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verstappensrealwife · 7 months

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Hidden Desires - Charles Leclerc x Reader

angst, smut, fluff

enemies to lovers?

approx. 2200 words

warnings: SMUT. oral (m recieving), p in v. Didn't proof read :/

charles leclerc masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

Despite Charles' protests, he couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you, even if he tried to brush it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No—we're not dating… we aren't even friends," he'd insist, his voice tinged with a hint of defiance.

You, too, would echo his sentiments with a roll of your eyes and a snort of disbelief. "As if," you'd scoff, "He's insufferable on the track, never mind off."

But beneath the facade of denial, there lingered a tension that neither of you could ignore—a tension that manifested itself in the most unexpected of moments.

As Charles watched you playfully shake the champagne bottle, his heart quickened at the sight of you drenching Max with the bubbly liquid, your laughter ringing out like music in the air. And when you turned your attention to him, a mischievous glint in your eye, he couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through his veins.

The champagne dripped down your bright orange race suit, accentuating every curve and contour of your body, transforming you into an ethereal vision that left him breathless. And as he continued to celebrate alongside you, his gaze lingered on you, unable to tear himself away from the mesmerising sight before him.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of the celebration, Charles found himself captivated by you in a way he had never been before—a realisation that left him reeling with both excitement and uncertainty. And as he struggled to come to terms with the growing attraction he felt towards you, one thing became abundantly clear: denying his feelings would be futile in the face of such undeniable desire.

In the solitude of his hotel room, Charles sought refuge from the lingering echoes of celebration, the claps on the back, and the intoxicating scent of champagne that clung to his skin. A hot shower became his sanctuary, a ritual to wash away the remnants of the victorious chaos.

As the water cascaded over him, cleansing him of the night's festivities, his mind inevitably drifted to you. He couldn't shake the vivid image of your own post-celebration routine, imagining you standing under the streaming water, your naked body enveloped in warmth, relaxing after the fervour of the race and the exuberance of the victory party.

The steam from the shower blurred the line between reality and fantasy, and Charles couldn't help but envision himself in that intimate space with you. The thought stirred a longing within him, a desire that transcended the confines of the racetrack and spilled into the realm of unspoken yearning.

In the dimly lit solitude of his hotel room, Charles found himself consumed by a primal urge, his hand wrapping around his throbbing length. With slow, deliberate strokes, he imagined you, kneeling before him, your mouth agape in anticipation as he plunged into your throat.

Each imagined sensation elicited a cascade of moans and whimpers from deep within him, his body writhing with pleasure. But just as he was lost in the fervour of his fantasies, a sharp knock shattered the erotic haze.

Startled, Charles hastily draped a towel around his waist, his frustration mounting at the interruption. He swung open the door to be met by you, standing there with an air of annoyance and authority.

"Listen, Charles," you began, your tone tinged with irritation, "I understand you're excited about P2, but could you and whoever else is in there with you please keep it down?"

Confusion flickered across Charles's features as he glanced back at the empty room, then turned to face you. Unbeknownst to him, your eyes wandered appreciatively down his form as he stood before you.

"I- Well... erm," he stumbled over his words, caught off guard by your unexpected presence. “I’m alone.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson as a quiet "oh" escaped your lips, embarrassment colouring your features. "Well... erm... you're quite loud. So, shut up," you retorted, attempting to regain your composure.

A scoff escaped Charles's lips, his irritation momentarily forgotten as desire flared within him. He met your gaze with a smouldering intensity, a challenge lingering in his eyes. "Make me," he dared, his voice laced with a hint of defiance.

Raising an eyebrow, you allowed your eyes to drift downward, noting the towel that threatened to slip away with each passing moment. As it finally fell to the floor, revealing his impressive length, your breath caught in your throat.

The sight before you was captivating, igniting a fire deep within you as desire surged through your veins. Unable to tear your gaze away, you felt a rush of heat spreading through your body, anticipation pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

As the towel fell to the floor, revealing Charles's impressive length, the tension between you two skyrocketed. Your mouth hung open slightly in surprise and arousal, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

Charles, emboldened by your reaction, he pulled you closer, closing the distance between you. His gaze was intense, full of desire and a hint of challenge. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and gently trailed his fingers along your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

"You like what you see, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice husky with arousal.

You swallowed hard, feeling a rush of heat spreading through your body. "Maybe," you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

A wicked grin spread across Charles's face as he took another step forward, crowding your space. His hand moved from your cheek to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your stomach, sending waves of need pulsing through you.

"Tell me," he breathed against your lips, his breath hot against your skin, "do you want me to shut up?"

You struggled to find your voice, your mind clouded with desire. "Yes," you finally gasped out, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

With a low growl, Charles captured your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, setting your senses on fire. The air crackled with electricity as you both lost yourselves in the heat of the moment, forgetting everything else except the raw, primal need coursing through your veins.

As the intensity of the kiss deepened, Charles's hands roamed eagerly over your body, tracing every curve and contour with a hunger that matched your own. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in the throes of desire. He pulled you into his room, slamming his door.

With a low growl, Charles broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path of fiery kisses along your jawline and down the curve of your neck. Each touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both.

Desperate for more, you arched into his touch, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him closer. The heat between you was palpable, a tangible force that crackled in the air like electricity.

Sensing your need, Charles's hands drifted lower, exploring every inch of your body with a reverence that left you breathless. And when his fingers found their way to the hem of your clothing, a silent invitation passed between you, a promise of ecstasy yet to come.

With trembling hands, you allowed him to undress you, the fabric falling away to reveal the raw, unbridled beauty beneath. His gaze drank you in hungrily, his eyes dark with desire as he took in every inch of your exposed skin.

You stood before him, a vision of perfection that surpassed even his wildest fantasies. Hunger burned in his eyes as he pushed you down beside the bed, his commanding presence towering above you. With his cock mere centimetres from your awaiting mouth, he issued a harsh command.

"Do what you're good for, Y/N," he snarled, his tone dripping with arrogance, "Because it's clearly not racing."

Undeterred by his biting words, you chose to ignore his taunts, focusing instead on the task at hand. With a flick of your tongue, you traced a path along the head of his cock, then down the length of his shaft, savouring the taste of him on your lips.

Without hesitation, you took him fully into your mouth, your lips forming a tight seal around his throbbing length. As your nose brushed against his naval, a gag reflex kicked in, causing you to draw back momentarily. But before you could protest, he grasped your head firmly, guiding you back onto him with a steady pressure.

Slowly, he began to thrust into your mouth, each movement deliberate and controlled. With each deep thrust, he delved deeper into the depths of your throat, igniting a fire within you that burned with a fierce intensity.

His moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that echoed off the walls as he revelled in the ecstasy of the moment. And as he quickened his pace, becoming more forceful with each thrust, you found yourself surrendering completely to the raw, primal desire that pulsed between you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure, "At least you've got some sort of … Sort of talent." He stumbled over his words.

With a swift motion, Charles pulled you up to your feet, his strong grip guiding you effortlessly as he spun you around and bent you over the edge of the bed. Your heart raced with anticipation as you braced yourself, your body tingling with excitement at what was to come.

Positioned behind you, Charles wasted no time in taking what he desired, his hands roaming over your exposed skin with a fervour that left you breathless. You arched your back, offering yourself up to him completely, ready to be consumed by the fire that burned between you.

Without a word, he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock teasing your entrance with a maddening sense of anticipation. And then, with a powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely as he claimed you as his own.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began to move, each powerful thrust driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that drowned out everything else as you surrendered yourself to the raw, primal need that pulsed between you.

With each thrust, he pushed you higher and higher, his movements becoming more frenzied as he chased his own release. And when it finally came, it was with a force that rocked you to your core, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you in an unstoppable tide.

Together, you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment, consumed by the passion that burned between you until, finally, you collapsed together in a tangled heap of limbs and satisfied sighs, the echoes of your ecstasy lingering in the air like a sweet, intoxicating perfume.

"Well... Erm, I'll be going. See you whene–" Before you could finish your sentence and make your exit, Charles interrupted you, his voice firm as he halted your departure, though your clothes were mostly back on.

"No, you're gonna stay in here tonight... so no one knows what we just did," he insisted, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to maintain composure.

You couldn't help but giggle at his attempt to justify his request. "Charles Leclerc wants some after-sex kisses? From me?" you teased, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

His cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as he stumbled over his words, his attempts to explain himself only adding to his embarrassment. But you paid his flustered attempts no mind, instead sauntering back towards him and slipping beneath the sheets with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Charles's embarrassment only seemed to deepen as you crawled back into bed, your playful teasing adding fuel to the fire. He struggled to find the right words, his cheeks still tinged with a rosy hue as he watched you settle in beside him.

As you nestled closer to him beneath the sheets, a comfortable silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft sound of your breath mingling together in the quiet of the room. Despite the lingering awkwardness, there was an undeniable sense of intimacy that hung in the air, binding you together in a way that words could never quite capture.

After a moment, Charles tentatively reached out, his fingers grazing lightly along your cheek as he traced the curve of your jawline with a gentle touch. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, a silent apology lingering in the depths of his expression.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't mean to... I just... I don't want anyone to know about us. Well not right this second."

You studied him for a moment, taking in the vulnerability etched into his features, and felt a pang of sympathy tug at your heart. Despite his bravado on the racetrack, he was just as human as anyone else, with fears and insecurities of his own.

With a soft smile, you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his as you leaned in to press a tender kiss against his lips. "It's okay," you reassured him, your voice warm with understanding, "We can keep it our little secret."

And as you settled in beside him, the weight of the day's events fading into the background, you knew that this unexpected connection was something worth holding onto, even if it meant keeping it hidden from the rest of the world at the moment.

el fin.

I feel like i always make the endings too mushy, oh wells

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 9 months

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When The Clock Strikes Midnight.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - hi, my last post of the year, i just want to wish everyone reading this a very happy new year and that everything turns out alright, tpwk and stay safe!!

this is a pretty angsty piece i would say, as it covers topics of alcoholism where reader struggles with her alcohol, so please if this sort of thing triggers you in anyway, please do not read and if you do, please proceed with caution.

word count - 3.9k

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

The last place you saw yourself tonight was here.

Your best friend Maura had practically dragged you out of the confines of your apartment when she heard that you didn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve, and insisted that you dress up and come along to the party her boyfriend Watson was throwing.

You tried to deny her nagging and told her that you were going to order a takeaway, most likely Chinese and facetime your mum like you did last year, and that would be that.

But no…she wasn’t having any of it.

So you chucked on a jumper, which was on the nicer side and paired it with a skirt and tights and your vans before applying a tiny bit of mascara and lipgloss and brushing your hair, before you were ushered out of the house into the Uber Maura had ordered whilst you were getting ready.

So now, here you were.

You find yourself in a corner of Watson's living room at the party, nursing a glass of coke as people swirl around you in a lively dance of laughter and chatter. The pulsating music fills the room, but you, lost in your own thoughts, wonder why you agreed to come in the first place.

Maura's insistence was hard to resist, but your reluctance lingers like a shadow.

Despite the energetic atmosphere, you're content to sip your non-alcoholic beverage and observe the whirlwind of festivities. Maura and Watson seem immersed in the revelry, blissfully unaware of your desire for a more tranquil evening.

