#because he’s what holds everyone together | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 3 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 I WISH I WAS YOUR GIRL

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you don't know why dazai has suddenly become so standoffish with you the last week—there's something that everyone isn't telling you, but you can't even bring yourself to make that your biggest concern. you're just so at your limits with the back and forth with him that you can't concentrate on anything else. mishima is hosting a ball is this evening and you think that this is it: if things are going to happen between the two of you, it'll be tonight or it'll be never. you can't wait forever on someone who's just going to string you along the rest of his life. you won't.

(wordcount: 6.3k; fem!reader, sfw but a bit of tension, angsty)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihihihiiiiiii guys ^.^ happy friday. we've gotta angsty fic for tonight. i fear this one does not end happily but TRUST the universe does <33 but angst is necessary to move the plot forward. the price you pay for a happy ending is an angsty path there. specially dedicated to my beloved sophie who hates angst <33 happy birthday luvr

You are severely unhappy.

You finished getting dressed almost an hour ago, but you still haven’t left your room. You’re sitting at your vanity staring at yourself—you’ve changed your jewelry three times already, and you’re about to change it a fourth. It’s not that you’re not satisfied with how you look, it’s more that you’re just frustrated and fidgety.

More than that, you’re upset. Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in a week, and you don’t even know why. It has something to do with the incident that happened a week ago with the child called Kyusaku, but you’re not sure what because you don’t know what was real and what was concocted by the child’s ability after you were affected by it.

As much as Dazai likes to pretend to be aloof and unbothered, he’s easily worked up by small things, and he’s been upset with you before, but never like this. He’ll usually sulk where he knows you’ll see him and wait for you to ask him what’s wrong so he can use the opportunity to guilt you into watching a shitty movie or going out to buy him snacks.

But this? Radio silence. He came up to your apartment once when you weren’t here to do his laundry and was gone before you got back. You don’t even know where he’s been staying, because you went looking for him at the shipping container and he wasn’t there. You don’t know what happened. You guys were good, more than good—you really thought that maybe the two of you were making progress past this awkward more than friends, not lovers stage, but now it’s back to square one. Worse than square one, because at least at square one, he was still talking to you.

A low whistle comes from the entrance to your room and you raise your eyebrows as you look up in the mirror, catching sight of Chuuya leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side as he observes you. He’s already dressed up—out of his normal outfit and in a sleek black suit instead, he looks different without his hat, but you don’t even have it in you to make a teasing comment about it. You can’t help the disappointment that clogs your throat at the sight of him: you’d still been holding out hope that Dazai would show up.

“I forgot how nice you cleaned up,” Chuuya murmurs. “It’s been a minute since we attended an event together.”

You turn in your seat to face him, eyes roving over his form once before you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat. I almost thought you might be balding beneath it.”

Chuuya instantly rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the door frame to make his way over to you. You give him a simpering smile as you look up at him, but you can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes from the way he frowns at you. He reaches out to straighten the necklace you’re wearing and then holds a gloved hand out to help you up, ever the gentlemen.

Even though it’s unnecessary, you still take it and sigh as you rise to your feet, smoothing out your dress once you’re upright. You look up at him and ask, “I take it you’re the one escorting me tonight.”

“Don’t sound too pleased,” Chuuya replies dryly, holding out his arm for you. You sigh as you hold his bicep loosely, making your way to the elevator. “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

“Not once,” you answer bitterly. “I thought for sure he would get over whatever his problem is to be my escort tonight, but I guess not. I don’t even know what happened, Chuuya. I feel like people just aren’t telling me something.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your gaze is cutting to the side to observe Chuuya’s reaction. He grimaces instantly and averts his gaze, and you take in a deep breath, realizing you hit it right on the nail. What the hell are they hiding from you? You know now isn’t the time to get into it, but you make a note in the back of your head to do some snooping as to what really happened during the incident last week.

“Interesting,” you say, just to let Chuuya know that he needs to work on his poker face. He catches the implication and sends you a scowl, but you only raise your eyebrows at him with a small smile, waiting for the elevator to come up to your apartment. “He’s not coming tonight at all then?”

“No, he’s coming,” Chuuya corrects absently and the smile on your face freezes.

“Is that so?” you ask tightly. “Who is he attending with then?”

Chuuya gives you a long, knowing look as the elevator gets to your floor, holding it open and waiting for you to step in before joining you. You’re tense as you wait for his answer, and you know he’s getting back for the balding comment with how long he’s taking to give you it.

“No one,” he finally says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re so embarrassing—get yourself together. Who the fuck would actually be his date? No one wants to get within ten feet of him.”

You give Chuuya a withering look and then reply primly, “I would.”

“The entire Mafia knows that,” Chuuya says dryly, making your face hot. “You make me sick.”

“Likewise,” you scoff and pointedly look away from him. After a few seconds pass, you ask, “Are you sure he’s not bringing anyone?”

Chuuya groans. “What would it even change if he does?” he asks, which does not settle your nerves at all. “You’re just going to work yourself up thinking about it.”

“It changes whether or not I’m going to have Akutagawa Ryuunosuke on standby to eliminate a potential threat to Dazai’s life,” you say with a sweet smile. “Assassins come in many forms, but most frequently in dates at big events. We shouldn’t take that risk with our most valuable executive, naturally.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops as he fully turns to look at you. “Sometimes, I wonder why you like that fucked up bastard so much, and it’s only very rarely that I’m reminded that you’re just as evil as he is.”

“I’m kidding,” you complain, waving him off. Although, now that the thought is in your head, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing. “I think.”

The elevator doors slide back open and Chuuya holds his arm out for you again. You take it, lifting your hand to wave at Hinata, an older man who's been working with the Port Mafia since longer than you’ve been alive. He ran with Hirotsu in the Black Lizards before he was hurt on a mission and put on desk duty—you stole him from Mori when you came back from Kyoto. On paper, he’s just your doorman, but he’s helped you a lot with mission planning the past year and a half; you honestly contribute half of your success to his experience.

“Good luck tonight, hime, Nakahara-san,” Hinata says as the two of you make your way out of the building.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and toss your head to the side to look back at him with a smile. “Hinata-san, you should come and be my date instead of this bum.”

“Why am I always catching strays from you?” Chuuya scowls, but you ignore him as you flutter your eyelashes at Hinata, who only laughs at you.

“I’m far too old for that to work on me, hime,” Hinata replies. “I’ll have the scout reports from Sapporo ready by the time you get back tonight.”

“My hero,” you sing. “Thank you.”

You wave at him one last time before leaving the building with Chuuya. As soon as you’re out of sight, your smile drops and Chuuya gives you a concerned look, stopping before the two of you can get in the car so he can turn to look at you head on.

“Do you think he’ll show up with someone to spite me?” you ask quietly.

You know Dazai—he doesn’t like feeling wounded, so when he does, he lashes out tenfold. He gets cruel and vicious, and because he’s Dazai, he knows exactly what to do to make people hurt more than he does. You don’t know what you did to upset him, but it has you on edge now because it will hurt if he shows up with someone else, knowing that you were waiting for him back at your apartment.

Chuuya says your name quietly, and because it’s not an immediate ‘no’, you know that he knows that Dazai might very well stoop that low to hurt you. You swallow thickly and look away—it’s fine. You’ll act unbothered, you have an appearance to keep up and that’s more important than anything. And anyway, it’ll hurt him even more when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants from you.

“Hey, look,” Chuuya says, forcing your attention back on him. “Dazai’s being a fucking dick, alright? But what else is new? You look beautiful—make him regret that you’re not coming in on his arm, yeah?”

You smile softly and look away before saying, “It’s unnerving when you’re sweet.”

You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. You hear him open the car door for you and sigh as you look back over to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

———

As always, your entrance is something to marvel over. It never fails to be the highlight of the night, and it’s only more of a spectacle when you enter on the arm of Nakahara Chuuya.

Lingering looks in your direction, wary stares in his—you’re grateful that he came to escort you, because if you’d come alone, you would’ve swarmed with suitors as soon as you got down the steps. Chuuya is not quite as much of a deterrent as Dazai would’ve been, if only because Chuuya won’t actually kill someone in the middle of Mishima’s ball and nobody can ever be sure of what Dazai is capable of, but his presence and reputation will keep unwanted annoyances away for most of the night at least.

By the end of the night, they’ll get more desperate for a conversation, and only Dazai and Mori himself are capable of keeping them away from you at that point, unless Chuuya steps up his game, of course, but he has as much of an appearance to keep up as you do. You’re not looking forward to it—your eyes keep darting up to the ticking clock, knowing each passing second draws closer to suffering.

You didn’t even want to come tonight. You weren’t going to come, you’d gone to quite the lengths trying to fake being sick, and you thought you succeeded until Mori messaged you this morning telling you that you could either come to the event or go deal with Shikibu Murasaki’s little stunt in Sapporo that has your biggest weapon supplier backing out on your next shipment. Since he knew very well you didn’t want to deal with that, the only option was to come to the ball—someone must’ve ratted you out to him, but you don’t know who. You almost think it must’ve been Chuuya, because Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in over a week.

You still haven’t seen him, which you suppose is a good thing because if he was going to shove in your face that he came here with someone else, then he would’ve done it by now. You aren’t even sure if he’s here; you’ve tried to keep an eye out for him, positioning yourself in a way that your gaze can always stray to the edges of the room in hopes of catching sight of him, but you haven’t seen him at all in the three hours that you’ve been here.

You’re standing with Chuuya and two of Mishima’s daughters now. Noriko keeps trying to shift closer to you, lashes fluttering and lips curled up into a soft smile. Usually, you would entertain the girl—she’s pretty, and at the very least, makes for entertaining conversation, which is more than you can say for the rest of the Sun and Steel upper echelon, but you’re so occupied with Dazai that she can hardly hold your attention for more than a few seconds.

“I haven’t seen him at all tonight,” you say quietly when Mishima himself comes over to your small group, a stern expression on his face as he beckons his daughters over before giving both you and Chuuya an apologetic look. “Have you?”

“No,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his champagne as he leans against the wall. “I know he said he was coming though.”

Your expression twists in annoyance as you take in a deep breath. Your glass is empty, and usually, there are people circling to keep them full—your old mentor always used to warn you not to fall for the trap. The hosts of events always like to liquor up the attendees; drunker you are, the looser your lips, and you’re usually quite careful to keep it to one drink and never finish your second.

Tonight, you are on your fifth. Dangerous work, because you’re still going to have to entertain people when they inevitably start coming up to you—which is any minute now, you can feel the lingering stares and you can see how people are creeping closer. But you’re just so bothered by everything with Dazai that every time you finish a glass, you’re seeking out the next to try to numb your nerves.

“You know something,” you accuse quietly, giving Chuuya a cold side-eye. He stiffens, but neither confirms nor denies, which is a confirmation in itself. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t,” Chuuya says tightly, and you raise your eyebrows because you expected him to say ‘it’s not for me to say’ like he usually does when he feels like you should hear something from someone else. He can’t, does that mean… “I just…”

“You can’t because you’ve been ordered not to,” you realize, face shifting in confusion. “Mori ordered you not to. What happened during the incident last week, Chuuya?”

The expression that crosses Chuuya’s face is haunted, and it makes your mouth dry, because what the hell happened and why is no one telling you the truth? You don’t even get the chance to badger him about it, because Noriko and Michiko are coming back over, both of them looking incredibly displeased by whatever their father said.

“He’s so annoying,” Noriko complains, immediately clinging to your arm and resting her head against your bicep dramatically. “You two are so lucky that you don’t have parents to helicopter you like he does.”

You and Chuuya immediately exchange a look at her words, and even Michiko cringes a little, but you otherwise don’t react beyond just trying to not roll your eyes. These girls are so out of touch with reality that it’s almost concerning, but they, more than anyone else at this event, have loose lips that you like to take advantage of.

“No,” you sigh lightly, “I only have Mori. Somehow, I feel that’s worse.”

Noriko giggles like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world, and you miss Dazai desperately. At least him being here would have Mishima’s daughters acting a little more subdued, would maybe even chase them off. You don’t like how they act around him because you know it used to bother him, but you’re not gonna complain when you could be benefiting from it if he wasn’t being an ass.

She starts to say something else, but before she can, Chuuya’s eyes shoot open as he looks at something behind you. You instantly straighten, turning your head to follow his gaze and your breath catches when it lands on just who you thought would draw that reaction from Chuuya.

Dazai.

He’s finally made his appearance, and you can’t draw your eyes away from him. He never gets dressed up for these events like you and Chuuya do, so he’s still wearing that same black three-piece suit he wears every day, just without the dark trench coat he usually wears over it. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and a cold expression on his face as he stares in your direction. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he does stare at where Noriko is clinging to your arm, lip twitching in irritation; Noriko seems to notice too from the way she lets go of your arm and tries to casually shift away from you, an annoyed look on her face as she does.

You hear her let out a noise of disgust, side-eyeing in Dazai’s direction, and you raise your eyebrows at her pointedly. You know that it was directed toward Dazai’s sudden appearance, but you’re not about to sit here and let that slide, so you turn a cool look onto her in response. Noriko instantly looks down to the ground, an ashamed look crossing her face—not for the disparaging attitude toward Dazai, but for being obvious enough for you to notice it.

You feel a bit more tense now as you force your attention off of Dazai back to Chuuya, who exchanges a short look with you before pointedly glancing over to where one of Mishima’s newer executives, Ibuse Masuji is whispering with one of his colleagues, looking in your direction a bit too frequently for comfort. He’s going to come over and ask you for a dance soon, probably around the same time Michiko starts tugging Chuuya in the direction of the hardwood floor at the center of the room—Noriko won’t ask you now that Dazai is here.

Wonderful, you think to yourself bitterly. You don’t really want to deal with Ibuse tonight, but you suppose you’ll probably get better information from him than Noriko. Noriko likes to ramble about more general gossip—who’s sleeping with who, who’s mad at who, and all of that is useful to an extent when you need to figure out what’s going on with Sun and Steel internal politics, but Ibuse has loose lips about more meaningful matters, and you’ve heard some nerve-wracking rumors about the Red Chamber recently.

The things you do for the Port Mafia.

You straighten your necklace, gaze lifting to Chuuya again as you withhold a sigh. You can see Ibuse starting to make his way across the event hall in your direction, and Chuuya gives you a pitying smile that instantly freezes as his eyes pin to something behind you again. You also freeze, because you know it could only mean one thing.

Dazai is coming over.

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly, wanting to know whether or not Dazai’s approach is a good or bad one—if he’s coming over to finally address you, or if he’s coming over so he can more blatantly ignore you. Each one is equally possible, and the way Chuuya grimaces and shrugs only makes your anxiety spike more.

But you get your answer as soon as he arrives.

You inhale sharply when you feel Dazai’s fingers brush over your hip as he comes to stand directly behind you. You can feel his chest brushing your back, his presence warm and looming directly behind you. With his sudden arrival, the conversation happening between Noriko and Michiko comes to an abrupt halt, and you can see Ibuse freeze mid-step from where he was drawing closer to you. The two girls avert their gaze to the ground, not acknowledging Dazai, and it irritates you, they’ve never hidden how unnerved Dazai makes them, and though you don’t think it bothers him anymore, you know very well it used to.

Your throat spasms when Dazai’s hand settles more firmly on your hip, and you turn your head slightly to the side to look up at him, breath catching when you find that his gaze is already lidded and focused on you, visible eye far too dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Dance with me,” Dazai murmurs, only for you to hear.

“You want to dance?” you ask, a bit incredulously, trying not to be hyper-focused on how he’s touching you. You don’t know what has gotten into him, but it has your heart racing. “Dazai, what-”

“Dance with me.”

It’s not a request, you realize, taking in a sharp breath as his gaze becomes more intense. You can feel curious eyes on you from around the room; it’s to be expected, it’s you and Dazai. Of everyone here, the two of you always have the most eyes on you at all times, but it’s different now.

Dazai usually keeps to himself during events, he wanders up and down the length of the room, keeping to the edges to observe what’s happening unless he’s looking for information from someone. He really stays true to his moniker, a black wraith haunting the shadows and keeping everyone on edge. You can’t remember the last time he willingly stepped out of them to interact with people, much less engage in things like dancing.

“Okay,” you agree quietly, not even bothering to look back at your previous companions as Dazai’s hand slides from your hip to your lower back, guiding you to the hardwood floor where several other couples are already swaying along to the music being played by the quintet in the corner of the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dazai doesn’t answer your question, looking down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking back ahead. He doesn’t have to search for a spot on the dance floor—as soon as people realize that’s where he’s headed, they’re quick to leave a wide berth for the two of you, no one wanting to get too close to the most infamous Port Mafia executive.

Your heart races as he leads you to the center of the hardwood floor. Though you can feel dozens of eyes pinned on the two of you, all you can focus on is him. You can hardly breathe when he turns to face you, one hand resting on your hip while he holds the other out for you to take. You swallow thickly as you place your hand into his. He entwines your fingers with his instead of the traditional palm-to-palm, and he pulls you toward him so that your chests are brushing. You’re so close to him that you catch the faint and familiar scent of smoke and iron and it makes you dizzy.

Distantly, you know that this probably isn’t smart. If people think that you and Dazai are together, it will only be harder for you to get information from them. They’ll be wary around you in fear of him, and you’re not even sure if your ability will be enough to counteract the anxiety he triggers in people. You shouldn’t be risking that just for a dance, but…

But you can never think straight when he’s around, even less when his skin is warm against yours, and the way he’s looking at you… His dark eye is heavy with so many emotions, too many for you to even place a single one—you’ve always been good at reading people, but never him, and now, more than ever, you wish you could. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to know what he’s feeling. You want to know him, because as much as you claim you do, you know that he masks himself from you. You want to ask him again—what’s gotten into you? Why have you been avoiding me? But you think it’ll scare him off, so instead, you ask:

“When did you learn to dance? Today?”

He’s better than you thought he would be. He effortlessly spins you across the dancefloor. Each step is quick and precise—you’ve had training in this type of dancing, but you still struggle a little to keep up with him. Though, you think it’s less because of your own skill, and more because of who exactly your partner is.

“What makes you think I haven’t known how?” Dazai drawls, voice low and languid, dark eye glittering with amusement. His grip on your hand tightens just a little as he pulls you into a half-spin. He presses when you don’t immediately respond, “Hm?”

“Because you’re you,” you finally answer with a fleeting smile. “So? When did you learn?”

“Tonight,” he tells you. “I’ve been watching them.”

“Hah,” you say—of course he’s this good just through observation. Ever the mirror. “You better not embarrass me.”

“Like this?” he asks with a smile that puts you on edge, and you give him a dirty look when he purposely takes a wrong step, forcing you to overstep in order to not land on his foot. You’re careful to make it look casual—a wider turn rather than a misstep—but with the number of eyes currently on the two of you, you know very well that people probably caught it. His apology comes in the form of an airy, “Whoops,” that you know he doesn’t mean.

His lips curl up into a smug smile, and your breath catches when you feel his hand slide from your hip to your low back so he can pull your body flush to his for the next turn. Your throat spasms as you tilt your head back to look up at him, and again, there’s that unreadable look in his eye as his eyes rove over your face.

“Why?” you finally brave yourself to ask, voice quiet and too breathy for your liking. You don’t specify what the why is, and that’s intentional, this way he can pick what he wants to answer and won’t feel as cornered by the question.

His visible eye narrows for a moment, and then something akin to reluctance spreads across his face, and then resignation. You wonder if he’ll answer, hardly even able to breathe as you wait for him to speak. But after a few tense moments, disappointment hits you hard, because a teasing smile spreads across his lips and you know he’s going to evade the question.

Still, your heart races when Dazai dips you down, lowering his face so that his lips brush your ear as he says, “You looked like you were bracing yourself for a bullet with Ibuse getting ready to come over. Figured I’d rescue you.”

Though the music continues, Dazai doesn’t lift you from the dip. He does pull his face back so that he can look you in the eye. He’s so close to you that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips and it leaves you dizzy. The look in his eye now—you almost want to dare to believe you know what it is—it’s too close to the same emotion you feel whenever the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie. It’s too similar to longing, yearning, the desperate need for more, the desire to be yours just as badly as you want to be his, but you don’t want to get your hopes up when you know he can crush them in an instant.

His gaze drops down to your lips and then drags back up to your face, and you know he won’t kiss you, not in front of all of the eyes currently pinned on the two of you. Not in front of Mori. It’s nice to imagine though.

“Is that really why?” you breathe out, eyes searching his for an answer.

Something new crosses his face—it’s sharp and it’s angry, something that promises violence, not toward you, but toward the one who provoked it. His gaze cuts to the side briefly in the direction of where Ibuse Masuji is still standing frozen in the middle of the event hall, staring at the two of you, and then he looks back down at you, lips tilted up into a wry smile.

“Partially,” he says, but doesn’t give you the chance to question any further, finally pulling you up from the dip to fall in line with the last steps of the dance.

He turns you so that your back is pressed to his chest, palm cupping the back of your hand, fingers interlaced. His free hand slides around to your abdomen, holding your body flush to his. The music slows as the song comes to an end, but Dazai doesn’t release you. You turn your head to the side and tilt your head back to look up at him, inhaling when you find that he’s already looking at you, dark hair hanging in his lidded eye as he watches you.

