#i want this sometimes when i hate myself and i realize i will never have a bf if i dont give it up and let them do whatever they want

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Seven: Ending Anew

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience and understanding with the uploads. I've been working six days a week and have only one day to myself where I can do basic necessities like wash clothes and clean. My bedroom has certainly paid for it and so has my hobbies. (Or lack there of) I hope y'all enjoy this seeing young adult Aemond and reader! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: sexual harassment, dubious consent, bastardphobia, implied mental illness, lots of sexism.

The distinction between those we love and those we hate can be subtle. Both emotions are directed towards an individual based on their inherent qualities. Despite this commonality, they are often perceived as opposites. Loving someone entails wanting them to thrive while hating someone involves wishing for their suffering or transformation. However, love and hate can coexist despite their seemingly contradictory nature.

Six years ago, you experienced deep affection for an individual during your youth, believing that their sun-kissed hands epitomized kindness. However, after enduring years of distress, you discovered the unexpected capability to harbor animosity towards this once beloved person. This realization perplexed you as you contemplated whether he endured similar inner turmoil.

You hated Uncle Aemond for hurting your brothers the night at Driftmark many years ago and for not responding to your countless ravens who sought to apologize and keep broken promises. But because of the love that never ceased beating in your heart, you continued to create reasons for yourself to loathe him. Despite realizing your uncle would never respond, you still sent him letters with the blind hope that someday you would have one addressed from King’s Landing, though if one ever did come, they were from Queen Alicent, and in which you promptly fed them to the fish-eyed billy goats on Dragonstone.

The contents were of anything and everything you could think of. Sometimes, you retold important events like leaving to study at the Citadel and becoming a lady of Queen Esabella of Dorne as a temporary peace bargain for what happened in the Stepstones. Other times, it was your interests, such as a new plant or a medical technique, that you learned and thought would help him with his… ailment. 

Though you heard nothing from Aemond, that did not mean you knew nothing about him. You heard rumors that he took to putting a sapphire in his empty eye socket, and while the idea was sure to inspire fear in the hearts of many, it fascinated you, wondering if the gem was smooth and round or jagged and sharp, much like your uncle’s personality. It seemed like him to fashion something such as that as he was always a bit odd, though you never minded it. You imagined the discomfort his wound might cause despite it becoming scarred. From what you understood about those with similar injuries, the person could feel the severed nerves and tissue healing themselves, the sensation like a thousand hot needles in the skin.

It was no wonder why he was gossiped to have such a cold demeanor. You hoped one day you would be allowed to see it yourself, even if you were on the receiving end. 

Some of you worried that Aemond never received your letters, thinking you abandoned him and all the promises made in secrecy. Queen Alicent wouldn’t be the one to bar them from him as she most desperately wanted you to visit the Red Keep and mend the bond broken on the night at Driftmark. You didn’t understand why it had to be you to be the one to do so. These were matters created by the ruling adults in your life, and they should have sought to fix them.

Nevertheless, neither you, your parents, nor Queen Alicent tried to mend what occurred between the family. Still, that lack of effort did not extend to your relationship with your uncle. You still wanted to fly with him as you promised some years ago.

“The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army,” Jacaerys translated from High Valyrian, his words proud but still holding a certain waver to his voice now that you weren’t there to assist him.

You stood by one of the tall metal-paned windows in the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, the ancient seat of your family, silently mouthing the words of your ancestors’ histories spoken by the Maester in your mother tongue. 

The thick, gray clouds outside cast a dull light into the room, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. You and your brother understood that your imposing maternal presence made him nervous and hindered his concentration. Over the years, you developed the habit of speaking over Jace during your studies. 

This hadn’t gone unnoticed, leading to reprimands from Maester Gerardys and your mother for not giving your twin a fair chance to learn. You only wished for Jace to be the best version of himself he could be. He was to be your King when Mother passed.

“Se Blākuata Rāsho drāñot vilinio viartis,” (And made landfall at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush) Maester Gerardys conveyed, his words slowed and accent thick to convey their meaning. 

The resounding echo of the chamber doors opening filled the air with the unmistakable clang of metal. As they parted, a graceful figure emerged—your mother, adorned in a flowing, vibrant red dress that complemented her regal presence. She moved with a poised and graceful stride, her hand tenderly skimming over her gently swelling belly, radiating an undeniable sense of maternal warmth and affection. Catching your gaze, you offered her a tender smile, and in response, she bestowed upon you a fleeting yet soft expression that spoke volumes of her boundless love without the need for words.

“Drāñot,” your mother asked Jace to repeat, but he stared at her wide-eyed, the words slipping from his mind.

Meeting your mother’s strides to greet her, you answered for him with a bright and eager-to-please smile. “The mouth.”

She flashed a tight-lipped grin and scrunched her nose, lightly nodding as Jace slouched in self-directed disappointment. “Mouth! I knew that, sister. You needn’t answer for me,” he expressed with disappointment, stomping his foot on the ground.

“If you keep speaking for your brother, he will never learn,” your mother lightheartedly scolded as she kissed the top of your head. You have heard those words for the past six years.

If Jace knew the answers, you wouldn’t have to help him, you thought reproachfully. 

You did not rush to pay attention to your twin as you knelt beside your younger brothers Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey. Instead, you focused on the youngest, Viserys. With great tenderness, you gathered him into your lap, the book Elinda brought for them cradled in your hands. 

Leaning in close to your half-brother, you whispered. “I will teach you our mother tongue once you learn to speak,” as you lovingly smoothed the silky strands of his blonde hair.

“Drāñot. Drāñot,” your brother repeated, as if the meaning of Maester Gerardys’ words would magically appear in his mind.

“And made landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush,” you whispered under your breath so no one would hear, answering for him. 

You and Jace were the same age, two bodies with one soul, yet different. You could have helped him more if Mother had not sent you away. You never understood why she separated you instead of betrothing you to Jace. She constantly danced around the notion of marrying for years, which was incomprehensible, seeing as the match was the only option that would make sense. You would rule together, and the realm wouldn’t have the same unrest they did with your mother.

“Perhaps that is enough for today,” your mother offered as Jace became increasingly frustrated with his inability to master High Valyrian.

“No!” He exclaimed ardently, holding his arm as if to stop the suggestion physically. “I-I want to keep going.” 

You smirked and flipped the page in the picture book you showed Viserys as he babbled nonsensically, his tiny fists grasping the bound leather. As you touched his plump cheek, he smelled like tallow and lavender.

Your mother allowed Jace to proceed with the bob of her head as Maester Gerardys began again. “Guēsi ropakakson Āegon ūndas.”

“Aegon gave orders for the trees to be felled,” you responded as if the question was directed toward you. Your mother quickly snapped her violet eyes in warning. You were used to that look and continued to tend to the babe like nothing happened, as Jace answered with stutters. 

“Aegon… ordered that the trees should be… killed,” he stated proudly. You released a puff of air through your nose that sounded like a laugh as Viserys took the tome with tiny, curious, grabby hands. 

“Felled. ‘Tis a related word,” your mother gently corrected as she clasped her hands behind her sturdy back. “I don’t expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace.” 

“A king should honor the traditions of his forebears,” your brother steadfastly declared as you turned with your brows raised, spine cracking. 

“That sounds like something your sister would say,” your mother expressed with a slight tightness in her tone. Pursing your lips with guilt, you returned to Viserys, acting as if you weren’t paying attention. 

That was precisely what you said to him before your lessons today. 

“Unless you plan to depose your mother, you have plenty of time to study,” she teased with a grin like she always did, her happiness becoming contagious as you returned the look over your shoulder. Jace did not share the same enthusiasm as the chamber doors opened again, revealing that of your stepfather strolling down the steps. 

You looked to Daemon grimly as he met your mother with a grave expression on his time-worn visage. She declared that you all leave the room as he entered without looking further at you and your siblings. Jace called the young Joffrey to follow him, and you and your mother’s lady took Aegon and Viserys. As you passed your stepfather, he brought his hand out, noiselessly ordering you to stop while handing your mother the sealed letter in his fingers. He traced a calloused knuckle over his son’s cheek and placed a kiss on his crown, purple orbs piercing your dark ones.

He knew of your distaste for him ever since he wed Rhaenyra mere days after your father’s death, refusing to leave your rooms unless necessary. While you never felt like the Velaryon side of your family liked you, they agreed with the unspoken sentiment that Daemon had something to do with your father’s death. You disagreed with the idea that your mother did. She loved your father in her way and, in your mind, wasn’t capable of plotting the murder of her children’s father. 

You didn’t outright disrespect Daemon; after all, he was still a prince, but he would never be someone you looked up to or went to in times of strife. He would never be your father, not even as he irritatingly called you daughter and played with the new pearl and sapphire necklace your mother forced you to wear today—a gift from your stepfather. 

You understood Daemon only did these things to irk you, refusing to play with the ruse like usual. With no sentences exchanged between you, the Rouge Prince sent you on your way with his offspring wrapped securely in your arms.

“Another raven from Dragonstone, Your Highness,” a Steward announced, holding a rolled piece of parchment sealed with a delicate blue ribbon. 

The One-Eyed Prince sat in a green armchair by the hearth, seemingly unbothered, his lithe form in thought and leg crossed over the other. He did not move. His violet eye trained on the flickering orange and blue flames. No words of acknowledgment were said, and the servant placed the letter on the Prince’s foot table as he took a long sip from his goblet in hand. 

You were always stubbornly loyal to whoever you cared for, and he thought it rather pathetic, especially when you still sought contact from him after you were met with uncaring silence. 

On more than one occasion, his mother attempted to uncover what you said to him, Aemond discovering her rummaging through his writing desk drawers. He met her with an anger he had never felt before, as if she had stolen his most prized jewels. 

