#i've already spent way more time on this than i had intended to

[roosterforme]

Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception. 

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning. 

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

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

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched. 

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

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

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

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

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights. 

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

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

After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged. 

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door. 

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

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

He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[kentopedia]

𝐢. 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

after you find out about the marriage arranged between you and nanami kento, you have to find a way to break the news to your lover.

contents . . . sfw, breakups, light angst, f!reader, arguing, gojo x reader, masterlist linked above for more series contents — 2.3k

notes . . . hi everyone !! i'm so so excited to finally share this series, i've been having so much fun with it hehe. in case you haven't seen the masterlist, this is a nanami series, but this first part is gojo x reader... so idk how to tag it lol.

Twigs snapped beneath you as you ran through the garden, barely holding onto the last strain of composure that you had. It was nearing sundown, but you ignored that, reaching the edge of your family’s estate and approaching the creek, careless to any dangers. The sounds of the water grew louder and louder in your ears as you drew closer, turning from a faint trickle to a roar. 

The look on your parent’s face when they’d delivered the news was still burned into your irises, replaying in your mind as you landed one foot in front of the other. How unexpressive they’d been, straight to business — as if they didn’t care at all. It was your future they were messing with, but it seemed they didn’t mind throwing away your happiness. 

You arrived at the creek much faster than anticipated, your breaths heaving as you headed down the hill. 

Satoru was already there, as you’d expected, running his hands through the murky water. His blue eyes shot over from the sound of the leaves crunching, an easy smile on his face, revealing sharp canines.

“What took you so long?” Satoru asked, looking over his shoulder with his typical, lopsided grin. Though, as soon as he saw the tears that were welling in your eyes, his face fell, giving way to a gloomy expression. “Hey, hey, hey. My darling…” he cooed, the tone of his voice so tender. “What’s the matter?” 

You’d been doing a wonderful job at holding back your tears until then, but they began to spill down your cheeks, hot and heavy, dripping off your chin. Your nose began to burn. “I—” you started, then choked on a sob, burying your face in your hands, unable to continue. 

The sound of the creek, rushing through the woods, at least spared you some embarrassment, as it blocked out your cries. 

Satoru was quick to scramble to his feet and make his way over to you, not even thinking before he’d wrapped you up in a warm embrace. He smelled vaguely of the stables, still, as well as the outside, a thick air of sweat lingering on his skin. 

“Take a breath,” Satoru said soothingly, rubbing your spine as you cried into his shoulder, coating his tunic with the weight of your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, squeezing your fingers into his top. The cloth wound up between them, wrinkling the fabric. “I’m so sorry, Satoru.” 

“Whatever are you sorry for, my sweet?” Satoru didn’t draw away, but you could tell that he wanted to… He wanted to question what it was that had made you cry, when he’d seen you earlier in such a jovial state, so thrilled for your rendezvous as the sun bled into the evening. 

The conversation with your parents still lingered at the forefront of your mind, laced with a tinge of distaste and betrayal. 

How desperately you wished you could escape your responsibilities, run from them without guilt. But even now, already a few years into your adulthood, you still felt the burning need to please your family. 

You pressed your eyes shut, deeply inhaling Satoru’s sweet aroma, in case it were the last you ever got of it. “My family has known this whole time. They knew, and they never intended to let me marry you.” 

You’ve spent far too long with the stable boy, dear, and we’ve let you have your fun. Don’t think that we haven’t known, all these years, that he’s the reason you’re pushing all your suitors away. 

Those were words you’d certainly never forget.

Satoru drew away, his eyes narrowed as he scanned your face. Still, there was no sense of panic, his icy irises as steadfast and confident as ever. “Is that it?” he asked, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, soaking up the tears with his lips. “Well, we’ll just have to do without their permission, won’t we? I know your family is very dear to you, but—”

Your face screwed up tighter, watery eyes blurring your vision. “It is not as easy as you make it out to be, Satoru. Despite what you may think, I do not wish for them to hate me. Not to mention, your livelihood depends on their employment. They will not pay my dowry if you are my husband. They will not employ you any longer, and I’ll—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Satoru said, insistent, his optimism succumbing to irritation as you argued. “We can surely find other means to survive.” 

“Survive?” you frowned, features contorting as the tears, momentarily, restrained. “I do not wish to live a life where we have to fight to get by. Besides—”

But Satoru spoke over you, spilling words of grandeur, in a world where things worked out exactly as planned. But your outlook had never been as positive, and his dreams seemed no more than that, in the face of reality. 

“Satoru.” You raised your voice, ever so slightly, and pushed him away, as if to finally make him hear your words. “You’re not listening to me. Even if we could, even if everything you’re saying happened like you want it to, they’ve already found me another husband.”

Silence. It was enough to hear the wind slipping through the trees, swaying the branches. Leaves fell at your feet, swirling around your ankles, a breeze suddenly picking up, as if aware of your quarrel. 

The two of you stared at each other, basked in the last golden rays of the evening. For the first time in decades, it seemed, you were unsure what to say to one another.

Satoru scanned your face, his lips parting, jaw working as he fought for words. “Another husband.” 

“Yes.” Your exhale came out heavy as you blinked away from him, glancing over his shoulder, so as not to face the intensity of his irises. “I’m getting older; men will not be so willing to take me as their bride. So my parents worked something out with a friend of my father’s. His son is a few years older than me,” you sniffed. “He’s been unwilling to get married, but now that his mother is sick…” you shrugged, confused and defeated, as you wrung your hands together. “I’ve been told her final wish is to see her son married.”

“What a wish,” Satoru rolled his eyes, scoffing, “to see your child in a loveless relationship.”

You said nothing. Satoru wouldn’t understand the ways of the nobility, wouldn’t understand the responsibility that you felt. He’d never met his parents, and never had the chance to care about them. 

He huffed instead, running his hands through his snowy hair as he paced close to the water’s edge. It soaked the soles of his shoes, ruining the leather, but he didn’t seem to mind, too deep in his thoughts.

“You have no say in the matter?” Satoru finally asked, his shoulders slumping, as he turned back to face you once again. “You’re just going to let them tell you how to live your life, submit yourself to a man who might be cruel to you?”

“Satoru…” you began, considering defending yourself, before you conceded. “I’m sorry. I care for you, I do, but you must understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine. You surprised me, is all. I thought you’d put love over things like that.” 

You swallowed, shoving away the engulfing sadness as he paced back toward you, his wet shoes creating muddy footprints in the ground. 

“You can’t honestly have thought that all our silly dreams would come to fruition. You knew all along that this was just a fleeting fancy, didn’t you?” 

“On the contrary, I thought this was serious.” To your surprise, Satoru dug through his pocket, throwing a ring at you, one that was nothing close to extravagant, but beautiful all the same. “I’ve carried this for weeks now… just waiting. There was never a good time to propose, but I really did want to marry you. How’s that for fleeting?” 

Your jaw fell slack. A fresh wave of tears began as you bent down, soiling your pastel gown in the grass and mud to pick up the ring. It was a simple gold band, shiny and smooth — probably months worth of his salary. 

Nausea rose up in you as you dusted off the fine piece of jewelry, staring at it with affection. “Dear lord,” you said, not even bothering to wipe the snot that ran in a smooth stream from you nose, just like your tears. “Why did you have to tell me this?”

“I won’t spare you the kindness of ignorance. I want you to know exactly what you’re throwing away.”

“That’s not—” you shook your head, eyes glued to the ring. “I don’t want you out of my life. I love you, Satoru. I want to be with you, I just can't… But, perhaps, we can still see each other?”

Your lover stared, blinking once, then again, his white eyelashes fanning over pale cheeks. Then, a loud laugh escaped from him, deep from his chest, as if in horror. “You want me to be your whore?” he asked, aghast, infiltrating your space as he backed you into a tree. 

You glanced up at him, eyes wide, pressing your hands to the smooth expanse of his chest. “I—”

“I love you. I love you, and I’d dedicate my life to supporting you,” his voice was pained, cracking on the vowels. “But that means nothing to you, does it? You’re so selfish.” 

The word felt like a slap to the face — the same that your family had called you, when they’d admitted they knew of your dalliance. Either way, you would lose. You were selfish for bringing such disgrace to your family’s respectable lineage, or you were selfish for choosing your responsibility over your lover. 

“i just don’t know what to do.” Your voice felt small; the weakness of it softened Satoru’s expression, if only by a fraction. 

He exhaled. “Well, I know. Go back home, tell your parents to fuck whoever wants your hand, and run away with me. Be with me,” Satoru pressed his forehead to your own, desperate. “Please. I love you, I adore you, I’ll worship you. What more do you want?”

You swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Satoru…” His hands went still on your waist. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.” 

For the first time in all your years together, since the moment you’d met him as an infant, you felt a distance crack between you, breaking into a cavern. Satoru had been your best friend, your constant companion, the person you’d always thought would be a part of your life. Now, the risk you’d taken by falling in love with him had finally come to pass. You weren’t sure that your relationship could ever be remedied, after such a poor conclusion.

“You’re a coward,” Satoru finally said, spitting your name like it was a curse, and you flinched, dipping your chin to your collarbone. There was no love in those words, no gentleness; they were meant to hurt. “You think you’re different than all the other women of nobility, but you’re not. You want to be spoon-fed like the rest of them, waited on hand and foot, reliant on the money of your family and your husband.”

You sniffled, hands shaking as you clenched your jaw. Satoru had a sharp tongue — he always had — but it’d never been used against you. For the first time, you knew what it was like to be looked at by Gojo Satoru with disdain, and it was awful. 

“That’s cruel… Don’t you understand what you’re asking me to do? You’re asking me to leave behind my family, my life, my security. You want me to leave everything with no plan at all?”

“I understand well enough.” He stepped away, backing up until you could no longer smell the sweat that clung to his sleeves, until you could no longer see the contrasts of blues in his irises. “Truthfully, I don’t believe I know you like I thought I did. I never assumed you’d be so hesitant to leave.” 

Despite your tear-filled eyes, you stood taller, trying to keep some semblance of dignity. Like the noble woman you were, you refused to be seen as weak in the face of your emotions. If you were to leave Satoru, you would leave him confident that you were making the right decision. “Perhaps not, then,” you said. “You may have been taken into our home with love and care, but we are not as similar as you were raised to believe.” 

Satoru licked his lips, then clicked his tongue, speechless, before he turned around for good. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I should’ve known that the spoiled girl you’d been would turn you into a spoiled woman. I’ve been a fool. Enjoy your sham of a marriage.” He began to walk away, slowly, before gradually picking up his pace, his back as taut as the bow of a violin. 

“Is this really how you wish to end things?” you asked, shouting through the wind at his retreating form. “On such a vile note?” 

“You’re the one that ended things,” Satoru said, and though you hoped that he would glance over his shoulder, spare you one last glimpse before you parted ways forever, he never did. “I only wanted to love you.” 

You opened your mouth, words lingering on your tongue, before you shut it, and let him go. 

Tomorrow, you would regret it. You would long for his warm embrace, his arms, so strong from riding and tending to the horses. You would long for his kiss, gently brushed against your hairline, a smile growing on his lips as you told him about the book you’d read. You would long for a time when you passed him in the hallways and received a grin, instead of a sneer. 

But, for now, thrumming with guilt and grief and rage, you watched him walk away, hands balled at your fist. Maybe he didn’t deserve you anyway. 

Maybe you didn’t deserve him. 

thank you so much for reading! ‪‪❤︎‬ next part

[russellsppttemplates]

We're a couple of idiots, aren't we? (Charles Leclerc)

You had always been there to see Charles race and you wouldn't let your fight interfere with that

Note: english is not my first language. I'm not the best at writing angst pieces, but I hope this one is decent enough!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: family issues (alludes to the caregiver necessities), couple fight

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

It all began when you came home later than expected, the tiredness evident in your eyes as you paced your bag down on the sofa and allowed yourself to rest for a little, "Hey, amour", Charles whispered, testing to see if you were awake as he walked inside the living room, "hey", you said, patting the seat next to you.

Kissing your forehead, Charles sat next to you, "how was your day?", he asked, rubbing your thigh, "exhausting", you sighed, "and the next few are going to be even worse. I probably won't be home for dinner tomorrow anyway".

Charles felt uneasy, squirming around in his seat. You had been working a lot, your family also needed you on their side since your grandparents needed more assistance these days, so you and Charles haven't been able to spend that much time together. And wether it was the fact that you're used to being around eachother or the fact that the season was not going as expected, Charles felt like he hadn't spent enough time with the person he considered his safe and happy place.

"You have been very busy, I feel like I've hardly spent time with you", Charles noted, and maybe it was a seemingly honest comment that wasn't intended to be taken as harmful as you did.

"I know I've not been home, Charles, you think I don't feel that too? I know we haven't spent much time together just the two of us, but it's not been easy! Everyone needs me here, there and everywhere at the same time, and I also need time for me!", you let out.

Unexpectedly, your words also impacted Charles in a way you didn't think they would, "I know you've been busy, but we also need to spend time together, no? Or is our relationship not something we should invest time on? In a relationship, we both need eachother", he gulped. A weird and new feeling sat in his chest, like he was pressuring you and that he was burdening you.

"We do, but we also need to let eachother have some time, too!", you said, feeling anger, sadness, and overall tiredness from your recent days, "I'm going to bed", you mumbled, getting up and heading for your shared bedroom.

The energy you had left in your body was only enough to allow you to wash your face, noticing the dull and dark tone as you quickly rubbed some moisturiser on, grabbing your pyjamas to out them on and lay in bed, taking a painkiller for the growing headache.

When Charles finally go to the bedroom, he noticed you were already asleep on your side of the bed, carefully walking along the side so he could kiss your forehead before he too got ready for bed.

.

By the time the next morning arrived, Charles had ready left, and when you grabbed your phone, notifications from various WhatsApp groups popped up.

Mum + Dad

Can you go by grandma's house today? She was complaining of some pain and we can't remember if her meds box is sorted out or not.

Ferrari GP Weekend

Okay, just to make sure I'm not leaving anyone out: Y/N, you're not coming this weekend, right?

Since your family had been needing you to spend more time with them and at home, you had already said that you weren't sure you'd be joining them for that Grand Prix, and last night's fight settled the subject.

Texting both of the groups, you got up and got ready for the day, already knowing it was going to be a tough one.

You and Charles didn't fight a lot, at least not like this. Usually, you always found a way to talk about things and sort them out. So even this was new territory, not having talked about the subject and finding a common ground, because the situation you both left it at the night before was not the one to have.

Throughout the day, you hopefully texted Charles saying that you'd try to be home so you could talk to eachother before he left later on the evening, and while you intended to keep it, you had to text him again

To Charles

I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be home until nighttime. My grandma needs me and it's going to take a while.

Have a safe flight. Can you text me when you land, please? Love you ✨️

True to your word, you sat in your bedroom with the moon already shinning through the windows and showcasing perfectly Charles' bedside table with none of his rings, watch and bracelets where he usually put them when he was at the house.

.

"Why did I arrive to the paddock today only to find out that you are not joining me this weekend?", Francisca said over the phone, apparently not even bothering to wish you a good morning, even though it clearly wasn't one.

"Because I've been the busiest bee ever under the sun, and I also had a fight with Charles, and I need to sleep for three days straight to recover", you replied back, noticing the change in Pierre's girlfriend's tone.

"Oh", she added, "I'm sorry, it's just that you're always here and I haven't been able to talk to him properly yet, maybe it's a good thing I haven't yet", she admitted.

One thing you liked about her, was how honest she was with you, and you needed it right now, "do you think I should go? We left the subject hanging and it's not something light we can just solve over the phone. And besides, I've always been there for these races, and he deserves as much support as he can get", you asked, chewing on your bottom lip as you waited for her answer.

"I have no idea why you fought, nor do I want to know unless you feel comfortable in telling me, but I do know that you're made for eachother, so if your heart tells you to come to the race, you should", she advised and you could hear the smile on her voice, "besides, I love your company, so it's a win win".

.

From all the times you had previously travelled with Charles, you had become acquainted and a pro a listing what you needed for the race weekends, so packing was easy and quick: two changes of clothes for both colder and warmer weather, basic toiletries bag in a backpack with entertainment and snacks for the flight.

The early hours allowed you to get to the airport without any traffic and make it to the gate with enough time to spare so you could grab a coffee to go.

Francisca knew you were coming, and after having a conversation with your family, you explained to them how the whole situation was putting pressure not only on you but also on your relationship with Charles. As you expected, they were not aware of how the situation was on your side and sat down with you so you could find a better arrangement.