“Are you… coming home tonight?” you finally ask, voice soft and hesitant.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his eye is glittering playfully, so you know that he’ll be home waiting for you by the time you get done at the event. He always manages to leave early—no one has the nerve to try to stop him. He dips his head a bit lower, lips ghosting your ear as he says, “You should thank me, you won’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you tonight.”

He finally lets go of you, your arms fall limp to your side and your breath is a bit too shaky for comfort. He tosses a wink in your direction before shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way back toward the outskirts of the room.

And he’s right—for the rest of the night, not a single person dared to approach you.

———

Even though you’re fairly certain Dazai will be there waiting for you, you still hold your breath as the elevator doors slide open to your apartment. Your feet are aching, you hardly got a chance to sit once during the night and you’re ready to curl up on the couch and watch a movie.

As you step into your apartment, you can’t help the way your heart drops when you don’t immediately see him, and you especially can’t help the relief that spreads through you when you realize he’s lounging on the couch, out of sight from the angle you entered at. At once, you can breathe again—you’ve missed him the past week, more than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Hi,” you say quietly, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

Dazai shed his black waistcoat, his shirt is untucked and his tie is loose around his neck, head resting on the far armrest as he looks up at you with a lazy grin that lights your nerves on fire.

“Hi,” he echoes. “I picked a movie.”

“A good one I hope,” you tell him with a small smile. “Let me go get changed.”

You turn on your heel to make your way up the steps to your bedroom, but before you can get to the staircase, Dazai speaks up again, “Can you even reach the clip?”

You hesitate as you glance at him over your shoulder. You technically can, but… “No,” you reply, and then lie, “Chuuya helped me get it on.”

Dazai’s lips flatten, but he does push himself to his feet to follow you up the stairs. You spare a glance behind you, catching the hard expression on his face as he stares at your back. You raise your eyebrows at him and it instantly washes away, replaced with a teasing smile as he raises his right back at you. You squint at him, but shake your head as you reach the top of the stairs, stepping into your room.

When Dazai steps in after you, you swear the temperature in the room rises.

You turn to look at him, and he tilts his head to the side idly, dark eye dancing with amusement as he slowly approaches you. He looks a mess with how his shirt is untucked and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, hair tousled from laying back on the couch—he looks a mess, and you’ve never wanted him more.

You’re sick of the back and forth with him—it’s been a year and a half of it and you’re tired—you want to be his, you want him to be yours. Every time you think Dazai might finally make the first move, he ends up taking fifty steps backward for whatever reason. You don’t want to push it because you have a feeling it will only make him even more standoffish. Tonight has been more progress than you’ve made in a while—if you and him are going to happen, it’ll be now or it’ll never happen. Your pride won’t allow you to chase and pine for any longer.

He comes to stand directly in front of you and you think he wants you to turn around, but just when you’re about to, he gives you a sharp smile that instantly has you on edge, and then he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Your lips part in shock, heart beat stuttering in your chest.

“We should get these off first, right?” he hums, reaching down for the clasp of your heel, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on you from the smug expression on his face. Although you can’t help but notice that his eye is darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he undos the clasp and slides your heel off.

“Right,” you agree breathily, lashes fluttering when you feel the pads of his fingers press against your ankle as he places your foot back down on the ground before shifting to do the same for the other one.

This time, his throat bobs nervously and his fingers fumble over the clasp. When he finally gets the clasp off, he looks up at you through his lashes as he slides your heel off, but he doesn’t rise to his feet right away once he sets your foot down. Your fingers twitch at your side to reach out and brush them against his face, but you refrain, if only barely.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally rises to his feet, and he’s standing all too close to you. You can feel the heat of his body, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and when you do, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“Turn,” he murmurs.

You swallow thickly as you do as he asks, and your breath audibly catches when you feel his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair out of the way. You expect him to tease you, but you realize his breathing is almost as unsteady as yours is, you can feel each puff against the back of your neck and it has your hair on end. Your lashes flutter as Dazai slowly unzips your dress, the cool air of your room stark in contrast to the line of fire left behind with each brush of his fingers against your spine.

When he gets the zipper all the way down, he doesn’t move away, hands settling on your hips as he hovers behind you. You think your heart might race right out of your chest, head foggy and unsteady on your feet.

For a few long moments, neither of you speak.

And then, you make a terrible mistake.

“Why have you been avoiding me the past week?” you ask quietly, desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened between the two of you that made him go cold on you like this. His grip on your hips tightens, and you instantly want to eat your words. “Dazai?”

He doesn’t even deign you with a response.

Your heart is lodged in your throat when you feel his hands drop from your hips and his presence leaving from behind you. You’re cold, your body is, your heart is, and now you really are unsteady without his hands to ground you. You whip around to face him, knees wobbly as you call after him again, but you don’t chase after him—not this time. Bitterly, you think you’ve spent the last year and a half chasing after him and all you ever get in return is him running away.

You watch him disappear down the steps, frozen in place because how did one question ruin everything. For the first time in weeks, you thought you were actually making progress with him and just like that, it’s back to square one. You feel like you don’t breathe until you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, signalling that he’s left.

“Shit,” you breathe out shakily, sitting back on your bed and burying your face in your hands. You can feel all of the champagne you drank earlier in the night threatening to come up and your head feels light. You fumble for your phone, clicking on a familiar contact and gasping his name as soon as he answers the call, “Chuuya?”

“Yo,” you hear him ask, concerned. “You good? Aren’t you with-”

“Can you come over?” you push out before he has the chance to say his name. “I just-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting. I can’t-”

“I’m coming,” Chuuya tells you when your words cut out into a sob. God, you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. Your whole body aches as you pull your knees to your chest and rock yourself back and forth trying to calm yourself down. “I’ll be there in five. I’m coming.”

You told yourself before that it was tonight or never, and you’re done waiting for him. No matter how badly it hurts to force yourself to move on—you’re done.

You have to be, for your own sake.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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hhughes · 21 hours ago

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𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𓂃۶ৎ

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , after some comments were made by quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and he has to reassure you

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. luke!bsf x quinn hughes. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. teasing. flirting. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. I love writing quinn so much😭 this is a repost that’s slightly edited if it looks a little familiar to you. one of my favs things ive ever written to this day so thanks again to the anon who requested it! <333

you and quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including luke. your best friend and quinn's youngest brother.

the four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. jack and luke were chirping quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

you laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old. your smile quickly faded when jack started making comments about how all quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

you know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. it wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with quinn. being four years younger than him. not being enough to keep him interested. these comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

a few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and quinn enters, when you answer, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly, brushing the hair out of your face as he holds you tight. the time he’s had to spent close to you but not allowed to touch you, having taken its toll on him.

"nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"do you think I'm too young for you?" the words fly out before you can stop them and quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"age is just a number baby," quinn says teasingly, kissing your lips softly and you sigh.

"quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"so am I. I don't care if you're four years younger or four years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. you know how jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. if there's an opportunity to chirp me about something, he’s gonna take it. if they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that. you know both of them adore you and would never say anything to hurt you on purpose" quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

“and besides, those relationships didn’t work out because they just weren’t the right girl for me baby. not because they were younger. they just weren’t you” he says softly, pressing yet another kiss to your collarbone.

"i’m not ready to tell luke yet." you say and quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"god it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. you smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. if you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

#꒰ 🗄️ ꒱ — 𝓗hughes #꒰ 📂 ꒱ — 𝓗hughes > fics #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic

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multific · 3 days ago

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More Than a Gamble

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: You and Mattheo have been secretly dating, and though you love him, you hate hiding.

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the glow of emerald flames flickering against the stone walls.

You moved quietly through the space, your heart fluttering with excitement.

It had been weeks since you and Mattheo started sneaking around together, stealing kisses in empty corridors, meeting in secret corners of the castle. Every touch, every whispered word had convinced you that what you had was real.

You loved him.

And even though you hated keeping your relationship a secret, you held onto the hope that soon, things would change. That one day, he would hold your hand in front of everyone.

But as you neared the hallway leading to the boys’ dormitories, voices carried through the air.

You froze.

“Alright, mate, just admit it,” Theodore’s voice was laced with amusement. “We all knew about the bet. We knew you were dating her.”

Your stomach twisted.

“What’s your point, Nott?” Mattheo’s voice came next, steady, unreadable.

“The point is,” Theo continued, “you lost.” He chuckled. “You were supposed to take her out once. One date. But what’s it been now? Over a month? Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings.”

A cold weight settled in your chest.

Mattheo had to ask you out on a date… as a bet?

Your world blurred as silence stretched between them, each second suffocating you.

Then, finally, Mattheo spoke.

His voice was quiet, but the words were clear.

“I don’t regret it.”

The weight in your chest cracked open into something sharp.

You turned and ran.

You barely registered the sound of your own sobs as you ran through the corridors. You didn’t care if anyone saw you. Didn’t care if they heard. You just needed to be alone.

You threw yourself onto your bed, curling in on yourself as the tears kept coming.

It had been a lie. All of it.

The touches, the kisses, the promises and the late-night whispers.

Had he ever truly wanted you? Or were you just a game to him?

The door to your dorm burst open.

“Y/N.”

You shivered at the sound of his voice.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling as he had run straight from the common room. His dark curls were a mess, his lips parted, his eyes filled with something close to desperation.

“Please,” he breathed, stepping inside. “Just-just listen.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to sit up. Your voice trembled. “So it’s true?”

Mattheo flinched. “No.” Then he exhaled sharply. “I mean-yes, but not the way you think.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Not the way I think? You made a bet, Mattheo. A bet to take me on a date. Was anything real?”

He took a step closer, his hands clenched at his sides. “You. You were real.”

Tears stung your eyes again. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I was a coward.” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I never thought I’d fall for you. I asked you out for a stupid, stupid reason. But that first night, when you laughed at something I said when you looked at me like I wasn’t just some reckless bastard, that made it real. And every moment after that was never a joke to me. I never told you because I was afraid you’d walk away.” He let out a shaky breath. “And I couldn’t lose you.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

Mattheo Riddle, proud and untouchable, stood before you completely unravelled.

And despite everything, despite the pain, you still loved him.

“I hate what you did to me,” you whispered.

“I hate myself for it,” he admitted. “But I swear to you, I would never hurt you like that again.” He stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly. “I love you, Y/N. And if you tell me it’s over, I’ll walk away. But if there’s any part of you that still believes in us-” He swallowed hard. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I never needed a bet to want you.”

You closed your eyes, your heart waging war against your mind.

But when his fingers brushed yours you realized the truth.

You still wanted him.

But you were no fool.

"I want to believe, I really do. But... I was hiding my love for you, and you played me. I cannot look past that. You lied to me."

"Y/N, please I really meant what I said, I want you. I don't want to hide anymore."

"Would you have said the same if I didn't overhear you? Would you have said that you love me?"

"I don't want to lose you."

"You lost me the moment you played me. Please, leave. I need to be alone." you turned away from him, you only heard as he closed the door behind himself.

You wanted to believe him. But this truly hurt. Knowing he only started dating you because of a bet. Now, all of his words seemed like a lie.

---

Days passed and although Mattheo followed you almost like a lost puppy, you tried your best to ignore him.

He tried to find opportunities to speak to you, but you didn't allow it. You ran away. You figured he would give up.

He will move on.

He will find a new girl to play with.

You just had to hold out until then.

But then days turned into a week, a week turned into a month.

Now the entire school was whispering about you and Mattheo.

He didn't give up.

It got to a point where you had to hide from him, hiding in the school grounds. You finally managed to find a tree that hid you from the others.

But of course, Mattheo found you.

"Can I sit?" he asked but you didn't look up from your book. He sat down next to you on the ground, he kept his distance.

Everything in you told you to leave, except for your heart.

Your heart, as if it had its own way of life, begged for you to go to him so he could hold you as if your heart was missing its other half.

And what your heart desired, made your mind daydream. You were reminded of the way everything used to be.

How you two were hiding behind trees and bushes, how he looked at you. How he still looks at you.

You looked up from your book just as he got ready to light his cigarette.

You groaned and reached out, snatching it from his lips, you broke the thing in half.

"I told you to quit," you said before moving back to your place and trying your best to read your book.

But you were only pretending. You could see him watching you from the corner of your eye.

"I want you back. I need you. I don't think you truly understand just how much." you looked up at him from your book, his eyes were intense, and they held meaning and purpose.

You closed your eyes for a moment, you needed to think. Your next move will decide everything, the weight of that almost crushed you.

So you opened your eyes and whispered, “Then prove it.”

And he did, he moved so fast, your mind didn't even register it.

You only realised that he was right in front of you when his lips met yours, it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a promise.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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flowerandblood · 1 day ago

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The Song of Promises [1/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity (both characters), sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, angst, abduction, description of eye loss, mourning, child abuse, Aemond being a self-absorbed, vain guy ]

[ description: Aemond's childhood is filled with loneliness and regret until Daemon arrives in the Red Keep with his first-born child, daughter of Rhea Royce. The fact that neither of them has a dragon of their own binds them together with a thread of understanding, and their slowly developing relationship gives birth in the young prince's mind to a plan of which she is a part. Slow burn, childhood companions to lovers, first intimacy, rude, insolent, arrogant Aemond with big ego. ]

This is story that describes the events of what would have happened if Aemond had met Daemon's daughter earlier (i.e. as a child). The characters are exactly the same as in the original The Price of Pride, but still, this is a standalone story that can be read separately: you don't need to know that story to read this one.

I have tried to show how the need for closeness matures in adolescents as they get older until they fully understand what they want and how to achieve it. Decide for yourself what happened between them when and at what age so that you feel comfortable with it (let's agree that the ages from the books and the series do not apply here, because at the end of the chapter we are still before Helaena and Aegon's wedding: everyone is simply older than in the source material, decide for yourself by how many years).

A big inspiration for me to wrtie this story was my relationship with my husband (everything was going very slowly for us and each new base was an achievement and a great event). That said, this story you will read alternately from two perspectives (not the same events tho).

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond

That night he slept exceptionally badly: he wriggled in his bed for a long time, struggling to hold back tears of anger, thinking of what Aegon and his nephews had done to him. His older brother was spiteful by nature, but until now he had believed that they would support each another in the presence of the Strongs.

He was mistaken.

The pig with wings he had been given by them – according to Aegon's assurances, as a consolation prize – was eye-watering proof of the humiliation he had suffered at his hands for years. The way they all laughed out loud while he stood completely petrified with shame and the fact that they considered it amusing made his whole body begin to shake.

He wished the sun would never rise again.

When he woke up the next day, his meal was served as usual: to his delight, his mother, although she did not usually allow it, ordered his favourite sweet cinnamon rolls to be brought to him. While he still felt miserable, eating them made his spirits lighter, as the pleasant thought went through his head that his mother loved him.

During the sparring, Aegon acted as if he had forgotten what he had done to him the day before: he said something to him and laughed, as if he expected him to feel like replying to him after the humiliation he had suffered at his hands.

His silence, unfortunately, was not met with understanding from his brother either.

“Must you always be such a twat?” Aegon asked.

Again he did not answer, pressing his lips into a thin line with rage, and hit one of the targets with all his strength with a wooden sword.

He did not utter words that Aegon or his nephews could use against him.

He thought he would never give them a reason to mock him again.

Silence was safe.

However, he was snapped out of his reverie by the voice of Jace, who had been speaking to Luke during one of their short breaks.

“Mother said they would be arriving today. Daemon and his firstborn daughter. He killed her mother.” His nephew spoke in a whisper, clearly excited, but he stood close enough to understand what he said.

Daemon's firstborn daughter.

It was true that he had heard of her and knew that she existed, however, her person did not particularly concern him: she had no dragon and she was a girl, so she did not threaten him in any way, yet she also had nothing that would make him find the subject of her arrival interesting.

Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself, as he involuntarily strained his hearing, standing with his back to them, pretending to stretch before his next routine, paying no attention to the fact that Criston Cole was shouting something to him and Aegon.

“He killed her mother?” Squealed Luke, and Jace shushed him and tapped him on the head, clearly wanting his little brother to be quiet.

“It's gossip. Mother says we have to be kind to her. She won't have here anyone but us.” Jace explained to him.

Although he kept telling himself that he didn't care about some pathetic little girl without a dragon, the next morning he sat with his face pressed against the window, waiting for them to arrive.

He didn't know what he was actually waiting for: Daemon had always seemed intriguing to him. His uncle was confident and ironic, on top of which there was no one, except perhaps Ser Criston, who could match him in wielding a sword.

Deep down he admired him and the possibility of seeing him again thrilled him.

He twisted in his seat, rising higher on his arms as the gates to the courtyard opened and indeed, he saw his uncle on a white horse and a little girl with long, dark hair sitting before him in the saddle.

He snorted at the thought that, like his nephews, the gods had not bestowed upon her the Targaryen colour that he wore proudly on his head.

However, she was a legitimate child and had certainly inherited the colour of her hair from her mother, so he felt that this was not reason to mock her.

After all, his mother also had dark hair, and he held her in high regard and respect.

Daemon jumped off his mount lightly, then grabbed his daughter under the arms and helped her down, without waiting for the servant to run up to them.

He saw that she had started to look around – he thought that she was certainly enthralled and overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the Red Keep, but when she turned her face towards him he recognised that her facial expression was more one of uncertainty and fear.

She will have no one here but us.

He killed her mother.

For some reason, for a moment, but only a moment, he felt pity for her.

Although she was not a princess or anyone special, news of her arrival and the reason for it had spread through the fortress very quickly; he usually preferred to stay in his chamber or in the library, but on this day he had left his safe places to stroll the corridors and the castle, hoping to see her.

He wanted to judge her carefully in his mind: he had formed an opinion about everyone, and she could not remain an exception.

A sting of disappointment spread across his chest when, to his displeasure, he did not see her until the next day during sparring, in the company of Jace and Luke. They spoke to her, gesturing vividly, apparently showing her everything they could, she, however, simply looked at them with big eyes, terrified, and said nothing, looking where they told her to.

“My Princes. Come over here. Let's begin.” Criston Cole called out towards them, clearly impatient.

He grinned under his breath with satisfaction, feeling a pleasant pride at the thought that Ser Criston preferred them to the Strongs and was clearly showing it.

Jace and Luke stepped closer, and Daemon's daughter approached with them, her eyes wide, her small hands clenched into fists from anxiety.

Looking at her closely, he decided she was not ugly: her face seemed pleasant to him, her eyelashes and eyebrows long and dark, accentuating her skin tone in some interesing way. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, as were her lips: she was a little shorter than Jace, but like them, she was dressed in a training garment.

“Our cousin used to practise archery in Runestone. We thought she could do it here too.” Luke said.

Cole straightened up and sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Consent would have to be given by Prince Daemon himself. I cannot make that decision alone.” He replied matter-of-factly, causing the girl to lower her head, disappointed.

Jace, however, was not giving up.

“Then we'll ask him.” He said with vigour, glancing at his cousin, who shook her head.

“I don't know where he is. I can't find him anywhere.” She muttered.

“Prince Daemon, from the information I have, set off to Essos before dawn. Without his permission, I cannot take responsibility for your safety, my Lady.” Ser Criston explained, already a little softer.

An uncomfortable silence fell around them, one he'd experienced for the first time in his life: it wasn't filled with irritation or rage, but with the fact that it seemed to him that neither of them knew how to act in such a situation.

Usually when Jace or Luke didn't know or couldn't do something, it was a source of pride and mockery for him and Aegon: their nephews reacted similarly to failures on their side.

However, he didn't know what he should feel or think upon hearing that a little girl didn't know that her father was now with his second family.

He looked at her to witness her reaction and felt a strange squeeze in his throat seeing that she obviously did not know about it – her lips were slightly parted in disbelief, her gaze wandering from one person to the next, as if she felt humiliated and abandoned, left alone in a place foreign and frightening to her.

“With your permission, I will return to my chamber.” She mumbled and bowed, only to turn and move towards the cloisters, disappearing into one of the corridors.

“Did you see that? She is crying like a little baby. Would you like to join her, brother? You two fit together.” Said Aegon and patted him on the shoulder, making his cheeks flush scarlet with shame.

“That's enough.” Cole said. “Get back to practising.”

Although he occupied his head with various activities for the rest of the day – mostly reading books on Westeros history – his thoughts kept returning to her face then, when she found out her father was gone.

She wasn't as annoying and provocative as Jace and Luke, of that he was sure – nor had she inherited Daemon's aggressive manner, at least not in the way he'd expected. As much as he wanted to assign her to the Black party, as Daemon had always supported Rhaenyra, he wasn't sure she was even aware of the division between them and that she had to choose.

She was thrown between strange walls and strange people, left alone.

Even for him, it was quite cruel.

But it was not his concern, he consoled himself in spirit, trying to start a chapter concerning Winterfell.

For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to the supper with excitement: he knew that his father-king would surely invite his niece to it and say a few warm words to make her feel at home.

He hoped she would be seated close to them and not next to the Strongs.

She shouldn't spend time with the bastards, but he didn't blame her for doing so – he guessed that she simply didn't know who they really were.

