#but its hard not to be resentful when you are your own comfort always

[apocalypse-bones]

Feel like a fucking zoo animal

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ BLAME IT ON THE BLACK STAR — hayakawa aki

summary . . . maybe aki’s in the wrong for all the mixed signals he sends you, but it’s your fault for always picking up the phone.

contents . . . f!reader, angst, complicated relationships, smoking, miscommunication, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, ambiguous ending, hurt/comfort i suppose — 5.6k

notes . . . this is my first time writing for aki so pls be nice i’m nervous hdjwjwk <33 i’m not all the way caught up w csm so it might be inaccurate idk

Aki calls you, sometimes, when he’s feeling lonely. You figure, by now, he must have your number memorized, with how frequently your phone ends up ringing. 

Of course, you always pick up, knowing you shouldn’t, knowing it’ll just end up hurting. But you can’t help yourself, really. You’re incredibly weak for a man that you know will never commit his life to you. You learned that lesson a long time ago. 

Still, you’re a fool who refuses to move on. 

Instead, you stand, shivering in the cold in front of Aki’s door, waiting for him to answer it. The lights are off in the apartment — you have no idea where his new roommates are for the evening, but they clearly aren’t there. Aki wouldn’t have called you otherwise; you’re certain he doesn’t want anyone to know about the two of you, save for those that have known since the beginning.  

Heavy footsteps pad across the floor, and then the lamp in the hallway flicks on, illuminating the threshold in a beam of yellow. The door unlatches, opening just a crack, as his blue eyes drift down to trail over you. 

“You got here faster than I thought.” 

“I’m freezing, Aki,” you say, pushing through the door. His palm falls away, rests at his sides. Its only eight o’clock, but he’s already in sweatpants, a loose sweatshirt hanging over his tall frame. Dark hair falls across his cheeks, still damp from his earlier shower. 

“Sorry,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “I was in the bathroom.” 

You don’t reply, and shrug your coat off instead, hanging it on the rack that is now full of jackets that don’t belong to him. But you’re barely able to get it onto the hook before Aki has a palm around your wrist, tugging you towards him, the smell of his body wash and shampoo lingering in a cloud around him. 

A little welp of surprise leaves you as you spin around, nearly falling into his chest. Instead, you collide with his mouth, the heat already settling down on you as heavily as it always does when Aki is around.

He kisses you, long and hard, hungry for the taste of you, his head craned down to meet your height. For a moment, you let him. It’s sweet and familiar, all the things you’ve ever wanted.

In moments like these, you indulge in thoughts of a life where things are different. A life where Aki can greet you at the door, smile when you kiss him, instead of the pensive expression he always wears. A life where Aki doesn’t come home with new scars every few days, where he isn’t hell-bent on a goal you’re not sure he can ever achieve.

That dream of yours won’t ever become a reality, but it doesn’t stop you from savoring the taste of his mouth against your own — how much you’ve missed it, even when you shouldn’t. 

When you’ve run out of air to breathe, you push him away, and Aki stands straight, blinking like he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. 

“Not even going to offer to make me dinner?” you ask, keeping him at a distance. Although you meant for it to sound playful, teasing, it comes off full of a bitter resentment. Your face is probably drawn up into a scowl, even if you can’t see it.

Aki blinks, rubbing his forearm. His lips part, then he shuts them, furrowing his eyebrows together. “You said you were cooking — over the phone, you said you’d already eaten.” 

“Well, at least you remember that.” 

Confusion spreads even further, tighter, stretching to every corner of his expression. Aki’s hands twitch listlessly at his side, just as his mouth does. “Are you upset with me?” he asks, and you know he’s smarter than that, that he might not be the most sensitive to others’ emotions, but he is certainly no fool when it comes to yours. “If you didn’t want to come over tonight, I wasn’t forcing you.” 

A laugh almost escapes you — instead, you muster up a cool grimace. Like you aren’t going drop everything for Aki every time he says I don’t want to be alone tonight. 

Really, it was laughable how tightly he had you in the palm of his hand, and you can’t fathom that he would think otherwise. You’ve always done whatever he needed; given him whatever he wanted. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital?” you ask finally, swallowing back your annoyance as you gesture towards the bandage around his arm. It’s wrapped up tight, but the bandages are fresh, still a starched white. 

His eyebrows tighten further. The air around him changes, even though his expression doesn’t. “Who told you about that?” 

“Himeno.” 

Aki purses his lips. “I didn’t realize you two were friends now.” 

You did laugh then, shaking your head as you make your way into the living room, looking for any subtle changes in his apartment. There are new pairs of shoes that certainly don’t belong to him, a sweatshirt that looks about two sizes too small. 

“I wouldn’t really say we’re friends,” you shrug, not bothering to look at him. The air in the room is somehow off-putting, and you take it in like it’s the first you’d ever seen of the place. “But how else am I supposed to find out if you’re still alive?” 

You give him a sad little smile, and slowly, the irritation seeps out of his face, his shoulders slumping. He looks tired, then — far too old for a man that is still so young. 

“It wasn’t that serious. I’m fine now, aren’t I?” Aki gestures to his arm, flails it wildly, as if to prove it’s still working properly. “Just a scratch.”

“It is serious. It’s serious to me,” you say, narrowing your eyes, and though his tone is warmer, he doesn’t smile at you, not like he used to. He maintains a vague air of surprise, while dampening any emotion that could cloud over his lack of understanding. It annoys you to no end, that he won’t let you see him.“I’m always worried about you, idiot. Don’t act like you don’t know how I feel about you.” 

Aki blinks, then draws his lips together in a thin line, shaking his head. Although you were pointedly avoiding each other’s gazes, you could feel the tension drawing you together like a cord. 

God, you missed him every time you were apart. You went to your regular job, thought all day about the man who would never love you like you loved him, wondering if he was okay, if he’d pick up the phone and call you again next week. Or if, one day, it would be Himeno instead, telling you that you’d never see him again — or, god forbid, Makima, with her careless tone of authority. That thought alone haunts you even with your eyes open.

But for now, it’s still Aki who calls you, and every time, you are overwhelming relieved to hear the sound of his voice again. Heavy tears always drop down your cheeks as you dig the phone into your ear, wishing that it was his mouth there instead, and wishing that those pretty blue eyes still looked at you with the same sort of softness they once had. 

“I told you…” Aki begins sharply, but then he trails off, finally meeting your gaze. His features pinch once more, melodramatic, as he scans the sadness that you could never hide in your expression. “Damn it.” Car lights flash over his face through the window as someone drives past the apartment complex. The darkness of the room becomes even more evident when they disappear.

“I know,” you say, resigned, as you watch him scrub his hands over his face, and inhale heavily. It’s hard for you to keep your emotions from getting the best of you. “You’ve reminded me — many times. I know this doesn’t mean we’re back together. I know, Aki.”

His jaw parts, lips faltering at the beginning of a phrase. Despite his tall frame, he falters, looking so small, as sadness filters into the eyes that shine a deep navy in the shade of the evening. Beside him his fingers twitch, curling up into his palm, before he takes two long strides towards you. 

The mere second it takes him to get there passes without your memory, and your back hits the door to his bedroom, softly, as he looms over you, fingers brushing your cheeks. 

A thousand times you’ve been in this position, and it’s so familiar that your hand reaches up instinctively, splaying across his chest. Aki’s breaths leave him, deeply, expanding through his lungs before he exhales them across your cheekbones, oxygen splitting at the bridge of your nose. “What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, blinking up at him from under your lashes. 

“That’s not what I meant.” His voice comes out on a hoarse whisper.

“Hm?” You dig your fingers into his sweatshirt, the material thick and warm. “What did you mean?” 

Tenderly, his thumb brushes across the hollows of your cheek, the sharp bone that juts out. Aki’s fingertips are so rough and calloused, but that familiarity brings a sob out of you, your hands springing up to grab his wrists. “That I’m not fooling anyone,” Aki says, swallowing, eyes roaming all over your face. “That I can’t stay away from you, no matter how hard I try.”

Your lips part, but your breath is stolen away by another kiss, blanketing your mouth, warm and with an emotion that you’re certain you can taste. It takes you less than a moment for you to close your eyes, to relax into him as always, melt into his familiarity. The taste of the cigarettes he smokes lingers on his tongue, seeping deep into your own lungs. 

As he bumps his nose with your own, you reach up, run your fingers through his hair, untangling all the knots that have accumulated since his shower. At the same time, Aki palms at the door behind you, not bothering to look up as he fumbles for the door handle, slipping it open.

Aki always kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it, struggling to unglue you from himself. He kisses you like he knows he’s going to leave again, and it might be for the very last time. 

It’s a sickening emotion to live with, but you’ve accepted it all the same. 

You ignore the feelings that never leave you alone when you’re with Aki, and stumble backwards into the room, feet catching under you. Although you nearly fall, Aki catches you, arms heavy around your waist, large palm spreading across your lower back. 

“You’re so pretty,” he says, nearly carrying you to his bed. The two of you latch so tightly onto the other, that you will surely go tumbling down if either of you makes the wrong move. “I’ve never met anyone as pretty as you.” 

“Aki,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I don’t want to hear that.” 

He stumbles, and you do fall onto the bed, then, his heavy body on top of you, landing with a thud. But he’s careful to catch himself, to tuck his arms into the space beside you, as he kisses across your cheeks, down your neck, to your chest. 

“Why?” he asks into your skin, voice low and rough. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” his tone is dry, sarcastic. Aki’s fingers fumble with the zipper on your jeans, slipping your pants off faster than you can inhale a fresh set of air into your lungs. “Want me to prove it to you?”

Despite your lingering resentment, you crack a smile, shift your hips so he can pull your bottoms off completely. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall in love with me again?” you say off-handedly, running your hands along the edge of his shirt, before slipping cold fingers under it. His skin is hot there, abdomen soft, muscle just as lean as it was last week, but stronger than when you’d first met him. 

Aki’s eyes soften. “Why would I be afraid of a thing like that?” 

You don’t like the double meaning in his words, and you don’t want to read into it. Instead, you pull Aki back down to your mouth, hoping he’ll take and take from you, even though he’s always one to give. The one who calls you, who needs to be inside of you, but won’t worry about himself until you’ve come apart at least once. 

“Feels like it’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” he says, pushing your thighs further apart, muttering the words against your lips. His fingers graze the outside of your panties, as you slowly begin to wet them with desire that burns hot in your stomach. “I missed you.” 

You feel his smile curl as he kisses across your chest, around your collarbones, and you sit up far enough to slide your shirt off. Aki does the same — there are fresh scars on his body, healing wounds. You can’t look at them for too long, before grief rises up in you, mourning a man that is not yet dead. 

“Whose fault is that?” you ask bitterly, pushing the top of his head to sink him to your thighs. Instead, he takes his time pressing his mouth around your belly, swirling his tongue just past your hips. 

A sigh leaves you, and you sink deeper into the mattress, eyes blinking closed. He’s so slow, so deliberate with every movement, like he’s been waiting all of this time just to lose himself in you. Ridiculous, really, considering that he could have you at anytime, and he knows it. 

You’d hate him for it, for stringing you along like this, but that would be hypocritical, really. You’re the fool that continues to play the game. 

Aki ignores your passing comment, squeezing your thighs as his face drifts down your body. His hair brushes against your bare skin, still a bit damp, but so soft, the scent of his soap so familiar you could pick out the shampoo with your eyes closed. 

“Want my fingers or my mouth first?” Aki whispers into the inside of your thigh, kissing the delicate skin there as he looks up at you from under thick, black lashes. They flutter over his cheekbones, the hollows of his eyes, and he’s so pretty… it’s no wonder you’re so far gone for him. “Since you’re in such a mood tonight, I’ll let you choose.” 

There’s a tiny smirk on his face, and even though you’re about to answer, Aki takes it upon himself to kiss your cunt through your panties, the fabric sticking to your skin. 

“A-aki,” you stutter, caught off-guard, fingers lacing through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer.” 

He drags his tongue up your clothed cunt, wetting it even further, so you can’t tell if you’re soaked from his spit or your own arousal. “I picked instead. Like the way you moan when my mouth’s on you,” he says off-handedly, and heat rushes to your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling, still so shy when it comes to his dirty mouth. “No one’s here,” Aki continues, words vibrating against the bone, puffs of air drifting around your sensitive area. “Want you to be loud.” 

A tiny laugh escapes you, but it is quickly stolen by a whimper as he sucks your clit into his mouth through the cotton of your underwear, an old pair that was anything but sexy. Although, you’ve known Aki for so long, been with him for so long, there’s never any reason to try and impress him. 

“Feels good,” you say, closing your eyes as you rest on the pillow. Aki pushes his tongue against your hole, teasing. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs, keeping them from locking around his head as you search for more friction. Your chest rises and falls with the heat of your breathing, but Aki doesn’t let you rub yourself against his tongue, doesn’t let you move much, really. “Aki,” you whine, and though there are times when he doesn’t let you get your way, this isn’t one of them.

“So impatient,” he says cheekily, but he slips your panties to the side, your cunt vulnerable to the frigid winter air. You shiver, and he sinks his tongue into you completely, the heat of it warming you as he swirls it inside, spreading you further open with his fingers. 

Your body grows hot all over when Aki thrusts his tongue in and out of your aching walls, your juices seeping onto his tongue. He moves slowly, savoring every moment that you’re in his bed, even as you try to arch into him, speed him up so that you can orgasm faster. He’s right: you are impatient, because it’s been days since you’ve last felt him inside of you, and nothing feels as good as Aki’s thick fingers and cock. 

His nose bumps your clit as he drags his tongue in a thick stripe up your cunt. A moan leaves you, and without thinking, you jerk your hips up, forcing them towards his face. The sound from your chest is so lewd, and you’ll feel shy about how loud you were later, but all you can think about is his mouth on you. 

Aki smiles, kisses the inside of your thigh. When he lifts his head, the ache inside you burns deeper, the sight of him with saliva and fluid dripping down his chin almost too much for you to handle. “Taste so good,” he hums, massaging the skin around your knees, hoisting your calves up over his shoulder blades. “Think you can cum from just my tongue, baby? You’re so pent up, I don’t think you can last much longer.” 

You whimper, pressing your heels into his back as Aki’s tongue resumes lapping up your cunt, long and hot, massaging the most sensitive spots inside of you. You can tell he’s hard, aching as he shifts his hips awkwardly, trying not to press them in the bed. 

Aki picks up his speed, head bobbing slightly as the heat insides of you builds; normally, you would’ve lasted longer, but you can’t remember the last time you’ve even touched yourself, and your most recent orgasm must have been with Aki. 

You don’t tell him when you’re close, but he already knows, sucking harder on your clit as you finally come, body jerking into him, walls spasming. Your eyes squeeze shut, and his name leaves your lips much quieter than he would’ve liked. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Aki says, tugging off his sweatpants, the only layer between you and his cock. His dark hair is slightly mussed from your fingers, the way you’d pulled at him, tried to guide him where you wanted him, even if he already knew. “So easy for you to get me hard, you know that?” His cock is leaking at the tip, desperate for release, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “Just the thought of you spread out like this is enough.” 

A desperate whine leaves you, and you reach behind, unclasping the straps of your bra, the last remaining garment between you and Aki. He grins at that, his canines so sharp, teeth a little crooked, but the prettiest smile you’d ever seen because you see it so rarely. 

“Gonna play with those pretty tits while I fuck you, baby?” 

“Fuck, Aki, please,” you groan, reaching for him, pulling his mouth to your own. You kiss him hard, hoping that he knows you love him, and hoping that he feels guilty about that fact. “Want you inside me. God, I need you so bad.” 

He presses his forehead to your own, lining his cock up with your entrance, the head prodding at your gaping walls. You get so sensitive, even from just one orgasm, that you wince a little bit. But the uncomfortable feeling eases as he presses into you, kisses you sweetly.

“Fuck, fuck,” Aki groans, biting down hard on your shoulder. “God, you’re so wet, so warm. You feel so good around my cock, baby. Such a pretty girl for me.” 

Your nails dig into his back as he slides, slowly, out of you, before he thrusts back in, still not rough enough for your liking. Aki’s hair falls around his face, his mouth parting just a bit, focus dilating his irises. His biceps flex as he holds himself off the bed, snapping his hips into your aching cunt. 

“H-harder,” you mumble, trying not to shout, to moan too loudly into the open air of the evening. Aki’s walls are far too thin, and his neighbors know who you are. The last thing you want is for them to see you as Aki’s fuck-buddy that moans like a bitch in heat. “Please, sweetheart.” 

Aki groans, a deep sound that reverberates all the way from his chest down to his stomach. The affectionate name twists something up in him, and Aki thrusts his hips faster, kisses your forehead, your cheeks, any part of your skin that he can get his mouth on. His hair tickles your jaw, nose nudging against your face as he mumbles into your skin, “so needy, aren’t you? I want to take my time with you, and you just want to get off.” 

“Can’t help it, Aki,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you buck your hips upward. “God, you feel so good, I lo—”

You stop the words from leaving your mouth, but Aki already knows. He’s known it for a while now, and you should be embarrassed by the fact that you can’t let him go. 

Wide blue eyes stare back at you, full of something you can’t define, but still so soft as he pulls away. He draws you closer, slides your legs around his hips before pinning your own to the bed with large, heavy palms. Aki’s built with all lean muscle, and he’s so tall — so much taller than you that it’s easy to forget because he treats you so gently. Still, he blankets your body, makes you feel small in the nicest way. 

Because you know that even though he can never commit his love to you, he’d never let anything — human or devil — lay a finger on you. You love him, you love him, you love him.

Aki follows your wishes, sinks faster inside of you as you exhale heavily. Your nails dig into his back so tightly that you start to worry you’ll break the skin. But Aki loses himself in the feeling of you, panting into your chest as he moves his hips. 

“F-fuck,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not going to last long inside you like this. Maybe I should slow down—”

“No, no, I’m close,” you stumble over your words, meeting Aki’s intense eyes, a thousand emotions relayed in them as he blinks at you. “It’s okay.”

“God,” he mutters, whispers the word between you, even though you’re certain he hasn’t believed in him for a while, and you’re not sure you do either. “I don’t deserve you.” 

You wonder if Aki meant to say that at all, so you let it go, let the words exist between you as if they were never there at all. 

His palm guides it’s way across your stomach, the touch featherlight, before he reaches for your breast, thumb flicking across your nipple. The nail catches, and you moan, almost there once more. Aki’s cock hitting all the right places, so much better than your own fingers.

“Aki,” you say his name over and over, your mind going numb from thinking about him. 

“I know,” Aki mutters against your lips, hot air ghosting across them on his exhale. “You’re okay. Let go for me, baby. Did so good for me, want you to cum on my cock.” 

His voice, so deep and rough in your ears, sends you over the edge, and a sound forces its way up your throat as you clench down on him, your cunt spasming from your orgasm. It hits you harder than you’d been anticipating, legs squeezing around Aki’s hips as you dig your toes into the mattress. 

“There we go,” Aki wipes your hair away from your face, kissing your temples, so gently that you think you might cry. It’s not fair for him to be so sweet, so loving when you know he’s going to kick you out of his apartment before the night is over. “My pretty girl. Shit,” Aki mumbles, cursing lowly before pulling out of you, quick, and spilling into his palm. It takes him less than a stroke down the length of his cock, the thick cum spurting out, falling onto your hips, beside you on the mattress. 

It’s not your mess to clean, though, and you can’t bring yourself to care. Breathing heavily, you watch Aki fumble for something on his nightstand, before he gives up, wiping his wet hand on the already soiled bedsheets. Then, he collapses down onto his side, staring, watching your chest rise and fall. 

“Aki,” you say, turning away from his eyes to stare at the ceiling, the cracked plaster, stained from water leaks. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

Silence falls across the room, and you can’t bear to look at him, refusing to see the indifference on his face. There’s nothing, he says nothing, before sitting back up, shuffling through the nightstand once more. 

The beams of streetlights sway against his silhouette, encased in a beautiful swirl of purple and navy hues. His hair seems an even darker curtain, coiling around his jaw as he hides from you, hides the emotion that was less than evident on his face. 

You sigh, and flip back on your side. 

Aki takes a few drags of the cigarette, puffing them into the stale air. It reeks, probably, in the tiny bedroom, but all you can smell is the tangy scent of Aki’s soap, the lavender that lingers on his skin, the cleanness of the linens that have been recently washed. This apartment, sometimes, feels more like home than your lonely one does, even though being with Aki is almost like being on your own, sometimes. 

“Those things are going to kill you,” you say under your breath, still fascinated by the way the smoke draws deep into his lungs, puffs out in a cloud, relaxes him easily. His veiny palms flex, long, slender fingers holding the cigarette between them. 

Aki doesn’t laugh, but it’s close to one, a snort almost, as he breathes again. “Not like I’ll be alive much longer, anyway.” 

“You sound like Himeno.” 

“Do I?” 

You sniff, and scoot up against the wall, sitting beside him. Despite your argument, you take the cigarette from him, smoke it yourself, and place your lips around the exact place where Aki’s had been. He watches with the same rapt fascination, blinking slowly, before staring at the ceiling as you had before. 

It’s Himeno he should be with now, really. Another Devil Hunter. A woman he can fuck without getting his feelings all mixed up, someone who probably understands him better than you do. He’s never loved her like he loved you, and she wouldn’t take offense to it either, you think. 

But it’s you he calls instead. It’s you who is too weak to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Aki whispers.

“So am I.” 

You reach across him, press the cigarette into the ashtray and drop what’s left of it amongst the other ends. Aki’s fingertips dance along your spine as you do so, and you wish he wouldn’t touch you, wish he’d just kick you out of the bed, toss you out of the apartment, spit at you like you weren’t anything but a whore. 

Instead, he kisses your shoulder, draws you in close, curls his tall frame around your body, and drags you back down into the bed. 

It hurts more than you want to admit, because this is what you want. You’d truly go the rest of your life, never have sex with him again, if he’d always hold you like you meant something to him. 