The Prince told himself that he didn’t care if passersby discovered them. They were inconsequential items containing meaningless ink, and he thought they were a waste of paper until she almost found them. Although he loved his mother dearly, this was something that was Aemond’s, untainted by neither her nor his grandfather’s fingers. 

He spent many hours pouring over the subjects you wrote as he battled with the urge to burn your writings, yet desiring to fly to Dragonstone atop the Mighty Vhagar and ensure the oaths you declared in the refined loops of your High Valyrian were indeed true. Aemond never did, only having gotten as close to Driftmark and spotted the glinting silver roof of High Tide before the suffocating feeling inside his chest took hold.

Blood, screams, and horror on your face as he clung to your chest before you crushed the childish hope of being different from the rest of them.

As the Prince grew, he found solace in places he never did before, frequenting the Keep’s gardens and Godswood with Helaena when he wasn’t on the training grounds. He was never fond of the outdoors, preferring the company of a good book curled next to a simmering fire, but he discovered that spending time in those areas brought a sense of contentment, though he was uncertain as to why.

Taking one last sip of his wine, Aemond sat his silver goblet and replaced it with the rolled parchment, licking the sticky remnants away from his lips as he untied the soft satin ribbon. 

“Uncle Aemond,  I hope this finds you in good health and spirits, as I cannot say the same for myself while writing this. I have overcome a recent bout of melancholia, as Maester Gerardys calls it, and now I’ve heard that Lord Corlys was gravely wounded during an ambush in the Stepstones. Insultingly, Ser Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown to declare him my Grandsire’s successor upon his passing. This infuriates me to no end. I know if my father were still alive, he would have protected him with his life, and we wouldn’t be having such a discussion. My younger brother will be the next Lord of the Tides since our father is gone. While we may disagree on specific lines of heritage, Luke is my father’s son, and I am his daughter. I find it ironic, however, that a place that haunts him, and you, he will now have to preside over. He shall be forever reminded of the great misdeed he infringed upon you, and I do find a sort of justice in it, but I would never dare to voice such a thing aloud. Luke is my brother, after all. I love him with all my being, but a part of me will never forgive him for what he did to you. I’m sure you feel the same.  Mother said we would attend the petition to affirm my brother’s long-decided succession, but we both know the actual cause behind this. I do not enjoy discussing these matters. It boils my dragon blood whenever the false rumors surrounding my birth are brought up. Laenor Velaryon is my father and loved me as such. ‘Tis a fact that will never change no matter what lickspittles and gossipers claim.  Oddly, despite its negative connotation and history, I eagerly await my arrival at the Red Keep. Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart and mind. I hope to see you in good health and that my recommendations for your eye, which I’ve mentioned in previous correspondence, have proven useful.  Until we meet.”

Aemond did not know whether to throw your letter into the smoldering fire and watch the flames engulf the tan pages or to rip it into a dozen tiny pieces. He hated you. He loathed you with his entire being as he dangled the parchment over the orange and yellow embers, yet he could not will the rage in his heart to drop it as the heat burned his fist. Aemond welcomed the discomfort, the pain. He grew accustomed to and welcomed it until he felt the water beneath his flesh bubble. 

You were no more than a dirty bastard, a daughter of a whore, yet you flaunted riches like a Targaryen princess, unbefitting of your actual status. Aemond did not want to see you ever again, lest it be you groveling on your knees for his forgiveness. It was you who broke the vows and betrayed him, choosing your filthy, Strong brothers over him. He would never forgive you, though seeing you knelt before him as your pretty tears decorated your plump cheeks would be a lovely sight. The Prince felt his cock impulsively swell at the image. 

He abhorred you, yet Aemond meticulously placed your letter amidst a collection of others in an exquisitely crafted wooden lockbox adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. As he savored a deep gulp of wine, his gaze fixated on the flickering light evoked by your memories. It brought to mind the recollection of your unique grace, a quality that remained unmatched despite the countless attempts made by him and Aegon to find women of similar allure. The sharpness of his eldest brother’s words and the acrid scent of his breath lingered in his memory as Aegon leaned in on his thirteenth nameday.

“Worry not, brother. We’ll find one that looks like her for you. Time to get it wet.” 

Without hesitating, he flung his drink into the fire, extinguishing its voracious flames.

The ground was cold beneath your fingers despite wearing gloves as you pruned the small plot in Aegon’s Garden. Budding crocus dotted the moist area with tiny bursts of purple petals and green stems, withstanding the late winter season. Spring was a moon away, but winter refused to release its clutch on the land, leaving the dirt to keep the frigid dampness that few things could grow in. 

Aegon’s Garden was where you found yourself in strife, seeking peace and distraction in your passion. Now, with your mother’s nerves upon hearing that Ser Vaemond Velaryon decided to challenge the line of succession to the Driftwood throne, you felt the heavy burden of the future on your hunched shoulders. You felt bad about the whole situation, from your Grandsire Lord Corlys’s serious injury to the unspoken notion that Vaemond bringing this petition to the Crown was that Lucerys, and by extension, you and Jacaerys were illegitimate. The truth did not matter, not really. It was what those believed or those in power seats told those to think, and it was that you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were the offspring of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

As the King declared, you were next in line to the throne after your mother and Luke for Lord of the Tides after your Grandsire. His word was law, but it was no longer that of a King who sat on the throne but a Queen. 

“You should be readying for the journey, Princess. Your mother wants to leave at first light,” Edwina, your most loyal lady, stated. She stood with her broad shoulders squared, hair tucked underneath her white maid’s cap, and hands clasped behind her back. Though she was barely a few years your senior, she acted as if she had decades. 

You sighed, rolling your dark eyes in annoyance and sitting on your haunches. You supposed Edwina’s mothering was not unfounded, as your impulsiveness tended to lead you into regret. “I will not be joining my mother and Daemon on the ship. ’Tis much faster on dragon back,” you quipped.

“The Princess wants you all to arrive together,” your lady expressed, taking a few steps closer to show her seriousness. 

“To show a united front. Yes, I know Edwina. I could not go,” you teased, smirking, removing your leather gloves finger by finger. “I have no love for the Red Keep, my extended family, or them for me.” 

Edwina knew that was a lie. It was evident how she saw you pour over letters addressed to King’s Landing. The maid knew not who the intended recipient was, but there was someone who held a secret place in your heart. The Karstark often wondered if it was Aegon, seeing as a betrothal was whispered in the past, though that idea was quickly squashed after you had an uncharacteristic fit when she voiced it. 

“I understand, Your Highness, but duty is sacrifice. Those of your standing must do things in service to your House and family that are against your wants. I do not envy that,” Edwina offered with a half smile of pity as the pair of you entered the benevolent brimstone walls of Dragonstone. 

In response, you hummed, linking her strong arm in yours and lowering your head with a look mirrored hers. “This a small price to pay to live a life of privilege.” 

The lady nodded in acquiescence as pictures of the poor folk in line for their food rations showed in your mind. Your travels gave you a perspective that your family did not have, forcing you to confront privileges you were unaware existed until they were thrown into your face. You held a sinking feeling inside when you thought of it for days after, guilt gnawing at your heart every time you were draped in lavish dresses of Velaryon blue and adorned with lavish jewels. It sparked you to grow your plot in Aegon’s Garden when you finally returned home and give to those less fortunate despite the odd looks your family gave you. 

A similar heavy, sinking weight inside your gut returned as you thought of going to the Red Keep, seeing your uncles and Queen Alicent after what happened at Driftmark. Your guilt and shame felt as prominent as if you were the one who sliced into Aemond’s eye. You tried to reason that he deserved some form of punishment for hurting Baela, Rhaena, and your brothers, but it never worked. Your conscience was too steadfast to allow lies like that to blind you. 

Your mother planned on staying in the Red Keep for a night to spend time with her father and to renew her place at court. There was no joy in your heart to learn of her plans as you chose what dresses and jewelry to wear before supper. Though King’s Landing was once your home, it no longer held the wonderous warmth that came with a place of rest. Childhood memories spent there did not come with a smile when you thought of them. Instead, misery came to mind with lingering stares from adults and Aegon and Aeomnd’s relentless teasing regarding your birth. 

The cold, briny halls of Dragonstone were your home. Everyone loved you and your kin here, and there was no whispering behind silk fans wherever you went. The only gossip was if you would become with child before or after Princess Rhaenyra betrothed you and Jacaerys. 

After you supped with your brothers, mother, and Daemon at night, you lay within thick furs that threatened to let the frigid midnight air in. When you woke to leave, the ground would dust with the crystalline covering of frost, and you knew how Gaeli despised the cold. He would fly at your command regardless, but you would undoubtedly feel his displeasure until he resided in the heat of the Dragonpit.

This petition felt like a dark cloud looming in the distance of a clear sky, promising its threat of a storm as you soared over Blackwater Bay. Despite your mother’s insistence that you ride on the ship with her because of her pregnancy, you choose to take Gaelithox across the water. In turn, that caused your brothers to want to take their dragons to King’s Landing and leave your mother to make the journey with only the comfort of her husband, which you were sure she didn’t mind. 

It was customary for the family to make an entrance together and be greeted by the host’s kin, but when you emerged from the wheelhouse that took you from the Dragonpit, its dark caverns still the same, you were greeted by only guards. The lack of forethought and the apparent insult of the Green’s absence sent an icy feeling into your gut, causing you to itch at the skin beneath your black dress. 

The gown was not your typical style choice, as it was your Velaryon blue and pearls, but your mother wanted you to wear one of your garments fashioned in the Targaryen colors of black and red with a golden linked belt and rubies to match. She planned to present a united front before the Court and the Greens and, without it said, further solidify her and your siblings’ legitimacy to the throne.