Arriving at the airport of destination, you quickly found the transport line that would be taking you to the closest stop near the paddock, gradually seeing fans get inside as the stops approached the track site.

You followed them in, wanting to go as unnoticed as possible as you walked along them.

"I just saw on Instagram that Charles had left his hotel a while ago, so he should be here any minute now", a young woman around your age commented with her friends, stopping by the benches you were sitting in. Turns out you were waiting for the same person after all.

"Is it okay if we sit here?", one of them asked kindly, "Oh, you're Y/N", one of the girls said.

Nodding, you pushed your backpack to rest near your legs, "of course you can sit", you smiled, still not used to the fact that fans often recognised your face.

"Thanks!", she scurried nervously, urging her friends to sit, seeing their surprised faces as they looked at you, "Also, I'm sorry, I'm sure this is weird for you, that I know your name and you don't know mine, I- we didn't expect to find you here", she apoligised, finally sitting down.

"It's okay, unless you're going to turn out to be come crazy stalker fan, I think we will be fine", you smiled, hoping they would catch the joke and relax a little.

"No no no!", they all said, smiling when you smiled back, "but, may I ask what you're doing here? I mean, don't you have an all access pass?", one of them wondered as she sat next to you.

"I'm surprising Charles, actually", you added, feeling like saying anything else would not only be violating yours and Charles' privacy, but also allowing the creation of rumours you wouldn't want, "I wasn't originally coming to see him race, but some things cleared up on my calendar so I thought I'd surprise him", you finished, seeing them smile, "do you come to watch races regularly?", you asked, changing the subject hopefully subtly enough that they wouldn't notice too much.

Conversation was flowing easily, really, they seemed like really nice girls and it never felt invasive, so the time you had to wait went by quickly, hearing people call your boyfriend's name.

You could notice his presence anywhere, that was a given. Wether it was his well trained torso that made spotting him even from his back, or his handsome face, it wasn't hard yo miss him even surrounded by fans who were wearing the same t-shirt as him.

"Let me stand around you so he won't notice me", you said, "with how enamoured he is of you, I'm sure it won't be long", one of the girls, named Lyla, you learned, spoke, wanting to see the scene unfold as he approached you.

"Hi!", Charles greeted, posing for the pictures while he signed the caps they had, not noticing your hand holding one of his own caps was in the mix.

"Charles! Can you sign this, please?", you asked, hoping you were loud enough, "I was not coming to see you race today, but I'm very happy I did", you almost yelled, thanking the fact that the other girls had helped you by keeping quiet until he realised you were there.

It was enough for Charles to recognise the voice. After all, he had been longing to hear it for the past couple of days.

"Y/N, you're here!", he called, handing Lyla the permanent marker before he hugged you, "I missed you so much, I'm sorry", he whispered on your ear before pulling back a little so he could look you in the eye, "you don't have a pass, do you?", he wondered, seeing you shake your head, "I'll see what I can do, but you're coming with me", he smiled, holding your hand in his and bidding goodbye to the group of girls after you all took a group picture.

The rush until you arrived in his driver's room didn't allow you to talk until you sat on the sofa after greeting everyone and thanking one of the team members for getting you a pass on such short notice.

"Do you think we can talk about it? I don't want to ruin the race by distracting you from it, but I don't think we should be here and not discuss it either", you brought the subject, looking up to see Charles push a chair and sit in front of you, "I want to apologise first", you said, "I never should have said what I said, especially the way I said it, I'm sorry", you apologised, "I never intended it in a way that would hurt you".

Charles grabbed your hands, lacing them in his and looking into your eyes, "I'm sorry, too. I think we should talk about it, too. I want this to be solved, I want us to be well", he admitted.

"My grandparents have been needing a bit more help, and my parents counted on me for it. And I feel like I haven't spent that much time with you, and I'm so sorry for it, but sometimes it just got too much. And I didn't want to burden you, you have your own things to worry about and this would be another thing. They're better now and this was probably a bad phase, but still", you explained.

Charles chuckled before he saw the confusion on your face, "no, I'm joking about this, amour. I'm glad they're better", he reasoned, "but I thought I was being a burden because I felt like I was clingy, like I needed you more than usual and that you had had enough. I didn't want to put more on your plate", he sighed.

Smiling at him, you moved your hand to caress his cheek, "you could never be too much, Charles. Sometimes I just need to deal with things on my own for a bit, even if there is help from someone else", you blushed.

"I know you need me to give you the space you need, that's why I didn't want to push you to talk about things, because as much as I want to craddle you in my arms forever and shield you away from the world's evil, I know you like to do things on your own, at least at first", he noted, earning your silent agreement, "but I'm here for you, always. I'm glad we worked that out", he smiled, pulling your face to his and kissing you deeply, only stopping when someone knocked on the door.

"I heard my favourite girl is back in the paddock, so I suggest you come out because I'm not feeling like I want to see whatever is going on there", your recognised Francisca's voice, getting up and opening the door to see Pierre by her side, "I told her she shouldn't interrupt you two, but she was very excited to know how the surprise went", he smiled.

"A very good surprise indeed, the best one ever", Charles said, pulling you in for one last kiss before he ventured out to the garage, a new feeling of confidence knowing you were there to watch him race.

[shootingmorningstar]

Was inspired by bambygourl’s fanart and a TikTok I saw. Dressing up as Roger and Jessica Rabbit for a costume party with Lucifer. I think he’d be all pouty and grumpy about dressing up as such a silly character and not a suave charming character. Especially since he’d take a look at the white button up, red trousers with suspenders, and blue bow tie with yellow polka-dots and see it as a fashion nightmare XD. And don’t get him started on the bunny ears and tail. Tho his mood is sufficiently uplifted when he sees the reader dressed up as Jessica Rabbit. Low cut red dress with a slit and all. Just imagine pulling on his suspenders or bow tie for a kiss, getting lipstick on his mouth and face, and cooing over how adorable and handsome her honey-bunny is.

I've been meaning to get to this request ever since I saw it because it is just so good. I'm definitely biased for anything Lucifer related but god this is just so cute. Anon, your brain is outstanding. I love pouty Lucifer. If you still have that tiktok on hand or ever come across it again, do you think you could send it my way .ᐣ

You didn't include what kind of request you wanted though, and my default is HCs -- but I couldn't help but throw in a little drabble based on them, too. Or, at least I intended it to be a drabble .ᐣ It got away from me, haha.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀Lucifer and Female Reader Dressing

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Up As Roger and Jessica Rabbit ~

Lucifer is initially thrilled when you bring up wanting to attend a famous yearly costume party in Pride with him. A chance to show you off sounds amazing, and he's great with costumes. Just the thought of you two matching is enough to get him excited.

You seemed just as excited as he was -- in fact, he was even more excited when you told him you'd already had something in mind .ᐟ He's pestering you to tell him just what the costumes were as soon as the plan leaves your lips, but much to his displeasure, you refuse, saying you want to keep it a surprise.

You'd even managed to resist the very strongest puppy-dog eyes and pout. Impressive. He usually succeeds in getting his way with that one -- who could ever say no to that face .ᐣ Having exhausted his options, he sighs his defeat.

Well, nearly exhausted his options. He was entirely too ready to pretend that you'd won and snoop through your closet the second you walked away. Apparently his quick glance at said closet had given him away though, and with a quick deadpan stare alongside a scary sounding ❛ don't you dare. ❜ has his feet rooted to the floor.

Did his poker face really suck so bad .ᐣ He's definitely practicing it in the mirror later.

Ultimately, though, he trusts you completely and your choice in matching outfits is no exception, so he allows it to drop for now. There's still a few more days until the party, but that time could be spent much more productively by your side rather than whining about clothing.

That is, until the day of the party comes around and you bring out his outfit. You'd never seen Lucifer's jaw drop quite like that before and it takes iron will to stop yourself from giggling at his present state.

He doesn't understand the reference. Lucifer regrets his past decision to give humanity free will. It's obvious, even if he never seems to say it outright. He had given out such a precious gift and so much of humanity chose to abuse it, to be nothing but cruel. Looking at sinners and by extension humanity is just a terrible reminder of what he'd done, so he prefers to avoid it whenever possible. This quite often includes the media of the living realm -- he's never even heard about the movie, forget seeing it.

So without the full context, all he knows is that you've just handed him an absolutely atrocious outfit -- and to make it worse, you expect him to go out in it .ᐣ Seriously, he whinges, red overalls with a blue bow .ᐣ Rabbit ears .ᐣ And to make it worse, you won't even show him your outfit until he gets dressed .ᐟ He can't believe you're laughing.

He sounds completely and totally ridiculous, in your defense. Seriously, has he seen his regular outfit .ᐣ He looks absolutely stunning, sure -- but he also looks like he walked right out of a circus.

It says a lot, though, that despite the complete and total pity party he's currently throwing himself, he's beginning to shuffle into the costume anyway. He's grumbling the whole way, but the fact that he just doesn't have it in him to say no to you warms your heart.

You had been so, so eager about this party, and the way your eyes had shined like stars when you told him had long since burned itself into his heart.

wc ; 1.2k

His seemingly endless complaints had tapered off ever so slightly when you shimmied his grasp off of the ruby red suspenders sagging unbuttoned over his chest. By the time you take the fabric into your own hands his protests faded to little more than a mumble under his breath, and with the very first snap of a button in place under your gentle touch he'd quieted completely. Where a look of exasperation had reflected off his face seconds prior, in its place now is that of silent awe, his gaze trained on your every action. The gesture of intimacy is enough to leave Lucifer somewhat choked up, his heart still not used to receiving such acts of adoration and kindness. You tie the cornflower blue fabric adorned with tiny yellow spots into a bow to accentuate the costume and cover his hands briefly with your own as you slip the gloves onto his fingers.

Not twenty minutes had passed, and he finds his attitude regarding the ensemble shifting with every second you take to assist him into it. Each and every part of it looks ridiculous at best, but the thought of you picking it out solely for him has him warming up to the idea.

Declaring your work complete, you raise your grasp ever so slightly, palms holding each of his cheeks close, your thumbs rubbing soft little circles below his eyes. Your affections are sufficient only when finished with a kiss placed on his forehead. ❛ I'm going to go get dressed, okay .ᐣ No peeking. I promise I'll be right back. ❜

The way his wrists on instinct dart out to catch yours to bring you close to him again as you pull back nearly got you. He's extended his lips in a pout once more. You hate to leave him quite so sad looking but you know he'll appreciate what you have planned enough for it to be worth it.

Bathroom door shutting closed behind you, there's the smallest bit of lingering regret that he can't help you to get dressed like you had for him. The outfit itself takes you barely a few moments to slip into -- it's the makeup that requires precision, time and effort. His pacing around the bedroom is audible, impatient steps sounding into stomps, the sounds causing you to choke on a laugh. You need a steady hand for your eyeshadow and that's hard to maintain during an act quite as cute as this.

Nonetheless, your look is finished within half an hour and therefore Lucifer is put out of his misery. It's not a second after the door clicks open that his attention is caught, snapped to the light peaking out of the doorway. Stepping into the small hallway, your eyes are met with his own -- and the way his pupils widen as soon as he gets a glance of your dress makes both your efforts and his complaining worthwhile. His gaze takes you in from top to bottom, each detail enchanting him further. The dress so perfectly hugging your curves is crimson to match him and absolutely breathtaking -- and are you walking towards him .ᐣ Your strut does well to accentuate the slit stitched into the leg, your thigh tantalizing in its display.

Finally reclaiming your place beside him, one of your fingers reaches out, finding purchase under his chin -- and when you tilt his head up you swear you saw his eyes flash red. ❛ Hello, my darling husband, ❜ you coo, sending his already overloaded brain into a frenzy. Husband . . .ᐣ You wanted . . .ᐣ With him, really . . .ᐣ And although he's beginning to put the pieces together and clue in that such a term of endearment was part of your match, you seemed so happy to say it. He snaps his focus back onto just how stunning you look tonight, but the idea has firmly implanted itself into the depths of his mind.

Back into the present time, his hands have begun to roam -- he wants to commit every detail of you to memory, and that includes the feeling of your dresses fabric under his fingertips. His grasp is met with your own, for it's not long before you're pulling the straps of his suspenders, tugging him forward into a kiss. By the time he's recovered from his surprise enough to reciprocate, though, you're already beginning to pull away. He chases your lips with a whine but you've already moved on, pressing a kiss first to his cheek and then to his forehead. It's only when you offer him a small compact mirror does he understand -- each of your kisses has left behind a little bit of the lipstick you oh so painstakingly applied. Your marks on his face have left him entranced, desperately craving more.

A gasp rips itself from those same cherry red lips in surprise -- you weren't expecting him to summon forth his tail, much less wrap it around your midsection and use it to bring you closer. ❛ Kiss me again, ❜ He pleads, desperate and breathy. ❛ Anything for my honey bunny, ❜ you chime, matching the mark on his left cheek with one on the right. ❛ You just look so cute, ❜ between each kiss is another offering of praise and compliments, the blush left in your wake matching excellently. ❛ Who's my handsome bunny .ᐣ ❜

Your multitude of kisses has left Lucifer stunned and looking nothing short of angelic -- even more so than usual. You're fully intending on giving him several more, leaning in to do just that when the wall mounted clock besides you chimes a new hours arrival, alerting you to the time. ❛ Oh, dear. I'm very sorry, Mr. Rabbit, but I'm afraid we simply must be going. We don't want to be late, do we .ᐣ ❜

Fixing your lipstick takes all of a few seconds, leaving you free to grab a makeup wipe off the pouch resting atop your vanity and wipe all of the stains you'd adorned his face with away. A snap of his wrist catches yours just inches from his face, however, halting your plans in their tracks. Confused, you look to him for an explanation, a soft ❛ leave them. please .ᐣ ❜ being all he offers you. ❛ You're going to go to the party like this, love .ᐣ ❜ to which he nods sagely. He can't bear to part with them -- not when the lipstick marks are yours, not when they declare proudly that he is yours.

❛ If you say so, honey. ❜ You can't deny that the prospect leaves your heart fluttering. A grand, golden portal appears with a simple snap of his fingers and he takes your arm, now linked with his own in an attempt to usher you forward. He can't wait to show you off, to watch as other demons eyes glow green as they stare his way. You stay still, though, prompting him to look back at you with an air of confusion. It's then that you lean close, whispering ❛ be a good bunny and there will be more where that came from. too bad we'll have to wait until we come home, hmm .ᐣ ❜

Suddenly Lucifer can't wait for this party to be over.

I still can't believe I'd originally intended this to be 100 words and it ended up over a thousand. I can't help it, I'm so weak for anything Lucifer related. I'm half tempted to write an absolutely filthy post party part 2. If there's enough demand for it .ᐣ I just might.

As always, let me know what you think .ᐣ Hearing back from you guys keeps me motivated ~

[leona-hawthorne]

heyyy, i’d like to browse for a book? i’m looking for something… blaise zabini. maybe a mix of fluff and smut?like “if you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, i think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.” and/or him taking your hand and placing it on his chest. “feel this heartbeat? this is the effect you have on me." luv luv luv ur writing and take all the time u need ✌️✌️

YAYYY i've never written for blaise before so thank u sm for requesting this!!! also I got your other request about you wanting opposites attract so don't worry bb 💝

1k celebration navigation

DEAL?... book browsing

ミ★ BLAISE ZABINI

You could already feel the bass thudding in your ribcage as you stepped into the dark, crowded club, the flashing lights casting a haze over the room. Blaise’s arm stayed protectively around you, his touch warm and steady as he guided you through the jostling crowd. As much as you wanted to blend in, to just enjoy this night with him and his friends, you couldn’t help but feel out of place. Blaise, with his effortless calm and air of fun, looked completely in his element, but every minute you spent here made you feel like you were intruding on a world you didn’t belong to.

For a while, you tried to focus on him, on his low chuckle when one of his friends cracked a joke, or the way he seemed so relaxed, his fingers holding yours reassuringly, the scent of his cologne. But the longer you were there, the more the crowded room started to close in around you, the crush of people pressing in on all sides. You tried to shake it off, telling yourself to be cool, to just enjoy the night for Blaise’s sake. But your hand started to clench around the drink he’d handed you, and you caught yourself glancing toward the door, longing for the fresh air.

