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ripdragonbeans · 6 months ago

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Zeno's Paradox // modern!Aemond x reader (1/2)

•Aemond x Reader, Aemond x Floris, Jace x reader•

Summary: You and Aemond instantly clicked when you met at university. So why did he choose Floris instead of you?

TW (overall): afab reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), swearing, talk of violence, talk of losing a body part

A/N: Thank you @exitpursuedbyavulcan for being my beautiful beta ❤️ and listening to my ramblings lol

Part 2

Ever since your first year of university, you and Aemond have been best friends. Not only did you two hit it off right away but there was just this pull to him that you couldn't ignore.

Aemond was from an “old money” family, as outdated as that saying is. His father was a successful business man and his mother inherited the business when he passed. The passing of his father never really bothered him too much, or as far as you knew. He wasn't close to his older brother, Aegon, but he was on good terms with his sister, Helaena. Once they all moved out of the house everyone went their own ways, Aemond included.

The first year of university is always a terrifying one. Not only were you new to the school, but you were new to the city. You took it upon yourself to completely move on to a new life away from your unhealthy family.

Your very first class of your first day was Philosophy 101. You made your way to the classroom, finding it almost completely full. You thought being ten minutes early would be enough to choose your seat but that was a mistake on your part.

Looking around, you saw a total of five seats open. Granted, it was a small class so the options could be worse. You took a bet on the seat closest to the front; it even had an empty seat next to it. Normally, being front and center isn't your first choice but you thought this would give a good first impression to your professor. You just hoped that no one would take the seat next to you.

Eight minutes had passed and you released your breath. No one sat next to you. You smirked to yourself and bent down to pull out your laptop. When you came up, however, a new person was sitting next to you.

He leaned back in his chair looking like he'd been there for hours. His hair was a striking platinum blond and cascaded past his shoulders. Tapping his pen on his notebook, he sighed as if he didn't want to be here. From the angle you could see him, he had two different eye colors; one was a vibrant blue, with a harsh scar running from the bottom of his eyebrow to just above his cheekbone, and the other was violet. He gave off the vibe as someone who didn't give a shit.

You rolled your eyes at his chill demeanor, assuming he'd be someone you'd have to guard your work from. The assumption, however, was quick to be discarded.

When the professor entered the room all talk ceased. What you specifically noticed, however, is how the guy next to you immediately sat up straight. Feet were immediately flat on the ground, back erect, hands stilled with his pen ready to write. As class started you switched your focus from the platinum blond boy to the professor in front of the class.

The professor was a lighthearted man but still took his class seriously. For every ice breaker question was a serious one, attempting to get a gauge on the knowledge of the class. You answered a few ice breaker questions, finding them fun and entertaining, but you were hesitant to answer the serious ones. The blond, on the other hand, avoided the ice breaker questions but was very eager to answer the ones focused on psychology. Every time he answered a question you had to hide your eye roll.

Of course he would be attractive and smart.

You shook your head and tried to banish the thought. Yes, he was attractive, that was for sure, but you couldn’t start your university experience crushing on a guy you’ve never even had a conversation with. No, this was supposed to jump start the beginning of your new life. This wasn’t high school anymore. No more crushing.

Back and forth was the banter between the professor and the platinum blond guy. He answered every question quickly and concisely, never to beat around the bush. Still, refused to answer any questions that would give away any information about himself. That little detail intrigued you. You understood not wanting to say anything about yourself, at least voluntarily, but absolutely saying nothing was a little odd to you.

The last round of questions, the professor told the class, was to be a speed round between two students. He looked around the class before his eyes stopped on you and then the blond boy. Being pitted against the attractive blond was not on your list of what to expect on your first day of university.

You looked at him with a smirk. “May the best win.”

He didn’t even give you a verbal response, merely a nod paired with a smirk.

The last few minutes of class was a packed one. Students picked sides, you or the blond. It was exhilarating. The professor fired off his questions in quick succession. You knew you were good but this blond next to you was better.

“Last question,” the professor began. “What is the answer to the trolley problem?”

The question barely left the professor’s mouth when the blond boy gave his answer, “There is no answer. Either run over one or run over three. Choose your guilt.”

You stared at him, mouth agape. Of course he’d have an answer for the trolley question. Such a basic question with such an answer but he was still able to answer it faster than you.

“I won’t say if that’s right but it’s certainly an answer,” the professor said. “Now get out, time for maybe your next class! I don’t know, I don’t know all of your schedules. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

Almost everyone got up at one time, quick to collect their things and head out to whatever was next for. You were no different than them, packing up your things, but you did so with a smile on your face. It was a good first class of university. You smiled thinking of the last few minutes of class and how exciting it was. Pulling your backpack over your shoulder, you made your way out of the classroom and into the hallway, on your way to your next class. You managed to get in a few steps before you noticed someone walking right in step with you.

“Good game.”

You turned to see the platinum blond guy walking next to you.

“Yeah, sure good game,” you scoffed. “You got the last question so I do applaud you.” You smiled at him.

“Well, I’m Aemond. Figured you might want to put a name to a face. Also I thought it might be nice to have one friend while I’m here.”

You gave him your name. “One friend? Well, I’m honored to be the one.”

The two of you walked in silence before you asked him where he was off to next.

“Oh, I have Literature next,” he answered,

“Guess we’re heading the same way then,” you told him.

The two of you shared a smile when he leaned down.

“I’ll still beat you in every class,” he whispered.

You looked him straight in the eye. “We’ll see about that, Aemond.”

His name felt nice on your tongue. It was comfortable, something that seemed familiar even though you’ve never said it before.

Continuing your way to class, the two of you made some small talk. Once arriving at the classroom you took seats next to each other.

This professor was not really no nonsense, but more like she was ready to retire. Her fire for her class wasn’t there. Throughout the class you and Aemond made eye contact, having your own conversation of how boring this class was. It was a lot of eye rolling and eyebrow raises.

“Excuse me, do either of you have anything to say regarding Lysistrata?”

“Um…” Aemond blanked at being caught.

Guess this doesn’t happen to him much.

You smiled smugly to yourself at the thought.

“I think there’s nothing too deep about Lysistrata, to be honest. It’s supposed to be a comedy. All this crossdressing is just supposed to be funny.”

“And who said it was all cross dressing?” The professor asked, hand on her hip.

“It's an ancient Greek play. If it were actually put on during that time period it was usually just guys dressed up. Maybe they weren’t as obvious but they were still dudes playing women,” you said matter-of-factly.

The professor’s lips thinned as she nodded and took your answer. You smirked knowing you got under her skin. Looking over at Aemond you saw the amusement in his eyes. You winked at him before turning your attention back to your professor who was very obviously done with your bullshit.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully, just a few less eye rolls because apparently you and Aemond were not subtle at all. Class droned on and on. The professor let her bad mood get in the way of her teaching so she was snippy with every question asked. Eventually, you goaded Aemond on enough to ask a question.

He raised his hand. “So, professor,” he began, “what is your take on, um, authors putting themselves in their work. Is it valid?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course it isn’t valid. It’s lazy writing to write about yourself in a fictional matter.”

“Are you saying that Dante’s Inferno is not a valid piece of work?” Aemond smirked.

The professor’s face blanched. “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean-”

“You just said that it isn’t a valid piece of literature. Dante’s Inferno is one of the most studied pieces of work yet it is obvious that Dante is inserting himself into his own story.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she waved him off.

“So you’re just going to dismiss it? I thought I saw it on the syllabus that we’d be studying it later this year and -”

“Yes, later this year, so please let’s wait until then, shall we? Thank you mister…”

“Targaryen. Mister Aemond Targaryen.”

If it were possible she paled even more. She simply nodded and went back to her lecture. Much like your professor, your eyes widened when you heard the name as well. Targaryen. Aemond was part of the Targaryen family, one of the richest and most prosperous business companies out there. It's been one day and the one friend you've made will probably be one of the most powerful men in business.

Class soon ended after Aemond’s smartass question; which was one of the best things you've ever witnessed. Aemond finished packing up his things, well his one notebook and pen, and waited for you to gather yours.

“That was an entertaining class,” he smirked. “Loved your comment on Lysistrata, I mean, you were right.”

“You were such a menace, it was great,” you laughed.

The two of you walked out in step with each other and joked about the class. If this was how each Literature class was going to be, it was going to be an entertaining semester.

Unlike the first two classes your schedules diverted from each other. You went to your next class, Latin, alone. There was no real reason to take the class except to earn the credit. The first class was basic introductions about declensions and such, breaking it down to the barest of bones. It was interesting, you got to learn about the history of Rome as well, something that has always piqued your interest.

You were hoping to meet up with Aemond again around lunch time even though you two never made a plan. Walking through the cafeteria you looked at the many options of food. All of them not looking so appealing. You settled on a safety food, pizza. After you grabbed your pizza you sat down at an empty table, hoping for either no one or a specific someone to pull up a chair. Instead of Aemond, however, a guy with wavy dark brown hair took his seat across from you.

“Sorry, there's really nowhere else to sit. Mind if I?” He asked.

“Um, sure. Seat’s not taken so you're all good,” you said.

Another attractive guy. Great.

You shook your head from the thought. At least you were willing to admit it this time. It took the entirety of the philosophy class to admit to yourself that Aemond is very attractive.

“My name's Jace, by the way,” he offered a little wave. “First year student, not really focusing on anything, just getting a generalized degree as of now.”

“I'm majoring in philosophy,” you replied and gave him your name.

You felt the presence behind you before you heard him.

“And I'm Aemond,” he practically growled. He turned to you. “This guy bothering you with his inadequacy?”

“No, he's -”

“I'm just trying to be friendly,” you were cut off by Jace, whose eyes were now hard.

“Yeah, I know plenty well how you can be friendly, Strong,” Aemond spat out.

Jace got up from his seat. “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond’s cruel smile spread across his face but you interrupted them before either of them could do anything stupid.

“Okay!” You interjected. “I can see that there's some bad blood so let's just take a breather.” You turned to Jace. “I guess I'll see you around.” You turned to Aemond. “Let's go, you obviously need to cool off.”

“I don't need to cool down,” Aemond argued, “I just need to know he's never going to bother you again,” he looked pointedly at Jace.

“Relax, Aemond, it's no big deal. Let's just go.”

You pulled him along to get out of the cafeteria and to the adjacent building.

“What was that about?” You asked.

Aemond shrugged his shoulders. “It's…complicated. I don't want to get too into it but our families aren't exactly the best of friends.”

You raked your brain trying to remember if there were any other competitors when it came to the Targaryen business but none came to mind.

“I won't push you but I'll take your word for it, Aemond.”

Silence hung in the air, comfortable enough but not too comfortable.

“Where are you off to next?” You broke the spell.

“I actually have to meet up with my mother to go through some business things. Since my siblings don't really want to take the family company it's landed on me,” he sighed. He looked tired.

“If that's the case then I'll see you tomorrow, then? Maybe breakfast?”

“Maybe,” he pondered for a moment. “At least we know for sure we'll see each other on Wednesdays.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Well, I'll see you then, mister Aemond Targaryen.”

“Please, just call me Aemond. It's way too fancy to put mister in front of my name and tag along my last name.”

“Whatever,” you bumped his shoulder.

With one last laugh Aemond left you to your own devices as he went off campus. Luck just had it that your dorm was in the same direction he was going. When you saw his vehicle, however, your mouth dropped.

Of course he rides a fucking motorcycle.

It was a sleek black with a personalized license plate on it that read “Vhagar.” Aemond walked up next to it and ran his hand down the body of the bike before turning to his helmet. He pulled his hair back in a low ponytail before grabbing the helmet and putting it under his arm.

You didn't think he could see you but he turned around and made eye contact with you, giving you a knowing wink. Your cheeks heated up and you gave him a smile and a nod before making the rest of your way to your dorm building.

Walking back to your dorm you couldn't help but think about Aemond Targaryen and how lucky you’ve been to befriend him, on the first day of classes, no less. Already the academic year was looking up and you couldn't wait for the rest of it.

Tuesday came and went. You didn't see Aemond except for a brief time at lunch. The two of you quickly exchanged the encounters of your classes before his alarm went off to head to another class. Who you did see for a decent amount of time was Jace.

You had just taken a seat in one of your elective classes, Eyes of the Seven. It intrigued you. Never being a religious person yourself, you found the depths of religions to be interesting, to say the least.

Pulling out your laptop once again, you felt someone sit beside you. Excitedly, you turned to them, assuming the person to be Aemond. Instead, it was Jace who occupied the seat next to you. Your smile slowly dropped to an unimpressed sneer.

“Oh, it's you,” you said.

“Yup, it's me,” Jace replied. Despite your cold demeanor he kept up a kind face. “I'm sorry about yesterday, I didn't know my cousin would come in and cause trouble.”

Cousin?

“I didn't realize you two were related. He called you Strong.”

Jace tensed up. “Technically by blood, yes, I am a Strong, but I am also a Targaryen from my mother's side.”

Strong. You've heard that name before and now it clicked.

“Your side of the family is trying to get rid of Aemond's mother as head of the company,” you explained.

Jace looked sheepish. “That's one way to put it, I guess. It's complicated.”

“Sure, complicated.”

“While I wouldn't mind explaining the whole family fiasco to you, I believe our class is about to begin.”

The professor walked in the room, his presence demanding.

“Welcome to Eyes of the Seven. This will not be an easy class. Take your notes and you should be fine. Don't take them, and suffer the consequences,” he clapped his hands. “Let's get started, shall we?”

Unlike your classes from yesterday, there was no fun banter, no competitive knowledge game, no wise ass comments. In fact, you found yourself to be quite bored. You tapped your fingers absentmindedly as you listened to the lecture.

“Not as interesting as you thought?” Came a whisper from Jace.

“No, not really. Now shut up, I'm trying to listen.”