The room's vibrant energy contrasts sharply with your subdued mood, as you contemplate the impending arrival of the new year with a sense of detachment.

Watson, with a hint of tipsiness in his step, ambles over to you in the corner of the living room. His usual laid-back demeanour shines through, but the warmth in his eyes intensifies as he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, you made it!" he exclaims, a wide grin on his face. Despite the slight wobble in his stance, you can't help but smile in response to his infectious enthusiasm.

Leaning in, Watson expresses genuine happiness that you decided to join the celebration.

"I'm so glad you're here, buddy. No one should spend New Year's Eve alone, right?" He punctuates his words with a friendly squeeze, and the camaraderie between you two, forged over the past six months since he began dating Maura, feels more like family than friendship.

In his slightly inebriated state, Watson plants a gentle kiss on the side of your head, a gesture that reflects the bond that has developed between you.

"You're like a little sister to me, you know that?" he chuckles, his words carrying a warmth that transcends the alcohol-induced haze. It's a testament to the solid foundation of your relationship, built on trust and camaraderie.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, Watson decides it's time to shake off any lingering reservations you might have.

"Come on, let's hit the dance floor!" he declares, tugging you toward the centre of the room. The music's rhythm wraps around you both as Watson, with his signature charm, spins you into the lively dance.

Laughter and cheers surround you, and in this moment, you can't help but appreciate the unexpected joy that Watson has injected into your reluctant New Year's Eve.

As you sway to the music, Watson continues to share anecdotes and jokes, making the dance floor an extension of the bond you've formed. His boisterous laughter and the genuine joy in his expression erode any lingering doubts you had about attending. In the midst of the revelry, you realise that Watson's presence has transformed the night from an obligation into a shared celebration.

With each step and twirl, Watson's camaraderie becomes a comforting presence, and you find yourself immersed in the moment.

As you engage in conversation with Watson on the crowded dance floor, the doorbell unexpectedly rings, interrupting the lively atmosphere. Watson glances towards the entrance, a perplexed expression momentarily crossing his face.

"I'll be right back, just need to see who's at the door," he informs you, detaching from the dance momentarily.

Curiosity piqued, you nod and watch as Watson weaves through the festive crowd towards the entrance. The door swings open, and to your shock, your ex-boyfriend Harry steps into Watson's house.

They exchange greetings, and you can't help but wonder how they're connected. Watson glances your way, and you sense that he must have divulged your presence to Harry.

The room felt suffocating as you sat on Harry's sofa, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. The air crackled with an impending storm, and you could sense that something was about to shatter the fragile peace that had held your relationship together.

Harry's eyes, once filled with warmth and adoration, now held a distant sadness. His fingers nervously played with the edge of his shirt, betraying the turmoil within.

"We need t’talk," he finally uttered, the weight of those words settling in the room like a leaden silence.

You looked at him, anxiety clawing at your chest.

"What's going on, H?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

"I've been thinking a lot, and... I think we need t’take a break," he confessed, each word hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of those words crashing into you.

"A break? What do you mean?" Your voice wavered, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he struggled to articulate the pain that lingered in his heart. "I can't give y’what y’deserve. M’career, the constant traveling , I can't be the best boyfriend f’you. Y’deserve someone who can be there f’you, not someone who's always halfway across the world."

More like you can’t give him what he deserves, your a mess, A drunken mess who can’t be trusted around a glass of wine or a gin and tonic.

It was your fault that he had had enough of the relationship, he was sick of looking after a girlfriend who couldn’t even look after herself, you weren’t what he wanted anymore and who could blame him?

You didn’t even want yourself anymore.

Your eyes mirrored the pain in his, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"But I don't want someone else. I want you," you pleaded, your heart breaking with every passing second.

He reached out, fingers gently wiping away your tears, a tender ache etched across his features.

"M’know, and s’why this hurts so damn much. I love you, but I can't watch y’waiting f’me all the time, feeling lonely. Y’deserve more than that."

The room echoed with the silence of shattered dreams as you both sat there, wrapped in the agony of an impending separation.

"I thought we could make it work," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the heartache.

Harry's voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes mirroring the anguish in your own. "I thought so too, but I can't keep asking you t’wait f’a future that's uncertain. It's not fair t’you."

The weight of the impending break weighed on you both, and the room became a crucible of emotions.

"I can't believe this is happening," you uttered, your voice catching on a sob.

Harry pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feel of your presence.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, the words a fragile admission of the pain etched across his heart.

As the room witnessed the unraveling of your shared dreams, the tears flowed freely, and the echoes of a love that once burned bright now flickered in the dimming light of heartbreak. The sofa, witness to your shared laughter and whispered confessions, now bore the weight of an anguished goodbye.

"I thought we were stronger than this," you choked out, your words a desperate plea for reassurance.

Harry's response was a strained whisper, heavy with regret. "Love isn't always enough, and that's the hardest part to accept."

Your heart skips a beat as Harry's eyes sweep the room, eventually locking onto you. The unexpected encounter catches you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. Unsure of how to react, you instinctively turn I’m away, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

you navigate through the crowded kitchen, the echoes of the past still haunting the recesses of your mind. The room, once a sanctuary, now pulsates with the vibrant energy of the New Year's Eve celebration. As you lean against the counter, you attempt to catch your breath, the atmosphere thick with the weight of unexpected emotions.

The room is a sea of faces, laughter, and clinking glasses, but in this moment, you feel a profound sense of isolation. The air is heavy with the unspoken tension that lingers after encountering Harry, and you find solace in the rhythmic pattern of your own breaths. Each inhale and exhale becomes a deliberate act, a quiet rebellion against the memories that threatened to resurface.

Your eyes inadvertently gravitate towards a bottle of vodka on the crowded kitchen counter, a silent temptation beckoning from its transparent confines. The memories of your past struggles with alcohol loom heavily, each incident etched into your consciousness like a haunting refrain. The room pulses with celebratory energy, yet the familiar lure of numbing the pain through a drink threatens to unravel your hard-fought sobriety.

The bottle stands as a silent witness to the battles you've waged, a tangible reminder of the coping mechanism you once clung to in moments of despair. The urge to drown the resurgence of emotions triggered by seeing Harry again intensifies, as if the vodka holds the promise of temporary relief from the tumult within. However, the echo of past hospital visits, the panicked calls from Maura during Harry's tours, and the aftermath of your own struggles remind you of the high cost that accompanies each sip.

The sterile hospital room bore witness to your feigned slumber as Harry and the doctor engaged in a conversation that would forever echo in your memory. Their voices, a discordant symphony of concern, cut through the antiseptic atmosphere.

"You need to understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Styles. Her liver is under immense strain," the doctor explained, the weight of the diagnosis evident in their tone. "Excessive alcohol intake has brought her here before, and if it continues, we risk irreversible damage."

Harry's voice, tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration, joined the conversation. "What can we do t’make her stop? This can't be good f’her, and I can't bear to see her like this again."

The doctor, ever composed, responded with a professional calm. "Encouraging her to seek professional help is crucial. She needs intervention and support to address the root causes behind her drinking patterns. This goes beyond just a medical issue."

Your heart sank as you lay there, eavesdropping on the conversation that underscored the depth of your struggle.

"She's in a dangerous cycle, and we need to break it before it leads to irreversible consequences," the doctor continued, the gravity of their words sinking in.

Harry, struggling to comprehend the severity of the situation, pressed for guidance. "What should I say t’her? How can I help her understand the impact of her actions?"

The doctor's response held a note of empathy. "Express your concern without judgment. Encourage her to seek counseling or join support groups. It's crucial that she feels supported and understood during this process."

As the dialogue unfolded, you grappled with a mix of emotions – shame, guilt, and the daunting realization that your actions were not only affecting you but those who cared about you.

The familiar pull of an old coping mechanism clashes with the resolve you've built over the past year. Without much thought, you lift the bottle, contemplating the relief it promises, only to freeze as a voice interrupts your inner struggle.

"Don't you dare take a sip from that bottle."

The words, stern and commanding, cut through the haze of your thoughts. You recognize the voice instantly, and a mixture of surprise and apprehension washes over you. Slowly, you turn around to face him, the bottle held in your hand like a delicate secret.

Harry stands there, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.

"You've come too far t’let this be y’undoing," he states, his gaze unwavering. The air between you hangs heavy with unspoken emotions as you contemplate his unexpected intervention.

Resisting the urge to avoid his gaze, you decide to walk past him, hoping to escape the confrontation. However, his hand closes around your wrist, preventing your departure.

"Let it go," he implores, his eyes searching yours for a hint of understanding. The bottle dangles between you, a tangible symbol of the inner turmoil that threatens to resurface.

In the charged silence, Harry's grip on your wrist feels both restraining and grounding.

"Y’don't need this, and y’know it," he adds, his voice softening. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrors the complex history you share, the wounds of the past laid bare in this unexpected moment of confrontation.

Glancing at the clock, you note the relentless ticking, each second stretching out like an eternity. Twenty minutes until midnight, and the anticipation of a fresh start intensifies. The atmosphere feels stifling as you wrestle with conflicting emotions, your hand still in Harry's grip. The unspoken tension lingers, and you decide that the arrival of the new year will also signal your exit.

Jerking your hand away from Harry's hold, you feel a surge of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I can't do this anymore," you mutter, the anguished words hanging in the air between you. The clock's relentless countdown amplifies the urgency of the moment.

Turning to face him, you meet Harry's gaze with a steely resolve.

"I'm not a child. I can do what I want," you assert, the words carrying a weight that transcends the immediate situation. The bitterness in your voice mirrors the tumultuous emotions churning within.

Harry's expression shifts from concern to a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"This isn't about control, it's about caring," he argues, the lines of his forehead creasing with worry. The room feels smaller, the air thick with the unresolved tension of the past.

"I don't need your care," you snap, your tone cutting through the charged atmosphere. The proximity of midnight becomes both a countdown to liberation and a reminder of the constraints that linger. The resentment that simmers beneath your words reflects a deeper struggle against the shadows of a shared history.

You walk out of the kitchen, the bottle still in your hand, its cold surface a stark reminder of the internal struggle you've been wrestling with. Glancing down at it, you contemplate the temptation it holds. However, a determined sigh escapes your lips as you decide against taking that path. In search of solace, you spot Maura near the bathroom, engrossed in conversation with a friend.

As she notices you approaching, Maura ushers you over with a warm smile. The vodka bottle clinks softly, drawing her attention.

"You didn't, did you?" she asks, her eyes widening with concern. You hand her the bottle, and she gasps when she realizes its weight.

"I almost did," you admit, the honesty heavy in your words. "Seeing Harry after a year... it's just really hard, and I thought I needed something to take the edge off."

Maura's expression shifts from shock to a compassionate understanding. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, leading you away from the commotion.

"You don't need to have a drink to feel something, darling," she reassures, her voice a soothing balm. "Facing those emotions is tough, but numbing them won't make them disappear. You're stronger than you think."

The weight of her words resonates, and you find a sense of grounding in Maura's wisdom.

"I just... I didn't expect it to hit me this hard," you confess, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare.

Maura nods, her empathy evident. "Love has a way of lingering, especially when there's history. It's okay to feel, even if it's painful. You've come so far, and I know you can navigate this without resorting to old habits."

