those of her father and sister.

you tickle her little tummy, and the giggles increase tenfold. "silly mummy indeed!"

your toddler's giggles fade into little hums, and her tiny face turns placidly serious as she looks at the picture of her parents. "but pretty mummy."

"the prettiest," matty agrees, trying his best to extrapolate elena's tiny fist from one of his curls.

"well, maybe in a few hours, once i'm ready for the party," you say, stepping forward to save your husband's hair from his mini-me's grip. it takes you both a minute, considering you're both operating with only one daughter-less limb, but matty's curls escape mostly unscathed from your baby's possessive grasp. elena might be a matty clone, but she really is your daughter, no doubt about it. "which i really should start working on, considering everyone will be here in... three hours. will you all sit with me while i do my makeup?"

"of course we will," matty nods, holding out his free hand for you to take with your own. "lead the way, wifey."

for the second time that day, although you're sure there will be many more instances of it, there's an overwhelming familiarity to the scene in your bedroom. with the exception of dylan sitting on the vanity, copying you and pretending to put her own makeup on with one of your clean blush brushes, and elena doing tummy time on your bed and babbling away happily, the process is much the same as it was exactly a decade ago - enjoyable, quick, interspersed with excitement and texts and calls from your equally-excited friends.

the soundtrack is also different, although it's still matty singing; instead of the songs about, well, drugs and blowjobs that had scored your pampering in the past, he's doing a medley of disney songs, nursery rhymes, and... "babe, is that britney spears?"

mirroring his youngest daughter and lying on his stomach on the bed, matty glances up, eyes gleeful. "yeah! lena loves it. look - oops, i did it again, i played with your heart, got lost in the game, ooh baby baby."

true enough, elena shrieks with laughter and taps her hands against the duvet in accompaniment to her dad's singing. you laugh too, picking dylan up and moving to sit beside the other half of your family. once you're settled, you scoop elena into your arms and sit her against your knees. "you have such good taste, my girl!"

"mmm, so do i," your husband hums, looking at you with barely-concealed attraction in his dark eyes. "you look gorgeous, darling."

over ten years of matty compliments, and they still shoot straight to your knees and turn them wobbly. you lift your burning cheeks in response. "thanks, sweetheart. you're not too bad yourself."

"you think so? because i was going to ask you about fixing my hair again-"

"i honestly don't think it needs it, babe."

"really? well, in that case," matty reaches back to grab his phone from his back pocket, before rolling to a sitting position and tugging dylan into him. "scootch in, then."

dylan watches her dad open the camera app. "photo now?"

"yes, munchkin."

"but my dress!"

"oh, you're your mother's daughter right enough," matty smiles. "we'll take one picture first, dyl, and then you can go and put your dress on in time for your aunties and uncles and cousins arriving, yeah?"

"ok."

"that's the spirit," matty ruffles his toddler's head, before putting his arm around you. "say cheese!"

after his girls oblige, dylan moves round to talk to her baby sister, while matty opens the picture to see how it turned out; you lean in and rest your chin on his shoulder again so that you can look too. "oh, matty, look how cute we all are!"

"definitely fridge-worthy," matty laughs, kissing your temple. he leans back slightly to look at you, bringing a hand up to lightly caress your hair. "i can't believe it's been ten years. for both the album and the two of us. although they always went hand in hand for me, to be honest. constantly thought about you while i wrote it. and i still constantly think about you now."

you press a quick kiss to matty's lips, wiping away your lipstick stain with your thumb - matty tries to kiss it as you do, which earns him a laugh and a "matthew" from you. "i love you, baby."

"i love you too, sweetheart. here's to the next ten years."

#mads does writing #flatmate!matty #dad!matty #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty x reader #self titled 10

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dual-cetacean · 7 months ago

Text

"The Shatterverse is saved, the prism shards are back where they belong, and Green Hill Zone is restored. However, Nine cannot let go. Afraid the Roses and Shadow won’t be fast enough to save Sonic, they chase after them — accidentally flying into the gateway, too. Now locked out of their universe, and more importantly, the Grim, what is a lonely number 9 supposed to do?"

*Edit*

Chapter log

Season 1

Situation 1: So much (for) Prism dust (↑) Situation 2: I’m your best friend, I’m your family. Situation 3: Tea and Toast. Situation 4: Lonely Heart's Club. Situation 5: Stranger in a Strange Land. Situation 6: I hope, pray, wish—you bite your tongue Situation 7: Capital T, but Trouble looks for me Situation 8: Star-Crossed Siblings

Season 2

In production.

Heyo! I know that this series ended months ago, but this cartoon has me in a head grip. This has been cooking since February, and I'm finally ready to post it after two full months of working on it. I enjoyed season 3 and the rest of the series but was unsatisfied with the ending. So, for everyone like me who wants more out of the story, I hope you enjoy this, especially for the ones whose favourite character is Nine, like me. Plenty of other characters will also appear in it, but for now, it Nine centric.

I am incredibly proud of the cover art I made and put a lot of effort into it. Making all those renders for the characters was a serious undertaking, but it looks great, and I had a lot of fun figuring out how to paint foam and water.

I also made a playlist for this fic so if you're looking for fitting music, here it is! (Current and future chapter titles are also inspired by these songs)

The cover ver without the other characters in the water is under keep reading

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eldritch-spouse · 7 months ago

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Kalymir with a Queen like Lara Croft from Tomb Raider?

I'm 99% sure you don't know who Lara or what Tomb Raider is so I'll just give you some examples of what Lara is capable of.

https://youtu.be/f_JZo2swI8Q?si=5OH6l8PtYBY6SWS7 (you only have to watch until 4:40 the rest of it is just lore)

https://youtu.be/lp8NXjqMPOQ?si=rLN8JSCpOPesYWi_

She also fought two Jaguars and killed one of them, the other retreated with it's dead kin. I couldn't find a good enough video to showcase that.

I think Kaly would be proud of her at least.

What do you mean 99% sure I don't know who Lara Croft is? As if Lara Croft Legend wasn't literally the first game I played on my mom's PS2- Quite possibly the first video game I ever touched. As if I don't own the vast majority of Tomb Raider titles what do you mean-

Moving on from that insult.

You and Kalymir are a good fit.

Maybe.

On paper.