Jace chuckled; a sound that made you want to punch him. While you didn't know him very well, not Aemond, you still took Aemond’s side. You couldn't deny that there was something that intrigued you about Jace as well, though. Maybe it was his genuine kindness and desire to become a friend. Either way, you'd figure it out.

Wednesday came and you couldn't be more excited to start the day. You woke up feeling great, you did a little stretching; this day was going to be a good one. Picking out your outfit, you couldn't help but think about Aemond. Oddly enough, Jace popped in every now and then as well and you tried to shake away those thoughts. As you picked up your things and headed for the door, you thought about more snide comments you could make in Literature class.

When you arrived at Philosophy 101 Aemond was already in his seat. Next to him was a backpack in your seat.

“Did you save this just for me?” You sarcastically batted your eyelashes.

“Don't want to be stuck next to someone inferior, so yeah,” Aemond shrugged, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face.

The professor strolled in. “Now that we know a little more about each other, time to get to the nitty gritty.” He announced.

You raised an eyebrow at Aemond and gave him a sly smile. Another day, another challenge. You and Aemond have made an unspoken agreement that each class you shared together would be a competition. No high stakes, just bragging rights and pride. It was simply a way to entertain the semester and keep it rolling.

“First, for this year, Plato and his Allegory of the Cave. Can anyone tell me about it?” The professor asked.

Your hand shot up in the air, just a hair faster than Aemond's.

The words spilled out of your mouth. “The allegory of the cave is basically if you keep people confined and away from any new material, they will never grow as people and be simply ignorant of everything except for what they have been told.”

“Interesting. Anyone else?”

Aemond's hand lazily went up when no other hand did.

“It can also be viewed as ignorance is bliss, refusing to look and explore the world around you.” Aemond sat back in his chair.

“Excellent, I love these two takes!” Exclaimed the professor.

The rest of class was spent delving into Plato and some of his other theories. You and Aemond took turns answering questions, which the professor found to be very amusing. There was a twinkle in his eye, something you found to be suspicious.

“While it's the first week of classes, it's on your syllabus, so don't get too upset about it. Your project on Plato will be done in pairings and is due at the beginning of the mid-semester finals. I trust you all to pick your own partners, it's not high school. I'm sure some of you already have someone in mind,” he winked at you with the last sentence. “Dismissed!”

Aemond was out of the room before you, leaning on the wall, waiting.

“When do you want to start, partner?” He asked.

“You're not even going to ask me? Just assume?” you scoffed.

“Was there someone else in mind? I didn't see anyone else asking you,” There was a challenge in his eyes.

“Well, maybe,” you started, “I was going to ask Jace. Professor never said it had to be with someone in the same section.”

Aemond's eyes narrowed. “Don't joke with me.”

“Relax, I'm not going to ask him. He doesn't hold a candle against you,” you reassured him.

“Of course I'm better than him. Oh, look, your favorite class.”

You rolled your eyes at your arrival in the Literature classroom.

“Let's get this over with,” you muttered.

The class, much to your dismay, was boring. No opportunities for snide comments. It was really a lot of that silent conversation you'd have with Aemond through the hour and forty five minutes. There were no surprise projects announced, either, so the two of you ended your two classes together on a fairly blase note.

Since Tuesday, you've been able to avoid Jace but since it was Thursday it was inevitable. You didn't even wait for him to initiate the conversation; you just wanted to get it over with.

“Hey, Jace,” you said as he sat down.

“Oh, hey. I didn't think you'd bother to say anything to me.”

“Figured I'd start it as soon as I could do it'll stop sooner, too.”

Jace cocked his head. “Thank you?”

The professor entered and class began. Just like Tuesday, it was long and boring.

“Am I really that terrible?” Asked Jace when class ended.

“I mean, Aemond seems to dislike you enough so that's my reason.”

“You haven't even known him for a week and you're already taking his advice on people? Not a smart choice.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special,” you rolled your eyes.

“One conversation without talking of my family, Aemond included. That’s all I ask.”

You looked at him, trying to get a gauge on whether or not he was playing you. He looked sincere, so you took a shot.

“Fine, I’ll take the bait. Tell me about yourself, Jace.”

Jace cleared his throat. “I am Jace Velaryon. I have two younger brothers, Luke and Joffrey. My brother, Luke, and I are close. We’d do anything for each other. I’m loyal at heart and I put those I care about above my own self. While I’m only going for a GED right now, I do have plans for my future that I can’t quite share with anyone yet,” he smirked. “Am I doing good?”

“Are you doing good? I mean, I’m less curious about your home life and who you are more as a person but you seem to be avoiding that.”

“Tough crowd, I see.”

“Unless there’s anything else you want to tell me, I’d like to go, offense partly intended.”

“Okay,” he skirted around you to stop you from leaving. “There’s this. I am apparently very charming.”

Jace gave you the biggest shit eating grin, it was something that was enough to stop you in your tracks.

“You got me there. I guess I do find you…charming in some sort of way. Fine, we’re friends.”

“Hey, at least you don’t hate me simply because of Aemond. That’s a win in my book.”

“I’ll probably still take Aemond’s side for most things, but, yeah, sure.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you around, bestie,” Jace called as he ran away.

What a weird dude.

At least you have one other friend now. That’s better than just having Aemond but it wouldn’t have bothered you. You and Aemond got along pretty well. It was like finding a long lost soulmate or something. You shook your head. You shouldn’t be thinking along those kinds of lines, you could end up hurt.

When the weekend arrived you took the time to take care of yourself. Taking care of yourself also meant some quality alone time, which you thankfully had since you didn’t have a roommate. You were supposed to but she dropped out at the last minute, leaving your roommate-less.

You dimmed the lights and got out your favorite little bullet vibrator and laid down on the bed. After a long week, you needed this. Between moving in and going to new places and being in just a new environment overall had you tense. Pulling your panties down, you turned on your vibrator to its lowest setting. You sighed as you put against yourself, the vibrations being familiar and calming. But you wanted more.

You stripped off your shirt and bra and upped the speed on the vibrator. One hand moved to clutch your chest and play with your nipples. You sighed and started grinding against the vibrator. It all felt so good. You haven’t felt this way in months.

More.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the pillows. Your mouth opened with a strained moan. You couldn’t make too much noise, if any, living in a dorm. In your head there was someone. Violet eyes. Platinum blond hair. Aemond.

Fuck, you could feel him. His hands on you, his smart ass mouth on your own.

More. You turned up the speed one more time.

Your hips bucked against the vibrator, your other hand pinching your nipples. Fuck. It was so much.

“More,” you whispered. “Please, more.”

You felt it, that coil in your stomach, tighten, ready to snap at any second. You moved faster against the vibrator. Your other hand left your chest and went to your mouth. Biting your hand, you tried your best to stay quiet but it was just so good. It felt so good.

With one last switch of the vibrator, it was at full blast. Your whole body was shaking, everything was on fire. Your clit was so sensitive, you could feel everything.

And it was perfect.

It was almost here, that coil was about to snap.

“Please, please, please, FUCK!”

You came with yourself making a mess of the bed.

Lazily, you rolled over and turned off the vibrator. You knew you had to get up and clean everything but you wanted to catch your breath more.

Still in your haze, you murmured his name. “Fuck, Aemond.”

It was then that your eyes snapped open and the post orgasm haze went away. You quickly got up to take a shower, making sure it was as cold as you could take it. The water ran down your back and it felt refreshing, like a wakeup call. It was only the first full week. You shouldn’t be having thoughts like this.

Or maybe you should.

The weekend was uneventful as you really just took the time to vegetate and do nothing. It was a lot of work, getting through the first week of classes. You thought about the possibilities of how this year could go. Best case scenario is that Aemond and Jace don't kill each other. Worst case is that they both leave you, resulting in you being lonely and friendless. You tried to keep those thoughts out of your mind. This year would be a good one.

You and Aemond were sitting in the cafeteria going over your Plato project.

“Okay, but he said here that actors are basically liars,” you told him.

“He also said that everything they do is fake, pretty basic thinking, in my opinion,” Aemond said.

Back and forth the two of you went, getting annoyed with Plato in general.

“Why can’t I just hit him?” you groaned, putting your head down.

Aemond sighed. “Because he’s dead, remember?”

“Yeah, but I still want to hit him. Some of the theories and thoughts are ridiculous.”

“There, there,” he awkwardly patted your head.

After a few moments of whining on your part, you finally lifted your head up again to get back to work. All was going well, good progress was being made, until a certain brown-haired guy came bounding up to you.

“Hey, guys! What’d I miss?” Jace plopped himself down into the chair next to you.

“Jace…” you warned him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aemond all but shouted.

“I’m friends with this one here,” Jace pointed at you, “so I wanted to see her.”

Aemond turned to you. “You two are friends?”

“I can be friends with Jace, Aemond,” you crossed your arms.

Aemond tapped his pencil against the table. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“What’s made you so pissy about it?”

“Maybe you should ask Aemond what happened when we were thirteen,” Jace interjected. He was taunting Aemond.

Aemond’s face drained of color as he looked down. You could see that whatever Jace was alluding to was not a good thing.

“Go ahead,” Jace leaned forward. “Ask him what happened to his eye.”

“His eye? There’s nothing wrong with his eye,” you said while looking straight at Jace.

“You’ve never wondered why he has two different eye colors, why one doesn’t move like the other?”

“Honestly, I just thought he had heterochromia and a lazy eye.”

Aemond focused on Jace. “Go on, Aemond, tell your friend about the time you lost your eye.”

You turned to Aemond, finding him to look embarrassed. He was looking down and he was wringing his hands together on top of the table. Something was obviously bothering him.

“Don’t push him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“Fine, Aemond, if you won’t tell her, I will.”

If it were even possible, more color drained from Aemond’s face.

“It happened when we were thirteen. We were playing outside, you know, how kids do, when he got into a fight with some of our other cousins -”

“It was supposed to be fun, we were all supposed to be playing around,” Aemond quickly said.

“Ah, yes, I forgot how fun it is to have your eye torn out of your head.”

“It wasn’t torn out of my head!”

“You don’t get to fucking say what happened. You’re lucky I even gave you the chance to tell your side of the story, but you denied that as well.”

Aemond shut his mouth but kept a deadly glare on Jace.

“Long story short, my little brother, Luke, thought it would be fun to take a knife and use it as a dagger,” Jace said.

“You forgot the part where you gave him the knife,” Aemond whispered.

Jace ignored his comment. “Little Luke thought it would be funny to actually try to hit someone with the knife and he did. You can still see the scar -”

“- I was stitched up and told it wasn’t too big of a deal,” Aemond interrupted. “Luke got all the hugs and was told that it was an accident and that everything would be okay. For him, I guess it was. I got a scar and a fake blue eye out of it because they couldn’t give me one that matches my natural eye color.”

What. The. Fuck.

The silence was thick and all you could do was sit in it. There was nothing that you could do or say that would make the tension dissipate or to fix what was a mess between these two. Aemond and Jace were staring at each other as though one of them were about to get up and punch the other. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if it would be Aemond to beat up Jace.

“And you’ve been going around with no guilt in your head?” you asked Jace.

“I admit I have some guilt but not so much after what happened later.”

“And what happened later?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Aemond will actually tell this story -”

“Later.” Aemond cut him off.

“No, I think she deserves to know what kind of company she keeps if she still wants to consider you a friend.”

“No, I’ll tell her later, not here,” Aemond practically begged.

With no emotion in his voice, Jace said, “Aemond ran over Luke while riding Vhagar.”

“I didn’t mean to run over him.” Aemond’s voice was broken.

“Just like how he didn’t mean to take your eye.”

“He wanted to race!” Aemond stood up. “I lost control! It was raining and I couldn’t see anything!”

“...Is Luke alive?” you tentatively asked.

“Yes,” Jace replied. “He’s alive, Traumatized, but alive.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, there you go, that’s Aemond. Still want to be friends with him?”

You looked at Aemond. He was still standing; breathing hard. Reliving it all, hearing it all again must have been terrible for him. You locked eyes with him and didn’t see anger towards you, but desperation.

“Yes. I still want to be friends with Aemond.”

You saw his body relax.

“And me?”

“You’re on thin ass ice, Jace. If it weren’t for you giving your brother a knife Aemond might still have an eye. But I think we're done here, tonight. I’ll see you around, Jace,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

Once Jace left and you packed your things, you held out a hand and urged Aemond to take it. Slowly but surely, he took it. His hand was big and calloused but warm and comfortable. Your hand fit perfectly in his, almost like they were made for eachother.

“I’ll walk you back to your motorcycle,” you told him.

He merely nodded in response.

You weren’t expecting him to say anything else. He was obviously shaken by what was re-lived in just a few minutes and he certainly wasn’t expecting to do so any time soon. What Jace did was cruel, something you didn't think he'd do. He seemed so nice but when it came to Aemond all of that went out the window.

You squeezed his hand. “You okay?”

Aemond rubbed his face with his other hand. “Honestly? Not at all. Wasn't expecting that but it's whatever. I'll be fine.”

Together you walked in silence. When you arrived at his motorcycle he slipped his hand out of yours.

“Hey, be safe, okay?” You told him.

“Yeah,” was all he said before putting on his helmet and riding away.

You watched him all the way until you couldn't see him anymore. Since he left, all you could think about was Jace and his stupid choices. You'd get back at him though, it was a promise.

The next few weeks you spent snubbing Jace as much as possible. You made it a point to ignore him and to show that you were ignoring him. Aemond hung around you more often, looking for times outside of your usual classes to be with you. The Plato project the two of you have been working on has flourished. There would be no doubt that you'd both be passing with flying colors.

What was odd, however, was that he'd space out every now and then. Whenever you caught him you'd tease him about some imaginary girl he must be making up. He'd just smile and wave you off, saying it was nothing and that if it was something he'd tell you. You weren't quite sure how to make of that. You and Aemond weren't together but you'd be lying if you said you weren't slowly catching feelings for him.