“I need to go home,” you say, remembering that you still haven’t eaten dinner, that you’d left your things in disarray, your clothes unfolded on your bed. There was never a reason to before, because with Aki, you’d always go home, just before the last train. You’d be tucked into your bed that same evening after a nice shower. “Aki…” 

“Stay.” He kisses your collarbone and shoulder again, throws his thigh over your own, and traps you against his body. “Please stay. You can wear that T-shirt of mine you like so much. I’ll make you breakfast. You can meet Power and Denji, and then I’ll take you home tomorrow morning.” 

You swallow, damning your weak-willed heart for succumbing so easily. Fingers curl around his wrists as you bask in his embrace, how warm he is, despite normally running so cold. “Aki,” you whisper again, tears welling along your eyelashes. “You can’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me.” 

“Do what?” His voice is just as quiet as your own, and he’s still kissing you, holding you like you’re something precious. But he is surely not that stupid about your feelings, to how he has been tearing you apart for the past year, even though you let him. 

You sniff, trying not to cry, never wanting to embarrass yourself, even if you have sobbed in his arms on numerous occasions. “You must know that I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. Even if I marry someone after you die, I’m certain your name will still be etched into the chains on my heart. I’m just a stupid, dumb girl.” 

He says nothing, and you do cry, then, tears streaming down your face as you twist away, stare out the curtained window, the thin fabric fluttering from the heat that kicks on. 

“Please don’t call me anymore. Just let me hurt for awhile, so I can get over you. You’re so selfish, so selfish, why can’t I just move on?” You bury your face in your hands, wipe your tears, try to fight against him as he pulls you into his strong chest, kisses the top of your head. Still, even then, even when you want to hate him, you’re putty in his heads, melting and craving the place in his arms that feels like home. 

“I can’t let you go,” Aki says, wiping your tears. “Fuck, I can’t — I need you. Do you understand? I need you, and I know I’m a selfish piece of shit, but I don’t want you to move on.” He frowns, clenching his jaw, twisting his expression up. “I’ll be better.” 

“Aki—”

“I’ll love you like you need, honey. I thought,” Aki scrubs his palm over his face, the other still stroking across your back. “I thought it’d make it easier, all this distance between us, to let you go. I can’t put you in danger, but I can’t stop loving you either.” 

You inhale sharply, leaning your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, committing the harmony to your memory. Who knows how much longer it will be in there, how much longer Aki will allow it to exist before he destroys himself completely. 

“Aki, you’ll never love me like I need, because you’ll always put your work first,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut. “I realized that a long time ago.” 

He shifts, pushing you away so you could look each other in the eye, the astounding resoluteness in his irises. How serious he was about trying to be someone he was not. “I can try.” 

You sob.

And you wish you could just say no; say no and walk away, forget his name, never answer the phone again, never call Himeno to check up and make sure he’s still breathing. 

But you can’t — it’ll never be that easy. 

Pushing him away, you rest your head back on the pillow, trying to make yourself comfortable as you turn your back to him. Perhaps, the morning will give you clarity. You’ll stay, but you’re not sure for how long. 

“I’m tired.” 

Aki curls against you, rests his arm around your hip, kisses your neck, cheek, temple. “Okay,” he relents, holding you close, chest pressed against your spine. “I meant what I said about breakfast. Maybe we can talk about it then?” 

You want to say no, but you won’t. He’ll kiss you in the morning, and you’ll kiss him back. Settle on your knees and give him a blowjob while he’s still groggy, before slipping on his T-shirt, chattering off his ear as he makes you breakfast. You’ll probably even curl your arms around his stomach from behind, stand on you tiptoes to reach the space between his shoulder blades. 

Power and Denji will come home at some point, and probably say something rude, as Aki says they do to everyone. Then you’ll go home, and you’ll still be in love with him, and Aki will forget the conversation even happened, because he’ll say anything to get you to stay. 

Or, maybe, he’s being honest. Maybe he will love you like you want him to. 

Less than likely.

“Okay, Aki,” you agree, too tired to argue or acknowledge the emptiness in your stomach. “We’ll talk about it in then.”

reblogs appreciated!! thank you for reading!

[loveemagicpeace]

Astrology Observations🪐

Men with capricorn placements or 10th house have a more paternal approach and fatherly qualities. They try to be good fathers. They embody this energy much more than others. They are very caring and do a lot for their children. They will almost always accept responsibility.

Capricorn placements have hard time letting thing and people go cuz they know that one they will let go they will not go back to that. its like a rule that they have.

Capricorn is associated with the seagoat, which means that he also has a lot of emotions hidden behind his cold nature. No one really knows how many difficult things they have experienced, because they always hide a part of themselves inside that they don't show to everyone (sometimes to no one). They know how to go through problems alone and usually do not talk about them until they are resolved. They can be much more secretive than scorpions. One thing that Capricorns will never express is that they are having a hard time or that they need help. They are taught to go through life on their own and overcome difficulties along the way. They are used to cruelty and a cruel world. They are vulnerable people inside, but they rarely show this side to anyone. They don't want to appear weak. Capricorns are very lonely people inside. Legend has it that "the seagoat lived with his children and warned them to stay in the water, but they went to the city." So the goat grew up in its loneliness and later died" that's why goats are used to being alone. Capricorns suffer in silence.

It isn't always easy for Rising-Capricorns to show their feelings, though powerful feelings do exist. You love deeply, are loyal and protective, and go out of your way to do kind deeds for others. However, you are often torn by jealousy and resentment (which you hide), and down deep you never really forgive someone who does you an injury.

U always have to look for mars sign in person chart to see how much effort they will put into something/ anything. Cuz mars is the way u act and react on things. What u will do about it and also how u fight. For ex.: mars in sagittarius have a fiery reaction to their surroundings and to the things that happen around them. And they are also very persistent. Mars in libra have very peaceful response. They do a lot for the relationship.

Being born on the cups means u have some tendencies of other sign. For ex.: libra sun born on 18-22 oct. have tendencies of scorpio which means that they will be much more intense, deep. You have magnetic personal charm. Your sensuality attracts others, even when you are not aware of it. U can also be more controling. Libra sun born from sept. 23 - sept 27 have more tendencies of virgo. You are people-oriented and possess a talent for making others like you. You would like to keep your emotions on an even keel, but you tend to be either enthusiastically happy or else dejected over some little thing going wrong. Love makes you feel fulfilled, and you are probably flirtatious.

For your health you have to look at your sun and opposite sign of your sun, rising sign & also all the other planets you have in your chart. For ex.: if you have stellium in your aires or a lot of energy of this sign u will embody a lot of this energy. So this means that your head, face, facial bone structure and hair will be the most exposed.

People with libra and sagittarius placements are most prone to being obsessed with shopping. There is no limit to how much you can buy. And you are very obsessed with buying clothes or something related to you. You like to enjoy comfort and things and don't feel bad about spending money.

My opinion is that in synastry aspect with sun conj ascendant, the person with the ascendant will be more attached to the person with the sun. Because the sun is what you shine for and your ego and person automatically emits this energy and follows it. And the sun is also something with which a person is seen. What a person is seen for or what makes them the center of attention. The ascendant person, however, has this personality.

Your 7th house is what you want to be, but it is difficult for you to achieve it, because it is a sign that is opposite to what you are. It is the hardest thing to achieve. So when you meet a person who has this energy, you like them for that very reason. Because it has the energy you need. For ex.: Aries in 7th house but the person has 1st house placements -You will find the person attractive because they have self-confidence, determination, courage, madness, hot-bloodedness. And it is exactly this person who will draw these characteristics out of you. 7th house is want u need not what u necessary desire. And this person will bring challenges out of you, and that's exactly why you'll like them.

Pisces will love being around people who will give them a sense of understanding. When they see that they are seen and understood. Because that's what they need and want. They need a lot of attention and tenderness. It's just that they don't show it like that because they don't know how. They feel safe with people with which they are seen.

Sagittarius placements especially mars they don't like staying in one place for a long time. They like to do things. They like challenges and explorations. And when they travel there, they also learn a lot about themselves. You like to experience the excitement of love in the same way you search for diversion in the rest of your life. First attractions are always wildly romantic. They don't like to waste time with a person if the energy is not compatible. They are very passionate in love and love that passion back. It is difficult to stimulate them.

People with the Neptune in 1st house spent a lot of their times near the sea. Also are more prone to be artistic, dreamers. With Uranus in 1st house your life is often marked by sudden and unexpected beginnings. You have a high-strung personality and an in- dependent way of looking at things. You can be strong- willed about getting your own way. Jupiter in 1st house- You are blessed with luck, and things usually turn out for the best in life. Venus in 1st house-Your appearance is important to you and you tend to spend too much money on yourself. Saturn in 1st house-You are patient and a bit shy, feel nervous underneath (which you keep under tight self-control).

Sun in 2nd house -You need security and tend to attract money, but it comes into and goes out of your life rather quickly. Pluto in 2nd house-You are adventurous about money and not afraid of taking risks. You like to diversify, and during your lifetime there may be several changes in your source of income.

Sun in 9th house-You enjoy seeing new places and exploring new ideas. You are a person who stands by your word and tends to be idealistic. Mercury in 9th house-During your middle years you may travel a great deal, both for health and your work.

Pluto in 11th house- You are something of a reformer, and seek to bring about a change for the better in any situation. You feel intensely about your goals and may even have an obsessive personality.

Sun in 12th house-You like privacy and quiet and the joys of meditation and reflection. You may be reticent or have difficulty expressing yourself and are close to only a few people. Mars in 12th house-you keep your deep and vehement feelings secret from the world. You have strong intuitive powers that can be used to advantage in personal relationships. Pluto in 12th house- You are a private person and do not share your emotions easily. People don't know how many darknes you carry within you.

Always look at the kind of Venus a person has (because that's what a person wants in love). What kind of love language does a venus person have. Women show what they find beautiful in a relationship and what will be attractive to them. With men, it shows what kind of woman they want and what it is that attracts them most in a woman. Example: Capricorn venus in 4th house - a man will want a woman who is strong, capable, can endure a lot of pain, responsible, reliable and devoted. They don't necessarily want a woman who is successful, rather a woman who has a goal and knows what she wants and is determined. At the same time, a caring woman may have a little maternal quality (more compassion, emotions).

People who have Bucket shape of chart tend to have a single-minded drive toward achieving a goal. They marshal their energies in one direction. People who have See-Saw shape will always stand between two decisions in life. Everything they choose will have two paths. Seesaw personalities are always able to see two sides of a question. They take into consideration opposing viewpoints and opinions, and weigh these when making their decisions. People who have Bowl shape will always have the feeling that something is missing in their lives. Until they meet someone to fill that void.

Quincunx - Originally classified as mildly adverse, the modern tendency is to consider its influence unpredictable and also more powerful than first thought. Semisquare-Mildly adverse. Brings tension that precipitates events but is much less powerful than a square.

Sun- neptune good aspects- Good imagination; artistic potential. Creative self- expression.

Venus- mars easy aspects-Feelings of warmth and affection easily ex- pressed. Enthusiastic. Passionate. Romantic. Venus conj Mars- A sensuous personality. Optimistic outlook. Good balance between charm and aggressiveness. Venus-saturn aspects-these people are very serious in love. They will never cheat you or do something wrong. They are very responsible and trustworthy people. You can always trust them.

Mars- saturn aspects- are very stable and reliable. In this aspect, I always see that the person will be direct with their actions and also show what they want. And they can also have a high value.

Cancer moon people like to be comfortable wherever they are. And let's say if they go to a cafe, they will always make sure that it is comfortable and that there are comfortable chairs to sit on.

Libra rising woman are very loyal and they really put a lot into the relationship and the partner. They are very helpful and compassionate. Libra rising men on the other side can be sometimes very indecisive and take a long time to decide what they want. Also, they can be insecure in themselves and be people pleasers which means that they can also look for validation of others.

Planets in the first house signify energies that become part of the individual's expression of self with regard to others. A concentration of planets here is likely to increase an individual's tendency toward subjectivity. Some planets in the first tend to lessen the degree of emphasis on the self. Neptune, for example, tends to cloud one's awareness of how one projects energies toward others.Such an individual may gain the ability to project multiple personalities such that others never really know who the individual is.

Although houses often seem to symbolize other people and entities, we have already pointed out that they really only symbolize our experience of these things. In other words, houses symbolize on the interpersonal and environmental level our orientations and relationships to these entities.

The third house does not indicate our actual brothers, sisters, and relatives, but rather our relationship to something they have in common, namely, that they are all people in our environment with whom we deal more or less automatically. It also shows the energy of the people you meet who make you feel like you've known them forever.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🪐✨🦋

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : UNBREAKABLE BONDS : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Angst but fluff at the end :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: RPF

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Emotional Conflict, Breakup and Separation, Pregnancy and Unplanned parenthood, Emotional Reconciliation

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: When Hugh reveals he doesn’t want more children, it creates tension in your otherwise happy relationship, leading to a painful breakup. Months later, you discover you’re pregnant and choose to keep the baby, keeping the news from Hugh. An unexpected encounter in the park brings the revelation, leading to a deeply emotional moment as you face the future and navigate the complexity of your new reality.

THE SUN STREAMED THROUGH THE CURTAINS, CASTING A WARM GLOW OVER THE ROOM AS YOU STRETCHED, FEELING THE SOFT SHEETS AGAINST YOUR SKIN.

Beside you, Hugh was still asleep, his arm draped protectively over you. You smiled, gently moving to not disturb him, and slipped out of bed.

Padding softly across the room, you made your way to the living room where a small, fluffy ball of energy was waiting for you. Loki, your playful husky puppy, greeted you with enthusiastic licks and a wagging tail. You laughed, scooping him up and nuzzling your nose into his soft fur.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air as you settled on the couch, Loki curling up beside you. Life was perfect. You and Hugh had been together for two years, and every day felt like a new adventure. From spontaneous weekend getaways to quiet evenings spent cooking dinner together, your relationship was filled with love and laughter.

One lazy Sunday morning, as you both lounged on the patio with Loki playing at your feet, the conversation turned to the future. Hugh, sipping his coffee, mentioned how content he was with your little family. The words were casual, but they carried a weight that settled uncomfortably in your chest.

"What about kids?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Do you ever think about having more?"

Hugh's expression softened, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I love you, and I love our life together," he said, reaching for your hand. "But I don't see myself having more children. I'm happy with the way things are."

You nodded, forcing a smile, but inside, your heart ached. You had always imagined having children of your own, and hearing Hugh's definitive answer left you feeling lost.

It started small, as many arguments do. You had been out shopping and found a charming little onesie, unable to resist its allure despite Hugh's stance. You brought it home, hiding it at the bottom of your shopping bag. But later that evening, as you both unpacked the groceries, Hugh found it.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the tiny garment with a puzzled expression.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I just thought it was cute. Maybe for the future..."

Hugh's face hardened. "We've talked about this. Why are you doing this?"

"It's just a piece of clothing, Hugh," you replied, feeling defensive. "Can't I have a little hope for the future?"

Hugh sighed, placing the onesie on the counter. "I thought we were on the same page. This feels like you're trying to push me into something I'm not ready for."

The conversation ended with a strained silence, the first crack in your seemingly perfect relationship.

The small arguments began to escalate. One evening, after a long day at work, you came home to find Hugh cooking dinner. The sight, once comforting, now brought a wave of resentment.

"Hey," he greeted you with a smile. "I made your favorite."

You forced a smile, the stress of the day weighing heavily on you. "Thanks."

As you sat down to eat, the conversation turned to your weekend plans. Hugh suggested a quiet weekend at home, but you had been looking forward to a trip you had planned to a nearby city.

"I just think it would be nice to get away," you said, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice.

"We've been traveling a lot lately," Hugh countered. "I thought it would be nice to relax here for a change."

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising as you both defended your positions. The dinner, meant to be a gesture of love, ended with you storming out of the room, tears of frustration streaming down your face.

The arguments became a regular occurrence, each one chipping away at the foundation of your relationship. The final straw came one night when Hugh came home late from a work event. You had prepared a special dinner, hoping to rekindle the romance that seemed to be slipping away.

Hugh walked in, looking tired. "I'm sorry, I got held up," he said, giving you a quick kiss.

"It's always something," you snapped, unable to hide your disappointment. "Do you even care about us anymore?"

Hugh's face fell. "Of course I do. But I have responsibilities, and sometimes that means being late."

"You always have an excuse," you shot back. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one fighting for this relationship."

The argument that followed was the worst yet. Harsh words were exchanged, emotions running high. Finally, Hugh said something that cut you to the core.

"Maybe we're just not right for each other anymore."

The silence that followed was deafening. The realization hit you both that despite the love you shared, your futures no longer aligned. With heavy hearts, you decided to part ways.

The weeks following the breakup were the hardest. You moved into a small apartment, taking Loki with you, and tried to rebuild your life. It was during this time that you started feeling unwell. A visit to the doctor confirmed what you had never expected: you were pregnant.

The news was both a shock and a beacon of hope. You decided to keep the baby, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement about the future. Telling Hugh, however, felt impossible. You didn't want him to feel trapped or obligated, especially after the difficult decision you both had made.

Months passed, and your belly grew rounder. Loki stayed by your side, his playful energy a constant source of comfort. You threw yourself into preparing for the baby, focusing on creating a warm and loving home.

One crisp autumn day, you were walking through the park with Loki when you heard a familiar voice. Turning, you saw Hugh standing a few feet away, his eyes wide with surprise and a mix of emotions.

"You... you're pregnant?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, unable to find the words. Hugh took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to burden you," you replied, tears forming. "We made a decision, and I didn't want to complicate things for you."

Hugh reached out, gently placing a hand on your swollen belly. "This is our baby," he said, his voice breaking. "I want to be a part of their life, and yours. If you'll let me."

In that moment, you realized that despite everything, the love you shared hadn't disappeared. It had simply been overshadowed by fear and uncertainty. With tears in your eyes, you nodded, allowing Hugh to pull you into a tight embrace.

"I never stopped loving you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but I can't imagine my life without you."

Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him, the months of pain and loneliness dissolving in his arms. "I never stopped loving you either," you said, your voice choked with emotion. "I was so scared, Hugh. Scared of losing you, of raising this baby alone."

Hugh's eyes filled with tears as he looked at you, his voice trembling. "I was scared too. Scared of not being enough, of failing you. But seeing you here, carrying our child... I realize how much I want this, how much I want us."

Together, you walked through the park, Loki trotting happily beside you. The future was uncertain, but you knew that with Hugh by your side, you could face anything. And as you felt the baby kick for the first time, you knew that this new beginning was the start of something beautiful.

The days that followed were filled with a renewed sense of hope and love. Hugh moved back in, and you both prepared for the arrival of your baby, embracing the journey ahead with open hearts. You spent your evenings talking about names, decorating the nursery, and imagining the life you would build together.

When the day finally came, Hugh was by your side, holding your hand as you brought your child into the world. The moment you laid eyes on your baby, the room filled with love so powerful it brought you both to tears. Hugh kissed your forehead, his eyes filled with wonder and joy.

"We did it," he whispered, his voice trembling. "We made something so perfect."

As you held your baby close, you felt a sense of completeness you had never known before. The path to this moment had been fraught with pain and uncertainty, but it had led you to a place of profound love and happiness.

In the quiet moments, as you watched Hugh gently cradle your child, you realized that the struggles had only made your bond stronger. The love you shared was unbreakable, and together, you could overcome anything.

Your family, with Loki at your feet and your baby in your arms, was a testament to the resilience of love. It was a love that had weathered the storms and emerged stronger, ready to face whatever the future held. And as you looked into Hugh's eyes, you knew that this new beginning was only the start of a beautiful journey, one filled with endless love and unshakable unity.

(A/N) I hope you enjoyed the story and was what you expected! 🫶

If you want to be tagged in future works about Hugh Jackman let me know!

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / FINAL

previous part

tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of suicide, heavy angst, please be cautious as always! <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

The weight on your shoulders was heavy and exhausting. It caused your body and soul to ache with a crushing feeling of grief. Your conversation with Price played in your mind tenfold, repeating over and over until it drove you to the point of insanity. You feared if you stayed stuck in the loop for a moment longer, your brain might short circuit and you’d succumb to life’s torturous game.

How had things come to this?

Two weeks ago, you should’ve been dead. Two weeks ago, you should’ve denied Ghost’s abrupt deal, you should’ve told him the truth – that you had no intentions of living past that very Friday the two of you planned meticulously to end your life.

Two weeks ago, you should’ve never met Simon.

What was meant to be a task given to you with the purpose of self healing had erupted into an even scarier nightmare. Life would’ve never been so complicated had you denied Simon and stuck to your original plan on desired death. It would’ve never been so complicated had you just done it all yourself instead of pussying out and asking him to finish the job for you.

Now, all that remained was a heart beyond repair, fragments of its shattered pieces being taken away with Simon when he had left.

He had the entirety of your heart, and you didn’t think you’d ever get it back. You couldn’t take it back if you wanted to. It belonged to him, and your heart was loyal to its owner.

All that was left was the, what now? Price had made it clear he couldn’t promise anything. Hell, you wouldn’t blame him if he had just said that in a half-assed attempt of comfort. For all you knew, Simon hadn’t a clue what was going on in the first place, or perhaps he didn’t care. Living without closure of what could’ve been had left you scarred and untrusting, even of the very man you’d fallen in love with.

Love was what always got you into this mess, after all. You couldn’t love yourself, so God was executing punishment by making you unlovable to everyone else. If anything, you should be thanking him for steering you away from more heartache.

Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Simon giving you a taste of what life could be if you had just tried harder, before pulling the candy right out of your mouth before you could protest that you weren’t quite finished with it.

You didn’t reach out to Simon. Even though you were blocked from the moment the two of you had sex and he ran, you didn’t dare try and test out your theory to see if he had undone his action. You weren’t even sure you knew what you could say to him.

While it was clear Price played a dirty hand in creating the drift between the two of you, Simon still allowed himself to be a puppet on Price’s string. It boiled you to the core, filled you with resentful distaste that you couldn’t quite swallow.