You can probably manage your way around Wrath without too much danger, provided you have some kind of weapon at your disposal, especially your twin babies Heckler and Koch USP Match pistols.

You can handle yourself, and that's an admirable quality in Kalymir's eyes. The fact that you are so stupidly tiny and have bones more fragile than the twigs of a tree on the Land of Eternal Rage yet manage to bring down high-rankers with enough persistence, agility and strategy is what has the King pulling at his horns and drooling like an animal.

However.

You drive Kalymir stupid.

And that's awful!

He's so mesmerized by you and your abilities and quite literally never seeing you fail, that he starts seeing you as more than human. And that's horrendous, because it makes him sloppy in his self control.

No longer will Kalymir hold back most of his force when he grabs you, no longer will he make an effort to slow down preemptively when he's charging at you like a bull.

There's a good chance he loses his mind and bites down on you so hard he rips a chunk out.

Seeing you perform the feats you so effortlessly do gets him too excited and too rabid with all sorts of positive emotions that could end with you pancaked under his body weight.

He fears fighting you.

Not because Kalymir thinks you can defeat him, let's not get silly here-

But rather because he knows he'll lose his mind and come to with you gored to pieces on the ground and his cock throbbing.

#Kalymir oc #insulted in my own house smh

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minhosimthings · 1 year ago

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Call him up. He comes to my bedroom. Ended up we'd fuck on the hotel floor.

Summary: you, Jay, fucking after an award show

Warnings: smut, fem!reader, MINORS DNI, Oral (recieving), some comfort from husband material Jay

A/N: ALRIGHT! First smut work! I definitely need to improve a lot but here you go my babygirls. Also first Jay drabble! YAY! im taking a break from my work and writing whenever I'm at work and just staring at fishies.

Song rec: A&W by Lana del Rey. Yes the title is a lyric from that song. My favourite lyric!

"You wanted to see me baby?" Jay Park. Can anyone in this world get more luckier that you to get Jay fucking Park.

Award shows were boring, but when you had Jay beside you, it made it worth it, for you to stare at that slightly open white shirt with that watch that you gifted him, wrapped around his pretty little wrist. Yet again, L/N Y/N had won another award for best producer of the year. Some more of these and your house will end up becoming a store for selling 'Best producer' awards. Jay's group Enhypen had won 'Best boy band of the year' award this time and you were so proud of him. If not for the slight hiccup.

Being a producer, your ears were probably the most sensitive shit on earth, which enabled you to hear far more further than most people can (I actually have this ability and it's really cool!). Which in turn allows you to eavesdrop easily. But sometimes the eavesdropping isn't always the most comforting thing on this world, and as you heard your fellow producers smoke in the bathroom stalls and say 'She just got that award because she's Jay's girlfriend.' and 'He's so delicious though. Why did he pick that ugly bitch of a whore?'. You weren't really the type of person to cry or feel insecure, I mean after all you were in the kpop industry. Someone was always prettier or more talented than you. But hey, you were raised by some pretty good people, who taught you not to let jealousy take over you. But sometimes even saints abandon their principles in time of desperation. And for you? Your co workers shit talking about you was the time of desperation. You knew being in a relationship in this industry and letting it be public was a risk. But for Jay? Oh honey you'd risk the entire universe to be with him.

"Honey what's wrong? Hey are you crying?" Jay had walked into your hotel room, after you sent a staff member to get him. The afterparty was in the same hotel and you knew Jay would be with the rest of the boys, enjoying, drinking and critiquing every person's outfit. But you just couldn't go and stand there and give fake smiles to your coworkers, and pretend that everything was okay. You needed your boyfriend right now. And Jay would do anything for you, even abandon a party to come up to your magnificent suite. "Baby what's wrong?" Jay sat down on the bed next to you and cupped your cheeks. "You weren't at the party. I brought some food for you." Hearing that only made you sob harder onto your custom made red Prada dress, a gift from the worried man sitting in front of you, wondering silently what he could do to make you feel better as he stroked your hair and put your head against his chest.

"Shh baby shh. What happened?" "I- I heard them s-saying- Jay they think I- don't have- Jay." You sniffled in Jay's chest as he quickly understood what had happened. He had seen your coworkers giggling and approaching him again and again at the party and connecting the dots, it made perfect sense. Tracing the jewels on your dress with one hand and slightly taking off his tie with his other, Jay moved you to the pillow slowly, whilst admiring your figure in that dress. He hadn't had much of a chance to talk to you or see you up close since both of you were seated at different places, far from each other, neither did he have the chance to see you before the show, so when his eyes fell upon the tightly fit fabric on your hips, oh god his entire world came crashing down.

"Jay wha- what are you doi-" "Baby where do you keep the condoms?" You shuddered back as Jay slowly cane above you. "I- I'm on the pill." Jay slowly unzipped your dress, sneaking his hand behind you as you moved your hand to his collar. "Good" he growled against your ear. "You'll see what you're capable of tonight."

"Jay~" you whine as he grinds against your figure, the fabric of your dress slowly getting destroyed and ripped off of your body. You were quick to unbutton his white silk shirt, your gift, and unbutton his pants, throwing away the belt onto the bedside table. Jay moaned lowly as he inhaled the scent of your jasmine perfume, his favourite one. "Shit baby were you always this wet for him?" He teased you as you could do nothing but only whine in response. "Jay ah fuck!" He had slipped his fingers into your cunt, rings still on. The metal of the rings rubbed your pussy so hard, pleasure seeping in and out of you. "Is this ok baby? Or does my love need my cock inside?" "Jay ngh ahh fuck!" He slips himself in at an absolutely brutal pace, that your brain goes dumb and your pussy goes wild. This was heaven like you've never seen it. Jay was angry, so angry, and as his hands felt all of your naked skin, and all of your sadness turning into pure pleasure, satisfaction filled him to the brim. "No Jay don't pull out please." You whine to Jay as he slowly goes back. "Patience baby. Patience. I'll make you feel even better yeah? Give me my belt would you?" You were quick to reach out to the bedside table, where the brown leather belt lay, waiting for its turn. Jay slowly got your hands up and tied them to the bedframe with the belt tightly, as all you were capable of doing was whine and moan for him. "Jay please" He chuckled slowly at your desperate words and made his way down to your ripped pink panties. Pressing light kisses to your pussy, Jay took in your ever sweet whimpers and as his tongue darted out ever so often to flick you cute little clit, it drove you crazy, as you begged and begged for his cock again and again. "Aww does my Y/N want her daddy's dick inside of her now?" You whimpered again as he came up to you, face right above yours, hot breath, tinted with the smell of alcohol hitting your face. "Yes d-daddy please I need it please." You whispered to him. "Anything for my princess." He kissed you with his tongue moving around in your mouth, hands touching your clit, making you moan out his name, in the dirtiest way possible.