Philosophy was always filled with playful banter and challenges. The professor himself found them to be very entertaining. He'd purposely pit you against Aemond, which was both embarrassing and exhilarating. Some classes you'd win, others he would. Either way, each class ended in good faith with a solid discussion on the lecture. Literature, sadly, was not as fun, but still very entertaining. You and Aemond were hell-bent on being absolute menaces in the class. Granted, you found the professor there to be incompetent so you'd both try to challenge her as often as possible.

“I can't believe you actually said that,” you laughed as you and Aemond made your way to the cafeteria.

“What? It was good obvious she didn't know what she was talking about, so I corrected her,” Aemond shrugged.

You bumped your shoulder against his. It's been about two months since the beginning of the semester and it was practically the halfway mark. Once again you caught yourself thanking whatever gods existed for placing Aemond in your life. Not only that but you couldn't have asked for a better project partner. It turned out to be something you were proud of, something you and Aemond created together with your brilliant minds. You two together just made sense, intellectually only, of course.

“I'm gonna go grab some food. Claim a table for us?” he was handing you his notebooks.

“Yeah, don't worry about me,” you called out to his fading figure.

You laughed to yourself as you went to your unofficially assigned table that you always sat at. You and Aemond always took turns getting food first, refusing to leave your things unaccompanied. While it wasn't common, and there wasn't much to steal from either of you, you figured it was better safe than sorry. You tapped your fingers on the table. You were getting hungry. Standing up, you craned your neck to find Aemond, which wasn't exactly hard. You saw him, with his food as expected, but he was looking down at a girl, a smile playing on his lips.

You didn't like that. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. You and Aemond never hinted at anything but you thought you were getting closer. Your feelings were definitely becoming more apparent as the time you spent with him increased. It was only when you saw both the mystery girl and Aemond walk towards the table that you sat down and pretended to look busy.

Aemond came up to the table, smiling in a way that warmed your heart. He never smiled at you like that.

“Hey, this is Floris. She's in one of my other classes and I wanted you two to meet,” he said.

“Oh, hi,” you introduced yourself to her and forced a smile, hoping it didn't look fake.

“It's so nice to meet you! Aemond has told me so much about you!” Her eyes smiled when she turned to look at him.

“Wow, that's so cool. I've, um, never heard anything about you,” you awkwardly offered.

“That's so weird, Aemond and I are so close!” She placed her free hand on Aemond’s arm.

It was barely noticeable but you saw his cheeks heat up just a bit. He looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

“...You're close?”

“Oh, when we were younger our parents knew each other and they wanted so badly for us to date. Remember that, Aemond?”

“Earth to Aemond?” You waved your hand in front of his face.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Yeah, I mean she's not just from class. We just so happened to meet up again after years of being apart. My mother, specifically, told us we should date. She wanted our families to be closer.”

“And, actually, his mother’s wish came true!” Floris interlocked her fingers with Aemond. “He just asked me out!”

You stated at them. This couldn't be happening. “You asked her out in the cafeteria?”

“Not the most romantic place, I admit, but I couldn't wait. We were beating around the bush for a while.”

You forced a smile. “Congrats, guys. I think I'm actually gonna head back to my dorm.”

Aemond stopped you as you got up from your seat. “You're not going to eat?”

“I'm not feeling well. I think I'll just lay down. I'll see you guys later.”

You schooled your face into what you hoped was a neutral expression and quickly walked out the cafeteria hugging your backpack to your chest.

This can't be happening.

Aemond can't actually be dating someone. You swore up and down that it was fake, that it was a joke he was pulling on you. As you walked back to your dorm your mind filled with images of Aemond with Floris. Aemond and Floris on a date; Aemond and Floris kissing; Aemond and Floris together on Vhagar; Aemond and Floris making out. It was too much. Tears burned, threatening to spill, but it wasn't until you were safe in your bed you let the flow and mourned for what was never to happen.

The time came for you and Aemond to turn in your project and unsurprisingly you two passed easily.

“We did it!” You exclaimed.

The two of you were claiming your table in the cafeteria.

“We're a good team, you know that,” he pulled you into a hug.

Aemond doesn't hug you often, he doesn't hug often in general, so you savored this moment. You took in a deep breath and inhaled his cologne. For just a few seconds you could pretend it was you he was dating and not Floris.

You heard her before he let you go.

“Did you guys pass?” Floris yelled from across the room.

Aemond waited until she was within arms reach then pulled her in for a quick kiss. Your heart broke at the sight.

“Yeah, we did!” He smiled at her. That same smile you never got.

“I'm so happy for you both! I know you've worked your butts off.”

Butts. Because of course Floris doesn't swear.

You gave her a painful smile.

“Well I'm gonna grab my food and head to my dorm and eat there,” you told them.

They were too busy snuggling together and looking into each other's eyes to fully comprehend what you said.

Aemond practically dismissed you. “Yeah, I'll see you around.”

You did as you said you would, you got your food then went to your dorm. Watching them cuddle while you were eating would make you throw up. The thought of it almost makes you want to.

You didn't understand. You and Aemond were getting closer. There were even moments where you swore they might have been signs that he liked you. The small touches on your arms when you were studying; him putting his forehead on your shoulder when he was frustrated. It would make sense that he was flirting with you but it turned out to be false.

You don't know how long he was talking to Floris but it was enough for them to rekindle whatever they had when they were younger. The way he looked at her was the way you longed for him to look at you. He said that his mother wanted to bring the two families closer together, whatever that meant. You assumed it had to do with bringing the two companies together. Whatever his mother planted in his head took hold and he held on to that.

All of this made you feel sick. Every night all you wanted to do was cry and hug yourself. Nothing made you feel better, not even self care nights, and you tried. You tried so hard. So many things reminded you of him, specifically anything that had to do with psychology. You couldn't even think about homework without thinking of him. Movies would remind you of him. Romantic comedies used to be a source of comfort but now it just reminded you of how lonely you were.

Since Aemond and Floris started dating he didn't hang around you much. The only times you would even be able to interact with just him was during your psychology and literature classes. Even then, though, things were off. Your banter wasn't as exciting anymore and he made less and less witty comments in literature every week until he wasn't saying anything at all. Dating Floris changed him and you didn't like it one bit.

You were on your way to your philosophy class when you saw them. Floris was pushed up against the wall as Aemond trapped her in a passionate kiss. His hands were roaming up and down the side of her body and you could hear their soft moans. It broke your heart so badly you felt it in your chest. You made the decision to skip class that day. The pain of sitting next to Aemond would be too much to bear.

As you quickly walked away from the scene before you, you ran into Jace. Unluckily for you, there were tears streaming down your face. You couldn't help it; the dam broke.

Despite your disgust at Jace for what happened in Aemond’s past, you'd be lying if you said you still didn't find him charming. He was still kind to you, the times you've interacted in class.

“Woah, hey there. What's wrong?” Jace caught you by your arms.

“Fuck off, it's nothing,” you tried to get him to leave.

“You don't show negative emotions. You don't cry. Will you let me be a good person and help you?”

Torn between leaving him and telling him, you found the need to have a friend, to have someone to talk to, more pressing.

“Aemond. Aemond and Floris. That's what happened.”

“Ah, yes. I heard about that. Can't say I'm surprised, though.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”

“You're upset that they're dating?”

“Me crying about it doesn't make it obvious? Use your fucking eyes, Jace.”

“You fell for Aemond, didn't you?” There was a twinkle in his eye.

“I…yes. I - I think I did.”

“From what I remember when we were younger, Aemond was only friendly with Floris, nothing else. He's stupid not to choose you,” he cupped your face in his hand and wiped a tear away.

You looked at him with big eyes.

Why would he comfort me?

“I have an idea,” Jace started.

You gave him a wary look.

“Let's show Aemond what he's missing.”

You cocked your head. “What are you suggesting?”

“Be my girlfriend. Well, not really. Be my fake girlfriend. I don't mind pissing off Aemond and this certainly will.”

“You want us to fake date?”

“Yes, I thought that was clear.”

You took a moment to think it though. Dating Jace would certainly make Aemond upset. As far as you knew he still considered you a friend, however distant he may be.

Closing your eyes, you made your decision. “I'll fake date you, Jace.”

A smile spread across his face.

“With conditions!”

“Of course.”

You cleared your throat. “Only in public are we dating. Once we're in our dorms the fake is gone and we're not dating anymore, so no need for couple-y texts or anything and we’re absolutely not sleeping together.”

“I can do that, though the no sleeping together part kinda makes me sad.”

“Shut up,” you continued on, I'm okay with PDA as long as you're not groping me or trying to swallow my soul through my mouth.”

“So, kisses are okay?”

“Little ones. Have to make it believable, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, makes sense.”

“Then we're good.”

You held out your hand for him to shake it.

“A handshake?”

“It's a plan, a deal of some sort, so yes. Now shake my damn hand.”

Jace extended his and clasped his hand with yours.

“I'll see you around, girlfriend,” Jace gave you a quick smile before heading off to his dorm.

Watching Jace walk away, you thought of the plan you just agreed to. Fake dating. You hoped this would work. Aemond was protective of those he cared about, that you knew. So you dating someone he loathes might be enough for him to wake up. On one hand you felt a little bad for Floris, she deserved to find happiness as well, but you wanted Aemond, the one you fell in love with. Floris can find someone else.

#fics by bean #hotd modern au #aemond x reader #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond oneshot

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pearlywritings · 1 year ago

Text

A 'family only' day

synopsis: there is a special day every month that you get to spend with your husband and kids while everyone else is dismissed from the manor.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader, your twin sons Rufus and Lucas

tw: fluff, domestic moment, a tiny bit of intimacy, twins are five in this one

word count: 4.5k+ words

Family AU Masterlist

Strong pair of arms have you pinned to a big warm body, wide chest pressing to your back, legs interlocked under the pushed to the waist blanket, and face buried in the nape of your neck. Calm deep breathes blow your locks a little, stray hairs tickling your skin, making your shoulder jerk involuntarily. Even through the thick veil of sleep you are highly aware of how clingy your redhead husband is. There is so little space between your bodies left, even his nose is pressed just beneath your hairline and lips practically on your neck.

Despite loads of work he had to fulfill every day the man isn't a morning person at all. Most days he forces himself out of the bed, chanting a mantra in his head that the earlier he starts, the sooner he can give all his undivided attention to you and your boys, sleeping in only on weekends that you made him declare a 'no-work days' or, how maids in your mansion like to call it - 'fun only' days.

One might ask, why not 'family only' days? Well…

Your body stirs when Diluc unconsciously brings himself flash to your back and suddenly the heat is all too palpable. Groaning in discontent you squirm, trying to get a little bit further from him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead the muscles on his scarred arms flex and you can almost feel bulging veins through the thin fabric of your nightwear.

Sleep is slowly leaving you.

With another groan, which transforms into a yawn, you attempt to at least stretch, arms reaching forward and back curling, the small of it pushing directly into the man’s stomach, which makes him huff. The lock of arms relaxes a bit. Gripping the sheets as far as your hand could reach, you try to scoot away from him, but Diluc grunts, this time flexing his legs around yours.

“My flame…” you almost miss him sigh your little nickname out with the way his face found refuge between your shoulder blades. “Don’t go…”

“Dear,” stifling another yawn, you quietly chuckle. Secretly, despite his high body temperature feeling uncomfortable, you are very much enjoying his neediness and desire to stay close. “We have two fireflies to take care of.”

“Just a little more…” He drawls, pressing a kiss to the open patch of skin. Humming, distracted by his drowsy words and sweet gestures, you fail to notice when the arm squished under your body moves higher. His hand gently envelops your breast and gives it a light squeeze, a big palm completely covering the globe.

"Love…" You murmur contently, taking a hold of his other hand, still wrapped around your middle. "We can have some time for ourselves in the evening. Boys will be here soon."

"Let me just… Feel you…" his voice is still hoarse, and for Archon's sake, here he is, softly fondling with your tender flesh, planting slow kisses to the side of your neck. There is no rising desire, just sweet intimacy the man felt like he was depriving you of the whole week, and it feels so comforting that your lashes tremble in the eyelids’ attempts to not slide close. "You are so soft and fit in my arms so nicely, I don't want to let you go…"

"But I need to get to the kitchen, 'luc,” you try with more firmness, turning in his hold the best you can, ending on your back eventually. Diluc releases your chest and instead buries his face in your shoulder. The short hairs of his stubble tickle your skin when his jaw goes slack in a yawn.

“Why should you…”

“Of course because you cooked breakfast last time, so it's my turn. The boys are all yours, love. Come on, I know you want to see them and cuddle while I am busy with food.”

Just as if on cue, you hear shuffling footsteps with muffled conversation in the corridor and feel the man scoff at your side.

“They are not wearing slippers again,” your husband is finally more present in reality, reaching a hand to rub at his eye. “How many times should we tell them that it can be chilly in the mornings, especially with maids on their day off.”

“Hundreds and hundreds of times,” you snort in amusement. “Still can’t believe your hearing is this good. Guess those are the perks of being the Darknight Hero.”

“Oh please,” Diluc rolls his eyes and then onto his back, wiggling his arm from under your body and draping it over his stomach. Even a decade of being together doesn't save him from your occasional teasing regarding his night outings. Good thing he is the man of utter patience and his love for you can only be rivaled by one he feels for your sons.

Just as you sit up and properly stretch, there is a series of knocks on your bedroom door.

“A moment, babies!” You shout loud enough for them to hear, and then turn to look down at Diluc, whose hair is beautifully spilling all over the pillow like a blazing flame and whose other arm is shielding his eyes from the sunlight entering through the window. It must be pretty late already.