Perhaps I should tell her about it, he told himself in spirit sitting down at the table in his seat, recognising that, in fact, he would be doing her a favour by doing so.

Indeed, there was one more chair placed at the table than usual. His cousin walked into the chamber, accompanied by his mother and sister. Helaena was saying something to her, and Daemon's daughter was smiling, looking down at her feet, apparently trying not to fall over in her long, brown gown.

Once again he felt a sense of pride, for it was his sister and not his nephews who had made their guest feel better.

To his satisfaction, which, however, he did not give expression to, trying to keep a stony face, his cousin took a seat next to his sister, that is, opposite him and Aegon. When she looked in his direction he did not leave her gaze for a moment – however, when she smiled, he turned his face away, feeling embarrassed.

He felt a sense of distinction because she had paid attention to him.

No one ever did that, because he was a second son without a dragon.

But she didn't have a dragon either, he consoled himself in his mind, and for some reason he felt relieved.

They were alike.

As he expected, his father greeted her in the presence of everyone, apparently wanting to give her courage.

“As I'm certain you all know by now, we have a guest. It is my brother's daughter, whom I welcome with great joy and love. From now on, the Red Keep will be her home and I ask you to treat her with kindness and understanding. A strange place, even more so for a little girl, can seem frightening. I trust each of you to care for her as best you can.” He said, then nodded and allowed everyone to begin their meal.

One more interaction occurred between them that evening: when he tried to reach for a pate that was too far away from him, she helped him by handing him a platter. She smiled at him again then, and he reciprocated the gesture awkwardly, feeling that for some reason his palms had started to sweat.

His king had said they should be kind to her, so he simply followed his order as any good son would do, he assured himself in his head.

Then Jace suddenly spoke up.

“My King. Our cousin is an excellent archer and we think she should be able to practice with us in the Red Keep as well. Ser Criston said that without her father's permission this is not possible. Wouldn't the King's order be more significant?” He asked, and all eyes fled towards his father.

“Little girls shouldn't be involved in such things.” Said Queen Alicent, taking a sip of wine, for some reason casting a long look at Rheanyra, sitting across the table.

“Why?” His half-sister asked. “Are all women in this world the same?”

His father decided to put an end to this brief argument by giving his own opinion on the matter.

Viserys decided that she could practise archery during their sparring, if it didn't interfere with their training.

She usually stood on the side and shot her bow at targets standing in a completely different part of the courtyard, so everyone quickly forgot about the dispute and stopped paying attention to her.

Or at least that's what he tried to convince himself.

He often looked at her, because when their gazes met, she usually smiled.

It was a warm smile, devoid of prejudice or malice: he did not usually reciprocate the gesture, fearing that Aegon would see it and find another reason to mock him.

She spoke to Jace and Luke, also occasionally smiling in their presence, but when she did so while looking at him, she looked different.

Perhaps it was just his childhood desire to be special to someone, to be noticed, that made him live in the belief that his cousin wanted to know him better.

He craved it too: confirmation of his suspicions, of the fact that, indeed, he had caught her attention. The reason, after all, could have been any feature of his personality that no one had noticed before: his intelligence, his knowledge, his rhetoric, his calmness and composure, how different he was from his brother and nephews.

His pride, however, prevented him from taking the first step: he knew that if anyone found out he was seeking her company, his brother would again call him a twat and say that he liked to play with girls because he was one himself.

That left him internally torn.

The opportunity fell upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky when one afternoon, as always eager to search the library for more reading for the dull, monotonous evenings, he saw Daemon and his daughter sitting at the table, bent over a thick, old volume that he knew intimately.

High Valyrian.

His cousin lifted her head upon hearing someone enter the room and bestowed upon him a broad, soft smile – Daemon's expression was not as friendly and expressed boredom.

To his relief, she spoke up first.

“My father is teaching me the language of our ancestors. Would you like to join us?” She asked, surprising both him and her father.

Daemon sighed, but did not protest, spreading out comfortably in his chair, giving him a look as if challenging him.

On the one hand, he was terrified and just wanted to run away, but on the other, this was his chance to get closer to both of them.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling his hands involuntarily clench into fists.

The fear of humiliation was greater than the excitement.

“Sit down.” Daemon commanded.

No one had ever spoken to him this way, not even his own father; for some reason, however, it did not frustrate him, but made him feel even more respect for his uncle.

I want to be like you, he thought in the back of his mind.

Confident and fearless.

So he sat down on the other side, in the empty chair next to Daemon, and moved closer to the table – he was ashamed that his legs still didn't reach the ground, but he hoped it wasn't apparent yet.

Just a few more years and he would become a man.

He felt much more confident when he saw that they had just reworked a chapter he had already read before.

“Perzys zaldrīzī ossēnagon daor.” Said Daemon, glancing at his daughter expectantly, apparently wanting her to translate the sentence.

“Fire cannot…” She started, but fell silent, clearly not knowing what one of the words meant.

“Fire cannot kill a dragon.” He spoke up, proud to show his uncle how broad his knowledge was.

“Good.” Daemon said.

He swallowed quietly, glancing at his cousin: her downward gaze and her hunched figure told him that she was sad that he hadn't even given her time to think.

He decided that perhaps he shouldn't come out in front all the time, lest he come across as vain.

“Zaldrīzo ānogar.” Said her father – he stirred in his chair, excited, knowing exactly what it means and that it is a fairly simple, even obvious phrase.

Daemon did it so she could respond too.

“The dragon…” She muttered, incorrectly constructing the sentence syntax.

When she looked at him, his lips uttered quickly the soundless ‘blood of the dragon’. She drew in a loud breath, an expression of relief flashed across her face.

“N-no. Blood. Blood of the dragon.” She quickly changed the order of the words, and Daemon nodded, moving on.

He didn't know why he had helped her then, but he liked the way she looked at him from then on.

With curiosity and gratitude.

In secret from his mother, grandfather and brother, he would sneak off to the library to learn with his uncle and his daughter about what he had been studying with the Maester earlier. He didn't admit that he had a kind of advantage over her, but he would sometimes pretend that he didn't know something in order to give her the opportunity to prove herself to her father.

Daemon seemed to him the embodiment of everything he himself wanted to be. Unlike his father, who did not find the strength or time to teach him about the history of their lineage, his uncle shared it extensively with him and his daughter, seeming indifferent and matter-of-fact at the same time.

Daemon was a demanding teacher, but this made him turn on his natural desire to compete: his cousin, however, did not have as much knowledge as he did because she could not have it, so he did not treat her in the same way as Jace and Luke.

They did not speak with each other outside the library; sometimes she smiled at him, but he only reciprocated this expression when the others could not see it – the corner of his mouth then lifted slightly upwards in an attempt to present some pathetic caricature of cordiality.

He wanted to be liked and admired, but didn't know how to achieve it.

One day, to his surprise, his cousin visited him in his chamber when the sun had long since set – he was already lying in his bed while reading a book.

He didn't like anyone invading his private space, but he couldn't say that the sight of her made him uncomfortable either.

He remained silent, deciding to listen to what she had come to him with.

“Tomorrow I am leaving to Essos. My father wants me to meet my sisters and stepmother.” She muttered, lowering her gaze as she spoke the last sentence.

She didn't want to see her replacement.

He grunted quietly, fiddling with the page of the book he held in his hands, feeling some kind of regret and disappointment.

“I see.” He replied, not knowing what more he could add.

She, however, was still standing in the same place, as if expecting to hear something more from him.

“I want to thank you for... for helping me then. Before lessons with my father, I repeat everything he taught me, but when I sit next to him, I suddenly forget the words. My head is empty.” She choked out finally, making him involuntarily look at her, surprised.

He felt a pleasant wave of pride and self-satisfaction ripple deep into his chest.

He lifted his chin higher, wanting to look more mature and dignified.

“You're welcome.” He hummed, hoping to hear even more praise from her lips.

“Sleep well, cousin.” She said and turned away, leaving him once again with a cold feeling of disappointment.

He realised that he hadn't asked her when they were coming back.

As she and his uncle disappeared, he felt with redoubled intensity how invisible he was to the inhabitants of the Red Keep: or at least that was how he perceived it. Even if he had wanted to, he no longer had anyone to show his intellect and knowledge to, no smile waiting for him when he sat down to supper in the company of his loud nephews and his half-sister, whom he deeply despised.

He was the embodiment of all his father's dreams, he was the reason he opened the womb of his first wife while she was still alive: he was the son he was always waiting for.

But his father could hardly eat on his own, let alone pay attention to him or the other children Queen Alicent had given him.

“Pass me the porridge platter, sweet Aemma.” He said to her once, pointing his blue finger at the dish he was thinking of, causing everyone around him to freeze.

He felt some kind of constriction in his throat when he saw his mother swallow this humiliation with difficulty, reaching for the platter and handing it to her lord-husband without a word.

He lowered his gaze to his plate, trying not to think about it, realising that he would like to see her comforting smile again.

He was beginning to grow impatient.

It had, after all, been several weeks.

As always when something was bothering him, he went to the only person he truly trusted.

“When will uncle Daemon return?” He asked, feigning indifference, fiddling with one of the flacons of expensive oils that had belonged to his mother.

Alicent looked at him, sighing quietly, clearly tired and embittered, probably by what his father had done.

He didn't know how he was supposed to help her, so he remained silent.

“The longer he's gone, the better.” She replied, surprising him.

“Why?” He asked, and she sighed again.

“He's a dangerous, unpredictable man. I pity his daughter. He drags her around all the continents like an object.” She said with a kind of impatience that made him unsure if she really meant what she said.

Adult people often spoke in riddles, which frustrated him constantly.

He preferred it when someone was direct.

The conversation with his mother brought him neither answers nor relief; the only person who showed interest in him was far away, and he was once again learning High Valyrian alone.

That night he prayed to the gods to help him tame a dragon and for his cousin to return quickly to King's Landing, so that she would continue to be kind to him.

The gods listened to his requests, or at least some part of them.

After a few days, Daemon, his daughter from his first marriage, Baela, Rhaena and his wife, lady Laena, reached the Red Keep.

He came to see them because he hoped to see her.

Indeed, when he stepped into the chamber, where his mother, Rhaenyra and Helaena were also present, he spotted her at once, standing behind her father's back. She was looking at Daemon, as if hoping that he would turn his attention to her, but he did not – his uncle was looking at his brother, who was holding Baela hand in his.

His only child who had a dragon.

Although no word was spoken, he understood what had happened.

She had only regained her father for a moment and lost him again.

A pleasant shiver ran through him as she looked around the room, but her gaze stopped on him when she noticed him: he offered her a sad smile of comfort, and she reciprocated the gesture.

Although everyone at supper that evening was loud and chatty, she sat quietly, staring at her plate, immersed in her thoughts. He could see that she had not eaten much; her lips were tightly clenched, her gaze fled again and again to the silhouette of her father, who was talking aloud about the magnificent mansion they lived in Essos and their desire to stay there.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the thought.

“Do you like insects?” He suddenly heard his sister's voice leaning over their cousin.

Her question seemed absurd and out of any context, but Daemon's daughter was clearly trying to focus and answer the question.

“I like butterflies. And bumblebees.” She said after some thought.

Helaena twisted in her seat, delighted, and invited her to come to her chamber later that evening so that she could see through her large collection of dried moths.

He sighed, trying to hide the unpleasant sting of jealousy that an object that raised his self-esteem had just been stolen from him.

He wanted her back for himself, so that she would say nice things to him.

He wanted her to admire him.

He wanted her to love him and cry for him with longing when they were separated.

He would never reciprocate this, of course, because these were tender, feminine concerns, but it would certainly satisfy his vanity.

He noticed, watching them from the sidelines, that a strong, cordial bond developed between her and his sister after that day: otherwise it would surely have caused his irritation, but at some point he began to see it as an opportunity.

The more she became attached to them and to the Red Keep, the more she would desire to stay with them.

To his surprise, Helaena too had begun to care that her new companion remained in King's Landing; she shrewdly tried to address the issue as they set off together to the Great Sept with their mother.

“I have no trusted lady of the court, Mother. I don't like the fact that they put things in different places than I want. They disturb my order and speak too loudly. She is kind. She always asks my opinion first before she touches me or my things. We embroider together and watch insects. I would like her to stay with me.”

Though his mother easily denied him and Aegon, to her only daughter she could not.

To his satisfaction, she turned to her lord-husband, and he convinced his younger brother that his daughter needed stability and a girl her own age as a companion.

Though reluctantly, Daemon agreed.

He couldn't say that everything had gone according to his plan: now his cousin was his sister's lady-in-waiting, spending a lot of time with her. This meant that she couldn't give him as much attention as he would have liked.

However, one day everything changed.

“Helaena said the Maester is teaching you High Valyrian. I was wondering if you could teach me too, as my father is not here anymore.” She mumbled, clearly fearing that her offer would not be attractive for him.

He sighed, pretending that her words made no impression on him.

“What can you give me in return?” He asked defiantly, though he knew he would have agreed even if she had not been able to give him anything.

“...and what would you like?” She answered question for question, staring up at him with her big eyes, playing with her fingers in a nervous reflex.

“You will obey all my orders without complaining.” He replied at last, feeling that satisfaction, not blood, was now flowing through his veins.

His cousin furrowed her brow at his words, clearly worried and concerned.

“What if you make me do something bad? Or something that will bring me disgrace?” She mumbled.

“I won't make you do such a thing. I am a man of honour.” He said proudly.

He blinked, shocked to see that she nodded at his words.

That's it?

“When can we begin?” She asked, and he pressed his lips together, struggling not to smile.

“Come to my chamber tonight. I'll draw you a map so you can get to it through a side entrance. And don't you dare tell anyone about this, or I will kill you with my own hands.”

She was clearly unaffected by his threat, because she smiled broadly, her face beaming with joy.

Indeed, his quarters could be accessed not only through a door, but also from the side of his bed: there was a small tower with stairs leading up to one of the rarely used corridors of the Red Keep.

He was worried, waiting for her, sitting over a mountain of books, whether the journey through the dark alleys of the fortress would prove too difficult for her: for some reason he was relieved when he heard quiet footsteps in the distance, and then saw her in the passage, looking up at him with big eyes.

She smiled broadly at the sight of him, apparently happy that she had managed to find the right way and not get lost; he grunted as she sat down beside him, pulling off the thin grey cloak thrown over her shoulders.

“Where did you and your father finish?” He asked, forcing himself to be indifferent – he swallowed hard, noticing with horror as he reached for one of the volumes that his hand was trembling with excitement.

He had never yet invited anyone to his chamber, much less without the knowledge of his mother and father.

It was their secret.

“On chapter twelve.” She said lightly, moving her chair closer to him so she could better see what they were about to discuss.

He felt relieved at the thought that he and Maester were already on chapter forty.

“Very well.” He hummed, pleased that he would be able to show off his knowledge and proficiency in this area.

His cousin, when her father wasn't around, proved to be a focused and curious student. She would ask him lots of questions and go back to things he had mentioned earlier, giving him proof that she was really listening to him.

He liked the role of teacher very much: he felt that it added to his esteem, while reassuring him that his time spent over the old tomes, contrary to what Aegon had said, was not time wasted.

He didn't know who he was really doing it for: whether for himself or for her. Certainly, in his own mind, he was convincing himself that the fact that he had agreed to teach her in Daemon's absence was an act of his favour, something for which she should be eternally grateful.

In fact, she was grateful to him.

He found it harder and harder to pretend he didn't see her during sparring or supper; some part of him, to his dismay, had come to the conclusion that he was enjoying her presence.

She cared for his older sister and was her faithful companion, but she also found time for him and his perpetually praise-hungry ego.

He was embarrassed by the way she smiled at him when their glances met in the courtyard or at the table: he had the impression that her eyes shone with joy for some reason, the expression on her face gentle and warm.

Kind.

He chastised himself for these thoughts and the strange yet pleasant feeling that filled his chest every time he lowered his head, stopping the corners of his mouth from rising with difficulty.

Then it was revealed that lady Laena was expecting another child, and something in her suddenly faded.

She felt less and less visible in the eyes of her father, who was far away, on another continent, while she was here, all by herself.

Looking at her and his own mother, Queen Alicent, sitting near her, he compared the shades of their hair, their eyes, the shape of their noses, hands and faces.

After thinking about it for a while, he decided that differences between them were not that great, and that if he had forgotten that she was the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce, his cousin could be the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.

His sister.

In truth, he was only a month older than her, but that did not change the fact that this would make him her older brother: this, in turn, would mean that since it was Helaena's destiny to marry Aegon, it would be his younger sister's destiny to marry him.

He lowered his gaze at this thought, feeling a burning red blush of embarrassment spread across his pale cheeks at the thought.

His heart thumped harder in his chest when he realised that nothing in that thought had rejected him.

But what if she didn't want it?

If she felt disgusted at the very thought of marrying him?

Rejection was something he couldn't afford.

It was safer to remain silent.

He felt his own blood under his tongue when his teeth involuntarily bit his lower lip at the word that her father wanted to take her to Essos.

“You have been away from home for too long. You should spend more time with your sisters.” He heard Daemon's voice outside her chamber door a few hours after her father had arrived in King's Landing.

Eavesdropping was not in good taste, but for some reason he couldn't help himself.

“What should I say to Helaena? I don't want to leave her.” Mumbled his daughter, clearly trying to come up with something quickly that would allow her to stay in the Red Keep.

“That you will now spend time with your true family.”

Your true family.

He didn't know why, but his jaw clenched in rage when he heard those words, a sharp pain piercing his heart, which beat harder in his chest.

And then Daemon took her away.

The first months without her presence had been the hardest for him, as he'd forgotten she was gone: he'd flipped through the books, wanting to prepare for their lessons, reminding himself angrily after a while that they weren't going to happen after all. Her chair had disappeared from the supper table, and her silhouette was not standing in the courtyard, aiming at a target with a bow.

It was as if she had never been there.

And then word reached King's Landing that lady Laena had died in childbirth.

It was a time of sadness in the Red Keep: previously Rhaenyra had mourned the death of her lover and father of her bastards, Harwin Strong; now, however, someone who was related to them all by blood, a close part of their family, had died.

He was ashamed that during the journey they had taken the whole family on to attend lady Laena's funeral, he had struggled to hold back a smile, feeling excited at the thought that the largest dragon in the world had just been left without a rider.

Although he tried to fool himself, he was enjoying not only the opportunity to claim a dragon, but also to see someone else.

The sea journey he had been forced to make, unlike his siblings, had dragged on mercilessly. When they finally reached the shore, he vomited: however, he quickly pulled himself together, recognising that neither she nor his nephews could see him in such a state.

His family were welcomed into the fortress with honours; he felt his heart pounding hard as he looked around the courtyard, hoping to see her. As he raised his head, he drew in a deep breath, catching sight of her silhouette in one of the open windows.

When their gazes met, she smiled.

Despite the fact that he should be concentrating on grieving, all he did during the funeral was listen for any sounds of the dragon that might be coming from afar and glanced at her, shocked that she seemed slightly taller to him – he also had the impression that her figure had become more girlish, whatever that meant.

When she caught him staring at her, he lifted his head up, embarrassed, pretending to look at the sky.

During the feast, which took place in one of the courtyards situated high above the sea, all he could think about was how to get her to speak to him. He did not want to be the one vying for her attention, running after a woman: this was foolish and, most importantly, unworthy of a man.

A man was supposed to be strong and proud, cold if necessary, but never weak.

Nevertheless, he longed to spend time with her, though she did not know it: she watched from the sidelines her half-sisters, embraced tightly by their grandparents, drenched in tears. Daemon and Rheanyra had disappeared somewhere, and she was left alone, not knowing what to do with herself.

After a while, their gazes met again – this time, though with difficulty, he did not look away. They continued like this for a while, until she made a slight movement with her head, as if pointing to the stone steps that led behind the wall, and then walked down them.

She wanted him to follow her.

He swallowed hard and glanced at his bored brother, who held a refilled wine cup in his hand.

“I'm going to take a walk. I have no desire to stay with these people.” He said to him dispassionately.

Aegon shrugged his shoulders.

“Do what you want.” His brother replied, looking intensely at one of the servants in the distance.

He sighed silently and moved ahead, feeling his heart in his throat.

What if someone sees them?

Was this a good idea?

Maybe he should turn back?

Hundreds of thoughts beat against each other in his head, but his legs led him to the stone stairs anyway, and then down to where no one could see them.

His cousin stood by the wall, looking beyond it to the sea; her long hair was partly tied back with a blue ribbon, the rest of it was blown by the wind. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up at him and smiled in a way he knew very well.

She was glad to see him.

“I'm glad to see you, cousin.” She said softly when he stopped in front of her, as if she was reading his mind.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling for some reason that despite the cool sea breeze around them, he was hot.

“My condolences.” He muttered, reminding himself that his mother had ordered him to say it to everyone he met.

His cousin lowered her gaze and nodded, accepting his words.

“Thank you.”

They both fell silent, looking out at the sea, simply standing side by side. He was afraid that he should say something and was thinking hard about what neutral topic he could raise, when he suddenly heard her voice beside him.