"Ah deeper Jay go deeper please." "You like that baby? Want me to cum inside of you hm?" The belt tied around your hands was untied now, as you moved your hands to Jay's pretty neck and thrust him into you. Jay sucked on your nipple softly, love and roses filling the huge room. The bed was definitely strong, because at the rate both of you were thrusting into each other, it should have broke. But then again, the hotel you were in wasn't called the best in the country for no reason.

"Wanna get in the shower baby?" Jay finally pulled out and flopped next to you on the bed, both of your hair and makeup, a mess. "Sure baby. Round two there?" You asked him, massaging your legs. Jay, to your dissatisfaction, shook his head. "No baby. Lets get washed up. We got an event tomorrow don't we? Don't want you limping at the event do we?" You pouted slightly as you remembered the Prada event you had tomorrow and as an ambassador, you had to deliver a speech. Yep another round of sex with Jay right now and tomorrow, nothing would be on your brain other than getting your pussy filled with his cum again. "Alright oh great Park Joengsoeng. I got your lavender shampoo. Wanna use that?" You said while getting up from the bed, completely naked. "Of course baby." Jay replied.

Winning an award tonight was good but getting your actual award with Jay was even better, you thought, as you entered the hot shower, Jay caressing your hips and kissing your neck. Yep you can't wait to get married to this man.

#park jay #jay #enhypen jay #enha jay #enhypen park jay #enhypen park jongseong #park jongseong #jay smut #enha smut #First smut work #jay drabble #jay smut drabble #park jay drabble #Enhypen drabble #bye bye now

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 year ago

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following up on the Alastor during different points of his life, how would he be in high school with the reader? given his time period I feel like things would be really difficult especially if the reader is white coded y’know, so what would that be like for him? and the reader too? also maybe the reader could be on the wealthier side, while Alastor isn’t?

A/N: I love detailed requests like this <33, so thank you so much! But this is a really messy concept, for everyone involved, but i love it.

No title for this one since I can’t think of anything :(

Alastor goes to a completely different school than you do

Almost every day you have great lunch, bus is on time, you’re books are brand new, everything is pristine down to the uniforms

For Alastor, the bus is late or breaks down on the way there, the students don’t have proper uniforms, some either wear the uniform or have a passed down uniform that most likely doesn’t fit them. The books are worn and torn, sometimes pages are missing, and the lunch is most times anything other than edible.

Your schools are only a few yards apart, however your bus always gets there quicker while his sometimes takes two hours to get there, and most times he needs to walk mid way while the bus is getting fixed

Your schools are in a secluded part of the town, with a lot of trees and forest behind it.

During your free period you sneak out of your school and over to his, thankfully your free period is his lunch period and you always have left overs

You two talk a lot, either about what your working on or just anything in general

During this time Alastor really fancies going to the north, he wants to get out of louisiana and start a new life

“If that’s what you want to do then I support you.” You always say and while he appreciates it, he’s always thought about asking you to go with him

By the time the year comes to a close you two see less and less of each other

You pick up a summer job at a boutique, he ends up working with his mother in a supermarket

on one of your days off, you stop by, not knowing he works there of course, and begin to get things off your list

You’ve never gone around his part of town much, your father forbid it, but he didn’t need to know you were there, as long as you went home with groceries you were fine right?

so when you began to ask his mother for help, he almost died of a heart attack watching the two of you talk

“Potatos are on isle seven dear, and cinnamon is on three with the rest of the spices.” His mother says kindly, and you smile finally having some sense of direction in the store

Alastor is quick to work the register, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and it works

Along with a lot of other customers giving you strange looks, what’s a white girl doing in a colored store? cant she get fined for that? is she crazy? lost?

“Oh! Hello Alastor.” You say with a smile as he grins back at you.

“Hello my dear, I see you’ve met my mother.” He says as he begins to total the things you’ve picked out.

“Oh that’s her? She’s such a sweet woman, really.” You say back, pulling out a few dollars and some quarters go pay him.

“That she is, though I must ask what brings you to this part of town?” He questions, and at this your face heats up quickly before you brush it off.

“Well, I’ve just gotten off of my shift, and father mentioned he needed to go grocery shopping so I figured i’d do it for him.” You say as Alastor writes your total down. You don’t wait for him to give it to you, instead you hand him all the cash and quarters you have in your pocket.

“This is well over what you owe.” He says grinning, he knows what you’ll say next, but it’s fun to watch you become so proud of yourself.

“Yes, however I don’t have any use for the rest, so I believe you can keep it. Good day Alastor.” You say smiling and grabbing the bagged items. He smiles and just puts the money away, his mind is already running on how to make it up to you.

your father never notices where you got the groceries, he only cares he didn’t need to drop more money to get it

When the next school year rolls around this time you both are in the eleventh grade, this is your most important year

You’re stressed with papers and exams every other week, Alastor is swamped with having to help other students as a tutor, his lunch period now being the only time he can see you

However, your schedule isn’t the same, now your free period is during a class of his and now he’s sneaking out more than once to see you, most of the kids in his grade have stopped showing up, most did after the eighth grade

You rant and complain about how stressed you are, and how you can’t wait for the year to be over so you can finally breathe

Alastor laughs and for the first time in his life he can truly feel how fake it is, he’s never been more stressed in his life and though your books might be better the work is just the same especially since he’s in the gifted program

you ask about his mother time to time and he appreciates you thinking of her, no one really asks

he tells you of his plan to go to New York, how excited he is and how much he’s saving, how his mother has been picking up extra shifts to bring in enough

this is when he asks you to come with him, but you tell him you can’t, that you can’t leave your family, your parents or siblings, how your life is here

he understands, it hurts him to leave his mother, she’s the only family he’s ever known, ever had, he hates leaving her behind

but he promises to come back, that he will come back to Louisiana, and you smile because you believe him

when graduation comes he waits until your parents retire for the night before knocking at your front door, he’s risking a lot for this, but he needs to see you before he goes

When you answer the door hes overjoyed, and you wrap him in the tightest hug he’s ever felt before, even though he doesn’t feel many

He hands you flowers with a small congratulations, and you smile and tell him the same, before you remember something

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You say, before you stop and turn to him, opening your front door. “ I’ll be right back, don’t move.” You say, and take off into the house. He smiles and waits, taking in your neighborhood. It’s clean, large houses, perfect sidewalks and a nicely paved street

you come back with an envelope in hand, and when you hand it to him he shoots you a look. What is this?