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, Maura's words serve as a reminder that facing the emotions head-on is a strength, not a weakness.

The night air in the back garden carries a crisp chill, providing a respite from the crowded and charged atmosphere indoors. With just five minutes until midnight, you find solace in the quietude of the outdoors. The rustling of leaves and the distant hum of laughter create a backdrop for contemplation as you seek to contain the swirl of thoughts within.

The faint glow of string lights casts a gentle illumination, revealing a mosaic of emotions etched on your face. The weight of the past, the encounter with Harry, and the echoes of previous struggles converge in this moment of reflection. The cool breeze becomes a metaphorical breath, allowing you to exhale the complexities that have unfolded throughout the night.

Despite the passage of time, you find that lingering feelings persist, stubbornly anchored in the recesses of your emotions. The garden, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights, becomes a backdrop for a bittersweet revelation – you still carry a flame for him.

However, self-awareness prevails, and you acknowledge the undeniable truth that echoes in the quiet of the night. The person you once were, entwined with Harry in a different chapter of your lives, no longer aligns with the person he seeks now. The journey of growth and self-discovery has shaped you both in divergent ways, leading to an understanding that the path forward must be traversed separately.

With a deep breath, you accept the inevitability of change and recognize that clinging to what once was will only hinder your individual paths.

A subtle clearing of the throat interrupts your contemplation in the garden, prompting you to turn. To your surprise, Harry stands there with two glasses of lemonade, his expression softening as he offers them to you.

"Been looking f’you," he says, a hint of concern in his voice.

You accept the lemonade with a nod, appreciating the gesture even as the complexity of emotions lingers in the air.

"Just needed some fresh air," you reply, your gaze momentarily dropping to the glass in your hands.

Harry takes a seat on the concrete step next to you, the night air carrying a blend of both familiarity and unspoken tension.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, and you find yourself hesitating before reluctantly nodding. The silence that follows is palpable, laden with the echoes of a shared history.

"I never thought I'd see you again after everything," Harry admits, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. You sense a vulnerability in his tone, a shared acknowledgment of the complexities that led to your parting.

"Yeah, life takes unexpected turns," you respond, tracing the rim of your glass with your fingertips. The garden, once a haven for solitary reflection, transforms into an arena for the unspoken exchange between two people navigating the remnants of a connection.

Harry's gaze meets yours, and a soft smile plays on his lips. "I've missed this, y’know? Just talking like we used to."

The sentiment catches you off guard, and you muster a small smile in return. "Things change, Harry. We change."

Harry's admission hangs heavy in the air as he confesses,

"I've missed y’a lot. Every night before bed, you're all I think about." The vulnerability in his voice is evident, the weight of unspoken longing underscoring his words.

You take a moment, the weight of his confession settling in the quiet of the garden. With a sigh, you respond, "It was the right decision to take a break. I was a mess, and I wasn't what you wanted."

However, before you can elaborate, Harry interrupts, a furrow forming on his brow. "No, s’not why. I never once thought about breaking up with y’because of y’drinking problems. It was the constant leaving, the distance. I felt like I couldn't be the partner y’eeded."

His words catch you off guard, a mix of surprise and realization washing over you. The clarity in his confession adds a layer of complexity to the narrative you had constructed in your mind.

"I thought... I thought it was because of me," you admit, the vulnerability echoing in your own voice.

Harry reaches for your hand, a gesture that conveys both comfort and sincerity. "It wasn't about you. It was about me feeling like I couldn't be the best partner f’you. I should've communicated that better."

The garden, witness to the intimate exchange, becomes a space for newfound understanding. The dialogue unfolds, untangling the threads of misperception and unveiling the intricacies of the emotions that lingered beneath the surface. As the clock approaches midnight, the shared revelations become a poignant marker in the journey toward healing and clarity.

His thumb gently traces circles on the back of your hand as he continues, "I regret asking for that break. I didn't realize how much it would affect me, being without you. I've spent every night wondering if I made the right decision."

You meet his gaze, a mix of compassion and acceptance in your eyes. "H, it was the right decision for both of us. I was a mess back then, and I couldn't have given you what you needed. It wasn't just about the drinking; it was about me figuring myself out."

Hearing you call him by the familiar nickname of ‘H’ has his heart twitching beneath his rib cage, oh how he’s missed you calling him that.

He squeezes your hand, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "But not once did I think about ending things because of y’struggles. It was the constant coming and going, the uncertainty. I felt like I was leaving y’alone too often, and it wasn't fair t’you."

As the conversation deepens, the layers of misunderstanding peel away, revealing the raw authenticity beneath.

"I never wanted you t’feel like y’couldn't be yourself," Harry admits, a sincerity coloring his tone. "I should've communicated better, been more honest about how I was feeling."

It isn’t long before the people crowded inside the house start counting down from ten, only second away from being embraced by 2024.

“10…”

“9…”

Harry leans in close, his words a hushed confession, "I still love you."

“8…”

“7…”

Caught off guard, you turn to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes echoing the sentiments you thought were buried in the past. you find your voice, whispering amidst the cacophony, "I love you too."

“6…”

“5…”

The counting continues, a rhythmic backdrop to the shared revelation hanging in the air. In a moment of vulnerability, Harry's gaze lingers on yours.

“4…”

“3…”

And that’s when he musters up enough courage to ask for the first time in a year. "Can I kiss you?"

“2…”

“1…”

As the countdown approaches its climax, the world outside the window erupts in cheers.

In the final seconds, the clock striking midnight, Harry softly presses his lips against yours, a tender exchange that marks the inception of a new year and a rekindled connection, forged amidst the symphony of shared confessions and the promise of a fresh start.

And this all happened when the clock struck midnight.

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bitchiswild · 9 months

Text

Winter Ball

Kim Minjeong x F! Reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: ❄️🎻🪩

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

The Winter Ball, an event steeped in opulence and prestige, stands as the pinnacle of the year's social calendar. Within its glittering halls, destinies intertwine, where chance encounters spark romances and hearts both unite and fracture. This illustrious affair owes its existence to the esteemed Kim Seok, a titan among elites, who christened the gala in honor of his beloved daughter, Kim Minjeong, affectionately known as Winter.

Beyond its facade of elegance and grandeur, the Winter Ball is a nexus of strategic alliances and lucrative sponsorships, where business dealings are as commonplace as swirling waltzes and whispered confessions. Yet, amid the clinking glasses and shimmering gowns, there exists an unwritten expectation, one fervently held by Kim Seok himself. With each meticulously planned Winter Ball, he harbors a silent hope—a hope that his daughter, Winter, might find love amidst the enchanting splendor.

Winter, however, is a vision of independence and conviction. Echoing her father's unyielding spirit, she rebuffs the allure of romantic entanglements with a steadfast declaration: "I have no need for such entrapments. Love is a fallacy." Yet, despite her protestations, Kim Seok discerns a familiar skepticism in her words, a reflection of his own past reservations before fate introduced him to the love of his life—Winter's mother.

In the depths of his heart, Kim Seok yearns for Winter to experience the transformative power of love, much as he did. With an ardent wish that transcends the gilded confines of the Winter Ball, he quietly prays for the serendipitous arrival of the one who will awaken his daughter's belief in love, just as it was once awakened within him.