He caught you looking around, noticing the slight way you stiffened whenever someone bumped into you. “Hey,” he murmured, leaning close so you could hear him. “You alright?” Blaise’s voice was low in your ear, just loud enough for you to hear over the pounding music. He glanced down at you, his eyes soft but with a hint of amusement, as if he could already tell you were nervous.

“Yeah, of course,” you lied, forcing a smile as you took in the crowd of people pressed together, the smell of drinks and smoke hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t want to spoil his night by letting on how out of place you felt, especially since he seemed to be enjoying himself. “Just a bit loud.”

Still, your shoulders tensed every time someone brushed by too close, and you caught yourself clutching his arm a little tighter than you’d intended.

He noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, leaning down a bit so you could hear him better, “we can go if you want.”

Your stomach dropped. “No, really, I’m fine!” you insisted, hating the idea of being a burden. “Your friends are here, and you don’t have to—”

“Y/N,” he cut in, his gaze softening as he raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have to anything. I want to make sure you’re comfortable. If this isn’t your thing, it’s not a big deal.”

You hesitated, trying to shake off the pang of guilt. “I just… I know you have fun here, and I don’t want to be the one who drags you away.”

His expression shifted, something almost unreadable flickering across his face, and he tilted his head with that soft smile that made your heart stutter. “If you’re not having fun,” he said gently, “then I’m not either. Come on, let’s go.”

That was all the assurance you needed. Within minutes, the two of you had slipped out of the club and into the cool night air. As you drove in silence back to his flat, you tried to organize your thoughts, the guilt from earlier bubbling up again as you replayed the night in your mind.

Once you reached the quiet comfort of his living room, the words tumbled out of you in a rush. “I’m so sorry, Blaise,” you said, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, not meeting his gaze. “I feel like such a buzzkill. That whole scene… it’s just not really my thing. You must get so frustrated with me sometimes.”

Blaise sighed, moving closer until you couldn’t avoid his eyes anymore. “Frustrated?” he repeated, as if the idea was completely foreign. “If you’re not enjoying yourself, then neither am I. It’s that simple.”

You shook your head, laughing softly despite yourself. “I don’t know, you just… you fit there, you know? You’re so relaxed, like nothing ever phases you. Meanwhile, I’m… just standing in the corner like an idiot,” you sighed. “I didn’t mean to be a killjoy, I just–”

“Hey.” He took your hand, drawing it to his chest, pressing it firmly over his heartbeat. “Feel that?” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “Feel this heartbeat? That’s the effect you have on me. You ground me, even in the middle of all that noise. So, trust me when I say, I don’t care where we are—if you’re there, that’s all that matters.”

For a moment, you could only stare at him, completely taken aback by the warmth and sincerity in his gaze. The steady beat beneath your hand seemed to echo through you, grounding you just as much as he’d said you did for him. In that moment, you realized he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He meant every word.

"Blaise," you whispered, feeling the need to respond, to acknowledge the depth of what he'd just shared. But no words came, because what could you possibly say in return?

Instead, you found yourself leaning in, drawn to him like a magnet. His lips were so close now, tempting you, and you knew if you closed the gap, there would be no going back. Not that you wanted to. 

Your pulse quickened as you leaned in closer, the air between you charged with tension. He waited, giving you space to take the lead, but his eyes never left yours, dark and intense. When you spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper, laced with nerves and something deeper, more primal.

“I still feel bad that you had to leave your friends,” you murmured, biting your lip as you held his gaze. “Maybe... maybe I can make it up to you. Another way.” 

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. His breath hitched slightly, a flash of desire crossing his features before he schooled them into a neutral mask. But you could see the effect they had on him, the way his pupils dilated, the subtle tightening of his jaw.

“Is that so?” he replied, his voice low and husky.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no turning back now. You reached up, trailing your fingers along his jawline, marveling at the smoothness of his skin. His eyes followed the movement, fixated on your touch.

Before you could second-guess yourself, Blaise leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispered, "Don't overthink it." Then, slowly, torturously, he closed the distance between you, his mouth finding yours in a tender kiss that sent sparks racing through your veins.

As you melted into each other, the rest of the world fell away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, gazes locked in a silent understanding.

He stepped closer, backing you up against the wall as he dipped his head to brush his lips along the column of your throat. Each press of his mouth sent shivers cascading down your spine, your pulse fluttering wildly under his tongue.

"Tell me what you want," he breathed against your skin, the command laced with promise. His hands skimmed up your sides, thumbs grazing the underside of your tits as he waited for your answer. Blaise was a patient man, but even he had his limits, and right now, he was close to snapping.

"I..." You swallowed hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. What did you want? Anything. Everything. Him. "I want..."

He paused, pulling back enough to meet your eyes, his own darkened with restrained hunger. "What do you want, Y/N?" he prompted again, slower this time, enunciating each syllable. His voice was rough, gravelly, sending tendrils of arousal curling through you.

"I want you," you managed to gasp out, the admission slipping past your lips before you could stop it. Your body was screaming for his touch, begging to be claimed by him. "Please, Blaise."

At your plea, he growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as his teeth grazed your collarbone. "Fuck, baby," he muttered, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh through your clothes. "You have no idea how badly I want you."

With a swift motion, he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pressed you harder against the wall. The hardness of his erection prodded insistently against your clothed core, making you whimper with need.

Without warning, he carried you down the hall, kicking open the door to his room. He tossed you onto the mattress, the springs creaking under your weight as he loomed over you, his eyes roaming hungrily across your form.

Slowly wantonly, he began to undress, peeling off his shirt to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest and abs. Your mouth went dry at the sight, your gaze tracing every dip and curve of his muscles. Next came his pants, sliding down his hips to pool at his feet, leaving him in just a pair of tight boxer briefs that did little to conceal his straining erection.

You felt your mind go blissfully blank, overwhelmed by the sheer perfection before you. Your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly parched lips, your heart thundering in your chest like a wild animal desperate to break free.

When he crawled over you, his muscular body pressing deliciously against yours, you let out a shaky sigh, arching into the contact. But then reality crashed back in, and a wave of nervousness washed over you. "Wait," you breathed, reaching up to gently grasp his arms. "I... You know I've never done this before."

Your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment as you admitted your inexperience. "What if I'm bad at it?" The question tumbled out, half-hearted and uncertain.

A slow, wicked grin spread across Blaise's face at your confession, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and promise. He dipped his head, trailing kisses along your jaw until his lips hovered mere inches from your ear.

"Honestly, baby," he purred, his warm breath fanning across your skin and making you shiver. "If you can fuck me the way way you fuck me up emotionally, I think you'd do a pretty damn good job at it."

His hand slid down your side, fingers dancing teasingly along the hem of your shirt before dipping underneath to caress the soft skin of your stomach. "Don't worry," he continued, his voice dropping an octave as he pressed a lingering kiss to the sensitive spot just below your earlobe. "I'll teach you. You've always been a fast learner.".

A soft gasp escaped your lips at Blaise's words, your body responding instinctively to his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers brushed against you. The notion that he would guide you, teach you, made your heart race with excitement and anticipation.

"You really think so?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in your tone was evident, but beneath it lay a spark of determination. If Blaise believed in you, then perhaps you could rise to the challenge.

Emboldened by his reassurance, you reached for the hem of your shirt, hesitating for a moment before slowly lifting it over your head and letting it fall to the side. Your breasts, pert and rounded, rose invitingly, nipples already hardened into tight peaks from the cool air and Blaise's heated gaze.

Blaise's eyes darkened with lust as they roamed over your exposed upper body, drinking in the sight of your perky tits and stiff nipples. He licked his lips, his gaze fixated on the art in front of him.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, leaning in to capture the tip between his lips. He suckled gently, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud while his hand palmed the other breast, thumb circling the nipple.

As he nursed at you, his other hand slid lower, pushing your skirt up around your hips to expose your thighs. His fingers trailed along the smooth skin, edging closer to your panties with each pass until finally, he hooked them with his index finger and tugged the fabric aside.

"We'll take it slow, I promise," he murmured. "I want our first time to be perfect for you."

A sharp intake of breath hitched in your throat as Blaise's mouth closed around your nipple again, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing your breast further into his warm, wet mouth. The gentle suction and flicks of his tongue had you squirming beneath him, your hands grasping at his hair to hold him close.

As his fingers danced along your inner thigh, pushing your panties to the side, you felt a rush of liquid heat dampen your folds. "Fuck, Blaise..."

"Shh, relax, love," Blaise cooed, releasing your nipple with a pop to trail open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if savoring your scent.

One long finger glided through your slick folds, collecting the arousal coating your pussy before circling your clit in lazy strokes. You were absolutely drenched, coating his digits with your arousal. "So wet for me already," he purred, the gravelly undertone in his voice sending shivers down your spine. "I want you so badly, Y/N, he confessed roughly, grinding his clothed erection against your hipbone.” Want to feel this pussy squeezing my cock.”

A low moan spilled from your lips as Blaise's finger entered you, stretching and filling you in ways you'd never experienced before. Your walls clenched reflexively around the digit, drawing it deeper as you rocked your hips against his hand.

"Oh god, yes..." you whimpered, the sensation of his thick finger pumping in and out of your tight hole, combined with the relentless circles he drew around your clit, quickly escalating your arousal to dizzying heights.

"I... I need more," you panted, your nails digging into Blaise's shoulders as you tried to urge him on. "Please, Blaise..."

The desperation in your voice seemed to spur him on, and soon a second finger joined the first, scissoring and stretching you even wider. Blaise groaned at the feeling of your hot, velvety walls gripping his fingers like a vice. He added a third digit, pumping them faster as he watched your face contort in ecstasy.

"That's it, baby, let go," he urged, his thumb rubbing firm circles over your throbbing clit. "Come for me."

Your body tensed, back arching off the bed as the coil of pleasure in your belly snapped, sending you hurtling over the edge into blissful oblivion. You cried out Blaise's name, your pussy clamping down on his fingers as wave after wave of intense euphoria crashed over you. He worked you through it, not stopping until the last waves subsided and you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress. Blaise took a moment to admire the flush of satisfaction coloring your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. 

With deft movements, he divested you of your remaining clothing–your skirt and panties joining your shirt in a pile on the floor. His own boxers followed suit shortly after, revealing his thick, hard length standing proud against his abdomen.

Positioning himself between your splayed thighs, he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasp as the blunt head of his cock nudged insistently at your entrance.

But then you placed a hand on his chest, halting his progress. "Wait," you whispered, suddenly looking uncertain. "I'm... I'm nervous."

Blaise cupped your face tenderly, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "Hey, just look at me," he said softly, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. "There's no 'right' or 'wrong' here, alright? It's just us, just you and me."

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch soothing and reassuring. "We've got all the time in the world, love. We can stop whenever you want, okay?"

Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, pouring all his affection and understanding into the tender contact. "I want this to be special for you, Y/N. More than anything. So we take it at your pace, deal?"

Your heart swelled with emotion at Blaise's words, the sincerity in his voice and the tenderness of his touch easing some of the tension from your body. You nodded slowly, reaching up to caress his cheek.

"Okay," you murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Deal."

With renewed gentleness, Blaise resumed his position between your thighs, the tip of his cock still nestled against your slick entrance. He looked into your eyes once more, seeking permission and reassurance.

"You ready, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "I promise I'll take care of you."

At your nod, he pressed forward incrementally, allowing your body to adjust to his size. Inch by inch, he sank into your warmth, his breathing growing heavier as he savored the incredible feeling of finally being inside you.

Once he was fully sheathed, Blaise paused, giving you a moment to acclimate. Then, with exquisite slowness, he began to move, withdrawing until only the head remained inside before sliding back in, setting a leisurely rhythm designed to ease your nerves.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as Blaise's thickness stretched you open, the initial intrusion causing a fleeting pinch of discomfort before gradually giving way to a pleasurable fullness. As he began to move, you wrapped your legs around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back to draw him in deeper.

Each deliberate thrust sent ripples of sensation coursing through your core, the drag of his cock against your inner walls igniting sparks of pleasure that built with every pass. You arched into him, meeting his slow, sensual pace as you grew accustomed to the intimate connection.

"Mmh... Blaise," you breathed, your hands roaming over his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin. "Feels... amazing."

"That's it, baby," Blaise groaned, his hips rolling in time with yours as he picked up the pace slightly. "Take all of me, love."

He captured your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue twining with yours as he lost himself in the intoxicating taste and feel of you. Each thrust now carried a bit more force, but still with that same meticulous care, ensuring you were thoroughly pleasured rather than simply ravaged.

As he continued to move within you, Blaise broke the kiss to trail his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh there. "You're so fucking perfect, Y/N," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Never felt anything like this before."

Your moans mingled with Blaise's, the sound of your combined passion filling the room as he drove you higher with each powerful thrust. The new pace had you clinging to him tighter, your nails digging into his back as you sought greater friction, more of that incredible pressure building inside you.

When Blaise's teeth grazed your earlobe, you shuddered, a sharp cry escaping your throat. "Blaise..." you whimpered, your hips bucking wildly to meet his now. "Don't stop, please..."

The intensity of your emotions overwhelmed you, and you found yourself teetering on the brink of another climax, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within your core. "I'm close again," you panted, your voice strained with need. 

Blaise's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you with increasing urgency. "Come on, baby," he urged, his voice a husky growl. "Come on my cock."

He reached down to circle your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you hurtling over the edge. As your orgasm crashed through you, Blaise buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his own shout of climax.

Your entire being seemed to fracture apart, shattering into a million brilliant pieces as the most intense orgasm of your life ripped through you. You clung to Blaise desperately, sobbing out his name as the waves of bliss threatened to drown you completely.

In the aftermath, you relaxed back into the soft sheets, utterly spent and sated beyond measure. Blaise rolled to the side, taking you with him so that you lay draped across his chest, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

After several long moments, you lifted your head to gaze up at him, a dreamy smile curving your lips. 

Blaise chuckled, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he gazed down at you adoringly. "See? That was so much more fun than being at the club with my friends," he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "Definitely the better choice tonight."

[artbyblastweave]

Finished up Batman Beyond today. As much as I liked it, one thing that did jump out at me over the course of the show was that Dana Tan was basically an unreconstructed instance of "The Superhero's Girlfriend-" a love interest who's present in the narrative mainly to create tension between the demands of the superhero lifestyle and the loved one who's in the dark, but who has very little agency or role in the story beyond that, indeed, very little else you can have them do if you want to preserve that. The episode in which I believe she got the most focus, she spent most of it running for her life from a Rat Guy through the sewers.

There's a post about Spider-Man doing the rounds, which posits that part of why Mary Jane won out over Spidey's other long-term love interests was that because she wasn't originally intended to win, she had room to develop traits and dynamics beyond "superhero's put-upon girlfriend-"in fact, she had to, in order to present a plausible temptation away from whoever Spidey was quote-unquote "supposed" to be dating. I'm not a comprehensive Spidey reader, so I'm not going to go to the mattress for that read until I've read some more- but I do think there's some meat to that dynamic in general because of this show. Melanie Walker only shows up in three episodes and already she's got a ridiculously tangled family dynamic thrown into the mix, torn loyalties, the need to keep her head above water financially no matter what other goals she has, a cool hoverboard. Max Gibson's got an actual give-and-take back-and-forth with Terry and Bruce, the added interesting complication that she's trying to prybar her way even further into the game than either of them want her to but it's not like they have a way to make her leave. Dana is.... pissed that Terry is spending so much time with Mr. Wayne. Again. I mean, she's got a job to do, she clocks in at the start of each episode and does it.

This sort of harkens back to Invincible, where a major tenet of the first quarter of the book was that for logistical and ethical reasons, a superhero's dating pool is realistically limited to other players of the game- other people deep enough in the cape lifestyle that they can keep up and relate. Otherwise, your partner is going to spend most of the relationship stuck on the outside looking in, and even if they're nominally okay with the situation it's going to suck. Arguably, Amber in the comic fell into the pit of visibly existing mainly to demonstrate this, reproducing the dynamic they were critiquing. The show did a lot of legwork trying to make her more of an actively agentic character, but when the entire point is that a character in her position would have extremely limited agency there's only so much you can do to patch that. Then Eve rolls in, and it turns out you can do the exact same relationship beats about chronic unavailability, lack of communication and the like, but with a partner who's equally capable of showing up to all the big set piece fights and gorily eviscerating people in her own unique ways- a character who's consistently around in the story for reasons other than that she's dating the hero. You don't have to pick!