He opens it to find a large sum of cash, he can’t even begin to imagine how much your handing him. He shakes his head and hands it back.

“I cant accept this.” He says, his smile tightening. He’s upset. Do you think he needs this? But you smile wider and insist.

“For new york silly, everything is crazy in this big apple. If not for you then for your mother, please. I saved it for you.” You say, and he sighs, lightly flipping through it.

“How much is it?” He asks, almost afraid of what you’ll say.

“Seven Hundred.” You reply, and his eyes widen, and his smile drops finally. This is the first time you’ve seen him without one.

“I cant possibly-“

“You must. Please. It’s not my parents if that’s what your thinking. I earned it, and I wanted to give it to you.” You say, before he’s silent

“I don’t need your charity dear.” He says, his smile returning. Clearly he’s annoyed by this point, but you don’t seem to care, if you can even tell

“It isn’t charity. It’s a gift. No one is ever too good for a gift.” You say crossing your arms, now he laughs. Your stubborn, you refuse to take it back. You’re not asking him to take it, your not giving him a choice.

“Alright, fine. However I’m not using this. I’ll give it to my mother.” He says, and you smile contently at that.

“I’m okay with that.”

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor

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bad-as-me · 2 months ago

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Morgott for the ask meme!

hell yes my boy!!

favorite thing about them

Honestly, Morgott covers the bases for a lot of things I'm weak for in a character. I love a guy who is so single-mindedly devoted to a cause, especially one driven by a need to be loved, that the rest of the world and their own well-being falls apart in the process. Something about the inherent tragedy of someone choosing to die on a hill that nobody asked them to take on, that would really be in their better interest to let go of and start anew elsewhere, and yet you want so badly for their efforts to be rewarded in some way because you know it's all for love.

It's just so terribly romantic in a gothic sense. He reminds me so much of the description of the creature in Frankenstein: someone that tried so hard to fit himself into the image of what his maker wanted, who speaks beautifully and eloquently in contrast to his rough exterior, who boasts an intelligence and a competency that was likely learned while hidden from society. And yet we know in both situations that effort will never be reciprocated.

Also, he growls and purrs and has a giant fluffy snow leopard tail. How can I not be obsessed with him.

least favorite thing about them

His big beautiful horns are so hard to draw :'(

Honestly, he's one of those characters where even his flaws are incredibly interesting to me. I like that he refuses to give up his position of power! It's something he worked so hard for, and to his mind must be the only way he can stay safe in a world that he knows wants him dead. I like that he can't let go of the status quo! As his Great Rune tells us, Omen or not he is the rightful Lord of Leyndell. By all standards of the world they're in, he has every right to be proud of that title. And given the alternatives he's likely had presented to him (Rykard, Mohg, the Frenzied Flame), why wouldn't he believe that this stagnant existence is the best he could ask for?

He's the immovable object to our unstoppable force. There's a nobility in his commitment to that, however misguided it may be.

favorite line

"We are all forsaken. None may claim the title of Elden Lord. Thy deeds shall be met with failure, just as I..."

I love his monologue in the beginning of his fight, but the fact that this is the last thing he says just tears me apart on so many levels. It really hammers home how much of his targeted spite towards us is him projecting his own sense of failure to his lineage. He crawled all this way through the mud, gave every drop of his accursed blood for the Erdtree, and it still wasn't enough. How could we possibly have a chance when all his efforts were for naught?

No matter how many times I replay it, I always take some time just to sit next to him after he says that, listening to the rain over the capitol and the somber song of Leyndell. The city really feels like it's in mourning at that moment, all for someone they hated too much to truly understand.

brOTP

Mohg and Morgott!!! The gruesome twosome!! The dynamic duo! Every piece of art or fic that depicts them having some brotherly squabbles and shenanigans brings a little bit of life back into my eyes :')

OTP

As far as canon characters go, it's gotta be Morgott/Oleg. We love a good knight/master ship around these parts, and I think he deserved someone as devoted to protecting him as he was devoted to his cause.

Outside of that, well. I am writing an ongoing fic of Morgott and my Night's Cavalry Tarnished (who was never a Tarnished but a secret third option, but you know.) I think about them a normal amount.

nOTP

Mohg/Morgott. I just want them to have one single family relationship in their life that is remotely healthy man 😭

random headcanon

He's good with animals, and prefers the company of them to people. Most of his communication to the Night's Cavalry is through carrier falcon, but if he needs to summon them all for a meeting, he can do so with an instrument that's very similar to an Aztec death whistle.

Also, he recanted his blood through the Church of Vows. Him and Miriel have a good rapport with one another.

unpopular opinion

Respectfully, I disagree with both the "Morgott is basically the Lands Between's evangelical gay republican" take, as well as the "Morgott is a soggy baby virgin who will cry if you give him a cookie" take.

I think he is a living contradiction in a lot of ways. He is simultaneously an accursed Omen, the lowest of the low, while also having tangible evidence that he is the child of a god and of a powerful bloodline. He has held Leyndell together for more than long enough both to be aware of its corruption, and to be in a position to change it, but he can't allow himself to believe any of it needs to be changed.

He is too stuck on the idea that he needs to uphold the way things are - to prove himself "better" than his curse - to change anything. This is directly contrasting his brother Mohg, who has made an entire cult around acknowledging the unjust suffering he went through.

Like the sealing of his blood into a sword, he represses that truth, until he is so broken down that it is released all at once - painfully and without control.