As the anticipation mounts and the chandeliers cast their ethereal glow upon the revelers, Kim Seok watches over the festivities, his paternal gaze holding a silent plea to the stars: that Winter, his cherished daughter, may find within this glittering celebration the key to unlock the guarded chambers of her heart.

~~~

Winters POV

I let out a resigned sigh, my eyes scanning the elegantly adorned room filled with twirling couples lost in their own romantic reverie. Amidst the enchanting melodies and graceful waltzes, I stood on the periphery, a silent observer of a spectacle that failed to captivate my convictions. Love, in my view, was a frivolous pursuit—an enigmatic dance of emotions I had no desire to partake in. Love at first sight? Ridiculous.

"Minjeong!" Jimin's voice interrupted my musings, drawing my attention to my ever-optimistic best friend. She flashed a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a certainty that often accompanied her unwavering faith in matters of the heart.

"You're always so dismissive about love, but mark my words, one day you'll see. It'll all make sense," she remarked, her tone laced with a playful certainty that mirrored her perpetual optimism.

I couldn't help but scoff. "You say that as if it's some inevitable epiphany waiting to happen."

Jimin chuckled, her laughter carrying a hint of affectionate exasperation. "Trust me, Minjeong. Once you experience it, your perspective will shift entirely. Love won't seem like a waste of time anymore."

Her words lingered in the air as she sauntered away, disappearing into the crowd with her partner, leaving me to ponder her unwavering belief in the inexplicable magic of love.

Despite my protestations, I couldn't shake off the echo of her words. Was there a kernel of truth in her confident assertions? Could love truly transform one's outlook, turning what I deemed as frivolous into something profound and meaningful?

As the music swelled and the enchantment of the Winter Ball continued to weave its spell around the room, I found myself caught in a fleeting moment of contemplation. Perhaps, just perhaps, amidst the sea of skeptics, cynics, and believers alike, there existed a truth waiting to reveal itself—a truth about love that I had yet to uncover.

As I made my way towards the refreshments, a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught my attention. A figure, graceful and poised, mirrored my steps toward the drink table. Her presence, almost magnetic, tugged at my senses, and for a fleeting moment, the room seemed to shrink, centering around this enigmatic stranger.

"Sorry, am I in your way?" Her gentle voice broke the spell, drawing me from my reverie. I shook my head, startled by the sudden rush of emotions that stirred within me. "N-No, you're not. It's okay," I managed to stutter out, my heart thundering in my chest.

She giggled, her laughter a melody that resonated through the air, and in that moment, it felt like I was enveloped in pure bliss. Was this the inexplicable sensation Jimin spoke of—the rush of emotions, the rapid heartbeat, all in the presence of a stranger? Could this be the much-dismissed notion of love at first sight?

Summoning an ounce of courage I hadn't known I possessed, I extended my hand towards her. "My name's Minjeong. What's yours?" The words stumbled out, coated in a mix of nerves and excitement.

The girl turned toward me, her eyes sparkling with an unspoken allure. "Y/n," she replied, taking my hand in hers. "Nice to meet you, Minjeong. But I've got to get going; my friends are waiting for me. I'll see you on the dance floor?" Her words lingered in the air, a question tinged with a hint of anticipation.

I could only nod dumbly, lost momentarily in the radiance of her smile. As she giggled and gracefully departed, I felt a rush of relief flood through me. It was as if the weight of the moment lifted as she left my vicinity. Gathering my composure, I hurriedly made my way through the crowd, seeking out Jimin amidst the throng of revelers.

"Jimin!" I called out, scanning the crowd for my ever-supportive best friend. Spotting her animatedly conversing with a group nearby, I navigated through the sea of dancers and socialites, eager to share the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.

"Minjeong, there you are!" Jimin's eyes lit up as she noticed me approaching, her expression expectant. "Did you find yourself a drink?"

I chuckled, trying to compose myself after the unexpected encounter. "Yeah, but more importantly, Jimin, I just had the most...unexpected moment."

Jimin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell!"

I recounted the brief yet intense interaction with Y/n, the rush of emotions, and the lingering sensation of having stumbled upon something inexplicably enchanting.

Jimin's grin widened with each word, a silent acknowledgment dancing in her eyes. "Minjeong, could it be? Love at first sight?"

I hesitated, grappling with the idea I'd dismissed moments before. "I don't know, Jimin. It sounds so cliché, doesn't it? But there was something about her... It was different."

Jimin's laughter bubbled forth. "Welcome to the club, Minjeong! Looks like someone's heart might be softening after all."

I rolled my eyes playfully but couldn't deny the fluttering feeling in my chest, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement at the thought of seeing Y/n again.

"Will you go dance with her?" Jimin nudged, her gaze filled with encouragement.

"I-I think so," I stammered, surprised by my own resolve. "I hope I see her there."

With Jimin's teasing encouragement and the memory of Y/n's smile lingering in my mind, I found myself swaying to the music, unable to shake off the lingering anticipation of a potential reunion.

As the night progressed and the melodies intertwined with laughter and whispers, I couldn't help but steal glances around the room, hoping for another glimpse of Y/n amidst the swirling crowd.

Time had passed, and there was no sight of Y/n. Faint disappointment settled in as I made my way back to the bar, hoping to find solace in another drink. Yet, to my surprise, there she was, standing next to a guy who seemed to be making her visibly uncomfortable.

My steps faltered as I approached the bar, the familiar sight of Y/n amidst an uncomfortable interaction stopping me in my tracks. A knot formed in my stomach, an instinctive urge to intervene surging within me.

Y/n stood there, her expression strained, a polite yet uneasy smile plastered on her face. Beside her loomed a guy, his demeanor exuding an unsettling sense of entitlement. His persistent attempts at conversation were met with Y/n's subtle but visible discomfort.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" I questioned, my voice poised but carrying an underlying concern.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of relief flickering across her face. "Minjeong! I'm so glad you're here," she responded, her voice tinged with gratitude.

I turned my attention to the guy beside her, offering a friendly yet assertive smile. "Hi there! I'm Minjeong. Sorry to interrupt, but Y/n and I have some catching up to do, right?"

The guy glanced between us, seemingly taken aback but sensing the shift in the atmosphere, he excused himself with a half-hearted smile and sauntered away.

Y/n exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding, offering me a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. That was...unexpected."

I shrugged, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. "No problem. Looked like you needed a rescue."

As the tension dissipated, Y/n's gaze met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. The brief yet charged moment solidified something unspoken, a connection forming in the wake of an unexpected rescue.

"Hey, let's grab that drink together," I suggested, hoping to offer some reprieve from the uncomfortable encounter.

Y/n's smile widened, a genuine spark returning to her eyes. "I'd like that."

As we moved towards the bar, the weight of the encounter fading into the background, a newfound sense of camaraderie and intrigue filled the space between us.

The ambient glow of the Winter Ball seemed to dim in the wake of the burgeoning connection between Y/n and me. We settled at a quieter corner of the bustling venue, cocooned in our own world, amid the gentle hum of conversations and the occasional tinkling of glasses.

"So, Minjeong," Y/n began, her voice a melodic invitation to unravel the layers of our mutual acquaintance. "What brings you to the Winter Ball?"

I shared anecdotes about attending with Karina, my father's insistence on finding love for me at these events, and my own skepticism about the enchantment of love.

"And what about you, Y/n?" I inquired, eager to reciprocate the sharing. "How did you end up here?"

She laughed softly, the sound like a symphony in the midst of the ball's elegance. "Honestly, I was dragged here by a friend. Not much of a fan of these extravagant affairs myself."

As we conversed, the conversation flowed effortlessly, each exchange peeling away the layers of initial awkwardness. We discovered shared interests, from music preferences to our views on the complexities of life. There was a comfortable rhythm to our interaction, a natural chemistry that seemed to bridge any gap between us.

Time ceased to exist as we exchanged stories, laughter, and thoughts. The once-imposing Winter Ball now felt like an intimate setting, our dialogue weaving an invisible thread between us, binding our newfound connection.

The night wore on, the music shifting from lively tunes to mellower melodies, yet our conversation continued, unhurried and unreserved. Amidst the glamour and opulence of the ball, a genuine connection had blossomed—a serendipitous encounter that defied the confines of the grand event.

As the evening drew to a close and the final strains of music echoed through the hall, I realized that amidst the sea of faces and fleeting encounters, I had found an unexpected and cherished connection in Y/n.

Our exchange continued, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and aspirations. As the night unfolded its secrets, we found ourselves drawn to the idea that chance encounters often held the most unforeseen treasures.

Eventually, the allure of the wintry night beckoned, and Y/n suggested we step outside to catch a breath of fresh air. The grand doors opened, leading us to the quiet serenity of the winter landscape outside.

A hushed blanket of snow had begun to descend, painting the night in a soft, ethereal glow. The air was crisp, and the gentle flakes danced around us, adding a touch of enchantment to the already magical evening.

Y/n and I stood side by side, gazing at the mesmerizing sight before us. The snowflakes twirled in the air, creating a tranquil scene that felt straight out of a storybook.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

Y/n nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting the soft glimmer of the falling snow. "It really is. There's something so serene about snowfall, isn't there?"

We stood there, amidst the quiet elegance of the wintry night, sharing a moment that transcended the grandeur of the Winter Ball. The snowflakes continued their graceful descent, enveloping us in a cocoon of tranquility and wonder.

In that peaceful solitude, our conversation took on a more introspective tone. We spoke of dreams, aspirations, and the inexplicable beauty found in the simplest of moments—a shared understanding that seemed to deepen the connection between us.

As the snow continued to cascade from the heavens, we exchanged quiet smiles, a silent acknowledgment of the rare beauty of this shared moment. For in the delicate dance of snowflakes and the whispers of our conversation, something special had bloomed between us.

As the delicate snowflakes continued their graceful descent, an unspoken warmth enveloped us in a cocoon of shared moments and unspoken sentiments. I turned to Y/n, a genuine sincerity coloring my words.

"I really enjoy your company, Y/n," I expressed, my voice carrying the weight of truth and vulnerability.

Her eyes sparkled with a reflective radiance, mirroring the sentiment. "I enjoy your company too, Minjeong," she replied, her smile a testament to the comfort found in our connection.

We stood there, side by side, witnessing the tranquil spectacle of the first snowfall. The silence between us was filled with unspoken words, an uncharted territory of emotions and possibilities.

"You know what they say about the first snow," I remarked, breaking the tranquil silence between us.

Y/n turned to me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "No, what is it?" she asked, her voice soft and attentive.

"It's where you make a wish, and they say it might just come true," I explained, a tinge of wistfulness in my tone.

"Make a wish, Minjeong," she encouraged gently, her eyes filled with a gentle encouragement that urged me to embrace the moment.

I let out a sigh, the weight of my wish settling in my chest. "I wish to take you out on a date," I confessed, the words slipping out, carrying the earnestness of my feelings.

In the tranquil serenity of the wintry night, with snowflakes twirling around us like silent witnesses, I dared to voice a longing that had quietly blossomed within me.

Y/n's gaze held mine, her eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Her soft smile echoed the silent understanding that had grown between us, a shared connection woven in the magical embrace of the first snow.

As the snowfall continued its gentle descent, a subtle chill began to permeate the air. I noticed Y/n subtly shivering, the cold seeping through the elegant attire she wore for the ball.

"You're getting cold, aren't you?" I asked, concern lacing my words as I observed her discomfort.

Y/n nodded, a faint blush gracing her cheeks. "A little, yes."

Without hesitation, I slipped off my own warm sweater, a comforting shield against the wintry chill, and offered it to her. "Here, take this. It's warmer," I insisted, my voice carrying both concern and a hint of bashfulness.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise at the gesture, her gaze meeting mine in a mix of gratitude and astonishment. "Minjeong, I couldn't—"

"Please," I urged gently, my smile attempting to ease any reservations she might have. "I want you to be warm."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Y/n accepted the sweater, wrapping it around herself with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. You're too kind."

The exchange brought an unexpected warmth to the wintry night—not just from the shared gesture but from the growing connection and the unspoken promise that hung between us.

With Y/n now shielded from the biting cold, our shared moment continued, the snowflakes descending around us in a silent ballet. The act of offering my sweater felt like a bridge between us, forging an unspoken closeness that transcended the physical warmth it provided.

As we stood there, enveloped in the beauty of the snowfall and the quiet understanding that bound us, the promise of a forthcoming date lingered in the air, an anticipation that added an extra layer of magic to the Winter Ball's enchanting allure.