“Don’t pout, my fire,” you murmur gently, bending down and kissing the corner of his lips. To your joy they curl in a small smile.

“I am not, love.”

“Promise?”

He peaks from under his arm and nods with an even softer smile.

“Promise. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

With one of your many small morning rituals completed you untangle yourself out of the blankets and get out of the bed, adjusting the nightclothes and marching to the door.

Two unruly manes of red are what meets you in the doorway, and then two pairs of gleaming ruby eyes, staring up at you with so much indescribable love and happiness, your heart is about to give out.

“Good morning, mama!” Twins exclaim simultaneously, reaching their hands up. You instantly bend to wrap your arms around their small bodies, for a moment lifting them just above the ground, making them squeal softly.

“Good morning, my little fireflies. How was your night?”

“I had a dream!”

“I had one too!”

You gasp in excitement.

“You did!? Will you tell us all about it during breakfast?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” seeing delight written all over their cute faces you can’t remember what life was like, when you didn’t have these balls of sunshine to love, to cherish. Your heart throbs, weak for them and not enough to contain all your affection. But you'll smother them in kisses later, you have a mission.

Straightening up, you think Diluc had enough time to prepare himself mentally and physically for his sons’ pouncing attack, so you step aside to clear the path for the twins.

"Boys, papa wants a hug!"

They do not have to be told twice - just as you finish talking they already sprint towards the bed. You escape the room leaving behind the giggles and the groans.

And this is usually how your 'family only' days start. Once a month you have a day when all the winery staff is dismissed, leaving just you, your husband and your boys at the manor. At first this decision was made for the sake of a married couple who'd just become parents to two beautiful boys and needed to operate their time better and to make sure that not more than necessary is put on the maids' shoulders. Sure, your sons never felt unloved or as if dad or mom was absent, but with Diluc's hectic schedule it is hard to spend the whole day seeing both you and him - it usually is either you or him, with joined moments here and there. Eventually you both loved the idea so much that it became a permanent occurrence, something akin to a tradition. And boys absolutely love it too, especially when you invite the Alberichs over. After all, they are family.

Getting to the first floor you start the fire in the stove and put a kettle on it. Armed with a knife and a cutting board you begin chopping some meat to grill to go after porridge - kids took great liking to rice imported from Inazuma and semolina from Snezhnaya. Oh, right, you'll need milk for that…

Soon the mouth-watering aroma fills the kitchen

By the time the pan stops sizzling and the casserole is moved to a colder part of the stove so as not to boil off, it has probably been half an hour already. Cutting the bread you can't help but have half a mind to go and shake your boys out of their daze in case all three decided to succumb to the land of dreaming again. However, putting the plate with steaming meat in the middle of the table in the dining area, you hear the heavy footsteps traveling the second floor and descending down the stairs. And sure enough, looking up gives you a delightful sight. Shirtless Diluc with each arm occupied by a widely smiling boy, both their arms wrapped around dad's neck and cheeks pressed to the sides of his head. Glancing lower you notice slippers dangling on their feet - now you see what took them so long, Diluc made them return to their room and dress properly.

"Smells delicious," the man sighs, walking to the table, and you readily accept the younger twin in your arms. Lucas giggles, burying his face in your neck.

"'course it does, my dear meat-lover," you tease him softly, following his example and putting your son in a chair close to Rufus. Your husband then proceeds to the fireplace not so far and crouches down to prepare the wood. Meanwhile you wrap napkins around the twins' necks, fingers combing through their hair to get fiery stands out of the way.

"Babies, what do you want for a drink? Tea, hot chocolate or any kind of juice?"

"Tea!"

"Wolfhook juice!"

"And mom, can you put two cubes of sugar in my tea?"

"Sure, Lu. And then some coffee for us," Diluc nods in gratitude, done with his task to light the fireplace later, and walks behind you to help with the rest of the dishes. Or more like get glued to your back with arms loosely wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder, watching your hands work little magic on the drinks. When you step to the side, he moves with you, and it reminds you of all the times you got in front of him in the tavern, back pressed to his chest and eyes focused with wonder at his hands' skilled work.

"Did you really bring them all the way to their room to get slippers?" You feel him nod, stubble rubbing against your skin again, which makes the corner of your mouth twitch and then curl in a small smile.

"You have no idea… It's like they've played kickball the evening before. I wasn't surprised to find Lucas's under Rufus's bed, however when I spotted Ru's on top of the wardrobe I started to fear for the chandelier in their room, and their safety as a result."

"No kicking shoes policy in our house?" You hum and Diluc shakes his head almost immediately.

"It'll hardly help."

"I mean they are your kids. And by the stories Kaeya told me it's not hard to deduce from whom the troublemaker gene was inherited from."

"You can't trust half of what he says, with his tendency to twist and overestimate the events. Besides, I don't think such a gene even exists."

"Does it really matter?" You half-turn your head to face him, and the redhead doesn't miss an opportunity to leave a peck under your eye.

"No… No, I don't think so. But we'll need to have a conversation with them."

"And we will," you assure him, carefully sliding out of his embrace. "Come on, bring these," you point at a round tray with two mugs of coffee, a cup of tea and a glass of juice on it, "to the table and I'll bring them porridge. Everything else should be there already."

"Alright, my darling," he grabs the tray and walks out of the kitchen. You quickly bring two plates and lift the lid off the casserole, dipping the ladle in. But just as one plate is filled, you hear Diluc's quite loud "boys!" exclaimed in a disapproving manner, so you hurry to fill the other plate, and join your family quickly.

The sight you witness there almost makes you double over and start laughing out loud. The plate with meat has obviously gotten emptier and the little culprits have honeyed sauce all over their hands and mouths. Two sets of ruby eyes stare down guiltily, not daring to meet the same ones of their dad.

"Rufus, Lucas," they tense, because the only times one of you uses their full names is either when you talk to someone about them, or when they are in trouble. "What did we tell you about stuffing your mouths before everyone is settled at the table?" Diluc lifts his eyebrow, awaiting for their answer.

"Not to do it…" Twins sigh, eyes still trained down.

"And what did you do?"

"We did it…"

"And what do you need to say?" Diluc takes plates from you to put on the table, while you quickly run back to the kitchen to wet some cloth.

"We are sorry…" The man nods, accepting the apology and putting their plates in front of them.

"But it's delicious!" Rufus finally lifts his gaze and pouts, and for a moment Diluc almost falls for his son's adorable expression. Was he like that when he was little? Did his father have similar troubles with him? He wishes he could remember it more vividly.

Lost in his thoughts he doesn't notice when you come back and start tending to the boys, wiping their faces and hands clean. The most surprising part is that there is no spot on their napkins, despite sauce having been coating all hands and mouths.

"I know it's delicious, babies, and dad knows that too, it's one of his favorites after all, but it's common courtesy to wait for everyone before starting the meal, okay?"

"Okay…" they sigh again and put their now cleaned hands on their lap to show that they are waiting.

"Good loves," you smile, leaving the cloth on an empty chair to tend to it later. "Darling, light the fireplace for us, please?"

Your husband nods and with a flick of his wrist there is a spark in the fireplace, soon growing into a flame, cracking sound of wood filling the room.

"Woooooow," twins turn mesmerized every time Diluc uses his vision and you find it extremely adorable.

Soon all four of you are at the table - boys in the middle and you two at their sides to help them with anything they are not yet skilled at. The dining room fills with noise of cluttering utensils, excited voices of your sons' telling you all about their dreams and your content humming and intrigued gasps as reactions.

Watching Diluc entertain his babies with even wilder stories to make their dreams feel more enthralling, you can't help but feel so proud for how much he has grown. You can remember the first months, when he was hesitant to lift them out of the crib and hold them, forced to do so only for your sake when you were too tired to get out of bed at night. How stiff he was whenever one of them asked about the many scars littering his body whenever they caught him with rolled sleeves or shirtless. How he was stressing to you, worried, that he was not showing them enough affection. He always did enough, and even if it took you, twins and Adelinde a couple of years, the four of you managed to convince him of that. Even Kaeya told you that it'd been awhile since he saw his brother that happy.

Diluc truly enjoys fatherhood.

Sun is even higher in the sky when the last spoonfuls are eaten and the last gulps of drinks are taken. Boys are freed of napkins and are sent to play on the couch, while you and Diluc bring everything back to the kitchen.

"Your turn to entertain them," your husband effortlessly moves you aside and takes place in front of the sink. "Besides you cooked a delicious breakfast, that's the least I can do."

"Mmm, if you say so," you press a kiss to his bare shoulder and walk towards the exit. "We'll be waiting for you!"

"Mama!" Twins exclaim happily, rolling on the couch and you can see why Diluc got concerned - it was just one minute, and their slippers are already everywhere. Right now you can spot only two and they do not match.

"What are you two up to?" Boys grin at you from their now frozen position on the piece of furniture - Lucas on his back with his head barely resting on the edge of the seat and hair streaming down while Rufus is crossing his brother's body with his own, lying on top of him.

"Oh, playing! Lu is a mouse and I am a cat!"

"You caught me! My turn!" The younger boy complains, trying to push his twin off, yet Rufus doesn't budge.

"No! The cat eats the mouse! Aaaah," he widely opens his mouth and grabs Lucas's arm.

"Rufus!" You quickly step forward and carefully snatch the not yet assaulted limb with one hand, cupping the cat's mouth with the other. "No biting! You are not an animal, dear."

The red-haired troublemaker mumbles something in your palm, to which you only give him a look. You enjoy motherhood as much as Diluc is content being a dad, but having two kids at a time, with both of them being boys whose energy and speed could match one of a rashboland tiger from Sumeru, can be so hard sometimes. During those moments a little warning is due.

"Well… I guess I should write and send Melissa to uncle Kaeya and tell him that his nephews have been so naughty lately…" These words make them tense. "You know, and he was so glad when he promised to visit us today…"

"Uncle will come!? And Callie? And Auntie??"

"Yes, they wanted to, but now… Hm… Not so sure…"

Rufus instantly tears your hand away from his mouth and, clutching your fingers tightly in his smaller ones, looks at you with determined eyes.

"And if I say I won't bite?"

"Hmm… Only if you promise."

"I promise!"

"Will you keep it?"

"Yes!"

"Alright, then they will be happy to come," boys cheer, rolling on the sofa again, but this time to sit properly.

"When will they come?"

"Around noon. We still have plenty of time to get ready and maybe go for a walk by the lake."

"Oh, dad will beat slimes!" Rufus throws his fists forward excitedly. Truly, the creatures are common there, coming from Dragonspine and settling on the lake not so far from the Winery. Diluc always makes sure to clear the area before kids can go and play by or in the water and the oldest takes great interest in how skilled his father is with a heavy claymore. Once he tried to lift it - thank Archons he realized after a minute it's impossible and didn't get hurt.

But that’s for later. Now you carefully pry them from each other and sit in-between, happily welcoming both in your embrace as they sprawl themselves in your lap.

“Mama is so warm…” Lucas murmurs, blissfully smiling and burying his face in your stomach. Rufus is resting on his back with head on your thigh and fingers tugging and playing with yours.

“She is,” He confirms his twin's words, eventually pulling your hand to rest on his chest, which you do, reaching the other one to put on the younger boy’s back.

“Thank you, fireflies,” your smile is so tender and your features turn so delicate, that Diluc doesn’t dare to step further into the room, frozen in the doorway, eyes not leaving your lovely face he kissed so many times and will do so many more.

“But you know who is even warmer?” Your gaze flickers up and the man knows - he’s been caught staring. It really shouldn’t, you’ve been together for so long, but still it brings soft flush to his cheeks.

“It’s papa!”

“But mama is softer,” Diluc approaches you three and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your skin lightly. You can't help but chuckle.

“Sure I am. Now, since dad is done with the dishes, off to the bathroom, we have teeth to brush and hair to comb. Diluc, please be a dear and find their slippers.”

The man dramatically groans.

It’s almost an hour later when your morning routine is done, clothes chosen and boys are helped to dress (they love choosing their own clothes though), you and Diluc are also done with your beautiful tea-length dress and your husband’s vest suit. He looks so damn good in brown, so it’s not a surprise you attacked him with kisses. Which kind of backfired, because as of now he doesn’t want to let you go, caging you in his embrace and giving your neck a sweet kiss.

"Mmm, I think you can add a necklace to your look, my flame," he hums low, glancing at the mirror behind you. "Yes, it should look good. How about that choker with a heart-shaped pendant you bought not so long ago?"

"You really think so?" He lets you turn in his embrace, but not stray farther, and lowers his head to kiss your shoulder as you are regarding your own reflection with sharp eyes. "Hm, it seems likely, let me try."

Diluc moves your hair aside and waits for you to fasten the tiny lock of a pretty piece of jewelry. It hugs your neck just right yet you still tug a little to make sure it's not tight.

"You look gorgeous," the man smiles, abandoning his place behind you and taking it by your side.

"Says who? The most handsome husband in all Teyvat," you tease and the loving tone of your voice makes his heart flutter.

"Just don't let Kaeya hear it. He will not stop complaining," and you laugh.

"Nuh, he'll surely only smirk and say that he is the sexiest then," Diluc rolls his eyes.

"Sure he will. Can you get the kids? I'll go grab my claymore and check on Melissa."

"Of course, dear. See you at the front door."

Sharing one more kiss you part your ways with Diluc heading downstairs and you walking to the twins' room. There you find both sitting on Rufus' bed, clearly making plans about what they are going to do when uncle's family arrives.

"Oh, oh, you think they'll be on horses?"

"They will! Maybe papa lets us use ours."

A horse walk huh? That sounds nice. Your and Diluc's stallions should be well-rested as you haven't ridden them in a couple of days. Besides you have two amazing grooms working at the Winery stables, taking care of all the horses you own to help the workers with transportation.