As you stepped out of the carriage with an encouraging inhale, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, along with the nursemaids carrying Aegon and Viserys, followed after a chill running through the air. You brought your fur-lined cloak closer to your goose flesh arms, shuddering as you observed the Red Keep in all its grandeur. It was as big as you remembered, looking at the tall pale red stone towers, windows, and colliers. You felt small, the unmistakable burn of tears under your eyelids, your nose beginning to run as memories from six years ago flashed inside your mind’s eye. 

Luke and Jace came to stand behind you, taking note of your trembling lip and pink cheeks. The youngest of the two was filled with the same anxiety as you and quickly took his hand in yours—a united front. They did not know why you were shaking in your riding boots, squeezing Luke’s fist for comfort as Lord Caswell led your family inside the front gates. 

While the red and black banners of House Targaryen were raised on the Keep’s walls, it seemed to be House Hightower that occupied the castle. The Seven-Pointed Star was everywhere you looked throughout the halls that once were Harold with the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts, now those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and others of religious importance.

It reminded you of your time in the Citadel in Oldtown, the ancient seat of House Hightower, who aligned themselves closely with the Faith of the Seven. Your family’s relationship with the Septons and Septas was strife until the late King Maegor ruthlessly crushed the Faith Militant Uprising. However, during your stay, you heard whispers from passing Lords and Ladies that the animosity supposedly vanquished long ago was still there, simmering below their fear of House Targaryen and their dragons. 

While the Seven did offer you something to soothe your soul in times of unease and explain unanswered things, it didn’t provide you consolation seeing it paraded around grotesquely in place of your House’s history. It churred the feeling of anxious dread in the pit of your stomach as your brothers eagerly left your side to explore the long-forgotten Red Keep. 

“I would say it’s nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” your mother said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon. 

You stood closely by her side, moist lips tucked in concern as you observed your stepfather’s butter smirk walking before the two of you. You and your mother stayed unmoving for another moment to allow the situation to settle. The abrupt raven, Lord Corlys gravely injured, Princess Rhaenys traveling to King’s Landing, Luke’s legitimacy loudly called to question all happening within a few days was more commotion than you had within the entirety of your stay at Dragonstone. It was a wonder you hadn’t plucked at the hairs of your Crown, your digits twitching and coming to scratch at your scalp.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the air, unable to name the sensation as you turned to your mother, whose beautiful violet orbs were trained on a series of portraits of your kin. While your King grandsire, stepfather, mother, Queen Alicent, and her children were there, your siblings were not, leaving only the elegant, rectangular golden frame of your countenance in the places of your brothers. You felt your heart drop and glanced at your mother with wide, curious eyes. 

This meant too many things. Not only was it an insult to your mother and siblings to have all but their pictures, but the fact that it was only you there out of the six of you. It was no doubt Queen Alicent’s doing as you forced yourself to swallow a lump in your throat. The tears you kept at bay reemerged as your fingers dug under your black mesh veil, rolling the fine dark hairs at the nape of your neck between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.  

Swiftly, your mother took your wrist, soothingly rubbing your knuckles as she gave you a brief yet wistful smile. “Why don’t you find the Godswood, yes? I shall meet you there shortly.”

You bobbed your head stiffly, willing your tears and trepidations to quiet as you rubbed at your damp lashes. “Yes, Mother,” you responded in kind with a sniffle. 

You found yourself within nature as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the crimson leaves of a Weirwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make with the sky’s brightness, only to see the fuzzy outlines with the gray clouds, but they comforted you. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark grass crunching beneath your boots.

The Godswood was the only place within the Keep’s grounds that did not cause you significant stress, as only fond memories of your times with Helaena catching insects and playing games with Jace and Luke filled your mind. You had no desire to return to King’s Landing despite being away for so long. It felt as if no time could heal the irreparable wounds caused within these walls and the person who did it. 

Many rumors spread throughout the realm and to your little island of Dragonstone from the smallfolk, whispering that Prince Aegon’s appetite for depravity did not curb after his marriage to Princess Helaena. The people said it increased tenfold as the Prince was spotted frequenting the gambling houses, brothels, and illegal fighting pits. It seemed fitting for your eldest uncle’s character to become the worst of something he was supposed to make the best of. 

You could only think of the innocent children sired into this world without their mother’s consent and then put into the fighting pits so that Aegon and other highborns could have their entertainment. When you are Queen, you shall kill every man or woman who dares to share the same interests as your uncle. You would not willingly allow such depravity under your rule. No amount of coin from such establishments could be worth it to keep the economy afloat.

The soft crunching of late winter grass caused you to jump, tearing from your thoughts as you turned to see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You bestowed her with a deep curtsy and smile, coming to greet her with open arms. 

“Grandmother!” you called with unspoken joy in your tone. “Tis a pleasure to see you after so long.” 

She extended a tight-lipped smile that looked like a grimace, and you felt deflated. “I wish I could share the same unwitting joy you do, seeing as my Lord Husband lays battling with the Stranger.” 

You lowered your arms with chagrin and took a few paces back as you felt the sting of tears resurface. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean for my joy at seeing my father’s mother to make light of the gravity this day brings.” 

She chuckled wryly at your words, shaking her head as she looked to the Weirwood tree behind you. Following her gaze, you moved from her path as she took steps forward. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, to scream to her how much you loved your father and wished for those involved with his death to pay as you twirled his signet ring on your middle digit. 

Princess Rhaenys looked to you in the serene noiselessness of the Godswood, the chill in the wind causing you to shiver, gaze drifting to where you worked the gold around your knuckle. She said nothing with her mouth. She needn’t, as you could see it written plainly in the deep wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes. The Princess felt the same but would never admit it aloud to a… bastard. 

“I shall leave you in peace, Princess,” you bowed again, walking with less brightness into the Keep as you left the one person you could speak about your father to.

You felt like an imbecile for what you said, even though any grandparent should feel the same glee you did at their grandchildren’s arrival. A hot wave of embarrassment seared your insides, causing you to dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, ripping your veil off in anger. You didn’t care about the beautifully plated hair your ladies created, scraping your nails into your scalp to feel the threadlike texture of your bothersome strands that ached to be released as you ran blindly through the stone halls. 

There had been times when Aemond had forgotten who you were, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, who your birth father was, and the sweet kisses you bestowed on him alone in his chambers. That is why he reasoned that he was surprised to see a woman grown and no longer a girlish figure with a short, flat torso and legs. Instead, it was a lady with the slope of your neck dripping with rubies and dragonglass barely hidden beneath the crevasse of your swelling bosom. 

Your eyes were all he could think about from the moment you emerged from the second wheelhouse. A scared, almost dovelike look to them as he watched Luke and Jace come to your side. 

Good, he thought. You all should be terrified. Yet he did not hold the same conviction as his stare drifted back to you.

The Prince thought you were so small and fragile from a distance as he observed you leave the Godswood, an arch to your dark brows that seemed to be in pain. He thought there should be nothing within your perfect ideal life to be so torn about and wanted to give you a reason to be upset. Aemond planned to spit all the vitriol he held within these six years as you rounded the corner, and yet, as Aemond held you within his bruising grasp, you stared at him with such fire beneath unshed tears. 

The passageway Aemond cornered you into carried a chill seeping in from the outside as he saw your cheeks redden in ire. Your moist, plump lips slightly parted to breathe as he dug his blunt nails into your biceps. He felt his breeches become impossibly tighter as you swallowed, darting your pink tongue out in nervousness, much to his frustration.

Aemond was no longer the sun-kissed Prince with wide amethyst eyes full of light. His plush, boyish face had slimmed in the time lost and turned into one of hardened maturity with a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that came to a point with thin pink lips. His countenance resembled the statues you saw in Dorne as you felt his strong hands dig into your muscles like he wanted to tear at your essence. You felt your body weaken against your will, succumbing to the emotions you felt for your uncle in your youth, but resolved to stay firm against his intimidation. There were still hints of the Aemond you briefly knew in your childhood, the one that kept that night a secret still to this day.

“Unhand me, Aemond!” you spat as if he had swiped filth across your face, a deep wrinkle on your forehead.

Aemond wanted to laugh despite your seriousness as he pressed you further against the pale red stone wall, uncaring if Princess Rhaenys heard your cries. You dropped your headpiece in your struggles and attempted to retrieve it before your uncle’s piercing grip righted you again. 

“Must I?” he quipped, his stomach churning with excitement as the familiar scent of citrus and something darker wafted into his nose. “You’re a strong lady. I’m certain you can overpower me.”

Aemond allowed his gaze to roam over your face as you scoffed with a squirm. He wanted you to be ugly, for you to become the personification of all the wrongs your family committed against him, to be the picture of the betrayal he felt for you choosing them over him on that dreadful night. Up close, he unwillingly realized you were what the smallfolk claimed you to be. The picture of the Maiden though he knew you were anything but. Aemond wondered what they would think should the people discover your true nature.

“You believe yourself a true Velaryon, do you not? The Old, the True, the Brave,” he asked, his voice low and menacing. His face was so close to yours that you could see the intricate stitchings of his brown leather eyepatch. You wondered if he wore his sapphire today. “Your hair is decorated with gold and pearls, fingers adorned with jewels, and wrapped in lavish dresses. Yet beneath all the decadence you wear, you are still nothing more than Strong.” 

His insults meant nothing as you realize your uncle felt the same inner turmoil. Why else would he speak such prose of your being? He loathed and loved you in the same breath, something he fought to keep inside.

“Do not hide behind cruel words, Aemond. I see you as you are.” A delicate hand came to cup his marred cheek, the smooth pads of your fingers tenderly stroking the plunging indentation through his skin. You wished to get through to him, to tell him that despite the rift between your families, you cared for him. He could still be your Mors Martell.