The clock struck midnight, signaling the end of the enchanting evening. Reluctantly, I walked Y/n to her car, the weight of impending separation casting a shadow over our otherwise uplifting interaction.

"Here's my number. Text me about the date plan; I'm looking forward to it," Y/n said, her smile radiant with anticipation, as she handed me a slip of paper bearing her contact information.

My bashfulness emerged, rendering me momentarily speechless. "I'm excited too. I'll be sure to text you. Just get home safe, alright?" I replied softly, hoping to mask the fluttering nerves within me.

Y/n's smile widened, and in that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Her gentle kiss on my cheek felt like a jolt of electricity, sending my heart into a frenzy. For an instant, I felt as though I might lose my footing, caught in the unexpected rush of emotions.

"Good night, Minjeong," she whispered, her words carrying a softness that reverberated through me.

I stood there, watching her car depart, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. Placing a hand over my heart, I attempted to steady the rapid beating within my chest, the lingering sensation of her kiss lingering like an echo.

Before I could collect my thoughts, Karina came bounding towards me, brimming with excitement. "Oh my gosh, I saw everything! Minjeong is head over heels, everyone!" she exclaimed with uncontainable enthusiasm.

I stood there, Karina's excited proclamation ringing in my ears, a mix of bewilderment and anticipation coursing through me. Her words echoed a truth I had vehemently denied for so long—love had never held a place in my beliefs.

But as I stood there, my hand unconsciously lingering on the spot where Y/n's kiss had landed, a revelation dawned upon me. I had once deemed love a frivolous notion, dismissing it as a mere illusion. Yet, in this whirlwind encounter, I found myself yearning for something I never thought I'd desire.

The Winter Ball had unveiled a world of possibilities I had stubbornly ignored, and in the lingering warmth of Y/n's presence, my heart had stirred with unfamiliar emotions. What had begun as skepticism had morphed into an eager anticipation for what lay ahead—a date that held the promise of something genuine and heartfelt.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I found myself eagerly awaiting the prospect of love—a concept I once rejected but now, with each flutter of my heart, embraced with open arms.

Years cascaded by in a beautiful tapestry woven with shared moments, laughter, and a love that surpassed every doubt. Y/n and I stood side by side, a testament to the transformative power of love, as we returned to the Winter Ball each year.

My father's beaming smile was a reflection of his joy as he witnessed the love that had bloomed between Y/n and me. The Winter Ball, once a place of skepticism and uncertainty for me, now held a cherished significance—a testament to our enduring bond and the promise of a love that had weathered the test of time.

With each passing holiday season, Y/n and I found ourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. The Winter Ball had become more than just an extravagant event; it was a celebration of our love story—a reminder of the serendipity that had brought us together and the countless memories we continued to create.

The twinkling lights, the elegant dances, and the festive atmosphere held a deeper meaning now—a symbol of our shared journey, a testament to the enduring love that had blossomed amidst the enchantment of that first Winter Ball.

As we danced under the glittering lights, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and the whispers of timeless promises, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the unexpected turns that had led me to find the love of my life.

Every holiday season was now a cherished opportunity—a chance to revel in the love that had transformed my beliefs, turning skepticism into an unwavering certainty that love, indeed, was the most powerful magic of all.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

#bitchiswild #BIW.WRITES #aespa x reader #aespa #fluff #aespa x fem reader #aespa imagines #aespa minjeong #aespa winter #winter x reader #kim winter #minjeong x reader #kim minjeong #minjeong

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misshoneyimhome · 7 months

Text

250 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“I like waking up with you.” I Kevin Fiala

Summary: What simply began as a casual meeting with a stranger at a bar took a meaningful turn, leading to an unexpected and profound connection between the two individuals

Tropes & warnings; no warnings; strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, friends to lovers, very mild-smut descriptions;

Other notes; just simple, fluff with Kevin Fiala 🤍

Word count; 2.4K

➼｡ﾟ

The warm, gentle glow of soft lighting enveloped the bar, creating a snug atmosphere that stood in stark contrast to the bustling city streets outside. With weary legs and a distracted mind, you navigated through the chic crowd, seeking solace from the day's pressures within the serene confines of the establishment.

Taking a seat on a comfortable bar stool, you let out a contented sigh, prepared to lose yourself in the mellow melodies of the jazz band softly playing in the background. With the first sip of your drink, the burdens of the day began to slowly dissipate, allowing you to revel in the tranquillity of the moment.

Gradually, you felt yourself unwind, your shoulders easing and your breathing steadying. Lost in your own thoughts, you barely registered the arrival of the charming stranger who was about to quietly take a seat beside you. It was only when he spoke that his presence snapped into focus, his voice cutting through your reverie.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked politely, his voice tinged with a faint accent.

"Not at all," you replied, offering a shy smile.

And amidst the gentle hum of the background music, a comfortable silence settled between you and the stranger. Both content to savour your drinks and the cosy ambiance surrounding you. Until, unexpectedly, he broke the silence once more.

"So... are you here to celebrate or seeking solace?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as they glanced at the drink in your hand. Leaning in a little closer, yet he respected your space.

Though initially taken aback by his question, you offered a small smile, enjoying the light-hearted banter. "Seeking solace after a long day at work. And you?" you inquired, genuinely curious.

"Same," he chuckled softly, flashing you a confident yet shy smile, his gaze lingering on you. "So, are you here alone?"

Completely caught off guard, you hesitated momentarily before nodding, smiling in acknowledgment. "And what about you?" you asked, leaning in with genuine interest.

He grinned mischievously. "Oh, just in need of a bit of comfort, I suppose. It's been a long week, and now I'm just looking for some time and space to clear my mind. But stumbling into you has been quite the wonderful surprise," he replied sincerely.

You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest at his words, sensing a sudden spark in the air between you. It was as if fate had brought you together in this moment, weaving the threads of possibility into an intricate tapestry. Two strangers simply seeking comfort and peace in each other amid the chaos of everyday life.

Though unaware of who this charming stranger might be, you suddenly found yourself effortlessly drawn into conversation, the flow feeling unexpectedly natural.

"I'm Kevin, by the way," he timidly introduced himself before taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm y/n,” you flashed him a sweet smile, your eyes meeting his in the soft glow of the bar. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Kevin,"

"It's great to meet you too, y/n," he returned your smile.

Though you hadn't intended to strike up a conversation with any stranger tonight, you found yourself unable to resist the enjoyable exchange. And as the evening wore on and the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a sense of familiarity, an undeniable connection seemed to deepen with each passing moment. Hours slipped away unnoticed as you shared stories and laughter, the bond between you and Kevin growing stronger with each anecdote.

And in a spontaneous moment, you surprised yourself by extending an invitation, the words flowing out before you could second-guess yourself. “You want to get out of here?”

To your delight, Kevin eagerly accepted, excitement sparking in his eyes as you made plans to continue the evening at your place. It was as if all your weary emotions were suddenly revitalised by the charming presence of this unexpected man who had captivated you.

And what followed was a night of nothing but passion and exploration, the boundaries between strangers dissolving as you both surrendered to desire. Kevin's naked body felt only incredible pressed against yours, with his toned physique and strong muscles, he embraced you with care and lust. His lips worked like magic against yours in the softly lit bedroom, and his firm touch brought nothing but pleasure as you surrendered yourself to the incredible sex.

It was something you hadn’t often experienced before. For you, one-night stands often ended in disappointment, but with Kevin, the experience was different. You reached multiple climaxes that night, and there were absolutely no awkward moments between you.

It was simply an unforgettable night, filled with whispered promises and stolen kisses, each moment etched into your memory with clarity.

Yet as the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, you woke up to find yourself alone, Kevin's presence already a fading memory. Wrapped in tangled sheets, with only the echo of his laughter lingering, you couldn't help but ponder the enigmatic stranger who had entered your life like a whirlwind, leaving behind mere traces of his presence.

A couple of months later, the crisp chill of the arena air sent shivers down your spine as you followed your colleague through the bustling crowd, the excitement of the hockey match palpable all around you. As a devoted Kings fan, she was eager to introduce you to the thrill of the sport, and you couldn't help but feel intrigued.

Navigating through the enthusiastic fans, you eventually found yourselves near the autograph signing area, where players mingled with supporters before the game. And then it happened. Like being struck by lightning, amidst the crowd, you saw him – the handsome stranger from that unforgettable night at the bar.

It was none other than the LA Kings hockey player, Kevin Fiala.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as your eyes met his, a brief recognition passing between you before reality rushed back in. Awkwardness hung silently heavy in the air, but before you could dwell on it, your colleague was already pulling you forward, eager to secure an autograph from her favourite player.

And to your great surprise, Kevin simply greeted you with a smile. "Hey there

"Hi," you responded, feeling somewhat timid.

"So… you're a Kings fan, huh?" he asked, slightly puzzled as you hadn't seemed to recognise him the night you met.

"Only just became one… it's my first hockey game tonight," you explained, prompting him to offer an understanding nod.

"Well, I hope you'll enjoy it."

"Me too."

And after Kevin signed your friend's jersey, the two of you made your way to find your seats in the arena.

"Holy shit, you know Kevin Fiala?" your colleague exclaimed, beyond excited.

"Well, yeah, sort of," you chuckled lightly, noticing her wide eyes and eagerness for more juicy details. So, you decided to share the story of that night.

"I can't believe that you slept with Kevin Fiala and didn't even know it…" she exclaimed in bewilderment, speaking quietly enough to avoid drawing attention.

"Well, I guess I was just in the right place at the right time," you replied with a cheeky wink before refocusing on the hockey game, which thankfully ended in a great win for the Kings.

As the final buzzer sounded and you prepared to leave, your colleague was more determined to drag you back down to try and meet the players once more. It seemed she was on a mission to reunite you with your 'lover-boy,' as she put it.

With great flattery and batting eyelashes, she even managed to convince one of the guards to let you stick around. And as you waited near the locker room, your heart raced with anticipation, uncertain of what to expect when Kevin emerged. Would he want to see you again, or were you just a one-time thing?

The echoes of the game still reverberated through the halls, blending with the excited chatter of partners and friends around you. Your colleague stood beside you, practically bouncing with excitement, her eyes fixed eagerly on the door.

Which finally swung open, revealing Kevin once more – clad in his team hoodie, a broad smile lighting up his face as he spotted you among the small crowd. Despite the slight chaos of the moment, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent another shiver down your spine.

"Hey again," Kevin greeted warmly as he approached, his teammates trailing behind him. "So, did you enjoy the game?" he asked, genuine interest sparkling in his eyes.

"Yeah, it was amazing," you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. "I never realised just how intense hockey could be until tonight," you admitted, feeling a surge of excitement.

And Kevin couldn't contain a grin, your enthusiasm contagious. "I'm happy you enjoyed it, and maybe you'd like to come and watch another game sometime," he suggested, his words carrying a subtle invitation.

Yet before you could respond, your colleague seized the opportunity to interject, her voice brimming with excitement as she not-so-subtly replied on your behalf to Kevin's invitation.

"Oh, she'd love to come and watch another game," she chimed in with a mischievous smirk, well aware of the nudge you needed to engage with a man.

"Well, I'll definitely look forward to seeing you again then," Kevin chuckled lightly, his eyes remaining connected to yours.

And once more, your colleague played the role of the cheeky wing-woman she was. "Maybe, if you had her number, you could even see her again outside the hockey arena…"

Her words elicited heartfelt laughter from both of you before you agreed to exchange contact information, opening up the possibility of meeting again. And amidst the lingering intimacy in the air, you couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turn of events that had brought you face to face with the man who had once been nothing more than a charming stranger in a bar.

In the weeks and months that followed, you found yourself unexpectedly immersed in Kevin's world, the initial awkwardness fading into a surprising ease and familiarity between you. Despite the unconventional circumstances of your first and second meeting, you discovered a genuine connection that went beyond mere strangers.

Conversations flowed effortlessly, delving into each other's lives over coffee walks, sharing hopes, dreams, and fears with newfound openness. And bounded by laughter and camaraderie, you both found comfort in each other's company, forming a bond that outshined the physical.