"Then I want to sit with- oh, mama! Hi!" Lucas widely smiles upon your entrance and jumps onto the floor, quickly followed by Rufus. Your gentle gaze travels over their cute grinning faces, fiery bangs framing sparkly gem-like eyes. Today they, surprisingly, both opted for ponytails, though Lucas chose a high one, while his brother - a low one. The younger twin looks extremely adorable in lemon yellow shorts and white short-sleeved shirt and Rufus gives a bit maturer vibes with gray shorts, black suspenders and a similar shirt. With relief you notice that their sandals have not been kicked off.

"Hey, baby," you eagerly take their hands in yours, squeezing with affection. "Ready to go for a walk with me and dad? Who knows, maybe we'll meet your uncle's family in the process."

"Yes"

"Let's go!"

And just like that you are tugged out of their room. The way to the front door is short, but Diluc managed to beat you three to it. Here he is standing, with the heavy weapon easily balanced in one hand, while the other gently petting the falcon's feathers. Melissa is occupying one of her favorite spots - on his shoulder, flapping her wings a little and making impatient screeching noises - she is a young bird after all.

Sharp golden eyes stare at you three, but there is no malice, maybe just a tiny bit of judgment for taking so long. Giving her a sheepish smile, you earn a chuckle and a fond gaze from your red-haired partner. Upon walking closer you then notice Diluc's whole left arm - from shoulder to his wrist - clad in a leather sleeve to protect both clothes and skin from his bird companion's claws. All of these - the claymore, the majestically looking falcon, the gear, the gorgeous suit, and a high ponytail with thick locks cascading down his back, creates an otherworldly image of your husband.

"Hi there, handsome~" You can't help yourself from a little flirting slip of your thoughts, grinning when light pink dusts his cheeks.

"Says the beautiful one," he gently murmurs, and your heart melts. Before you can shoot more sweet compliments and tease each other for a little bit longer, two whining voices interrupt the moment, drawing both of yours and Melissa's attention back to the twins. They look discontent.

"Mom, dad, ew!" They tug on your fingers. "You promised the walk, let's go, let's go!"

You share an apologetic, but loving look with Diluc, and he reaches for the handle to twist it and push the grand door open.

The air is filled with loud laughter and splashes of crystal clear water. The falcon is contently soaring in the sky, observing the Dawn Winery grounds with her keen eyes.

She spots a lone horse, a beautiful raven black stallion trotting to the wonderful direction, and the horseman is all too familiar to her. With a resounding cry, she dives down and smoothly glides along her path to the Cavalry Captain, who lifts his head and shades his eye from the bright spring sun.

"Looks like we are being welcomed," he smiles, spotting his brother’s winged companion. Sitting in front of him Callie also glances up, squinting, but eventually making out the silhouette of a nearing bird.

“You think she’s gonna sit on your head again?”

“Only one way to find out.”

And sure enough - once Melissa reaches the two, she immediately lands on Kaeya’s head. Mindful of her claws, she quickly settles there with a content squeak, earning the girl’s giggles and Kaeya’s sigh.

“And why am I not surprised…”

Just like that they continue their path, only hurrying the horse a little, eager to share this spring afternoon with the Ragnvindr family.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #dadluc #genshin oc #genshin impact fluff #pearly family au

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frozenjokes · 1 month ago

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time loop prison au except scar is the human sentenced to years of solitary confinement and cub and Cleo are the unfortunate kitty cat souls that stumble their way into his den.

tw: cannibalism, self mutilation, blood and gore, brief depictions on skin and hair picking that may be triggering for related disorders, general freak shit

Scar might not be human anymore, but he used to be. It’s unclear what happened to him; really, the people working on his case are trying to figure it out to keep this from ever happening again, but Scar was too destructive to keep on Earth, and maybe more importantly, too unafraid of hurting himself and others to understand what’s going on with him in a timely manner.

They send him to space. Scar used to love space, he did, but it means nothing to him now, not when he’s been deprived of the sacrifices he was surviving off of, the power that motivated him, that made him strong- was it so wrong to eat? Scar doesn’t care much for morals, only the wildly unfair way he’s been treated since he’s been apprehended- Come on! He wasn’t doing anything wrong! If he believes it will score him pity, he’ll claim innocence, though get too close and it’s the last mistake you’ll ever make.

He never once bothered with the puzzle. Not that he would ever have been freed anyway.

Scar smells like rot, pungent and overpowering, and maybe that’s because despite his still beating pulse, the body has been long dead. It bothers him though, it does bother him, but ever-charismatic for the cameras ever-watching, he tries not to let it show. Cruel of the humans, exceedingly cruel not to give him a companion. These types of prisons usually held two or three, didn’t they? He wouldn’t stink so badly if he just had that taste of flesh, any access at all, he was sure of it. He could go back to the way things were before, bright and beautiful and perhaps a little bit blood stained, but for the most part he cleaned up after himself. He wasn’t a monster for heaven’s sake! Or maybe he was. He identified differently depending on the day.

If he hadn’t been thorough with his clean up before, then he certainly was now. He did not like that he smelled. He had to make it go away, he did not know how, but he did have one idea, another desire so critical to his existence that the man who once lived in this body truly did not know how he’d gone so long without it. Overcome with that heady longing, he gives in and feasts on himself. He can not smell the rot over the stench of his own blood. And despite the fact that this does not work, that he is still rotting from the inside out, he finds a new excitement with his own skin. He wants to taste every part of himself.

Scar considers this phase of his prisoner life to be a brief bout of insanity, an age that he has long moved past. He still needs to eat, he needs it, and along with the desire for flesh of others, a lust that still rings unbearably strong in him, his own meat has been added to the menu. However, the way he engages now is far more civilized, more controlled, and when he bleeds out or dies in any number of ways, he knows exactly when and how these deaths will take place, and he never over indulges; if a plan is created, then it will be followed exactly. He makes sure to walk the people on the other side of the cameras through the entire thing first, tells them they’ll need to keep him accountable for his own self inflicted suffering, that he has to be good lest he be punished. He has never allowed himself to be punished before; at the back of his mind he knows they care not for his game, but to have this fact confirmed would ruin all the fun. He maintains his control.

But again, while the gluttony of self mutilation was a temporary relief from the hunger and the smell, he still stank.

Scar was fastidious with his cleanliness, he hated his body, he always felt dirty, and no amount of clawing at his skin would make it any better. Moles, hair, bumps, and imperfections created by past scars, they all had to go, they had to be destroyed. Scar was always bleeding, a constant of his existence, but that was alright, because blood could be cleaned, and while Scar never felt clean, there was a certain relief that fell over him during the act.

Scar did not sleep. He needed to sleep; his body did at least, but never once did Scar lay down to rest, and passing out from exhaustion was no different than dying.

And then the ship would shake from the blast of the explosion, and Scar would be frozen, shaken with the prospect of opportunity.

Two catfolk, ambitious, perhaps to the point of stupidity, but in their defense, they did not know the kinds of prisoners the humans locked up in these high profile cells. In most cases, it would have been reckless to break into one of these ships on purpose, but the danger would not stem explicitly from the inhabitants inside. If you knew this, if you were careful, perhaps the resources would be worth the risk.

Cub was dead within seconds of their first encounter; in future loops Scar might take his time, but he knew well that to keep his new companions, he had to kill them first. Scar was shot four times before Cleo was taken down as well. Scar circled the entire ship, hoping there would be more than two. Perhaps delirious from blood loss, he had been trying to clean up after his own blood trail before he collapsed.

The second round, he was so overcome by his hunger that he failed to kill Cub before moving on to Cleo, feasting over her corpse and shot dead in the act, five or six times before he truly stopped moving. Cub succumbed to his injuries soon after.

And for the next loops, Scar was hunting. He could think of nothing but hunting, eating, so consumed by his need to eat that he did not even realize his quarry were not human, that the flesh he so often tasted but could not swallow was not actually the kind he’d been craving. He persisted, regardless. Relentless. Unyielding. Being shot, even several times by both invading parties, was not enough to stop him from taking at least one of them down, and most days injuring the other.

But over the course of time and many, many loops, the mental strain stays. They all still needed to sleep. Adrenaline and terror kept Cub and Cleo awake, while Scar had gotten his fair share of meat. He was not able to indulge the way he would have liked, yes, but the thrill of a hunt more than made up for this desire, and after years of deprivation on Earth and in prison, Scar was finally, finally full. So one loop, over twenty four hours of combined time being awake, Scar left his bed and collapsed.

Cub and Cleo were waiting for his attack. It never came. With great caution, as they had been ambushed before, they explored the ship and eventually came across him, unconscious on the floor. They shot him dead. He never fought or moved. And so it was over. Without adrenaline keeping them on their feet, the both of them had no mind for anything else but sleep. Over the course of a nightmare so horrific it was difficult to accept as real, both catfolk slept soundly, curled tight around each other on the other side of the room. Scar was still dead when they woke up. Of course he was. But with this came the processing of what had just happened, and where exactly they were trapped.

They had no access to any forms of communication to Earth. No way to call home. In reality, both of them knew the risks of what they had just done, but neither had imagined the consequences to be so severe.

Over the course of their first twenty four hours here, both catfolk had died to a variety of the ship’s many traps, mostly trying to escape Scar. But even at their most careful, they were not used to this environment. Cub, headstrong and sometimes careless because of it, triggered the trap that killed both of them. Perhaps the two of them would have been a little more aware of their surroundings if they were not glued to each other’s side, but alas. What’s done is done.

In stark terror, they woke up in the next loop, waiting for Scar to come to them. There was a certain amount of learned helplessness here, having shot a man seemingly immune to bullets so many times, that neither cat really expected their means of defense to work. Maybe that’s why when their guards were finally down, when they were finally resigned to setting out through the ship to look for the human that plagued their new life, they only froze when the left door opened, and Scar poked his head through.

“Hello :3,” he said, perfectly friendly. And then they shot him dead. Over the next couple weeks, months even, this was how things went. Long enough at least that Cub and Cleo were beginning to feel the strain of being trapped here, wanting to know what had changed, why this stranger, previously monstrous, had been nothing but friendly over the past.. seven or eight times they killed him. Clearly he did not hold grudges.

Scar could not have been more delighted not to be shot dead on sight! What polite gentlemen these aliens were, he had never met an alien before, though he did have a cat once, before.. Well, no use dwelling. The catfolk would get no opportunity to speak or ask questions, Scar talking nonstop as he declared a grand tour. He would not even stop to breathe, almost as if he forgot he needed to, wheezing through the words he couldn’t quite force out until he was literally blue in the face, then was forced to stop, taking a few seconds to breathe. If Cub or Cleo said anything during these break periods, Scar would deftly ignore them, continuing on as if no one had spoken. There would be no getting through to him, not this loop at least, not before he turned on Cub in the middle of his speech, stopping suddenly for the more appealing venture of eating a man alive. Scar did not stop trying until he was physically unable, his head and by extension jaw blown clean off. Cub did not survive this encounter, leaving Cleo alone.

And so more loops pass in a similar fashion as before, shooting Scar dead the moment he showed his face, though, it was obvious by now that if he intended on hurting them from the beginning, he would not die so easily.

When Scar was first given the opportunity to speak, neither Cub nor Cleo were expecting an apology.

“It’s been a while..” Scar had shrugged, waving a hand dismissively, “They’re not kind to me like you are back on Earth. I got nothing. Nothing to eat, no one to talk to.. This has all been so cathartic!” And it surely was, wasn’t it.

Better to keep Scar dead than alive, a dead Scar was the only good decision to do with him that the catfolk could have made, but alas, with an alive Scar there was a certain kind of hope, a kindled flame that might draw light to the dark of their hopeless situation. Scar could help them, if he wanted to. He could give them information, tell them anything that might lessen the burden of this situation, tell them how long they were going to be stuck here.

Scar was uninterested in those kinds of questions, nor was he the kind of man to give anything away for free.

As time and loops passed, Scar was less sporadic, less unpredictable, and would go full days without attempting to dismember one or both catfolk. When he wasn’t violent, he was truly amiable, curious; he wanted to know things, know about their lives, domestic habits, he wanted stories, and really it did start to seem like he wanted the normalcy of their lives for himself, though he couldn’t quite grasp it. There seemed to be a separation from the Scar that just wanted to talk for hours about the benign, and the Scar that tore out their still beating hearts, devouring everything as one or both watched.

But there was no difference. If there was ever a man in that body, the smell of rot that exuded from his skin should have been enough of a tell that he was long dead.

Easier, perhaps, to go blind to the smell. To excuse small instances of cruelty, growing larger every passing day. What do you do if for a fraction of the information you’ve been yearning for, he asks for your flesh? He asks you to watch, he asks your companion to stand by while you take it. What if he asks you to eat each other? Surely it’d be worth it for a call home, right? Scar sure thinks this is reasonable, and he’s been so kind this past week, hasn’t he.

You grow to fear those long periods of peace. You know he’s waiting to ask for something bigger, something worse, something you know that one day, you won’t come back from.

When Cleo is dead, killed and consumed by your hand, he asks for your body. He knows his is rotting, that he can’t stay here much longer, not after his prison sentence is over. He needs a new host. He’d like it to be you.

What if he told you he could bring you home? If in exchange for your life, he could ensure Cleo’s was preserved. People don’t last very long outside of these prisons.. and after all the horrible things you’ve done up here, would you be able to live with yourself anyway? Would Cleo?

I can take it all away. I can make sure you both survive.

And of course you want her to survive. Of course you do. It was you who suggested they go along with Scar’s demands in the first place, pull those pieces of information from his teeth, it was so reasonable at first, not anything he wouldn’t have taken anyway.

It was you who suggested she steal from one of these human prisons with you. It was you who got her into this mess. You made her a monster right beside you. You wanted her to survive.

So of course you accepted. Was there ever another option?