The Prince felt himself crack, an unconscious twitch of his lip that he disguised as a sneer. Aemond felt a sensation he fought to keep at bay since he was disabled, struggling to hide the way memories from long ago clouded his mind. Instead, the Prince focused on how you inhaled a sharp breath when his hand left your arm and came to your face, jerking it towards his as Aemond lost your tender touch. He would swear upon his death that he saw your eyes dilate a fraction too much for it to be the shadow of the torchlight. 

Wondering then if the rumors were true that you and your twin had a closer relationship, he brought his other fist to encircle your waist, trailing it down the back of your plump thigh until he forced it to wrap around his hip. A part of Aemond was sure you would scream for help as you did when he found you with Aegon, but no words escaped your moist lips.

“You hurt me, my light. Can I not simply bask in the presence of my long-lost dream?” he mocked and realized that he might have gone too far as he felt your body stiffen and face blanched. The expression on your visage reminded him of the times he saw wounded soldiers return from minor village uprisings, the bloodshed changing their perspectives. 

The Prince understood that there was no returning from what he said, seeming to have flipped an unseen switch inside you at the mention of his mother’s petname for you. Your lips began to tremble on their own volition, and you abruptly noticed the striking resemblance between Aemond and his older brother. The most venomous expression you could muster curled onto your face, hiding your fright and not allowing him to hold power over you any longer.

“Don’t insult my intellect, Aemond. I know what disgusting thoughts play inside your mind, and they intimidate me for naught. You are more alike to Aegon than you allow,” you jeered. You knew what to say to wound him, to compare him to his wastrel of an older brother who raped innocent serving girls and his kin.

Unable to help your wandering eyes, you watched how your uncle’s pink tongue moved within his mouth, how the wetness glistened with the flick of his ire. 

“And what of you?” Aemond rebuked. “You cannot simply only be close siblings. The dragon’s blood runs thick and even more so between twins.” 

You were silent, leaving only the faint rustling of nature in the distance wrapped around the pair of you like a rope, tightening against your skin and pulling you and Aemond closer. Despite the frigid weather, it became hot, sweat collecting on your upper lip and nape. All Aemond could hear was the fierce rhythm of your breathing, his eye wandering down to the elegant necklace perched on your chest.

“You spout baseless, vile accusations of your kin that have made lesser men lose their lives,” you rebuked, fists coming to clutch at his jerkin and wrapping your digits in the green leather as if you meant to fight him.

“Perhaps,” he breathed with an air of superiority, “but I don’t believe it to be treason to question your morals,” he replied coolly, his light brow quirking with his tone of practiced impassivity. 

The Prince was stunned into silence when your tiny, delicate palm echoed off his marred cheek. It was not the force that shocked him, but rather the notion that you did it despite the threat of violence.

For a brief moment, white, hot pain seared at his left temple and into his skull as he turned to you and saw an expression of regret. Aemond felt the heat on his cheek and smirked. He knew you intended to hurt him by striking him on his injured side and now understood how to cripple you as Luke did him. It would always be your beloved family—your weakness.

The lamb bit as fiercely as the wolf, Aemond mused. You may not be as frail as he thought.

Excitement curled the Prince’s toes at the whimper that escaped your lips as he used his strength around your throat, perfectly styled hair fraying on the stone. Your once flat irises now burst with life as they darted across Aemond’s lean form in brief terror, a proud grin wrinkling his eyes.

“You ignorant bitch,” he declared, pressing himself closer, his hand firm around you despite attempting to pry them off. His other limb reached down, shifting you to the tips of your toes as he dropped your leg. Though fruitless, he reveled in the terror that washed over your features as you attempted to fight him. He wouldn’t dishonor you, but all that mattered was that you did not. 

Aemond felt disgusted at his actions, believing for a moment that you were right about him, that he was indeed the same as Aegon, yet in different colored clothes. 

“I’ll scream. Just as I did that night.” 

“Then do it and let the whole Keep think worse of you,” the Prince mocked, bearing his white teeth. “I shall say it was you who seduced me, and who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter who fucks her brother?” 

He could feel your humid breath against his face, fanning the spot where you had struck him. Aemond stared at this vicious yet adored creature in his grip as he concealed his insecurities with the intimating tilt of his head as if examining a new book. His violet eye traced the ink, waiting for your next move. The Prince would have you think him to be Aegon if it meant fucking his spend into you no matter how undeserving you were of it. Perhaps you would finally see what the true seed of a dragon looks like. Aemond grinned with his unspoken words and felt satisfaction with the anger he stoked in your eyes. 

“You will let me go. Now,” you demanded, pushing against your uncle as you struggled for purchase.

“And then what will you do? Run? Men in King’s Landing are not as kind as I when they see a distressed lady.” Your jaw ached, feeling like a rabbit cornered by a fox as a familiar and unwelcomed primal warmth blossomed between your thighs. 

You wanted to threaten him, to say that you would feed Aemond to your dragon or poison him in his sleep, but nothing came to mind besides the smell of too-sweet wine and the taste of dried dates. Memories came from that night, as you felt yourself becoming faint, the will to fight to leave you just as it did with Aegon as powerless tears welled on your lashes. You were a fool to think Aemond would see past his injustice for the sake of the past and resign yourself to whatever fate he chooses for you. 

There was no point in fighting. Once again, you were at the mercy of your uncle, and you only prayed that this one would be gentle.

The Prince no longer felt proud of his actions as he watched your body recoil into itself. There was something in your eyes that Aemond couldn’t name as he looked between them, feeling himself slowly pulled into their depths as he did the night after Aegon. The Prince wasn’t going to hurt you, not really. He was young and foolish, but not to the extent that he would commit an act of one of the highest sins.

As if the mother herself took mercy on you, the soft murmur of voices down the hall echoed into your and Aemond’s ears. You could not hide your smirk as he stared into you with a deep scowl on his porcelain face. Whatever plans he had, they crumbled like dead leaves underneath your boots as your mother and step-sister came. Taking his momentary distraction to your advantage, you shoved against the hardened planes of his chest, your sudden rush of strength knocking Aemond off balance as you retrieved your forgotten headpiece. 

Soon, they came into view, their destination no doubt being that of the Godswood as you fixed your disrupted attire. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your plump cheeks as you saw your uncle’s scowl, taking a few paces to reach them. You seemed the proper princess to the outside, greeting them with a quick embrace and your chin high.

Rhaena acted like Aemond wasn’t there. Only the uncomfortable shift of her shoulders revealed she noticed him while your mother extended a short but polite acknowledgment before he stalked away without proper dismissal. 

“What did he do to you?” your step-sister pointedly questioned, scanning your form for any injury.

You looked at her in what you hoped was a confused yet grateful expression and not one of guilt. “Prince Aemond merely wanted to make amends for the lack of presence at our arrival. I do not believe him to be sincere.”

Your mother smirked her delicate peony lips, releasing a scoff of disbelief as she shook her styled hair. She closed the space between you and tenderly grasped your shoulders as she scanned your form for injury.

“Do not let them get to you. They seek only pride and glory,” your mother declared steadfastly, a vibrancy you had never seen before in her amethyst eyes.

Nodding in acquiescence, you extended another brief embrace before you excused yourself, wanting nothing more than for this day to end as you went to search for your brothers. 

You needed Jace—to feel the comfort only your twin could give after facing the scars of the past. Before reaching your destination, you felt an iron-like grip across your upper arm, pulling you into a secluded alcove. You feared the worst, that someone planned to harm you and that your last words to your mother would be lies.

“You are quick, niece,” Aemond whispered haughty into your ear, causing you to drop your headpiece in fright, “but that quickness will do you no good in King’s Landing. Your whore mother has no hold here.” 

Just as quickly as your uncle took you, he released you with a shove. You wanted to bite with some clever or witty remark but thought of none. Tears of embarrassed frustration welled in your eyes as you spun on your heel, ignoring the tickle on your wrist like something had touched it.

As Aemond watched your womanly form retreat, dark eyes trailing over your curves, he did not feel the satisfaction he believed the interaction would create, spotting your discarded veil on the flagstone floor. He stared at it for a long moment, tracing the intricately sewn beads as he picked it up. 

Unsure of what came over him, he brought it to his nose, the scent of citrus flooding his senses and into the blood that engorged his cock. He was able to appreciate the feminine quality of your fragrance fully. Your aroma was refreshing and rounded, sweet but complex and deep simultaneously, similar to the limes that garnished drinks during the Keep’s summer gatherings, but with floral, herbal, and resinous undertones.

With a guttural noise, the Prince tightened his grip on the headpiece, channeling all his hatred towards your family into his clenched fist and tucked it into his jerkin. He swiftly went to the training session with Cole, hoping the knight wouldn’t see through his façade before witnessing the impending downfall he believed your family deserved. 

Masterlist of Series

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Sooooo, what did we think about their reuniting? Just two mentally ill and horny young adults. XD I originally wanted the whole meeting with Aemond again, the petition, and the dinner scene to be all in one chapter, but that was waaaaaay too much. I split them up to get those infamous scenes in the next chapter. I'm excited. It's gonna be juicy!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠ゝ⁠◡⁠`⁠)

I wanted to briefly give credit to @targaryenrealnessdarling, and their fic The Blood is Rare for inspo of the setting when Aemond and the reader meet for the first time. However, I did change things to make it my own. They have a lot of Aemond fics that will surely quench your thirst as y'all wait for the next chapter. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , *@p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

*bold means I can't tag you for some reason ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

[g0thsoojin]

so funny when women call me a "pick me bitch" for not wanting to be beat up and called whore in bed by a man i love as if the majority of men dont want to do that to any woman they fuck 💀

[mydr3aminvi0let]

i wear a lot of skirts and pink and whatnot as my style has developed with me & my personality but when one of those age regression girlies latch onto me....i do not like that

[goldensunset]

‘enjoyer’ to me has two meanings. it either means you’re a “fake fan” who hasn’t actually properly read/watched/played the media for yourself and you don’t know that much about it but you like it on a surface level and that’s enough for you, or it means you have done the above but you refuse to participate in fandom culture online for it lest discourse and negativity end up ruining you and so you just enjoy it peacefully by yourself. i think this is an excellent term btw

[navysealt4t]

wagh.