“She was a good woman. She never tried to replace my mother, but she did everything she could to make me feel that she cared about me. I regret that I never thanked her for it.” She muttered, her voice breaking more and more with each sentence.

He looked at her uncertainly out of the corner of his eye, fearing that she would cry.

He wasn't good at consoling, so he remained silent.

“But I couldn't love her. Nor my sisters. I couldn't form a bond with them. My stepmother died, and I don't feel anything.” She said in a breaking voice, tear after tear ran down her cheeks red from the cold.

“If you don't feel anything, why are you crying?” He asked, looking ahead, straight at the setting sun hiding behind the horizon of the sea.

“Because I'm ashamed.” She confessed, making him feel a squeeze in his chest for some reason.

“You don't have to. She was not your mother, and they are not your sisters. You don't owe them anything.” He replied matter-of-factly, feeling that this was exactly what he believed.

Contrary to what Daemon had told her, they were not her true family.

They only pretended to be one.

“Who then is my family, if not my own father, his wife and daughters?” She mumbled with difficulty, as if his words frightened her even more.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, wondering if he should say it.

“Unlike my nephews, you are a true blood of the dragon. You can decide for yourself who you will love and who you will despise.” He replied with emphasis on the last words, involuntarily glancing in her direction.

She looked at him in disbelief, her dark eyes larger than ever, as if what he was saying shocked her.

“We don't control who we love.” She said, looking him straight in the face.

“We don't control. We choose.” He finally stated and drew in the air loudly, folding his hands behind his back. “You also have to choose. If you wish, I will take you with me back to where you belong. To King's Landing.”

Her lower lip twiched at his words, as if he had stabbed a dagger straight into her heart.

“I don't believe you.”

He wanted to answer her, but he flinched when he realised that he had heard the screech of a dragon in the distance – he raised his head and followed with his eyes the small, dark silhouette flying between the clouds.

Then he made his decision.

“I will take you to the Red Keep on the back of my dragon.”

She did not understand what he meant, however, he preferred not to initiate her into his plan: she had promised to obey him, so when he commanded her to go to sleep and worry about nothing, she did so reluctantly.

He, on the other hand, set out under cover of darkness to meet his destiny.

The trip through hills full of sand and stones was difficult and exhausting, but what he saw was sufficient compensation for his efforts. Vhagar was frighteningly beautiful: she was big, magnificent, and she evidently saw in him what none but his mother and cousin could, for although she opened her maw to burn him, when he spoke to her in High Valyrian, she hesitated.

Climbing onto her back, his palms were sweaty from nerves and terror, his body trembling as he tried with great effort to reach her saddle. When he finally succeeded and lifted into the skies with her, he realised that the gods had given him a sign, revealing to him his fate.

He had made Vhagar his dragon, and in the future he would make his cousin his wife.

In that moment, as he screamed with happiness, flying between the clouds, it made perfect sense to him. He didn't see this idea as something to do with physicality, but rather the conviction that since they both held affection and respect for each other, someday they would surely be able to beget offspring together, to create a lineage they would both be proud of.

In that one moment, he felt like he was holding his destiny in his hands, only for the gods to flip a coin again.

As soon as he landed back on the ground his nephews were already waiting for him and gave him another gift, this time one he was never to forget.

If he had to explain to someone what the pain of his eye being pulled out of his eye socket was, he wouldn't be able to describe it: it seemed to him that not only he was screaming, but his whole body as well, that his fingernails would pierce the frame of the bed he was lying on, that he was about to die and would never wake up.

He feared death.

“Mother, don't let me die.” He mumbled out, choking on his tears, his hands clenched into fists on the sheets.

His mother squeezed his arm harder, giving him courage.

“You will not die, my brave son. One day we will have our vengeance.”

Though Luke had taken his honour and his face, he had gained something more: a dragon.

A dragon that no one could challenge.

He knew that what happened after he returned from Vhagar's liege had nothing to do with Daemon's daughter: he had ordered her to stay in her chamber until he came for her, and so she did.

When he walked into her quarters, she rose from her seat, her face flooded with tears.

Daemon had already told her what had happened.

“I –” She began, but he would not let her finish.

“Fly with me or stay. I won't give you a second chance to choose.” He said coldly.

He was a man of honour and he kept his word.

He was sure she would refuse.

He was sure she was a coward.

But she nodded her head.

Neither of them knew how furious Daemon had been when he and his daughter had taken to the skies without his knowledge: when, in his eyes, he had abducted her as it was in the tradition of Old Valyria for centuries, to one day make her his wife.

Lady Royce

Her father punished her escape with his silence: the very thing he knew would hurt her most. He didn't answer her letters or explanations, and for months, then years, he didn't visit the Red Keep even at the invitation of his brother-king.

She knew that he considered what she had done a betrayal, and she suffered greatly because of it.

Nevertheless, she could not lie to herself and pretend that returning to King's Landing did not bring her relief. Between her half-sisters, she felt invisible, her father's person crushed her, and now she was free again.

At least in theory.

Queen Alicent was enraged when she saw her in the company of her son as soon as they returned to the Red Keep: she considered it their act of disobedience and a reason for Daemon to take revenge on her and her children. Her husband, however, was not so harsh about their misdeeds.

“They are just children, my love. My niece can stay here as long as she wishes. My brother and his daughters are in mourning. Let her not surround herself with sorrow and death.”

Although, in fact, King Viserys was partly right, her father was not really focused on mourning, but on marrying another woman as soon as possible.

Rhaenyra.

Only then did she feel as if someone had drawn a clear red line between one part of her family and another: the one that supported Queen Alicent and the one that supported Princess Rheanyra.

She herself wasn't sure she supported anyone: all she cared about was keeping Helaena safe. She was unable to bond with Baela and Rhaena, but she treated the king's daughter like her true sister.

She was calm, quiet and kind, full of warmth that gave her a sense of safety.

“I'm worried about Aemond.” She said one day, bent over her beautiful embroidery depicting a spider. “I feel that he is retreating more and more into the darkness of his mind.”

She lowered her gaze at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant: she answered nothing, however, as her cousin forbade her to speak of anything they discussed or did behind the closed door of his chamber.

He had kissed her for the first time when they were thirteen; he was respectful and gentle when his hands cupped her soft, pink cheeks during one of their lessons in his quarters, his caress slow and warm.

He was clearly nervous and excited, his breath heavy as their skin pressed together in a wet, sticky act she had only heard about from girls older than her.

She was convinced that this gesture was not a proof of his affection for her, but jealousy that Aegon had more experience with women than he did.

Nevertheless, since then, there had been a change in him that she had not expected: he had apparently regarded that incident as a turning point of some sort.

He began to speak not of his lineage but of their lineage, not of his heritage but of their heritage.

“From now on, I will be to you like an older brother,” he communicated to her proudly, looking down at her, having long been much taller than her, “I will protect you and surround you with the care a man should bestow on a woman.”

She accepted his words with joyful disbelief, feeling her heart flutter like a bird in her chest.

On more than one occasion, she had witnessed Aegon encouraging him to join him in a brothel – according to his older brother, only intercourse with the body of a mature, experienced woman could make him a real man.

It seemed to her that her cousin was inwardly torn listening to these words – some part of him clearly wanted to prove to Aegon that he could be as good a lover as he was, but on the other hand he dismissed him, saying that he was interested in the arts of war and sword, not old courtesans.

Occasionally he would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, as if the fact that she was listening to this exchange of words made him uncomfortable; then, for a moment, the thought would cross her mind that perhaps she was the reason he was refusing him.

She realised then that there was some kind of plan in his head, a vision of which she was also a part.

She craved it and was terrified of it at the same time.

She was not a mature woman, let alone an experienced one.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw with sadness that, compared to the other ladies of the court, she still looked like a child; the delicate outline of her breasts under her gown could not compare with the full, plump shapes of the other women's chests, as much as with their wide hips and coquettish smiles.

She didn't know what to do to make the change inside her happen faster, until one day she found out that transforming into a woman wasn't as pleasant and beautiful as it might seem.

“You are bleeding, my love,” Queen Alicent told her, trying to reassure her after she woke up, all sticky from the blood leaking from between her thighs, “your flower has blossomed. It means you are fertile and can become a mother. It's natural, although unpleasant.”

“When will it end?” She muttered, twisting in her seat, already dressed in clean smallclothes, filled inside with materials that were apparently meant to stop the bleeding.

“In a few days. But it will happen again in a month. It will continue to happen for years, as long as you and your future husband do not conceive a child.” The queen explained to her.

“For years?” She squirmed, feeling that something in that thought had broken her.

She did not know why she had cried that day, lying in her bed. She resented her father that neither he nor his second wife had warned her what the woman's fate was.

She did not know that she would feel painful spasms in her lower abdomen, she did not know that the warm, disgusting liquid would flow out of her again and again, making her uncomfortable.

She felt that there was no glory in it, no reason to be proud – on the contrary, for some reason she felt an overwhelming, deep shame.

She shuddered and covered herself more tightly with a fur when she heard the door to her chamber open – her cousin stepped inside without a word, striding towards her with his hands folded behind his back.

It was the first time he had come to her, rather than she to him.

“My congratulations.” He said, stopping beside her bed, looking at her with some kind of curiosity and satisfaction.

“I don't follow.” She mumbled, surprised by his choice of words.

“Fertility is a reason for every woman to be proud.” He stated, cocking his head to the side.

She lowered her gaze, realising that he knew what was happening to her.

“I didn't know it would be so painful.” She finally confessed, wondering if he would scold her for self-pity.

He, however, was silent for a long moment before speaking again.

“That's because you're not carrying a child inside you. When you become my wife, I will see to it that you no longer suffer.” He replied at last, struggling to remain calm – she had known him long enough, however, to know that he feared her reaction.

She looked at him with big eyes, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

What?

“What do you mean?” She muttered without thinking, even though she understood perfectly well what he was implying.

She just couldn't believe he'd said it out loud.

She saw that he swallowed hard, struggling to keep a stony face.

“Do you wish to marry someone else?” He asked, a hint of frustration in his voice that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She shook her head quickly, horrified at his suggestion and the direction their conversation was going.

“N-no.” She mumbled.

“Good.” He said and turned away without another word, leaving her alone with his suggestion of what he truly desired.

Despite his words, he didn't try to kiss her for a second time; apparently his pride wouldn't allow him to ask again for something that, in his mind, was no more than a naïve female fantasy.

That he was incapable of expressing and showing his feelings openly, she had known for a long time; anything that might make him be seen as weak or naive was an unnecessary risk for him.

His older brother watched him closely, mocking and commenting aloud on any behaviour he found amusing and worthy of his attention.

To her cousin, the thought that he was constantly being watched, and thus could not afford to make a mistake, was completely petrifying.

This was the reason he avoided using words; it frightened him how many undertones and misunderstandings they involved, how easily he could destroy his reputation in the eyes of others with one ill-considered sentence.

She was then left with no choice but to use her intuition, carefully observing his subtlest gestures and glances to understand what he was trying to convey to her wordlessly. It was a difficult process, because he too often did not know what his needs really were and what they stemmed from.

“I don't want to strain you. We can discuss this chapter another time.” She said uncertainly, seeing that ever since she had crossed the threshold of his chamber his figure had tensed and his face expressed cold displeasure.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye in a way from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

“If you want to leave, then do so.” He replied, making her blink in astonishment.

“I just want you to rest properly.” She muttered, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

She felt around him like she was with her father, never knowing what would satisfy him.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked at last, forcing the words out with some strange difficulty, as if this thought had been weighing on his heart for a long time.

She swallowed hard, completely surprised by his question.

“No. I just… I just find it hard to comprehend what could possibly please you.” She choked out with difficulty, feeling ashamed at hearing how pathetic that sounded.

She thought he would laugh mockingly at her words, but his face was completely grave.

“Your kiss will please me.” He said with some kind of regret, as if he was suffering from having to ask her for it.

It hit her that he simply wanted reciprocation when, at the same time, she was afraid that if she offered it herself, he would consider it undignified behaviour on her part.

She sighed, trying to calm herself down and moved closer to him – she saw that he drew in air loudly through his nose, as if he was trying to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.

He shuddered as she took his face in her hands, exactly as he did then – her thumbs stroked his cheeks and he closed his eyelid for a moment, as if he felt relieved. She took advantage of the fact that he wasn't looking and leaned in, letting their lips join in a moist, soft kiss – he surprised her when he parted his mouth and gently deepened the caress, making his warm breath fill her throat.

She closed her eyes, for some reason not wanting to pull away from him – she let his fingers run through her long, loose hair, let his hands roam tentatively over the back of her head and neck, while their lips brushed and teased each other with the quiet, sticky clicks of their saliva.

Eventually they ran out of breath, so they broke the kiss, however, their foreheads remained pressed together.

“Leave, if you want to.” He whispered, clearly indicating that he had no intention of taking advantage of her in any way.

“I don't want to leave,” she mumbled, embarrassed by her own words, “I want to fall asleep by your side.”

“My mother would kill me.” He mumbled out, as if he was fighting the strenuous urge to succumb to her.

“Then I will leave. I don't want to be the reason for you two to disagree.” She said, stroking his cheek with her palm, trying to comfort him.

“No,” he breathed out, his fingers digging harder into the fabric of her robe at her back, “stay.”

So she stayed.

There was something naïve about the way they lay far apart on his bed, the way his hand grasped hers and squeezed it, as if he wanted to find out if it was really happening.

“Don't tell anyone.” He asked, a sort of childish desire in his eye, from which her heart filled with warmth.

“I won't.”

That night it seemed to her that he didn't fall asleep even for a moment – she felt his hand run over her fingers, over her shoulder, and when he was sure she was immersed in a dream, he smoothed her cheek with his thumb.

What surprised her was that every time he did this a warm, pleasant shiver ran through her body – she wished he would never stop, because this was the first time in her life she had felt so comforted by someone.

This event had changed him; clearly the realisation that she reciprocated his affection had emboldened him in some way.

When they finished their lessons, they often lay on his bed facing each other and talked, touching each other's hands, faces and hair at the same time. Her heart pounded like crazy as his fingers combed through her curls, as his hand closed around the back of her neck, massaging it gently.

“I like the way you smell,” he said once out of nowhere, surprising her completely, “and the fact that your skin is so pleasantly soft.”

She realised he was trying to offer her a compliment – the thought of the two of them taking a walk through the royal gardens or showing interest in each other in public filled him with embarrassment, however, he had clearly found that in the privacy of his chamber he was willing to give her something he was not offering anyone else.

His words.

She smiled broadly at his confession, feeling a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen spilling over her insides like a wave.

“And I like your big hands,” she replied shyly, stroking the skin of his wrist with her fingers, “and your beautiful white hair.”

She saw that he swallowed loudly, and his lips tightened in an involuntary attempt to stop himself from showing any reaction to her words; nevertheless, his eye betrayed him – it grew large and full of something she understood perfectly.

He needed to hear that something of value could be seen in him too, including physically.

That he wasn't a cripple in her eyes.

The way he slowly leaned towards her, his lips that barely brushed hers in a gesture full of invitation, their hands that clasped in their hair seemed as natural to her as breathing – the caress of their lips was hotter and more intimate than they had ever been before, deep, filled with something she was yet to discover.

Kisses were a form of reward for them, but also some kind of consolation on difficult days; in this way, although they could not speak openly to each other about this subject, they gave each other a sense of mutual care.

Over time, although it carried a high risk of being caught, they took this caress beyond the thresholds of his room; it was enough for him to catch her in one of the less frequented corridors of the Red Keep for their brief – even rough on his side – exchange of words to end with his tongue invading between her plump lips.

He liked it when their tongues met and licked, because he was obviously aroused by how perverse and passionate it was; his healthy eye was closed when his body pressed hers against one of the cold stone walls, while their hot mouths melted together again and again.

It was a warm, wet experience, filled with their loud, raspy breaths, their hands tentatively trailing the silhouettes of their bodies, giving them only the promise of what they both desired.

In that moment, in some strange, chaotic way they were devouring each other.

Her cousin evidently believed that he did not need to explain or confess anything to her; no words of affection, if he had any for her, ever left his lips. On the contrary; as he grew taller and his physique grew stronger, so did his ego, and with it the impression that he could not afford to show what he thought was a mere feminine sentiments.

Perhaps this would have been the reason for her distress, had it not been for the fact that he paid more attention to her than to anyone else anyway; above all, to the despair of the other ladies of the court, she was the only person besides Criston Cole and members of his family with whom he spoke in public of his own free will.

He usually approached her when he had something to say to her and announced it to her as simply and quickly as possible – he would then stand erect in front of her with his hands folded behind his back and look off somewhere into the distance, glancing at her only occasionally, usually driven by mere curiosity.

“A wild dragon has been seen in the Vale regions lately.” He said to her one day, as she happened to be heading to his sister's chamber to help her change before supper. “He is said to be larger than Meleys.”

She blinked, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad – she looked around quickly, wanting to make sure no one had heard what he had said.

“Help me.” She whispered. “Please.”

Her cousin cocked his head and hummed, looking at her with his mouth formed in the shape of an o, as if he wanted to whistle in satisfaction.

He liked it when she begged.

“Hm. How can I be sure you won't use this dragon against me and my family one day?” He asked offhandedly, looking down at her, a kind of challenge in his voice.

She blinked, feeling cold discomfort in her chest at his words.

“I am your family.” She mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them – she could see in his gaze that he was thinking about something, at the same time unable to deny her words.

“We leave tomorrow, at dawn.” He finally communicated to her in boredom, leaving her bewildered.

“And the Queen and your grandfather? Do they know what you intend to do?” She asked, and he rolled his eye, clearly frustrated by her remark.

“Sheep don't understand the ways of dragons. It's beyond their comprehension.” He recognised with some kind of pride, from which she pressed her lips together to keep from expressing her disbelief.

Clearly something in the expression on his face must have betrayed her, for he looked at her suddenly with a piercing, watchful gaze, his jaw twitching in a reflex she knew well.

“Come to my chamber tonight.”

Just as she had done in their childhood days, to leave her rooms now she had to wait for the watch to change; only then would she slip out and take advantage of the moment to make her way down a dark, rarely used corridor through a side entrance to the prince's quarters.

She had no idea if anyone but her knew about it; presumably if they did, the guards thought the additional door remained locked. However, her cousin had left them open for her, and it was through these that she entered, stepping into his chamber, enveloped in the warm light of the fire.

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

She was not bothered by this; he was often in the habit of pretending not to see her at first. From her perspective, it was his attempt to cope with the fact that, although accustomed to solitude, he was hosting someone else in his private quarters.

She untied her cloak, placed it on one of the richly decorated oak chairs and, wearing nothing but her nightgown, took a slow, quiet step towards his bed. She knew she could do it, and that she was certain to stay with him anyway, so she simply lay back on the soft sheet and closed her eyes, listening to the pleasant sound of the sizzling fire.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

The quiet creak of wood woke her from her half-sleep and she shuddered, opening her sleepy eyes – she spotted his silhouette heading lazily towards her. His hand rose to the belt of his tunic, undoing it with the quiet click of a buckle.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

She made room for him and moved sideways on the bed as he sat on the edge of it and leaned over, pulling his boots off his feet. She watched wordlessly as he did the same a moment later with his eye patch, finally throwing it carelessly onto the stone floor. He sighed and hid his face in his hand, massaging the area around his scarred eye socket in some subconscious reflex.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

She raised herself up on her knees and moved towards him, sitting down so that she could see his face. He looked at her silently with some kind of melancholy as her hands gently grasped his face and her thumbs began to massage his temples.

He immediately closed his eye and flinched as her thumbs moved over his brow arches and cheekbones – he twitched when she did it the first time, but relaxed more and more with each subsequent stroke, and his face took on an expression of relief.

“I wouldn't object if you did this to me all night.” He said quietly, his eyelid still closed. She smiled involuntarily at his words, running her fingers over his forehead, nose and cheeks, going back to the beginning – to his temples and brows.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

She nodded and held out her hand to him, shifting back towards the middle of the bed – he moved obediently to follow her and literally fell into her arms, pressing his nose against the space between her breasts.

She wasn't sure if he was able to breathe in that position, but she could see that his chest was rising and falling, so she didn't comment on it, combing her fingers through his white hair.

She knew that he was hiding from the world now: he wanted to disappear for a while and simply not be, like a small, defenceless child.

The control that he, in his mind, had over his life had a high cost that he did not speak of – it superseded any of his other needs unrelated to survival and victory, whatever that victory would mean.

While it may have seemed complicated, in fact the truth was much simpler: he was tired. It wasn't so much a physical fatigue, however, but rather a spiritual one – the self-imposed compulsion to remain silent when he was still a child was something that kept him safe, but also imprisoned him in his own head.

She mused on this as she watched him in silence, playing with strands of his long hair, feeling his body grow loose in her embrace, the tips of his fingers wandering lazily over her bare arm, his eye remaining closed.

He craved her closeness, but in more ways than one; preferably ones he could see as safe in his mind.

Lying in her embrace was such; he could just lie there and let her stroke him, listening to the slow beat of her heart. He could smell her scent and feel the warmth of her body, hear her breathing, have her to himself and know that she would fall asleep with him.

It calmed him.