#tw: cannibalism #self mutalition #hermitcraft #hermitfic #tw: violence #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #zombiecleo #sclub #convex #vex scar #possession #bad things.#timeloopprisonau

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hogans-heroes · 6 months ago

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can i ask about the learning curve wip? maybe get a snippet? 😊

Of course! My most beloved wip rn, my chaptered Alex pov. I made a descriptive post about it here and posted a snippet here! (with mini visuals). But I'll give you another longer snippit because I love you and your writing! (Also, as much as I love this fic I've been getting stuck with it lately so am writing other stuff atm. Will get back to it very soon).

Alex’s dad was a psychologist, and boy would he have a field day at Stalag Luft III.

He could practically hear his father’s voice in his head as he watched the guys mill around the camp compound, narrating their actions and picking them apart to gently expose what was inside, for their own good, to study them like wild creatures who in extreme circumstances often reverted back to cavemen, to more raw forms of behavior.

He can’t use his words, his dad would say. Because at some point he tried and tried and tried, and they never worked. “To hell with this,” the brain says, “we’re gonna go back to the basics,” and that’s usually physical expression.

There’s really only two core emotions at the heart of a human. If you keep peeling at the bottom of every action and reaction, every visible emotion, you’ll find either love, or fear. And they’re usually connected. That’s all humans are really made of.

So his dad might have gotten a little philosophical too. At least it gave Alex more thoughts to keep himself busy and not go crazy locked up. It was fun in a way, collecting bits of information and arranging them like a child would blocks. That Bachelor of Science degree in Chemistry and Biology he had earned before the war wouldn’t do him much good if it didn’t at least help keep him alive for the duration. The camp was only a new study he could apply the scientific method to.

So far it had been going well, and every piece fit together in its place. The one thing Alex could not grasp however, that was driving him crazy, was the two majors from the 100th.

Egan and Cleven? Buck and Bucky? John and Gale? Alex wasn't sure what combination of names he should be using or even who was who most of the time, but the names always went together. Not a single person Alex had encountered had ever used the names separately. The way prisoners talked about them, anyone would have thought they were some dual-soul deity the stalag had built a religion around, yet since Alex had been assigned to their barrack room all his careful study of them had only resulted with a handful of pieces that didn’t fit together. Major Gale Cleven “Call me Buck,” with eyes that could pierce your soul like an x-ray and “just” John Egan. Buck, whose impossible gentleness was at odds with his rock-wall presence at the front of his men, and Egan, who treated Alex like a disease though it didn’t seem to be for the usual reasons, he treated everyone that way, walked around with volcanic ash trailing from cracks that Alex wondered if only he could see. What pieces Alex had gathered of the two of them wasn’t the same as what he was hearing from the 100th. The supposed yin-and-yang duo vacillated like a metronome between hostile and devoted and it drove Alex insane.

Pain shot up his leg and he caught himself on Daniels’ outstretched arm, jerking him back to his body moving one foot in front of the other and two comrades beside him, having lost count how many times they had circumnavigated the camp. They were passing their own hut again and this time Buck was sitting on the steps with his nose in a book, his messy hair fallen over his forehead and long fingers clenching the worn cover with more force necessary for a book on native plants of Ireland (Alex had read it the week before). He remained laser focused on the page with a furrow in his brow, scars on his cheeks contrasting sharply with the soft angles of his face, and Alex jumped when Macon knocked him on the arm.

“Pay attention man,” Macon quipped. “We’re still on for our escape, the last thing we need is for you to adopt some sad-eyed White boy.”

Alex wasn’t sure if he should be insulted, but frowned anyway. “Buck’s my friend,” he retorted.

“Oh it’s Buck now? That’s a fuckin’ major, man. A squadron commander with more flight hours than actual goddamn birds and you’re calling that Buck?”

“Just don't get too attached,” Daniels interjected. “The less people we trust here the better.”

The image of Buck sitting in the library with his chin on his knees, gentle blue eyes giving undivided attention as Alex explained some fighter plane or science subject made his stomach twist at the suggestion of not trusting him, or even worse, leaving him behind. Alex had spent most of his life being teased for being too soft, too kind, too trusting. He’d gotten himself in a bad spot several times because of that too, so he probably should be more careful, but sue him, he was tired and aching inside and Buck had actually listened.

#my mota fic #Learning Curve #mota #masters of the air #thanks for the ask!#alex jefferson #john egan #gale cleven #clegan #buck x bucky #Alex pov fic

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lighthouseshepard · 7 months ago

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uhhh you asked for asks???

srry i feel so self conscious rn

clingy human john!! do with that what you will :D

i love ur writing so much btw, like three of ur works are in my comfort fic bookmark collection 💖💖💖

WHAT IF I CRIED SJHFfj. thank you so much ;_; your art srsly sustains me 💖💖

and thank you for the ask AAAA! this was really fun to write out!! it got... a bit away from me length-wise. but i just really love clingy human john <3

He senses the hands poised and waiting on each side of him before he even opens the fridge.

John was never one for subtlety. He was crafty, certainly, and intricately aware of his own innate cunning to get what he wanted, often to the annoyance and detriment of everyone around him. Manipulation by default carried its own brand of skillful deception, an artform of hiding partial truths in favor of what you wanted others to believe instead. But rarely did it require him to be totally discreet in those aims - and even now when he had grown so far beyond the king he used to be, his lack of remaining subtle in every single act grew with him.

"John," Arthur says slowly. "Can I open the refrigerator, please?"

Those arms wrap around him before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth. John holds him loosely as he comes to stand just behind him, draped like so much heavy wool, the differences in their heights never more apparent than when he rested his chin atop Arthur's head.

"I don't know," John muses thoughtfully, "can you?"

Arthur sighs, fighting helplessly against the curve of a smile. "It's only been five minutes since I got up," he recalls. "I told you I was coming back soon enough."

"Mhm," comes the indifferent hum. His breath stirs a few wayward strands of swept back hair. John's own long black curls had spilled over his shoulder, tickling the side of Arthur's cheek. "I missed you, though."

"Five minutes," he emphasizes, attempting and failing to reach up and grip the refridgerator's handle. "You couldn't wait for me that long?"

"I got bored," says John nonchalantly. "It's too cold in there."

"What do those things have in common, exactly?" he asks airily, giving into a grin.

Rolled eyes go unnoticed as John hugs him tighter, chest pressed against his back. "The heating is out," he clarifies as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I was impatient waiting for you to come back. You're the warmest thing in the house right now, ergo, I came to find you."

"I see." He nods sagely. "Ever the survivalist. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death. May I have my hand back, please?"

"Can I have it when you're done?"

"Yes, John, Jesus Christ," Arthur laughs, the sound dancing joyfully around the tiny kitchen. "I just need a moment."

With a grumble, he relents, releasing the left hand only. Arthur's other remains solidly trapped under the reach of John's left arm, fingers brushing the backs of scarred knuckles absentmindedly. It grounds as much as it distracts, and when he's finally able to open the door and stand sightlessly in front of the cool draft wafting out, he forgets entirely what he was going to make.

"What are you looking for?" John asks him, unconsciously mirroring the thought. His chin hasn't moved. Every miniscule movement of Arthur's he matches, the two of them swaying imperceptibly in place.

"Something to eat, clearly," he says drily. "Any suggestions?"

John shifts briefly to put both palms on either side of his waist, feeling the curve there. "Something fattening," he recommends. "It's still like grasping a slip of tissue paper."

Arthur huffs, but doesn't give in to the gentle ribbing. "I'm trying, alright? I’ve a lot to make up for."

"Try harder. More of you means more for me to hang onto."

It had been this way ever since they'd gained him the body both had worked so hard to achieve. From day one John had clung to him like someone starved of affection his entire life - and in all aspects of the phrase, he very much was. Out in public they tended to keep a lower profile, relying on the indiscretion of linked pinky fingers when walking or shoulders bumped playfully against one another, but rarely did it satisfy their longing for the comfort of simple touch. At home, safe from prying glances and safe in each other, John followed him almost everywhere he could. Usually his excuses were believable enough for Arthur to concede to them, but after a while John gave up pretending altogether.

In complete honesty with himself, Arthur would never have turned him away, false reasons for wanting to be near him or not. He would drape himself over Arthur's neck while he played piano, something he knew tickled him enough to lose focus; he cared very little about this, only lamenting the stall of music. He would lay his head in his lap while John described the movie they were watching, eyes fluttering shut when wandering hands played with his hair, losing the plot entirely. A bed empty on one side soon became the two of them slotted neatly together, neither looking for anything more than someone to breathe next to, hold through the small hours of the morning.

All those eons alone, Arthur thinks to himself as he reaches for the bread. All that time spent denied any tangible adoration or connection, unable to consider what that could even mean, too large in the scope of his unending dominion to conceive of something so plainly momentous as two hands coming together. No wonder he was ravenous. It must have felt like finally being let inside after staring for so long through the glass.

All that history behind him, and it only made him want to feel loved. In this, Arthur could resonate well.

"John?" he asks, setting the bagged loaf on the counter. John follows behind him, still wrapped. Arthur could have stood on his toes and had him walk them both across the room if he wanted to.

"Hmm?"

"What's it like?"

John blinks drowsily. "What is what like?"

"Being able to touch, I mean. I know you had my hand, of course, but with your own body I imagine it's much different to experience humanity through."

John considers this as he watches the sandwich forming, not bothering to help as Arthur struggles to grab a plate over John's cemented grip. He'd mulled it over on multiple occasions, tried numerous ways to explain it. All his eloquence went out the window when faced with such a question, simple on its face but possessive of an entire linguistic ocean underneath.

His mouth opens, a half formed sentence lingering there, before promptly closing. Arthur winces at the tap of his jaw against the top of his head.

"Ouch?"

"Sorry."

He can't find the words. Perhaps he didn't need to. This source of physical consolation and the way he coveted it would have to be enough to make him understand. The sensation of fresh cotton clothing, skin warmed by the sun casting its narrow beam of light across the kitchen floor, muscles and joints and a collection of scars all silhouetted into a body he had once lived in, and now knew as well as his own: it's a humbling wonder.

But Arthur sighs, and this description too leaves him. So instead he settles.

"It's nice," he says quietly, reveling in the sturdy softness within his reach that he would be forever grateful to share. "It's nice."

#caspost #malevolent #malevolent fic #thank u for the ask again!!! this rlly helped me feel less in the 9pm lonely hrs #hope this doesn't have typos fjrnjgnf #if it does u may shoot me #izel-reblogs #i also hope u like it!!!!!

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icarus-does-fall · 8 months ago

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The safeword comfort fic!!!

It's an Astarion x gn reader <3

(I *can* write gendered pairings but as a trans guy I just like the gender neutral things, everyone can relate that way🤷‍♂️)

.𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤. .𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.

You and Astarion had been on again, off again lovers- Or so more easily explained as friends with benefits. You could put up with his rude sarcasm and haughty behaviours and he trusted you enough to open up about Cazador- That was the first night the two of you slept together too.

It wasn't on purpose, hell neither of you even expected it to happen, but with there being a new moon in the sky, all the stars were visible as the two of you talked. The emotions were running high and as Astarion shared his part, his scars with you it was almost instinctual to reach out and with a feather light touch run your hand over his jagged skin.

He gasped at the touches. No one had ever touched him so softly… so reverently. Then of course one thing led to another and then more nights like that started happening, you waking up covered in bite marks and Astarion with nail marks down his back.

Every night between the two of you was pure bliss, until tonight at least.

His fangs were sunk deep in your neck, you’d never given him permission to fed off of you but that didn’t mean you didnt like it when he bit you either, but after a particularly rough fight- One where he and Karlach almost died you’d finally given the okay for him to fed.

The only problem was that he was getting too lost in your blood, and how it tasted to pay attention to much else at the moment. The more he mumbled about “how divine you tasted”, and “how he wanted to devour you,” the more your vision started to blur and spot. While it was enjoyable at first, the pain and pleasure mixing, the pain was starting to overtake the pleasures he was giving you at the same time.

So with bated breaths and your eyes fluttering closed, you gasped out the words you needed to make Astarion realise that you couldn’t go any further, tears brimming your eyes. “ “Starion… I can’t- D-d… fuck ‘Starion Donnybrooke! Pull out, stop, please.”

Astarion paused, the word sending him almost rigged before he blinked, pulling himself back to his senses and pulled away from you. Both of your bodies were covered in sweat, in slick, and cum but Astarion also had blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth. His tongue flickered over his lips. “Oh my divinity~ I pressed too far didnt I?”

Astarion carefully pulled you into his side, there weren't many things in his overly long life that he found himself caring about but you- By the gods above, you were his treasure, even if he didn't have any claim to you. Gently he caressed your hair and softly kissed your forehead. “Are you alright my firelight?”

You curled up into Astarions side, your head left light and you were dizzy, the tears falling down your cheeks didn't help any either. “I’m okay… I’m okay, just too much too fast, the pain wasn't fun anymore.”

Astarion wiped away your tears, pulling you into a gentle kiss before he softly kissed at the bite mark he had been drinking from and licked away any of the dried blood, all before moving down to the rest of your body, to kiss and caress every bite, every bruise and every scar on your body whether he was the one to leave those marks or the fight was.

“My apologise dear divinity, it has simply been some time since being allowed to feed from someone who doesn't fear my touch. How may I help pleasure you into ease, into safety instead?”

You nestled closer to his chest and let your head fall against him, your body aching and sore as you tried to regain your senses. “Just hold me for a bit, yeah? I know… I know we don't really cuddle but yeah…”

Astarion laughed softly and continued to hold you against his chest, his fingers being entangled in your hair as he nuzzled against your cheek, his other hand casually drawing soft circles along your thighs and your scars. “Oh my divinity, I cherish every moment that I get to have you in my arms, never think I would never want to hold or… Cuddle you~”

You smiled up at him with a soft laugh and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. You never knew how but no matter how rough and wild the two of you got, his hair always looked perfect. Hell in your eyes this sarcastic bastard was perfect but somewhere in the back of your mind you knew things wouldn’t work if you two became serious. He’d outlive you, outlast you, but that didn’t stop you from loving him while you could.