[samuraisharkie]

girl help I’m experiencing that common yet elusive late night motivation to get my life together knowing it will fall apart in the morning </3 girl fucking help me

[yo9urt]

guys i kind of love being graduated

[kethabali]

i continue to be surprised how our body, minds, and universe align perfectly sometimes and we get just what we needed even if we don't realize we needed it

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

It never gets any fucking easier does it

[midwestprincesss]

never say sorry -sub!art donaldson x fem!reader smut

notes- this was literally supposed to be super short but i got carried away cause i am a whore (and proud of it)

cw- art is a little insecure:( , mentions of him having sex with tashi before (NO TASHI SLANDER I LOVE MY GIRL BUT IT'S FOR THE PLOT😭) , he cums prematurely (like...really..) art's a whiny little slut, art keeps calling reader love ( i got a thing for that pet name sorry y'all) , reader calls art 'artie' once cus it's cute&idc.

thinking about art constantly apologizing while having sex :( like ur unzipping his pants and he's already bucking his hips up into your hand, and then immediately muttering "sorry":(( my babyyy

so at first you think that okay, whatever, it's just something that slips out

but then he does it SO many times that you're actually starting to be concerned

like, you're giving him head and he moans a little too loudly- he's apologizing again. while kissing, you pull back for air and he still follows you, mouth half-open, wanting more - but then he realizes and he apologizes again.

but one time he really caught you off guard-

it had been a long day for him, spending almost all day training for his upcoming match. he barely had any time to rest, so he comes back to his dorm, taking off his shirt and pants, getting into bed with you only with his baby-blue boxer briefs on.

he kisses you. he's so fucking tired, but he still kisses you. 'cause he needs you, especially after the day he just had. you could feel his hard cock, practically begging you to take his boxers off.

"please love, wanna see you" he says while tugging at your top, watery eyes glistening with tears waiting to be spilled.

you take it off and unclasp your bra, little whimpers leaving his lips at the sight of you over him, with your tits out. you would love to take your time with him, really. to hear him beg and plead for you. but he's so eager, and so polite about it too- you just can't do that to him right now. so when you take off his boxers, his cock immediately jumps up, slapping his lower abdomen, right over his strawberry-blond happy trail.

"aww baby, look at you. you're so pretty aren't you?" you smile down at him, admiring how his legs shake slightly at every word you say. "hmm? aren't you?" you repeat. "mmghn- yeah, i- uhh i am" he says, eyes almost rolling back from the lack of touch. "you're what? say it." he sighs. you do this a lot. 'self love is important' you usually tell him- but not now. not when his dick is out, aching and leaking and begging to be touched. but just for the sake of it- just because he wants to please you, he says it. "i'm pretty"

"good boy," you coo, finally bringing a finger down to his cock, only to circle his pink, wet tip. and with that, he loses it. his mind goes blank, and he can't help it- all the waiting, the anticipating made him lose control of his body. he really didn't want to cum, he wanted to be good for you, but you were just so hot, he couldn't hold back. so immediately after his white, thick and warm liquid lands partially on his stomach and a bit on your hand, he starts babbling out apologies.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry love, please don't be mad, please- i'll clean up after myself- oh my god i'm so sorry-" he was so obviously tired, he could barely make up the words, yet he still continued apologizing. until you cut him off.

"art, baby- you dont need to apologize to me! what's up with this" you ask, softly. "you know i love making you feel good. and it's even better when i get feedback like this" you giggle. his cheeks turn bright pink as he covers his face.

"but i literally came the second you touched me" he mumbles, shyly.

you kiss his shoulder, smiling. "and it was hot."

"i- I don't know how to explain it to you, love- i just don't want to disappoint you. tashi used to hate it when i did any of this, she hated hearing me, and stuff like that- sometimes it made me feel like i was an object to her or something, y-you know? she'd get mad at me, and uh- it wasn't great."

"oh." you could actually feel your heart breaking for the boy. he was so sweet, he never deserved any of that. "well i'm not tashi, and i definitely won't get mad at you for anything like that. i like hearing you, and believe it or not, this was really fucking hot. you're letting me know i'm making you feel good. what's wrong with that?"

"just don't wanna upset you." art shrugs.

"i promise you artie, you could never upset me." you peck his lips and he smiles. "now let's clean you up"

[saetoru]

Tee…

I’m now on my hands and knees BEGGING for bully Gojo who is (secretly) DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE over the reader PLEASE ANY CRUMBS I WILL TAKE

(you don’t actually have to write this it was just a nice thought)

idkkkkk if it’s rly bully gojo—but he’s definitely a real cunt for sure.

i just think about an asshole! gojo a lot like he’s ur lab partners or something and he does that stereotypical jerk move where he’s like “seriously ?? her ??” when he’s first paired with you. and he’s just naturally an douche, yk ?? wears sunglasses indoors and makes jokes at the professors expense under his breath that gets him snickers and snorts from his frat guys in his class. has to be asked more than once to “please keep it down in the middle of class” by wtv prof he’s in class with.

and he ofc makes u do all the work bc he can’t be bothered—and on the rare occasion that he is bothered, he just does a poor job that’s the bare minimum and sloppy enough that ur like wtv i’ll just do it myself. and then ofc sometimes u don’t have a choice but to meet up to finish something after class every now and then—he wouldn’t care to, but he actually needs to know the stuff for the final report he has to write individually, so he begrudgingly meets up with you, and sometimes you notice his friends give you an amused look when he walks up with them. they snicker before they leave as he sits with you. sometimes they make a snide comment here and there like “have fun with ur super hot date” that makes him roll his eyes—he doesn’t do much to hide the look of distaste on his face.

but then—and he doesn’t even know when it happens—you start to slowly grow on him. because ur actually pretty snarky urself, sometimes making a dry comment here and there about the professor and his stupid bald headed self. sometimes a girl in the distance laughs too hard a group of guys that u roll ur eyes and mumble how “if i had a voice like that i’d never laugh in public” and it makes him snort a bit without meaning to. sometimes you stare daggers at the person who has their music so loud thru their headphones they can’t help but notice u and turn it down in embarrassment. ur actually not as much of a pushover as he thought—you just genuinely think he’s too incapable to help u out that you’ve just shrugged him off and started doing his part. it’s an easy weekly lab class anyway, you don’t need him—and then he realizes that u rly just don’t care for him. his little snickers at u with his friends and their snide comments roll off ur back bc well…he’s him—an asshole little frat boy and u didn’t expect anything better from him. so it makes him a little intrigued—maybe a little wounded in his pride, deep down, because no one has ever been indifferent to him before. they’re either madly in love, or they hate his guts, or they follow his lead. either works—he still gets the attention he craves.

but u just don’t rly care. and ur actually pretty cool, and kinda sorta funny in a way no one else is. he likes it…and fuck, now he’s starting to like you. he can tell bc when his friends ask how his little date with you went, he starts getting a bit huffy ab it bc they don’t need to talk about you. they don’t even know you…but also….its not a date. and that’s the worst part. sometimes it feels like a date. almost—sometimes you both decide to take a break in between and go get a coffee or a light snack. sometimes he’s even paid (to which you look mildly shocked before politely thanking him) and you both walk back to the library while u make light banter and it’s…well, fun. and nice. and your laugh is pretty. and your smile is kinda cute and he (though he hates to admit it) rly likes it when u laugh because of him.

and then things start to get messy—really, he didn’t mean for it to start this way. he really was meaning to ask you in a genuine manner to see u again once the semester was finished. because he’s actually started pulling his weight—he wants u to see him for someone who’s smart. satoru is actually rly rly smart and no one knows it because he doesn’t rly show it but he is. he wants u to see that side of him—somehow there’s some sick validation he rly needs from you knowing he’s not a dense frat guy who drinks and fucks until 3 am every night. so he starts doing his parts and actually communicates with u about sections. so starts ur texting routine—sometimes a little longer than u rly need to for just doing a lab together. sometimes it’s “did u hear ab that girl in our class getting dumped in front of the kfc ??” and sometimes it’s “god our prof rly needs to get some pussy” and other times it’s “look what the guy who sits behind us just posted on his story” and it leads to a few long convos that admittedly…are rly fun. ur so fun. he likes it. he rly does like u and he thinks maybe….maybe he’s grown on u too and you know what ?? satoru’s always a jerk but ur nice and who’s to say he can’t be nice too ?? just for one person. for u, he can be a nice guy—u carried lab all on ur own long enough that u deserve it anyway.

until he gets swayed in that way only a coward can. in that way you do when ur used to being “the man” around ur friends and ur too pressured to keep up that energy for appearances sake bc u don’t wanna be the laughing stock who softened up for “some nerdy chick who’s a nobody.” so he laughs when they laugh at the fact that ur probably “still a virgin who’s never touched a guy before” and then they’re patting gojo on the back and shoving at his shoulder as they laugh harder and suggest that “y’know what would be so funny man ?? if u took her virginity. you could probably do it.”

the thought is sickening because…satoru wouldn’t want to fuck you like that. god, you have him caring about when and how he fucks you—in fact, just thinking about you lewdly makes him feel guilty. disrespectful, even. you’re more than a fleshlight for his dick. since when did he become so respectful ?? but he doesn’t know how to say no, especially when everyone starts agreeing one after the other—and oh no, now they’re betting on how quickly he can do it….and oh, now it’s not just fucking. now it’s “how long until you think she’s head over heels for you? man, that would be a sight, huh ??”