In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the touch of a familiar hand – when she opened her eyes, she was in the midst of darkness. Her cousin was still snuggled up against her body, and he was obviously convinced that she was deeply asleep – it was only because of this that he allowed his fingers to travel up to her breast and squeeze it gently, as if checking to see if it was as soft as he imagined.

She couldn't stop the hot shudder that ran through her body or the pulsing she felt deep between her thighs. Other than that, she didn't move; she felt him freeze for a while, but after a moment, when he recognised that she had reacted in her sleep, he went back to stroking her plump bosom with his fingers.

A soft, shaky breath escaped her lips, her hands tightened on his back, holding him close; she felt him flinch and he froze again, taking his hand quickly off her chest.

She heard him swallow hard as she grasped his wrist and, in a gentle, slow motion, placed his hand where it had been – her fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to sink into the softness of her flesh again.

She thought it was a very intimate experience, one from which her whole body grew hot and her cheeks lit up red. She closed her eyes, hearing both of them breathe a little louder, their bodies pressed tighter together, seeking closeness.

Her wordless consent apparently made him feel bold, because he leaned forward, closing his lips around her nipple, clearly visible under the thin material of her nightgown. Something between a moan of surprise and a sigh escaped her throat when she felt him begin to suck as if he were a baby – her fingers clenched on his hair, holding him close.

“– lēkia (big brother) –” She whispered and flinched as she felt something long and hard pulsate in his breeches, pushing against her thigh.

She didn't quite understand the purpose of what he was just doing, but it was pleasant; she thought perhaps it was one of the secrets Aegon had told him about the pleasures of the female body.

She kissed the top of his head as his hand slid down her waist, slipping uncertainly under her linen shirt to finally touch her bare knee.

She felt that something throbbed hard deep inside her, that something sticky ran down her buttock to the sheet beneath their bodies.

They both began to pant as his broad hand went higher up her thigh and then to her hip, squeezing it finally between his fingers.

She shuddered as his wrist slid lower, between her legs, and his hand immediately froze – exactly like her body – when he touched her moist, pulsing womanhood.

“May I?” He asked in a whisper, still snuggled into her chest, not daring to look at her.

“What… what do you want to do?” She answered question for question, unsure of how much she herself was ready for.

She heard him swallow hard, as if he was terrified of having to answer her out loud.

“I want to give you pleasure.”

She felt her heart pounding like mad under his cheek, her fingers gently stroking his head.

She wondered if she should say it.

“I'm afraid.”

He took his hand from between het thighs at her words.

“What are you afraid of? I would never hurt you.” He assured her with a kind of surprise and regret, as if he didn't believe he had to say it.

“It's such a… private place. I…”

“I didn't mean to rush you. Forgive me. Do not be afraid.” He whispered, his voice strangely soothing, as if he understood what she meant.

“I'm sorry.” She mumbled in shame, feeling that she had ruined something that could have changed everything between them.

Her cousin raised himself on his elbow to look at her, but her big, red eyes made him freeze.

“Daor, hāedar (no, little sister). Gaomagon limagon daor (do not cry).” He said in a quiet, melodious tone, his large hand gently cupping her hot cheek.

“It was happening so fast. Your hand…”

She didn't finish as he leaned over her and placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. They stayed like that for a while without separating their bodies, her fingers grasping his, holding him close.

When he finally pulled away from her, his gaze was calm.

“I should have prepared you better. Explain what I want to do.” He said with a kind of weariness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

It was the first time he had spoken openly.

“Can you explain it to me now? So that I understand?” She asked, and he swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze for a moment.

He began to play with the material of her nightgown between his fingers, apparently struggling to find the right words to describe his desires.

“The source of a woman's pleasure, from what I understood from my brother's babble, is deep between her thighs. It is hidden there and must be found and caressed for a woman to achieve fulfilment.” He choked out finally, looking at her womb and hips, now hidden again under her shirt.

She twisted in her place, intrigued.

“The ladies of the court say that a man's tongue down there can perform wonders. But I don't know what they meant by that.” She said lightly.

She saw that he looked at her in shock, his nostrils twitched in a deep breath.

“You've heard about it too. From whom?” She asked amused.

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders, turning his head in the opposite direction.

“Aegon likes to brag about what he does to his whores and servants.” He muttered, feigning indifference, but his breathing, deep and uneven, betrayed him.

“Would you like to try it? That tongue thing.” He suggested suddenly, glancing in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

She drew in a loud breath, twisting in her place again, feeling her womanhood swell suddenly and pulsate around nothing at the very thought.

His mouth, down there.

“Doesn't it disgust you?” She mumbled in shame.

“You took a bath before you came to me, didn't you?”

“…I did.” She admitted, looking at him with wide eyes.

“So I can try. To satisfy our curiosity.” He proposed, apparently wanting to find any justification for what he wanted to do.

She nodded, feeling her heart in her throat, her stomach no longer filled with fear but with pure, hot excitement.

“If you don't like it, say so. I don't want to force you.” She said in a voice breaking with tension, watching in disbelief as he moved down, kneeling between her legs.

He threw her a meaningful look, in which she saw some kind of mockery.

“As if it's easy to force me to do anything against my will. Who do you think I am?” He asked with a wince, a slow, lazy movement of his hand lifting the material of her nightgown above her hips.

She had never been so exposed to anyone before in her life; she had to turn her gaze away to avoid looking at it and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. Her hands tightened on the pillow on each side of her head when she felt him gently take her thighs in his rough hands and spread them slightly apart.

For a moment nothing happened; she thought he was just looking at her, or rather at what was between her legs. She sighed and flinched, surprised when his thumb ran down the length of her opening, apparently wanting to collect what had managed to leak out of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked uncertainly, clearly not understanding if her reaction was due to discomfort or not.

She shook her head quickly, looking up at him only to close her eyes again a moment later, overwhelmed by the helpless position she had just found herself in.

She was at his mercy.

He won't hurt me, she assured herself in spirit.

He promised me that, and he is a man of his word.

This thought calmed her.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest when she heard the bed creak loudly under the weight of his body, and then his hot breath enveloped her throbbing womanhood – a quiet moan of surprise broke from her throat when she felt his slick tongue run over her flesh, causing an aggressive shiver to pass down her spine.

She didn't have time to calm down after that first, shocking sensation, and his tongue again clung to her smooth, dripping cunt, licking it like a cat drinking milk – her hands involuntarily reached into his hair and clenched on it, her hips made a motion forward as if trying to sink into his face.

“– oh – yes –” She breathed out, but it seemed to her that this voice was not her own, its tones squeaky and girlish, full of surprise.

She thought her body was on fire, arching as it rocked to the rhythm of his caresses – she heard him sigh, obviously feeling her wetness begin to run down her buttocks. His lips closed gently around the sweet spot she felt most strongly and began to suck, making her cry out loudly, throwing her head back.

“– Aemond –” She whined out pleadingly, though she didn't know what she was really asking for – all she could hear and feel were the wet sounds of slurping and licking, lazy and unhurried, full of a thoroughness that drove her mad.

As she glanced down at him, for some reason wanting to see him now, she noticed that his eyelid was closed and he was completely absorbed in his task – his head was moving back and forth, disappearing again and again deep between her thighs.

It felt like a bolt of lightning pierced her lower abdomen when she felt his tongue burst inside her body and begin to thrust between her fleshy, hot walls.

“– g-gods – gods, oh, fuck, fuck, yes, yes, brother, here, right here, yes –” She begged, completely losing touch with reality, feeling nothing but overwhelming pleasure as again and again the tip of his tongue teased a spot deep inside her, from which the tension in her loins became unbearable.

She felt that some sort of peak was approaching, that if it lasted even a moment longer, her poor womanhood would simply explode.

“– ah! –” She almost screamed out in pleasure as a convulsion shook her body – she threw her head back, feeling a wonderful, overpowering, tickling wave of heat spread across her insides, flowing through her mouth, her breasts, her belly, down to her throbbing, leaking cunt.

She panted for a moment longer, wishing the feeling would never go away, until she froze powerless, breathing heavily with her eyes closed. She only looked up at him when she heard the quiet rustling of fabric, followed by quick, rhythmic, sticky splats – before she could make any sound his mouth was on hers, tasting foreign, salty and sweet at the same time.

She moaned into his throat, surprised when she felt something warm and long rub against her womanhood again and again – at first she was frightened that he craved fulfillment inside her, but contrary to her assumption, he did not try to take her. He caressed himself with his hand, squeezing his manhood at the very root, teasing its smooth tip by running it over her moist, oversensitive slit.

She murmured contentedly, sinking her hands into his long hair, letting it fall lightly against her body. Knowing that he was balancing on one hand and just giving himself pleasure with the other, she decided to help him achieve satisfaction, exactly as he had helped her.

He looked at her with his mouth wide open, breaking the kiss for a moment when he saw her slide her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing the fullness of her breasts to him. He closed his eyes and gave her a quiet little moan as she lifted his shirt up, exposing his chest, and with a gesture of her arms, encouraged him to let their bare skin touch.

“– hāedar – mmm –” He breathed out into her mouth, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, his free hand grasping her breast so that with every movement of his hips her nipple rubbed against his chest.

Her body was all flushed from what she had experienced with him earlier, and his uncontrollable, almost animalistic movements were giving her some strange kind of pleasure. She knew he didn't want to take advantage of her – on the contrary, he no longer knew what to do with the tension he himself felt in his loins and was looking for a way to take her while not depriving her of what should not yet be his.

She didn't know what he thought of it, but she let her hands roam over his bare neck and down his back under his shirt, to his exposed buttocks from which he had slipped his breeches off. His body twitched each time her fingers explored a new region of his skin that no one but himself had ever seen or felt before – the slaps of his hand became faster and harsher, his breath heavy in her throat, the bed on which they lay began to creak loudly under their weight.

And then suddenly he made a sound of strange relief, as if he had sighed deeply and was about to cry – she squealed quietly, surprised to feel something warm and sticky spill over her abdomen and thighs, realising after a moment that it was his seed.

His body fell inertly on top of her, as if what he had done had cost him all the strength he had left, and he drew in deep breath, apparently trying to calm himself. She felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, pressed tightly against hers – his manhood, still twitching and pulsing, now lying between his body and hers, was nestled against her stomach.

She stroked his hair and his back, cuddling her cheek into his temple, trying to calm down with him and comprehend what had really happened: their bodies were hot and wet with sweat, she felt a drop of it run down her spine.

She had never been more exposed, but she had also never felt more safe.

She wasn't sure if she should say anything – she really wanted to, however, she feared that the barrage of words that would flow from her mouth would simply overwhelm him after what had happened.

She suspected that, like her, her cousin was in a state of some sort of shock.

She blinked and shuddered when she suddenly heard his voice near her ear.

“Forgive me.”

She swallowed hard, feeling discomfort at the words, for some reason filled with guilt and resignation.

“What should I forgive you for?” She asked in a whisper, looking uncertainly in his direction.

Their eyes met.

“I was supposed to protect you. I didn't keep my word.” He said finally, startling her completely.

“You can't protect me from lust. You can only make it a pleasurable experience for me, in your strong, safe arms.” She replied with a kind of conviction that evidently impressed him, for he remained silent for a long time, looking at her with wide-open eye.

“You don't resent me?” He muttered, and she shook her head, smiling for some reason.

“No. I am happy that we are discovering these fascinating mysteries together. I could not imagine a more beloved and trusted companion for this journey.” She whispered, and he snorted, but she noticed in the darkness of the chamber that the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Let's sleep.”

Aemond

When he woke up, the sun had not yet risen on the horizon – he always got up before dawn. The order of his day was predetermined and he didn't like anything to change his plans. First he would eat his morning meal, preferably one that would give him energy before sparring. Then he would move on to training his body, spending long hours in the courtyard with a sword in hand.

When this was behind him, he would take a nice hot bath in the privacy of his chamber, spending the rest of the day delving into old, thick tomes that smelled of dust. He was not fond of suppers with his family, for they bored him and were a time of mere, even simpering courtesy which he did not understand, he endured them, however, because he could then look at her in peace.

As in their childhood, she was sitting in exactly the same place now – opposite him, at the side of his sister Helaena, at the very end of the table.

To their right sat only Daeron.

Helaena was fond of her, because their cousin understood and respected her barriers. It was something he himself deeply valued in her – the fact that she could watch someone carefully and knew the boundaries she could not cross.

It made him, as well as his sister, enjoy being in her company – they knew they would not be surprised in an unpleasant way or put in a situation that would be uncomfortable for them.

In the case of her and Helaena, a sincere, warm friendship had grown between them over the years; he didn't mind this turn of events because he knew that his cousin didn't gossip about his sister with the other ladies of the court and that she kept her secrets, like his, deep in her heart.

He, of course, was not such a fool as to share his worries or thoughts with her, however, he would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy speaking with her, though he usually tried to give that impression.

“Will you stand to fight in a tournament in honour of our king's Name Day?” She asked him, putting her bow and arrows back in place while he sharpened his dagger, which he always carried with him.

Ever since she managed to tame Sheepstealer she has been more brazen than usual.

“Do you want to annoy me?” He answered dryly with a question to a question, not even looking at her despite his overwhelming desire to do so – her familiar scent reached his nose, making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches.

His tongue swirling around her hard nipple, his two long fingers thrusting deep into her throbbing, hot cunt, all leaking with desire.

He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine and he swallowed hard, trying to keep a stony face.

He heard her laugh behind him.

“No, but my wreath will have to fall to someone else. Pity. Perhaps I'll give my blessing to your uncle.” She said lightly, and he struggled to hold back the grimace of displeasure that pressed against his lips.

Gwayne was fond of her, and his affection was reciprocated – when he came to the Red Keep to visit his father and sister, he often chatted with her during supper and teased her in ways that drove him mad.

Usually, however, one sharp look from him over the table in her direction was enough for his cousin to turn to Helaena and pay no further attention to his uncle.

“Do what you want.” He burbled coldly, and she sighed heavily.

“Just don't be surprised.” She said disapprovingly, but before he had time to answer her anything she turned and disappeared into the depths of the castle, leaving him with her words and the discomfort he felt in his heart.

Did she really have to give anyone that fucking wreath?

On the other hand, what would it look like if she refused to give it to anyone?

What would his mother have said?

Whether he wanted to or not, he had to watch the next day as his uncle, proud in his armor, sat on his gray steed, holding aloft his lance, on which his cousin had placed a wreath of field flowers.

He looked ahead as she sat back between him and his sister, pretending not to feel how she pressed her arm against his. His gaze involuntarily fled to the side, to her hand, when he felt her little finger brush over his.

He swallowed hard and crossed his legs, shocked that this public expression of intimacy aroused him.

Did the people sitting behind them see it?

Rumors about the nature of their relationship had been spreading around King's Landing for years anyway.

His fingers involuntarily began to pluck the cuticles around his fingernails in some subconscious, nervous gesture full of excitement, the source of which he did not understand.

That night he took her for the first time.

At the beginning, it was simply a coupling similar to others they had experienced so far, but more fiery and loud, full of his frustrations and her assurances that she was faithful to him.

But then, instead of just rubbing his long manhood against the space between her thighs as usual, he decided to experience the warmth that was hidden deep inside her.

“– now I will receive my wreath – the only one that matters –” He exhaled into her ear, involuntarily pushing the tip of his length, swollen with pain and desire, against her moist, pulsing opening.

She let out a moan full of surprise and effort, her nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

“– Aemond – we can't – we can't –” She mewled and gasped as she felt that with a steady, slow thrusts he began to force his way into her hot, fleshy interior.

“– fuck –” He mouthed, feeling his heart pounding like mad, thinking that he shouldn't be doing this, but he had to, because he couldn't bear it any longer.

“– just let me –” He asked in a breaking voice, and she complied with his request.

She stared at him with her mouth wide open, trying to catch her breath as he began to move inside her, sinking deeper and deeper into her body with each deep push.

He pressed his forehead against hers, panting along with her, and stroked her sweaty cheek, looking at her with desperation, wordlessly asking her for forgiveness.

He expected it to be pleasurable, but didn't know it would be that much – her insides were warm and moist, enveloping his manhood on all sides, while squeezing him so tightly that he had trouble taking a deeper breath.

He had the impression that he was in some kind of trance, and the sounds that left their throats were not their own – their moans were high-pitched, similar to crying, her fingers clenched on his buttocks, her hips seeking rhythm with his thrusts, rocking back and forth.

“– I need this – do you understand? – I need you –” He mumbled in pain, imposing a faster, sharper pace on her, finally filling her completely.

His hips pounded against her buttocks with loud, wet splats, her moist, hot walls throbbing around his manhood, clenching against it in a way from which he felt like howling with pleasure.

“– here – please, here, brother –” She sobbed, arching her back so that the entirety of his manhood brushed against the upper wall inside her hot, spasming cunt.

“– here? – here it feels good? –” He panted with excitement, grabbing her hips in his hands, deliberately teasing the area she had showed him now – she threw her head back, her girlish cries of pleasure had to be enough of an answer for him.

“– yes – g-gods – ah –” She whimpered out, clearly experiencing it as extremely as he was, wriggling under him in pure ecstasy.

He just stared at her as his thumb ran over her swollen, plump lower lip, as her breasts bounced lightly with each of his deep, sharp stabs, until he finally felt what he so craved approaching.

An almost animalistic sound of relief came from his throat as he reached his peak inside her – he heard her sweet sound of pleasure and felt the shudder that shook her whole body, her leaking womanhood squeezing his cock greedily, sucking his seed deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her and snuggled into her warm, sweaty skin, letting their arms embrace their figures tightly. They were both panting and quivering, feeling each other more than ever, wanting to stay that way.

As one.

He had promised himself, however, that he would never beget a bastard, and having his cousin drink moon tea was not an option for him.

He was not going to kill his own blood, his own heritage, his own child.

Then he decided that the time had come.

“Marry me.”

239 notes · View notes

enhani-ki · 2 days ago

Note

hiii! this is my first time requesting but could you write a story with angst where enhypen basically takes you ni-ki’s gf on a trip for work purposes and he was excited to travel with you but ends up calling you clingy for wanting to be around him angst to fluff

like i need you - reader x ni-ki

warnings: very little suggestive, cursing, etc.

the idea of traveling with you, his girlfriend, along with his group members for their overseas schedule made ni-ki really excited.

he had begged you for weeks just to join him, promising it would be fun, promising you'd get to experience what he does, everything, together.

you felt ni-ki's hand held yours, the plane landed and you were really here together now.

a staff member approached the two of you as you stepped into the terminal, they reached for his arm and instructed to exit in a different gate before completely pulling him away.

your fingers slipped from his as he turned to look at you with a conflicted expression.

"go... i'm fine."

tight schedule, everyone moved from one place to another, and ni-ki was always preoccupied.

there's also these endless meetings, rehearsals, and interviews... whenever you tried to be near your boyfriend, it felt like you were being pushed aside.

you really understood that it was busy and you're not about this life, but it also felt like you were losing part of the excitement you had for this trip.

you saw ni-ki walking alone through the hotel lobby after a long day, so you ran and held his hand, and instead of holding too like he usually did, he sighed and pulled away.

"y/n, can you stop being so clingy?"

you froze in place, blinking at him, not sure if you heard him right. y/n? clingy?

"excuse me?"

"so- sorry..." ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "i'm just... i want to sleep."

you swallowed hard, nodding slowly before you walked away.

later that night, you wanted to check on your boyfriend. after all, he wasn't being his usual self earlier.

but he wasn't in his room.

you made your way to the next door instead, heesung opened the door and smiled.

"hello uhh... is riki here? he's not in his room."

heesung nodded, stepping aside to reveal ni-ki sleeping peacefully on his bed, hugging his pillow. "want me to wake him up?" he offered.

you quickly waved your hands. "n- no, don't, please."

"but i don't want him here..." he teased, making you chuckle. "just kidding."

you bowed slightly. "i was just checking on him. thank you, heesung."

he smiled, pulling out his phone. "here, i'll let you know once he woke up."

you quietly left after exchanging number.

and ni-ki spent his free time gaming the next day, his focus were sharp until they started losing. he let out a frustrated sigh before glancing over at heesung, only to see him texting someone.

"wha- hyung!" ni-ki groaned, but his hyung barely reacted to their defeat.

"calm down bitch."

just then, a notification popped up on heesung's phone, ni-ki caught a glimpse of your name.

"is that my girlfriend?"

heesung rolled his eyes. "yeah. check it, dumbass."

he grabbed the phone, scrolling through the messages, smiling slightly when he saw that every text was just also about him, asking if he was okay, if he had eaten, if he was sleeping well.

his irritation from losing the game faded. he locked the phone and tossed it back to heesung.

now, watching him from afar, you weren't sure if he even remembered bringing you here.

you stood near the back of the hotel's lounge, watching as ni-ki laughed with the members and staff, smiling so wide.

he's completely in his element and exactly where he wanted to be.

you didn't know if your eyes saw it correctly, but you swore his smile dropped when he saw you.

you glanced around, searching for someone else he could've been looking at, maybe it's not you because he didn't greet you or at least wave at you.

and if that look was because of you, then it felt like your presence had disrupted whatever joy he had in that moment and that hurts more than anything.

you went back to your hotel room, closing the door behind you before frustratedly collapsing onto the bed.

and when heesung texted you that they were done and just hanging out, you waited for hours.

you: are you gonna talk to me?

riki: what's wrong? everything okay there?

you: no, it's not okay. what's wrong with you?

you: you kept asking me to come with you, and you're acting like you don't even know i'm here.

you felt your chest tighten as you typed.

riki: i'm just busy.

you: i know you are, but you're also done already. i just saw you with everyone downstairs. no cameras.

riki: i can't talk to everyone first?

you: you know that's not what i meant.

it took him longer to reply this time.

riki: okay. just let me know if you need something.

fuck this.

you: i wanna go home.

riki: what? you can't.

you: i can.

riki: stop being stubborn.

a knock echoed through your room minutes later, ni-ki opened the door, and walked straight to you.