It came as no surprise when the lines between friendship and something more began to blur, the unspoken tension simmering beneath the surface. And in a moment of mutual understanding, you both agreed to explore a platonic friends-with-benefits relationship, acknowledging the undeniable chemistry between you.

Given Kevin’s demanding schedule and your own career aspirations, neither of you were ready to commit to a deeper romantic relationship at this point. So, with occasional casual, incredible hook-ups, you cultivated a comfortable relationship with the King’s player.

It became a delicate dance to navigate the complexities of your budding connection while respecting the boundaries you had set. Though you talked and shared deep feelings, you both agreed not to stay the entire night after passionate sessions of pure and raw sex. It was a limit you had both set to maintain a clear distinction between sexual lovers and romantic partners.

However, as seasons changed and your friendship with Kevin deepened, so did your feelings for each other. What began as a casual arrangement gradually blossomed into something deeper and more meaningful, although neither of you dared to openly acknowledge it.

Stolen glances and lingering touches spoke volumes, with unspoken sentiments hanging heavy in the air as you navigated the delicate balance of your relationship. Yet, despite the growing intimacy, fear of ruining what you had together held you both back from taking the final leap.

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after a hard-fought match where the Kings had lost, the atmosphere was ripe for change.

Following the exhausting game, Kevin desired nothing more than to spend the night with you. The sex was tender, yet filled with deep passion, almost as if he was channelling his frustrations into the moment. Moans filled the room as you both reached climax, completely surrendering to pleasure once more.

However, despite the wonderful sex, a silence lingered as you cuddled, relishing the soft moment between you. And it was then that Kevin broke the silence, his words hanging in the air like a promise waiting to be.

"Stay the night," he whispered softly, his voice filled with longing and uncertainty as he looked at you.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to stay in his comforting embrace and the concern of crossing a line in your relationship. However, his pleading eyes and gentle smile melted your resolve, and with a smile of your own, you nodded in agreement.

And it felt nothing but right to be in his arms, sharing warmth and intimacy as you both drifted off to sleep.

The night passed in a haze of whispered confessions and tender caresses, the boundaries between you blurring as you surrendered to desire. And as the morning came, you woke to find Kevin beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

Slowly he stirred awake as well, meeting your gaze with vulnerability and affection. And in a moment of raw honesty, he voiced the thoughts that was weighing on his heart.

"I like waking up with you," he confessed, his voice soft yet filled with quiet intensity.

His words carried the weight of all the unspoken feelings between you, and meeting his dark, honey brown eyes, you offered a soft and comforting smile in response to his sweet confession.

"I like waking up with you too…" you replied, your voice filled with warmth and affection, echoing the sentiment in his confession.

It felt like something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a while, and finally it was coming to light.

"Maybe we should do it more often… and maybe, not only when we have sex…" Kevin suggested with a timid smile. "Maybe also, after I’ve taken you out on a real date."

And only briefly considering his proposal, your eyes searched his for any signs of doubt, finding only comfort and peace.

“I think I’d like that,” you agreed, returning his smile with a newfound sense of excitement and anticipation for what the future held.

#250 followers festival #kevin fiala imagine #kevin fiala x reader #la kings imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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srbachchan · 11 months

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DAY 5746

Jalsa, Mumbai Nov 10/11, 2023 Fri/Sat 2:44 AM

Birthday - EF Sameer Chouhan .. Rochelle Goldman .. Sunil Sharma Rajoria .. and all our love and wishes for this special day in your lives .. from the Ef Family .. 🌹 Saturday, 11 November

It has ever been the confirmed fact that nothing brings the blessings of ethereal joy and bliss , than the celebratory overtones of music .. especially in the confines of the 7 'sur' ..

You sit and contemplate on the work on hand and suddenly a spark of creative force takes over and within the shortest period of time , out comes in pouring multitude, the echoes of the finest ever thought or planned .. !!

It is that which remains within for days and hours and years .. for it has ever spoken of the dust of the earth at birth .. those strains never fade .. never age .. never remain dormant .. they erupt at un given time and hours, pleasing the heart .. the heart .. for that is the most vulnerable element in the body that the human acquires ..

may the festivities of the season be in abundance among all .. and may all that have troubled to send me the wishes in a capacity of the personal be thanked with the gratitude that has been ever the intent .. ❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

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foundress0fnothing · 4 months

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As always, for @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk. It has been such a joy to write this for you, and I apologize that it took me so long to finish it (hence the awkward timing of a New Year's Eve ending in...June). Thank you for being along for the ride and for being such a wonderful giftee! I'm so glad this experience has allowed me to get to know you better. 🥰💕

Read on AO3 or below the cut. If you’d like to start from the beginning, click here.

31 December 1918, 11:30pm

Nesta left the party early.

She didn’t think anyone would care—there was enough festivity and cheer suffusing the Archeron ballroom that, even if someone did notice her absence, they would shrug it off and quickly be whisked back into the exuberance of the evening.

And why not? They had everything to celebrate. England was victorious, soldiers had returned to their families in time for Christmas, and—most importantly—the war was over.

For most.

Nesta knew that better than anyone.

There were still some men for whom the war was ongoing, those who lingered in Somerville and hospitals like it across the country. They spent their days convalescing and trying to get well again. Some of them never would—that was the unspoken reality that the nurses knew would be the case with a few of these final patients who were permanently injured by the war in mind or body or both.

There were other men who had lost someone close to them—a brother or a friend or a lover—and for them too, the war would never quite be over. A part of them would always be buried in the mud of the trenches that stretched across the continent.

And then there was Nesta, left in a kind of limbo wondering what became of Captain Davies. She read and reread his final letter to her as if she could use it to will him back into her life, but nothing came of it.

She had tried to find out what had happened to him, but his name didn’t appear on any injury roster or official MIA registry, and even using Sr. Clotho’s influence as the head of the hospital to press higher ups for any information or to send out a search party had gone nowhere. Once, despairingly, she had looked for him on the list of the dead that was published. But there was nothing. It was as if he had simply disappeared one day, taking Nesta’s heart with him.

She swiped at her eyes as she climbed the stairs to her room, cursing herself for falling in love with a soldier. Because she knew, she knew, that this would be what happened. Why should she expect otherwise? This wasn’t one of her romance novels.

As she reached the landing to the upper floors of the manor that housed the bedrooms, Nesta looked around to make sure that no one was there to witness her flight from the ballroom that had grown oppressive under the weight of others’ celebration and joy. She had made sure that Elain and Feyre were in the ballroom when she left. She had no worries that Elain was doing her duty as a host, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to see Feyre up on this floor having escaped the confines of the ballroom to sit precariously on the roof in her nice clothes and gaze up at the stars.

But she needn’t have worried. Feyre had been arguing with a smug-looking man, and Elain had been dancing with someone whose vibrant auburn hair marked him as one of the Vanserras, a distant neighbouring family. Gwyn and Emerie had been occupied with other guests as well, chatting in a small group with a beautiful dark haired man and a blonde woman in a red dress. Nesta didn’t recognize either of them, but she assumed they were people Elain had met in her fundraising groups and charity events.

She didn’t much care anyway; she didn’t have the energy to laugh and dance and drink champagne until midnight. She just wanted to go to bed.

Satisfied that she was alone, Nesta walked down the hall to the door of her room and shut it quickly behind her.

She could still hear the noise of the party downstairs—the low hum of conversation with occasional bouts of laughter, the music of the band, the click of glasses against each other—but it was softer now and infinitely more tolerable.

Nesta sagged against the doorframe, allowing herself to relax and drop stiffly pleasant armour that had carried her through the night. There was no one to perform for anymore. They could ring in the New Year without her—they’d be better for it anyway. She wasn’t sure she had any hope worth offering. The past held too much of her heart.

Reaching up to the crown braid on top of her head, she began pulling pins out of it, letting them hit the ground one by one with small metallic dings. She would clean them up in the morning. The pressure in her head lessened as the braid fell down her back and she began unravelling it until her golden brown waves draped loosely around her shoulders.

She didn’t bother removing her dress yet. It was one of her favourites—blue with a navy and silver floral overlay that brought out the colour of her eyes—and it was comfortable enough to spend a few more minutes in as she tried to settle her thoughts and aching heart. She still felt stifled from the party, and so she took a few purposeful steps and crossed over to the small balcony at the far side of her room and threw open the door. Fresh air flooded in, bitingly cold for the sheer sleeves and open neck of her dress, but she didn’t really mind it. It was grounding, albeit in a painfully clarifying way.

Before she could take a step outside, however, there was a gentle knock at her door. Nesta groaned. Had Feyre or Elain spied her sneaking upstairs and followed her up to pressure her to come back down? Or worse, had Gwyn or Emerie noticed and come to make sure she was okay?

Another knock sounded, and Nesta sighed, resigning herself to whatever barrage she was about to face. Crossing the room again, Nesta opened the door. And froze.

For he stood before her, wearing a black dress coat with a grey cravat that would be appropriate for a New Year’s Eve ball. One arm was in a sling, and his face bore scars that hadn’t been there two years ago.

“Hello, Nurse Nes.” His face broke into a wry grin, reminiscent in so many ways of their first interactions at Somerville.

“Cassian.” She choked on his name, and her hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stop any sobs from breaking through.

His eyes softened.“Hi there, sweetheart.”

Nesta shook her head and moved her hand down to her throat, which still felt tight. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder.

Chuckling lightly, he lifted his free hand to cup her face and said, “Are we still pretending that you don’t like my nicknames?”

She pushed his hand away and glowered at him, hands now on her hips. The shock of seeing him alive faded as irritation took its place. “Well? Where were you? Why didn’t you write?”

“Oh, did you miss me?”

“Cassian.” Her voice was firm as she said his name this time. She didn’t want flirting and teasing. She wanted answers.

“Nes—”

“Why. Didn’t. You. Write.” She punctuated each word with a hard poke to his chest.

Cassian rubbed his chest and sighed. “It’s not a happy story.”

“Good.”

Cassian nodded, almost to himself. He then gestured to the interior of Nesta’s room where there was a small breakfast table with chairs set up in a corner. “May we sit?”

Nesta nodded and moved to allow him inside. The balcony door was still open, but she didn’t make any move to shut it, settling instead at the table. Finding out what happened felt too pressing to wait another moment.

“There was a battle,” Cassain started as he followed her to the table and lowered himself into a chair across from her. “Things were…bad.” He hesitated as he spoke, and Nesta could see that he was weighing what to tell her and what things could stay buried for now. “They had moved our unit to France, and we were told that we were to bridge the Sambre-Oise Canal. It should have been easy, after everything. Push forward, bridge the Canal, and hold it as we waited for reinforcements.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, and Nesta sat in silence with him, laying a hand gently on his arm.

“But,” he continued after a few beats, “it was…hell. I had spent the last few months in Passchendaele, but the fact that the scale was smaller here almost made it worse. It was as if the chaos of battle had been muted. I heard every gunshot, saw every one of my men who fell. And I couldn’t do anything about it. We couldn’t retreat, but we couldn’t push forward either. The battalion was penned in by the river to one side of us and the Germans to the other.”

“I was shot,” he said, and Nesta closed her eyes for a moment, a sharp ache shooting through her at the confirmation of what the sling around his arm indicated.

“Same arm as last time.” He grimaced, perhaps remembering the amount of time he had spent healing from the injury before. “Closer to my heart, this time, though. I fell, and then a grenade went off near me, I think. Or one of my soldiers accidentally kicked me in the head as he fled. I don’t know.”

“I woke up a week ago in a hospital bed. Not Sommerville, obviously. But somewhere in France. My identification had fallen off of me at some point, and with the chaos of the end of the war, they had no way to identify me until I woke up and could name myself. My brothers had tried to push the generals to find out what had happened when I disappeared, but the Canal battle was such hell, and,” he said with a shrug, “the army decided it would be a waste of resources to track down every missing soldier.”