and….well, satoru decides it couldn’t hurt, right ?? he does want to be romantically involved so that would include you being head over heels. hopefully. fingers crossed. and he doesn’t rly want to seem lame in front of the guys either, so he gets to keep both sides of the coin, so is it really that bad ?? maybe not the right idea but certainly the right execution. he’ll treat you well—that much he’s confident of. so he forces out a laugh and says “gimme a month or two, you’ll see.”

and a month or two they give him. and a month or two it takes—but not for you to be head over heels. it’s him who’s utterly and completely obsessed and fallen head first and whatever else they say to describe love because wow. this must be what it is. this must be that stupid fairytale shit they always talk about because fuck, no one has ever looked at him like that. like he’s some miracle to this earth and some wonder only you know of—like you hope it stays that way and that he’s yours and yours alone and no one else comes in to take him away. satoru really likes being yours, it kinda feels better than you being his. being yours means you hold him like that at night and wake him up to a kiss between his brows and sometimes, when he gets those migraines he’s prone to getting, you always seem to know. always seem to understand when to close the blinds and keep quiet and wrap him up in the covers as you rub your thumbs over his temples soothingly.

he almost forgets about that silly little bet he made two months ago when he’s around you. actually, he forgets everything when he’s around you. he’s only ever thinking about you, you, you. when he comes back to his frat house, on the other hand, they’re all gathered around waiting for the newest details. how you must’ve been so pathetically star struck by him. how you must be embarrassingly bad at kissing. how you must stutter over every other word around him. how you must be making a complete and utter fool of urself trying to impress him and be someone you’re not bc the real you would never pique his interest.

they’re wrong ofc. if anyone’s star struck, it’s satoru bc how the hell are u so…cool ?? and so funny and witty and carefree ?? and you’re good at kissing—have him chasing your lips with a whine every time. sometimes you even chuckle at him when he does and make him blush a bit. he’s the one who stutters over his words when he sees you in your little date night outfits. sometimes he watches you drink from your straw and his brain short circuits a little until you snap at him and ask him in confusion if he’s alright. but the real kicker ?? it’s that if anyone’s pretending, it’s satoru. you’re always just you—unapologetically so, that it’s endearing and beautiful and so unearthly he wonders how he got so lucky. but him ?? he’s always acting like some guy he’s not. some chivalrous guy who opens doors and pushes out seats and kisses the back of hands and waits at least a few dates before even considering fucking. some nice, sweet, genuine guy who’s deserving.

he’s not that—never was. if you knew the real him, you’d leave in a heartbeat. it’s a scary thought. a raw feeling he doesn’t like. makes him feel all self conscious and insecure and all that weird shit he never thought he’d feel.

he tries. so hard, he tries to make them forget about that silly little bet and just slowly drop it and maybe even forget ur dating so he can just stay living this peaceful little fantasy with you—but that’s stupid. that’s naive. it’s been 4 months and enough is enough—the guys need to see the look on ur face when u realize what a fool ur being and satoru is “being a lazy ass who’s too comfortable not having for work for pussy these days.” so then there’s a video going around. it’s everyone gathered around on the couch drunk and talking about you. and satoru. you both, in fact. how it’s been two months and u seem desperate for his attention with the shrill little voice you use to call him toru, baby! it’s so, so fucking embarrassing, they say. how you think he likes it. (he does. god he does so much, it hurts. he loves it, actually, when you call him that. makes him feel special in a way he never has.) but then, the worst, most disgustingly nauseous part of the whole thing is when satoru laughs along and plays into their awful words. just lets them talk about you like you’re some piece of meat. something for him to chew up and spit out after he has a taste or you. not even worth savoring and enjoying. he laughs along and agrees—you’re nothing special and he can’t wait until he’s free of you.

that part hurts. that part sucks the most—when he acts like he didn’t tremble under your touch every time you kissed him. like he didn’t beg you to stay just five more minutes! before walking out the door to go home. he acts one way in front of you and one way in front of them and what’s worse ?? you don’t know which one is real. couldn’t tell even if your life was on the line to decide. because there’s no way he’s that good at pretending to be desperately in love, no fucking way. but there’s also no way he can be in love if he’s talking about you like that. that’s not what love is—that’s not what love feels like. that’s not what it means to someone.

you don’t know which satoru is the real one, but you know that neither is worth your time. not if he can’t stick to it.

it’s terrible thing—the way you break up. it’s messy and teary and he’s begging, he’s actually begging. he never thought he’d do that. but he doesn’t even hesitate to plead for you to hear him out. baby, please let me explain. wait, please don’t walk away—please just listen! i can explain.

he can’t explain, though when you as him to. stands there with a bitten bottom lip and teary eyes that are pleading you to just stay with him. to overlook this and just … ignore it like it’s nothing. like what he did and said was just nothing and you can shrug it off like you’re nothing too. like your feelings are nothing and so is your worth and that’s why you should just ignore the way he absolutely destroyed your pride and reputation and dignity and worse….every ounce of your love.

such deep, raw, pure love—it’s almost enough to heal every dry crack and crevice of this earth and bring it back to life.

you look at him with teary eyes and something so broken, it makes him feel like dirt beneath your feet.

“it’s embarrassing, satoru,” you hiss that night through tears, “you’re in your twenties getting a degree and you’re still just a high school bully. life’s really gonna kick you in the ass some day.”

life’s already kicking him in the ass as soon as you walk out. the air is colder. the world is dimmer. food doesn’t taste as good and fuck—there is just so much loneliness when you have no one to be yourself with. when there’s no you.

but he supposes you’re right though—he is just a bully. it’s pathetic, really. and maybe it’s for the best. maybe you don’t deserve someone who’s only ever known how to feel good because someone else doesn’t.

[scientia-rex]

Sometimes people tell me I'm a good person. I'm not a good person by nature, or by default. I'm a good person because I've decided that it's important to me to act like one, on a daily basis, forever.

My actual nature is that I want power. I want power and I want my life to be easy and I want other people to be forced to be nice to me even if they hate me. I want other people to have to suck up to me, I want to watch people who I know hate me suffer through the indignity of having to suck up to me. I want to hurt people who hurt me. I want all of these things in the same exact deeply recognizable way that a gorilla or a chimpanzee does. I watch those documentaries and I recognize myself, intimately. The fact that I can behave like a good person in spite of that has taken me a long time and a lot of effort to achieve.

What you feel isn't as important for your "goodness" as what you do. And you get good at what you practice. So practice your skills at being polite, pleasant, kind. Practice gently interrupting negative behaviors--whether that's someone's negative behaviors directed towards themselves, or directed towards someone else. The idea that we have to be inherently without sin is such Christian garbage. It's psychological gibberish. We want things! We want everything! That is normal and human and the key is not acting on every bad feeling you have.

I have taken my insatiable desire for power and to manipulate people and I have used it for good. I have learned how to manipulate people into coming to the doctor and taking their blood pressure medication and being honest about their recreational substance use. I have taken my psychology education and I have used it to craft a persona that makes people feel at ease. I go home at the end of the day exhausted, because maintaining a persona for ten hours straight is exhausting, but I do it happy, because I manipulated the people I work with into feeling better and having brighter days. I manipulated my patients into feeling good about their achievements and recognizing where we need to do things differently.

The hard part is that when the mask slips, people find it not just off-putting but deeply upsetting. When I explain things like "I have thought very carefully about how I would conduct a career in domestic terrorism because I would genuinely like to bomb the headquarters of most American insurance companies, but I don't see a way to do it without getting caught and either killed or spending the rest of my life in prison, and at the moment I consider that an unacceptable outcome," people go from "ha ha! my wacky colleague" to "Jesus Christ, I didn't realize there was something actually wrong with you."

Anyway, don't make your kids read the extended works on Machiavelli at twelve, my dad thought he was helping me but all he accomplished was making me sad I'll never be a king.

[steddielations]

Upstaged | Part 2 | Part 1

It all makes sense.

When Eddie comes back from taking photos with the fans, he looks a little sheepish for the first time. Steve has about a million things to ask, mostly he just wants to laugh about the fucking odds, but he remembers the grace Eddie extended to him about the press ordeal.

Instead, he settles back with his lime soda and a simple question, “So, what kind of music are you into?”

A grateful smile breaks out across Eddie’s face, ecstatic to dive into that with Steve. Their lunch extends into dinner. Steve doesn’t have anywhere to be these days and Eddie practically jumps up and down when the meeting he was in the area for gets canceled. They stay there for a couple more hours, just talking. 

Their music taste overlaps at certain points, Eddie talks about how getting his first guitar from the pawn shop pretty much saved him, Steve recounts a little league story that makes Eddie laugh so hard he chokes on his soda.

It’s the most monumentally casual time Steve’s ever had with a new friend in public and he’s not ready for it to end. Even after exchanging numbers and promising to meet up again, they still linger together outside.

“So uh, I remember where I know you from now."

Eddie leans against the side of the building. It’s getting dark, they’re tucked away from any eyes so Steve freely scoots closer to Eddie, waiting for him to explain. He does after a moment, seeming nervous and fiddling with his rings.

“I hate to ask, but my Uncle is huge into baseball, especially you and your general all-around-awesome thing. There weren’t players like you to look up to when he was young, all that. I’ve seen you on his tv so many times, you’re basically part of the family— ah shit, that’s weird, sorry,” he cringes a little, scrunching his nose in a way that makes Steve’s chest clench with affection, “But he’s getting old and like I said earlier, he’s my rock, he raised me and I won’t forgive myself if I don’t at least ask you to come see him sometime.”

The way he rambles is pretty endearing, looking at Steve with a wide-eyed hopeful expression, as if there was even a chance Steve would say no.

He reaches out, gently takes Eddie’s hand to stop his restless fidgeting, “You want me to meet your folks already, hm?”