This got longer than I thought it was going to be. I do want to round out by saying that this sort of aligns neatly with something else that I've noticed- namely that a lot of post-10s cartoons also appear to have noticed this, and either hang back from biting off more than they can chew by committing to a romance subplot for their leads, or if there is a romance subplot they really aggressively commit to making sure the love interest approaches deuteragonist status in terms of airtime and agency. Hell, Steven Universe left the exact status of Steven and Connie's relationship ambiguous, and it still had a lot to say about the civilian girlfriend freezeout trope. Again- date other players!

[annwrites]

— nate jacobs quotes ♡⋰:⋱✧ | exactly what he needs

❝It's not all bad, I guess. Also gives me an excuse to talk to you.❞

❝I may not care for history, but I think it's sweet that you do.❞

❝Well, it may’ve only taken eleven years, but we’re friends now. I just… I just wonder what things might’ve been like had it happened sooner.❞

❝Why don’t you wear your hair down more often? It looks very pretty like this.❞

❝Do you want to hold my hand?❞

❝I just wish you could see what I do.❞

❝I like seeing you happy like this. You don't smile nearly enough.❞

❝But, Y/N, I really, really like you. Being around you is just...so fucking easy. You're easy to talk to, to hang out with, to text with. And you're incredibly beautiful. And kind. And smart. Honestly, I could go on for the next hour, if not longer, about all your admirable qualities. Suffice to say that I'm very-much interested in being with you. And if you feel the same way that I do, then maybe we can give this a shot.❞

❝You were abandoned by your mom. Your dad, too, essentially. The last thing I want is to be one more person to leave you. So I don't plan to.❞

❝Listen, I'm not saying everything is going to be like a picture-perfect fairytale all the time, but I think so long as we're both happy, give each other our all, and consistently work at what we have, then we'll both be happy.❞ (...) ❝Just in the time we've spent together, I've already opened up more to you alone than I have to anyone else in I can't tell you how long. I trust you.❞

❝Oh, baby, I am going to make you so fucking happy.❞

❝Morning, angel.❞

❝I hope you know I intend to spoil you fucking rotten.❞

❝Let's get one thing straight, you desperate whore, if you screw this up for me, you won't like what happens to you. You have no idea the things I'm capable of—the lengths I'm willing to go to—when someone tries to destroy my life or take someone I love away from me.❞

❝Stay the fuck away from me, and even further away from Y/N. If I find out you've said another word—so much as come near her... Just try me, Cass.❞

❝Can I get a kiss for good luck?❞

❝Alright, I have to go get ready, my little good-luck charm.❞

❝I want you. All of you. Being intimate with you is just one part of it. I don't plan on having sex with you tonight. When I take your virginity, I want it to be perfect. For your sake.❞

❝Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are? What seeing you like this does to me?❞

❝Lie back on the bed, sweetheart.❞

❝This what you want, sweetheart?❞

❝You want me to let you cum, baby?❞

❝Good girl.❞

❝We're not leaving until you've picked out something for me to buy for you.❞

❝I told you yesterday that I plan to spoil you fucking rotten. I like buying you presents, sweetheart. So let me.❞

❝I want you to feel as happy as you've made me in the time we've spent together. Because I've never met anyone like you. Someone so good-natured and empathetic and affectionate.❞

❝I've never had that before. From anyone. So it makes me want to...to be better. It makes me so fucking happy to do things for you. To take care of you. I feel like maybe you bring out the softer side of me—the best of me.❞

❝I want you to cum on my hand.❞

❝What's wrong, baby? Tell me what you need.❞

❝Go on, sweetheart, cum for me.❞

❝That's it, baby, I know. I know it feels good.❞

❝You look so fucking beautiful. Cum on my leg, sweetheart. You're almost there. Come on, baby.❞

❝So wet for me, aren't you, baby?❞

❝I bet if I checked them, your panties are fucking soaked right now. Aren't they?❞

❝You wet for me, baby?❞

❝There you go, angel. Take what you need.❞

❝She came to me a fucking virgin, for one. I sure as shit couldn't have said the same for you.❞

❝I know exactly what she's wearing because I put it on her!❞

❝She's everything I've ever wanted. You can't hope to hold a fucking candle to her.❞

❝You're the girl you brag to your buddies about making another notch in your belt for. She's the girl you marry and provide a life for.❞

❝Yes, Cassie, I fucking love her!❞

❝Oh, baby, c'mere.❞

❝Are you going to be a naughty girl tonight, then?❞

❝You're all mine. Every part of you.❞

❝Can you tell me that, angel? That you belong to me?❞

❝I'm going to take your virginity tomorrow.❞ (...) ❝And when I do, you're mine. Forever.❞

❝Do you want to touch my cock, sweetheart?❞

❝I finally realized what I needed, instead of what I thought I wanted.❞

❝I love you, too.❞

❝I feel like we were meant to find our ways back to each other.❞

❝God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Do you even understand how beautiful you are?❞

❝You’re so perfect… You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/N.❞

❝If I take my time…it won’t hurt as much. Please let me take care of you, please.❞

❝The only thing I need you to do is relax for me. Let me do everything else. This is about you, not me. I want—I need—your first time to be perfect. Let me give that to you. Please.❞

❝Stay still for me, baby. Just let yourself adjust to me.❞

❝Shh, that’s it, angel. Just like that. Take your time.❞

❝It’ll sound fucking stupid, but it felt like two people—two souls—coming together.❞

❝You like this? You enjoy having sex with me?❞

❝God, I want to be inside of you every day.❞

[cheegu3]

Hi, I loved your glory based enha fic so much! Please do a part 2 or sequel of it? I want to see why they bully and kiss the mc at same time. Maybe you can make it yandere since you mentioned that it was not?

Honestly I'm new to your blog but love your work so much!

I've gotten many requests like this, so I decided to make a mini series out of it, technically it's my first series to finish so lower ur expectations everyone lol. Thank you so much for reading and supporting my work, welcome & love u !! <3

dc list (all the ppl that requested a pt.2) - @ceeesxy-blog, @roses-and-blue-perennial-salvia, @/anons special thanks to @muminpopz, for giving me the idea to introduce a second character !!

to clarify - my last part was still yandere, that's why they wanted to kiss her, I think I wrote that in my last fic bc it wasn't really mentioned much.

note; I haven't planned the plot 100% so voting will probably be a big part of deciding what happens next, only the first ones to read (24hrs) get to vote but u can still leave your opinions in the comments <3

this is a bit long, I apologize in advance, I am determined to give this an ending now lol

wc; 4.4k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

featuring; yeonjun & soobin (txt)

tw / trigger warning; yandere themes, severe bullying, the glory inspired, scars, mentions of forced kissing, mentions of drinking and smoking, trauma, swearing

pt.1

Enhypen - the glory (PT.2)

The irritating fluorescent lights flickering above made you scrunch your nose and turn on your side. Those damn hospital lights reminded you of those moments you'd spent there a couple of years ago, when your mom needed treatment for her illness. They felt eerie, almost like a weakening heartbeat flickering back at you while you stared at them.

Now here you were, back at the hospital again. Your dad had accidentally spotted the burns, poking out from under your shirt as you raised your arms above your head to put something on a shelf. Wishing you'd been more careful was useless now as you looked at the sleeping form of your dad slumped over the dreary hospital bed.

Your bullies had no idea you were in the hospital, but surely they'd be notified soon enough. There was no way your dad would let this thing go after seeing how badly they left you. He had dried tears on his hollow cheeks that made your heart twist painfully in guilt.

Although it wasn't your fault at all, you didn't want to be a burden to him. He already worked more than his body could handle, constantly stressed with the increasing workload his company gave him.

'' Miss, y/n? ''

You sat up straight at the sound of a nurse. She approached your bed with a sympathetic smile on her face, and you felt bad for her too. She looked young, too young - had you scarred her as well with your injuries? They weren't very nice to look at after all.

'' Yes? '' you whispered, eyes fleeting briefly to your dad sleeping to let the nurse know not to wake him up.

'' We've administered some soothing cream and medicine in case the pain gets too unbearable. If you wish, you may go home now. ''

You nodded. '' Thank you. ''

You reached out your hand and gently pat your dad. He grunted and slowly got up, stretching his sore neck as he slowly started waking up. He looked at you questioningly instead of asking what was wrong.

'' They said I could go home. ''

He sighed, maybe a bit louder than he had intended to because a look of regret flashed across his face, hurriedly he assured you, '' I wasn't worried about the bills, honey. ''

You knew he was but you didn't say anything. The promise of your warm, comfortable bed waiting at home was enough for you to stay quiet, even during the whole ride home.

Hearing the additional quiet sighs of your exhausted dad behind you when you hurried to your bedroom, made another pang of guilt hit you. But this time you ignored it too - another more important thought was filling up your mind now.

What would happen at school tomorrow?

You slipped under the heated covers and as a result of the long day, you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

*******

You were one of the earliest students to arrive this time. Taking your designated spot at the back of the class, your head naturally fell into your arms as you yawned off the morning grogginess.

Before you left that morning, your dad had given you a smile and told you that, ' If those punks give you trouble again, call me '. But he had said so while balancing both his files and a cup of nearly spilled coffee, along with a laptop tucked under his arm. You'd seen him for maybe a few minutes before he disappeared off to work again.

You smiled a bit melancholically, knowing that if trouble did arise you wouldn't call him. Hopefully you wouldn't have a reason to do so anyway; maybe they'd be more gentle with you since they gave you such a harsh punishment last time.

The bell rang, startling you and making you raise your head. The class was pretty much full now. By instinct your eyes dart to where they always sat. Surprisingly, they were all in their seats but didn't seem to be paying you too much attention.

A few of them looked sleepy, slumped over their desks like you had been just a minute ago. The others had dark circles under their eyes and stared blankly towards the blackboard.

Rough night? They almost looked like they'd been out partying. You scoffed. It wouldn't shock you if they had; they sometimes smelled of smoke as they'd kiss you in the gym, so you wouldn't put it past them to drink during a school night too.

'' Good morning, class! '' the teacher's cheerful voice cut through the room.

The tired students responded back but in a much less bright tone.

'' We have a new student today. A transfer from Ansan. ''

The murmur from the usual chatty students stopped, and it became dead quiet. Just then the classroom door slid open and a tall, very good-looking guy crouched to get in.

'' This is Soobin, please introduce yourself. '' the teacher smiled.

'' Hi everyone, I'm Soobin. Nice to meet you. '' he said solemnly.

He sounded a bit shy and he didn't keep eye-contact with the students for long, eyes dashing anxiously from person to person while he clasped his hands together.

When his eyes landed on you, you smiled politely. Based on first impressions alone, it was clear as day to anyone that this guy didn't seem like a bully, so you wanted to be nice to him.

It's not easy being new, you knew that very well when you had to transfer during the second part of the first year. Back then, there weren't any people like you that would want to take care of the newcomer, like you wanted to take care of Soobin - and that's how you became their target. You couldn't let that happen to this guy.

'' You can take the seat next to y/n, that one in the back. '' you heard the teacher say.

You smiled again, that would certainly make things a bit easier as he would be sitting closer to you than your bullies. The part where you actually had to try to become friends was harder. You couldn't remember the last time you had a friend.

Soobin cautiously walked over to his seat, keeping his eyes down the whole time. He looked even taller up close, and he barely fit in his seat which made you snort quietly to yourself.

The teacher turned her back and started writing on the board as the murmur returned again. You fiddled nervously with your fingers before finally turning your head to him, determination shining in your eyes.

He must've seen you do so in his peripheral vision because he looked at you too, his bunny-like eyes growing twice its size.

'' Hi, I'm y/n. ''

'' Yeah, she...uh said so. '' he gestured to the teacher and then seemed to cringe at himself.

You let out a light laugh, maybe you were both equally awkward.

'' I guess she did. '' you gave him a genuine smile, one that reached your eyes. It had been a long time since you'd smiled in that way.

'' I'm Soobin. '' he seemed to relax when he saw your smile, a small one played on his own lips as he observed you timidly.

'' I know, she said that. '' you teased back.

He chuckled and you thought you saw him blush before he turned to pick up his notebooks from his backpack. You did the same, starting to copy the material from the board.

'' Hey, is it- okay if I eat lunch with you later? I know it's a weird thing to ask, but I don't really have anyone. '' he quickly rambled after you had been taking notes for some time.

'' I mean, you don't have to say yes if you already have someone you're eating with I just thought I'd ask. ''

A shy pout formed on his lips, seemingly indicating that he felt that he had embarrassed himself again. But you found it cute.

'' No, that sounds perfect. I don't really have any friends either. '' you admitted.

'' Oh. ''

'' It's okay. '' you laughed.

And then the two of you continued studying, while the sweet promise of having someone to finally eat lunch with was circling inside your mind.

*******

When the bell rang, you quickly packed up your things and waited for Soobin outside. You were slightly scared that if you were one of the last ones to leave, then your bullies would catch you red-handed and see your newfound friendship, prompting them to do something to the new student.

Soobin looked happy walking by your side, completely oblivious to all the stares and whispers that followed the two of you. He was even humming something, moving his head slightly all the way through the queue in the cafeteria to the walk to your table.

You chose one that was out of sight from the entrance, just in case they'd eat today. They often didn't - being from snobby rich families and all, they were grossed out by the cafeteria food and would usually drive home during lunch or go out to a restaurant together.

Someone must've told them about you and Soobin however, because you suddenly heard the table next to you gasp and gossip.

'' Why are they eating here today? ''

One of the girls glanced towards you, and when the others noticed, they all looked at you. Soobin looked confused, he stopped midway with his mouth open and his chopsticks carrying the food dropped it clumsily.

They giggled at him. But you couldn't even find humour in something like that when you had a bad feeling in your stomach. They were probably right when they looked at you as the answer to their question.

But why? Why would this make them angry? What would they do to Soobin now?

'' Hey, y/n. ''

You raised your head cautiously, dreading to see them. The fact that they seemed so out of it during the lesson shouldn't have made you feel so confident that it meant they'd avoid you all day.

Jake was the one who stood slightly in front of the group, the others gave threatening glares to students that looked like they wanted to intervene, making them hurriedly scurry away.

'' Yes? '' you couldn't hide the irritation in your voice.

'' What do you think you're doing? '' Jake cocked an eyebrow and then his attention was caught Soobin who was peacefully eating.

Your bullies seemed to assess him from head to toe which made the poor new student look very uncomfortable, causing him to squirm in his seat and clear his throat.

'' Eating lunch? '' you snarkily respond and then attempt to go back to eating while ignoring them.

You heard a scoff.

'' Did we say you could do that? '' Jay sneered, looking down at you.

Your cheeks started heating up and you turned your head as it started to show. The whole thing being done in front of Soobin made it feel ten times worse. Had you now lost a potential friend because they wanted to embarrass you like this on his first day?

You were about to respond but were interrupted by them all abruptly moving to squeeze in next to you and Soobin. The two of you exchanged confused looks.

'' We just wanted to join, can we not do that? '' Sunghoon winks to the flustered new student, who nods hesitantly.

But your lack of answer didn't satisfy them. Heeseung who sat closest to you, rested his hand on your exposed thigh as his eyes held a non-spoken warning in them.

'' Of course. '' you respond flatly, earning a satisfied grin from him.

It felt like you were holding your breath all throughout that excruciatingly long lunch. They'd never eaten with you before and it became clear quite quickly that the reason they did so today wasn't because of you - but, because of Soobin.

All throughout, their focus was on him and not you. It made you feel uneasy, like they had something up their sleeves. The new student was asked questions enthusiastically, which he answered happily as he slowly got out of his shell more and more. But you noticed the looks and the smirks they shared when he wasn't looking. Problem was that any time you'd try to warn Soobin, that hand would return back to your thigh. Heeseung didn't need to say anything, you knew not to test it. Still you hoped you'd have the chance to warn him later.

The reason why was because the way they treated Soobin on his first day made you get a horrible sense of deja-vu. In an instant you were transported back in time to your very own first day.

*******

You overheard girls talking in the halls while waiting for the teacher outside the classroom; about some guy they had hooked up with.

'' Are you fucking stupid? '' one of the girls sudden aggressive outburst made you perk your ears up without meaning to.

You didn't exactly have anything else to occupy your bored mind with while waiting anyway, so you eavesdropped a little.

'' Lee Heeseung? You hooked up with the Lee Heeseung? ''

Shifting your weight and turning over while pressed against the wall, you tried to get a good look at the poor girl who seemed to have gotten taken advantage of.

'' He's a known fuckboy and player. '' the angry one continued.

The girl you assumed was the topic of conversation shrugged, but she had a slight sad frown on her face.