"y/n," he called out. "you can't just go home anytime you want when you're in a different country."

you ignored him, reaching for the remote to turn on the tv instead. keeping your focus on the screen, pretending he wasn't there.

"you might wanna think about everyone around you."

that made you scoff, think about everyone around me? like that wasn't exactly what you had been doing this entire time.

you gave him space, let him have his fun, not forcing yourself into his world then it would feel like he really didn't even want you here.

ni-ki exhaled sharply, stepping forward before shutting off the tv.

you glared at him. "seriously?"

"did you hear anything i just said?" he asked, he wasn't angry, just annoyed.

you didn't answer. instead, you turned your back on him, pulling the blanket over yourself, holding back all tears threatening to fall.

he's just really right there, trying to reason and argue when you just really miss him.

at least assure me that i'm still being appreciated here...

ni-ki sighed before running a hand through his hair. he should just leave and let you do whatever you want but stopped when he heard a faint sniffle.

he sat on the edge of your bed, unlocking his phone and started scrolling through your messages, the ones you had sent over the past few days.

you've been so patient.

you've been waiting for him, reaching out, and asking if he was okay.

and he had time... so he could've really replied too, he could've come to see you even for a little bit but for some reason, he didn't.

not because he doesn't love you, not because he doesn't care but because he had been so secured, so caught up in enjoying his life as an idol that he forgot you were part of it, too.

ni-ki felt guilty.

he reached over and squeezed your arm through the blanket. "baby…"

now, it's baby.

you didn't respond again. he sighed, wrapping his arms around you despite the blanket being a barrier. "i'm sorry."

"please talk to me."

you shushed him. he let out a sigh again and did the only thing he could think of. he slid under the blanket to hug you.

and ni-ki's usually not one to wake up right away but he was hugging you tightly in his sleep, that's why he also stirred when he felt you moving.

you stood up.

"where are you going?" he said quietly, his voice were still groggy.

he watched as you stripped off your clothes, stepping into the bathtub and sinking into the warm water.

he rubbed his eyes, standing up to follow you, then sat on the edge, watching you quietly before reaching for the shampoo bottle.

he poured some and rubbed it in his hands, gently applying it to your hair slow and careful.

then, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "you're so pretty."

you didn't respond.

"i'm sorry for calling you clingy," he kissed your forehead again.

"i'm sorry for not replying to your texts," he kissed your cheek.

you finally looked up at him, your lips slightly parted.

"i'm so sorry for making you feel like you're alone." he said before kissing you on the lips.

you sighed, "...are you not excited to be with me anymore?"

his heart ached, you're looking at him like you're scared of his answer.

ni-ki cupped your face, "of course not," he murmured. "i'm always, always excited to be with you."

you bit your lip, eyes glistening as you were about to cry.

"riki... i can't keep up with these..." you sobbed. "i can't relate to you..."

ni-ki knelt down on the floor, wrapping his arms around you. his hands roamed, rubbing your arms, cupping your boobs, just holding you close as he tried to chase away the bad thoughts clouding your mind.

you felt sorry too, thinking about he barely had a moment to himself, let alone to be with you, and he looks so tired too... "riki, sor-"

he chuckled, reaching out to wipe away the tears falling from your eyes. "don't, please." he whispered, "i'll cry too."

you sniffled, rolling your eyes. "no, you won't"

"i will." he grinned, wrapping his arms more gently around your neck, not caring that his shirt was getting wet or that shampoo was dripping onto him. "...i'll force myself."

you let out a small laugh, making him finally breathe in relief.

ni-ki looked at you with a soft smile before pressing a kiss on your temple, "we could go wherever now," he murmured. "let me make it up to you."

a/n: i should've made it more angsty but it's so hard omfg TT hope you like it! also, i realized i fucked up because the request was "wanting to be around" and i think i did it wrong??? SORRY

マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

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emmiesoverthemoon · 1 day ago

Text

⭑ come back to me

Pairing: g-dragon/ kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 4,550

Summary: Three years after you left your ex-boyfriend after he insulted your small modelling career, you reunite at a prestigious annual fashion gala.

Tags: second chance, hurt/comfort, slight angst, happy ending, exes-to-soon-to-be-lovers

cross posted on ao3 here

Today, you are one of the biggest names in the fashion industry, known for your beautifully authentic and original image that deserves the largest frame in an art gallery, the centre point on a stage, the brightest on a runway. Your confidence is effortless, your alluring demeanour sparked inspiration in many brands, designers, and agencies. You are the world’s muse, and clothing garments are their medium, created perfectly for you with intentions of highlighting and enhancing your natural elegance and grace.

No matter how dim a room’s lighting scheme could be, Jiyong could always spot you in a crowd. To him, your spectacular warm, inviting glow reflected upon any surroundings and ensured that any space you were to enter became infinitely more beautiful. Selfishly, all he wanted to do was bask in your luminescence and indulge himself into you, worshipping you as if you were a deity, deeming him fortunate enough for you to call his very name. He once did indulge himself, and held this to be his most favoured hobby, but he had ripped himself away from participating. He had some regrets, but some much, much larger than others.

The one that lay the heaviest on his conscious was you.

You, the one he once had the honour of calling his, and if he didn’t screw it up, he still would hold it close. You both had been an item for three years, the public being blissfully unaware of your relationship, as Jiyong knew how ruthlessly critical a portion the internet could be toward his potential suitors. He strove to keep you to himself; his sweet sweet little secret.

Of course, knowing the circumstances of his fame and career, you were okay with this. Naturally, however, you did yearn to be able to be a ‘normal’ couple; to be able to go out to dates, to hold hands in public, hell, even to just be able to leave the house together. But you never held him as responsible for your animosity towards the prying eyes of the media. You knew it was not his choice.

What was his choice, on the other hand, was how tightly he held the reins of his pride. Jiyong was a prideful man, he had every right to be, considering his achievements and successes. When you both were together, you were building yourself into the famous model you are today—attending as many castings as your manager could book you, walking as many shows varying in size as your heels could carry you, etc.—and obviously you were not as globally recognised as Jiyong. And on one evening, he made it apparent that he knew it well.

“Because you aren’t enough out there, unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The words sliced through your mind, each syllable lingering, replaying over and over. The weight of them felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the pleasant evening you had just shared moments ago. Not long ago, the two of you were laughing over dinner in his expansive, dimly lit home, talking about an upcoming gala. Jiyong had been invited for yet another year to one of the most exclusive fashion industry events, a cocktail affair where the names everyone recognizes congregate like icons in their own right. Your manager had miraculously secured you an invite—your first time attending. Your excitement was palpable, but so were your nerves.

This wasn’t just another party. This was your debut among the greats—the designers, the supermodels, the editors, all the ones whose names spark a fire in every aspirant’s chest. Your chance to cement yourself amongst your idols as someone who deserves their place alongside them. You were already second-guessing your wardrobe choice, wondering if your impression would hold up among legends. And the thought of possibly being seen with him, Jiyong, the elusive industry titan who you had been quietly involved with, made the evening feel like a balancing act. A part of you wanted to break the silence, make things public, even if just with a casual greeting, so that you could stop pretending in front of the world. But when you brought it up, Jiyong immediately dismissed the idea, his tone heavy with disdain.

A simple suggestion from you, one that felt innocent enough—a “meeting for the first time” in front of the cameras—was met with cold, condescending logic. “It would raise suspicions,” he had said dismissively. You tried to explain, to assure him that it would be harmless, a natural first step toward unveiling your relationship. But he wouldn’t hear it. “You” weren’t ready, “he” wasn’t ready—“the world” wasn’t ready, according to him.

And then, the words tumbled out of his mouth like a heavy, painful truth: “Because you aren’t enough out there unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The sting of his declaration hit you like a physical blow. You could feel your chest tighten, the air in your lungs suddenly too thick to inhale. In an instant, you stood up from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor, the echoes of the sudden movement cutting through the thick, glossy silence of the room. You didn’t look back. You grabbed your purse, hands trembling slightly as you made for the door. Every step you took toward the exit was a battle against the burning, threatening tears that hovered just behind your eyes. But you would not let him see you break—not now, not ever. His words had revealed something you couldn’t ignore: he had made his opinion clear, and it wasn’t one you could reconcile. You were beneath him. And you refused to let that stand.

Jiyong called after you, his voice rising, a mixture of immediate regret and desperation. "I didn’t mean it that way," he tried, but the excuses came too late. "I didn’t word it right." He sounded pitiful, but you weren’t interested in his explanation. You had heard everything you needed to.

The door slammed behind you, cutting off his voice.

You didn’t hesitate. The last words you spoke to him echoed in the cool night air: “I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for your pathetic ego. Go find someone more famous than me who can knock you down a peg.”

That was the last time you saw or heard Jiyong. And for three years, you pushed the memory of him away. But tonight, as the gala approaches again, you find yourself standing on the cusp of another year, another invitation, another flight from Korea to Paris in anticipation. The past feels so distant now, but the thoughts of him, of that night, have a strange way of creeping back into your mind.

The gala is everything you’ve come to expect from a night like this—elegance woven into every moment, a sense of timeless luxury that settles over the room like a soft velvet curtain. The ballroom is vast, the ceiling high, adorned with grand crystal chandeliers that catch the light and scatter it in soft, sparkling patterns across the polished marble floors. There’s a gentle hum of conversations, laced with laughter, punctuated by the clink of champagne glasses. The air is fragrant with an intoxicating mix of expensive perfumes, floral arrangements, and the ever-present scent of Parisian sophistication. Soft jazz plays in the background, its notes curling through the air, blending perfectly with the low murmur of voices. The walls are draped in opulent fabric, gold accents framing the large windows that offer a glimpse of the twinkling stars against the night sky draped as a veil, casting cool night air over the city.

As you glide through the room, it’s as though the very space parts for you. Your presence is magnetic, not because of a need for attention but because it’s undeniable. You've been here before, after all—many times now. You’ve grown accustomed to this world, not as an outsider, but as one of its beloved stars. Fashion knows you well, adores you, and respects you. You are a staple at these events, not just because of your work but because of the way you carry yourself: effortlessly divine and poised. There's a sense of ease about you tonight, a calm under the bright lights and all the eyes that flicker toward you as you pass. Your gown, a delicate yet striking creation of silk, catching the light with every step. It moves with you, flowing like liquid metal, the intricate beading of the fabric shimmering like constellations scattered across the dress. You look flawless—radiant, understated, yet undeniably captivating.

The whispers of admiration follow you as you walk, but there’s no need for words to validate your presence; your confidence speaks volumes. Designers, photographers, models, and influencers all acknowledge you, whether with a simple nod or a quiet compliment. To them, you are more than just a face—they know the hard work, the hours of preparation, the dedication you pour into your craft. You’ve earned your place here, not by chance, but by sheer, unmatched talent and authenticity. And as you move further into the crowd, you are greeted by those who have become familiar faces—the editors, the stylists, the creatives who have watched your journey unfold and who continue to champion you. Tonight, as always, you are the epitome of elegance, the pulse of this glamorous world that thrives on beauty, ambition, and artistry. There’s a quiet power that radiates from you, a reminder that in a room full of luminaries, it is your presence that lingers longest in their minds.

Your heart skips a moment when you catch the sound of a strikingly familiar laugh from across the room. A sweet jingle the back of your mind yearned to hear over and over again, despite the hurt. Although it had been approximately three years since you left Jiyong’s home that night, a small part of you still missed him. You were unsure if you truly missed him, or if it was the idea of what your relationship was; his effect on you, the way he spoke to you, the way he knew exactly where to touch to have your eyes widening and your heart racing. You often wondered if your mind was trapped in a prison cell of nostalgic wonder, constantly torturing you with flashbacks to moments you once held dear.

You let your eyes gracefully and subtly wander across the room, trying to spot the source of the laugh. Once you spotted him, you subconsciously let out a small flinch; you caught him staring back at you. An unreadable expression was scrawled across his smooth complexion, trailing across your face, your neck, and down your figure as he soaked in the view he yearned to see the moment you left that night.

Your heart began to race—not pleasantly, no, alarmingly, the heightened walls of the ballroom begun to constrict around you, suddenly envisioning everything becoming a whole lot warmer, tighter. Once over yonder you would dream for this warm, cozy feeling, for caterpillars to deem your stomach a safe haven for them to cocoon into beautiful butterflies, fluttering and fuelling the blood to rush to your cheeks, creating a beautiful crimson hue that he adored seeing you clad in, knowing he was the reason for its existence in the first place. But now, the warmth was smothering, asphyxiating.

You were the first to break eye contact, your eyes nervous—no; anxious and stressed. The weight of his focus on you was too suffocating, too overwhelming, just too much to handle for even a second longer. You needed an escape, a sanctuary where you can breathe freely for god’s sake. The lurching of your heart into your trachea, the trembling travelling from inside your bones through to your intrinsic muscles of the hand, which expressed exteriorly through the rattle of your fingertips, were symptoms of him—his charisma and magnetism, ones that you needed to experience not a single moment more.

You huffed, a futile attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort in your chest and lungs. You needed to get out of this room before it closed in and swallowed you whole.

You found yourself drawn to the balcony which was situated across a restaurant, playing melodic jazz music, as you gaze to the stars, a melodic saxophone is there to provide a tune rich with passion and humanity to sway along to. You had expected Jiyong to be present once again, he was the G-Dragon, you were just foolish in assuming that the ballroom would be full enough to avoid his attention.

Unfortunately, this balcony-made-haven was not as safe as you might have assumed. Your trance of relaxation with the woodwind instrument snapped, your bubble burst by the sound of a door sliding open and closed. Damn you for assuming you’d be safe.

Jiyong steps out onto the balcony, his presence immediate, like a gust of wind before the storm. You decide to give him a glance over your shoulder, and suddenly you can’t help but feel the familiar heat return, the way his eyes have a way of pulling you in despite your best efforts. Jiyong’s small grin is knowing, enticing, a familiar curve of his lips that used to be your favorite sight in the world, and your favourite place to touch with your own cheesy smile. Used to be.

“I knew you’d love the view from here,” he says, his voice like a silk thread that winds around you, pulling tighter with every word. “You would always tell me that a clear view of the night’s sky could draw you out of anywhere.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you turn to gaze at the bustling townspeople below, feeling the weight of the moment. Your chest tightens. You want to breathe in the night air, let it fill you and wash away the old memories, the ones of warmth and tenderness that feel so distant now. But he won’t let you have that peace.

“Still alive up there?” Although his words are light and hold no room for depth, his words drift toward you like his old cigarette smoke, curling, adhesive, and insistent. An invitation for conversation you did not want to open.

You force yourself to focus on the glow of the Eiffel Tower, the steady pulse of the lights from across the Seine. It’s easier than meeting his gaze, easier than acknowledging the quiet storm stirring between the two of you. You couldn’t believe your ears; after all this time with no attempt to contact you with an apology, he opened your first conversation with him with fallacious teasing.

“I’m silent for a reason, take a hint,” you say, intending to remain sharp, but the words are too soft, too hesitant. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction, but your heart betrays you in the quietest of ways.

Jiyong steps closer, the heat of his body seeping into the cool night, his scent—familiar and dangerous—wrapping itself around you. The tension crackles in the air like static before a lightning strike.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his voice lowering to a dangerous level, the kind that still sends a shiver down your spine. “Don’t pretend you’re unaffected by me.”

His fingers brush against your arm, just enough to remind you of how well he knows the geography of your body. You swallow, biting your lip to keep the words in check. You feel your heart beating, begging you to fall back into him, but you know better. You cannot betray yourself like this.

“I’m not pretending,” you say again, but this time the words are hollow, thin, as if the very act of saying them is a lie.

He moves closer still, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, stirring the tendrils of your hair you spent so long to perfect. You can almost hear the beat of your pulse in your ears, the thrum of your blood, and you hate how it betrays you.

“I don’t want this,” you say, the words carrying edge now, cutting through the fog of memories that cloud your thoughts. “I don’t want that... pain from us.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, like the scent of rain before the downpour. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s searching for something. A crack. A softening. A moment when he can slip back in.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

You turn away, arms folding across your chest as though that could shield you from him. But it doesn’t. It never has. The tightness in your throat threatens to spill over, but you won’t let him see. You won’t let him win.

The balcony creaks underfoot as he steps closer again, his hand brushing against the railing as if searching for something solid to hold onto. You know the feeling. You’re both teetering on the edge, balanced precariously between what was and what will never be again.

“You’re still angry,” he says, his voice a low hum now, vibrating in the space between you. “You’re still upset that I... said that to you. That I caused us to fall apart.”

You choose not to indulge him with your gaze, but you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back, pulling you toward him. You don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here, not with him. But you can’t ignore the truth in his words.

“I’m angry because you didn’t care,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, as though the confession would break you if it were louder. “You didn’t bother to try to reach out to me; I would’ve answered my phone, you should’ve known be better than that. You let me go without a fight.”

His breath hitches, a moment of surprise before he steps even closer, too close now, his body pressing into yours like an immovable force.

“I’m still fighting,” he murmurs, the words brushing the shell of your ear, trying to engrave a promise in your eardrum.

You shake your head, pulling away, forcing space between you. But the crack in your voice betrays you. “It’s too late for that.”

And for a moment, the world seems to still. The city below, the hum of voices inside, the thrum of the night—it all fades into the distance. All that’s left is you and him, tangled in the past, standing on a precipice, neither one of you willing to take the step toward what might come next.

He watches you closely, his eyes darkened by something unspoken, a regret buried beneath the surface, and for a split second, you almost think he’s not the man you left behind. But then he smiles, a slow, arc of his lips that makes your stomach twist.

He says nothing, but slowly raises his arm to brush against your waist. Slowly enough so that if you so pleased, you could move away, move him away. He would respect that.

But you let it happen.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He whispered, he’s close enough that you can feel the teasing, sensual tone licking against the slope of your neck where it meets with the base of your ear, reverberating through your head. He chuckles, his voice lowering, dripping with seductive teasing, forming a warm pit form in your stomach, “That is, if you want me to.”

You want to, oh god, you want to give in. You know he’s right, you were always one to give in to him; you were melting to fall right back into in his hands, and you knew it, he knew it. But instead, you don’t respond. You look out over the city once more, the lights shimmering beneath the weight of your silence. You wonder how much longer you can pretend that you’re not still tangled in the wreckage of everything you once had.

Juxtaposing your desires, you are a stubborn woman, and you need him to be aware of the pain he inflicted before he can be let in so easily. You suck in a deep breath, and your heels take one small, rushed step away.

“You know what?” you say, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I’m tired of you pretending like you didn’t hurt me. You really think you can just waltz back into my life because you flash that damn grin and speak like that to me in that damn voice? Well, guess what, it’s not working anymore.”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him get a word in. You’re not finished.

“You said I wasn’t enough for you. And you didn’t just insult me verbally—you destroyed everything I thought we had. You invalidated and belittled everything I had worked toward at that point. Every single thing you said, every promise you made? It faded to nothing. You think you can apologize your way back in with some pitiful little look in your eyes? I’m not buying it.”

The words pour out of you, each one drenched in the venom of old wounds. You can feel the heat in your chest, the fire that’s been simmering for so long now rising to your throat. It’s so much easier to be angry than to be hurt, so much easier to tear him down than let him see how much he’s broken you.

“You don’t get to walk in here, after how high I have built myself, acting like I’m just supposed to forgive you, to fall for your charm. Do you think I’m naïve?”

There’s a moment of silence, and you take a second step back, finally meeting his eyes. But you see something you didn’t expect—something like regret, something deeper than just his usual smugness. And it stops you in your tracks.

“I’m not done,” you say, more quietly now, the edge of your anger still sharp but softer. “But I’ll tell you one thing—you don’t get me back with your words. Not with any of…” You wave your arms around, gesturing to the air between you. “This. You have to earn me back. You have to earn my trust again. And I don’t even know if I’ll let you. So, no, you don’t get to come back into my life that easily.”

You’re not prepared for the way your voice falters then, how it cracks and slips as you finish the last sentence. You hadn’t meant to break, not like this, but now that the anger is gone, the sadness rushes in. You don’t even try to hide it as the tears start to fall, hot and furious, blurring your vision. Your chest tightens, the lump in your throat suffocating you.