It was hard to accept that you hated him almost as much as you loved him.

No matter how angry you were at the world for the hand it was dealing you, you still couldn’t bring yourself to leave it. Not on your own. Even through the hole of emptiness that rattled you to the bone, a spark of hope shone from deep within you, and that was what kept you going. It was the faintest of light, fighting to stay ablaze. No matter how puny and weak it was, it was still there, cheering you on in a gentle voice to keep going.

As much as you didn’t want to listen, you did.

Life’s a bitch and then you die. But maybe if you gave it one final chance at redemption, things may work out in your favor this time. And if they didn’t? The original plan was always in the cards.

Simon left Price in the dust the moment he uttered those words. Go and get your bird back, Simon.

He had never heard something so beautiful, so breathtaking. It was his call back home, and he’d be an absolute tool if he didn’t rush to return to its welcoming arms.

He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked running along the streets in the middle of the night. Hell, he didn’t even bother to put his mask on. Tonight, he was Simon, and he was wearing his identity with pride. Ghost was tucked away in the darkest depths of his mind, caged in and hidden. With you, he didn’t want to be Ghost. He didn’t want to be a man who thrived off of the stolen lives of the innocent in order to pay his bills. He didn’t want to be the broken version of himself that imprisoned his own vulnerability.

He wanted to be the man who could give you a colorful life filled with painted sunsets and warm rays. Only Simon could do that, and he’d throw Ghost away if that was what it took.

The closer Simon got to your apartment, the more the nerves wracked his body with a faint tremor. Would you even speak to him? Forgive him? He knew he didn’t deserve it. Hell, he deserved a cold fist to the jaw and a stab wound to the heart.

The least he could do was try.

He pondered if he should get you something. Flowers, maybe, but when it came down to it, flowers were a pathetic excuse for an apology. No, Simon wanted to do this right. He had spent his entire life partaking in wrongdoings. For once, just once, he wanted to be good.

The sight of your building nearly had him throwing up on the concrete beneath his boots. It turned his stomach in a sickeningly sweet way, coating his tongue with bitter cottonmouth. For the first time since he could remember, Simon was scared. Downright terrified.

While the feeling should be seen in a negative light, he saw it as the complete opposite. It meant he was alive. He was still human. He still harbored emotions that Ghost had so desperately tried to get rid of.

Even after everything, he was still Simon.

His feet grew heavier and heavier with every step he took into your building, up the raggedy stairs, and down the dim hall, just like the routine he had always fallen into when waiting for you to return from work. Things may be different now, and he may be venturing on the same path with a different ending this time, but that didn’t mean he was led astray. Different could mean better, and he could only pray to the very God putting him through hell that his outcome would be brighter than before.

Simon didn’t know how long he stood outside of your door. He willed himself to knock, but he was struggling internally. The truth was, he was scared to see you. Seeing you meant facing the result of his regretful actions, and he wasn’t sure he could handle recognizing you as broken because of him.

He dug this grave, he wallowed in it, and now it was time to crawl his way out and make things right.

His fist shook as he raised it to knock on the door. Knuckles collided with the old wood, echoing sharply in his ears. Anxiety crept into his bones, leaving him in an uncomfortable suffocation. He felt as if he wouldn’t be able to breathe until you were in front of him. The room felt small, it was closing in on him. He wondered if this was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just left you alone, maybe he should’ve kept you out of his mess–

“Simon?”

The air that was tightening in his lungs exhaled in a slow, trembling breath, shoulders going slack from their tightly wound stiffness. Your voice was his oxygen, and he could finally breathe again.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and God, did it feel jubilating to say that name again.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, and the bitterness in your tone was clear. It sunk into him like a thousand knives, coursing him with relentless pain.

“I need to fix this,” he gasped out. “Please, sweetheart, let me fix this. I know I fucked up, alright? I fucked up bad.”

You stared at him in disdain, but Simon could see the glimmer of a burning ache in your eyes that matched his own. You missed him just as much as he missed you, but your hurt overruled everything else. He didn’t blame you one bit.

“You left me after you had sex with me, Simon,” you spat with dripping fire that scorched him with every word. “You left me after everything. You expect me to just let you come here and tell me you fucked up, as if I didn’t know that?”

Simon could feel his resolve slipping away. He wanted to panic, to spit out useless apologies until one of them worked and you caved, but that wasn’t how this was going to go. Simon would have to work for it, and he’d be damned if he let you slip away. He’d spend the rest of his life working for it if it meant having you in the end.

“Sweetheart–”

“Fucking– I’m not doing this in my doorway. Just… just come inside,” you sighed out, utterly defeated. You didn’t have to tell Simon twice. He stepped into your apartment cautiously, letting you know that you were in complete control. You were in charge, and Simon was here to take the beatdown, no matter how painful it may be.

Upon entering, your apartment was in havoc. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t disgusting or revolting, but it was clear you spent most of your days cooped up in your room. Simon felt guilt eat away at him from the mere sight alone.

“Tell me how I can fix this,” Simon pleaded. Everything about his body language was desperate, distressed. His hands spoke for him, moving animatedly, unable to control himself. He was begging. For the first time in his life, he was begging.

“I’m not telling you how to fix anything, Simon. You’re the one supposed to fix it on your own. I’m not going to do it for you,” you explained in eerie calmness, but it was unmistakingly exhaustion. He couldn’t imagine how much he had put you through.

He knew you were right. This was Simon’s responsibility, and begging you for the cure would be easy on him and harder for you. He couldn’t allow that to happen. You’d already been burdened enough.

Simon stared at you, eyes glossed over, eyebrows pulled together from his stir of emotions. The way you stared back was empty, and it broke his heart that he was the reason for the light going out so soon after gaining it back.

He contemplated what to do. There were many ways this could go sideways, and he couldn’t risk that. He had to pick what was right in his heart, even if it meant shoving away the pride he’d grown accustomed to over the years of being alone and hollow.

Simon slowly got down on his knees, hands clasped in his lap, and he gazed up at you in woe. He was baring himself to you completely, stripping himself of all defenses, and succumbing to vulnerability. Never had Simon gotten on his knees for another person. His ego was too large, and he refused to let himself express weakness.

For you, he’d hang himself dry.

“What are you–”

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice soft yet broken, brimming with anguish. “I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. Nothin’ I say will make it better. I can’t change it, no matter how much I wish I could. I fucked up, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness for leavin’ you the way I did, for hurtin’ you like everybody else has done. I gave you an empty promise, and even then, I broke it.”

You were speechless from where you stood, peering down at this burly man on his knees for you. Your eyes never strayed away from his, and you recognized the familiar spark of despair in them. They looked just like yours every time you looked in the reflection. He was a mirror of you, just as you were a mirror of him.

“I was scared of losin’ you because of my job. I didn’t think a sweet thing like you deserved to be involved with a man like me. I didn’t want you hurt,” he explained, and the faintest crack in his voice showed you just how hard this was for him as well. You weren’t the only one suffering the consequences.

“Yet you hurt me anyway,” you whispered brokenly, and Simon deflated.

“I know,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I know, sweetheart. I let my fear control me, and it caused me to make things worse. It wasn’t fair t’you. I fucked up, and I’m so sorry.”

Your own resolve was faltering. You wanted so badly to be angry, to kick him out and be done with him. Strip him from your life and return to your days of wallowing in loneliness and misery.

You couldn’t. Every word was like a small bandaid over a too-big wound, but it was an attempt. He was trying. Nobody had ever tried with you before.

“Y’know,” you began, voice as soft as a whisper. “One of your boys came by to see me. Price.”

Simon blinked, surprise morphing on to his face. He swallowed anxiously, fists squeezing in his lap before he forced them to relax.

“And?”

You stared at him for a moment, shifting through your words in your mind.

“He tried to get me to cut you off. Tell you that I was better off, that I didn’t want you around anymore. He thought it would be best,” you finished quietly, shifting your eyes away from him in a moment of guilt. You weren’t sure why you were feeling it, but you’d recognize that uncomfortable lump in your throat anywhere. “I told him no.”

Simon’s eyebrows raised, eyes darting over your face to read your expression. “You did?”

“Yeah,” you confessed, shifting uncomfortably. “Told him… told him you didn’t deserve that.”

His heart ached painfully in his chest. What a lovely woman you were, defending him even after he had wronged you. How stupid he was for letting his own past misfortunes creep into the present.

He should be mad at Price for invading in on his personal business, but if he didn’t, Simon might not be here right now, kneeling before you and pleading for forgiveness. Price gave him an in, he gave him a chance, even if he went behind his back to do so.

Go and get your bird back, Simon.

It made sense now. Simon nearly laughed in bitter humor.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured gently, finally gaining your gaze back. Your eyes had softened from their hardened walls you built back up again, and he prayed he had a chance. “I know it’s not goin’ to fix anythin’. You’re still angry with me, and you have every right t’be. But if you still decide to throw me out, to never speak t’me again, then I want you t’know that I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, chest pulling tight. A mixture of pain and relief coursed through your veins, and you weren’t sure which emotion to listen to. You weren’t sure what was right, but there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that you loved him, too. Heartbreakingly so.

“You do?” you whispered in uncertainty.

Simon rose from his kneeled position, taking a cautious step towards you. When you didn’t back away, he seized the opportunity to cradle your hands in his, holding them to his heart. “I do,” he repeated softly. “I’m not good at this, sweetheart. I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed people, yet loving somebody has always been the hardest thing to do. With you, it feels easy.”

You stared up at him, searching for any signs of dishonesty. What stared back at you was pure truth, his eyes flooding with a new light that promised love and confidence.

Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you responded, “I love you, too. Even though I should hate you.”

For the first time since seeing him, Simon smiled. It was a boyish smile, one you’d never seen before, and it lit your entire world up. The sun was back out, the flowers were blooming, birds were chirping, and nature was at peace. It tugged on your heartstrings and pulled away all of the hurt that had resided inside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. It brought you back to the first time the two of you shared a kiss, and the memory was fond. Despite all of the troubles and heartache, Simon was true to his word. Even if the world had failed the two of you, now was the time to change life’s course and rewrite your own future.

“Yes,” you sighed breathlessly.

Simon’s kiss was as familiar as before, but this time, it felt much more intimate. It was burning passion simmered down to tenderness, his hands cradling your face with the utmost care, treating you like frail china. He didn’t push or prod and instead moved with you rather than take control, letting you handle the reins this time.

It was a slow dance rather than a waltz, steady and unceasing.

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah?” he breathed against your lips, and you could feel the curl of his smile. You opened your eyes to peer into his own, unable to contain your own smile.

His lips returned to yours, and you melted into him. All that weight had been lifted so easily. All the rage had dissipated into nothing, being replaced with a warm, glowing light that filled your chest and threatened to burst.

This was all you wanted – to be content. To be happy.

You didn’t want to spend your days, awaiting an early death that would never come, nor did you want to waste it being burdened by the past that haunted you like a demonic spirit. This felt right.

When more and more feeling poured into the kiss, it shifted into something more starved, like two lovers who’d been separated for years. While you were falling into it, Simon was reluctant. Pulling away from you, you had a brief moment of uncertainty before he spoke.

“I don’t want to rush you like I did last time,” he explained gently. “The last thing I want is for you t’feel pressured. I’m not here for only that. M’here to fix this.”

“Simon,” you murmured, a warm smile on your face. “I know you aren’t. I want to do it. Is that okay?”

Simon stared at you for a moment, weighing out his options. While having sex was part of the reason the two of you ended up in this mess, it was the part after that really played a role. This time, things would be different.

“‘Course that’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured, returning your smile.

He was careful in guiding you to your room. While anxiety weighed heavy on his mind in messing things up further, he was determined to ensure that wouldn’t happen. The power was in his hands, and he’d use all of it in order to make you feel the love you deserve to feel.

Peeling off your clothes was a slow task. He took his time, reveling in the warmth of your skin, guiding his hands across every inch of flesh. He was worshiping you, showering you in praise and care. Sweet and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured affectionately, lips pressing to your cheek, then jaw, then down your neck. You were laid out for him on the bed, looking like a goddess bathed in light. “Don’t know what I did t’deserve you.”

“Simon,” you whispered, feeling tears spring in your eyes. Noticing, he lifted himself up, brushing the pad of his thumb softly over your cheek, swiping away the stray tear. He smiled down at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

He didn’t leave you waiting, but he certainly didn’t rush either. He worked diligently in stretching you open on his fingers, curling into that familiar spot that had your breath catching and your back arching beautifully. Your moans were spoken sonnets that blessed his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to hear them for the rest of his life.

Simon didn’t stop his notions, working you open until you were a squirming, crying mess, kissing away your tears while drowning in bashfulness at the sight of your pleasure. You deserved to feel good, and he’d die making sure of it.

When he lined himself up with you and slowly pressed his cock inside until he was at the hilt, buried in your moist warmth, he let out a blissful sigh, knocking his forehead against yours. He didn’t tear his eyes off of you, watching every flicker of euphoria that flashed in your eyes when he moved his hips. Unlike last time, his pace was slow yet firm, allowing you to bask in the delicious feeling of his cock pressing against the gummy walls of your cervix with every thrust.

“I love you,” he breathed through a sigh, brushing away a strand of hair that stuck in a sweaty mess to your forehead. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. M’so lucky.”

You whimpered as he showered you in praise, wiggling from under him. The pleasure mixed with brimming love had you close to orgasm, clenching around him in a vice. He panted with you, breath fanning your face, only getting cut off when he’d lean down to kiss you.

It was a wonderful display of intimacy. This wasn’t just sex. He wasn’t ruining you, he wasn’t leaving you broken. He was leaving you overflowing with promises that he had every intention of keeping.

Simon swallowed up your moans with lips pressed to yours, fucking you through your orgasm, whispering sweet encouragements. He filled you, sealing those promises, his spend mixing with yours and bringing the two of you together as one.

Breathless and spent, Simon tangled you in his arms and legs, holding you close to his chest so he could feel your warmth against him. It brought him comfort and security, like a blanket being lovingly placed over him and consuming him in a snug embrace.

It was silent for a long time after, but neither of you minded it. You relished in the feeling of one another, and words weren’t needed.

“You’re not going to leave after I fall asleep, are you?” you whispered, breaking the silence with a brief moment of weakness. Simon shifted his head to look down at you, lifting a hand to cradle your head and card his fingers in your hair.

“No, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he assured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You nodded against him, snuggling closer to him, cheek pressed against his chest.

“You weren’t here to see me make it to two weeks,” you said softly. Though the reminder hurt to hear, you held no resentment in your tone, which gave him a sense of relief.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized with a frown. When you peeked your head up to look at him, his eyes softened. It was like looking at the most beautiful thing crafted on this planet, and he had the absolute honor of calling it his.

“Maybe we can have a do-over,” you suggested, smiling cheekily at him. It enticed a laugh on his end, rumbling from his chest.

“How about instead of puttin’ a deadline on it this time, we keep count of the days that you wake up and accomplish seeing all the tomorrows. Deal?”

Your smile widened, and you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s a deal.”

IT'S OFFICIALLY OVER!!!! I am so sad because I had such an amazing time writing this fic and it will truly always be one of my favorites. so many of you enjoyed it and supported me through it, and I cannot thank you enough for all the love you've given me :,) I sincerely hope this ending is what everybody wanted and more. I love you all <3

[bluee08]

Astr observations 《4》

Disclaimer: I am not an astrologer. This post is only for entertainment purposes, so whatever I have mentioned, if it is reasonates, well and good, and if it doesn't, then please take it with a grain of salt. Thankyou.

🛖 Aries in 3rd house may have a very reckless yet mature behind the scenes relationship with their siblings. They also fight a lot with their siblings for no reason. Surprisingly, this usually goes physical more than verbal. Very playful relationship. There is always a strong urge to hit the other person and irritate them to death. It gives them pleasure. When injured, you might immediately stop the fight no matter how serious it is and take care of each other. Oh, and if someone else dares to trouble any of you, hell would break loose. They can't hear anything bad about each other. In certain cases, this could also apply to mars in 3rd house.

🪵 Dirty mind, Dirty mind, Dirty, Dirty, Dirty mind~ Heard the song? Yeah it's made for those who have their personal planets or ascendant conjuct asteroid Prevert. Trust me, the dumb way to die is by sneaking a glance in their minds. You will be traumatized for the rest of your life and will never look at them the same way again. At any given moment their thoughts are always in gutter. Yeah I am calling myself out at this one. Do I care? No.

🛖 Mars in 10th house folks are really good at dancing. They dance so well.... like you can see the passion in their steps. Dancing can be one of the hobbies in their lives. These people can also be known for dancing professionally and being captivating as hell on social media.

🪵 Lilith in 7th house could indiacte having seen a lot of failed marriages in their life. This could be in their immediate family or even include their own parents. Hence these people have a really different mindset when it comes to marriages. They might even resent the idea of getting married and often question, what's the point?

🛖 Moon in 1st house are babies. Literally babies. Like they look so damn cute and adorable that I just can't help myself but give them a huge hug. They are the most genuine type of people I think because its rarely when what's on their mind is not on their faces. They look so innocent and naive (even if they are legit not.) People just wanna protect them at all costs. They bring out the maternal instinct for them from the other person naturally. But no matter what their warmth is the best comfort zone and their arms are home <3

🪵 Mars in 5th house would definitely be that uncle/aunt/cousin/sibling who spoiled small kids to death and taught them to do weird stunts and create a headache for other family members.

🛖 Transit Saturn in 1st house is really frustrating. It feels like you are doing nothing progressive for yourself and just wasting time. Your efforts go in vain and its really hard to maintain consistency. Sometimes you also realize what mistakes you are making but you find it difficult to correct them. Mental state is always fluctuating and self-confidence is very down. This mainly goes on until the very end when you realize that now you gotta be serious. But when you really do hardwork and break the cycle of laziness, it pays off. Its like an immature, careless kid suddenly becoming a responsible and serious person. Remember, our beloved saturn plays mind games with you. Its either you break free from this if you want the prize or pay the price.

🪵 The people that I have seen to be most likely get cornered, misunderstood and targeted are people having chiron in their 1st house. Its really concerning and hurtful. Because of other idiots these babies get hurt on a very deep and subconscious level. They occasionally have identity crisis and depression is their bestfriend. They try to be happy but life always seems to push something in their way.

For example, I have this relative of mine and she lost her brother a year before she got married. She thought if she starts fresh, it would help. But unfortunately turned out her in-laws were not good people. She was gravely misunderstood by everyone. Even if people knew that it was not her fault, they took great pleasure in gossiping about her, blaming her and literally named her a psycho. Which she is not ofcourse. She was just mentally fragile and instead of understanding her, supporting her, they made her more unstable for no reason.

🛖 Leo venus folks love Cats. They are an animal lover by heart and soul. They are someone who might stop their car in the middle of the road because they saw a really cute cat walking on the sidewalk. Just to go their and mingle with it while thinking, If only I could take it home....

🪵 Cancer moons in 3rd house, please, please stop imitating that baby voice just to butter me up and get your work done. You might think its cute but no, I can see through everything and its so annoying plus immature. Ofc now it doesn't apply to everyone out there but those who do, please take my advice and stop it. Usually I have noticed only underdeveloped people do this but until they realize, its too late and others already find them so annoying. Honestly Cancer moons are so smart yet sometimes they.....*sighs*

🛖 Nessus aspecting Mercury could mean that you often end up hurting people through your words or the way you communicate even when you genuinely don't mean it. These people are really misunderstood a lot of times. Also this works the other way too. For example, you get easily hurt or offended when people speak ill about you. They might just share their opinion on your new home decor but instead you would feel insulted when in reality that's not the case. Not that you would hold a grudge, it depends person to person but you will definitely not overlook that. It would just sting a lot for no reason. You will always wonder, why did she say that?

For positive aspects, this could work out well too, for instance they know exactly what to say and what not to. They can be great negotiators, entrepreneurs and social influencers. They also know how to handle people embodying nessus qualities like a troll or opposition hell bent on creating trouble. Hard aspect people will slowly learn to overcome their problems in communication with time and experience.

🪵 Mars opposite MC screams suppressed anger. The thick tension between their anger and self-image is unbelievable. They don't like to get angry in public. They often gulp down their anger to the last extent because they don't want their reputation to get spoiled because of it. Sometimes its automatic they wanna get angry at someone but end up swallowing it anyway. But please don't test their patience. They might just explode unexpected at any time like a nuclear bomb and destroy everything within their range, not caring about their public image whatsoever.

🛖 Lilith in first house/Conjuct Ascendant are the infamous bad examples of the family while Lilith opposite Ascendant are the good examples with secrets darker than nightsky- always holding their sanity with a single string. Ironically, both are siblings, two sides of the same coin.

🪵 Remember, in one of my posts, I said that I don't relate with Aquarius rising and their unique fashion sense? Well, guys, I finally cracked the mystery! It's not our fashion sense that's unique. It's us. We are the aliens. Ok, that was a bad joke. But really, for example, a few months back, I wore a very pretty dress at my cousin's wedding. And istg people were looking at me like I was an alien, like I wore something totally out of the blue. As if It was not something improper or overdressed but very different than what everyone was wearing, which, of course, was not the case.

Now the funny thing is, if it was someone else wearing the same dress, I don't think anyone would've said anything about it. And voila! It happened. A few days back, I attended a family function, and I saw a girl wearing the same dress in different color and design. And fr nobody uttered a word. Those same people overlooked her as if it was totally normal. As if they didn't just make me talk of the town for a whole week because of that dress. So yeah, finally figured out, it's me, I am the problem.

🛖 Its not always true when they say Earth Mars people are calm and collected. I mean they are but suppose you have a virgo mars but you also have a Leo or Aries or Sagittarius stelium, your Virgo mars will be crying in the corner while that fire stellium will create a havoc and burn down the whole world in matter of some seconds.