'' I thought that...maybe I could change him. ''

The two others girls erupted into shrill laughter. You couldn't help but feel some sympathy for her despite her bad decisions. The teacher interrupted just as you were about to ask them about the guy, so you could avoid him.

'' Y/n? Are you ready? ''

You grimaced and nodded, giving one last look at the girl before following the teacher into the classroom.

Immediately a small pang of panic hit you. It wasn't empty like you'd expected, in fact - pretty much every single chair was filled with a student.

'' Good morning, class! '' the teacher's cheerful voice brought you back to reality.

You just had to introduce yourself and then the danger was over. You could spend the rest of the day glued to your desk, not talking to anyone and when lunchtime would hit, the convenience store across the school was your best bet.

'' We have a new student today. A transfer from Seongnam. ''

'' This is y/n, please introduce yourself. ''

You looked at the teacher, slight panic evident in your eyes. Clearing your throat you stepped forward a few steps.

'' Hi everyone, I'm y/n. Nice to meet you. ''

Your anxiety slowly started dissapating when a few students answered back politely and you released a breath you didn't know you'd been holding in.

'' You can take the seat next to Heeseung, that one in the back. '' you heard the teacher say, she was gesturing towards the back right of the classroom where a bunch of guys were huddled over one table, too busy talking to register what the teacher had said.

You obediently walked over there and tried not to make a scene when you put your things on the chair that was closest to the table they were all gathered around.

To your dismay, the owner of the popular table had noticed you in the corner of his eye. He quickly waved everyone away and then focused his attention on you.

It was very hard to ignore.

'' Hey, sweetheart. ''

No matter how hard you fought back to not show any reaction, your face scowled at the sound of his nickname, earning an abrupt laugh from one of the boys.

You were sure this meant bad news for you, a guy like that wouldn't want to be humiliated in front of his whole friend-group, so you quickly gave him a sheepish smile.

'' Yes? ''

Your innocent tone made his eyes narrow as more of the boys laughed. The longer you kept eye-contact, the more you felt him openly glare with something you couldn't quite explain glinting in his brown gaze.

Before he could embarrass himself in front of his friends further, he stood up so suddenly that the chair underneath made a loud screeching noise. To you surprise, everyone minded their business which was very different from your last school where everyone was nosy and the sound would've immediately made people whip their heads around in curiosity.

He dragged the chair as close as he could to next to yours, so close that the material was slightly pushing into your bare thigh.

Your eyebrows knit together as you watched him sit down. It was way too close for your comfort; you could even smell his cologne and the fact that it was so obvious it was an expensive one made you immediately annoyed.

He leaned in now, being just a few inches above your ear and most likely shielding you from his friends.

'' Do you know who I am? ''

Your loud scoff for answer seemed to enrage him even more. His much larger hand found your wrist and easily trapped it in a painful grip.

'' No, sorry. '' you hurriedly answer, feeling a lot less brave now, your wrist was already starting to hurt.

'' I'm Heeseung, remember that. ''

In your scared state, your head seemed to move on its own, rapidly nodding obediently. A victorious smirk appeared on his face before he finally retreated, dragging the chair behind him back to the group.

You dreaded the sound of the bell ringing. Predicting that he'd be standing right outside the classroom waiting for you with his friends. It was a long shot, but you tried taking the other door.

'' Hee? ''

You gasped, bumping into a taller male's chest. When you backed away and looked up, you cursed under your breath - it was one of his friends.

It seemed that they had thought of the possibility of you attempting to flee. The thought made your cheeks turn red.

Heeseung joined his friends who'd been guarding the door you tried to escape out of. Looking down at you very arrogantly, as if he could read your face and your thoughts, knowing you were flustered.

'' Did you try to run away? '' he snickered, putting his hands in his pockets and tilting his head at you.

It had the effect you were sure he wanted, you felt mocked and avoided his eyes.

'' Sorry. ''

He hummed before you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist again.

'' Let's go. ''

You went with them without protesting. Although you feared where they were taking you, you feared speaking and potentially getting on their nerves because of it, way more.

They were quiet the whole way, which seemed to never end. You passed by many classrooms, the cafeteria and walked down the loneliest and darkest corridor; yet they only spoke when the ones in front of the group seemed to come to a halt in front of a double door.

'' Open it. '' you heard one of the ones behind you say.

The tallest of the group, who was in front, unlocked it instantly and the lock fell to the floor in a loud thump. He pushed it open all the way, revealing a very large gymnast hall.

'' Why did you take me here? ''

It had become quite clear very fast that these people weren't someone you should mess with, and they were pretty high up on the school's hierarchy judging by the way no one interfered; instead pretending like they didn't see you pass by.

You made a quick guess that whenever they needed something, like the perfect place to do something bad to someone without others hearing - they were given it in one way or another. Maybe some poor student had been forced to get the keys from the teacher just to satisfy them.

'' Go sit over there. ''

Your head follow the voice. It was a pretty tall guy who was undeniably very handsome, from his silver hair and defined eyebrows to his deep voice, everything about him was pretty attractive.

It made you wonder what he wanted with you.

You didn't ponder on that thought long however, moving in a haste again to make sure they didn't get angry. Jumping up on the plinth he had pointed at, you watched nervously as they all approached the stairs leading up to a stage that your back was facing.

Without them needing to tell you to, you automatically turned around just in time for them to form a half-mood around you. Trying to read their faces was very difficult as they all looked at Heeseung who was sitting straight across from you, staring right back.

'' Why did you take me here? '' you try to ask again.

'' Well...I- we like you '' he answered simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'' What? '' you say dumbfoundedly.

'' I was trying to hit on you earlier, I don't know if you noticed. '' Heeseung bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from smiling.

'' But being nice didn't really work on you, did it? ''

'' We realised that with you, we need to use more extreme methods. '' a new voice said, one of the ones that hadn't said a word to you yet, who had strawberry blond hair and a soft voice.

'' Wh-What do you mean by that? '' your eyebrows knit together as your eyes darted anxiously between the two closest to you, being prepared to run if you had to.

'' I'm Sunghoon. '' the silver haired-boy said, ignoring your question.

'' I'm Jake. '' said the guy next to him.

Your gaze naturally averted to him. He looked like an innocent puppy, you wondered why he was friends with people like Heeseung. But when your eyes locked, he winked at you and you got your answer, face quickly turning into a grimace of disgust.

'' I'm Ni-ki. '' the tallest one said.

'' I'm Sunoo. '' the gentle one said, catching you off-guard when he flashed a big friendly grin.

'' Jungwon. '' the one closest to you on the other side said grumpily, not even bothering to look at you while saying it.

His red hair that seemed to be fading, was a perfect match to his personality, the whole time he looked like he was in a sour mood.

'' I'm Jay. '' the one furthest from you said.

He looked like a pretty scary guy, dark hair that was cut in a way that framed his sharp features.

'' That's everyone. Don't forget their names, okay? '' Heeseung spoke up last, tilting his head while smiling slightly at you.

Your voice didn't seem to work, you felt frozen in your spot, like you were glued to the plinth underneath you.

'' Can you not speak? ''

You saw anger flash across his face which only made your panic worse, but you couldn't get a single word out despite it, only a string of stutters and incomprehensible words left your mouth.

'' Do you want me to help you? ''

Not even registering that he had gotten up from his seat, you were taken by surprise when his rough hands grabbed either side of your face as his lips devoured you.

You tried to scream or turn your head so he couldn't have access to your mouth, but it was to no avail. Eventually your hands fell limp. All you could do was pray that it would end quickly, while your whines of protest were muffled by his hungry lips.

When he pulled away, he had a cocky smile on his face.

'' Get used to this. '' were his last words you heard before they left, forever engrained in your mind.

And that was how it started. No matter how much it happened, which was pretty much every other day after school at this point - it still didn't get easier, your clothes always got stained with tears. Their voices didn't help calm you down when you'd see the obvious desire in their eyes. They were like a hungry pack of wolves, just waiting for their turn with the prey

*******

The school bell rang after about half an hour, instantly snapping you out of your daydream. Your bullies said their goodbyes and then left, with one last look at you. But you shrugged it off and immediately leaned over the table to talk to Soobin.

'' Don't trust them, please! They might be all nice and sound like they actually want to be your friend but they're horrible bullies and- '' you hesitated before pulling up your sleeve to reveal the marks they'd left on you. '' They did this to me! Trust me...they're not good people. ''

Soobin's eyed widened in horror and his hand slightly twitched, as if he was either holding back the urge to clench his fist in anger, or resisting the urge to reach out and gently touch your wounds.

'' I'm sorry. '' was all he said after some time of silence.

You smiled a bit apologetically, pulling down the sleeve again. He seemed sweet and you didn't want to cause him distress for no reason, it just felt a lot more impactful if you showed him to make him believe you.

'' It's okay, I'm sure you didn't know. They're quite charming at first, that's how they get you. ''

'' I'm a bit offended that you thought I fell for it though. '' Soobin snickered.

'' What? ''

'' You think I believed all that bullshit, right after they spoke to you very passive-aggressively and basically shot daggers my way? ''

'' Uh...well, yeah? ''

He laughed heartily and stood up, you following as he threw the trash off his tray away.

'' That actually makes me feel a bit better. '' you mumblingly confess.

The pair of you walked together to class and spent the next few lessons and breaks together as well, surprisingly unbothered by your bullies this time since you were with someone for the first time in a long time.

At the end of the day when the bell rang, Soobin asked to hang out. He said he wanted to introduce you to his older brother and said he had something to talk about. You reluctantly agreed, but were on guard the whole taxi ride to his house since he was still a stranger.

His house was pretty big, located close to where the richest families in the country lived. He however claimed he wasn't rich; that it was his step-father that was pretty well off, but they didn't have a good relationship so he didn't spoil him.

'' Who are you? ''

You stared at the older male leaning against his desk. His eyes narrowed as they bore into you. Then they shifted to his younger brother who immediately straightened up.

'' It's my new friend, y/n. ''

'' Okay? ''

'' Yeonjun, please be a bit nicer. She needs our help. '' Soobin begged.

A puzzled expression overtook your face as you tugged on his sleeve.

'' What do you mean? ''

'' I will help you take them down. '' he said, a smirk slowly creeping up on his lips. '' Every, single one of them. ''

-

[sinkovia]

A cruel joke

Kyle Garrick x GN!Reader

A short slight angst w/ fluff and some appreciation for Gaz.

Walking side by side with Gaz, your heart raced. The weight of your confession felt like a million pounds on your shoulders, but you knew you couldn't wait any longer.

You'd been best friends for quite some time, and somewhere along the way, his sweet demeanor and the countless hours you spent together made you fall for him. You'd been too afraid to reveal the truth, fearing it would ruin your friendship. 

When your mind drifted back to the close call Gaz had on your recent mission. You realized you didn't have the luxury to wait around and confess your feelings, one of you could easily die before then and you couldn't bear the thought of leaving without telling him how you truly felt.

You had always hoped that Gaz felt the same way, noticing the way he treated you differently from the others. It wasn't just friendship; you knew it was something more. 

Amid the lively chatter and clinking of glasses in the rec room, you had gathered the courage to ask Gaz to join you for a walk. You stole a quick peek at his side profile as you cleared your throat, your voice slightly shaky as you began, "Kyle, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

He turned to you, his brown eyes locking with yours, his expression warm and attentive. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

"We've been through so much together," you continued, your voice growing more confident as you spoke. "And I... I just want you to know that you mean a lot to me." he nodded, an understanding look in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was now or never. "I never intended for it to happen, and I hope this doesn't ruin our friendship… but I have feelings for you...I love you Kyle..."

For a moment, there was silence, and Gaz's smile faded. Then, he started to laugh, a disbelieving sound that rang through the air. An unexpected reaction that crushed your heart. Your heart sank and hurt etched across your face. You blinked back tears that welled up in your eyes, struggling to maintain your composure. He stopped laughing abruptly when he saw the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

His demeanor shifted and he reached out, “Y/n wait.”

But it was too late; you were already walking down the hallway away from him with tears spilling from your eyes. Gaz stood there, his heart heavy with regret for his reaction.

He thought you were joking.

Gaz believed you were playing a sick joke on him. Despite loving you deeply, he never mustered the courage to express his feelings, convinced you wouldn't feel the same. His heart sank as he witnessed your tear-filled eyes, realizing he had hurt the person he cared about the most. Following the direction you left, he turned a corner to find Soap comforting you.

When he saw you walk away with him, Gaz decided to give you space, knowing that seeing him might only intensify your emotions. Patiently waiting until the next day, he found himself standing before your door, taking a deep breath before knocking. Nervousness consumed him, understanding that you might still be hurt and upset. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing you with a mix of emotions in your eyes as they met his.

"What do you want?" He heard the anger in your tone.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I didn't think... I mean, I thought you were playing a prank on me when you said you loved me, so I laughed, I couldn't believe it. I love you more than anything, and I never thought you would feel the same way." You listened, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. 

Gaz continued, "I care about you a lot, and I would never intentionally hurt you. I was just caught off guard, and I reacted the wrong way… you mean so much to me"

Your eyes softened as you listened to him, and you sighed, understanding the depth of his emotions."I wasn't joking, Gaz. I've loved you for a long time, I was just scared if I told you it would ruin our relationship."

As the reality of your words settled in, Gaz felt a rush of happiness and relief. He took a step closer, gently cupping your face with his hands. You were taken aback by his sudden, gentle touch, and your eyes locked onto his. Gaz's lips met yours in a soft, sweet kiss, filled with warmth.  As he pulled back, his eyes bore into yours, and he whispered, "I'm so glad you told me. I love you, Y/n, and I don't want to spend another day without you knowing it."

A warm smile spread across your face as you gazed at the man you had secretly loved for so long. "I love you too, Kyle."

[impishjesters]

Touch-starved Moon

CW// non-sexual touching, teasing, no actual sexual content notes: Sun and Moon are separate animatronics, not mentioned but implied that the reader is already dating the boys A/N: I don't know what to call this, a preview? Snippet? Drabble? Either way, late last night I got on the topic of touch-starved Moon with my friend, which led to me typing up bits at a time to send them. They were my magical muse because I've been having writer's block, so I just find it funny that I wrote up a bunch via Discord messages versus my usual setup...and on my phone of all things. Maybe I'll do this more to try and get out of my writer's block, definitely seems to be doing a better job than forcing myself to write shit up. But yeah, since this was written up on my phone I've gone through and fixed all my 2 am sleepy typos and grammar mistakes, obviously this isn't finished. Again why I said I don't really know how to label it. Maybe with enough interest, I could pick it up and flesh it out a bit more. But it wasn't intended to be this long, just like the first bit then a jump to the reader touching and over-stimming Moon and junk 💀

“Hm, Moonie?” Your hand drifted down his chest plate before giving the elastic of his pants a quick snap.

Moon hummed, gaze still locked on your face. “Yes, star?”

“What did I just say?”

“What?”

“Oh my, Moonpie were you distracted?”

“I was listening.” he hissed. Moon’s chest plate rumbled with annoyance but grew warm under your touch.

“Mhm, and what was I saying?”

Moon froze and sent your hand a glance, watching as your fingers walked their way down his stomach. “D-daycare..”

“Daycare? Mm, that’s a pretty broad topic.”

“Cleaning..” he cleared his throat. “Cleaning the daycare..”

“Moonie… It’s morning, the daycare is already clean.”

Shit.

“Seems like someone hasn’t fully booted up. I’ll overlook it this time, try not to get distracted with the kiddos, okay?”

Moon forced himself not to chase your hand as it left him, forcing out a grunt in agreement.

“Well,” you stretched and turned to look out into the daycare. “I’m gonna go find Sunny and ask him for his thoughts on what I said.”

He flinched. Did you ask him for his thoughts on something? For the daycare? Moon held back a whimper as you left, crimson eyes trailing the hand you used to touch him, now being used to wave Sun down. The same hand used to touch him now rested against Sun, and it made his chest ache and stomach churn.

Why did you stop touching him?

The rest of the morning was spent with the feeling of eyes on you. Every curious glance resulted in catching Moon’s gaze on you instead of the children he was supposed to be tending to. And without fail, every time he was caught he’d look away and find a way to excuse himself to a different place in the daycare.

By nap time the staring didn’t let up, even Sun had commented, questioning why Moon was so out of it and staring at you.

Moon silently stewed in his emotions, irritated at every touch between you and Sun. You’d yet to touch him again, in fact, you’d gone out of your way to avoid touching him.