“Have I mentioned that I love you recently? Because I do… You always know just how to touch me to make me feel safe.”

Astarion smiled down at you and kissed your forehead. “You have, but I would quite appreciate hearing you saying more often~”

You huffed and pouted playfully, lightly smacking him on his chest. “Oh you pompous ass, just shut up before I stop saying it at all.”

Astarion laughed loudly and kissed you softly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck before peppering soft kisses up your neck and along your jaw. “I know my little flame, I’ll behave, I promise. I just enjoy teasing you~ And it’s not often you complain either.”

You giggled and blushed while you rolled your eyes. “You're an idiot ‘Starion… Hmm… We have any cocoa left?”

He raised an eyebrow at your change in conversation but smiled softly anyway. “I don't believe so but for you my divinity, I'd give you the world~”

Your blush darkened slightly and you cuddled closer into his side. He pulled a blanket over the two of you, after all he wasn't exactly known for his warmth. “Again, you're an idiot… Just now you're a cute idiot.”

“Oh darling, you flatter me but we both know I am radiant~ More so than cute will ever be. You on the other hand, you my darling are the divine light from the heavens themselves and desperately adorable”

You were really flustered now, and blushing a bright red. “I- you- Shut up Astarion! I’m just me, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Which is why you deserve all those compliments, all the praise. You are a divine creature and deserve everything, more than I could ever give you.”

You smiled softly and gently caressed his cheek. “You give me everything that I want-” You giggled and kissed his nose. “I’m safe with you.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you and he sighed softly. You cared, you loved, you were warmer, more so than anyone he’d ever let into his life and he was afraid to break that. Afraid to break you. But as long as you'd let him, he’d love you with his entire being.

In a voice barely above a whisper he spoke in an awed and almost reverent way. “I love you my divinity, may I have the honour of making you mine?”

You looked up at him, mouth agape as your words failed you. Of all things you thought you’d hear Astarion ever ask you, ever say to you, this was never one of them.

“Me? You're choosing me? ‘Starion, are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure my flame~ I never make a decision without being confident in case you have yet to notice that.”

“Then yes of course I’d be honoured to be yours! Just… be more careful next time yeah?~”

Astarion chuckled and nodded in agreement. “You have my word~”

#safe word #fluff #comfort #astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #vampire #biting

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retrospective-d3c-a--y · 7 months ago

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Just like him.

cw: kid whumpee, immortal whump, kidnapping, rape mentions, lab whump, religious undertones (sacrifice/angel/sin talk), suicidal whumpee (no attempts bcz he doesnt think its possible but is happy to die)

It feels like all Orion's ever known was the pain of living. He had been captured at 18, memories before then long gone... Orion was used for sex, tortured till he couldn't breathe. He was called an "angel". They were sure he must've been sent to them to sacrifice for the sin they created. To free them. Their savior..

They thought they had killed the avian-human the first time they finished using him. They shot him in the head as mercy. To thank him for saving them. Blessing them.

Orion woke the next day groaning from the healing pain, every stab and gash slowly closing itself up.. Still in blood curdling pain, but every wound nearly gone, reduced to thin scars and scratches... He must've really looked like an angel to them then; one they couldn't help but see dollar signs in.

Years or maybe centuries later, Orion has been sold, sold, and sold.. and sold again. The prices only got higher, the pain fluctuating but still so horrible. Tested on for "science". For fun. If they thought him to be a savior, why were they treating him like a beast-! Damn the gods they prayed to...

He'd lost himself to it all, giving in. Nothing mattered to him with this quality of life. Even his regeneration was slowing down, as if it was finally giving into his wish to die... for it to all just end...

Until instead of healing himself from the gash on his fore, his disemboweled guts, or even the scratches on his chest, his regeneration seemed to stop. Hours went by.. days... his owners began to think it was broken- that the legendary item had finally given out... Taking DNA samples and leaving it to die...

Orion figured he must be dying, too. Maybe god was real, after all... saving him from this hell. Please, let me die. Its been enough... please, he'd beg to the empty room, pleading to it. He showed all the signs... so much blood loss he couldn't think... his breath shallow and labored.. his mind finally allowing himself to feel oh so tired... his body giving into rest...

But it wasn't his time. Not yet. As Orion blacked out and was so happy he was finally free... out came a small child from his stomach; what would've been a premie baby, if it had been born more regularly. He woke up to her little cooes only an hour later.

She was... beautiful.

Orion couldn't help but feel and instant bond with her... feel a need to protect her. Just like him, she had bronze feathery wings.. little claws for feet.. light brunette hair... her eyes were blue, however. Unlike him, hers reflected the sky she'd never get to see... the ocean so far and so free...

But she cried, as every baby does and would... and he didn't have a choice. He had to hide her, protect her from these people's evils.. If there was even a chance to keep her hidden, even at the expense of more pain... he would. He had to.

So he held her still in his lap... with his talons, he slowly traced the vibrating cords...

Just like him, all she would know was suffering.

He would have to do it again. And again. And again...

He pulled back, tearing up a blanket instead.. gagging her best he could. Wrapping her up. Trying to make his baby go silent. He just had to pray they'd get out of here one day *soon*.... he'd have to be brave.. present. Look for an escape. please world, soon... if not us, her, please...

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papsiguesss · 2 months ago

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Ummmmm first Dooku/Tarkin fanfic draft I guess???

So I've been having very normal thoughts about these two and while I hope to write a multichapter for them in the future, for now I've written down one scene during their early days that I wanted to share here.

Word count: 4443 words

Content warnings: depiction of a panic attack, torture

(Mind you: this is the first time I've written either of these characters, I'm sorry if this seems out of character I'm just trying my best. Also this is very much against canon and I have no fucking idea how the SW universe works apart from these two. This is just me having dumb fun with a crackship that I've gotten way too fond of lmfao)

Context: during the clone wars, Tarkin was incarcerated and tortured for information at a prison called the Citadel, in the story I have for them in my head Dooku (who is on the opposing faction to Tarkin's) has heard news of that his old acquaintance is being tortured and for a reason he cannot quite put down yet, he feels the need to get him out of there. This scene takes place after Dooku has gotten Tarkin out of the Citadel, but on their escape they are being fired at by a shooting squad.

***

He thought that he had found shelter from all the blasters firing at them, but his hairs stood on end all of a sudden as a ray of pure energy shot just past his ear. Had he stood just a little to the left, he would have been shot in the head. Dooku’s eyes widened in a panic. “Stand back, captain!”, he yelled, pushing Tarkin inside of their ship in order to bring him to safety. The younger man scowled. He did not need some Separatist to protect him… what was this man thinking? He was fully capable of protecting himself-

That was what he thought at least, until he saw the count turn around, raise his arm up at the man who had fired at Tarkin and release crackling bolts of lightning from his fingertips, the electricity shooting towards his target and quickly frying the man in a few seconds.

Everything seemed to freeze around Tarkin as he saw it.

…It was his first time being exposed to electricity like that again after the Citadel.

Time slowed down around him as he fell onto his knees, his eyes widened in terror and his chest heaving down more and more quickly up until the point where he was straight up hyperventilating. Everything around him went blurry. He was aware of the blasters shooting around him, but their firing sounded like nothing more than far away, muffled noises. It was as if he suddenly found himself submerged in water.

…That was an apt metaphor, he supposed, because he felt like he was beginning to drown, as well.

It all suddenly flashed back to him. His dark, crammed cell, making him feel claustrophobic. The constant screaming of his fellow captives being subjected to the most horrific forms of torture. But most of all… the pain. The everlasting pain that he still felt after they had run bolt after bolt of electricity through his body, hoping to get information. Information that he would never give them. And with that, torture that would never stop.

Wrapping his arms around his torso, he slumped down to the ground, trembling as he could still feel the scars that he had received while being incarcerated scorch his skin, almost as if he had just been released from the torture chamber. The… the pain… he felt as if he was experiencing it all over again.

Barely feeling in control of his own body, he covered his face with his hands, letting out an agonising, bloodcurdling scream. He rolled himself up in a ball, his eyes widened in shock as he heard his own voice. Why…? Why was he allowing himself to be this distraught by seeing a simple jolt of electricity…? He was aware of the existence of Force Lightning. It was not strange to imagine that Count Dooku would be proficient with using it, he supposed. He should have expected it. Hell, it had been his subordinates that had carried out his torture! So why did this all upset him so much…?

He had to stop himself from pondering this all over though, as he came to a rather… alarming realisation. He… he was doing something that he had not done for… decennia, at this point.

…He was crying.

Tarkin froze in place, immediately falling silent as soon as he noticed his disgusting showing of weakness. How… how was he allowing himself to sink to these levels of patheticness? Had his test at the Carrion Plateau all been for nothing? All his military training… his entire upbringing… Had he learned nothing? How could he possibly think these levels of incompetence were… acceptable…? How was he still supposed to call himself a proud member of the Tarkin family after all this?

What was wrong with him?!

***

Dooku turned around again, closing their shuttle’s entrance so that they would be shielded from the artillery. He let out a sigh of relief. That had been a close one, but nothing a bolt of lightning couldn’t clear. The thought of Tarkin being shot while he was under his care, it… it was just too horrible to think about. Not now that he was finally warming up to him a bit. Not now that he had the slightest chance of being on friendly terms with his old acquaintance again.

No… he would see to it that he was safe. Hostages were to be treated with care, right? He could simply play it off as that, he supposed… but he knew that it was not like that. He still didn’t know why he had been so furious when he had been notified of what his staff at the Citadel had done with the governor as soon as they had gotten their hands on him, but as soon as he had heard it, a raging fire seemed to have ignited within him that would not cease until the captain was out of that prison. He could get his information about the Nexus Route through friendlier ways, he thought to himself. Besides, he knew that Tarkin would not give up any information under the threat of torture. He was far too stubborn for that.

…What his plan would be now that his allies were aware of the fact that he had taken a Republican soldier out of prison for no apparent reason, he did not know though. But he supposed that their first challenge would be to get out of here alive. But his companion could help him with that, he thought.

“Well, governor… I must admit that that was rather too close for my liking”, he sighed, turning around to face Tarkin. “But we are out of danger for n-”

He was cut off though, as he heard the younger man scream his lungs out. The governor was trembling on the floor, lying in foetal position as he slowly began to sob. The count was… puzzled, to say the least. “…Governor?”, he asked, taking a few steps towards Tarkin as he gave no response whatsoever. Dooku doubted whether he even heard him or not. “…Can you hear me…?”

The younger man squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily. “…N-no…”, he gasped. “No… I won’t… I never will...” The count frowned. He… clearly wasn’t talking to him. Was this Wilhuff Tarkin? The man who had been Eriadu’s governor? He seemed more like a scared child than anything, in all honesty…

“…Captain, the fire has ceased”, he said rather brusquely. “…You’d think you would not be so distraught by blasters firing after the battles you have found yourself in…” Again, no response. The man just kept on whimpering. After observing the scene in silence for a while, some semblance of concern spread across Dooku’s face. This… did not just seem like theatrics to him. He was well aware of Tarkin having a taste for the dramatic every now and then, but… this seemed serious.

Why was he so panicked, though…? It could not have been the blasters… he must have been in countless fights with them by now… not to mention the fact that the count had seen him use one without issue… so it had to be something else. But what?

Dooku crouched down, a frown on his face as he hesitated on his course of action. He could ask Tarkin what was going on, but… he seemed unable to hear him… so what now? Eventually, he decided. If the governor was not going to tell him… then he was going to have to see for himself. He knew that it was risky… but he had to know. He reached out with his hand, letting it hover a few inches away from the younger man’s forehead as he closed his eyes and focused intently.

…If words would not do the trick, then he would have to reach out with his mind.

***

“N… no…”

Tarkin was strapped down to a table, breathing heavily as his eyes lost focus. His body was covered in burns, and he feebly struggled against his restraints, before screaming loudly as they ran electricity through him yet again. He clenched his jaw, not letting out a single other noise as he seemed to be going absolutely mad from the pain. There was not a single tear to be seen, though. Nor did he let out any sob. He could not afford to show weakness. Not even now.

His torturers were blurry, not even coming into focus. “Tell us about the Nexus route”, one of them barked at the governor, before electrocuting him again. “You know that you are only prolonging your suffering, governor. This is your own doing. We would have been done with you much sooner, had you just given us the information we want…”

Tarkin spat in their face. “I’d rather die than betray the Republic!”, he snarled, gasping loudly as he was subjected to yet another round of electricity. “You’re… you’re wasting your time…”

His interrogator was about to pull the switch again, but they were tapped on the shoulder by another one of the blurry figures. “…You’ll kill him if you subject him to more”, they hissed. “He’s of no use to us when he’s been fried to a crisp. Leave it for now… Return tomorrow.” The other figure seemed reluctant at first, but they eventually acquiesced. “…You are in luck, governor”, they sneered, as they stepped away. “…Enjoy your few hours of peace.” And with those words, the group of blurry figures stepped away into the darkness.

As Tarkin was left alone in his cell, still strapped down, he shivered, his entire body trembling as his eyes rolled back into his skull. He… he did not know how much longer he could take this all. He would never even think of confessing the coordinates of the Nexus route… but he feared that his body would give up on him any day now. He… he would not be surprised if he’d never make it out of this place alive. This… this prison was to be his place of demise… He would waste away here, in pain… Strapped of all of his dignity…

…But that would still be better than betraying what he stood for…

***

Dooku pulled his hand away, his arm trembling as his eyes widened in terror. He… he knew that Tarkin had been tortured under his command… but to experience it firsthand like that… It was nothing short of horrible. Of course. He had been so foolish…

Force Lightning.