🪵 North node in 11th house people are so likable. They are that one friend who knows the entire school and vice versa. So many connections and so many new friends. They just keep making connections left and right no matter where they go. People like to be in their contact. This gives me 'popular girl' vibe.

🛖 You sneaky little thing, you think no one knows how much you love reading smut? Yeah you, I am talking to you, Scorpio Jupiter/3rd house. Look me in the eye, I dare you to deny this.

🪵 Mercury conjuct Mars.... man, they literally spit fire when they talk. Can't win any argument against them. Ngl, I told my friend that I would leave her if she doesn't keep her hands off me special mention to her love language that is playfully hitting me at any possible situation. She just laughed and said, "Go, nobody would take you." Me: Cries silently. Her: I know baby truth hurts. Lemme give you a hug.

🛖 If you have no positive aspect to sun in your natal chart, it might be possible that people don't like your personality much. They think you are too egoistical or full of yourself. They might also backbitch about you a lot. Now this is just what I have observed so far. So it may not reasonate with everyone.

🪵 People with Sun conjuct Ascendant make very great leaders. They have a king/queen Aura surrounding them. And when they speak or share their opinion, people actually listen and take them seriously. When they walk in a room, they make sure everyone knows who has the authority.

[vampiricgf]

Because I love you enough to turn around

(I will never turn from you)

leon kennedy x f reader

wc: 1k +

warnings : alcoholism, self guilt, self shame, mention of a noose as imagery, angst into like hurt comfort sort of thing

sorry im sick n also been thinking heavily about orpheus and eurydice and what it means to love someone enough to turn around (promise it's not all angst but it's pretty heavy on it)

You're in that twilight space between sleep and wakefulness when the door opens. There's no need to startle because you already know who it is, know from the heavy footfalls that make a particularly loose board on the floor groan as he slips off his boots. Know from the softer padding you catch turning the left hand edge, into the bathroom and just as you think it you hear the light click on.

Not every day can be a good day.

It's what circles around and around in your mind as you catch the sound of the taps squeaking on, the sink running at full blast. At least he has the decency to not climb into bed with you reeking of whiskey and possible bile. But you don't resent him for it.

You've never resented him for anything. Never begrudged him anything. Not the constant distance, the secrecy, the occasional white lie you knew was for your own comfort so you never told him you knew he was lying. Never asked him about details, never pressed him, never let yourself get so overwhelmed you dissolve into hysterics no matter how many times you felt yourself reaching that point.

And you don't do any of that now, as you feel the mattress dip with the additional weight and feel him staring at your back. You'd forgotten you put on one of his old t shirts, just to comfort yourself against the uncertainty of if he'd be back before the sun, aggressive and ever constant, demanded you get up and face another day.

Being with Leon was like being stranded on a sheet of ice. Uncertain of its thickness, if it could handle any fluctuation in weight or pressure. Terrified of every crack and fissure that threatened to spread, to send the portion you found yourself on plunging into subzero depths that would stop your lungs and squeeze like a vice grip over your heart.

But it was exhausting to constantly monitor for those hairline fractures, to be the loving partner while wishing you could just grab his shoulders and scream in his face about how desperately you needed him to get his shit together. But you'd never do that, know he doesn't need it from you of all people.

But you don't turn around. You don't give any indication that you're awake and aware and grieving like some old war widow for the millionth time in your short life for a man that still has breath in his body.

Not even as his fingers run down your bicep, hesitant as if he's touching spun sugar that threatens to melt with the slightest heat.

"I know you're awake."

You don't respond, let the silence hang heavy and imposing as a noose from a solitary beam, but you do turn then to finally take him in. And fresh chips are dug out of your own heart as you do, a proverbial ice pick gradually working to cleave you in half.

God has he always looked so tired?

"You should get some sleep," your hushed voice sounds flat, even to your own ears and you hope he doesn't take it as cruelty when it's not. It's a kind of bone deep, spiritual exhaustion. An unspoken wish for a rest so deep the entire world could collapse around you and you would be none the wiser, uncaring as the sky above and just as unseeing.

"I'm sorry." He says it to no one in particular as he turns away from you, stripping off socks and pants.

As you turn back over your eyes burn in the dark, like someone stuck two searing hot coals into the sockets and you bite your bottom lip hard enough to feel a sting. It's good, it's grounding. You shouldn't cry, not like this, not now. Just another burden added to the lump sum is all it would be.

So you don't, you level your breathing as best you can as you feel him climb back into bed fully this time, tentatively putting a hand on your hip as his chest presses against your back. He touches you like he's afraid.

And you're powerless against the way that one single touch acts as a battering ram, destroying the hurriedly constructed emotional dam in a spectacular splintering of wood, and you feel yourself start to tremble. The moisture from your nose is the next signal of disaster, the sign that there is no undoing what has just occurred. And your eyes are suddenly full of all the water in the world, as if you've drunk dry every sea and river on earth only to refill them from yourself.

It feels more like watching someone else weep and sniffle as if their life depends on it, being the unattached observer before turning away, hand over the mouth to hide the shape of words. Glad it isn't me.

But it is.

His arm comes around you, tightening up as he presses his own face against the back of your neck. And the tears flow ever faster, spurred by the shame of being the emotional one. The one that can't help but be naked in their weakness.

You don't move to shift him away, don't move to get up or hurry to the bathroom. You simply can't be bothered. If nothing else he can witness your grief, and there is a strange sort of comfort in that.

You could wail, berate him about breaking his promises of things being different, being better but what's the point of shooting at something that's already dead?

And it's then that you feel it: wetness spotting against the skin of your neck, rolling down your back before being absorbed by the well worn cotton. You feel it and you turn and your heart breaks again seeing his blue eyes twinged in red, one of the many different shades regret dresses itself in. Your reflection is drowning in saltwater, as if trapped in the sea with no hope of rescue.

So you cling to him, arms around his neck and fingers lacing a crown as you hold each other and you cry as if it might be endless. As if all that might exist for eternity is this: the longing and the waiting and the grieving and the sobbing. But in his embrace there is a hope, a small light that peeks through the cracks, so faint you could almost swear you imagined it.

He doesn't smell like liquor.

And for some reason it makes you sob harder, like you're trying to form the shrieking gale force winds of a hurricane from one small human vocal chord.

"I got hung up when we got back, I tried calling- figured you were asleep." His voice is a fragile thing, shaking as a newborn foal on its unfamiliar feet.

For all that you don't begrudge him neither does he towards you. He can't muster up indignation that you doubted him, not when recently he's given you no reason to believe in him. He knows the biting amber liquid is both a crutch and a dog collar with inward facing spikes. Hasn't ever been able to trace the exact point when he stopped seeking comfort in you and instead sought it in sticky bar tops and grimy shot glasses, a flask snuck into a jacket pocket. But it hardly matters when the damage is done.

He spends every day choking on each word he can't say to you. Each time he comes home like a stray that got in a fight to collapse on your doorstep, it bulges and sticks fast in his throat. Every time you cradle his jaw with your fingertips and clean blood from some fresh wound his esophagus caves in on itself. Every time your eyes get unfocused as they linger on his drunken form before you turn away he feels more of the paint peeling off himself.

All of you has felt so out of focus. So he clings to you now, squeezing your body against his like he might be able to absorb you into himself, tuck you away for eternal safekeeping, if he just tries hard enough. Like if he presses his lips to your cheeks, nose, forehead, again and again you'll gain more opacity with each one, be returned to flesh and blood like a princess turned to stone in a story. Awakened by true loves kiss.

So he kisses you, over and over and over. With each pass of his lips you seem to reanimate, hands fliting around his body like you can't decide where they belong, can't decide what part of him to touch or if you should touch all of him. His own drag the worn out shirt over your head, bare your body to his stinging eyes and it's like a salve for all the wounds that still feel like they're split open and oozing all over the floor.

Your kiss tastes of salt and of pain and of loss and of guilt. He wishes he could unhinge his jaw like a snake, swallow all of that ugliness in one pass and leave you as pristine as you were in the beginning. Before he ruined you. Turned you into a hollowed out city, teetering on the edge of uninhabitable.

But renewal, rebuilding, it's all possible. Crumbling structures can be fixed without ripping down the entire framework. They do it every day, how many does he drive past at any given time?

So his lips carve a tender path down the column of your throat until he's hovering over your heart, placing a kiss so chaste against the skin of your chest it's almost religious. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him still, hold him in just that perfect space above the thundering muscle echoing in his ear as it presses against your warm body.

Not since he was a child has anyone held him so firmly, so tenderly. Not that he would even allow it anyway, not from anyone outside of you. You were the first taste of softness. The first time you whispered that it wasn't selfish to want to be held he felt the fault lines erupting inside himself. It wasn't brave or righteous to continually deny himself or to self flagellate through every word and action, it was nothing but one continual act of self desecration.

But you poured all your love into an empty man, made him whole again and watched as he wasted it. Fresh tears pooled between your breasts, dislodged to drip down your ribs with every breath. He could cry for eternity and it would still never properly express the depth of his shame. Shaking fingers crawl spider like up your sides as he struggles to keep a firm hand on his own breathing, not give into the temptation of rapid, lightheaded madness.

Your fingers marking light trails through his hair soothe him, like calming a thrashing rabbit kicking against its cage. Slowly he can hear his own heart falling into sync with yours, his own chest expanding and sinking in time with yours.

It feels like maybe the world has stopped, stopped and fallen away and all that's left is this room and the two of you. One eternal embrace, stretching out across time like summer saltwater taffy.

And he swears a new promise, whispering against your skin like he could brand the words there forevermore.

I won't waste it.

[heartdoomed]

heyyy I was wondering if you’d do a lil one shot with Mother Miranda where the reader is her maidservant and they’ve gotten pretty close and Miranda is working herself to death and the maid gently (and eventually a little more forcefully) encourages her to take a break. Lots of fluff ensues 😁 thank you for feeding the fandom you’re my hero 😂

First ask for our fav bird mom! Also thanks i’m a bit late for the party but I will try my best ✨

| Stubborn

Pairing: Mother Miranda x Maid! Reader

Genre: One-Shot, Fluff

Warnings: None

Masterlist

From a villager, to a follower, to a personal maid.

Your journey with Mother Miranda was something you never truly expected, something suddenly but that you held little resentment about nonetheless. Miranda was, and is, a figure you can’t fully grasp yourself into — like a seductive voice in the back of your mind that has no set tune, something that comes wickedly in a natural manner and you just can’t help but to accept as it is. When she first laid her eyes on you, something changed in your life and all of it’s aspects, that woman had cursed you, had you wrapped around her finger the moment she ordered you to serve under her. A high priestess — no, a goddess, and her little helpful subject.

It was a matter of mixed feelings between fear and respect. Sometimes you thought of her with fear, fear for your life and how you have been dragged into this snowscape of a village and into somehow managing to match the high hopes she held for someone so close to her. On the other hand, she emanated glory, a superiority everyone including yourself could see — you found yourself looking up to her, quite literally like she was your only savior, the effect she had on people, and on you, was unmatchable. Soon the duty to serve somehow turned into a feeling of honor, you’ve never felt this fulfilled to have this role.

//////

Your shoes quietly clicked as you made your way across yet another hallway, you always thought of Miranda’s manor as a labyrinth that you’ve grown fairly accustomed to. Dark walls that always seemed to close in with each curve and whispers that coincidentally also sounded like the blowing cold wind from the outer woods. It was cold, tainted by a heavy atmosphere, either your own mind playing tricks or something else rooted between those walls, at some point you felt embraced by the shadows somehow — sickly comforting.

Your hands held a square silver platter, carefully adorned with hand-made details and curls on its sides, so clean and shiny it almost seemed made of crystal glass. On top of it rested a a teapot with warm fresh tea you brewed yourself, herbs that were delivered weekly just as all the food you had access to cook — a tea cup and a plate with a generous piece of layered cake rested side by side. It was her usual snack for the afternoon, just another daily ritual you found somewhat soothing. You enjoyed cooking for her and unlike her past servants you gave her food a touch of familiarity she had missed — suddenly the food wasn’t just delicious but served with a touch of care that she managed to notice, it was rare the occasion she wouldn’t compliment your skills.

Your head became flooded with thoughts of past situations were she did took notice of your hard work; From carefully organizing mail into alphabetical order to amusingly adorning her freshly washed towels into the shape of flowers and bunnies, oh Miranda thought it was quite silly of you but nonetheless this only managed to make you two closer. You smiled to yourself, thinking of how you went from a scared new maid to someone you knew she started to trust, maybe to care? You weren’t sure but you surely knew you ended up caring.

But apparently not caring enough to pay attention to where you where going as you almost bumped straight up against her office doors. Your heart skipped a beat as you halted on your tracks, you held the silver platter closely to your chest and thanked your lucky stars to not have spilled anything out of place, how clumsy. Taking a big silent breath, you raised your hand towards her door to knock before stopping as the familiar voice of Miranda, muffled, but yet clear and sharp enough, came from inside.

“You should stop daydreaming while scattering around, you will end up hurting yourself. Come in.”

She pointed out. You cursed in your thoughts, rolling your eyes at being called out — she always managed to know of your shenanigans even when you tried to hide them, ridiculous. Shaking the embarrassing event away, you quietly opened the door to reveal a much less intimidating Miranda, one you had grown used to. Without her ceremonial robes and her imposing wings she felt much less like something to fear and more like something to respect — a woman with a commanding posture no matter the situation. You remember how strange it felt to see her this way for the first time, it was hard to change your half shocked expression though luckily she found it more amusing than anything else.

“I made cinnamon cake with whipped pumpkin cream and some honey tea… I thought it would be a good match for the entering of this fall season.” You announced before closing closing the door behind you, Miranda hummed at the description but her eyes were still set on the paperwork onto her desk — gosh, how you hated when she fell into her working streaks. Nights awake in her laboratory, continuous days locked into there office. “I… think it’s a good time for a break, no?” You gently offered, resting the platter in a less busy spot of her desk. Still, her eyes kept themselves focused on the countless words in each of the papers she held. It made you irritated how much of a workaholic this woman was sometimes.

“Hmmm, yes, yes, thank you honey—“ She finally murmured.

“Honey?” You asked, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Honey… tea— Oh, you made honey tea?” She asked, finally taking her eyes off her work to look at you. Her eyes were striking and you certainly would be flustered if you didn’t spluttered out a chuckle to which she replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, look who is daydreaming into her work now!” You kept chuckling with a hand attempting to cease yourself. Miranda squinted her eyes at your audacity.

“It is not a simple day dream, it’s my work.” She retorted, her slender fingers precisely organized the papers into a growing pile. “I will eat after I’m done.”

“But!” You attempted to protest.

“I’m almost done.” She justified.

“You said it hours ago when I brought your lunch, to which you refused.” You pointed out, your tone growing more preoccupied, which she caught up to. “Please… You can’t keep working like this.”

Miranda stopped, her fingers resting against her temples as she shook her head with a sigh. That woman was incredibly stubborn, you knew that but so was you when it came to taking care of her well being. Your eyebrows furrowed as you gently took the pile of papers away, resting them into a nearby empty desk to which Miranda stared in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but respectfully — you need rest!” Seething the trail in front of her, your eyes pleaded for her to at least take some time to eat. She could see how worried you were and as much as she wished to keep on with her work, she gave in with a nod.

You almost chirped with happiness upon finally seeing her giving a go at not working herself to near starvation again, gosh this woman was a challenge to aid sometimes but you cared enough to try and you knew that she noticed the effort you put into it.

“Well, honey?” You asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Excuse me?” She almost choked on her words, uncharacteristically enough to your amusement.

“Honey tea.” You smugly announced, pouring her some of the delicious golden liquid as she shook her head in disbelief — taking a satisfying bite off the soft cake you baked.

“I don’t know why I still keep you around, you will drive me crazy eventually.” She replied with a grumpy tone, to which waved off a hearted laugh. It was hard for her to hide a smile while also maintaining a decent eating etiquette but at the end of the day she was content to have someone cheer her up like you did.

//////

AN: This was so funny to make! I feel like Miranda is a great softie when you push her buttons in the right way. Anyhow, hope ya enjoy it!

[thepascalparadox]

Chapter Four: Duty

Word Count | 3.3k Pairing | General Marcus Acacius x OC F!Reader Chapter Warnings | Switch pov, angst, misunderstandings

masterlist series

You lie beneath the soft shadows of your chamber, your gaze fixed upon the ceiling, the memory of last night’s kiss with the General still fresh upon your lips, dancing through your thoughts. A tender ache fills your cheeks, the result of a smile that lingers longer than you had anticipated, almost as though they’re still flushed with the touch of his lips.

How did this happen?

With the utmost gentleness, he had proposed to escort you to your chambers, his words wrapped in quiet devotion. “The General of Rome must ensure that the Empire’s most precious gem is safe,” he had said, his voice carrying an undertone of playful affection. The words themselves were noble, almost ceremonial, but his eyes—those eyes that had gazed at you with such care—had whispered something more. His respect, his affection, were as palpable as the evening air.

The two of you had shared a light laugh in the cool night air. Though a part of you had longed for another kiss and despite the beating of your heart and the trembling of your hands, he kissed you only on the cheek—a delicate, respectful goodnight. It was nothing less than an act of chivalry, but it felt so much like a farewell.

You are falling—hard.

But no. You have responsibilities. You are the daughter of the Emperor. A marriage is not about love; it is about duty, about power. And yet, how can you ignore the pull of your heart when it beats only for him?

In the silence of your heart, you find there is no resistance. No argument. Nothing to hinder the tide of your emotions. After all, your father had spoken so fondly of this match, his words filled with a hope that seemed to reach out to you. And had it not always been your wish to bring joy to him? To make him proud?

The quiet of the night fills the room, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind outside the window, its cold breath brushing against the curtains. The scent of the garden drifts in, fragrant with the remnants of blooming flowers, now cooling under the moonlight. You lie still, as if to avoid waking a part of yourself that you fear will never rest.

The walk had, indeed, soothed your troubled mind, and now, as sleep beckons, you feel its gentle embrace.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

He was accustomed to nights of restless tossing and turning, where the passing hours only deepened the sense of unease, leaving him with the hollow sensation of sleep that never truly came. But this morning—this morning was different. Marcus rose from his bed, his limbs heavy but his heart light with an unanticipated joy. His stay in the Emperor’s palace had shifted, slowly, imperceptibly, from a weight upon his shoulders to something he could cherish. It was a burden he had once resented, but now, as he walked through the quiet halls of the palace, a strange sense of warmth clung to him.

Though he held the Emperor, Antoninus, in the highest esteem, and though he regarded the Emperor’s home with respect, Marcus had longed to return to the quiet of his own lands—the wide, open countryside. There, with nothing but the sound of birdsong to greet him, he could forget the worries of war, of politics, of the men who played their games of power, seeking nothing but their own advantage. To live simply—tending to his animals and the soil beneath his feet—was the life he had imagined for himself. It was the life that had kept him sane during the endless campaigns. But now, as the days stretched on, and the walls of the palace became both familiar and strangely comforting, he found a different longing taking root.

His mind, clouded with thoughts of her, carried him to the meeting room, where Emperor Antoninus had summoned him for a private audience. As Marcus made his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the imperial palace, the soft sound of his boots against the marble floor echoed faintly, a rhythmic accompaniment to his thoughts.

The beauty of Princess Aemilia had been the subject of many whispers throughout the Empire. But Marcus, ever the soldier, had dismissed these murmurs. He was not a man given to romantic distractions, nor was he a man who needed a wife. The weight of his duty had always been enough. Yet, as the days passed and their paths continued to cross, a new kind of longing began to rise within him, threatening to crumble all the certainties he once held dear

With each passing moment, his feelings for her grew, and they grew beyond the boundaries of mere duty. It was not just admiration or affection. No, it was something deeper. He would give his life for her, without hesitation, without question. It was a loyalty that surpassed the call of duty to the Empire.

As he walked through the silent corridors, the guards gave him a quiet nod, murmuring “General,” their respect apparent in their voices. Marcus greeted them with a nod of his own, but his thoughts were consumed with Aemilia.

At last, he reached the Emperor’s chamber. The tall, carved doors stood as a barrier between the man he was and the man he had to be. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and pushed them open, stepping into the room where Antoninus awaited him.

“Your Grace,” he spoke, as he entered the Emperor’s chamber, finding Antoninus standing by the window, looking out into the distance. The Emperor turned quickly, his face lighting up with a smile as familiar as it was comforting.

“Marcus!” The Emperor approached him, his arms wide, and embraced him warmly, as a father embraces a son returned from war. Marcus, too, returned the embrace, feeling a strange warmth surge through him.

“I missed seeing your tired, grumpy, and old face this close!” Antoninus teased, his hands cupping Marcus's face, as if inspecting the man before him.

“I don’t know about the ‘old’ part, Your Grace,” Marcus replied with a grin. “Perhaps it is your age catching up, and you’re starting to mistake faces.”

“Oh, don’t start with that, Acacius. Come, sit!” The Emperor gestured to a chair, where a small table sat with two glasses and a decanter of wine. Uncharacteristically, Antoninus himself poured the wine, handing one glass to Marcus. Their glasses clinked in a quiet toast.

“Tell me, my son,” Antoninus said, his tone suddenly more serious. “How are you feeling? And don’t say ‘tired,’ or I’ll have the guards thrown at you.”

Marcus chuckled softly, his eyes flickering to the wine, the warmth of the drink spreading through him as he spoke. “Well, Your Grace, I am indeed tired, but there’s more to it than that.” He paused, taking a sip, allowing the coolness of the wine to refresh him. “I miss my home, Antoninus... Is there any chance you could free me from all these political obligations?”

Antoninus’s expression softened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering with genuine empathy. “Marcus... I wish I could, truly. But the Senate—the people—they need to see that we are united, that we share the same ideals.” He sighed, his voice lowering further as he leaned in, almost whispering. “Even though you and I both know the truth of it... that our interests are vastly different from theirs.”

Marcus could hear the quiet anger in the Emperor’s words, the disdain for the corrupt men in the Senate. He understood.