Because of this, I think he would recoil at the idea of being an object of pity. He has done too much to earn a respectable position for anyone to tell him that he deserves better - even if it's true, and he should be told that.

song i associate with them

Oh god I have a whole playlist of them. But if I were to narrow it down:

Sonne by Rammstein

Momma Sed by Puscifer

Romans 10:9 by The Mountain Goats

Helvegen by Wardruna

favorite picture of them

I am not exaggerating when I say this illustration by tendermiasma re-wired my brain on a fundamental level

#well this got wildly out of hand but also: that shouldnt be surprising lol #morgott

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chelseachilly · 1 year ago

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til you come back home

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: you really miss your boyfriend while he’s in the US for preseason, so you decide to give him a special surprise when he returns ;) warnings: smut, 18+ word count: 3.1k

author’s note: thanks for the request @a-little-bit-rascal ! also inspired by everyone (myself included) thirsting over all the ben content in preseason lmao. i hope this is something like what you had in mind ☺️ i’m not super experienced writing smut so bear with me but i hope people enjoy this, i have a couple more one-shots i’ll be working on in addition to the next chapter of this love. oh and the title is from i don’t wanna live forever by taylor & zayn

Not to be too dramatic, but you’re pretty sure the two weeks Ben is away in the US for the preseason tour are the longest of your life.

You’ve been with Ben for a little over a year now, and you’ve always found him incredibly attractive. From the moment you saw him at a mutual friend’s party, you were drawn to him. It only took you one drink to decide that you wanted to sleep with him, and two more to actually go for it.

You’re very grateful you didn’t ask him what he does for a living until after he shagged you in your friend’s guest room, as you may have chickened out if you knew he was a hotshot footballer. And also because Ben found it incredibly endearing when you complimented his toned body afterward and asked if he played any sports in his free time.

A few days later, when he finally used the number you gave him and called you up, you were somewhat expecting it to be a booty call. The sex had been great, for both of you, so you weren’t totally surprised by that. You were surprised when he asked you to go to dinner first.

The rest was history, as you found it to be just as easy to fall in love with Ben Chilwell as it was to fall into bed with him.

Your sex life has never wavered since that first date, except for when he’s been away for games or injured and under doctor’s orders not to engage in any physical activities - though he certainly still tried.

Even after all this time, Ben still has a power over you that no guy ever has, the ability to make you crumble with one look from his piercing eyes or the touch of his hand on your thigh.

Which is why it’s incredibly frustrating when he’s looking so fit and he’s thousands of miles away in stupid America.

He’s been looking particularly good recently, and you’re not sure if it’s his tan from the summer holiday, the way his hair has grown out a bit, the extra time he’s been putting in at the gym, or maybe even the confidence he’s getting back after a tough season. Regardless of what it is, it’s really making it challenging to be apart from him.

Every time the Chelsea Instagram posts a picture of him training or he FaceTimes you from his hotel room, you find it increasingly hard not to drop everything at work and just fly to the States immediately.

Watching him play in the match against Wrexham, when he scores a goal in the 94th minute wearing the captain’s arm brand and proceeds to tear off his shirt on live television, nearly makes you scream out of sheer frustration.

How dare your boyfriend be so hot when you can’t immediately have him?

By the time the tour is over and they’re set to return to London, you’re bursting at the seams with pent-up desire. They’re supposed to land in London around eight that evening, and the thought of waiting for him to get through customs, take the team bus to Cobham, then get an Uber to your flat feels torturous.

As soon as Ben texts you that they’re about to take off and that he‘ll be at yours by ten, you decide you can’t wait that long.

You know they’re flying into Stansted, so you whip out your laptop and your credit card and book a room at the nicest airport hotel you can find.

You’re not only eager to finally touch Ben and have your way with him after two long weeks apart, but also to show him how proud you are of him. Despite all the adversity he’s faced over the past couple of years, he’s going into the new season with a positive attitude. He’s not only playing well, he’s taking on more of a leadership role within the club and showing everyone just how crucial he is to their success.

So you’re determined to make your reunion romantic and special for him as well, taking the opportunity to treat your boyfriend before another intense season.

You head over to the hotel in advance to set up the room for him, pulling out all the stops - champagne, rose petals on the bed, candles. You have a romantic playlist ready filled with songs you both love. Ben has frequently shown his love for you with romantic gestures, whether it be whisking you to Paris for a weekend or surprising you with fancy dinners, so you’re excited to be returning the favour for a change.

As their arrival time approaches, you head over to the airport and wait for him.

It seems to take ages, but eventually you see some of the boys begin to trickle in and your heart thumps with anticipation.

A few of the guys who you know well stop to smile and say hello to you on their way to the bus, all clearly a bit surprised to see you there.

“Hey, Y/N!” Reece says with a grin as he passes you. “Does Ben know you’re here?”

“No, it’s a surprise,” you say a bit sheepishly.

“He’s gonna lose his mind,” Reece chuckles. “Bro hasn’t shut up about you the entire time we were in the States-“

“Y/N?”

You look over Reece’s shoulder to see Ben standing there, luggage in hand, looking absolutely awestruck.

He’s wearing his club t-shirt and joggers, and his hair is a bit messy from napping on the plane. He looks adorable, especially his bright smile that only seems to be growing with every second that he looks at you.

You begin to run toward him on instinct and he barely has time to drop his bag before you’re throwing your arms around him and he’s catching you.

Ben’s arms wrap around your waist and he lifts you off the ground for a moment, spinning you around slightly with unbridled joy. It feels so good to be in his arms again, his warmth enveloping you.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ben murmurs in your hair, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “How - I mean, why are you here? You didn’t have to pick me up from the airport.”

“I know, but I wanted to surprise you,” you say with a smile, pulling back to look at him and cup his face with both hands. “I missed you like crazy.”

Ben stares back at you for a moment, his eyes overflowing with affection, before leaning in to press a long overdue kiss to your lips. You sigh into the kiss and slide your fingers into his hair, tugging at it slightly.

“Best surprise ever,” Ben murmurs against your lips before deepening the kiss.

You continue to kiss him until you’re both out of air and you realize you can’t go any further in a busy airport surrounded by his teammates.

“Let’s go home,” Ben whispers, pecking your lips once more. “Did you drive?”