During lunchtime, you’d made sure to avoid his touch while handing out the lunch trays, only to touch Sun’s by “accident”.

What made Sun so special? Was it because he’d spaced out earlier? Were you upset? Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be in Sun’s place right now.

Should he apologize? If he was going to he needed to think fast, you’d turn away from Sun and were headed straight for…him?

“Hey Moonpie.” You whispered, careful of the sleeping children, and sat beside him on the floor keeping a decent distance between the two of you. “Feeling better?”

Moon’s voice box rumbled. “Peachy.” Despite the darkness, he could see the gap between the two of you clear as day. Normally you’d sit on his lap with him during nap time while Sun took to doing a mid-day clean up.

“Is that so? I’m glad.”

The glow-in-the-dark stars of the nap room alongside Moon’s dimly lit eyes gave you just enough lighting to see the gap between you two. His leg twitched and you took to distracting yourself to look at a nearby napping child—time to see how the event from this morning would unfold.

The two of you sat in silence aside from the music box playing away in Moon’s chest. Careful to keep your eyes elsewhere, you’d occasionally catch the gap between the two of you growing smaller and smaller.

“What do you think of a sleepover tonight?”

Moon flinched, pausing mid-movement to process the question. “Sleepover? Tonight?”

“Mhm, I talked it out with Sun. Use the theater room and get pillows and blankets to cuddle up together.”

Harsh red lights lit up your face, nearly blinding you and risking waking the children. You slapped a hand over his eyes and they instantly dimmed. Well, that’s new.

You’d c-cuddle them? Of course, you’d done that before but that was…well before his current predicament. No, wait focus.

Your hand lingers on his eyes despite the light dimming, watching those tiny pinprick pupils stare at your hand. Oh right, it probably doesn’t feel great having someone’s hand on your eyes.

Before your hand can fully pull away and lose all contact Moon grabs it, shifting it to his cheek instead. It’s at that moment you feel his leg touch yours…he closed the gap you’d intentionally placed between the two of you.

Such a touchy little Moonpie.

[luna-rainbow]

Hi! I don't know if you have already read this Bucky's "analysis": https://www.tumblr.com/dreadnought-dear-captain/651270983166132224/cw-this-essay-is-about-about-trauma-including?source=share

I find it absurd that a person who claims to be knowledgeable in the psychological area and also to have lived through traumatic experiences themselves, can say that the depiction of therapy in TFATWS is OK and that it is "right" or "healthy" for Bucky to "take responsibility" for something he had no agency in. This is one of the many aspects that seem to me to be terribly wrong.

I'd be very grateful if you could share your opinion.

Sorry for the late reply, life’s been really hectic lately!

I vaguely remember reading this back in 2021. I don’t know if I ever got through the whole thing. I’m not trained in psychology so I can’t pretend to be any sort of expert.

There are some points I agree with, particularly to the headcanon that Bucky is actually very resilient rather than “fragile” — he has to be, to have lasted that long under Hydra, retained most of his innate willingness for good, and for Hydra to have been forced to use the methods they did to break him. While we’re on this topic, it’s not uncommon that people who leave abusive situations go through a period of “fragility” or being more open with expressing their vulnerability, because they’ve finally exited survival mode. I’m always soft for recovery fics where Bucky clearly has that stubborn resilient streak but also lets himself be vulnerable in front of someone he trusts.

It's not the first time that a self-proclaimed psychologist has tried to justify Bucky's arc in TFATWS with reclamation of agency (I feel like I've read a similar essay from someone else). My problem with these analyses has always been - Bucky is not a real patient, he's a fictional creation, therefore any talk about his psychology and in particular internal consistency can only be as good as the narrative. When you have a narrative that is as clunky as TFATWS, where it clearly made no attempt to consider Bucky's past, character, and motivations in many of the choices he made, it's ridiculous to examine this Bucky as though the writer had intended him to be a study of trauma recovery. It's like trying to debate the safest speed the Titan submersible should have descended at, when the real problem is that it's a creaking tin can from the get-go.

The problem with the reclamation of agency argument is the same problem with his healing arc. Just as Bucky already reclaimed his humanity and social connections by the support he got from the Wakandans, Bucky also already reclaimed his agency in the preceding movies. Are we forgetting his first act of disobedience to his handlers in pulling Steve out from the river instead of finishing his mission? Past that, he spent two years living a crime free and reasonably cosy life. He had a roof over his head, he was dressed clean and groomed, he was going out and conversing politely with shopkeepers, his apartment was sparsely furnished but lived in. All of these took a series of careful choices from someone who not only was forced to live with no agency for 70 years, but also had no identity, no documents, no money, and likely very little familiarity with this new world he's woken up to. He also made major choices that directly impacted the world around him, whether it was to divulge the location of the other Winter Soldiers, or joining Steve against the other Avengers, or choosing to go back to cryo, or accepting T'Challa's recruitment to go back onto the battlefield. He was not forced in any of these choices, and he had a lot to lose in each of them, but he still made the choice -- and the people around him, Steve and T'Challa, allowed him to make that call.

So yes, theoretically, if Bucky was a real patient, of course agency is a major theme in his recovery and a way to redirect away from overwhelming helplessness (although...Bucky's never acted as though he falls comfortably onto learned helplessness; again, the first thing we see him do as soon as he recalls any inkling of his past is to take agency into his own hands). But narratively? This is just regressing Bucky back to...oh, I don't know, early post-CATWS and retreading the recovery path he had already demonstrated.

And sure, trauma recovery is something that happens over a long period of time and people can vacillate between well-adjusted and emotional wreck, and we can argue given the events of Endgame, there's good reason for Bucky to have rollercoasted to an emotional slump by TFATWS. But - once again - this is a fictional construct, and if you took a step back and looked at the narrative as a whole instead of "Bucky should be allowed to make bad choices because he's mentally ill", there is no character justification for why Bucky would break Zemo out of jail or fight with Wakanda, very borderline justification for why Bucky would confuse the shield for his friendship with Steve, and minimal justification for why Bucky would crash Sam's mission in the first place. Not to mention the 20 things that doesn't make sense about the Flagsmashers and post-Blip world, and what authority Sam and Bucky were even working under. If the overarching narrative doesn't make sense, what even is the use of trying to rationalise his actions in a psychological sense?

As to your specific point about "the depiction of therapy in TFATWS is OK and that it is "right" or "healthy" for Bucky to "take responsibility" for something he had no agency in" - I'm not sure how it's argued in the original essay because I don't want to read the whole thing, but this feels like a really weird therapeutic strategy. If we equate Bucky's situation to rape - which we probably can after they inserted the stomach turning scene of Zemo selling Bucky to Selby - I'd like to know which therapist would sit with their rape victim and say it's "right and healthy" for them to take responsibility for the rape, ie the situation during which Bucky had no control over his identity or wishes. From what I've seen and read of victims in recovery, whether that's as survivors of abuse or rape or homocide, they find solace in taking control of the emotions they are left with in recovery -- i.e. the grief or rage or indignation, and repurposing that into a sense of mission, such as starting victim help groups or campaigning for policy change or fighting to get the criminals arrested. But again, that's not reclaiming the situation as something they had "responsibility" for, but rather to make the best with their experience and being a safety net for others. But that hadn't been what Bucky's therapy was about, Raynor was basically implying Bucky was dangerous and out of control and needs to make amends to prove himself stable. It wasn't about unravelling what Bucky feels about the long helpless 70 years of imprisonment and redirecting it to a sense of purpose, it was to make Bucky "pay back" the other victims...as a parole condition to make him suitable for society.

So no, it was not an appropriate therapeutic intervention, because at no point did it have Bucky's best interest at heart, nor - based on Sebastian's portrayal - did it have Bucky's buy-in. And as I've always said, it was also incredibly unfair to the other victims on the receiving end of Bucky's unexpected appearance and "amends" without any sort of neutral mediator.

[shantechni]

Leo the Leader vs Leo the Learner

I know almost every iteration of TMNT emphasizes that the boys cannot properly function as a team without everyone there, especially without their fearless leader.

In terms of cartoons and movies though (as much as I've had time to watch/rewatch), the '03 and '12 series are my personal favorites, with Rise and MM tying for a very close second, because they both acknowledge issues in the team that the characters work to fix. '03 Leo and '12 Leo both struggle to lead the team at significant points in their respective stories, but the manner in which they struggle and what they struggle with differentiate, in a good way mind you.

In the 2003 series, the very first episode opens with Leo already being in the leading position as he tries to keep his brothers from going off script or doing something irreparable while they work to find Splinter. And when they do eventually find themselves in trouble, he's the one to lead them through it and make it back to Splinter in one piece. We see this formula more or less repeat for almost three seasons with a few different variables to spice things up; the brothers look to Leo for guidance, think of a plan of action with their combined efforts, and go from there.

Until the S3 finale.

The boys had times where they wondered if they'd make it out alive, but this was the first where it genuinely seemed like the end for their little family, and Leo could do nothing but watch as they execute their plan to blow up with the starship.

Of course they survive, otherwise we wouldn't have another four seasons💀but that short amount of time was more than enough to scar Leo, physically and emotionally. When he begins closing himself off from everyone, April's the only one to get him to open up and he lays it all out: He feels like a failure of a leader. He wasn't strong enough to protect his family or stop the Shredder, their last resort was going out with a bang, and they had to be saved by the Utroms. It doesn't feel like they won and he doesn't feel like he accomplished anything.

His fears and frustrations manifest into an ever present anger, slowly going from cold to hot, that chooses its target at random. His brothers don't know what to do since they don't seem to know why Leo's behaving this way, nor have they ever seen him like this. And dear Mikey says something that so accurately sums up their team: "...it can’t be fun always being the responsible one, and we’re the ones who really benefit. Raph’s free to not think ‘cause Leo does all the thinking for him. Don’s free to dream, and I’m free to take it easy, all ‘cause Leonardo is busy being responsible enough for all of us."

Mikey knows Leo is cracking under the pressure of his role partly because they've become so comfortable in their own roles, and no one refutes him. They didn't intend for Leo to translate this dynamic into, "everything is on you," but that's how it inevitably turned out over time. One could even argue that them not knowing how to handle this new Leonardo is yet another downside to them getting too comfortable, and it doesn't help that Splinter is the only one (aside from Usagi on one instance) who attempts to help Leo, even when the young turtle is pushing him away.

Things finally boil over when Leo pushes a little too hard though and harms Splinter during training, a regrettable action that clears away the steely air he had around himself for so long.

It's not until Splinter sends him off to see the Ancient One that Leo finally pulls himself out of that bubble of negativity and he accepts that there was nothing more he could've done in their final fight against the Shredder.

He did all that he could, and he can continue doing all that he can for his family.

In a weird way, Karai's violent eviction notice was exactly what everyone needed.

Leo was told his family likely hadn't survived the attack, something he'd spent countless days trying to prevent through relentless training, but he believed they were okay and ultimately found them alive. He wasn't there to protect them, but he sees for himself that they made it out without his help, and this was also a learning experience for the others if you think about it. They've already been shown to be capable of handling situations on their own or in pairs, but this was the first time they had to deal with a huge confrontation as a team without the comfort of their leader behind their shells.

Raph is the one who takes the helm for a brief few seconds and dishes out instructions amid the chaos, telling everyone to split up, find their way out and meet back up on the surface, with one last demand for them to be careful. And when Leo finds him, his distress is palpable; he couldn't find the others and therefore had no idea if they were okay, let alone alive, while he kept himself hidden from Karai's forces. Before this, we see that Raph is willing to make his own plan of action in this series' version of City at War when he doesn't go with Leo's word. But this time, in Leo's absence, we see he's willing to fill in as leader when the situation calls for it, and he realizes he isn't quite cut out for leadership like Leo.

We don't see any significant shift in team dynamics after this, mainly because Leo's inner turmoil from their fight with the Shredder is what caused problems with the team in the first place, but that goes to show that outside influences are what gave birth to the team conflict. Despite me pointing out earlier how Leo shoulders quite a bit not just because of his role but because of his brothers' roles as well, we can see throughout the series that Leo doesn't buckle from the pressure until they're in a situation where he can't effectively perform his role to his satisfaction.

As I mentioned in the beginning, Leo had been a leader in essence and in name for many years before their first home was raided by the Mousers. It makes perfect sense for him and his brothers to be accustomed to it by now.

2012 Leonardo is not used to being a leader. He may undeniably be a leader in essence, and had the drive and desire to be one, but he definitely wasn't a leader in name. The very first episode doesn't even open up with Leo being a leader, let alone with the turtles being a team. Their first time fighting together is a train wreck, and rather than Leo's strong sense of ethics and honor being the catalyst for his recruitment (not at first at least), it's the beginning of their long battle against the Kraang that convinces Splinter to officially deem him the leader of a newly formed team.

Being leader doesn't automatically mean the team will follow or respect you, which is something Leo learns right away thanks to his brothers, with Raph in particular challenging him when they butt heads over their opposing plans and ideals. It's touched upon in Rise of the Turtles Part 2, but Raph's desire to lead isn't a major plot device until New Girl in Town where he gets a taste of how Leo feels everytime he's responsible for his brothers and their wellbeing. However, Raph makes it known that even though he's resigned himself to not being the leader, he still doesn't like being told what or how to do something. Even Donnie challenges Leo when they can't agree on the best course of action in preparation for the Kraang, but Donnie realizes arguing was pointless as the invasion begins without warning and makes the idea of a second base the more favorable option.

His brothers aren't his only test of will though, as there are a handful of times where Leo questions his ability to lead and wonders if Splinter chose the right turtle for the job. Throughout all of that though, the boys ultimately rely on Leo and follow his lead when all is said and done.

Where this Leo truly differs from '03 Leo is that he not only struggles with leading a team that isn't so keen on being led, but he also struggles to grasp that he leads a team.

There are many times in the series where Leo runs off on his own or makes the decision to tackle something himself rather than with help, and that's not out of the norm, especially in comparison to his own brothers and '03 Leo. The problem is that '12 Leo's solo decision making more often than not leads to trouble (we all know the tale of him trying to turn Karai to the good side without informing the team about her). One of the first major examples of this though was in the S1 finale when he takes Splinter's words a little too close to heart and gives his brothers the scare of their life. Granted, him holding back Kraang Prime kept it on the sinking Technodrome, but you get what I'm saying.

His family actively calls him out on this behavior on two separate occasions during S4.

After they'd spent six months with the Fugatoid fighting the Triceratons and racing to collect every piece of the black hole generator before them, Fugatoid reveals that he was the one who made the world ending device, a reveal that lights a flame of betrayal in everyone, especially Raph and Leo. Believing that they're being used by Fugatoid, Leo rides off in a stealth ship on his own and nearly gets himself killed, a move that has his brothers scolding him, with Raph being the most vocal about Leo's idiotic decision: "Leaders are called leaders because they're supposed to lead a TEAM!"

The moment isn't lingered upon for long, but they all make it clear that they're tired of Leo's one man missions. They're a team, so they should plan and function like one.

Then, in Broken Foot, Leo starts doing missions with Karai and Shinigami in secret to aid them in taking revenge against the Shredder, but, in an attempt to find out what Leo was hiding from them, the other turtles get caught up in their plans and Donnie gets hurt. Leo immediately abandons Karai (who later apologizes for what happened) and Shinigami to check on them and come clean.

He explains to Splinter later on that he didn't fill anyone in on the situation at first because he knew no one would've agreed to help Karai get revenge, and he acknowledges that it was stupid of him to think he could control the situation. Splinter expresses his disappointment, and April reprimands him for once again not trusting his own team enough for them to help him.

Leo apologizes to Raph and Mikey afterwards, even going so far to say he probably doesn't deserve to lead the team after this, something Raph just harumphs at while Mikey remains silent. He pleads for their help in stopping and eventually aiding Karai and Shinigami, and they go along with him to fix things as a team.

We no longer get any one man missions from Leo in S5 (there surprisingly weren't any in S3 lol), likely for a whole list of reasons ranging from leading in Splinter's absence to learning from his mistakes over time. But he makes sure that whatever they have to do gets done together, and he does his best to keep his brothers in line.

I suppose one could say that '03 Leo remembered what it meant to be a leader, while '12 Leo discovered what it meant to lead.

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE .

Masterlist:

authors note + cast list.

parts: 1 2 3

CHAPTER TWO , A TOURNEY.

And who are you? The proud lord said,

That I must bow so — Low? Only a cat of a

different coat. That's all the truth I know.

– The Rains of Castamere.