“But still,” Antoninus continued, standing up and taking another sip of wine, “I would like you to stay for my daughter’s wedding.”

The words struck Marcus like a blow. He froze, his heart missing a beat.

“Wedding?” he asked, his voice betraying an edge of anxiety.

“Oh yes,” Antoninus said, his face softening. “The Senate has been pressing me for years. I’ve stretched their patience long enough. I’ve already spoken to Aemilia. The wedding will be in the coming days.”

The air in the chamber seemed to grow heavier as Marcus Acacius sat frozen in place. The Emperor paced the room with casual authority, gesturing animatedly as he spoke, but Marcus barely registered the words. His world had narrowed to a single, suffocating question that hung on the tip of his tongue. His voice, usually steady and commanding, emerged now as a faint murmur.

"And who do you have in mind, Your Grace?" he asked, each syllable laced with dread, as though he were a child bracing for punishment.

The Emperor paused, looking thoughtful. "Macrelius, the merchant. I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet him, but he’s—"

The rest of the sentence was swallowed by the roaring silence in Marcus’s ears. His heart, moments before a steady drumbeat, now pounded with chaotic intensity.

Aemilia was to be married?

And she knew?

The words struck him harder than any blow he had endured on the battlefield. Aemilia, his Aemilia—he had kissed her, held her as though she were his anchor in a storm. He had laid bare his heart, his devotion, as a soldier surrenders his sword. Yet now it seemed he was the fool. Had he been nothing but a fleeting amusement, a distraction until the true moment of her life arrived?

I don’t know her. Not truly.

His thoughts churned. The realization was as bitter as a wine in a forgotten cup. She had spoken to him of longing, of frustration, even accused him of trifling with her affections, but perhaps it was he who had been played. A pawn in a game he had not even realized he was part of.

The Emperor’s voice became a faint drone, distant and meaningless. Marcus couldn’t grasp the words. The room felt smaller, the walls creeping inward, and the air—where was the air? He forced himself to take a breath, though it was shallow and unsatisfying.

"Acacius?" The Emperor’s tone shifted, his usual warmth now tinged with concern. "Are you well, son?"

Marcus blinked, pulling himself back to the present with visible effort. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, reaching for his goblet to steady himself. The wine, sweet and sharp, did little to dull the ache growing in his chest.

"I—Yes. I’m fine," he managed, though his voice faltered. He hesitated, then added with measured caution, "I am... surprised you would choose such a man for—" he caught himself before speaking her name aloud, correcting quickly, "—the princess, Justus."

The Emperor gave a hearty laugh, clutching his chest as though the idea itself caused him physical pain. "Oh, but I didn’t!" He leaned forward, his gaze warm but firm. "The Senate, Marcus. They push for someone familiar, someone rooted in Rome’s traditions. If I had my way..." He trailed off, a wistful smile gracing his lips. "Well, between you and me, I would see you as her husband."

The words hung in the air like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from Marcus’s lungs. His eyes widened in astonishment, and for a brief, fleeting moment, a flicker of hope pierced the storm of his despair.

"But," Antoninus continued, his tone softening, "forgive my bluntness, son, but I fear she would not love me still if I suggested something so... unexpected."

I’m not good enough.

The truth of it hit harder than any enemy’s blade. He had dared to dream, to imagine a future that defied the promises he had made to himself. He had thought—hoped—that Aemilia could see past his scars, his age, his weariness. Yet now, in the Emperor’s words, he saw the reflection of her heart: she would never choose him.

You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to hope. Look at you, Marcus. And look at her.

He was a soldier, old and battered, his body marked with the scars of countless wars and his mind haunted by their horrors. What could he offer her? Nights filled with nightmares and days spent enduring the silence of his own burdens. Macrelius, young and vibrant, was everything he was not.

She deserves to be happy.

The thought was bitter but resolute, a mantra that echoed in his mind as if he could will himself to believe it. Marcus rose slowly from his chair, his movements deliberate, each one feeling heavier than the last. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips—a smile that sought to mask the tempest raging within.

"I see," he murmured, his voice softer than usual, tinged with an unspoken melancholy. He hesitated, his gaze briefly meeting the Emperor’s. In that fleeting moment, he hoped Antoninus might see the silent turmoil behind his calm facade, though he prayed he would not press further.

He straightened, squaring his shoulders as if donning the armor of his role once more. When he spoke again, his tone carried the weight of duty, polished and detached. "I think I need..." He paused, his voice faltering before regaining its steadiness. "I shall leave you to the wedding preparations, Your Grace."

With a shallow bow, he turned and left the room. His steps were brisk, purposeful, though each one felt as if it pulled him further into an abyss. The grand corridors of the palace stretched endlessly before him, their gilded splendor lost on his weary eyes. He barely noticed the guards stationed along his path, their respectful bows going unacknowledged.

As he passed through the threshold into the cool morning air, Marcus felt the ache in his chest intensify. The soft rustle of leaves in the gardens and the distant hum of the city below did little to soothe the storm within. His hand instinctively found the hilt of his sword, a familiar weight that had always brought him solace. But now, even that seemed meaningless.

He had left the Emperor’s chamber, but it felt as though he had left more behind—his heart, fragile and exposed, still lingered there, tethered to the one he could never truly call his own.

In that moment, Marcus resolved to leave the castle at first light. The decision settled like a weight in his chest, bittersweet and final. But not tonight. One last duty tethered him—a ball, grander and more refined than the revelry of their initial meeting. A night he could never forget, for it was the night you had undone him.

The thought of you, unbidden and relentless, seemed to conjure your presence. From the far end of the hall, you appeared, silhouette framed by the gilded light streaming through the arched windows. Time itself seemed to slow as you drew nearer. Your gown, delicate and flowing, shimmered with every step. The sunlight caressed yout features, painting in hues of gold and warmth, as if the heavens themselves sought to crown your beauty.

When their eyes met, your smile bloomed like the first rays of dawn, soft and radiant. His breath caught in his chest, a familiar ache spreading through him. She was breathtaking, as always. How he longed to believe in that smile—to believe it was for him and filled with the same love that consumed him.

But the words of the Emperor echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of her imminent fate. Her smile, her gestures—they were illusions, a facade to pass the time until her life was bound to another. The thought was a dagger, sharp and unyielding, carving away at his heart.

He quickened his pace as if rushing toward her could somehow erase the pain. In another world, in another life, he would have taken her in his arms without hesitation. He would have lifted her from the ground, spinning her until her laughter filled the air. He would have buried his face in her hair, intoxicated by the scent of her perfume, and whispered vows that only the stars could bear witness to.

But not here. Not now. Not when he was the fool caught in her web of pretense.

As they drew closer, Aemilia stopped, her posture poised yet hopeful. She waited, her eyes searching his for the warmth he had always shown her. You expected him to stop, to greet you as he always did—with tenderness and familiarity.

Instead, he walked past, his steps deliberate, his gaze fixed ahead as if she were no more than a shadow in his periphery. He neither glanced at you nor acknowledged your presence, treating as if you were invisible—or worse, as if you meant nothing at all.

Your smile faltered, fading into an expression of quiet disbelief. You remained rooted to the spot, your feet unwilling to move, heart heavy with the sting of his indifference.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

"A wedding?! Next week?!" Your voice rose louder than you intended, sharp and tremulous, yet in that moment, restraint was a foreign concept. Your chest ached, your heart splintered by the weight of his words. A wedding. The last thing you wanted, the last thing you needed.

"Watch your tone, vida mea," your father warned, his voice firm but tempered with the affection that always softened his reprimands. He sat upright, regal and composed, yet a flicker of weariness clouded his eyes. "I told you yesterday it was imminent. Now, I am giving you the date and the name of the man who will soon be your husband."

"He will be nothing of mine!" Your protest echoed through the chamber, unrestrained and vehement. "He's the most arrogant, self-righteous, intolerant man in the Senate! I will not-"

"That is enough!" The Emperor’s hand slammed onto the table, his voice booming with an authority you had never seen him wield against you. The impact silenced the room, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap. "This will not continue. I have waited long enough for you to come to me with a name, a man of your choosing who could meet the expectations of this Empire. But you did not. My patience is at an end. My decision is final!"

The fire in his tone startled you, your defiance faltering for the first time. Your lips parted, but before words could form, he continued, his voice still sharp but now tinged with exasperation. "This matter has plagued me long enough. Even the General could not bear it—he left the room as if it were the dullest subject imaginable!"

"You..." The word caught in your throat, and you quickly softened your tone, a desperate attempt to placate him. "He knows of this?"

"Of course, he knows," your father replied, his voice steady but his brows furrowing with displeasure. "I know you detest the man I have chosen, but it seems the two of you agree on something—he was just as astonished as you."

"Father, I—"

"Aemilia," he interrupted, the warmth returning to his voice though the weariness remained etched into his features. He leaned back, rubbing his temples with deliberate care. "Please, give your old man some peace. I will give you until the end of the ball tonight. If you can name someone—anyone—you find tolerable as a husband, I will consider it. But be reasonable!"

You hesitated, your resolve momentarily shaken by the sight of him so burdened, so unlike the unyielding figure you had always known. You reached for a nearby pitcher, pouring water into a glass and offering it to him with trembling hands. It was a small gesture, but one meant to convey your sincerity.

"You are too generous with me, Father," you murmured, lowering your gaze in deference. "Will you forgive me for my behavior? I acted without thought."

He sighed deeply, taking the glass from you and sipping slowly. "I will forgive, filia mea. But remember, the Empire does not wait for whims of the heart. Be wise in your choice."

You offered a faint smile, more out of obligation than comfort, and excused yourself. As you left the room, the weight of his ultimatum bore down on you like an iron shroud. You had never felt so lost, so adrift in a sea of impossible choices.

[inmyloveworld]

as usual (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)

word count: ~3.7k

synposis: the time for you to meet the Hard Deck, and the Daggers frequenting it, has finally come. but some digs on the oldest aviator of the bunch in front of his younger partner leave a tension between you that begs to be broken.

warnings: age gap (unspecified but in my mind was about 10 years), assumed alcohol consumption, allusions to anxiety, use of the pet name "bunny", jake is an instigator

a/n: this was NOT going to be this long in my head but once i got writing i could not stop.. enjoy some more self-indulgent comfort angst from me!

As usual, Bradley pulled up to your apartment complex right after a long day on base. And as usual, you were standing in the window like a pup waiting for its owner to come home. He made the comparison in earnest. It melted him to know someone was that excited to have him near, that you were that excited to have him near.

He could barely make it out of the Bronco before you were bounding out your door and down the stairs. Bradley had just rounded the passenger side when you reached him. The sinking sun somehow made your eyes sparkle brighter. Butterflies flew in his stomach, and a lovestruck grin spread across his face. Gentle hands caressed your hips as his caramel gaze took you in closely.

"Did you manage to lock the door?" Bradley teased. You softly grunted at the dig, feigning annoyance in a half frown. The front door and you were nothing if not eternal foes, and Bradley knew of this conflict too well.

"I resent that, I really do." His responding laugh was all it took to break your weak facade. A smile overtook you as you lit up once again to be in his presence. Your hands found home at the base of his neck as your lips greeted each other. Seconds moved in hours whenever you kissed Bradley Bradshaw. He made the noise of the world lift into a soft hum with every touch.

It was understandable that you whined whenever he pulled away. "We're gonna be late," Bradley bargained. Your mouth fell into a soft pout that he was happy to peck away into a smile, and into giggles once his lips found your cheeks, and nose, and temples.

"I thought you said we'd be late!" you laughed as you batted him away to slip into the passenger side. He held the door open for you, like the gentleman Carole had raised him to be. Then he bent to kiss you more softly, like the gentleman his father was.

"You are always worth it." You couldn't fight the flush that broke onto your cheeks to crowd the makeup already present. Blush served little purpose with Bradley lighting your cheeks aflame every chance he got. Nor highlighter, with the glow you seemed to emanate since the day he walked into your life.

His hand found home on your thigh, yours placed atop it to toy with his calloused fingers. The Bronco drove off to the famed bar where he and his naval companions flocked. Such companions were eager to meet the girl who settled their "Rooster" into domestic life.

"Cupid's sure been hard at work," Phoenix remarked upon catching her best friend cheesing at the texts you sent him. Whatever force in the world brought you to him, be it Cupid or God or Nick and Carole themselves, he was grateful. Never had he felt so complete.

"How was work today, bunny?" Bradley asked. A simple question most would roll their eyes at, you jumped to answer. You were eager to tell him of every detail: the pesky clientele, the interdepartmental dramas, even how poorly the coffee was brewed. Excitement ran through you and, by proxy, to Bradley. "Bunny" was a nod to the energy that filled you and energized others, much like the battery mascot.

Your anecdotes filled the minutes driving through the bustle of San Diego rush hour. Bradley glanced over at you every chance he got, adding in commentary where he saw fit but mostly admiring the expressions taking over your face.

He could listen to you ramble for hours, he was certain, as you did for him in his own moments of boundless vigor. An equal partnership seemed unattainable with the women he'd met through the years yet came easily with you.

What place did age have to stall a feeling like that?

-

Some last-minute Bronco kisses had you and Bradley walking into the Hard Deck five minutes behind schedule. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand tucked into the front pocket of your jeans to keep you snug against his side. Still, he let you lead the way, content to follow you wherever you found your feet.

You gawked at the space already half packed with people in uniform, a few civilians bridging the gaps. Various signs and regalia littered the space between windows. The perfect sunset view of the beach was on every wall. Miniature aircraft figures crowded the ceiling in permanent flight.

"Is this place for real?" you remarked, earning a kiss on your cheek from Bradley.

"That it is, bunny. As far back as my pops and Maverick," he answered, stopping as he caught his first familiar face. Bradley took the moment to lead you, bringing you to an open space at the bar. "And now in the hands of this lovely lady here. You remember-"

"Penny!" The excitement in your voice brightened the owner right up. Bradley's heart performed somersaults at your cheer. "This place is incredible!"

Penny tried to humble herself under your praise. "Hey, it's the nicest Navy daycare I could imagine." You giggled at the quip, making her break a smile. You quizzed her on her run of the bar as she pulled a draft for Bradley and mixed a margarita for you. The two of you initially met when Bradley brought you to Maverick's hangar. She was just as endeared then as she was now by your bright spirit and compassion for others.

Once you were settled with your drinks, you attempted to tip her out. Penny was quick to push the cash back at you with a wink. "On the house for you tonight. Call it my welcome gift." You must have thanked her half a dozen times as you moved across the bar. A small table against the wall was your target; somewhere to ground your drinks for when you inevitably got spotted-

"Bradshaw!" The time came sooner than you predicted. A brunette tagged with a name you'd heard too many times to count found her way to you. A man in true aviator glasses followed closely behind. Part of you tensed in anticipation. Still, your outgoing nature won over any resistance.

"Phoenix? Bradley has told me so much about you!" You reached out a hand to her. Her eyes slowly followed the gesture as if examining it.

Phoenix took her time to speak up. "So you're the one who's got Bradshaw off in la-la land?"

You blinked, trying to read into her tone. "I-I think so?"

"Phoenix, play nice," Bradley warned. She scoffed at him, finally grabbing your hand to shake.

"I haven't seen the old bird this happy in ages," Phoenix said as she met your eyes. A real smile tugged at her mouth. You were quick to mirror it as you relaxed. "Keep him that way; he flies better."

Bob followed up with his own introduction. It was hard for Bradley to contain his joy at the moment, even with the slight brows Phoenix threw his way. He hadn't told her the details of the age difference in passing; he hadn't thought it important. Bob was none the wiser, simply offering a game of darts to share amongst the four of them.

"Oh, I LOVE darts!" you exclaimed. "But be warned, it's rare that I actually hit the board."

Phoenix chuckled. "Your boy's not too good himself. We ought to split you apart so Bob and I are more evenly matched." Bradley rolled his eyes, though the interaction had his heart soaring. You were happy as can be getting to know his closest friends. They seemed happy as can be getting to know you.

Questions were passed between throws, Bob asking about your work and Phoenix asking about your relationship. It was the kindest form of interrogation you could've envisioned. Meanwhile, the empty pool table behind you was beckoning another group of aviators in your direction.

The tallest of the trio, a man with a square jaw and dark eyes, was quick to single you out. "Now, who's this pretty young thing you guys rounded up to play?"

You turned to make his acquaintance briefly, your usual cheery demeanor receding some. No person with words like that would get the better of you. Instead, you drew in a breath as you threw the last dart of your turn, hitting a triple ring in the process.

"Bradley!" you squealed. He drew you in happily as you jumped into his embrace. "Did you see?! Did you see?!"

An answer was pressed to your lips, leaving you breathless in the aftermath. Bradley hummed at your slightly dazed expression. "That's my girl."

He felt the stares of Harvard, Fanboy, and Coyote burning holes into the floral print shirt he adorned. No mind was paid to any of them, though; not until you solicited it yourself. "You must be more of Bradley's.. coworkers?"

The man of middle height held his hand out for you with a charming grin. "Lieutenant Javy Machado, or 'Coyote' if you'd rather." You were introduced to the other two, with Harvard taking some quizzical glances your way.

"I can't help but wonder, how'd you get shacked up with this fossil?" The audience around you laughed, Bradley included. He had mentioned he was a bit older than his team, giving rationale to the jest and the 'old bird' comment Phoenix made earlier. Still, something in these remarks began to itch you. You were quick to table the feeling, certain it was only your misunderstanding among old friends.

You went on to indulge them in the story of your mildly embarrassing meet-cute. A few other aviators popped in to make their introductions, Payback and Omaha namedly. It seemed that each of them, in due time, had to take their shot at ragging on Bradley's age. He brushed each one-liner off in spades, settling any greater debate with an amused chuckle rather than a defense.

The itch in you was replaced by a gnawing in your gut. You worked to suppress it as best as you could, wanting to make a perfect evening for your partner: the one who kissed you when you shot well in darts and pulled you to the piano to serenade you front and center.

But the words echoing in your ears began to shrink you in your bearings. Suddenly, you had little to say in response to any harmless question. You certainly had less to say as Harvard and Hangman were questioning why you were with Bradley "of all people". Bradley himself had gone to the bathroom, trusting you would be safe and at ease in the company of his friends. It was only upon his return that he was made to see how wrong he'd been.

Bob, the perfect wallflower, had noted the shift in your behavior. He stood by and watched as the dazzling person he was first introduced to started to lose their spark. The WSO watched as you tried to fake smiles and laugh along to the jokes cracked. None of it reached your gaze that began to dart around, as if looking for refuge. Bradley was clueless, too caught up in the moment of his worlds merging to notice one was falling back.

He returned from the bathroom and attempted to dart to your side, stopped only by Bob's light grip on his arm. "Rooster, something's up with your girl." Bradley froze. He scanned the bar, locking onto where you sat with a pair of his friends. Confusion filled him. The night had gone so well. You were getting along with everyone, even Hangman. What could possibly be wrong?

"Just trust me," Bob pleaded, practically seeing the calculations Bradley was attempting in his head. It was seeing your hands nervously fiddling together that confirmed to him Bob was right. He clapped his friend's shoulder, uttering a gracious thanks before making his way over to you.

"Mind if I cut in?" It was nothing more than a courtesy. Bradley would not let you stew in your own head a second longer. "I think we ought to be heading out soon, bunny."

Bradley outstretched his hand to you, which you gladly placed yours into. He pulled you up from the booth with ease and waved his goodbyes to the pair left at the table.

Hangman would not settle for courtesies. "Aww, come on, old man; can't you let her stay out past curfew?"

You barely had a breath to react before Bradley did with yet another chuckle. If nothing churned your stomach that night, the sound of his amusement at this running gag did. You managed your goodbyes to everyone in passing well enough as you exited the bar. The Bronco was a relieving and suffocating sight at the same time.

Silence: that was all Bradley had been given as he led you to his car. A frown fixed on his face. You were keeping a firm distance between the two of you where normally there would be none. Your fingers danced with each other in a nervous rhythm where normally they were laced with his own. Something was seriously wrong, but he hadn't the faintest idea as to what.

Bradley held the passenger door open for you, as usual, and had to hold back a gracious sigh as you let him. You would not so much as look at him since leaving his friends, but he held onto the simple gesture as a sign of hope.

He dared to lean in to catch your lips against his, only to be met by the soft skin of your cheek. Bradley stuttered backward. You had turned away from his kiss.

"Take me home, Rooster." An icy cold poured through him. You had met him in uniform, full with his "Rooster" embellishment, but had never once used the name. And he was starting to wish you never had, for the distant feeling it brought chilled him to the bone.

Bradley hopped into his seat and got the Bronco in motion toward your apartment. Maybe you needed the fresh air and the sights of the city to cool off, he thought. However, with each mile, the tension was growing thicker. He felt it in the silence walling you from him. He felt it as your quad contracted under his subconscious grip, so much that he was growing nauseous himself.

Bradley was a worrywort by default. It's why he hesitated in the air. It's why he hesitated with almost everything in his life. You had been the one piece of his existence that brought him such thoughtless bliss. Had he been too thoughtless to not notice where things were souring?

As quickly as you had raced down, you were flying up the stairs to your apartment. The thud of the passenger door slamming startled him. Bradley barely parked by the time you were halfway up the flight. He locked the doors and jogged up in the path you'd made.

His stature made it fairly easy to catch up to you. That, and the fumbling of your fingers with your key in the villainized deadbolt. You were cursing silently to yourself as you tried and failed to get the lock to turn just right. Tears began to blur your vision, making the simple task even more frustrating.

Bradley's voice was gentle, apologetic already. "Here, let me-"

"Just go home, Rooster; I don't need a fucking babysitter!"

Your response comes out sharp and cold. Your use of his callsign half an hour ago might have chilled him, but this sudden outburst froze him from the inside out. It wasn't long until you froze up yourself and realized the words you let fly.

"Whoa.. where did that come from?"