“Mhm, but I actually have another surprise for you,” you smirk, patting his cheek. “I got us a room at the Raddison across the street.” You lower your voice slightly. “So I can show you how much I missed you.”

Ben’s eyes light up as he realizes he’s going to get to have you a lot sooner than he thought, and he leans in to kiss you again.

“You’re amazing.”

Ben says goodbye to the boys, receiving a lot of knowing smirks and pats on the back before he hastily grabs his suitcase and your hand and begins to drag you away.

You both quickly make your way over to the hotel, holding hands tightly, filled with anticipation.

When you get to your room, you barely make it through the door before Ben is pushing up up against it and kissing you firmly, his bags discarded on the floor and his arms around your waist.

“I missed you so much,” he sighs against your mouth as you eagerly respond, your hands once again finding his fluffy hair and messing it up even more. “I missed this.”

“Imagine how I felt,” you say between kisses. “Having to watch you be all sexy on TV and you posting all those thirst traps on Insta-“

“Babe, they’re not thirst traps,” Ben defends, slipping his hand under your jumper so he can feel your bare skin.

“Well, it‘s still not fair for you to be looking so fit when I’m not able to have sex with you,” you whine, tugging at his shirt so he’ll get the message and take it off.

Once Ben has removed his shirt, you allow both your eyes and your hands to explore his toned shoulders and arms, gently squeezing his biceps.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Ben says with a small smile as he watches you check him out. “What’s my punishment?”

“I’m not going to punish you,” you say with a sly smile, pecking his lips once more before backing away from him, making him pout a bit at the loss of contact. “You’re getting rewarded tonight, Benjamin.”

“For the wins?” Ben asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“That, and for finally getting your arse home to me,” you smile, reaching out a hand for him to follow you further into the room.

Ben eagerly follows, his eyes lighting up once again when he sees the effort you’ve gone to for your little reunion celebration.

“I get all this just for coming home?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion and his eyes shining with awe.

You shake your head as you light a few of the candles and hit play on your Spotify, creating an even more romantic atmosphere.

“No, you get all this because I love you,” you say softly, shimmying out of the light sundress you were wearing to reveal his favourite black lingerie set. “This is what you get for coming home.“

Ben’s eyes darken and he wastes no time crossing the room to meet you, grabbing your waist and kissing you with such fervour that you immediately moan into his mouth.

His hands trail down to your butt and squeeze slightly before gripping your thighs and hoisting you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and the friction making both of you sigh with pleasure.

He carries you over to the bed, the rose petals scattering as he lays you down and begins hastily removing his joggers. When he’s in only his boxers, he climbs over you and kisses you again.

The sight of him hovering over you, his strong arms holding him up and his fluffy hair in his forehead as he meets your gaze is enough to make you melt into the duvet, your centre already burning with desire.

“What do you want, baby?” you breathe as he begins to trail kisses over your neck and collarbone. “It’s up to you tonight.”

“I wanna fuck you,” Ben says in a gravelly whisper, making you throb even more for him. “Been too long.”

“Then do it,” you reply, bucking your hips upward, desperate for friction.

Ben doesn’t have to be told twice - he immediately brings one of his hands down to touch you over your underwear. He strokes the fabric for a second before slipping his fingers underneath and feeling your folds.

“So wet for me already, love,” Ben murmurs as he begins to rub your clit with his thumb, making you moan.

It doesn’t last nearly long enough before he’s pulling away, and though you want him inside you more than anything right now, you can’t help but whine a bit.

“Patience, baby girl,” Ben says, stripping off your knickers and tossing them to the floor.

He abruptly sits up, pulling you with him so you’re sitting in his lap, and kissing you passionately. You can now feel his hardened cock through his briefs against your bare pussy and it’s becoming torturous to go another second without him inside you.

“Ben,” you breathe between kisses. “Need you.”

“I thought I was in charge?” Ben comments, reaching for your bra clasp and removing it in one swift movement.

“You are, but-“

You’re shut up quickly when Ben takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it teasingly, making your eyes shut tightly with pleasure.

You run your hands through his hair as he pays attention to your breasts that he so clearly missed, eventually trailing his kisses back up your chest and to your lips.

You kiss him hungrily, tugging at his hair a bit and exploring his mouth with your tongue.

Much less gently than before, Ben flips you over and presses you down against the bed, continuing to kiss you as he finally rids himself of his boxers.

Glancing down at you, now laid out on the comfortable mattress completely naked with your hair fanned out against the pillows, Ben takes a moment to catch his breath.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he exhales, dropping another kiss to your lips. “So beautiful.”

You blush a bit - of course Ben could find a way to fluster you with his words even as you’re moments away from him being inside you.

You kiss him once more before reaching down to take his length in your hand, and it’s already hardened enough that it only takes a few pumps of your hand before he’s fully erect for you.

He positions himself at your entrance and, despite both of your eagerness, waits for your small nod of confirmation as always before he sinks down into you.

You gasp and Ben lets out a low groan as he enters you fully, and he has to pause and hide his face in your neck for a moment to regain control before he begins thrusting into you.

You’re aware that two weeks isn’t that long, but it certainly feels like it’s been ages since you’ve done this. The two of you have a very healthy sex life, engaging in some kind of sexual activity nearly every day unless you’re both exhausted or Ben’s away for a game or something.

The pleasure begins to grow as Ben starts to pick up the pace and intensity of his thrusts, both of your sighs and groans mingling together.

“You feel so good, baby,” Ben says as he reaches up to tangle your fingers together, squeezing tightly. “Missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” you sigh. “Had to get myself off after I watched you score that goal. Missed our tradition.”

It’s become a tradition since you’ve been together that you and Ben have celebratory sex after he scores a goal - as quickly as possible. Sometimes you have to wait until you get home, other times it’s happened in empty rooms at Stamford Bridge or even his car once.

“Fuck, so did I,” Ben groans, thrusting a bit harder this time and making you cry out. “Wasn’t as good, though. Nothing’s ever as good without you there.”

As Ben starts to go faster, you wrap your legs around his waist to shift the angle and get him as deep as possible, making both of you see stars as you’re approaching your climax.

“I wanna cum with you, baby,” Ben breathes, “are you close?”

“Mhm,” you manage to choke out as Ben’s cock hits a sensitive spot inside you.