He paused again after that, caught in the memory, and looked down at his lap. “The nurses told me I was lucky to be alive. I had stayed half-buried in the mud of the Canal for at least a day before the battle had settled enough for one of our mortuary crews to come through and pull bodies out for burial. That’s when they found me. They took me to a hospital when they realised I was still breathing.”

He raised his gaze to look at Nesta. “And now I’m here.”

“Cassian—I…” Nesta trailed off, not sure what to say in the face of all the suffering he had endured, but she kept her hand on his arm. He was here. He had made it out alive.

His eyes were bright and rueful as he laid his free hand overtop hers. “I came as soon as I could, Nesta.”

She sniffed, even as she silently savoured the size and rugged warmth of his hand. “You could have just sent a letter.”

“And miss the storied Archeron New Year’s Eve ball? Never.” He smiled roguishly, waggling his eyebrows. “Besides, this way got me an invitation into your bedroom.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him and ignored her body’s reaction to what he was implying. “That is entirely inappropriate.”

He was unrepentant. “You’re the one who invited me in.”

Before she could snap back at him, however, they heard muffled whoops from the ballroom downstairs. Nesta realised that it must be close to midnight. Suddenly, ringing in the New Year didn’t feel quite so bleak anymore.

She stood, and held a hand out to him wordlessly. He took it without question, and they walked outside and onto the balcony until they reached the railing. Nesta looked out into the garden. It had started to gently snow, and the grounds were covered with a light dusting that seemed to glow golden in the light of the party below them. For a moment, she let herself simply enjoy the view, holding Cassian’s hand tightly in hers. He was here.

“Twenty…nineteen…eighteen…” A chant counting down to midnight began faintly, and Nesta looked up at Cassian. “Dance with me.”

He took a step back without letting go of her hand, and bowed over it slightly, smiling. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

He led her into an easy waltz. The snow still swirled around them, but Nesta didn’t feel the cold anymore. Cassian was warm and solid and real, and she allowed herself to melt into the comforting strength of his arms.

As the countdown reached one and a cheer rose up from those in the ballroom, Cassian pulled Nesta in closer. “Happy New Year, Nurse Archeron.”

She grinned softly and then raised herself on her toes to brush a kiss against his lips. “Happy New Year, Captain Davies.”

—————————————————————————

A (very) few notes on the historical elements of this chapter:

- I’ve taken Cassian’s story of his injury from the life of Wilfred Owen, one of the most famous WWI poets. Owen died during the battle at the Sambre-Oise Canal, a week before the end of the war. I’ve shifted the timeline of the battle for the purposes of this story, so it happens in July rather than November.

- I was going to have the band play “Auld Lang Syne,” but although it had been played and sung at Scottish Hogmanay celebrations for years, it didn’t become widely popular until 1929, so I didn’t include it here.

- The descriptions of Nesta’s and Cassian’s clothes are loosely based on some of Mary’s and Matthew’s clothes.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #ww1 au #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian

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girl-next-door-writes · 9 months

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Across The Universe

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: In the freezing temperatures of Starkiller Base, Armitage Hux finds warmth in the most surprising place.

Word Count: 1087 word

Prompt: Mutual pining, putting your head on their shoulder. “I’ll keep you warm.”

A/N: This is the sixth of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the utterly brilliant @ourstaturestouchtheskies who put these prompts together for my absolute favourite ginger General.

*********************************************************

On the coldest night of the year within the icy confines of the Starkiller Base, General Armitage Hux was relentlessly pacing through the corridors. His mind, a battleground of duty and the persistent pressure to deliver tangible results, left little room for distractions. The crisp scent of pine hung in the air, accompanied by the delicate strains of festive music echoing through the base. While the galaxy reveled in winter festivals. It had not escaped him what time of year it was, how many winter festivals were being celebrated across the galaxy, but he did not have time for such frivolity, he had responsibilities.

Armitage continued his pacing, the resounding echo of his boots a solitary cadence in the deserted corridors of the Base. The stark, cold environment seamlessly mirrored his demeanor as he wrestled with the weight of his duties. A background of white noise enveloped him, made up of the faint hum of machinery and sporadic echoes of troopers engaged in their duties, and Armitage fought this unsettling feeling that lingered deep within him – the sense that something was missing.

As he continued to allow his feet to guide him, memories of his childhood surfaced – memories of biting winds that heralded the shift from rain to snow had always seemed somehow enchanting, as if they were about to usher in some sort of magic. Of winters on Arkanis where the bitter cold was harsh, but his father expectations were harsher. Armitage shook off the wistful nostalgia that threatened to envelop him, resolute in reminding himself that sentimentality had no place within the rigid confines of the First Order.

Coming to a halt by a vast viewport, Hux directed his gaze towards the frigid expanse of the base, where snow-draped plains stretched endlessly, reaching as far as the eye could discern. The stark beauty of the frozen world served as an unyielding reminder of the formidable might wielded by the First Order. However, it also mirrored the profound isolation he experienced—a leader shouldering the formidable burden of command.

The festive music wafting through the halls caught his attention once more, possibly because it was a stark contrast to the seriousness of his surroundings. Someone, perhaps trying to inject a bit of holiday cheer into the atmosphere, had decided to celebrate despite the grim circumstances. Hux scowled at the thought, finding it distracting, somebody would be getting a reprimand for such behaviour.

He couldn't afford to be distracted, none of them could. The Starkiller Base was a weapon of unimaginable destruction, and its success was paramount. This project was Hux's magnum opus, a testament to his leadership within the First Order. Its success would prove his father wrong, that Armitage was worth more than just infantry fodder. The Resistance posed a threat, and every decision he made carried consequences for the entire galaxy. Duty, not merriment, was his priority. It had to be.

You had been wandering the base, your mind restless for reasons you couldn’t discern. Abruptly, your steps ceased as the imposing figure of your General materialized, his silhouette etched against the unforgiving evening sky. You had always admired the man–his resolute determination and steadfast commitment to the First Order were both intimidating and commendable. Yet, beneath the icy and calculated exterior, you sensed a vulnerability that was intriguing. The enigmatic interplay of strength and vulnerability within the General drew you closer until you stood shoulder to shoulder with him, looking out over the landscape.

“General Hux,” you greeted, your voice soft and calm.

"Officer," Hux acknowledged, inclining his head slightly. His gaze flickered to you, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he fought to compose himself. Recently, he had found being in your presence… challenging.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, both gazing out at the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain. The chill in the air seemed to intensify, and Hux couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine, although he was not certain that was due to the temperature rather than your proximity.

"Cold, isn't it?" you remarked, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

Hux nodded, "Indeed." Internally, he berated himself for such a mundane response. Was he truly going to engage in small talk about the weather?

A subtle smile graced your lips, your features softening in the gentle glow of the evening. "Sometimes, it's okay to take a moment for yourself, General. You are allowed to have fun, on occasion."

Raising an eyebrow, Hux's usual stern expression softened as he regarded you briefly before straightening and returning his focus to the snowy panorama. "I have no time for frivolities."

“You might be surprised, General. Sometimes, it is the moments we least expect that bring us the most joy. Even you deserve a little respite from the unwavering duty.” You said softly, your arm brushing against his.

Armitage was taken aback by your proximity, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he found himself inexplicably drawn to your warmth, his shoulders relaxing as if his entire body had released a great breath. His leather clad fingers brushed against the back of yours in a bold move he was uncertain of.

A small smile played on his lips as he felt your fingers slip between his, a silent admission that his advances were welcomed. He was about to say something more when he sensed your head gently resting on his shoulder. Suddenly, he felt like that small boy back on Arkanis, smiling at the shifting of the harsh winds, eagerly awaiting the magic that promised to blow into his life.

Another shiver ran through his body, and this time he was certain it had nothing to do with the drop in temperature.

"I'll keep you warm, General," you whispered so softly Hux was not entirely certain you had spoken.

For a fleeting moment, Hux's typically rigid demeanor wavered, and he permitted himself to relish the unexpected comfort. The two of you stood side by side in companionable silence, simply observing the delicate descent of snowflakes. In that hushed interlude, amid the cold and the chaos, General Armitage Hux unearthed a warmth that, he seemed to have been searching for his entire life.

#Armitage Hux #Armitage Hux x reader #build a festive fic #gndw fic

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sangoqueenkoko · 9 months

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VARIOUS

how they celebrate Christmas with you

headcanons

MAIN MASTERLIST

(other masterlists listed on main^^)

Summary: It's Christmas in Teyvat and can be celebrated differently as to how each person wants.

Warnings? Nope! Just some Christmas-y fluff!

Contains (in order): Kujou Sara, Raiden Ei, Jean Gunnhildr and Ningguang.

Mentions characters above, as well as Yae Miko and Barbara

This is a Secret Santa gift for @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme! Hope you like it!

This will be my last fic of 2023! So Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Kujou Sara

Christmas is one of the few times a year that Kujou Sara can actually have a relaxing day, the others being your birthday as well as her own. She doesn't really think her birthday is important, but she knows that you have special care for it, as you try to make it the best day of the year for her.

ahem

On Sara's last day of work for the holidays, she came back to your shared Minka, only to be greeted by the usual yearly occurrence, the decorations scattered around the main sitting room in their respective boxes. Lights decorating the panes of the windows, nothing too bright and brash, they're soft and calming.

"(Y/N)?" She asked as she took off her Geta at the front door before walking into the main room, the areas smelling rather... sweet. A familiar scent to her. Hato Sabure. One of her favourites.

"Oh, Sara!" You said as you put the tray of freshly baked cookies down on the cooling rack before going over to hug her, "You're finally home! I've made some of your favourite cookies for the holidays. And no" you said as she already had a hand out towards the already cooled batch, "non for now."

"Oh," she frowned, a frown only you could just about resist.

Raiden Ei

Even if the Goddess of Electro has her duties to take care of towards the end of the year, there is always at least one person inside Tenshukaku who is there to keep up the Goddess' spirits.

And that is you.

You come between Ei's meditation breaks with some dango milk and sweet treats. She will forever love you for it.

And to make her feel the festive spirits, you have a small Christmas tree in her main chambers decorated with her favourite types of decorations, sweet shapes too. Also walking around the city seemed to make her happier, better than an eternal state of meditation. And it wouldn't be a trip into the city if she didn't collect one or two sugary treats for the journey.

Yae Miko even came down from the Narukami Shrine to join the both of you, she's genuinely happy that you've managed to bring Ei out of her own confinement. You're happy to be a third wheel in their conversations as you know that they still have things to catch up on.

Jean Gunnhildr

The two of you celebrate with Barbara, she also sees you like a big sister, she adores you, and you let her rehearse the little tunes she writes. Especially on Christmas, or Christkind, when all around Mondstadt there would be the sounds of the traditional Christkind music sung.

She would skip away to be with her friends, leaving you and Jean alone.

The both of you would walk around the market, also known as Christkindlmarkt, where formalities would be dropped and you two could be sweet together.

In my opinion, I don't see Jean as the type of person to hold hands in public, but I can see her letting you hook an arm around hers as you walk, that way she really knows you're with her.

Your favourite part of the festive season is when other places traditionally open their presents on the morning of the 25th, whereas in Mondstadt, the opening of the presents would be held in the evening of the 24th.

When dinner has been eaten and everywhere has been tidied, presents would be under the tree to be opened.

You got her favourite picture of you two put into a fancy yet simple picture frame to sit on her desk in the Favonius Headquarters.

Ningguang

This woman!

Sugar mother.

She will get you whatever you want! A certain type of clothing just outside your price range? She'll get it for you. Trinkets? She got it. You name it, she's already bought it.

When you buy her things, she will treasure them like a shrine as you bought them with your own hard-earned money, no matter what it may be.

Christmas isn't really a major celebration in Liyue like other nations, it's treated as a lighthearted day. It is celebrated for one day and one day only, and that is the 25th.

But that doesn't stop the festive feelings circulating around the nation.