And there he is, standing in front of you—his eyes no longer filled with that arrogant glint, but something more raw, something that makes your heart stutter in a way you haven’t felt in months. Small tears brimming his eyes as well, he reaches out, his hand tentative at first, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Jiyong’s hand lands on your arm, and the sensation of it feels like a remedy on a burn. He offers an embrace to soothe you, and you impulsively fall into him, not allowing your mind a chance take the wheel. You despise yourself for needing him like this.

“I was an idiot,” he says, his voice low, not the usual playful tone but something real, something genuine. “I know I hurt you. I know I hurt us. I wasn’t fair to you, and I can’t change that. I can’t take back the things I did, the things I said, but I am sorry. More than I could ever say. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, if that’s what it takes.”

You blink, a part of you wanting to reject it, to slap away the apology and keep holding onto your anger. But another part of you—the part that’s still so so tired—wants to believe him.

“You broke me. I trusted you, and you just let me leave. A single call would have been better than silence. I felt like you quickly moved on without even caring what your words did to me,” you softly cried, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

He steps closer, his hand still warm on your arm, and you don’t pull away, “I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was a coward. I was selfish. And I hurt the one person I never should’ve hurt.”

You swallow, another sob catching in your throat. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to apologise like this, so carefully, so thoughtfully. You didn’t expect him to look at you like he was the one who needed to heal. It does something to you, something you don’t know how to handle.

“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I can forget how easily you let me go, after such a long time.”

He nods, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t deserve that trust, not yet. But I will work every single day to earn it. I’ll show you, if you’ll let me. I’ll earn your heart again. Not because I think I deserve it, but because I want to. Because I’m sorry—and I’ll show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

You sniff, gently wiling at your face, angry at yourself for letting your guard down, for feeling even the smallest glimmer of hope. But that’s the thing with him—he has a way of making you believe in something, even when you were sure you’ve shut that door and thrown away the key.

“You’ve got a long way to go,” you say, voice hoarse, but there’s something in it that feels like forgiveness. Not full forgiveness, not yet. But maybe—just maybe maybe it’s a start.

“I know, my love. I know,” his voice was no louder than a whisper, allowing you to fill space with your thoughts over his. He presses his lips against your forehead, which sends nostalgic sparks from the crown of your head, all the way through your torso and limbs, then inside your chest, electrifying your heart.

You remain in his arms for a moment longer, the weight of it all pressing in. You don’t say anything more. You don’t have to. The words, the apology, the admission—they hang between you like a fragile thread, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a sliver of something you thought was long gone.

Maybe you can forgive him. Maybe you can let him back in. But not now. Not yet. That is not something that can happen in just one night.

And for the first time in three years, you feel something more than anger. You feel hope—faint, fragile, but still there.

hey everyone! this is my first fic here! so i hope you like it! i was a bit nervous to post this :)

if there is anything specific youd like from me please don’t hesitate to let me know and i’ll do my best! :3

#gdragon x reader #bigbang x reader #kwon jiyong #gdragon #kwon jiyong x reader #bigbang #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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revelboo · 8 hours ago

Note

REVEL! I request some of the lost light starscream story 🙏

Absolutely been obsessed with your writing, i legit have been checking every hour to see if you’ve uploaded anything new. I’ve read probably everything you’ve posted except for the bumble bee stories, you’ve made me fall in love with so many characters, the way you write all of them is absolutely amazing. Also this your reminder to hydrate!

Yeah, Sundays aren’t usually good days

Overdone Pt 3

Starscream x Reader

• Slumping into his chair behind his desk, he leans his chin on a fist as you ramble utter nonsense. Claiming you’d come to just falling to your death. Lies. They have to be, but then you’re turning big eyes his way and thanking him for saving your life and his wings flick. When’s the last time someone thanked him for anything? Shaking himself, he growls. Someone has to have put you up to this. “So I’m to believe you just teleported to Cybertron without meaning to, without even knowing how you accomplished it?”

• Staring up at his scowl, you understand why he doubts your story. It sounds crazy even to you, but you honestly don’t know how you ended up here. The only things you’re sure of? He’d saved you when he hadn’t had to. And that makes you sure he’s good deep down despite how intimidating he is, despite his threats to harm you if you’re a spy. Hands clasped together, you study him as his optics shutter and he presses his servos against them in an all too human gesture like he has a headache. “I swear I’m not a spy. I’m baker.”

• “And I can just take your word for it?” Everyone’s out to get him, to take away what he’s worked so hard for. But he can’t figure out the game here. Maybe you’re not a real human? Just something meant to look like one? Comming Rattrap, he vents when you just stare up at him with wide eyes. Why a human? Thundercracker is the one that cares for the little meat bags, not him. Anyone familiar with him would know that. ‘Bring me a scanner,’ he growls at Rattrap, cutting the connection without waiting for a reply.

• Of course, he doesn’t trust you, but you’re certain you can trust him. And short of him giving you a kitchen and baking supplies, you’re not sure how to prove your claim. You’re also not sure what a scanner is or who he was just talking to. What you are aware of? How massive he is. Alien and strange. His face, his body metal, but malleable. Able to give enough to form expressions and his hands had been warm holding you, making you painfully aware of how cold you are right now. “Why did you save me?” You ask almost against your will and his frown deepens.

• “Would have rather I let you make a very small splatter on the surface?” Growling, he turns toward the door when it opens and holds out a hand in demand. Aware of Rattrap gawking at you as he hands over the scanner. And you flinch when he powers it on and seizes you by the leg to drag you closer when you try to back away. Huffing through his vents at your little squeak when you fall on your butt and he pulls you closer. Your expression almost comically indignant when he scans you. Finding you really are just a human. You don’t even have any hidden tech meant to spy on him and he’s almost disappointed. Almost eager to root out a plot or a conspiracy. Tapping the scanner on the desk beside you to make you flinch, he vents. “Go find Wheeljack,” he mutters to Rattrap. Because you’re still a mystery he means to solve.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #starscream

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merryshobbithole · 2 days ago

Text

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

Breath taking. Literally. Sentomaru is the kind of guy to give big bear hugs when he's feeling playful, but for the most part they are very soft and warm. He's a pretty big guy, so even when he's being gentle I can feel that pleasant pressure that makes me so safe and loved. He likes to rest his chin atop my head while we hug

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

I love movie nights. Sitting together on the couch with his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. I drift off more times than not, and he always carries me to bed and kisses my forehead before whispering "Goodnight, sweetheart". I know this because I may or may not have pretended to fall asleep on him. I think he's caught on to me, but he never brings it up

What are their favorite dates with you?

Definetely stargazing. Laying down on the grass and admiring the nightsky, listening to the sounds of nature. He likes to talk about constellations and the stories behind them, and I like to listen

What's the height difference between you and f/o?

He's 279cm (9'1ft) and I'm 150cm (4'11ft)

On a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

I'd say 4, maybe 5. He's not very big on PDA but he does show affection in public in his own, subtle ways: squeezing my shoulder to get my attention, placing a hand on my thigh (or even holding my hand under the table) when I'm feeling uneasy in social settings, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, stealing glances at me...

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

Oooh, that's a difficult oneee but if I had to choose, I'd say his hands!

What do you think they smell like?

Honestly? I have never thought about that. I'll think of something and update this...

What is your f/o's biggest love language?

I'd say acts of service and gift giving. He's not very good at expressing his emotions, so he shows he cares by seeking me out when he's got the time, sometimes bringing with him a little something. It's not anything fancy, maybe he saw something I liked or needed and got it for me, and many times he shares his food with me

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

We do sometimes, mostly in his and when I come over to see him. Sleeping with him in winter is the best since his body temperature is naturally very warm and he loves being the big spoon, but during summer it's best if we either sleep on opposites sides of the bed or apart. We still get back together to wish each other good morning, though (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

He participates in Sumo matches in his spare time (and I stand first row to cheer him on) 🗣️

What's the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

Those two awkward idiots who are into each other and everyone is able to see it but them because they're too shy and insecure. Also the short-tempered "Ew, people" introvert (him) and the people pleasing "Oh, no. People..." introvert (me)

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a bad day?

He's a great listener and the kind of person to provide solutions right off the bat, but he knows judging by my expression while he talks when I need comfort instead of logical approaches to the problem

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

I! Love!! Holding!!! Hands!!!!

As a matter of fact, it's the one (obvious) PDA we're comfortable with. We're not the kind of couple to do kissing in public. Holding hands with him is nice, but again his body temperature makes his palms sweaty fast. Not like I mind <3

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where's their favorite place to kiss?

He loves those! Only in private, though. His favorite place is my nose. He says it's very round and cute... ( ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Vice versa, do YOU like giving THEM little kisses? If you, where's YOUR favorite place to kiss?

I ADORE giving him little kisses! Similarly to him, I feel most comfortable doing it in a more private setting. My favorite place to kiss is his cheek!

What's your favorite leisure activity to do with your f/o?

Training! I'm not a very sporty person, but I enjoy keeping him company while he's training even if I'm doing my own thing

What's your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What's your favorite nickname that they use for you, if they have one?

His compliments are more "practical", if that's the right word. He praises me when I push through or when I get something right. His way of complimenting my appearance is subtler, but it's my favorite, nonetheless. As for nicknames, he's not the kind of guy to use them, but he does call me "sweetheart" from time to time. Only in private, though

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What's your favorite nickname to call them?

I'm horrible at giving compliments. When he does something I find attractive or puts on something nice, I short-circuit and panic. Me personally I like to call him Sen. It's just the shortened version of his name, but I think it's cute!

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

#sen 🪓

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emeraldserenade · 19 hours ago

Text

Connections ~ Joaquin Torres

synopsis: you and Joaquin keep meeting, yet you never seem to get his number. Not until someone pushes you together.

tw: limited use of y/n, someone tries to wear white to reader's sister's wedding, reader was a sharp shooter, violence, reader only briefly talks about their dead dog, reader gets hurt and goes into surgery, possible spoilers for cabnw, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

➽──────────────❥

It was at the hospital when you first met Joaquin Torres, he was being released and you were visiting your brother. Joaquin was by himself when you met him, waiting to be pick up.

"Hey, you're the new Falcon, right?" You asked, stopping only a few steps away from him.

"Uh, yeah, I am," he nodded and you smiled at him.

"Cool," you nodded before hesitating. "Thanks for what you did at Celestial Island, you saved my father from having to go back to a war zone," you told him, eyes shining from unshed tears. Joaquin did have time to answer you before you were ushered inside by your mother.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The next time you met Joaquin was in a bookstore, he saw you first. He remembered you, how you recognized and thanked him. He wanted to tell you how much that had meant to him but got nervous. That changed, however, when you looked up from the book you were looking at and made eye contact with him.

"Hey, I don't know if you remember me but," you stopped talking when you realized you had started talking at the same time as Joaquin.

"No, I remember you. You're the girl from the hospital," he offered and you smiled.

"Yeah that's me," you laughed gently and pushed some hair behind your ear. "I'm y/n by the way," you told him.

"Joaquin Torres," he offered his name and hand. You took the latter for a handshake.

"Well, it was nice to officially meet you, Joaquin," you smiled at him before leaving. Joaquin cursing himself for not getting your number.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The third time you met Joaquin was at your sister's wedding. You were the Maid of Honor and was tasked with making sure no one was wearing white after you finished getting ready. You greeted people as they walked in, a bottle of red wine hidden in the podium next to you just in case. You should have guessed that Joaquin was Sam Wilson's plus one, but you somehow didn't even think of that. The two walked in and you greeted Sam warmly before turning to Joaquin and greeting him just as warmly.

"You know Sam?" Joaquin had walked up to you a few minutes later, you were still greeting guests.

"Yeah, my sister and his sister have been friends for years," you told Joaquin.

"Did Sam tell you to thank me then?" Joaquin's voice took on a tone that you've never heard before.

"What? No, I haven't seen Sam in months until today," you spun to look at him, eyebrows scrunched together. "Joaquin, I swear, I thanked you because I wanted to," you told him, placing your hand against his arm. Joaquin didn't have a chance to answer before an uproar happened outside. You looked out the door and saw your soon-to-be brother-in-law's girlfriend outside in a wedding dress. "What is she doing here? She's not even invited," you mused to yourself. Joaquin followed you outside, his eyes darting down to the bottle of red wine in your hand.

"Just let me in!" She tried to push past the people around her but you just walked up and brandished the bottle you were holding. She didn't seem to realize but everyone around her did and took a step back. She huffed in amusement before whipping around and coming face to face with you and the bottle of red. You reached forward and tipped the bottle of her head, making sure to use your other hand to hold the bottom of your dress away from the splashes.

"There," you gave her a self satisfied smile and stepped out of the way as she lunged at you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was later at the reception that you and Joaquin got to talk again, your sister, ever the loving person, paid for every bridesmaid to have a reception dress that was shorter and easier to move in. Which is how Joaquin convinced you to dance with him, which you did, for hours. You two were a little out of breath and laughing when you both left the dance floor. You noticed some of your sister's friends staring you two down but thought nothing of it.

"When Sam said he was brining a plus one, part of me was hoping it would be you," you confessed, looking over at Joaquin. He smiled but was interrupted by one of your sister's more brazen friends.

"Hey, handsome, do you want an escape from my friend's boring little sister? We can go dance," She was touching his shoulders, back, and chest as she spoke and you couldn't help but think about how if the roles were reversed it wouldn't even be ok.

"Oh, no thank you, I'm good here," Joaquin gave her a smile but she wasn't backing down.

"Are you sure? You don't have to be nice to her, I never was," she tried to whisper the last part as if it were a secret, but the alcohol she had been drinking wasn't helping her. Joaquin was saved from answering when the girl's boyfriend walked over, the two started fighting a few steps away and you made bewildered eye contact with Joaquin before you both started laughing.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The fourth time you met Joaquin, you were helping him and Sam with a mission. You were, as someone you can't remember once said, the 'guy' in the chair. You weren't as good a Joaquin at computers but you knew your way around.

"Uh, Sam, you might want to move," you told him.

"Why?" He questioned, he was on a roof of a nearby building.

"You've got company coming up the stairs," you told him, watching as more started to go up the stairs of the building Joaquin was on too. "Joaquin, move now," you told him, desperate as you watched both boys get into fights. You called in backup, getting people there would take time, time the boys did not have. "Shit," you cursed and looked around the room you were in and spotted a sniper rifle. You got up and grabbed it, sprinting to the stairwell of the building you were in and up that stairs.

"y/n, are you there? We need backup, send people in!" You heard Sam yell through the comms.

"I did, they should be here in like 15 minutes," you told him, getting to the right spot to take aim at the building Joaquin was on. He needed your help more than Sam. You shot them down, none of them were wearing helmets or leg protection. That's where you aimed, you watched Joaquin look around for the person who was helping him but you didn't have time to wave at him. You moved your sights and aim to help Sam, shooting down the people he was having trouble with.

"I thought you said they wouldn't be here for 15 minutes," Sam panted into his comm. You stood up straight and looked directly over to Sam as you set the gun down.

"I was an FBI sharp shooter, did you forget?" You waved over to Joaquin as he flew back to the building, Sam not far behind.

"Yeah, I did," Sam admitted and you shook your head. The three of you started back down the stairs, Sam leading the way. Joaquin lagged a little behind with you.

"You were a sharp shooter?" Joaquin looked over at you as you two walked down the stairs side by side.

"Yeah, I quit after a job gone wrong," you sighed, shuddering as you remembered accidentally hitting a little girl after just following orders.

"What do you do now?" Joaquin asked.

"Oh, right now, nothing. I was helping out at the VA with Sam for a while after I got back but then I moved farther than I wanted to travel everyday. I still go and help every now and again, but not as often as I'd like," you admitted, walking back into the room you three had been holed up in.

"We probably need to move," Sam told you two and you nodded.

"I can get us in a hotel, I have a card that isn't in my name," you told Sam and he slowly nodded.

"Why do you have a credit card not in your name?" Same questioned.

"First off, it's a debit card, I am not putting someone into credit card debit. Secondly, I was given it after I helped this old rich man. He just handed me the card and a paper with the information and told me he would put money on it monthly," you explained, crossing your arms.

"A old man just gave you his debit card?" Sam looked at you with an incredulous look as you three started packing up the room.

"I mean, yeah. It's not like he was a complete stranger, he knows my dad," you shrugged.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The fifth time you met Joaquin was the same day, when you had to tell the two that there was only one room left.

"Hey, so, I have some not great news," you announced as you walked up to the other two.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"There's only one room," you cringed at Sam's annoyed face. "There's two beds and a couch," you told them and watched Sam relax a little.

You three walked into the room and you didn't even voice your decision before you hurried over to the couch.

"Uh, no. y/n you get a bed," Sam tried to argue with you but you gave him a pointed look.

"You're Captain America now, you need a bed. And Joaquin don't you even dare try and argue with me," you looked over at your shoulder at the boy you addressed.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You shifted on the couch again before sitting up and looking over at the door, you had wanted to leave but didn't know how heavy of a sleeper Joaquin is. You knew Sam could sleep through just about anything. You sighed and got up, slipping on one of the slippers the hotel provided for you all.

"Can't sleep?" You jumped at Joaquin's voice, slapping your hand over your chest. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he raised his hands up in surrender.

"No, it's ok," you sighed, calming your heartbeat. "And no, I can't. I don't get how Sam can sleep anywhere," you mused. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I couldn't sleep either," he told you and you nodded at him. "I'm not used to sleeping without another body in my bed," he told you and you raised your eyebrows at him.

"Really?" You teased and he backtracked a little.

"I have a dog, he lays in bed with me until I fall asleep," Joaquin told you and you laughed gently.

"I get that, I'm not used to being alone while I fall asleep either. My dog passed a few months ago and I'm still getting used to it," you admitted. You two stood in silence for a while before Joaquin broke it.

"Want to share the bed? That way both of us might be able to sleep," Joaquin offered and you thought about it.

"Sure," you and Joaquin walked in and both laid down on his bed. You two fell asleep and awoke in the morning to Sam taking pictures of you two cuddling, claiming he would be keeping them for your future wedding.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The final time you met Joaquin was after the mission. You had gotten hurt while helping them, the others got smart about you being on another roof and taking them down. You were now in the hospital after your surgery, it wasn't major. You woke up to Joaquin in the chair next to your bed, it was clear he was in a state of disarray.

"Hey," you gently squeezed the hand that was gently resting in yours.

"Querida, you're awake," Joaquin shot up straight.

"Yeah, I am," you told him, letting him roam his eyes over you and rub the back of your hand with his thumb.

"I," Joaquin started to talk but cut himself off. "Sam told me that you like me and that I should just ask you out, so would you like to go on a date with me?" Joaquin looked nervous and his thumb stilled on the back of your hand.

"I would love to," you told him, smiling at him as he smiled back. "I do need your number though," you joked, laughing with Joaquin.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #mcu #marvel mcu #cabnw #cabnw spoilers

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synchodai · 1 day ago

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What's the appeal of Gortash?

Look, I've seen this question floating around, and I understand, man, I do. I'm not going to try to convince the naysayers by going on about his traumatic backstory, greaseball charm, or his chemistry with the Dark Urge. No, this is BG3 — everyone has trauma and a hot bod.

I'll be speaking only for myself and for my own tastes here, and the reason why I'm personally obsessed with this man is because he is my favorite kind of antagonist: an ideological antagonist.

ideas as a weapon

The Chosen of the Dead Three are all threats, but they administer violence through markedly different ways. Military threat, bodily threat, ideological threat — the third one so mundane and subtle that sometimes it doesn't even register as violence.

Ketheric (and his army) is your collective antagonist which threatens society as a whole and whom the factions must band together to defeat. Orin (and her dopplegangers) is your personal antagonist which undermines the bonds and trust between companions. But Gortash's deal is challenging your perception and beliefs of how things should be. The lure of his Steel Watch is that people are willing to sacrifice personal freedoms for security — a balance you and your companions struggle with throughout the game yourselves.

There's a reason why he's the one who controls the Baldur's Mouth and why he's all anyone can talk about in this goddamn city. Mindflayers operate on ideas, and so does he, except his psionics is ideology.

Gortash is the reason why the cult is called the Absolute, because his is the philosophy of absolutism.

the absolute and absolutism

Absolutism (not to be confused with moral absolutism) is the political movement that rose in response to the decline of the monarchy as a ruling institution. In general, absolutists believed the ideal society was one of complete unity that followed a single, central power (usually in the form of an absolute monarchy).

Guess who also had that belief? Well, if we read Gort's political manifesto...

What is progress? Progress is the movement of society and culture towards a state of collective unity. Without unity, mortals, each with their own individual agenda, blunder against each other, causing friction, conflict, war. Unity - peace and prosperity - is achieved when the collective follows a single agenda, that of one superior person. Runaway egocentrism, that urge often miscalled 'free will', is the one true enemy of Unity. Free will must be eliminated. Control of the brain is the key. The Netherese tadpole is the perfect tool. Tadpoled, the brain is freed of egocentrism to follow the agenda of Unity. The tadpoled brain is a happy brain. There is no conflict, except against the enemies of Unity. And the brain is all you need - once freed from its agendas of 'free will', it can also be freed from the frailities of the mortal form. The brain can live forever in a steel body, or even better, control that body from afar. This is progress. This is the Ultimate State. - Lord Enver Gortash

Thomas Hobbes, daddy father of political philosophy, believed power should be concentrated in a being known as the "leviathan." Hobbes, of course, was using them term "leviathan" as a metaphor for an ideal government institution that holds all the power, but in Baldur's Gate 3's case, the leviathan manifests physically in the form of the Netherbrain and whoever gets to control it.