Bradley didn't receive an answer; not verbally, at least. The only response he received from you was the clutter of your keys against the ground as you tucked your chin into your chest. Soft whimpers began to shake your frame. Within seconds, your resolve gave way to desperate cries pouring from your throat. Bradley's heart cracked.

He moved into action, tucking you into his broad chest and letting you lean your weight into him. Light shushes and repetitions of "It's alright" rushed to console you. Bradley held you upright with one arm as he bent over to swipe your keys into his grasp.

"Come on; let's get inside, yeah?" he cooed as he stood back up. You said nothing and continued to cry into his white tank. Mascara stains were sure to form, but he couldn't care less.

Bradley got your door unlocked in a single try. He propped you safely against the wall as he locked the entry behind himself. You felt like you were floating with his help to get to the couch. There was no resistance or fight in you; only fear.

His hands were on your knees, rubbing soothing circles against the bare skin your jeans exposed. Bradley knelt down in front of you. He waited for you, any tell that you were ready to talk, as long as you needed.

You gathered a hiccuped breath as your sobs faded to sniffles. Your trembling hands reached for him, feeling the warmth of his grasp almost instantly. Bradley gingerly kissed your knuckles on each hand. "Talk to me, bunny." Head lifting, you finally met his worried stare. "What's going on?"

It was a simple question that had a simple answer. Yet, as you tried to form the words, you felt a rush of embarrassment. How ridiculous was it to get so worked up over some lighthearted fun? There was no reason for you to have this sick feeling in your stomach over it.

"Hey," Bradley called, moving a hand up to hold your cheek. His thumb swept at the tears still pouring from your lash line. You hadn't noticed your line of sight drifting away from him with your train of thought. As you found his face again, you saw greater desperation. He ached to know, to help. "Talk to me. Please."

And you did. Grabbing onto his hand with both of yours, you released a heavy sigh. "Tonight was great. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. They all seem like really good people, a-and I'm glad you have them in your life to support you."

Bradley managed a sad smile. Even through your own pains, you were searching for the best to make of the situation for him. He squeezed your hands holding his to comfort you in letting the other shoe drop.

"But.. I-I know you're older than them. I'm sure that, that they make those jokes around you a lot, and did way before you met me. It just.." You stopped yourself, shaking your head as if to shake the thought away. "It's probably so stupid-"

"It's not stupid if it's got you this upset."

Oh, Bradley. The only man you'd ever encountered who genuinely yearned to empathize with you at every struggle or hardship. The person who encouraged you to feel things through in a healthy manner instead of immediately pointing blame at yourself for feeling it at all. No person at any age topped the level of emotional care and safety he provided you.

Your words started to flood out, mixing together in disarray. Yet, Bradley listened intently to every fragmented sentence you gave. "I care about you. So much, B; so much it's scary sometimes. And I don't ever think of the years between us because it's all meaningless, you know? The way I feel for you, and how I think you feel for me. We each have our shit sorted, there's no weird power dynamic bullshit going on."

He restrained a laugh at your frank vocabulary. It was one of the things he admired most about you. When your feelings spilled out, there was never a filter. You expressed yourself entirely authentically. That's why your earlier silence frightened him into his own.

That was not to say your troubles were easy for him to hear, because they weren't. Who wanted to hear that the person they loved ever doubted as such?

"All those jokes… I don't want your friends to not take me seriously. That I'm with you for any reason other than you make my life so much better just by being in it, and I hope to god I can do the same for you. I don't need you to take care of me, be my 'sugar daddy' or anything like that. And-" You pursed your lips as another sob caught in your throat.

Bradley leaned in to kiss your forehead, so tenderly it sent chills down your spine. Your lips parted to release that choked cry. "I-I was scared when you just.. just laughed with them, that, that you didn't take me seriously e-either."

The words were a knife in his chest. "Oh, baby, no," he nearly gasped. "No, no; I never have thought like that, bunny."

You began to cry once more; out of the feelings you'd held that evening, out of the faint insecurity you'd held the months you'd spent together, and out of relief to hear him reassure you. The mix of emotions was blowing you over.

"Can I come up there, baby? Can I hold you?" Your answer was in the frantic way you pulled at his hands. Bradley fell into your ragged loveseat in an instant, tugging you into his lap as you wept. He rubbed up and down your back and pressed kisses into your hair to soothe you.

His voice was warped with his own emotion when he spoke next. "I'm so sorry I ever made you doubt how I feel about you. You are worth so much more than your age." He cupped your cheek again to meet your watery gaze with his own.

"You're incredible. The way you navigate life so carefree and full of light, and how you pass that feeling onto everyone you meet. How you care about everyone you meet and effortlessly brighten their day. How you care about me so much that you're this worried that I don't know it."

Your tears rolled freely onto the skin of his fingers, your body jolting with hiccups. And Bradley thought you were every bit as beautiful as you'd ever been.

"But I do. And I will treasure that, I will treasure you, every day of my life." Your responding smile was the most welcome sight. It cleared up the dark clouds that were looming overhead to shine brightly on whatever was to come. As usual.

-

a/n: this was very VERY loosely proofread but i am open to feedback and suggestions! thank you all for reading <3

tags: @roosterforme, @avengersfan25

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 9

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: We made it to Friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The watch ticks on in your hand, counting down the seconds you spend trapped beneath the bed. Cowardice, embarrassment, shock. Pick one. You finally break your paralysis and crawl out from beneath he frame, listening cautiously as you drag yourself across the floor inch by inch.

You stand, glancing furtively around the room. You clutch the watch and turn, hovering it just above the night table. That's too obvious. It wouldn't just appear out of nowhere. You need to come up with a story but you don't know if any lie you tell could be believed. It seems, he even doubts you when you are honest.

You drop your hand to your side and near the door, turning your ear out to listen to house beyond. You grip the door handle tight and lift the door on its hinges as you open it. You slip out, easing the handle down then up to keep the mechanism from clicking.

You peer down the hall as you hear Mr. Laufeyson in his study, the shuffling and scuffing of drawers being pulled in and out. 

There are two paths forward; put the watch somewhere and let him find it or return it to him and feign ignorance. You don't know which is better, both entail a lie you aren't equipped to tell.

You pad down the hall, sidling against the wall and into the library. You could pretend you were there all along, say you found the watch earlier. He would think you busy as he was in the shower. That you were in a world, and a room, separate from him.

You go to the desk and set the watch down as you sit. It takes you a moment to get your mind to focus and you open the lid of the laptop. You hit the power button and tap your fingers on the wood as you wait for it to start up. As the screen lights up, the door from the study opens. You don't have time to hide the watch. The path forward is paved.

Mr. Laufeyson sweeps in without pretense, as he often does. For as much as he resented his brother for the very same, he is comfortable in just barging in. You sit up and look at him over the top of the computer. He crosses his arms as his eyes peruse the space.

"You've not seen--" He begins, his voice trailing off as he faces you. Like a hound, his eyes fall instinctively to the watch. You don't acknowledge it.

You type the password in to unlock the computer. He comes forward and leans forward, spreading his fingers wide over the other edge of the desk. He hums.

"Where did you find that?" He dips his head down, gesturing to the left of your laptop.

"Uh," you let your eyes wander over, "oh!" You look at him with surprise, "I was cleaning and it was... by the sofa. I meant to return it but I haven't seen you, Mr. Laufeyson."

He squints and shifts his weight. He pushes himself straight and smooths his shirt. He is without his usual jacket. He takes measured steps around the desk and comes to stand right beside you. Too close. You feel the heat radiating from, smell the same scent from the room cloying from his figure.

"The sofa?" He questions as he snatches up the watch. He examines it, as if he suspects it is a dupe. "Why, I should be grateful, yes? You've found the very thing I was in search of."

"Er, I guess," you shrug and drag your fingers around the touchpad listlessly. "Uh, excuse me," you stand, the chair scraping loudly behind you, "I forgot my bag downstairs, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Hvitsten," he wags the watch at you, staying firmly in place, "a Norwegian brand," he explains, "this is the North Sea model. Backed with Lapis Lazuli," he turns the face out, "nice, isn't it?"

"Um, sure, Mr. Laufeyson, I... I don't know much about watches," you eke out.

"But you can see it is a fine watch, yes?"

You take a step back and he takes one forward as your leg hits the edge of the chair. You gulp and stare at the watch hanging over two of his long fingers, "I like the colour--"

"If you were to guess, what do you think this piece costs?"

You blink and shake your head. You don't understand why he's asking. Can't he just thank you and take the watch?

"I don't know, Mr. Laufeyson," you croak.

"A pawn shop might offer you a few hundred, but that would be a con," he scoffs and turns the watch over, bringing his left wrist up to hook it in place. "This particular model retails for over two grand. I expect that's more than your rent," he tuts, "a fair amount for anyone but I pay for quality."

"I... it is really pretty," you offer.

"Oh I am aware," he smirks, "naturally, it catches the eye. One can hardly miss it."

You frown. Is he accusing you? You don't say a word. You expect whatever you say wouldn't change his mind.

"So, what I mean to say is I am very grateful that you've found this," he tugs his cuff straight, "for it would be a great loss indeed."

He drops his arm and stays where he is. He does not retreat and despite the urge, you do not either.

"I must be mistaken to think Thursdays you were to clean the second floor only," he remarks, "though it may be a trick of fate that you did the first as well."

"Er, I... had a few minutes-- Mr. Laufeyson, my ledger is in my bag--"

"In time," he crosses his arms and leans back on a heel. You dare to glance up as his eyes scan you from head to toe, "these..." He dips his head to allude to your attire, "are new?"

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought-- no more jeans," you press your palms to the wool pants.

"Mmm," his hum is less than delighted, "still, lacking."

You wilt. You really tried and it's still not good enough. He unfolds his arms and you stand dumbly, frozen, as he reaches to pick a thread from your collar. It unravels and he lets it dangle before you.

"As I said, quality is worth the extra cost," he harrumphs and lets the thread fall, "I did provide you a rather generous signing bonus but perhaps your first check will provide adequate compensation."

You watch the thread fall and back up to bend and retrieve it. He watches you and you close your hand around the string.

"I'll throw this out," you assure him, "and grab my bag--"

"I did not dismiss you," he insists.

"I am coming back--"

"You do grow bold, yes?"

"Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn't mean--"

"If you would let me speak, I might be able to tell you what I had in mind when I entered," he rebukes, "I have a delivery expected at two. I would need you to sign for it. Can I trust that simple task in your hands?"

You chew your lip and bow your head. He inhales and backs away slowly, "very well, go." He flicks his fingers at you dismissively, "grab your things and get to work.”

🧹

There's a pungent stench as you enter the house. The TV blares loudly from the living room as the stale waft of tobacco lingers in the air. But more, there's something far more putrid. 

You peek into the living room. It's later than usual. Your father's head is tipped back as he snores upright. His oxygen tube is taught across his nose and the tank pulled against his leg. As you turn on a light, you notice the dark stain across the front of his pants. Oh no, that's what that smell is.

He gurgles, frightening you. At first, you think he's choking. He coughs and spits into his ash tray. He waves his hand in front of his face.

"What're you waking me up for?" He snarls.

"I was just checking on you--"

He groggily shifts back and forth, shaking his head as he gets his bearings. He looks down and you see him tense. He sits up and reaches for the remote.

"Um, did you need any help--"

"Piss off," he snips, "I was yelling for you earlier. Where were you?"

"I... was working. I told you--"

"Working? What the fuck is work? You? Pfft," he scoffs as he flicks through the channels.

"It's okay, dad, I'll grab you some new pants--"

"Shut up!" He barks. He's obviously embarrassed. You are too. Worse, your guilt sears in your stomach. You should've been there.

"Dad, it's not--"

"You're a dumb bitch, you know that? Shoulda let me fucking sleep," he grits out, "like you shoulda let me die. Now I'm hear sitting in my own piss with no fucking smokes."

He throws the empty pack at you and you wince. You pick it up as your eyes tinge hotly.

"Maybe... maybe I could look into getting a nurse. The doctor said--"

"I can take care of my fucking self!"

You snap your mouth shut and clasp the package between your hands.

"I'm only trying to help--"

"What? By keeping me in this hellhole? Eh? It's fucking torture. Why the fuck would you that?"

"Dad," you squeak, "I love you--"

"Proves how fucking stupid you are," he snorts.

You stand in scalded silence. You're just trying to help. That's all you've ever done and it's never been good enough.

"If you don't got smokes, go the fuck away," he hisses.

You obey and leave him, tossing the empty pack in the garbage. You head upstairs with heavy steps and yawn at your door. You drop your bag on the bed and go back to close the door. You lean on it as your tears begin to flow.

You can't do anything right. No matter what you do. It's like you're trying to get your head above water in the middle of a storm. You slide down to the floor and hang your head over your bent arms.

You know you can't stay home. As prickly as Mr. Laufeyson can be, he pays you well and he isn't entirely unkind. He didn't have to pay you a bonus but he did. He didn't have to hire you at all. Besides all that, he can at least admit when you've done something well.

It isn't him you can't say no to, it's the money. Not just to pay off the hospital but to keep the house running. For yourself as much as for your father.

And you can't leave your dad alone to fend for himself. He obviously can't, not anymore and he doesn't want your help. You might love him but there's only so much you can do.

You lift your head and inhale, sniffling roughly as you wipe your nose. Tomorrow, you'll go to the hospital and ask about home nurses. You'll have to find room in the budget.

🧹

You're out of breath as you get on the bus. You had everything timed out so you could get to Mr. Laufeyson's on time. Still, your usual bus went out of service and you had to get a transfer onto a different route. The change throws your entire day off and adds to the disparity of your week.

You get off a bit further from Mr. Laufeyson's as this bus doesn't go as far as the other. You run down the street, sweating in the black polyester pants and peach coloured button-up. You scramble to get out the phone and put in the proper code.

Your first try is with the one from the day before. On your second try, you clatter through and scurry down the path. The backdoor proves just as troublesome in your frantic rush.

You get inside and leave your shoes by the door. No cleaning, or at least, you don't plan on it. You near the bottom of the staircase, breathless and puffing, clinging onto the straps of your leather bag.

"You are late," Mr. Laufeyson strides out of the den.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sor-ry," you gulp through repressed pants, "the bus--"

"I don't care about the bus. It is your responsibility to be here on time, regardless of the method."

"I understand--"

"I am starting to question if you do," he rebukes.

"Mr. Laufeyson, it won't happen again."

"I know it won't or you will not have another chance to be late," he warns, "you were not here to prepare the tea for my guest. I had to do it myself."

"Guest? I... didn't know--"

"I didn't ask if you knew. If you'd been here on time, you would have," he chides, "it seems, in my efforts, I forgot to fetch the biscuits with the teapot so you will go and do so."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you nod, "I'm so sorry--"

"Sorry, yes, I'm sure you are," he lifts his chin and turns on his heel, "you certainly will be..."

At first, you're not sure you've heard the words. That he would say something so callous. You back away, heart hammering as you try to convince yourself it wasn't real.

You go back down the hall and shove your bag in the back closet. You veer into the kitchen and search the cupboards; biscuits, biscuits, biscuits...

You find an unopened tin and bring it down onto the counter. You peel away the plastic and take out a sleek black serving plate. You use some tongs to lay out the biscuits neatly, an array of each type. You'd done similar for Corrissa with the hors d'oevres. You take the plate and carefully make your way into the hall, trying not to disturb the arrangement.

You enter with your head down, hoping not to disturb Mr. Laufeyson as his deep voice carries to the high ceilings. The curtains are open and the windows shine brightly. You peak up as you approach him and his guest.

She doesn't notice you until you're a foot away. You shy away from her gaze, her pupils a greenish blue and her golden hair silver along the temples. You place the plate on the round table by her elbow, just between the chair and the end of the sofa where she sits.

"And who is this?" She preens curiously.

"Mother, you needn't worry--"

"You hired a full-time maid?" She wonders.

"Mmm," he hums, "suppose she would be a house manager. She handles all the little details I don't have time for."

"Oh, like Evelyn."

"I suppose," Laufeyson agrees dryly.

You back away and look up again. Is that really his mother? She's beautiful.

"Please, darling, join us," she trills.

You blanch and look at Mr. Laufeyson as a line squiggles between his brows. He looks between you and his mother. Before he can protest she is on her feet.

"Please, I do love to get to know the staff," she approaches, "I'm Frigga. I hope you've heard a lot about me. His mother, of course. I only came to see that he's well... he never has time to call. Perhaps you might change that, hm?"

You glance over at Laufeyson again, frightened. Not just by this over friendly woman but by him. You don't know if you should say you have work and refuse or if that would be rude. She is his mother and you wouldn't want to upset.

"Mother, she does have her work--"

"Tosh, it can wait," she puts her hand on your arm and ushers you to the couch, "have some biscuits, darling, you look faint."

Laufeyson huffs but does not speak. He hooks one leg over the other and places his chin on his knuckles. He glares at you and you look to your lap.

You've done the wrong thing again but you're not sure there is a right option in this circumstance.

"These are my favourites," Frigga declares as she holds out a braided biscuit with large grains of sugar sprinkled over it. "Don't tell me these are the same I gifted you for the holiday," she tisks.

"I haven't much of a sweet tooth."

"I do forget, Thor tends to fancy the sugar," she chitters and returns her attention to you, "forgive me, I didn't get your name."

Your mouth is dry. You stare at the golden rings on her fingers. You clear your throat and utter your name, sealing your misdeed.

[aezuria]

*ੈ✎ two lovers entwined, pass me by

"and heaven knows i'm miserable now" —the smiths

content: leo valdez x roman! reader

╰┈▸ back cover: what if leo gets a little too tired of being the seventh wheel, wait- ninth wheel? (and meets a girl who is a d1 hater)

╰┈▸ warnings: leo and yn dont hate hate couples its a joke okay (unless its not a joke anymore pls give them love-) cursing, maybe ooc reyna? NOT canon compliant, a bit of angst but overall its silly

librarian's annotations: this is now my fav work if u guys dont like it then dont tell me pls 😣

leo was tired. sick and tired of everyone's public displays of affection! can they at least have the decency to romance each other in the privacy of their own rooms!? he did not build ten of them for no reason! there was absolutely no way they needed to suck face at the dining table. like, right in front of his food!?

okay, he was being a bit dramatic. the most everyone was willing to do in public was hold hands. and maybe share a kiss. but that was a kiss too much! and wasn't reyna supposed to off doing (cool) praetor shit!? ever since her and jason made up, leo has not been able to catch a break! can they stop eyefucking each other already!? (they are simply staring into one another's eyes)

"guys." leo swept his gaze over the dining table. he was seated at the end, giving him an unwarranted view of everyone paired up. apparently, love is also deaf, since no one turned their head to him.

"guys!" leo raised his voice. would he be heard over the sound of their unspoken conversations? heads finally spun to look at him, as if they just remembered he was there.

"can you guys like, eat? or do this-" he gestured widely. "elsewhere? and by elsewhere i mean not in front of me."

they all managed to give him the exact same look that was a mix of embarrassment at being called out, and something that said "poor leo, he's so single!" oh come on! jason made it even worse by putting a—what was supposed to be—comforting hand on his arm. "it's okay, leo. i'm sure you'll find someone one day."

this was not funny at all. and leo would know; he's the funniest guy ever! he snatched his arm away with an utterly aghast expression. "ew! get your pity off of me!" he shuddered, playing up the theatrics and wiped his forearm over jason, giving him his couple-cooties back.

the blond reeled back, laughing at his best friend's antics. "what was that for!?"

"don't act like you don't know!" he sneered accusingly.

nights were always the worst for leo. they were quiet, and not the calm, peaceful quiet when he would stay out and watch the sun set, the time before his happiness came to an end. it was an empty quiet, devoid of the laughter he caused, his thoughts become louder to fill up the silence.

(it was night when his mother died, when he had burned down the warehouse. when he had killed her. it was night when he awoke to the front door slamming, the sounds of drunken yells and glass splintering were backing instruments in an interlude of impending misery as he waits for the sun to shine once again. it was night when he ran away, with nothing more than his heavy heart and some left over change.)

leo's thoughts ran rampant with the feelings he kept in a glass box. always there, always seen, very fragile yet rarely opened. sometimes he would shake it a little too hard, and it would come crashing down like a bottle of alcohol, spilling insecurities instead of wine.

tonight was one of those times.

he doesn't know what brought it on. well, he lied; it was the sight of everyone at dinner, looking happy and complete without him. but he was used to it. it shouldn't have bothered him this much. but the more he let it stew, the more it hurt. leo loved his friends, sure, but he couldn't help but have a little bit of resentment at how easy it was for them to make up, make out. hell, even piper got a girlfriend, a mortal one at that! between traveling and fighting monsters, he didn't even know that was possible. what about him was so unlovable?

as he tossed and turned to shake off the voices in his head, he knew that this would be another sleepless night.

today was going to be a good day; leo could feel it in his gut. the skies were clear, there were no monsters coming to wake them up, and the engine was running smoothly. he had time to work on his little projects all day today! he hummed a tune as he walked to the engine room, or his work room for today, and spun a wrench in his hand. maybe he had a little skip to his saunter, a pep in his step. something about today was just so-

his gut lied to him. (maybe he was hungry?) the wrench clattered to the ground as he came to an abrupt stop. "oh. my. gods." leo paused between every word to further emphasize his disdain.

the sight was scandalous, completely and irrevocably scandalous. like, i-need-to-wash-my-brain-out scandalous. and leo was so not being dramatic this time.

percy and annabeth flinched away from each other in a half-asleep fumble, trying to act as if they had not just been caressing each other's bodies mere moments ago. (okay, maybe he was being dramatic again) this wasn't even a romantic place to do that! and leo would know, he's such a romantic guy. what was the purpose of his hard work of making bedrooms if they were just going to sneak off and desecrate his beloved engine room!?

"frank catching you two once wasn't enough?" leo huffed and bent down to pick up his dropped tool. "now i have to see the two of you fraternizing in my domain!?"

"that's not even the proper word-" annabeth had tried to hold back, but the urge to correct him was too much.