Ben reaches down and lightly massages your clit with his thumb before thrusting into you once more.

The combination of him stimulating you and burying himself deep inside you makes you lose control, and you cry out his name as feel yourself coming all around him.

Ben is just moments behind you as he pushes into you one more time then crumbles with a low groan, collapsing on top of you.

You stroke his hair as you both come down from your climax, Ben pressing soft kisses to your collarbone.

“I love you so much,” Ben murmurs against your skin, sending a new wave of goosebumps across your body.

“I love you too, Ben,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.

Eventually your bodies stop twitching with reverberated waves of pleasure and Ben gently pulls out of you, leaving you with a peck to the cheek as he quickly runs to the bathroom to get a washcloth and clean you both up.

After you’ve sorted yourselves, Ben climbs back under the covers and opens his arms wide for you to climb into. You happily curl up against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you, and you think you may have missed this almost as much as the sex.

“I hope you know you’ve set my expectations for coming home unreasonably high,” Ben jokes as he strokes your bare back with one hand. “I’m gonna need you to pick me up at the airport every time now.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you respond sincerely, kissing his chest a few times. “Have I mentioned I missed you?”

“Once or twice,” he laughs, tilting your chin up for another long, tender kiss that makes your toes curl and your heart soar. “I missed you too. I’m so glad we have tomorrow off. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“That’s true, we still haven’t finished the new episodes of The Bear-“

“I meant sex, sweetheart, but that too,” Ben chuckles, “and loads of cuddles. It was so hard sleeping without you while I was gone.”

“I know,” you sigh, burrowing impossibly closer to him and his warmth. “My bed was too cold without you.”

You rest in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of Ben’s embrace, before resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.

“You ready for round two already, darling?” Ben asks with a relaxed smile, brushing his nose against yours.

Without a reply, you slip out of his arms and walk over to pour each of you a glass of champagne, still fully unclothed. Ben’s eyes remain fixed to your body the entire time.

When you walk right past the bed, Ben whines a bit and you can already picture his puppy dog eyes before you turn back around to face him.

“Where are you going?” Ben complains.

“I need a shower,” you say nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass. “You ready for part two of your reward?”

Ben’s eyes nearly roll back in his head as he rushes to get out of bed comically fast, following you into the bathroom as you giggle at his excitement.

You realize later, after you’ve sucked his dick in the shower and he’s returned the favour back in bed, that you may have sent him the wrong message by rewarding him for driving you mad while he was gone, but oh well.

You’ve got a girls trip to Capri coming up in a few weeks, and you can think of a few ways to get your revenge.

thank you for reading!! also let me know if anyone wants to be added to a taglist for any future ben fics! 💕

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell x y/n #ben chilwell imagine #chelsea fc imagine #my fics

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fairyniceyeah · 6 months ago

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⌛⛰️I don’t wanna be alone

Title from Take Me Home (ATEEZ)

Summary: At the park with his members San suddenly starts feeling sick and Hongjoong comes to the rescue.

CW: emeto

Sickie: San Caretaker: Hongjoong

It was a nice afternoon and San enjoyed it immensely. Especially the aspect of being done early with a WANTEEZ shoot and the ability to stay at the park they were at after filming was done.

Wooyoung who had brought the camera Hongjoong had bought him was walking around the flower beds, taking pictures of the members and, in the past twenty minutes, San especially. San loved Wooyoung sponsored photoshoots more than anything. It was nice to be able to model the way he wanted and wear his own clothes but the best part? Seeing how happy it made his best friend and the proud gleam in his eyes whenever (which was always and every picture) somebody praised his photos.

It was even fun to follow Wooyoung’s crazy ideas and do stupid things which in returned looked on camera. Just …

… just something was wrong. Normally, especially to a trained, fit, dancer idol, running around and jumping shouldn’t be an issue. But San didn’t feel like doing it anymore. He was tired and he felt weird. Really weird.

So when Wooyoung stopped taking pictures of him, San took the opportunity to call over Mingi who had been watching the photo shoot with poorly concealed interest and an even more poorly concealed hint of jealousy.

Wooyoung pouted and showed San a picture of him. “Let me try one more time, Sannie”, the younger begged him, basically draping himself over San. He was uncomfortably warm against San’s back and unexpectedly putting his weight on San nearly made him stumble.“One more. I want it to be perfect.”

“It’s already perfect, Young-ah”, San reassured without really looking at the picture. He did feel bad for brushing his friend off but he also didn’t feel like continuing anymore. His stomach felt weird, he realized as he had to continue to hold up Wooyoung’s weight as well as his own, and kind of cramping. He removed Wooyoung’s arm from his shoulder, and pointed at Mingi. “Besides, Mingi-yah has been pouting at me for the past ten minutes. I think he wants a go and I am scared to sleep tonight if he is in a grumbly mood.”

“Fine”, Wooyoung sighed with a yearning look at the photo. He let go of San and repositioned himself to capture Mingi’s beauty. “Mingi, you nuisance, go stand over there, hm, yeah, no, move a bit, yeah…”

⌛

San managed to ignore his loud voice and removed himself a bit from the group, walking down the path to seek out some shade. It was hot that day and he was sweating - a lot. A little shade surely would help cool him down and make him feel better. Maybe he was just a bit overheated.

Finding his knees a bit shaky he decided to sit down. Luckily there was a big rock by the side of the path close to the group and in the shade of a tree onto which he could slump. As soon as he sat down he rested his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees and took a deep breath.

The stomach ache, he had hoped would disappear if he just sat, had not faded at all - if anything it had gotten worse and the cramping was bordering on painful. He didn’t understand, ten minutes earlier he had felt perfectly fine. Now he just wanted to lie down and sleep for the rest of the day. Maybe it was just a flux and he would feel better soon. His eyes slipped shut out of their own volition and he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

That was the wrong move. His mouth suddenly started to salivate and his throat was starting to feel strange. Swallowing became hard and he struggled to get the saliva down. Only then it was that San realized what he was experiencing was nausea. Deep, profound, overwhelming nausea.

Oh God, he did not want to be sick. Especially not in a public space - even when the group and their managers, who were at a picnic table some hundred meters away, were the only people there. This couldn’t be happening. For a moment San was starting to panic but even that was cut short.