The simplicity of Winterfell's consistent snowfall was something all too easy to overlook. To under-appreciate when it was all you were subjected to. It's when we spend our days longing for that which is out of our grasp, that we forget what we have already.

Every night since Lyarra's return to the comforting stone palace that she knew as home, she'd snuck out as the moon reached its peak. Every night, she made her way to the same spot. In truth, she wasn't sure exactly how long it had been. Weeks, she thought — maybe months. It was hard to tell. Her days were spent with either Benjen or Lyanna — as her two older brothers had too much responsibility to take on to spare a moment for their little sister. Brandon was coming into his own while Eddard was, more often than not, at the Eyrie. He'd been fostered there for what felt like years, rarely coming back to Winterfell unless it was for a matter of great import. 

She longed to return to the days where she could talk to Brandon about anything on her mind, where he would match her vigor with his own — and it felt as if they were the only two who felt things as passionately as they did. She missed Eddard's all too serious tone in her ear constantly, nitpicking at all that she did. Years passed like this. She'd spend her nights in the forest, and her days with her younger brother and Lyanna. Lyarra learned to value the moments that she had with her family, cherishing them as if there wouldn't be another.

When she had the chance, she'd roam the halls with Benjen. Talking about anything and everything they could think of. He had even taken to sparring with her in the courtyard, though it took what felt like years of convincing. He wouldn't go near Lyanna — though she was almost the most enthusiastic for the chance — as there were rumors spiraling that Father was intending on wedding her soon. The girls were closing on ten-and-three, now. They knew well enough what was to come, whether they wanted it or not. A year prior, Brandon had come to Lyarra's room, just before she meant to sneak out. Her nerves were on fire, her palms sweating at the thought of being caught. But that wasn't what her brother was here for at all. In truth, she could've been halfway out the window by the time he entered, and he wouldn't have cared. He sat her down, and in a somber tone unbecoming of his character, told her that their father — Lord Rickard Stark — was considering marrying her to Edmure Tully. 

Her initial reaction was to laugh. Her contempt for the boy was evident, even when she was staying with his family. They bickered, constantly. Not in the way that friends — or even siblings — do, no. The two despised one another. In truth, Lyarra wasn't certain what necessarily brought it on. Maybe it was his apparent distaste for her friend, or maybe it was just his attitude in and of itself. The very thought brought an uneasy feeling to her stomach, and that night she forgot all about her peace within the forest. That night, she begged Brandon — inconsolably bawling in his arms, soaking his tunic — to convince father otherwise. 

"Please, Brandon. Please, don't let him. I've never met such a horrible boy in my life, truly! It's not fair, it's just not fair." Her words were muffled by his thick fur pelt, as she felt two broad arms come to wrap around her. Brandon caressed the back of her head, petting her hair as she continued to fall apart in his arms. 

The two sat wrapped in one another for so long, that she hadn't even noticed her eyes growing heavy. She woke up to the sun in her vision — lighting up her puffy, tear-stained cheeks. When she sat up, she had her brother's cloak on. After that day, Edmure Tully was never mentioned to her again. Lyarra wasn't a fool. She was lucky, lucky that her father had started mulling over potential matches with the worst possible option. And more than anything, she was lucky that she had a brother caring enough to tell their father that he was a fool. 

Lyanna, however, was not so lucky. She was to be wed to Robert Baratheon. A boy that the twins knew well, due to how close he was with Ned. Lyarra had never felt any particular way about him, not entirely. His longing for her sister was known, and oftentimes if he was drunk enough he'd confuse the two. She pitied him, in a way. A stupid boy, who fell for a brash girl — who knew all too well she'd be doomed to an unhappy marriage. Robert, though he claimed to love her sister, would never pass down an offer from a woman. Would never look away, when someone would strip themselves bare. He would be an unfaithful husband, even if no one was willing to acknowledge it but her and Lyanna. Eddard didn't disagree, necessarily. He knew the boy better than anyone. But his love for him was as clear as her own love for Petyr. 

The night that the news was delivered, Lyarra clutched onto her sister's hand as tightly as she could. 'Lyanna was the most beautiful girl in all the seven kingdoms', Lyarra had thought. For all of her 'boyish' qualities, there had never lived a girl with more beauty. Both in spirit and in body. Compassion bled through Lyanna as if it was her own blood. When the two bid their farewells from the dining hall, Lyarra held her sister in her quarters as she all but sobbed in her arms. This time, she couldn't go to their father as Brandon had. She couldn't stand up for her, force him to make another decision. It was in that moment that she realized just how weak she was. How powerless she would be, from this day until the end of her days. 

At ten-and-four, the betrothal was official. Lyanna Stark would wed Robert Baratheon, at a time that they saw fit. The night that it became an official decree throughout the realm, Lyarra spent hours sitting on her stump. At first, she sat in silence. Not even staring up at the sky, as she usually would have. This time, she gazed curiously down at her hands. Her fingers, though littered with calluses and scrapes from holding a blade, held no power. She couldn't help anyone. She couldn't fix anything. 

Later, her eldest brother would scold her for missing the feast. Claiming that her sister needs her at her side now, more than ever. But it wasn't unnatural for her to miss celebrations. She rarely attended any sort of gathering, had she not been forced to do so. She'd seen her sister staring after her longingly, pleading with her to not go. But Lyarra wasn't strong enough to help her sister to begin with, so why should she try to be brave for her? 

These nights repeated themselves, a consistent routine. It was only when it was announced that the children would be attending Lord Walter Whent's tourney at Harrenhal, that she took a pause. She hadn't left the castle properly since Riverrun. It was a fool's wish, but she couldn't help the giddiness that crept up her, as her thoughts swept to Petyr. Benjen took that moment to list off who he knew would be attending. He was fascinated by the knights, after all, and Lyarra couldn't blame him. Had she not been born a woman, she'd spend her nights dreaming of a life as a knight. A sworn brother, giving his life to his king. A strong, brave hero. By the end of the list, she couldn't help the displeasing churn that twisted in her gut. She missed her friend, dearly. As everything began to spiral out of control in her life, her need to see him was stronger than ever. 

She'd sent ravens. Half a dozen, by now. They all contained various messages. Some describing what was going on, some detailing what she'd be doing right now if she could, and some asking him about what was going on in his life. Yet after years, she'd yet to receive a response. Perhaps he'd never gotten them. Perhaps something went wrong with each and every bird she'd sent. Or perhaps, he no longer wanted to hear from her at all. 

The journey to Harrenhal wasn't nearly as discomforting as it had been to Riverrun. This time, she walked ahead with the eldest members of her family. Her and Lyanna would have to ride different horses this time, and seeing as she couldn't stand another minute of discussing Robert Baratheon — Lyarra chose to ride alongside Eddard, who had hardly seemed surprised by her presence. He cast a longing look towards his two younger siblings, as Benjen and Lyanna had begun bickering about anything and everything. First, her horse was too close to his. Then, his horse stunk — and it was making her horse stink. Then, all horses stink. Lyarra and Eddard were nearly in hysterics by the end of the ride, after hearing their ridiculous arguments. 

Harrenhal almost made Lyarra miss the castle in Riverrun. Though it'd felt almost like a cell while inside, this castle was bordering on ruin. And by the looks of it, it always had been. The first event of the tourney itself came quickly. Her eyes caught on the shields, on the way that the clashing almost appeared to be a dance. She knew some of the knights by their sigil alone, while other times she needed Benjen to name them for her. Across the stands, Lyarra's eyes were caught curiously by what she saw before her. Across her stood a boy, who couldn't be more than a year — maybe two — her elder, with a scar stretching across his cheek. A boy who, to most, no doubt appeared monstrous. With a patch of hair missing, and puckered burns across his face, the sight would make any take a shallow breath. 

But Lyarra, forgetting herself, couldn't take her eyes off of the boy. For all the monstrous things about him, his eyes were captivatingly beautiful, enraptured in a way she had never seen. He was fascinated by what was going on, entirely absorbed. His own adoration matched her own, though she was sure she was not able to express her excitement exactly the way that he was. After a beat or two longer, the boy's head seemed to snap up in an instant — his eyes finding Lyarra in the crowd, as if he knew exactly where she'd be. She watches as his brow, or what is left of it, furrows at her stare. She did her best to pull her lips in a soft smile, so that he would know she wasn't staring out of ignorance or anything of the sort. But his piercing eyes flitted away just as quickly as they had appeared. He seemed to compose himself, his previous childlike grin dampened to ash. 

Lyarra couldn't help the guilt churning within her. She hadn't meant to upset the boy. She wanted to ask her brother if he knew who the boy was, but she decided to take the attention off of him for a moment. Instead, she focused her gaze on what was transpiring before her. Benjen had been talking throughout the competition, apparently, but she only tuned back in towards the end. She didn't need him to name the golden boy below her, who stood proud as he was bestowed the honor of Kingsguard. She'd never met the boy personally, but one knows a lion when one sees it. Jaime Lannister carried his ego with him on his shoulder wherever he went. Not that Lyarra could blame him. He was beautiful, even she could admit that. He almost resembled a knight that she would read about in her stories, who'd come to save the fair maiden in her time of need. 

Jaime Lannister, for all of his overwhelming self-confidence, had never seemed so small as he did in that moment. She took the time to scan over him with curious eyes. He was just a boy. His eyes only just barely gave away his facade, breaking away to show the display the true fear beneath them. He wanted to prove himself as badly as she did – as badly as anyone competing today did, she'd argue. When Lyarra came back from her train of thought, recognizing that her brother was speaking again, Jaime's eyes began to sweep over the crowd. It felt as if he were committing the moment to memory, and she couldn't help but sit up in the slightest to applaud properly. For only a moment, his eyes caught on her — flickering in vague recognition. A lion recognizes a wolf just as easily, it'd seem. By the time that Lyarra pulled her eyes away from Jaime, she glanced to the spot where she had seen the scarred boy from earlier. In his place left a small, almost unnoticeable gap in the crowd. Yet she couldn't help the faint pout on her lips as she tried to find him. 

"Enjoying the tourney, my lady?" The Lion called to the Wolf. The festivities had been wrapped up for the night, with the final event being a knighting of a large man that Lyarra couldn't quite recall. Clegane, she thought. A monstrous man. Twice the size of her father, double that of her brother.  There were whispers throughout the crowd, as he was bestowed the title of knight. However, she paid them no mind. Coming back to herself, Lyarra couldn't help the small smile on her lips as she turned to face the golden-haired boy. Jaime matched her smile with a coy grin of his own, his helmet buried in the crux of his armpit. 

"It's fascinating, Ser Jaime. Though a bit tedious at times, if you don't mind my saying-" at that, she was cut off by a sharp laugh from the boy. Of course, even his laugh was princely. Lyarra decided then and there that Jaime Lannister was perfect. He had no faults. How could he, after all? Every step he made left a golden footprint, his words pure honey pouring out of his lips. Unbecoming of herself, she couldn't help the blush that crept up her neck. "But fascinating regardless. Congratulations are in order, I'd assume?"

"I thank you, my lady. I'll remember it for the rest of my days, I'm sure. There's nothing quite like standing in front of a crowd and hearing them all chant your name. Not mocking you, but worshipping you, cheering for you.." He trailed off, his eyes unfocused in the distance. Lyarra's own smile turned the slightest hint of bittersweet, at that. She'd never get to feel that, not the way he had. She'll never be a knight, nor will she be worshipped. Even if she is married off, it won't be to someone important enough to have the people chant her name. Her own eyes gaze longingly into the shrubbery for a moment, before she is stolen out of her stupor by an arm being presented to her. 

"Would you accompany me to the feast, my lady? It's a terribly long walk, I'm afraid. I wouldn't want for you to get lost. Or me, for that matter!" Jaime's words were charmingly sweet, with a grin that stretched across his features wolfishly. Her arm linked with his before she could think through the action properly. 

"The newly appointed Kingsguard lost on his first day? Oh, no. We can't have that, can we?" The two shared a laugh, as if they'd developed their own language within minutes of speaking to one another. Lyarra had half the heart to be wary of the lion, of how charming he was. But as he continued to make her laugh — to say exactly what she was thinking, just before she said it, her trepidation melted away, leaving only something warm and all encompassing within her chest. The two made their way to the hall with minimal conversation, Jaime making a few comments throughout the trip — clearly just seeking to hear her laugh again. 

"Ah, yes. Here we are. Lord Whent's favorite bush. It's said he comes out here, at the cusp of night when he knows that no one is watching..." He trailed off then, widening his eyes expectantly. Lyarra felt a snort building up, and let out a quick cough to maintain her dignity. Her belly laughs quick became giggles, as the two continued throughout the night. "And uh, well. Looks at it? I'm not quite sure really. Can you really do much with a bush?" 

"Oh, you'd be surprised! Think bigger, Ser Jaime. Think bigger." 

"You know, you're not the first person to tell me that."

Once they had arrived to the feast itself, Lyarra moved to sit by her siblings. Jaime bid her farewell by kissing the tips of  her fingers, and she promised to find him again before they made their journey back home. She did her best to ignore the looks coming from his family, as well as the confused glances from her own. Instead, she sat down harshly — with far too much weight than she should have. Had Old Nan been there, she would've called it 'unladylike'. To all seven hells with that, she thought. She directed her attention to once again scanning the faces in the hall, looking for the boy from earlier. At Benjen's inquisitive look, she went to describe him to ask for his aid — but thought better of it. If he was already offended by just her staring, of course he would hate it if her whole pack of wolves gawked at him too. 

She was briefly distracted by this train of thought when her siblings began to argue. Apparently, Lyanna had been paying too much attention to Rhaegar Targaryen (not that anyone could blame her, for that matter) and Benjen took to mocking her like a child. Not only that, when the man had begun to sing — Lyanna couldn't hold back her tears. Their brother was laughing so hard that he was bordering on tears of her own. Lyarra sat back as well as she could on the bench, scanning the hall for the boy from earlier. Her eyes caught Jaime's from across the room, as he sent her a curious look. She brushed it off, turning her attention back to her rowdy siblings — who were now spilling wine on one another. 

Lyarra had half a heart to chastise them for their behavior, but Eddard had spoken up in that moment already. She took one more glance around the room before standing to take her younger brother's arm, guiding him out of the hall. 

"Does she have to act like such an idiot all the time?" He grumbled to himself once they were outside of the hall. Had Lyarra not been so close to him she likely wouldn't have heard it to begin with. 

"If I remember right, you started it, dear brother. Perhaps, don't mock a woman while she holds a glass of wine." Lyarra added with a shrug, moving to ruffle his hair half-heartedly. 

"Woman is a stretch. You're both children. Act like it too." His words were met with a sharp sigh. He was right, of course. They were only treated as women because of matters outside of their control. As if bleeding once should make you ready to bear a child, to take on the responsibilities of a lady.

"Like you're any better." With that, the conversation had ended. Benjen all but avoided her eyes as she guided him to his quarters. She'd intended on leaving the boy there to retreat to her own, before an arm shot out to grasp onto her. Lyarra jumped at the sudden movement, spinning back to face her brother. 

"D'you mind staying, just for a while? I don't like being away from home. It's better when you're around." His admission was quiet, eyes cast low. She took this moment to raise her palm to his cheek, moving him to face her. 

"Of course, Benjen. I'll stay as long as you'd like." And she did just that. The two only talked for a short while. He continued prattling on about Lyanna's fascination with Rhaegar, and Lyarra only scoffed and nodded along as she listened. She, in turn, told him of her time with Jaime Lannister. This was met with a bit of a scowl, but Benjen nodded nonetheless. The boy had fallen asleep soon after, but Lyarra did not leave his side until she saw the sun peaking over the castle. 

The remaining days of the tourney seemed to wane on. She, along with the rest of her family, had been forced to attend every competition. Every blade swung just reminded Lyarra further that she would never be able to hold such a position. She'd always be the lady stuck in the crowd, watching as the men have their fun. She hardly held a scowl as she observed, though several times she was chastised by her brothers. Some nights Jaime would meet her in that same garden, escorting her to the feast in the same way he had the nights prior. Other nights the two would only meet one another's eyes from across the room, and smile in their own secretive way before moving on. All things considered, Lyarra was merely content to find a friend. The boy seemed to have mutual respect for her, as she did him. 

On the fourth day of competition, Lyarra had decided she'd had enough of playing the silent observer. There had been two jousts already, and just before the men could begin the third — she'd heard a distant yell. It wasn't loud enough to catch the attention of the men in front of her, but it did catch the ears of her and her siblings. Benjen, at the very least. 