Eddie lets out an amused scoff, looking down at their hands and back at Steve like he can’t believe it. “You’re not as funny as you think you are, Steve.” 

Steve knits his brows, “Why’s that?”

“C’mon man. Y’know how hard it is to find someone who can handle this lifestyle, let alone all the shit that comes with me,” shaking his head a little, Eddie smiles but there’s something aching in it, “Then the nicest looking guy I’ve ever seen comes outta nowhere and saves my life, agrees to go to lunch, happens too know as well as me that life in the limelight ain’t always pretty and turns out to be one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

His fingers thread through Steve’s, holding tight like he’s not sure it’s real. “Even if I never see you again, I’m gonna write songs about you. I’d take you home and keep you right now if I could, but that’s not happening.”

There’s a part of Steve he’s kept shut down for years that comes pumping through his veins then, hot and alive. He realizes that he’s been trying so hard to keep his life as normal as possible that he’s been missing out on actually living it. Now he has this wonderful, crazy, wonderful man spontaneously in front of him and he’s not letting him slip away. 

Steve moves in, slowly crowding Eddie against the wall. Eddie’s eyes go a little wide with surprise then darken with desire. Steve watches his face shift through so many emotions, his mouth parting with a soft gasp, wanting this just as badly as Steve.

“Wanna bet?” Steve asks before he crashes into Eddie again. 

This time it’s a hot press of lips instead of a full-body collision, but it’s just as breathtaking.

Steve deepens the kiss, thrill prickling all across his skin when Eddie opens up for him right away. Steve licks passed the bright hint of lime on their tongues to get to Eddie. The heady taste of him makes Steve’s world spin, all the desperate noises between them going straight to his head.

“Want you so bad, Eddie, wanna keep you too,” he threads his fingers into all that hair, reveling in the shiver it elicits from Eddie, “God, just wanna have you.”

Eddie chases his lips, “You can, Steve, you can have me— please do.”  

Steve loves the sound of that, going in for a longer, more indulgent kiss before pulling back.

“You can’t take me home tonight,” he professes hotly against Eddie’s lips, “My place is closer, you’re coming with me.”

[retroaria]

⊹₊⋆.˚ Confessions ⋆.˚₊ ⊹

summary: the bllk boys and their romantic confessions, some are love, some are not! all of them are pretty cute though, not gonna lie…

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 💋

⊹₊⟡⋆ Isagi Yoichi ‹𝟹

isagi makes it a point to confess to you in person. he spends a few days thinking (and overthinking) exactly what words to use. he wants to make sure he can confess his true feelings and also let you know how lucky he would feel if you accepted him.

once he’s ready he’d send you a text or call you, asking you to meet him somewhere quiet, maybe just his house or yours. the two of you meet up and he’s immediately flushed. he’s nervous and excited all at the same time. he’s the kind of guy that would want to have built a strong friendship and bond before confronting his feelings for you, so he’s confident that you guys will be ok no matter what happens.

he’d take your hands in his and look you in the eyes while he confesses. his gaze would be warm and sweet, he’s just glad he could even get the opportunity to express himself to you.

“I’ve really love having you with me. You make me feel better, even when I thought I was fine before, being with you just feels better. The closer we’ve gotten, and the more I’ve seen of you and your world, the more I realize how badly I want to be a part of it.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Bachira Meguru ‹𝟹

as soon as bachira realizes he has feelings for you, he feels immediately ready to tell you. he’ll let the feeling settle for a little and try to tell you in an indirect manner. he’ll swoop in with a surprise kiss on your cheek, giggling as he watches your flustered expression. or maybe he’ll leave little notes around for you, in your bag, in your car, in your pockets, in your books, etc. they’d say silly little things about how adorable you were that day or he’ll briefly write about something that reminded him of you, maybe some mediocre poetry he thought up in his love sick state. you’d catch on pretty easily that it was bachira, and he never intended to keep that a secret.

then after a few days of messing with you, he decided he’d tell you the next time he saw you. when the two of you met up he immediately sucked you into a bone crushing hug, like he was holding on for dear life. he’d pull away, “hey cutie~ guess what…” he’d coo at you.

“i like you! Like, I really like you. Maybe I even love you. actually, yeah, love sounds better. I love you! I wanna take you on a date and kiss your stupid face. I know you feel the same, I wish you could see how red you are right now.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Nagi Seishiro ‹𝟹

Nagi realized he loved you when he began to notice how sad he would get when you leave. being sad is a serious pain for him. he doesn’t like the way it makes his brain and body feel all fried and stressed, he hates not wanting to do anything even more than he already does, yet simultaneously willing to do anything to get you back in his apartment. Nagi would beg you to sleepover every time you hung out at his place, he’d sometimes try to wrestle you into the bed. you were just so kind and warm and calming to him. he felt graced by you and your presence.

his confession would come out of him like a nice long sign of relief. he’s been having this strange internal battle between his love for you and his love for laziness. it’s a hassle to have to confess and then put in the effort to build up a romantic relationship, but in the end he decides it’s even more of a hassle to not tell you how he feels. plus, you’re so worth it.

“It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not with me. It’s like I don’t really know what to do with myself. You make me feel alive. That sounds cringe. I love you, is what im trying to say. I hope that makes sense.”

disclaimer: do not date a guy like nagi in real life you cannot gentle parent this man child lol

⊹₊⟡⋆ Reo Mikage ‹𝟹

Reo’s confession was a long time in the making. he clung to his feelings for as long as he could until it really felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t tell you. he did that because he wanted to wait for the timing to be perfect. he wanted to find the perfect spot to do it, the perfect words to say, all at the perfect time in both of your lives. but of course, things rarely work out that way.

what actually happened is he blurted it out in the middle of you talking one day. you were telling him about something you were working on, something you loved and were really proud of. he was listening so intently, or at least trying to. his thoughts kept stringing him in a different direction and before he knew it, he dropped the L word on you like a nuclear bomb.

“I-uhh…Ok listen, I’m sorry I promise I was listening to you it’s just…you look so beautiful right now and you sound so cute and excited. It got me all frantic, I didn’t mean to drop that on you so out of nowhere…it’s true though, I do love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Michael Kaiser ‹𝟹

(unless you speak german) kaiser has already confessed to you a million times. “ich liebe dich~” he’d say to you upon every parting, telling you it was simply a term of endearment. if you did happen to know what that meant already, or if you took the time to search it up, he’d be like “yeah, I said that, so what?” this man would propose to you in the middle of times square in broad daylight he’s so confident but that’s a different hc for another time lmaoo.

his confession is charming and flattering. he truly worships the ground you walk on while also believing that he’s the only one who could appreciate you as you deserve. his hands cup your face and his eyes fall warmly on yours. his voice is direct and steady. not a twinge of nervousness can be seen, just pure love and admiration. he speaks to you with a calm and lulling voice, a tenderness he only lets linger when he’s with you.

“Liebe, don’t you see how soft you make me? I’d hate for you to not realize how I feel for you. I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me, that is.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Rin Itoshi ‹𝟹 (i wrote so much for rin wtf)

Rin has walls that he has spent a lot of time and effort building up over the years. they’re forged to keep out anything and everything that may be a distraction from his goals, but if this is the guy you’re going for, i’m sure you’re a persistent little pest. you’d sneak your way into his life, just by being there, texting him, talking about him. soon enough you’d infested his mind as well, suddenly he’d find himself thinking of you when he least expects it.

one day he was on the pitch, just a practice game, but you were in the stands watching him. throughout your friendship you’ve done this quite a few times, so he has no reason to pay much mind to your presence in the middle of the match. today was different though, you were up close, eyes beaming at him in the center field, hands at the side of your head clutched together in a little cheer. he hadn’t done anything yet, the match just started, what were you even cheering for? it was cute, he decided. that’s why it broke his focus long enough for the other team to score. actually, it was adorable. so adorable it tugged the corners of his lips upward slightly, which he quickly moved to cover with his hand. he just threw a match and he was smiling? what were you doing to him?

after some time of thinking you might be employing psychological warfare against him, Rin decided it was time to really sit down and confront his feelings. he’d go a few days, maybe even a week or more without speaking to you. don’t worry, he was thinking about hardly anything but you the entire time.

“Sorry for ghosting you, I just needed to think about some things. It made me a little sad to be away from you too. I hate you a lot less than I hate everyone else, you know? Don’t get cocky about that. Also, don’t leave me ok? I’ll be nicer, yeah sure. Maybe I can walk you home…or something. Here, let’s hold hands.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Sae Itoshi ‹𝟹

he’s way more flustered about it than you might think. he’s not embarrassed or nervous necessarily, he just hasn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. similar to kaiser, sae thinks he’s the only person who could truly love and appreciate you as much as you deserve. this typically stoic and selfish man finds himself smiling in your presence and wanting to give you everything you want and more.

your relationship until this point has been uhh… “transactional” we’ll say. the two of you liked going out and hanging out together, but no feelings attached. a few kisses were shared here and there, he’d take you back to his apartment to cuddle sometimes, but wouldn’t ever let you sleepover. eventually things started to get a little more *intense*. you did start staying over, a lot. so much so that you had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink and clothes in his closet. the first time he ever had the thought of being in love with you was when he realized his sheets always smelled like you now, and he wanted it to stay that way.

the fact that you were enough to turn his head, take over his thoughts, and make him fall in love with you feels like proof beyond the reasonable doubt that you are perfect.