There are a lot of words people use to describe this political philosophy: authoritarianism, fascism, the Grand Design, pick your poison. Tyranny is a great catch-all word for it. The world of absolutism and the cult of the Absolute is where everyone is powerful and immortal with their mindflayer abilities and steel bodies, but ultimately subservient to the state. Basically, it's the sacrifice of 'free will' in exchange for power.

we are all in danger of agreeing with gortash

Throughout the game, we are constantly being challenged with how much of ourselves we are willing to surrender in exchange for power and a purpose. Gale loses his personality and ideals in exchange for godhood. Shadowheart loses her memory and the possibility of love to be the leader of Shar's church. Wyll gives his soul to Mizora to save Baldur's Gate. Astarion gives up his remaining humanity to become a Vampire Ascendant. Lae'zel, when siding with Vlaakith, ultimately gets gladly consumed by her, fuel for the Gith queen's rise to power. And Karlach values her freedom and right to be an individual so much that she's willing to die for it.

In some ways, there's something even revolutionary about Gortash's desire to supplant the gods and replace them with a mortal human being. After all, he doesn't want to give power to Bane. He wants the absolute authority to be himself (and the Dark Urge). If he succeeds, it'll be the ultimate underdog story of a slave who crawled through Hell and became a god through his own resourcesfulness.

See, sacrifice for the good of a collective purpose is not necessarily a bad thing. But to give away all your autonomy to an authority is to be consumed, and some people want to be consumed, to lose themselves to be part of something bigger. There's a reason why Tyranny falls under the domain of death — because tyranny and its many faces (facism, authoritarianism, etc.) demand death of the self.

And it IS supposed to be tempting, to shut off our brains and be possessed by someone more competent in a time where everything is scary and complicated. In times of crisis, society's historical inclination has been to reach for dictatorship and martial law. This is ultimately the appeal of gods and authoritarians. We want someone to make the right decisions for us because we fear failure and pain more than we value autonomy.

But if there's anything BG3 stands for as a game and makes it a cut above the rest, it's allowing players to make decisions — especially objectively wrong ones.

a single point of failure

The greatest irony of Enver Gortash as a character is that he's supposed to be this genius inventor but makes the most rookie mistake any technical designer can make — all his plans have a single point of failure. He engineered it to be that way. The Steel Watch has one (1) place where they all operate from. His office where you fight him is trapped to the nines but has one entrance and exit. All his key hostages are kept in one location. The godsdamned netherbrain becomes a single point of failure once the netherstones are reunited.

That is the game showing us why absolutism absolutely suuuuuuuucks as a political doctrine. Having all the power does not in fact make you impervious — if anything, it only magnifies the precarity of your situation. True security and safety is found in actually trusting others and spreading around the responsibility instead of betting it all on big netherbrain.

As a craftsman, I think Gortash himself realized this. The teachings of Tyranny and his political manifesto say one thing, but his actions and reality say another. He knows the he and the Dark Urge do not share a united vision, but he still offers them an equal alliance. Sharing equal power is not only necessary for checks and balances, it's also something that he personally misses.

Because at the end of the day, this megalomaniac who was so narcissistic to think that he should be making all the decisions for everyone else is just a human man. And it's not power or unity or perfection or security that motivates humanity, it's our social bonds. He is the way he is because something about his parents, just like everyone else. All of the Dead Three Chosen are like this. They do what they do because of they are afflicted with the all-too human condition known as "wanting community recognition."

To quote another fantasy franchise filled with evil people: "We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."

conclusion

I like Gortash because I think he represents the shadow of this game's themes on the value of free will and equating vulnerability to true strength. The bigger they are, the easier to score a critical hit and all that. But spread out your power and trust in others, and suddenly everyone is covering everyone's weaknesses and if one falls, the structure still stands.

The reason I'm so obsessed with the Dead Three villains is because they're all walking contradictions. The Chosen of Necromancy brings his daughter back to life as a healthy and whole living being. The Chosen of Murder fails to murder the one person their god actually wants them to murder. And the Chosen of Tyranny is willing to share their power. These contradictions are where we find these glimpses of humanity — flawed and complex individuals instead of simple monsters that represent one evil.

Do you like political philosophy references and Enver Gortash? May I then interest you in my fic which is basically my manifesto on the Dead Three Chosen and their respective belief systems?

Now that I've said my personal piece about politics, please don't let that overshadow the fact that Enver Gortash does indeed have nice tits. I wholeheartedly agree that should be the pervading discourse about him.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 meta #enver gortash #gortposting #gortpost to end all gortposts #long post

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accio-victuuri · 3 days ago

Text

assorted fake stories ❤️💛💚

the title explains what these are, fake/fanfiction stories between them. it’s been awhile since i made something like this and i’m happy that i can share one now. none of these are real. don’t ask me to explain further or provide details — it is what it is. don’t break your brain trying to setup a timeline of when this or this happened cause a lot of these are already mentioned. also feel free to interpret it however you want. ✨

i may put a bit of commentary on some of these but the rest is pretty much understandable. the way these are written, seems to be by different OPs and somehow like contributions they are sharing.

#001

The behind-the-scenes footage was shown, but there was a video that was not. The two people were surprised when they were stabbed. B went to check the wound, but accidentally walked too fast. He was originally trying to check the wound, but he lost his balance and fell on Z, kissing Z. It was so funny and love. Believe it or not, the two people were red, red! Those who have the video have seen it.

There is also a segment of counting stars on the rooftop that has not been played (to be supplemented by me). There is audio, but no video. The audio is very sweet. They spent the Lantern Festival in 2021 together, and did not miss any important festivals.

B and Z both talked privately about how B had lost his temper in the backstage of SDC and at work. The fans behind the SDC show were really fierce, and he was really angry. He complained more than once that he was speechless. He actually gave tickets to CPZJIE before he met her.

Another time was in TTXs backstage. Help me, this is a true story. A fan shouted to B in the backstage, "Brother, I love you. Be nice to Brother Z." Oh my god, the whole backstage was silent, the atmosphere was so depressing, B's face turned black quickly, the staff quickly took the girl away, everyone was so embarrassed, the people around B said that they were helpless, some fans were too crazy, they really didn't know the occasion, and they always didn't know what was going on.

When we were singing our song in 2019, there were many illegitimate fans and CPF on Z's flight. CPF asked Z to pass on a letter to B. Z received it and the fans went crazy (covering his face). I was not a fan at that time. My friend told me about it. Then CPF blocked the illegitimate fans and shouted "Z, go away" because there were too many people blocking him and it was very dangerous. Later, Z told a stylist, CPF, I thank them (only rational fans).

I don't know if it's for Valentine's Day this year. In previous years, we were together on Valentine's Day and it was more of a ritual. Z is a person with a strong sense of ritual. B learned to be romantic and ritualistic. Last year on February 14, Z flew over to accompany his boyfriend for two days. Last year, B celebrated Z's birthday in advance and sent him a multi-layered cake on his birthday. It was so exaggerated when I saw the scene. It was not the big one from the crew. He sent a little prince cake.

It was B's birthday, and Z flew over to the crew to accompany him. B's assistant picked him up.

* B is Bobo and Z is ZhanZhan. ohhhh. I particularly like this one because of the part that showed how they appreciate the rational fans. That there is a time and space for everything. I don’t fault Bobo for being mad or maybe taken a back when the person shouted something related to ZZ when he was in his place of work. same thing with ZZ. there must be boundaries.

#002

B likes to send flowers, but he is sometimes busy, so he either orders them to be sent by others, or asks the two men around him. The two men ( Yanyan and Lele ) are also straight men, and their faces will turn red if they hold flowers every day, so the task is left to the female GZRY. YanYan is permanent, but female assistants are transient

So when Lele, who was next to B, had his birthday, Z also went after filming and then rushed back to the crew.

Many people say that B is possessive, but I think Z's possessiveness is hidden. He really has big and small accounts ( on weibo ) . I've seen them all. B's account always records his love diary. Z, who is a very ordinary person, also has his account. All of B's girlfriends ( fans ) follow him. Big pepper (XZ) , no matter big or small, he follows them all. He also sees what people are talking about and how they analyze it. When the behind-the-scenes footage was released, people were so excited that he was so scared that he unfollowed them. I was so amused because the next day I saw that those big bloggers were no longer on his follow list. Sometimes they don’t know anything, but most of the time they are inexplicable. I don’t know if they are really inexplicable or just pretending to be inexplicable.

Z can write new TikTok songs for him, and learn different ways to make a heart shape. What kind of lover’s hobby is this? I don’t know if B really likes to tease Z regardless of the occasion. He is so rude. Z calls him a rude, which makes me laugh. If Z is shy when they meet, he will kick B. If he wins too much in games, he will get angry and complain about him to others. When he has teased enough, he will let him win. This is quite straight male style.

Most of the time they are sweet and loving, they won't let us know when they quarrel. When B is in a bad mood, he will show it on his face. If you pay more attention to him when recording TTXS, you will know it. And every time he gets angry, I think it has something to do with Z. Just think I am in love. But he will handle work and private emotions maturely. He will focus on work. At most, they will argue, for example, they will choose some controversial topics, such as sweet or salty rice dumplings? With cheese or without cheese, weird.

They spent the New Year together, with their parents, went to eat seafood together, and then made hot pot at home. How could I know how to make hot pot? Because the hot pot Z bought was called cheese hot pot.

#003

There is also a very funny quarrel, it is said that when two people quarrel, the loser is always B, if he bravely runs away from home, then the farthest distance B can go is at the door of his home, and finally he will wait for Z to open the door. It's true, sometimes the face of the B is too bad, and it can often be solved with just one phone call.

B really listens to Z. He told Z not to get into trouble again, to protect himself, to be good, not to have wild thoughts, and not to wrong himself. So he always buys the best and sweetest things for Z because he is afraid that Z will wrong himself. Now Z is more and more able to protect himself when he goes out. B must be very relieved.

Z is really weird, he likes to watch horror stories, he is also very childish, he likes the fairy tale movies we watched when we were young, like Ponyo and Sosuke, then he pops up to chat with B, I guess they are the only ones who understand each other.

#004

There was so much fake information that fans were so confused that they had no idea what they were talking about. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have fun eating melons.

The crew was together. On B's birthday, they received a radio on the rooftop. Z said that he would be B's sun, warm everyone and warm the little stars (it was said that they held hands, but they didn't see it). They only heard singing, which was about holding hands and walking forward one step, two steps, three steps, four steps.

In 2019, they returned to Chongqing and traveled to Japan together (to make up for the regret?). This is a rumor. In 2020, they went home together for the Chinese New Year, but stayed for a long time due to the epidemic. Z loves to cook for B.

I can't help it, love is like this, I will like him wherever he stands, he is a good guy, he is good at saying sweet words, it seems that B takes care of all the housework, he also likes to do housework, he said in an interview, his cooking will also be disliked by Z at home, Z is from Chongqing, he will try to cook light and reduce the spiciness.

We went to DYZY together and walked together. When I attended Chanel, I introduced Mr. Zhou and brought Z with me.

I don’t know about the engagement, I haven’t heard of it, but my sister asked about it, and B said there’s no rush. Eat melons, eat melons, I think they are very ambitious in their careers, marriage and engagement are groundless.

#005

B treasures his green microphone so much that he cannot touch it even in the backstage. It was given to him by Z.

There is a very ugly scarf Z knitted for B.

At TTXS lot of interesting things happened. In the backstage, H and DL were chatting together. They mentioned that ZZ was praised for her great acting and B was so good. He listened silently without saying anything. Then, I don’t know why the words got to him. He said, yes, I watched it. It was very well acted. Help me, why didn’t I watch it? When The Wolf was released, he chased the staff around him and asked them to watch it. He would also check and ask what they saw. One sister was really busy and didn’t chase so fast. It was so funny. She directly asked, did you see the kissing scene? B stopped talking. You little guy, you are still being controlled.

The necklace that I refuse to take off was given to me by Z. Bones are a token of love, let me put the timeline, it's so messy, I'll write whatever I think of now.

When I was crazy, I heard that there were masks (I was just watching the show), that is, after 227, B and Z were together, but they had to separate for work, B was very worried and kept pulling Z by the car, anyway, the two of them were close to each other, there were masks at the time, everyone was passing it around, guessing it was a mask kiss.

B really can coax Z to sleep, weird, right? How do I know? Because he would recite the lines in the car, Call Z, recite the lines in a low noise, and finally hang up and say he fell asleep...Z has been having trouble sleeping, and B tries every way to coax him. But when he was filming, there was a rumor about him XD, he took sleeping pills to sleep. B took every step by himself, and he would keep it to himself when he was wronged. But now he will tell Z everything. If he doesn't tell Z, he will be scolded. Compared to Z, he is the big boss.

#006

(After so many years, everyone who has talked to me knows that my memory is really bad, so if there are any deviations in time and events, please don’t be too serious~~)

I was very happy during the recording in April 21. There was a reason why I was so happy that I jumped on F. I was very unhappy before this, but I laughed this time. If fans waved and said hello to him in a friendly way, he would also smile and say hello back. Actually, there is a reason for being unhappy. You can’t even see him making a phone call backstage. That day, he called someone and said he missed you. He said he missed you with a bit of grievance, and then he was like eating candy during the recording.

The joke about washing machines is that B is the spokesperson, but he didn’t get the product right away. He sent it to his gege first and used it. He was photographed using it and it was hilarious. The same goes for clothes and shoes. He was the recipient, but Z always helped him receive the goods right away. When multiple brands come, you will know that Z has helped B draw countless paintings, and the sideline is similar. You know, if you don’t bet, you will have shares. There are also some ridiculous sidelines that have nothing to do with their current skills. It’s so funny. I heard that there are both in Chongqing and Chengdu. There are peripherals and clothes (already had them a long time ago). B had a celebration party (March 21) and drank very happily (he can drink a thousand cups without getting drunk). After drinking, he sang in KTV. The one he sang was a boy, and he was out of tune. Boys love love songs. He likes to hum songs in private, just like he is doing street dance. He has a special song called (Slowly Falling in Love with You) which he recorded for his lover in TTXS on Z’s birthday. It is special. For this reason, he secretly practiced humming songs before recording.

It's so funny. Didn't the fake material say the song "Occupy Shoulders" before? I don't need to say this, right? They just sang the backing vocals. At that time, everyone said what he was doing with the recording studio?

Rules of my World is also for lovers, to coax people, and for his only boy. The cover is also blatant (here the old fans said, I know it all, do you need to tell me?Okay, it's not necessary to make up some non-existent candies, such big ones, why not write them in)

Z always carries snacks with him. B doesn't like them, but he can't live without them. That's why he buys Z any food he sees, and he always talks to him, guessing whether he will like it, and then he becomes silent and plays with his phone, and I don't know who he is talking to. But in the end, it was basically true.

* the song is by Karen Mok called Growing Fond of You or as directly translated something like Slowly Falling in love with you.

youtube

#007

When the Nanjian ended ( CQL fanmeet ) , the two did not separate. They dated together for a night. Many WFs saw it at that time. I heard that some cried and quit being fans and shut up. I think many of them said that WFs would not cry even if they saw them crying. They did not personally cancel that.

A few fans talked about why the two of them were so persistent in visiting the set even though they were busy. It was because B wanted to give Z a sense of security. Of course, B was very attached to Z. In the past, Z did not allow him to meet so frequently, so he would sneak attack from behind and scare Z. No matter how busy he was, he would still find time to meet. Driving for two or three hours was nothing. It was very tiring. He was not tired at all. In order to meet, they tried countless ways, using a stand-in, or hiding in the back of the car. Commonly known as the strategy of luring the tiger away from the mountain. You don’t understand, after being apart for a long time, the child needs to recharge and replenish energy, whether it’s a power bank or Snickers. I used to preach to him, but I felt bad, but I enjoyed it very much. LOL

He would act like a spoiled child and ask what are you doing here~ Straight guy B just speaks straight to the point

Expression: Because I miss you.

So, B accompanied Z to the first show ( ADLAD ) in Wuhan. Z was very nervous, and B said that he had to be by his side at important moments.

After 227, I felt that Z became more clingy. We just happened to be fans in 2020, and we met too often. It was really like a long time since we last saw each other. It was 2020. During that period, I was really worried about him. I couldn't leave him. Later, when Z returned to work, I would often meet him despite all difficulties. For example, for Street Dance, I rented a small house to accompany him, and often cooked delicious food for him. As for the crew of BAH, in fact, Z also went there for a long time. Baili was busy on both sides, so it was not so frequent.

As for OOL before 227, I don't know how he got so angry and made trouble on the set. But I only know that he often went to that set. I heard that he was always a little depressed and unhappy at work. But he was so cold to everyone, just not as lively as before.

* i love them so much and it’s so cuteee how they visit each other on set 🥹🥹🥹🥹 and to those who don’t know WF means Weifen or solo fans. and OOL filming is mentioned again hahahahahaha! i personally don’t believe that WYB made “trouble” there tho. I take it as him being there, knowing how popular they both are at the time is trouble enough.

#008

Z has secretly posted something about B on his Moments. Unexpected, right?

If they meet to make fun of someone, Z likes to pinch B's face (everyone knows this, right?). Many people see him and die of laughter. Every time he visits the set, he must do one thing, rub his face. Many people around me have become accustomed to it.

In private, Z likes to act like a spoiled child, and BZ spoils his girlfriend like a boyfriend. Meaning, anyone who has watched BBKP knows that Z is still weak when he should be weak, because B is really an extremely chauvinistic man. Z would wear hot pants and sit on B in front of staff. If a woman likes B and is known by the big pepper 🌶️, he would do such a thing. Don't be surprised, he does it more.

It doesn’t matter. There are even more exaggerated ones. If I say it, I will be beaten. I am either the first wife or the third wife. The second room is really not good. I can’t do that, hahaha, but you can do it however you want.

B is not shy or bashful in private, he is carefree and not so refined? I don’t know if this description is accurate, isn’t it the love of a straight man, if you love him you buy him things? So his money is given to Z, and he reports everything, big or small, to him, it’s not an exaggeration at all, really not at all, but Z is not actually a frugal person, hahahaha he likes to buy things, he buys bags, small bags, he likes small bags, he buys Lego, watches, clothes for B, usually couple clothes, B always finds reasons to wear them together, he just wants to show off.

Many women like B but they all get rejected by him in a domineering manner. Z will have it too. It’s not surprising. They eat so many melons. What can’t they do in the circle? But they are really clean. In the turbulent entertainment circle, they stand firm and support each other without being polluted. So many people are optimistic about them. I think it’s their character and love.

Actually, they don’t call each other husband, wife, or baby in public, but they do so in private. B likes to act like a spoiled child and listen to Z, but he is a very mature and stable person. He knows the ways of the world.

#009

He also has to take sides. He can handle relationships very well. He is very comfortable and calm, clear-headed, and never listens to the company's white cloth. When he first became famous, the company asked him to pair up with the company's girls. Yes, definitely not. Some people listen to the company because they can cooperate and win-win. He will never let it violate the bottom line. Z is entrusted to him, so what are you afraid of? He has the right to speak and make decisions in the company, but it is far from enough to protect Z. (I will really cry) So when my brother got into trouble, he worked desperately. (I will talk about the timeline later, write it tomorrow, write it together with other melons, and focus on this aspect.) He worked very hard in 2020. I think he is really anxious. No one can be more anxious than him. But he has done it now, they have become so strong, it was so hard for them in the past years, but B really did protect Z well.

His parents took on a lot, and he was just a walking tool to show off his affection. When they go shopping by themselves, they will say they are shopping with their mother. They bought a dog but they don’t have time to take care of it, so they let their mother take care of it. Their mother walked the dog for them in Beijing and later returned to Chongqing. In fact, it was Z who sent soup to B from afar (he really would send soup). He dotes on B too much (his foot was injured during SDC). He sent it to SDC and to the company. Moreover, the soup he made was very bland. Eating too much salt would cause swelling. If you don’t believe me, go check it yourself. B calls it a sweet complaint. Then they advertised to the public that his mother sent them soup and braised beef in soy sauce. His mother loved them very much and approved of them. Although she disagreed at first, she was finally convinced. She would send them gifts on holidays.

In the past, Z was very busy, so B would go to see his mother on his behalf. At the beginning, I heard that they were more accepting. His mother understood and did not bend over backwards for love. Believe it or not, B strongly opposed it, and B's father especially disagreed. In the end, I heard that they had a falling out, but clever B persuaded his father by persuading his grandmother and mother. In the end, his father also helped Z on GS. He heard that B was the first to come out, that is, after the weak connection, he rashly confessed to give Z a sense of security. But it is also like this. I think they are becoming more and more determined. Parents all hope that their children are healthy and happy. Seeing such madness, I guess they can't object too much. In 2021 years, they specially invited their parents to their home in Beijing to celebrate the New Year together.

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #i hope they are healthy and happy together ☺️☺️☺️☺️#Youtube

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