"i don't care! shoo!"

leo was so done. his perfect day had been ruined first thing in the morning! now it was late, he was tired, and he was finally heading back to his room to get some much needed rest after holing himself up all day working on random knick-knacks. a soft noise caught his attention. it was dim, the lights low since him and annabeth wanted to save electricity. he felt the familiar dread in his stomach. there was absolutely no way this could be happening.

"we shouldn't do this here..." wait, was that reyna?

"i know.. but i'm gonna miss you when you leave." no. no. NO. the direction the two very very familiar voices were coming from was right in front of the hallway to his bedroom. "please?"

leo was torn. he didn't want to walk in on them, but he couldn't spend another night in the engine room! he wanted his comfy bed right now!

he slapped a hand over his eyes and stepped heavily on the wooden floorboards, giving them a much needed warning. he heard the sound of fabric and shuffling, a satisfied smirk gracing his face.

"are you guys decent?" leo asked, still squeezing his eyes shut under his hand.

jason huffed, no doubt red in the face. "it's not like we weren't in the first place."

leo dared to open his eyes, finding that not only was his face red, but there were bruises starting to dapple his neck. ew. he did not want to think about how that came to be. "uh huh. well go and canoodle somewhere not in front of my room, please and thank you."

"canoodle?"

"reyna i told you, i don't wanna go!" you grumbled akin to a toddler, despite your status as the centurion of the first cohort. you took off your armor, dropping it to the ground haphazardly. "i don't need to see you and mister perfect canoodling in front of me!"

the praetor snorted and shook her head. "'canoodling?' you're the second person i've heard use that word this week." she paused, a thoughtful expression passing over her face. "you guys would get along well, i think. anyways, i'm not asking as a friend, i'm ordering you as praetor."

oh that was so unbelievably low! "what!? reynaa!" you stretched out the end of her name in an embarrassingly childish whine. good thing it was just the two of you here, otherwise no one would let you live it down. "i thought they were supposed to be going soon anyway!?"

"you heard me. and no, they're staying for a couple more nights. something about the engine being broken again?" she shrugged, an amused glimmer breaking through her usually serious front. "besides, we have a lot to discuss about the whole gaea thing, and who better to bring than you? you're my right hand woman."

you tried to hide a smile at her words, but sweet-talk always won you over. "ugh, fine. i guess i'll go."

something was up. you knew that from the moment she asked you to "wear something other than purple for once." who even owned anything but purple!? heck, you didn't even know reyna had different clothes outside of uniform! was that even allowed? you'd only ever seen her wear the same shirt as you, and a toga if the event accounted for it.

you sifted through your wardrobe, digging through masses of violet and coming up blank. oh well, guess its uniform time again. not that you minded all that much.

"you are changing." reyna shook her head, giving you a disappointed look only a mother could offer. this wasn't even a big deal! what was so wrong with your shirt? you rather liked purple!

"but why!? what better way to represent rome than this?" you gestured to your clothing. "aren't we talking business? also this is like the only shirt i have."

"because-"

"you just wanna look all pretty for your boyfriend." you cut her off, faking a gag. "doesn't mean i have to look pretty."

her shoulders tensed and you drew back, already anticipating her near-fatal blow.

"reyna? you know i was just kidding- OW!"

"-wait this is so my color actually." you checked yourself in her mirror. who knew reyna had fashion sense? although not much was required for a simple shirt and jeans.

she nodded and got to her feet. "suits you well. consider it my apology."

"huh? apology for what? for hitting me? aww you're so-"

"no. for what's about to happen to you." a solemn expression took over her face. she was well aware of your exaggerated hatred for couples. maybe you were just a bitter single, but she wasn't about to tell you that. she hoped you would soon be taken (not literally) and stop harassing her for her romantic escapades.

that was ominous. should you be scared for your life? "what the hell does that even mean?"

oh. now you knew exactly what it meant. as the two of you boarded the argo ii, she was immediately swept into a bone-crushing hug by jason, as if he couldn't bear to let her go ever again. you almost threw up at the sight. how could your beloved best friend be reduced to a lovesick schoolgirl at the touch of a man!? a man that had forgotten her! (and remembered, and apologized, and confessed his love- okay, you were starting to see her side quite clearly)

you turned your head away entirely, not wanting to see all that. but everywhere you looked, a new couple seemed to pop up. it was like your worst nightmare come to life. percy and annabeth? piper and some girl? frank and hazel? holding hands? since when were they a thing!? sweet hazel and shy frank? they were—admittedly—adorable, but still!

your only respite was leo looking just as exasperated as you. he must have it way worse; he had to live here with all of them. you shuddered. you were glad you weren't in his place right now.

you stood awkwardly to the side as they reunited. do they do this all the time? and everyone's just cool with it? maybe they can relate, with their taken-ness and all. ugh.

leo peeked at you curiously from the corner of his eye. your expression was as clear as day, face scrunched up in disdain as he traced your gaze to the practically infinite amount of couples onboard. he nodded internally, knowing exactly how you were feeling. but hey, he couldn't just let a pretty girl like you stay unhappy on his ship, not if he could help it!

"hey there," leo said smoothly, or as smooth as he could be after he had almost tripped on the crack between the floorboards. "i'm leo."

finally! someone had the decency to entertain you. "i know you! you're the guy that made octavian throw a hissy fit for firing at new rome!" shit, was that a weird thing to say for a first time interaction? too late now.

the brunette cringed at the mention of his possession. "uh, that's not what most people know me by, but yeah..?"

"oh? and what do most people know you by?" consider yourself intrigued.

leo perked up at your question, having been given an amazing opportunity to charm you. "well obviously it's my rugged good looks, and ingenious inventions, and-"

"we're starting dinner now!" jason called out from the dining table, before recieving an elbow to the gut from reyna and a harsh whisper from piper.

you were lost in your thoughts, zoning out as everyone spoke around you. leo's actually kinda... a tiny part of you popped the idea into your head. he was kinda, indeed. gods, i hate couples. a much larger portion of your mind seemed to yell. do you, or do you just hate being single? you asked yourself. huh. well it's probably-

a cough to your left caught your attention. it was leo. when his brown eyes met yours, you couldn't see a trace of that same boy who was described a traitor and a freak for firing at new rome. maybe something really did possess him.

"wanna know how i built this ship?" he asked excitedly. it was clear that the argo ii was his pride and joy.

"yeah!" you grinned, his cheerfulness rubbing off on you. who cares if he fired on new rome anymore? that was so last tuesday.

"so first, i had this cool metal dragon..."

unbeknownst to you, annabeth whispered across the table to reyna. "i think it's working?"

so, the dinner wasn't anything about business. you did learn a ton from leo though! that was business enough wasn't it? still, you couldn't help the pang of guilt that came with not getting anything work-related done. it was practically in your genes as a roman.

"y/n! you should stay the night!" hazel encouraged from the sofa across you. she was met with choruses of yeahs! and you shoulds! by the other girls, including reyna.

"oh!" you laughed awkwardly, trying to think of a way to politely turn them down. as much as you would love to stay and get to know them, you had a job to do. even if that job was getting all the legionnaires in your cohort to bed by curfew. (like seriously, the amount of times you've had to reel in couples you caught sneaking out was crazy. maybe that's where your hatred came from.) "i'd love to, but i have... centurion duties and all that."

"but reyna has praetor duties and she's staying," annabeth argued. her gray eyes shone with an intensity you only saw on the battlefield. what was going on?

that was new information to you. "you're staying?" you questioned your friend, who looked away with a hint of embarrassment.

"jason's leaving soon," she coughed. after being apart for so long, you could hardly blame her for wanting a little more time with him. "but that's besides the point. you should stay."

you crossed your arms, trying to come up with another excuse. "uh, i don't have clothes to change into?" it was a weak attempt, but you hoped it would work.

"i can lend you some," hazel piped up from the side, obviously eager to make you stay.

aw. she was always so nice. but you had a feeling there was an underlying motive you just couldn't figure out.

you tried again. "i don't think there's a spare room for me to sleep in."

"there's an empty one by leo," piper pointed out.

well, that was it. they refuted all your claims and left you no choice but to stay. you heaved a sigh and relented. "fine."

you weren't sure how it happened, but you ended up with leo again. so much for girls night. but you couldn't complain, leo was good company. he never let the silence stew between you guys for too long, always switching between one topic to the next, until somehow, you were both talking shit about your pathetic love lives and the insufferable ones of those around you.

"you wouldn't believe how many times i've caught these people! i swear, they can never keep it in their pants for more than two seconds! it's like, trauma at this point!" you rolled your eyes, absolutely abhorring the new legionnaires in your cohort.

leo laughed, a sound that made your heart skip a beat. he looked over his shoulder, before leaning in as if telling you a secret. "like two days ago, i caught jason and reyna making out! he had hickies all over his neck!"

you gasped at the scandalous behavior of the two most serious people you knew. "what!? no way..."

the curly-haired boy nodded vehemently. "yes way! it was so gross."

eventually, it was time for the both of you to say your goodnights. leo led you to your room, giving you a cheeky wink before he retreated into his own. you shut the door, and threw yourself into bed.

maybe it was the unfamiliar environment, maybe it was the fact that you were way up in the air, or maybe it was leo running circles around your mind. whatever the reason was, you couldn't sleep. or maybe you chose not to, just to have an excuse to see the stars. the time when they were out was the only time you'd allow yourself a break.

you crept out of the room, careful not to make noise as you made your way out onto the deck. the air was crisp, a gentle bite against your skin. it seemed that the god of the sky was on your side tonight, for the clouds were nowhere to be seen, only the full moon of artemis and the familiar stars shone. you made yourself comfy on the floor, leaning back against the railing as you took a deep breath.

it would be another night of no sleep for leo, that much he could tell. he groaned into his pillow. he couldn't tell if it was the new crush already forming on you, or his angst from a few days before. regardless, his nervous energy made him get up and pace the room, fidgeting with a screw he found on the floor. with footsteps light, he traveled the small area, before something told him to get some fresh air. he obliged. it was better than being in his stuffy room.

as he went up the stairs to the upper level, he caught sight of a figure in the distance. leo's curiosity spiked. he walked closer, the image of you coming into view. your eyes locked on his, a soft smile gracing your face at seeing him. "hey."

"hey." leo dipped his head in greeting, and sat down beside you. "mind if i sit here?"

you shook your head and returned your gaze to the starry night sky, a comfortable silence settling between you two, with only the tapping of leo's fingers against the floor filling the air. it was different, being alone with him. he seemed different. he was quieter, more mellow.

"i hate nights." leo blurted out, breaking the peace you two had shared.

"really?" you asked softly. he braced himself with the condescending remark that was sure to come after, but it never came. instead he received a genuine interest from you. "why's that?"

the boy felt his heart beat a little faster. was he really going to tell you, a girl he barely knew, his whole life story? perhaps it was the late hour that made him want to spill everything out. or the feeling that stirred whenever he looked at you, like magnets attracting. and so he did.

and you listened without any interruption, never followed up with that remark he was waiting for, never gave him the pity he hated. instead, you followed up with your own story.

"i love nights. for me, it's the only time i really feel free. when everyone else is asleep, and it's just you and the stars. away from all the rules." you looked up. they seemed so close from here, way up in the floating ship. they twinkled like glitter, flashing heys and hellos and nice to see you agains. it was beautiful.

leo admired you the way you did the stars. they reflected off your eyes and made your irises shine, the same way fire casted a diffused glow on everything around it. maybe nights weren't so bad after all, if every one of them would be spent with you.

and when you leaned against him to rest your head on his shoulder, whispering secrets into his ear? oh, caligula would have blushed. (leo knows he sure did)

"operation get leo a girlfriend, complete!"

"i thought we were calling it operation get y/n a boyfriend?"

"whatever. operation leoy/n is a success!"

"...you know we can hear you guys, right?"

[extinctlesspains]

𝐹𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

𝐵𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠

»»——⍟——««

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑇𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑠, 𝑌/𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝐾𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑗𝑜, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙, 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛, 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑚 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑒𝑘𝑎𝑖 𝑇𝑎𝑖𝑘𝑎𝑖, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑛𝑒

𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

Moving to Texas had felt like an escape, a chance for a fresh start. But you soon realized that running from your past didn’t mean it wouldn’t catch up with you. Being the new kid was hard enough—your accent, your mannerisms, even your name made you stand out. And in high school, standing out wasn’t always a good thing.

At first, it was just whispers and sideways glances. Then came the cruel nicknames and the rumors.

“Slut. Couldn’t even wait for marriage,” someone spat one day as you walked to your locker.

You clenched your fists, trying not to let the words sink in. It became a routine—your classmates would find a reason to target you, and almost daily, an icy drink would end up splattered across your shirt or your hair. No matter how much you tried to stay invisible, they always found you.

When you brought it up to your mom, hoping for some comfort or advice, her response was always the same:

"They’re just jealous because they’re not as pretty as you."

You wanted to believe her. But there were days when the bullying became too much to bear, and you’d cry yourself to sleep, wishing you could disappear.

That’s when your mom finally told you something that would change everything.

"It’s safe to go back home."

The words didn’t register at first. “What?” you asked, your voice trembling with disbelief.

She smiled softly. “We can go back to Korea. It’s safe now.”

You didn’t need to hear any more. Within minutes, you were packing everything you owned into your lilac suitcase, your hands shaking with excitement. For years, you’d dreamed of this moment—returning to your home country, leaving behind the constant judgment and cruelty of your life in Texas.

But as the days passed and your departure grew closer, doubts began to creep in. What if things had changed too much? What if your old friends didn’t remember you—or worse, resented you for leaving? And then there was him.

Kwon.

The memories of him were a tangle of emotions. He had been your closest friend, your fiercest rival, and… something else you couldn’t quite define. But you had left without saying goodbye, and the thought of facing him again made your stomach churn with unease.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

The flight to Korea felt endless, but when you finally stepped off the plane and took your first breath of familiar air, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. It smelled like home.

Your mom had rented a small apartment in the city while you both figured out your next steps. It wasn’t much, but it felt comforting in its simplicity. As you unpacked, you thought about how to rebuild your life.

That’s when your phone buzzed, interrupting your thoughts.

"Hello?" you answered hesitantly, unsure who would be calling.

"Y/n, it’s Sensei Kim."

Her voice was instantly recognizable—sharp yet elegant, the way it had always been.

“Sensei!” you exclaimed, a smile spreading across your face. “How are you? I’m so sorry for leaving without notice—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “I know you had your reasons. After all, I saw the news that day.”

Her words made you pause, your smile fading as memories of that day came rushing back. You stared at the floor, unable to respond.

“Y/n,” she continued, her tone softening slightly, “how would you like to return to karate? You had so much potential, and it would be an honor to teach you again.”

You swallowed hard. Karate had been your sanctuary, the one place where you felt strong and confident. But the idea of returning to the dojo filled you with anxiety. Seeing those familiar faces again, especially Kwon, was almost too much to bear.

"I… I’ll have to think about it," you said finally.

"Of course," Sensei Kim replied. “If you change your mind, we have practice tomorrow at 1 PM. You’re always welcome here.”

After hanging up, you found your mom standing in the doorway, watching you with a mop in hand.

“You should go back to the dojo,” she said simply.

You frowned. “Why would I do that?”

Her expression grew serious. “You never know if he will get out again.”

The weight of her words settled over you like a heavy blanket. You knew exactly who she meant, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

“Fine,” you murmured. “I’ll go back. I’ll protect you, Mom.”

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

The next day, you arrived at the dojo exactly at 1 PM. You hesitated outside the doors, listening to the muffled sounds of practice inside—the rhythmic stomp of feet on the mats, the sharp snaps of commands, and the occasional grunt of effort. It was all so familiar, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed since you had been part of this world.

Gathering your courage, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The chatter among the students died down as they noticed you, their gazes turning curious, then whispering. You felt the weight of their eyes on you, and your stomach twisted with unease.

You walked into the training room just as a session was beginning. Sensei Kim was standing at the front, her posture as commanding as ever. Beside her was an older man you didn’t recognize—his presence was stern, almost menacing.

Sensei Kim’s sharp eyes landed on you immediately.

“Ah, it seems my star student has returned,” she said, her voice loud enough to draw everyone’s attention.

Every head turned to look at you, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You kept your gaze steady, scanning the room until your eyes met his.

Kwon.

The moment you saw him, your breath caught in your throat. He looked different—his frame taller, his shoulders broader—but his expression was the same. Cold. Unreadable. And, to your dismay, angry.

His jaw clenched, and his sharp gaze seemed to pierce right through you. Your heart sank.

“This is Y/n,” Sensei Kim announced to the room. “One of the most promising students I’ve ever taught.”

Whispers rippled through the group, and you caught snippets of their murmurs.

“Didn’t she leave?”

“Why is she back?”

“She thinks she’s special?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, fighting the urge to shrink under their judgment.

“Fall in, Ms. Y/n,” a deep voice commanded.

It was the older man—Sensei Kreese, you assumed. His tone was harsh, leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, sir,” you said quickly, bowing respectfully.

He gestured toward the rows of students. “Stand next to Kwon. Now.”

Your stomach flipped, but you obeyed, making your way to the line. As you approached, Kwon shifted slightly, his cold gaze never leaving you.

You stood beside him, feeling the tension radiating from his body. The room seemed to buzz with an unspoken energy as the session continued.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

Throughout the practice, you could feel Kwon’s eyes on you, sharp and unrelenting. His movements were precise, almost aggressive, and it was clear to everyone that he was showing off.

When the session finally ended, you wiped the sweat from your brow and grabbed your water bottle, hoping to escape the dojo unnoticed. But as you turned to leave, a hand grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” a familiar voice hissed.

You turned to face Kwon, his dark eyes narrowed with fury. Up close, his expression was even colder than you remembered.

“I—” you started, but he cut you off.

“Save it,” he snapped. “You think you can just waltz back in here after abandoning everyone? After abandoning me?”

His words stung, and you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Kwon, it wasn’t like that,” you said softly. “I didn’t have a choice—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, stepping closer. “You left without a word. Do you know how long I waited for you? How many times I asked Sensei Kim if you’d ever come back?”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, even though he was trying to hide it behind his anger.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Kwon scoffed, shaking his head. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Y/n.”

Before you could respond, Sensei Kim’s voice rang out from across the room.

“Kwon. Y/n. If you’re done catching up, I’d like to see you both in my office.”

You exchanged a wary glance with Kwon, his jaw tightening as he turned and walked away without another word.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

In the office, Sensei Kim gestured for you and Kwon to sit. Sensei Kreese was already seated, watching the two of you with a calculating gaze.

“You two used to be the strongest pair in this dojo,” Sensei Kim began, her tone measured. “But I see there’s tension between you now.”

Neither of you responded, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“I don’t care what happened in the past,” she continued. “What matters is now. And now, you two will be working together again.”

Kwon stiffened beside you. “Sensei, with all due respect—”

“This isn’t up for debate, Kwon,” she interrupted sharply. “If you want to be part of this dojo, you’ll set aside your personal feelings and focus on the competition.”

“Competition?” you echoed, your brows furrowing.

Sensei Kreese leaned forward, his steely gaze locking onto yours. “The Sekai Taikai. The world’s biggest karate tournament. You’ll be representing this dojo—if you can prove you’re still as good as Sensei Kim says you are.”

Your stomach twisted with both excitement and fear. The Sekai Taikai was a dream you thought you’d never have the chance to achieve. But the thought of training alongside Kwon, with all the unresolved tension between you, made the challenge even more daunting.

Sensei Kim’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“Dismissed. Be here tomorrow at 6 AM sharp. Both of you.”

You stood and bowed respectfully before leaving the office.

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

As you stepped outside, the cool evening air hit your skin, but it did little to calm your racing thoughts.

“Y/n,” Kwon’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to face him, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“I don’t trust you,” he said bluntly. “But if you think you can keep up, prove it.”

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there alone.

For the first time in years, you felt the familiar fire of determination ignite in your chest.

“I will,” you whispered to yourself. “I’ll prove it."

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𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑: @mel3484 @captainquake42 @nanakomatsulover911

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Avarice and Arrogance (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Aemond Masterlist | HOTD Masterlist 

Synopsis: Aemond was always confident that he could protect you and his family from any threat, but the Gods had to dole out a lesson for his impunity, and a particularly cruel one at that. 

Warnings: TW! Character death, violence, torture, angst, Aemond being somewhat toxic?? 

Word Count: 2.6K words 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for the reader. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out! 

A/N: You guys asked for angst, I delivered an overdose. I hope you enjoy, although I’m not very proud of this one shot. Inspired after overplaying the epic version of Aegon’s Coronation theme. Ramin Djawadi is my true King of the Seven Kingdoms 

wonderful dividers credited to @firefly-graphics

“He whispered his final wish that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him!” 

To anyone, Prince Aemond seemed the portrait of composure: his arms clasped behind his back, his expression cool and disinterested. Yet if one looked closely enough, they would see the tension in his jaw, his teeth gritted, his posture bordering more on stiff than of calmness. His lone violet eye glittered as he observed Aegon walking under the raised swords of the knights, looking as recalcitrant as always. 

‘Had that been me…’ he thought bitterly, ‘I would’ve carried myself with pride. The smallfolk would’ve took one look at me and trusted that I had the greatness, the capability, to lead House Targaryen into the apex of our power.’ 

‘And yet,’ Aemond mused to himself as his mother kissed Aegon on the forehead, ‘reality is often disappointing.’

His fists clenched at his sides. It was unfair, his brother was naught but a wastrel, a fool constantly drunk in his cups and oft found buried in the tits of some common whore. What right had he to rule, save for being the firstborn son? How could someone as useless as him be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms? Even with their grandsire by his side giving him counsel, when his half sister received word of the coronation, and of their father’s death…Aemond dreaded to think what would happen. Would Aegon be able to rise up to the defence of their family?