“You can move in, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. We’re basically already dating, so I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. Yeah, I didn’t think it would go this far either. I like knowing you’re here at my place, with me and not with anyone else.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

⊹₊⟡⋆ Oliver aiku ‹𝟹

“You know I love you, let’s stop pretending. Seriously, you could keep me on a tight leash if you really want. Promise, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Kunigami Rensuke ‹𝟹

“I love you, I want you to know that. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I want to care for you and keep you safe, you mean so much to me, you don’t even know.”

i love this post so much, the nagi disclaimer i had to put, the strange onion analogy for rin, the flustered reo moment. also just isagi being here, the man that you are, Isagi Yoichi. i had so much fun making this - aria

divider - @enchanthings

[vaspider]

Look. A little advice.

Once you get to a certain amount of Known on the internet or a subsection of it, or even in a subsection of a RL group of people, there are going to be people who will make up a version of you which exists only in their heads and which has absolutely nothing to do with who you are. It might better resemble who you were twenty years ago or it might never have had anything to do at all with who you were then or are now.

You cannot stop this. You cannot prevent this. Once you get a certain number of followers or a certain amount of attention, that's going to happen: people will make up stories about you which either look through a fun-house mirror at some small aspect of who you are and twist it and blow it up until it doesn't resemble you at all, or which just have absolutely no basis in fact whatsoever.

This is just another kind of parasocial relationship; it's the kind which really sucks to deal with, because it's so negative and so pervasive. It's very real, and the frustration you feel about it is very real. Nobody wants to be known incorrectly.

But. You can't control this. It's gonna happen. No matter what you say, no matter how precisely you say it, the people who want to misinterpret you will find a way to do so. This doesn't mean 'don't pay attention to what you say,' or 'don't be purposeful and precise with your language,' but it does mean 'don't obsess over the people who are determined to get you wrong.'

You can be the most anodyne, run-of-the-mill, unremarkable human being, and the people who are determined to hate you will find something that they can point to and say 'ha ha! I told you that Spider danced with the devil at midnight! I witnessed it myself!' (It will not help the situation if you are, say, self-admittedly stubborn as fuck, long-winded, and sometimes kinda fucking obnoxious, but please realize that in the end, it doesn't really matter. This is gonna happen no matter what.)

The people who matter will look at what's being said, wrinkle up their foreheads, and say, 'uh, man, it looks like Spider was actually playing with his dog at 9 am?'

That said, if you don't have elephant-thick skin from being a marginalized-gender human being who's been on the internet since before the web had pictures, there are some things you can do to make it easier when people making things up about you starts to get on your nerves:

Establish protocols for when it becomes too much: have someone read your messages, turn off your notifications, have time where you purposefully disengage.

Establish protocols for how you interact, period: "I will block people without guilt if they engage positively with the people who spread untruths about me." "I will answer everything in public so people can't lie about what I said, because it's right there in public." "I will not answer work-related stuff in DMs, that has to go to the work email." Whatever it is, create some boundaries for yourself. Stick to them. The people who push you to bend them aren't doing that for your benefit but theirs.

If you get someone who really hits your Weirdo Alarm, trust it. Yeah, block and report, but also, take screenshots and store them somewhere that isn't easily erased. I have an 'Internet Weirdos' folder, which makes it a little easier to deal with when people start doing things like 'making threats of physical harm to me and my family.' Don't fuss, just take a screenshot and chuck it in the folder. Having that record makes it easier to just forget that it ever happened, because you have a paper trail if anybody starts doing something Real Weird.

Spend time offline, with people who do actually know you.

Don't get lost in the version of you that someone else makes up in order to make up for the shit that's missing in their own life. You aren't required to play the part that someone else is trying to script for you. It is never to your benefit, only to theirs; you gain nothing by standing in that role for them, and you lose precious seconds of your one irreplaceable life.

You could be using those seconds to look at this video of how to pick up a duck, which I think we can all agree is a better investment of your time.

[mnnuni]

Domestic

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean's perspective of Sam and Reader's relationship; Sam and Reader are two cutie patooties Words: 1450 Warnings: none, very fluffy Author's note: I actually don't know if I love this or I hate it

A solid faithful relationship into the hunters' field was almost rare: if they were married they were either consummed for loss or full of affairs and if they had boyfriends or girlfriends they will fight for the distance or the different visions of life. And then there was the rarity, the true love cases, the one in which they would share their life of hunters as easily as a piece of bread.

Dean Winchester never really believed in those rareness, never really believed in love in general... that was untill he really saw Sam and (Y/N) together.

Their love started slowly, it was one of that things that people would say "we already knew" when they eventually announced their relationship.

Dean was convinced that Sam's heart decided from the very beginning of their story that he would beat out of his ribcage only for her in his entire life; Dean saw it in the way Sam didn't just pass (Y/N) the milk and sugar for her coffee for her second cup of that day on their first case together, but he put them in her mug while she read out loud some articles for Dean. Sam didn't put much thougth in that action, but when she realized (Y/N) blushed because he remebred the exact order and amount of products she used after only one time.

But Dean also knew that he approved of their relationship when it was him that proposed to Sam to pick the impala and take (Y/N) somewhere special, just because she deserved all the effort his brother could put in a date and even more. Sam wasn't so surprised about that because he also saw how Dean had grown fond of (Y/N), to the point she was the only girl ever that didn't receive the "hurt my brother and I will end you" speech but it was the other way around.

When (Y/N) confined in Dean one night he really wasn't expecting what she was telling him, after more than an year of being officially with Sam.

"I know he loves me" that was her premise, and Dean could have screamed "WE ALL KNOW" but he let her keep going "but sometimes i whish things were easier" at this the Whinchester quirked an eyebrow and Y/N started rumbling then "I'm not saying it isn't easy with Sam, I just want to say that ... there's never a period of peace in our kind of lifes and we all accepted this when we decided to be hunters, but sometimes I find myself of dreaming one night together without running from something or cleaning up eachother scars... I need normality"

Dean knew that this was also Sam's dream, his little brother wanted this since Stanford, but he also knew that both of them needed to hunt because that was what gave them the hope to make the world a better place and the adrenaline that every man and every woman would need to go throu life.

After this conversation with (Y/N), Dean almost ran to Sam to order him to organize something special for his lady; he wasn't surprised to find him already writing a list of things he wanted to do with her, "I know I didn't give her the right amount of attention these past weeks, shoul I go for a picnic or romantic restaurant?". Dean tried not to smile at his answer, even if he really admired how Sam could know how his girlfriend felt withouth even say anithing and his commitment to their relationship; "The picnic is cute, but not for this time of the year. No reastaurant. She needs something calm, be domestic dude"

He left him like this to think of something, he was sure his brother would have find the right thing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day Sam was adjusting one of the bunker's biggest room, he bought a projector and a too big amount of movies -even if he thought that he could never do too much for (Y/N)-

He asked Dean to help him put her favorite couch in there and order a lot of her favourite snacks.

Dean was really proud of how Sam behaved with (Y/N) and for (Y/N), never saw him so whipped for no-one.

When (Y/N) got out of her shower, she was ready to jump into Sam's bed and sleep for two days if she could; instead she found Dean in the kitchen with a blindfold in his hands, "I promise, you will lovee what you'll see after this" he winked and then put it on her face.

"I swear to God Dean, if you're tricking me..." they were walking a pat she never did in the bunker "oh please you love me too" "if you think so...", Dean stopped her in front of a purple metal door and took the blindfold off "oh i know so" he whispered and then proceeded to walk away from there.

(Y/N) was left to wonder what the hell was going on when Sam opened said door and smiled "Hi", it had the same emotion he carried during their first date, (Y/N) smiled too and got on her tiptoes to give him a light kiss. He grabbed her hand and walked her into the room, she would have cried if she realized sooner everything there was in that room.

"You did all this for me?!"

It was clear in her voice that she was emotional in that moment and Sam hated the fact that she underestimated her value for him, "baby, that's nothing. Perhaps I should have done something sooner when I first started to notice you needed some time alone" "thank you". Sam smiled and gave her a kiss.

When they finally settled onto the couch (Y/N) was analyzing every detail there was in Sam's preparation: he put three blankets on the couch 'cause he knew he was too tall to tall for them both be covered entirely just by one and also added few pillows because (Y/N) loved the fluffy feeling of them while watching a movie; he made a little table with every kind of chips the market sold and four bottles of her favorite soda, on the shelf under it there were two or three packages of cookies too. Sam also organised something like fifteen movies, all divided by genre and number of stars (Y/N) gave them when they first talked about it.

Sam chose the first movie of the night -obviously a musical- and settled next to his girlfriend. She was so fucking happy about all Sam had done for her.

(Y/N) put her head on his chest while Sam's arm was around her shoulders, drawing figures on her arms to make her relax some more.

Dean snuck in after the first two songs of the musical and rested with one shoulder leaned on the doorframe to look at them: they were adorable. At first when they were on their honeymoon phase Dean felt the need to puke every two seconds, but now he loved to look at them from afar and be happy of their happiness

(Y/N) lifted her head to look at Sam: he was so focused on the screen,the lights of the scenes illuminated his face in a way that made his eyes sparkle.

"I love you", she whispered and Sam's face turned instantly. She still blushed when Sam looked at her that way, "and I love you".

Dean didn't see the kiss because he closed the door immediately after his brother said those words, that was another of the things that made Dean root for them: they never said "I love you too", like they had to say it just because or to not be in an embarrassing situation; every time they proclaimed their love for eachother they made sure to let the other know how much they actually loved eachother and how they really believed in what they said with that "I love you".

Sam and (Y/N) watched another movie and a documentary, they finished almost all the chips and sodas. After about the half of the documentary (Y/N) fell asleep snuggled up to Sam, who was massaging her head -he already knew that after one cookie she was about to pass out, so he made sure to get her in the most comfortable position and help with his hands in her hair to allow the sleep to finally set-

Dean never got back in that room, because he knew that they would have fallen asleep eventually. He made himself a burger and drank one too many beers, but it didn't matter because that night Dean too slept so well knowing that his brother and his sister were okay.