There’s no single traditional Christmas dinner in China Liyue, but it’s common for couples to go to restaurants and enjoy grand meals like Peking Duck as a traditional Christmas feast.

The fast food chains advertise fried chicken as a Christmas dinner. Fried chicken is already a major Christmas tradition in Inazuma, and due to marketing, it’s becoming a tradition in some major Liyue cities as well.

Other nations have large Christmas trees covered in bright lights and ornaments and decorate their homes with wreaths, bows, and poinsettias. People also display statues and figurines of Santa Claus.

Whereas in Liyue, Christmas decorations do have some unique characteristics. For one thing, you won’t find nativity scenes among decorations in public or in homes. Some people also make their own ornaments out of paper. Or have them be made for you, like what Ningguang does.

But you always managed to get her to make some paper decorations with you, no matter how many times you asked. She doesn't like the idea of the craft, but she makes things like she's the master of said craft.

#[redacted]#gender neutral reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #kujou sara #kujou sara x reader #jean gunnhildr #jean gunnhildr x reader #ningguang #ningguang x reader #raiden ei #raiden ei x reader

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swampgallows · 2 months

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im sorry but i really have nothing left to live for. when even wow is making me feel nothing i think it's time to throw in the towel. i can't control what people will say or think about me after my death but i can at least decide when to say im done. im done being in this room, in this fucking bed, unable to envision a future for myself. im done uploading resumes only to have to copy paste my same scant employment information again. im done checking wastewater, seeing it skyrocketing, and living in a parallel universe from my family and the rest of my loved ones as i see them eat out at restaurants and take cross country trips to packed music festivals yet return home feeling fine, and meanwhile my best friends are getting covid three times, coughing for a year, and walking with canes due to their lung scarring. im done waiting to live, leaving it to my dreams and memories to fill the void, gilding a past that was once a reality just as miserable as today. even at raves i had panic attacks and cried in the corner. even when i was getting an education i dreaded classes and struggled to be creative. even when i had a partner they always made me feel lesser, always made me feel like i wasn't enough, wasn't doing enough, wasn't being enough of what they wanted. everybody seems to find Their People and i never have. ive always been on the outskirts, only barely overlapping with the interests and passions of others, those boundaries eclipsing only from the sheer magnitude of my devotion, my intensity repellent. now i am Too Much, going Too Deep, caring Too Much over Nothing. i don't know. i can't focus now. my eyelids are heavy. i just want to go to sleep and never have to wake up. if i am already confined to living only in my dreams, then i might as well stay there. i am not laughing. i have been crying so much. i wake up screaming.

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wire-smith · 10 months

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There are no seasons on the deep-space ships that make the long haul between the stars. There is no axial tilt and no nearby sun to cast a changing radiance. Light and heat and air on board are all carefully regulated. But nonetheless, the fleets traditionally celebrate two festivals a year, six months apart, and call them midwinter and midsummer after the seasons of Old Earth.

At midwinter they douse the lights. Corridors slowly dim, heat vents cool, fans wind down to stillness. The ships drift, the background hum of engines and machinery silent for one full night. Familiar spaces are made new in darkness and the unaccustomed chill. People rove by flashlight, gather, warm themselves with hot food and close company. Low songs fill the shocking silence and echo through the frame of the ship. There are no seasons in space, so midwinter remembers the winter: the vast dark outside the hull and the warmth within.

Six months later the fleet holds midsummer. Everything on! Rooms and parks lit brightly as the grow-farms and as hot as any planetary summer. Crowds and dancing and speakers blasting music, food, drink, all systems strained to their limits and unleashed. All the excesses normally unthinkable in the rigid routine of a spacecraft are indulged. Even the comm system joins in with power-hungry broadcasts to planets and neighbor fleets light-years distant. Midsummer is a chance to let off steam, a reminder to crew that there is more to life than the bland monotony of safe routine.

On paper the festivals are officially necessary maintenance and engineering tests. Fleet regulations require a power-out drill every twelve months, where ships simulate a disconnect from the Heartship and prove they can survive on minimal power for the day it might take to start the backup generators. And once a year the fleet is required to confirm it has the energy reserves to supply power even at maximum possible draw, and to broadcast a bright enough signal that Old Earth can plot the paths of its far-flung people. Maintenance and engineering tests and regulations, nothing more.

But the fleet regulations are written by captains who know that the festivals are much more than that. They are a reminder that people and worlds and life exist beyond the tight confines of the ship. We celebrate each year at midwinter and midsummer because there are no seasons in space besides those that we make for ourselves.

#my words #sci fi #hfy #midwinter #midsummer

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hrizantemy · 5 months

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THE DANCER AND THE MOON

The air was alive with the vibrant melodies that resonated from every corner, drawing in a kaleidoscope of dancers. Yet, amidst the throng of moving bodies, her attention remained steadfastly anchored to the lone dancer who seemed to transcend the chaos around her.

The woman moved with an effortless grace, her body fluid and sinuous as if each movement was an extension of her very being. Her limbs traced delicate arcs through the air, weaving a tale of passion and emotion that captured Nesta's undivided attention. There was a raw beauty in the way she moved, a magnetism that held Nesta captive, unable to tear her gaze away.

As the music swelled and ebbed, the dancer's expression shifted, reflecting the myriad emotions coursing through her. There was joy in the curve of her smile, longing in the arch of her back, and a hint of melancholy in the depths of her eyes. Each movement seemed to tell a story, a silent narrative that spoke volumes to those who cared to listen.

Nesta found herself drawn into the dancer's world, swept away by the tide of emotions that pulsed through the air. For a fleeting moment, she felt a connection, a thread of understanding that bound them together across the expanse of the crowded street. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the dance unfolding before her.

How had she even ended up here? She had been walking, lost in the turmoil of her own thoughts, consumed by the familiar ache of anger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface whenever her sister's name crossed her mind. Yet, as if drawn by some unseen force, she found herself drawn to the heart of the festivities, the music pulling at her like a siren's call.

And now, here she stood, a silent observer in a sea of swirling colors and laughter, her eyes trained on the lone dancer who seemed to dance for no one but herself.

Feyre had extended an invitation with forced cheerfulness to Nesta, an attempt to bridge the ever-widening chasm between them. And so, begrudgingly, Nesta had accepted, though the prospect of spending an evening in their company filled her with dread. As she stepped into the warmth of the familiar interior, she was met with a deafening silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Feyre's attempt at a greeting fell flat, her words lost in the heavy air of tension that hung between them. Elain's gaze was distant, her eyes betraying nothing as she stared into the distance with an unreadable expression. Nesta took a seat at the table, feeling like an intruder in her own sister's home.

The atmosphere was stifling, suffocating, as she watched the others engage in idle conversation and laughter. Cassian and Morrigan shared a private moment, their affection evident as he ran his fingers along her feet, eliciting a smile from her lips as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Feyre and Rhysand seemed lost in their own world, their minds elsewhere as they whispered quietly to each other, oblivious to the outsider in their midst. Nesta felt like a ghost, a mere spectator in the lives of those she once called family. As the evening wore on, Nesta sat in silence, her thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of bitterness and resentment. She longed to flee, to escape the suffocating weight of their expectations and judgments.

But instead, she remained rooted to her seat, a silent observer in a world that had long since moved on without her. Until she couldn’t anymore.

With a heavy heart and a sense of suffocation tightening her chest, Nesta quietly slipped away from her sister's home, craving the solace of the open air. The streets greeted her with a cacophony of sounds—laughter, music, and the rhythmic beat of dancing feet. It was as if the world outside existed in a separate realm, untouched by the silent turmoil that had gripped her within the confines of her sister's house.

As she wandered aimlessly through the vibrant streets, Nesta felt the weight of her burdens begin to lift, replaced by a sense of liberation she hadn't known in ages. Everywhere she looked, people danced with abandon, their laughter filling the night air with an infectious energy that was impossible to resist.

And then, amidst the throng of revelers, she saw her—the dancer whose movements had captivated her from the moment she laid eyes on her. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, a raw passion that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the physical world.

Nesta found herself drawn to the dancer like a moth to a flame, her steps quickening as she closed the distance between them. For a moment, she forgot the troubles that plagued her, the weight of her past mistakes and regrets falling away.

As Nesta lost herself in the swirling melodies and rhythmic movements, she felt a pair of eyes on her, a sensation that sent a shiver down her spine. Turning her head, she met the gaze of the dancer, expecting to find judgment or indifference mirrored in her expression. Instead, she was met with something unexpected—a soft smile playing at the corners of the woman's lips, a warmth in her eyes.

Nesta's breath caught in her throat as the dancer beckoned her closer, a silent invitation that stirred something deep within her. She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty warring with the desire pulsing through her veins. But then, as if compelled by some unseen force, she found herself stepping forward, her movements tentative yet determined.

As she drew nearer to the dancer, Nesta felt a sense of anticipation building within her, a feeling she couldn't quite name but one that filled her with a strange sense of hope. And then, as their hands met and their bodies began to move in harmony, she felt something shift inside her—a loosening of the tight coil of tension that had gripped her for so long, replaced by a sense of connection that transcended words.

Rhythm that seemed to quicken the beat of their hearts as they moved in perfect synchrony. Nesta's movements were fluid yet controlled, her body swaying with a grace she hadn't known she possessed. Each step was a testament to the raw emotion coursing through her veins, a release of the pent-up energy that had threatened to consume her.

Beside her, the dancer moved with an effortless agility, her movements a whirlwind of motion and grace. Together, they wove a tapestry of movement, their bodies moving as one to the frenetic tempo of the music. Their steps were quick and precise, a blur of motion as they spun and twirled across the crowded street.

As they danced, Nesta felt a sense of liberation wash over her, a feeling of weightlessness that lifted her higher and higher with each passing moment. The music surged through her veins, driving her onward with an intensity she had never known before. And as she lost herself in the rhythm of the dance, she felt a sense of freedom unlike anything she had ever experienced.

In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the pulsating energy of the music and the warmth of the dancer's embrace, Nesta felt truly alive.

As the music reached a crescendo, the dancer took Nesta's hand in hers, her touch gentle yet firm, as if guiding her through a dance they had both known in another lifetime. Without a word, she twirled Nesta with a deftness that spoke of years of practice and passion, their movements perfectly synchronized as they spun together in a whirlwind of motion.

At first, Nesta's instinct was to pull away, to retreat into the safety of her own solitude. But something within her urged her to stay, to trust in the moment unfolding before her. And so, she surrendered to the dancer's lead, allowing herself to be swept away by the intoxicating rhythm of the music.

As they twirled and spun across the crowded street, Nesta felt a sense of exhilaration coursing through her veins, a feeling of freedom she hadn't known in years. In the dancer's arms, she felt weightless, untethered from the burdens that had weighed her down for so long.

As they danced, Nesta lost all sense of time and place. The world around her faded into obscurity, replaced by the pulsating rhythm of the music and the exhilarating sensation of movement. She couldn't say how long they had been dancing or where they had moved to, only that they hadn't stopped.

Their steps became a blur of motion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as if guided by some unseen force. With each spin and twirl, Nesta felt herself being carried away on a tide of euphoria, her cares and worries melting away with each passing moment.

In the embrace of the dancer's arms, she found a sense of peace she hadn't known in years, a fleeting respite from the chaos of her own mind. And as they continued to dance, their movements growing more frenetic with each passing beat, Nesta knew that she never wanted this moment to end.

#anti acotar #anti acosf #anti inner circle #anti feysand #anti rhysand #anti cassian #anti azriel #anti amren #anti morrigan #anti nessian #pro nesta #nesta archeron deserves better #please give me this #sarah you could have given nesta so much #dancer and the moon

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witchmoon · 2 years

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by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.

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