His throat contracted and before he had any chance to stop it, he gagged. It tore at his throat, hurting in a way that he knew he would lose his voice if it continued like that. Pressing his hand to his mouth he frantically looked around to find something - anything - to be sick into if he needed to be. Which he realized was more of an when than an if. There was no trash can or anything like that in close vicinity to him but when San looked down he realized he had conveniently sat down by a gutter. He’d take it.

With the next heave saliva dangled down his lips and he spread his legs to hopefully keep his clothes clean. He spat out a small mouthful of sour-tasting, clear bile, shuddering. Another heave rippled through him and San could feel his own back move with the force of it. His eyes started to water and he blinked quickly to dispel the betraying water.

Looking up he saw that none of the members noticed the predicament he was in. San wasn’t sure if he liked that or desperately wanted attention from any of them. Mingi and Yunho were posing for Wooyoung’s camera, Mingi somehow in Yunho’s arm bridal style. Jongho and Yeosang were standing beside Wooyoung laughing at them. Seongwas was watching them fondly and Hongjoong was watching him watch them, his back to San.

San didn’t have a chance to call out for any of them before the next round of dry-heaving overcame him, leaving him panting over the disgusting gutter for minutes. He felt awful. And he still didn’t understand what was happening to him. Why now?

Finally, he was able to stop gagging and before another round could take hold, feeling like it might happen rather sooner than later, San managed to reach out for help.

⌛

“Hongjoong-hyung?”, he called, having to stop for a moment as his throat tried to gag again, “come … come here, please.” His voice sounded terrible, raw and painfully small. Hongjoong, having been closest to San, heard him unlike the others and for a moment they locked eyes, the captain very confused. Then San had to double over again and all he could focus on was the sour feeling of his stomach and the contractions in his stomach that sent up its contents.

It took less than ten seconds for the captain to rush over but to San it felt like a lifetime. Speaking seemed to have tipped his stomach over the edge and he gagged hard again, before suddenly brownish chunky vomit, a testimony of the ramyeon he had had for lunch, spilled from his lips and splattered into the gutter. Some parts of the sick never dripped down into the sewage but stayed on the metal grids, mocking him with its sight and smell.

“Oh, Sannie”, Hongjoong mumbled close beside him, patting his back with careful fingers. “What happened? What has got you so sick out of a sudden?”

“Hyung”, San whined, feeling tears prickle at his eyes again and not caring enough to stop them from running over his cheeks. He didn’t get more words out as he had to lean over again, more sick spilling out of him and splashing into the growing puddle. At least he was hitting the gutter, he thought bitterly, not their shoes.

“It’s alright, baby”, Hongjoong comforted, combing back San’s hair from his eyes, “just get it up. You might feel better if you do.”

San groaned, as his stomach cramped again. Another wave of sick came up, leaving San gasping for air.

By now the other members had noticed the commotion and familiar shoes were building a circle around them. Hongjoong was still rubbing and, occasionally patting, his back and letting San lean against his hip for stability.

“I’ll get a manager”, somebody said but over the awful sounds he himself was making San wasn’t able to tell who it was until he saw Yunho’s familiar shoes sprint away.

⌛

Another round of throwing up later, San managed to sit up straight, glancing up at his members.

Yeosang, Mingi and Jongho stared back at him, looking at a loss of what to do. They all had looks of horror on their face. San couldn’t help but notice that Wooyoung and Seonghwa were missing, probably due to Seonghwa not wanting to risk or already trying to calm down a panic attack caused by San.

San lifted his hands to his face, wiping away the tears and ultimately some snot that was dripping down his face. He felt pathetic but couldn’t help but crave a hug. Just not with everybody staring at him.

Hongjoong, bless his soul, seemed to understand.

“Sang-ah, go check and see if Seonghwa and Young-ah need something, please. Jongho-yah, Mingi-yah, go find some wipes and water, chop chop”, Hongjoong ordered and the three of them sprinted off into different directions to fulfill their given tasks as if their lives depended on it. Maybe they did - Hongjoong could be terrifying at times and standing between him and a sick member never ended well, probably not even for their team mates. San did not want them to make the sacrifice to test out that theory.

“Do you feel better now, baby?”, Hongjoong asked gently, now completely focusing on San and gently turning his head to look the younger in the eye. He used the sleeves of his shirt to wipe away some saliva or sick San must have missed when trying to get himself clean. There was so much concern and love in his eyes that San nearly started to cry for real, not only as a by-product of sickness. He sniffed a bit but the tears stayed put. He was too exhausted to cry anymore.

Only at the question did San realized that, yes, he felt better now. Much better, actually. His stomach ached faintly but more from the exertion and emptiness than anything else. There wasn’t even any sense of nausea in his body until he made the mistake of looking down at the dirtied metal below him.

“Yeah”, he choked out, “but, uh, hyungie, can we move away?”

Hongjoong nodded and carefully helped San step over the gutter, leading him to sit on the grass under the shade of the tree a few meters away. San, while feeling better, was still shocked over the situation and he needed comfort. Comfort from his captain-hyung. Comfort Hongjoong would never deny his dongsaengs. So San curled up in his lap and nudged Hongjoong’s hand until he started playing with his hair.

The captain chuckled affectionately at his antics for a moment but then turned serious. “What happened, San-ah? Why didn’t you say earlier you were feeling sick?”

“I didn’t feel sick earlier”, San mumbled and turned to lie on his back so he could look at his hyung, “it just happened so suddenly, I don’t know. Maybe lunch didn’t settle right. I feel fine now.”

Hongjoong frowned a bit. “Are you sure? You don’t think you’re sick or have food poisoning?”

“Yeah, I’m good now. I don’t feel sick anymore, I promise.”

“Hm. Okay. Maybe something just needed out. Upset stomachs do happen sometimes.” Hongjoong didn’t sound convinced by his own words at all but San couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t believe himself either if the situation was reversed but he truly felt fine. “Just let us know if you feel bad again, okay?”

San nodded sleepily, eyes falling shut as he yawned. Hongjoong grimaced and San mumbled an apology. If his breath smelled as badly as his mouth tasted Hongjoong deserved that.

He was asleep by the time Yunho returned with a manager and Mingi and Jongho with supplies.

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - ATEEZ

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