Torture by electrocution.

…Tarkin was having a panic attack… one that he had caused.

***

“…Governor?” Some distant voice seemed to be calling out to Tarkin as he slowly opened his eyes again, staring at the ground with a distraught look on his face as he wrapped around his body.

“…Governor Tarkin?”

The captain’s head jolted upwards as he heard his own name, his panicked eyes being met by calm, deeply brown ones.

…Out of all people, why did the count have to be the one to see him like this?!

He and Dooku stared at each other in silence for a while, Tarkin glaring intensely. “…Are you quite all right, governor?”, the count asked. The captain could not believe what he was hearing. What was Dooku getting at? Why was he being this friendly with him all of a sudden? How could he be certain that he did not have any nefarious plans with him, seeing that he was a soldier on the enemy’s side? Just… none of it felt right.

His entire body tensed up as he saw the count reaching out to him with his hand. Was… was he intending to use his Force Lightning on him too now? He quickly crawled backwards, gritting his teeth as he scowled at the man. “Do not touch me”, he snarled, his limbs trembling. “What… what do you really want from me? D… do you want to get me at my weakest, so I’ll give you the information you so desperately want? Is that it?!”

Dooku lowered his arm, frowning. “…Governor, I only want to help you.” Tarkin scoffed. “…Help me? I don’t need help… and especially not from you”, he sneered. “What, did you think that you were helping me when you gave the order to torture me? Was I being helped when they continually ran electricity through my body while locking me up in a tiny cell? Was I being helped when I was on the verge of death, Count? WAS I?!”

He paused, looking away.

…Why was he showing his true feelings to this man so much…?

“…You are the enemy”, he eventually continued, narrowing his eyes. “…Under no circumstances should you ever want to ‘help’ me. Why don’t you just… get it over with already and have your way with me? It would spare us both a lot of time. If your wish is to kill me, then do it. I am not afraid to die for the Republic.”

The count let out a sigh, melancholically staring down as he saw just how distrustful Tarkin was of him. The worst thing was… he could not even blame him for it. He realised now that after all the things that had been done to him while at the Citadel, it was not going to be easy to convince the governor that he had no ill intentions. He was not even actively tapping into the man’s thoughts and he could already sense the sheer anguish coming from him.

…The worst part about this all was that had he paid more attention, he could have prevented all of this.

“…Do you still remember the times before the war, Tarkin?”, he eventually asked. The captain looked up at him. He… was only using his name now, instead of putting one of his titles before it. It stuck out to him. He narrowed his eyes, but kept looking at Dooku, willing to hear him out at least.

“…Do you remember when we could talk to each other as equals, instead of enemies? When we were not divided by this constant fighting of alliances yet?”, the count continued. Tarkin scowled, rolling his eyes. “Remind me again, who is it that stands at the head of one of these alliances?”, he replied. “Oh, that’s right… you are. Bit too late to start regretting a war that was started partially thanks to you, now is it?”

Dooku looked down at the ground, his shoulders slumping down. “…You are right”, he eventually admitted, sighing. “…I am in a hell of my own making. This war… it tires me… And yet, I know that it is too late for me to turn back.”

He paused, looking back up at the governor. “…No matter who will win in the end, I fear that none of this is going to end well for me. I am too far gone, Tarkin. And I am at peace with that. But… that doesn’t mean that I will let people that I respect get subjected to unnecessary cruelty under my watch. Which… which is why I decided to get you out… despite what the other Separatists may think.”

The governor stayed silent for a while, narrowing his eyes. The fact that the count only cared about him being subjected to torture, while not batting an eye at all the other hundreds of prisoners that were being kept there, was… concerning, to say the least… But at the same time, Tarkin noticed that it did not bother him. If this meant that he would be out of harm’s way, then he was not going to complain.

Besides… the weak did not warrant any mercy. It was one of the biggest lessons that had been drilled into his head ever since he was a child. If the others were not worthy of being saved… then they must deserve what they got. Though… in all honesty, the governor was starting to see himself as one of the weak ones more and more. He was only lucky to receive this amount of leniency.

…But that was exactly why he did not trust any of this. He was not deserving of this kindness. He had never received kindness without anything in return. So why should this be any different? It… it was just too suspicious. And he liked none of it.

He looked down again. He was still hyperventilating. His entire body was trembling. Why couldn’t he just… pull himself together already? Why was he showing Dooku all this weakness all of a sudden? He… he was not like this usually… Normally, he could just stay calm and collected… He had stayed calm after the torture up until now… so why was he freaking out about it now all of a sudden?

“…I mean you no harm, governor.” His head shot up apprehensively as he heard the count’s voice again. “…I swear. Helping you calm down is the least I can do, after failing to stop your torture from being carried out… So please, let me.”

Tarkin tensed up, scowling in offence at Dooku’s statement. “I- I don’t need help calming down-”, he huffed, but he fell silent as soon as he felt the count’s hand gently resting on his shoulder. “…Yes, you do”, Dooku corrected him. “It’s only natural, really, after what happened… I’m sorry that I did not take into account that seeing Force Lightning could potentially be traumatic to you, considering… well, the nature of torture they use at the Citadel… I do apologise for bringing those memories back up. I was only trying to get us out of harm’s way.”

The governor narrowed his eyes. “…How did you know that I-”, he stammered, eyeing the count’s hand with suspicion, but not moving away. “…You forget that I am force sensitive”, Dooku interrupted, explaining this all as if it was the simplest matter in the world. “Even now, it is not difficult for me to sense your panic.”

Tarkin scowled. “Oh yes, your order is all very in tune with emotions and that kind of nonsense, isn’t it?”, he taunted. The count fell silent. The governor still associating him with the Jedi hurt him. But he guessed that with Tarkin’s snarkiness, it was to be expected. At least they could both agree on their mutual dislike for the order, he supposed. “…And you are so completely disconnected from them that you cannot even understand yourself anymore”, he snapped back. “Now, will you let me help you or not?”

The governor stayed silent for a while as he heard that. “You cannot even understand yourself anymore…” He did not want to think too deeply about that statement. What could some Separatist know about him, anyway? He was just trying to get under his skin… Not that he needed any more agitation, with this panic attack of his still not subsiding. His trembling would not stop. If anything, it was getting worse. Dooku’s last sentence… was not really helping. “…Fine”, he eventually scowled. “But only because it’ll make you shut up about this all, you got it?”

The count smiled slightly, rolling his eyes. “Of course, governor. Well… why don’t you start by trying to focus on your breathing? Just breathe in… and out… calmly. It helps a lot.”

Tarkin narrowed his eyes, trying to do what was asked of him, if only to get this all over with. A chill ran down his spine though, as he realised that he found himself completely unable to calm his breathing down. He let his hand rest on his chest, his eyes nervously darting from place to place as he could not get himself under control. What… what was happening to him? Why couldn’t he just… relax? None of this was making it any better. He… he simply couldn’t slow down his breathing. “I… can’t…”, he stammered, a puzzled tone coming from his voice. “…I- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…”

Panic took him, his eyes widening in fear as he looked up at the Count. “W-why is nothing helping?”, he gasped, feeling his chest heaving up and down more and more quickly. He looked down in terror, his heart beating more and more heavily with every passing second. He just completely froze up. He wanted to stand up, to run away, to fight off whatever was causing his fear, but… he was nailed to the ground.

…He had not felt like this for ages.

“…What’s happening…?”, he whimpered softly.

Dooku reached out to him. “This is not helping…”, he said, inching closer to the governor. “Here, why don’t you sit down comfortably for a moment-”

Instead, Tarkin tensed up even more as he saw the count approaching. “G-get away from me…”, he hissed. “I… I don’t need you fussing over me too… Can’t you see that I’m dealing with enough already…?” The count stopped immediately. “…I’m sorry, governor”, he said. “I only want to help.” The captain scowled. “Well, you’re doing the exact opposite”, he snarled. “I… I don’t need a…”

He fell silent.

“a…”

Everything around him was starting to go blurry as he felt his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears like thunder.

“Governor?”, he heard Dooku ask from far away, his eyes faintly managing to focus on him. All of the colour on Tarkin’s face drained away from him.

“…I feel… odd…”, he stammered feebly, losing focus on where the count was.

Then he fell to the ground, and everything went black.

***

The first thing Tarkin noticed again after regaining consciousness was the soft humming of their spaceship’s motor. From what he could tell, they seemed to be landing. Had they made it out safely, then?

He quickly stopped pondering over that question though, as he noticed another thing.

And that was the fact that he had been wrapped up in a piece of fabric. His eyes widened in surprise as he opened them and saw what had been tucked all around him.

…Dooku’s cloak.

The governor’s first urge was to struggle out of it, but then he realised that his entire body was still shivering and the cloak’s warmth actually felt… rather nice. It was heavier than he had expected it to be, so it applied some gentle pressure too, which was strangely comfortable. Tarkin could not remember feeling so comfortable in the last few months. He just laid there on the floor with a bit of a confused expression on his face, wondering how he could have ever ended up in this situation.

His head shot up though, as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Ah, you’ve woken up again, I see”, Dooku remarked as he walked into the room after quickly glancing around the corner in order to see whether Tarkin was still out cold. “How are you feeling?” The governor looked away, his cheeks becoming red with embarrassment as he was ashamed to let the count see him all vulnerable like this. “…Better”, he mumbled reluctantly, hesitating as to whether he should say the thing he wanted to say or not before adding: “…The cloak feels nice.”

Dooku chuckled. “I thought it would”, he said. “I would have grabbed a blanket, but well… we don’t really have those on here, so my cloak would have to do. Are you all right to stand up and walk?”

Tarkin stared at him with a confused look on his face. What kind of question was that? “Why wouldn’t I be?”, he huffed, offended. The count looked at him with a deadpan look on his face. “Considering the fact that you laid passed out on the floor a mere ten minutes ago, I wouldn’t say the question’s an odd one”, he said. The governor glowered at him. “Yes, I am”, he eventually said, rolling his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Dooku reached out with his hand to help Tarkin stand up. “You’ve probably noticed that we’ve just landed”, he said while the governor eyed his hand with suspicion for a moment, before taking it and getting up from the floor. “I want to show you our destination. A place where you’ll be safe from any prying Separatist eyes. They… were not happy with my decision to take you out of the Citadel, after all, so… best to be sure. Not to mention that you are going to need ample time to recover after the things they’ve put you through, so… I thought I’d show you. Will you come with me?”

Tarkin still glared at Dooku with suspicion. He had no idea what the count’s plan was with him, but he supposed that he could not stay in this spaceship either. He eventually acquiesced. “…I suppose I have no other choice”, he sighed, walking out of the room with Dooku. “…Though I still do not get why you are being this friendly with a captive.”

The count looked at him with a surprised look on his face. “…Tarkin, you are not my captive”, he said. “…That’s the whole thing. I took you out of the Citadel. Did… did you think that I was treating you like a hostage all this time…?” The governor shrugged. “Evidently so”, he simply said, before looking away and frowning. He… was not a captive. Or was Dooku only trying to make him think that, only to stab him in the back later? It was all still… very unclear to him.

There was one thing though… he had been out cold for a significant amount of time. And during all that time, the count had not harmed him at all. Instead, he… he had helped him, for some unfathomable reason. That was… one thing to be grateful about, he supposed?

He stayed silent for a while, before reluctantly glowering as a blush spread across his cheeks. “…Thank you”, he softly murmured with hesitation.

Dooku looked at him with a surprised look on his face. “…What?”, he asked. The governor went even redder in the face. “…I said thank you”, he muttered, fiddling with his sleeve. “…For… you know… the cloak and all… instead of killing me.”

The count chuckled softly, looking away as he rolled his eyes. It was going to take time and patience to learn this man that he had no nefarious goal with him… but if that was going to be necessary to repay him for indirectly causing him so much suffering at the Citadel… then so be it.

“I have no intention of harming you, governor”, he replied. “But it seems like since my previous dozen attempts of trying to tell you that have not been successful, this one won’t be, either. That’s all right… What’s most important is that you are all right, after all. Now… let’s go and see where you’ll be staying, shall we…?”

#fanfic draft #tarkin/dooku #grand moff tarkin #count dooku #crackship #hammer husbands #christopher lee #peter cushing #fanfic #my writing

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autisticrosewilson · 6 months ago

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First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

#Jason as a Christ like figure is funny to me #Imagine growing up with a Catholic mother going to church praying for her health #and then you find out your soul predates the mf AND he plagiarized you 😒#that's more sad than funny but you get the picture #I also wanted them all to be represented by prey animals that are actually known for being really aggressive #like birds are typically seen as Docile but Shrikes are vicious assholes #and Swans which are coveted for their grace and beauty but are actually FERAL #it also marks Grant yet again as the odd one out by not giving him a bird #I gave him a rabbit because while I did consider a sheep it didn't work as well #Rabbits aren't dangerous to humans but they are aggressive to each other and won't hesitate if you push them #but they're also very sought after for hunting and as pets #I think Tara should have a very Changeling type vibe #y'know a little bit of fae energy #Grant is very much like a cryptid to me #cryptozoology is pretty new and people are still spreading stories about them #so it feels appropriate for a younger god to be associated with #there's also every chance he DID exist before the recorded records of him #but for some reason or other there's just less of him mentioned #Jason Tara and Grant have always been three after all #So what's obscuring Grant's mythology? fun little mystery 😉#dc #jason todd #tara markov #grant wilson #New All Caste au #also I have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to Tara and fancy clothes for her #because she has SO MANY INTERESTING AESTHETICS #I also really like your skin cracking idea so I tried to individualize it a little 😊#Grant's did get kind of body horror though

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