Aemond took a deep breath to steady himself, when suddenly, he felt a warm hand grasping his, gently unclenching his fingers from his tightly formed fist. Surprised, he looked over to the unexpected source of comfort. His lady wife stood next to him, an indifferent expression on her lovely face as she kept her eyes fixed on the smallfolk. He noticed that she was holding his sweet sister, Helaena’s hand in her other hand, and his mind halted in its baleful, raging course to settle on her instead, admiring her. 

My beautiful, brilliant lady wife. 

She would’ve been the most wonderful queen, he thought, and the wave of resentment began its course once more. As if sensing the switch in Aemond’s thoughts, she squeezed his hand lightly in hers. Aemond marvelled at his wife, amazed at how she always could sense the slightest shifts in his moods, even when her eyes were not on him. And just like that, the worry and the resentment fell away, and his envy for his brother became a little easier to bear, even just for that moment. 

But…he felt a sense of strangeness creep over him as he took in his wife’s features. Her face was impassive, but it was hard and cold, as if she did not approve of this very scene. As Aegon raised Blackfyre and rallied the crowd, and his wife squeezed Helaena’s hand tighter, Aemond realised that mayhaps her gesture was not done solely out of comfort, but for anxiety.

For fear. 

You were chewing on your bottom lip, Helaena’s hand still in yours as you both stewed in contemplative silence, each engulfed with thoughts and worries of your own. Aemond frowned as he watched his sister and his beloved. Aegon had ridden in a separate wheelhouse with their mother and grandsire, and mayhaps it was for the better, given the gloomy atmosphere. 

When they were back in the safety of their apartments, Aemond followed his wife’s every movement in rapt attention. You began unravelling the tight updo that your hair was in, running your hands through your long locks pensively. It was done now…you were true traitors to the Crown. You sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl in bed and hope that this was nothing but an unpleasant dream. 

Suddenly, you felt warm arms engulfing you from behind. Aemond dropped his chin onto his beloved’s shoulder as he embraced her, breathing in her scent. “Tell me what troubles you, my love,” his voice husky. 

You shook your head slightly, trying to mask your thoughts. “Tis nothing, my love. I swear it.” 

Aemond chuckled, a dark and soft sound. “Liar.” 

He spun his beloved round to face him, taking note of her expression. “I know you are worried,” his voice was soft, “We are husband and wife, my love. Whatever troubles you hold, I want to know all of it. We swore before the Gods, did we not? To share each other’s burdens? We will honour our vows, do we not?” 

Your lips twisted slightly, trying not to grimace. “If vows were of any matter to us, then we would not have committed such a grave sin.” Aemond frowned, the reasons for his wife’s anxiety suddenly becoming apparent to him. “Aegon is the King now,” he reminded her, “My father named him so.” 

You let out a humourless snort. “He was an old man, half senile and drunk on the Milk of Poppy.” Aemond opened his mouth as if to protest, but you continued before he could. “The late king had named Rhaenyra as his heir. Even when the Stranger drew close, he had forsaken his health and braved through his pain to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim during Vaemond’s speech. Does the Hand expect all of Westeros to believe the King changed his mind all of a sudden on his deathbed? It is insanity, and even a deaf fool would know better.” 

“Enough,” Aemond’s voice was low, tinged with warning. “You will not insult my grandsire like this. It is done now, and that is the truth.” You persisted, however. “Putting that aside, Rhaenyra will seek to have all our heads when the news breaks. How can your grandsire be as foolish as to put all of us in danger like this?” 

Aemond arched a brow, “Is that what you’re worried about?” “Are you not worried about that?” Aemond laughed, “We have dragons, my love. I should think Vhagar, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre are enough to defend us. That whore on Dragonstone will soon realise that she can get angry, and she can spit and curse all she wants, but she cannot match against our might.” 

You looked unconvinced, which irked Aemond a little. Why was she so worried? “Do not tell me,” his voice was low with menace, “That you are loyal to Rhaenyra. That you are sympathetic to that whore’s cause.” You kept mum, but your eyes told Aemond everything he needed to know. He snarled, moving to pin you against the wall. 

Your eyes widened with panic, your hands moving to push Aemond away, but he held your wrists in a vice grip. You had never seen him so angry with you before. “You are my wife,” he hissed angrily, “Your priorities should lie with me, with my family. Our family. In keeping us safe from that accursed whore and my uncle.” “And making Aegon king, usurping the rightful queen, is supposed to keep us safe?” You argued, unintimidated. “Have you lost all your senses, Aemond? We are traitors! Usurpers! You claim protecting your family is your priority, but yet you allow your grandsire to risk our lives for his mad grab for power!” Aemond’s grip tightened on your wrists, causing you to wince and fall silent. Aemond took notice of that, but he couldn’t let you go. Not just yet. He needed to make his point. 

“I said, do not speak of my grandsire in that manner,” he seethed. “He is my family, and I will not tolerate you insulting him.” He took a deep breath, letting go of his wife’s wrists, and she took the chance to push him away before fleeing to their bed. He sighed and sat down next to her, but she only moved away and folded her arms, turning her back on him. He heard a soft sniffle, and he realised with horror that she was crying. He had made her cry. 

A pang of guilt shot through Aemond’s heart, and he tentatively reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, dismayed when she flinched away from his touch. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, my love,” he said quietly, “I got carried away, and I hurt you. I apologise for that.” He saw her shoulders lose some of their tension at his apology, and a glimmer of hope shone in his violet eye. Mayhaps he could make her see his viewpoint after all. He knew of her house’s loyalty to Rhaenyra’s claim, and how she might be swayed to support Rhaenyra’s claim, but she had to see. That this was the best for their family. 

“My love…” he bit his lip, “I know my words were harsh, but it is true. What is done is done. Even if I dislike Aegon being on the throne, he is my brother. If Rhaenyra had taken the throne, she would’ve had us executed. She would not suffer any presence that could be a threat to her claim to the throne. Even if she did not, there is no doubt Daemon would.” He took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Rhaenyra is impulsive, violent and reckless. You saw how she took off Vaemond’s head when his only crime was speaking the truth. Her son blinded me when we were naught but boys,” Aemond’s voice became hard. “If we allow her to ascend the throne, that means that the Strong bastard, Jace, would ascend the throne after her. Do you really think the realm would really bow before him?” 

Your hard gaze softened a little, and Aemond saw a window of opportunity. “Think rationally, my love,” Aemond pleaded softly, “My father may have named Rhaenyra the heir, but it is an irreplaceable fact that the lords of Westeros would never bow before her. The Seven Kingdoms would plunge into chaos, do you really want that?” Aemond raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “I know you’re afraid of Rhaenyra’s wrath, but I ask of you to trust me. Trust that I will keep us safe, no matter what.” 

“...I’m not sure if you can, Aemond.” Aemond’s heart dropped, “Whatever do you mean?” You finally turned to face him, and he was alarmed when he took note of the tears glistening at the corner of your eyes. “Aemond…I’m with child. For nearly three moons now.” 

Aemond swore his heart stopped at that very moment. But his shock only lasted briefly before he pulled you into his arms, voice filled with excitement and wonder, “You’re with child? Our child?” When he broke the embrace, you were surprised to see the corner of his violet eye wet. Aemond dropped to his knees in front of you, stroking his hand over your stomach reverently, in disbelief almost. “We’re going to be parents…” he murmured, “I’m going to be a father.” 

But even in Aemond’s joy, you could not find it in yourself to smile. Not with the threat of the impending succession war. Aemond noticed your discomfort, but nothing could take away the happiness he felt at the moment. “My love, you don’t have to be afraid,” his voice was reassuring, “I swear on my honour, on the Old Gods and the New, on the Seven and all my ancestors, that I would burn the world to ashes on Vhagar before I let anyone lay a finger on you or our child.” He took your hand, cradling it in his, tilting his head upwards, a pleading look in his eye, for you to believe in him, to trust him to keep you safe. 

“But even all the dragons in this world will not keep us from reaping the fate we sowed,” you said quietly, eyes never leaving Aemond’s. “The gods will strike us down for our treason.” 

Aemond rolled his eye, exasperated that his wife just didn’t seem to grasp the true extent of their power. “We are Targaryens, my love,” Aemond said self-assuredly. “We possess dragons, the largest, most dangerous and powerful creatures in the world. The gods may try as they might, but they can never strike us down. Seven hells, I would dare say we are the gods, my love,” Aemond chuckled at how your eyes widened at his brazen words. “For what other than a god can mount a dragon, and command it?” “Don’t say things like that, Aemond,” you were aghast, “The Seven will-” 

“Fuck the Seven,” Aemond said bluntly. “When men pray, the Gods never answer. Why should we fear the consequences inflicted upon us by some unknown higher power?” He resumed his seat on their bed, pulling you back into his embrace and gently stroking your hair. “We need not fear the Gods, my love,” he murmured softly. “You will see soon enough, when war comes, and the Gods do nothing to interfere, then you will come to revere them less. In the meantime, you will come to see who the true gods are, when our dragons raze the earth and win this godforsaken war.” 

It was known to all that the gods despise hubris, and perhaps they were watching that evening, when you laid your head on Aemond’s chest with a sigh and allowed him to soothe and comfort you, making promises that he would keep you safe no matter what. 

Aemond had been so sure in his words, so confident in his beliefs and in his abilities, and blinded by his ego. Mayhaps this was what drove him when he bade Vhagar prowl around Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon Arrax in the stormy skies of Storms’ End, shouting for the Strong bastard to repay the debt he owed. 

Mayhaps his pride was what had blinded him to the possibility that he could never keep his family safe after his act of kinslaying. 

But he knew for sure that he had regretted making an enemy of the gods when he saw you, eyes wide with fear, a sharp dragonglass blade to your throat as you were held hostage by some cutpurse. An eye for an eye, a son for a son, the cutpurse had grinned, before slitting your throat and lodging the dagger into your stomach. 

It mattered not how much Aemond had howled with grief as he held your lifeless frame in his arms, begging for you to wake up. It mattered not when Aemond personally tortured your assassin with the most vicious methods he could devise, flaying every inch of skin from his body until he had expired. Even in death, he was not spared of Aemond’s wrath. His body was marked with incisions when it was finally fed to Vhagar, courtesy of Aemond cutting out his heart and crushing it with his bare hands. It mattered not when Aemond had sworn to avenge you no matter the cost, to cut down Daemon Targaryen and give him the same treatment he had for the cutpurse. It took the combined efforts of the Queen Dowager, Queen Helaena, King Aegon, the Hand, and many other lords and knights of the Kingsguard to prevent him from mounting Vhagar upon the cutpurse’s death to fly to Dragonstone. A fool’s folly, they called it, but Aemond had drawn his sword and snarled at them to get out of his way, lest they wish to be the recipient of Vhagar’s flames. It was only when Alicent motioned for Ser Criston to deliver a blow that rendered Aemond unconscious that they could restrain him at all. 

A part of Aemond had died that day, and he rained curses upon the Seven, on his uncle, on his wretched half-sister as he took his seat in the Small Council, being the advocate for absolute and brutal violence against the Blacks. And yet he did not repent for looking down upon the gods, not even till the day when he faced his uncle Daemon in battle and died in the cursed halls of Harrenhal. Another casualty of the Dance of the Dragons. 

After all, even the Valyrian dragonlords of old had not been able to escape the Stranger’s clutches when death came for them. And Aemond Targaryen was no different. 

...i’m very sorry :( but I swear, happier Aemond one shots are coming 😭

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy​ 

Let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist! If you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) thank you for reading! 💗

[hungryhungryhannibalhimbo]

Will rolls his eyes. “My day dreams sour my appetite. They don’t wet it. They certainly don’t revolve around road kill or cattle.”

“This goes against your better nature. Herbivores are low on the food chain.” Hannibal’s eyes are piercing, as per usual.

Will doesn’t pretend to know where this is headed. Confusion is hard enough on its own. Hiding it under pretenses would only lengthen the battle. “And what, that makes them lesser?”

“To carnivores, yes. You set your eyes in the sockets of a wolf skull, a falcon’s head, either side of a viper’s face. You see prey through the eyes of the predator. Are you not hungry, Will?” The doctor’s lips are quirking up the way they so softly do. It’s a fondness, a flirtation. Will used to resent it, a sort of goading condescension. These days, he’s just grateful when Hannibal aims the expression at him, as opposed to Jack or Alana. Will is used to being a target. It’s the devil he knows.

“I’m more a rabid dog than anything else. I’ve lost site of sustenance in favor of cooling the hot delirium in my head.” He leans back against the front of his psychiatrist’s desk, looking down as he rubs his eyes. He’s out of aspirin.

Something twinkles in Hannibal’s face. It’s not pity but something Will’s not sure he wants to place. He can’t help feeling Hannibal was hoping he would bring up his current condition. The doctor always seems to be there when his body aches the most. Whether he is the source or the tonic is irrelevant. “And who infected you this time? What bit you and made you this way? A master? An apex predator?”

Will scoffs, turning his head up as he asks, “Are you talking about God or the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Hannibal relishes the way Will has exposed the column of his throat and takes a discreet step closer to him. “Isn’t one more comforting to have in your head than the other?”

“Not really. One in the same, as far as I’m concerned.” Will is proud when Hannibal chuckles. “I’d love it if no one was in my mind but me. No intrusions.”

“Are you certain you’d like that? With no one penetrating the forts you build so easily, no one’s skin to slide into, cloak and warm yourself with, what would be left but to inhabit yourself? Your true nature? Your carnivore? Are you certain you can be alone in your self, Will?”

They are standing very close together now, and Will doesn’t want to like it so much. He lets his words out with a thin veil of annoyance. “With you around, it’s not much of a concern. You’re always pushing your way further in. Do I keep you warm, Dr. Lecter?”

The man’s little smile glints teeth now. “Very much so. In you, there is a wide expanse of wilderness to be explored. Hunters prowl in the corners when you are close to sleep. Crickets chirp in the sunsets when you close your eyes. I find it all very beautiful.”

Will’s breath hitches, and he knows Hannibal can feel it. They’re close enough for that, still pushed up against the desk. If either leans forward even the slightest bit, they will be crossing into something uncharted. “Beautiful? And yet you think I’m afraid to look alone?”

“Look with me, Will.”

[malrie]

for: @jasipereo, who told me i should what: in the burning maze, apparently they fly off together after jason dies and nothing happens at all. this is the nothing. wc: 1700

-

Piper had grown out her hair since Leo saw her last. He touched the ends of it, feeling the familiar softness between his fingers.

“Did you get taller?” she asked, voice strained from having cried so much. He didn’t see her expression; she was sitting in front of him on Festus, facing only the white sky. 

“I dunno,” he said, because he didn’t. Time was strange in that other place. To him, he’d been gone for only a moment. As if he hadn’t been lost at all.

She leaned backwards. Without having to ask, Leo let the internal heat from his body migrate to her. They were just below plane altitude, maybe four or five miles in the air. It was cold, but he wouldn’t let her be.

Had Piper not been there, Leo would have pried the casket open and crawled inside to lie beside him. He was sure of it. The instinct was nonsensical, even desperate, and still it pulled him like water down a drain. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to see him with his eyes closed, as though he were only asleep. And Jason had always been a peaceful sleeper. 

Back then, Piper’s iron grip on his forearm had anchored him. Maybe she felt the urge, too. Maybe they could have all fit inside. There, they could have dreamt as one, having found peace in a place where nothing could tear them apart. Together again.

“You did,” she replied. “Get taller, I mean. Just a little.”

*

Piper had a room in her grandpa’s ranch house that she hadn’t used since she was eleven. Leo inspected the off-white lace curtains, the stuffed animals on the bookshelves. She had a pink CD player and a Hello Kitty pillowcase. It was strange to be confronted with the idea that she had lived a life before him.

He helped her unpack what little she brought with her. Downstairs, Leo heard Coach’s booming timbre, comforting in its own way. He and Mellie would stay in the guest room with Chuck, leaving Leo to fend for himself in the den.

“What’re you gonna do now?” asked Piper, folding shirts and sorting them in a dresser.

Leo laid on her carpet, eyeing the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling. “Calypso wants to enroll in school. I tried telling her secondary education was a shithole, but she wanted to experience it herself. As for me, I’m never going back. S’one of the conditions I made for living at the Waystation.”

Piper paused in her folding. Then she started up again on a pile of sweaters. She lingered on a blue one that read: Edgarton Day and Boarding School. 

“I’m starting Tahlequah High next week,” she said. 

“I’ll be sure to make your grad party, beauty queen.”

He figured. Piper liked school enough; he knew she never missed an assignment at Wilderness. Meanwhile, Leo turned every packet he got into paper planes, letting them ride the Nevada gust out his dormitory window.

“If you’re not finishing school,” she continued, “what’ll you do? Help Hemithea and Josephine?”

“That’s sorta the plan.” Leo rubbed his eyes. The stars were too old to hold any glow. “I guess… I guess I just want something to keep busy. Maybe teach shop for the kids for however long. After that, I don’t know. Being in one place too long… I’m not real good at that.”

“So no camp?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “No, no camp. You?”

“No,” Piper said, then laughed along with him.

He knew she didn’t mean she hated either camp, their friends, or their community—they only needed distance, measured and in moderation. Jason was everywhere, after all. His lifeblood was camp legacy. In a way, that was what had taken him from them. The gods had owed Jason ten times over and this was how he was repaid. There was nothing for Leo there, least of all loyalty. It seemed Piper felt the same, even if only mirroring an inch of his resentment. 

They ate dinner. Tristan still had some lost pallor, but his charisma was hard to chip at, especially when his daughter needed him. Toothless Chuck gummed around a piece of squash while the rest of them ate a meal cooked by a friend of the family. People had been in and out of the house all day; their fridge was stocked for the entire week. The McLeans had roots here. They were loved and welcomed. Leo and Piper had stayed inside her room like homebodies until the visitors had all left.

While Mellie put Chuck down for bed, Tristan and Coach cleared the table and washed the dishes. Piper told Leo that they’d probably go out on the porch and smoke some of her grandad’s tobacco pipes once they were done, a vice her dad failed to keep secret from her.

Snickering, they imagined Coach hacking a lung while ambling upstairs to her grandpa’s study. Her grandfather kept books on topics that ranged from Indigenous history to psychology to science fiction. Aside from the collection, there was a desk with a swivel chair and a large claw-footed single-seater sofa in the corner of the room, just by the window.

Leo grabbed a book off the shelf just for the fun of it and plopped down on the sofa. The words swam around on the pages. Even if he could read it, he doubted he could parse analytical biochemistry jargon.

“I used to come up here when Grandpa was doing his lesson plans,” said Piper. Tom McLean was a structural biology professor. “I’d beg for him to play with me, but he’d just say, ‘My love, you cannot have what you want the instant you desire it.’ I liked that. Not even then was it easy for people to say no to me. He was the only one.”

Looking out the window, Leo saw the shine of Festus’s wings in the darkness. The dragon was hunkered down in the yard, closest to sleep as automatons could get.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Leo said. He rested his gaze on the horizon, which bled into the night. “Calypso’s waiting for me.”

“I know.” Piper came over to him, gently pulling the textbook away from his grasp. It forced him to look at her.

A beat passed. “I’m sorry, Piper. About Jason.”

She smiled wryly, placing Clinical Biochemistry: Techniques and Instrumentation onto the side table. She asked, “Why are you saying sorry to me?”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She stood over him, the moonlight from outside overlaying her skin like a filter, the image of an aching spector. Her face was unreadable, but tonight her eyes were one color. It was borrowed, and it was the color of his own heart: Electric blue, as vibrant as the sky once a storm had cleared. Jason.

Still standing, she raised a hand, placing it over his arm in an innocuous touch. “You loved him, too,” she said. Leo’s hackles rose, but it was true and—now that Jason was dead—harmless. “Leo, we weren’t together anymore. I broke up with him. After you died, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work it out. Work us out. Because without you, it was like… Like the lights had gone out.”

His hand grabbed her wrist, wanting to rip it away, but he couldn’t. “Wait. I-I don’t want to hear this,” he said.

If only she had never brought it up. Mellie had told him earlier in the day, with Chuck on her hip and wearing a worried frown. Piper and Jason had split some months ago. They never explained further than what they had told everyone.

“I thought,” she kept going, “that if you had come back, maybe Jason and I could have—with you… But we never got a chance.”

“Piper,” he said firmly, getting up from the seat to grab her shoulders. “You have to stop.”

“It isn’t fair. Don’t you think it isn’t fair?” Jason’s eyes watched him shake.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, at dawn. I’m moving to Indiana. I’ll come for birthdays, special days. We’ll see each other at reunions. I’ll Iris you—every day if you want! It’ll be good. Like we always were. Like we were before everything. Don’t do this, Piper.”

“You can’t stay,” she whispered. “I know because it happened to me, too. It hurt to be with him because you weren’t there. And I know what you see when you look at me. What color are my eyes, Leo? Whose are they? He used to see yours.”

It had to happen, just once, even if never again for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t even their first kiss, which had happened a lifetime ago, on some forgettable rooftop in a place that never loved them. He shivered a little as her hands came up to his neck. There was salt in his mouth from her tears. Piper made small noises, gasping in increments when they could bear parting. They tumbled back to a bookshelf, hard edges jutting against Leo’s spine.

It was important that he was the one to speak first. Not because he didn’t trust her not to compel him, but to prove that he knew she wouldn’t. Not for this.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” repeated Leo, thumb rolling down her jaw. “That’s hours away.”

*

Leo got up before the sun did. Oklahoma mornings were crisp and new, almost impossibly so. The fog in the distance cleared around the McLean property, grass dewing with small beads of fresh water. Standing on the porch now, Leo knew this could be a good home, one filled with love.

Tristan McLean saw him come out of Piper’s room. He didn’t react much, only telling him to be safe on his journey back. He’d also shaken his hand like a real man and said, “She’s stronger than I’d ever hoped.”

“Stronger than me,” Leo replied, smiling.

Seeing him, Festus crooned in happy creaks, shaking out his stiffness. As Leo took off, he saw the curtains in Piper’s window move, almost nothing. Just in case, he brought up his hand to wave goodbye.