"Men for the Night's Watch! Any able bodied man looking to serve the realm, look for the Night's Watch! The shield that guards the realms of men!" A poor advertisement, really. But effective to one, it'd appear. Lyarra watched as Benjen sat forward, his eyes muddled in thought. The very thought of her brother in the Night's watch forced an unladylike cackle out of her lips. Her brother? The boy who had begged her to stay in her room, so that he did not have to sleep alone, only nights ago? Regardless, the boy was transfixed. He only looked away when a group of boys behind them began to call out to the man. 

They mocked him, belittling him for such a 'cowardly job', as they'd put it. The Night's Watch was embarrassing to them. A way to escape the duties of a 'proper man'. In Lyarra's eyes, she considered the men of the Watch brave. They were sacrificing their lives for the realm — for the better of everyone else's life. She stood up then to chastise them, before being yanked down by her older brother. Eddard shot her a sharp look, before quickly returning his focus to the tourney. Lyarra bore the man no mind, as she once again stood up, moving to empty the remainder of her cup of wine on them. They'd shot up instantly to retaliate, before remembering themselves — and quickly ran off. She could hardly hold back the prideful grin on her lips, as she turned back to her brother. 

While she considered the idea of Benjen in the Night's Watch laughable, she wouldn't allow others to dampen his dream. That was her job, after all. She moved to place her hand on his, then, interlocking their fingers. He seemed to breathe after her touch, sending her a short — almost imperceptible — nod in thanks. 

Lyanna did not pay much attention herself, until Rhaegar Targaryen was out. Lyarra couldn't help but admit that her sister did spend an odd amount of time watching the man. She thought he was fascinating herself, of course. The Targaryens were hard to not look away from. They were beautiful, almost standing as mythological beings. However Lyanna had yet to look away from the boy once. Robert had come to speak to her at one point, stomping across the stands — drunk already, no doubt. Lyarra had to step harshly on her sister's shoe to get the girl to notice, too transfixed by the mop of white hair in front of her. This seemed to delight Benjen, as his theory had been proven correct — to which Lyarra turned to stomp on his boot as well. 

On the night before the last day of the tourney, Lyarra held back in the gardens to wait for Jaime. While she waited, she observed the flowers surrounding her. Winter Roses grew proudly everywhere she looked. Lyanna would love this, she couldn't help but think. Perhaps she should bring her sister down tomorrow, before the tourney starts. Or perhaps her sister had already come, with Rhaegar at her side. The man had begun to take interest in her too, no doubt. Only a blind man couldn't see that. Lyarra knew this blooming interest between them would only end poorly. Lyanna was to be wed, and King Aerys hardly seemed like a man to strike a bargain for her sake. She knew as well that Rhaegar was married himself, to Elia Martell, though in truth she had never seen the two together. Another Stark could easily be wed to Robert, to establish the bond. Unfortunate, that she knew well enough in that moment that no man would ever relinquish their 'right to a woman', regardless of how she felt. 

At that moment, a snap of a branch caught Lyarra's attention. She whipped around with a smile, expecting to see Jaime Lannister's golden grin. Only, instead of Jaime, it was a much larger beast. There stood Gregor Clegane.  Ser Gregor, she supposed. He was easily triple her size. She'd seen him maybe twice now in the tourney, crushing every man he went against. He peered down at her, his eyes the furthest thing from human she had ever seen. As she moved to speak, he stepped forward, all but backing her against a column. For the first time in her life, Lyarra was truly speechless in terror. Men had made their intentions with her clear more than once, and she was accustomed to a brutish man with a wandering hand. But Gregor? He wasn't a man at all. He raised his palm to her cheek, and was only halted by a sharp voice calling from across the garden. 

"Brother! Your king is calling you. Says he needs you, now. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting. He seemed angry." The voice, unrecognizable to Lyarra, rang out. His words seemed to echo, as Gregor made no move to retreat. His eyes pierced into hers, and she couldn't help but tremble against the wall. With a grunt, he moved across the garden — staring daggers into whoever had spoken. It was then, as Lyarra sat forward to collect herself, that she was able to spot whom the voice had come from. It was the boy from the first day of the tourney. The boy with burns across his cheek, brown hair sweeping across his face. He looked so small, now that she could see him closer. His scar almost made him appear that much younger. She moved to thank the boy, before another voice rang out. 

"My lady! I apologize for such a dastardly wait. The king has been rather unhappy tonight, I'm afraid. It was a chore to rid myself of him." Jaime Lannister took the opportunity to appear then, making quick strides to her. It was only when he'd reached Lyarra, that he noticed her ragged state. He glanced down at her, before turning accusatively to the boy who still stood silent as ever in the center of the garden. Lyarra shot up, then, placing a calm hand to Jaime's shoulder. The boy took this chance to make his leave, never once breaking eye contact with her. Just before he'd left the garden, she'd stepped forward, leaving Jaime's grasp. 

"Ser?" She called, her voice ringing across the area. The boy stopped then, turning to her with a grimace. She could see then, that he truly wasn't much older than her. Not old enough that he couldn't be a knight, but he didn't carry himself like one at all. He was much larger than her. Smaller than Gregor, of course. But far larger than Jaime — or anyone else she'd met, for that matter. "Thank you."

"I'm no Ser," And with that, the boy had disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. She almost deflated at that, leaning back on the soles of her feet. Jaime had taken her arm as quickly as he had the previous nights, only this time he lingered — glancing over her to make sure she had no lasting wounds. Her explanation came quick, leaving out names due to the man's connection with the King. Jaime promised her that he would find the man that attacked her, and Lyarra could hardly force a timid smile on her lips. 

Lyarra did not leave her sister's side after that. She rarely saw Jaime, and if she did it was only in passing. The two would send one another a weak smile, before carrying on their respective paths. She knew better than to mention what happened to anyone. Lyarra, in truth, didn't even know if Gregor would be punished, and did not want to suffer his wrath unknowingly. Lyanna spent her time ogling Rhaegar Targaryen, unsurprisingly. She hardly looked away, and if she did it was only for a brief moment. 

On the last day of the tourney, Lyarra could hardly force herself to pay attention. She knew that the purpose of the whole tournament was to name a 'queen of love and beauty'. A nameless title, used only to bring praise and further celebration to the victorious knight who would place the crown in a lady's lap. She spent her time scanning through the crowd, searching desperately for the boy that had her curiosity spiraling like a mad dog. He'd been almost frightened by her wandering eye originally, only to come to her aid when she needed it most. 'Brother', he'd called Ser Gregor. So he was a Clegane, then. Lyarra made a mental note to ask her brother of the Cleganes later, as she knew little to nothing of the name. 

She only refocused her attention on the tournament when she noticed white hair sweeping through the field. Rhaegar Targaryen stood victorious over the other men, thus presenting him with the crown — to bestow upon a lady whom he saw fit. Lyarra had brushed the very concept off, choosing to clasp onto her sister's hand — assuming that he would pick his wife. Lyanna was to be wed, and he had a wife of his own. Regardless of whether there was something budding between the two, they'd have no choice in the matter. It was only as Lyarra watched Rhaegar approach in horror, that she began to reconsider. In a flash, Rhaegar placed the crown of blue winter roses in Lyanna's lap. Just as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone. Lyanna's cheeks were flushed, a red hue creeping up her neck. She never quite thought she'd seen her sister as full of life as she was in that moment. 

However, Lyarra was no fool. She knew the repercussions to this. The action itself was scandalous, and she watched in mute horror as Robert Baratheon turned his own shade of red in the face. Princess Elia was gone, disappeared in a flash before anyone else had noticed. She couldn't help the pang of pity that rang through her chest, at that. 

The trip back to Winterfell was a quiet one. Benjen and Lyanna rode far from one another, with Lyanna lingering in the back alongside her sister. Lyarra did not leave her sister's side, save to speak with Eddard. Throughout their short talks, Ned did not take his eyes off of Lyanna. He wasn't pleased with her, no doubt. Though, Lyarra maintained that it was no fault of her sister's. Rhaegar made his decision on his own, she took no part in it. He seemed to grow a bit more complacent at her words, muttering a vague comment of appreciation before hastening his horse ahead. 

Lyarra thought then of the golden lion she'd left behind. Jaime Lannister, for all his perfections, was a curious man. She'd only made one friend in her life, yet her bond with the Lannister boy blossomed almost just as quickly. They weren't nearly as close, however, and her heart did not long to return to him as it did to Petyr. Jaime Lannister was a kind, charming boy. Their goodbyes were short, away from prying eyes, in the garden that they'd properly met. He'd had to leave early as it was, with the intention of guarding the Queen Rhaella. Jaime had pulled her hand down to his lips, kissing her knuckles — as if she were a proper lady. Lyarra would miss the boy, she decided then. She only hoped that he'd serve his king well, and that they would later meet under better circumstances. 

The Clegane boy, however, she had yet to see again. She searched for him after the tourney, eyes wandering where they could, but her brothers hardly let her out of their sight after the incident with Lyanna. She would be forever grateful to him, even if she never would get the chance to properly speak with him. 

Lyarra rode silently at her sister's side, doing her best to observe her when she had the chance. She'd seemed somber, since the tourney. Originally, she was elated. Her spirits were only dampened when she'd seen the reaction of the onlookers surrounding her. Lyanna Stark was not one to let the opinions of the many disturb her. She was far from a typical lady. There were even rumors spiraling that she'd presented herself as a Knight at the tourney, though Lyarra was not by her sister's side enough to confirm nor deny that. 

"Are you looking forward to returning home?" Lyarra asked tentatively, leaning down in the slightest to move into her sister's path of sight. It took a few moments for her to respond, and just before Lyarra had gone to ask again she was interrupted. 

"Would you look forward to walking back into the arms of your captor?" Her words were venomous, yet the fury in them was not meant for Lyarra. She knew that well enough. 

"You're not his captive, Lyanna. Robert loves you, at the very least-" 

"At the very least? Oh, so I am meant to love a man because he gives me a golden cage rather than a steel cell? That is not love, dear sister. Robert will find and fuck the first thing he sees, you know that as well as I do." Lyarra was stunned for a beat too long, and before she could collect herself her sister had already ridden ahead. She was right. Lyarra knew she was right. Lyanna had never felt as adored as she had when Rhaegar placed the crown in her lap. A crown of her favorite flowers, solidifying her as the most beautiful lady in attendance. She would never get that from Robert, regardless of how he claimed to love her. 

Lyarra rode on in silence, watching her sister's back as she faded in the distance. She'd wished in that moment, that she hadn't begged her brother to spare her from Edmure Tully. That she was locked in a cage of her own, if only to relieve her sister from the pressure of carrying that weight alone. As it was, she did not know how it felt to be tied to a man that she did not love. She would, in due time. Yet it was her sister who had to shoulder that burden alone now. 

Okay. Well. There's that! I kind of had to force myself to end this chapter here, because I had too many ideas on where to go with it. I did not mean to make this 6k words.. Please bear with me. 

I do have some things I'd like to note about this chapter! One, this is all from Lyarra's perspective, so if something is not included it is because she was not there to witness it. The bit with Howland Reed and the Knight of the Laughing Tree is only briefly touched on in his chapter. Partially because I do not know too much about it, and also because Lyarra was just not present for it. She is always up to smth.. Free my girl. Two, the friendship between Jaime and Lyarra admittedly came out of nowhere. As I was writing, it just felt natural. The chemistry between the two was so entertaining that I could not stop writing for a moment. It feels fitting to me, though, considering what happens between the two later on (maniacal laughter) 

Three, we got our first Sandor appearance! Who cheered. I did not intend on introducing him so early but I saw my chance with the tourney and took it. Bless Lord Whent and his timing (that I altered with creative liberties) Four, the third chapter is likely going to be much shorter than the previous two have been. I have a lot that I'd like to write about Lyarra's life after what happens with Lyanna, so I know that I must separate the two chapters. Fifth and finally, there is a lot of history in the Stark line that is not touched on in this story. Ned being fostered in the Eyrie is only briefly touched on. Lyarra is a bit of an ignorant child, all things considered. She is very curious, but she spends a lot of her time in her own head. If something isn't touched on, it's likely because I felt that something was more important to include instead. I try to keep the familial storylines as close to canon as I can, so if anything isn't explicitly written feel free to assume it happens without saying. 

That is all I have for the time being! If you have any comments, feel free to leave them. 

Thank you, as always

Zevran.

[bebravedearheart]

😂 tickling for merthur!

I don't know why, I had a feeling I'd get this one😂

***

Merlin threw open the heavy curtains blocking the dawn from Arthur's chambers, eliciting a groan from the prince who for all he said Merlin puzzled him was a mystery himself. How could a man with the honed reflexes of a knight training since childhood, who woke at the slightest twitch or rustle while on patrol or on a hunt, be so difficult to wake in the mornings he spent in his lavish bed in the castle.

Though, on reflection, Merlin didn't think he'd wake up so easily if he too was enveloped in soft linen sheets and a feather mattress.

Arthur had done no more than press his face further into his pillow.

"Come on then," Merlin said brightly, just a fraction louder than he needed to. "Let's have you lazy daisy," He knew Arthur hated that phrase and it might at least get something thrown at his head--which meant Arthur would have to move to do so.

The prince, clearly intending to be particularly difficult today, just groaned again, one hand dragged from the warmth of the deep red coverlet to make a shooing motion at Merlin.

"Breakfast will get cold," Merlin tried, deciding not to mention the fact he had once again been late to pick it up and it was already no more than lukewarm.

"S'always cold," Arthur muttered, muffled in his decadence.

"Do I have to drag you out, my lord?" Merlin asked, both of them well aware he only titled Arthur when he was being particularly sardonic. "I've done it before and I will do it again," he continued, trying his best to channel his mother's particular brand of ferocity.

"Are you threatening me, Merlin?" came the still-muffled, still-pompous tone. Arthur was feeling a little more awake, then.

"If that's what it needs to be to get your lazy arse out of bed, royal or not." Merlin answered loftily, with a long-suffering sigh for good measure. He still couldn't see the prince's face, but Arthur's hand was idly twisting in his coverlet; those broad, calloused fingers wrinkling then smoothing the linen.

"You can't talk to me like that," Arthur raised his head, the effect of his commanding, self-important tone somewhat lessened by the yawn that broke his words and the way his hair stuck up in all directions.

Something warm settled itself beneath Merlin's ribs, as it so often did in unguarded moments like these, the glimpses of the man beneath the crown, the infuriating, stubborn, childish man.

"Well, are you getting out of bed?"

"Nope."

"Then I shall continue."

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Sod off."

"Right." Merlin had a note of finality to his tone. "If you're not getting out of bed, I'm getting in."

"Excuse me?" Arthur demanded, though the words had not even left his mouth before Merlin was sat on his hips, knees either side of him.

"Get up," Merlin singsonged, prodding Arthur's bare chest with one long finger.

"Get off," Arthur grumbled, with far less heat than he knew he should at such familiarity.

"Get up," Merlin sang again, prodding Arthur in the ribs this time. The prince could not suppress the slight twitch and shiver when Merlin's finger brushed the sensitive, ticklish spot on his ribs. Merlin did not fail to notice and he grinned wickedly.

"Right." He said again, drawing all of his fingers, feather-light across Arthur's ribs.

***

"Merlin!" the prince squeaked--with dignity, of course--thinking wildly for a moment about how soft Merlin's palms were where they rested on his sides, how warm.

"Are you getting up, my lord?" Merlin said again, his other hand skating over Arthur's chest as the laughter he could not help broke free.

"Merlin! Give up! Merlin!" He bellowed between giggles, had no idea what anyone passing in the corridor might think. His manservant had never listened to him, however, and it did not look like he was about to start now.

Truly awake now, Arthur drew on those perfectly honed reflexes and grabbed Merlin's wrist, knowing Merlin wasn't expecting it. "Ha!" his voice was triumphant as he sat up, still holding Merlin's wrist. They had wrestled like children before, gone far beyond any boundary of lord and servant many times but this felt different. The air felt charged with something Arthur could not name and tried hard not to think about.

His hand seemed so large, clumsy against Merlin's. His blunt, calloused fingertips looked like they would sully Merlin's perfectly pale skin. Arthur swallowed thickly, knowing he should let go but unable to make himself just yet.

Merlin flexed his fingers and Arthur watched the movement intently, didn't think of rules or propriety as he brought Merlin's hand closer to his face, pressed a kiss to his warm palm. Merlin's breath caught in his throat and Arthur moved to kiss the pads of each of Merlin's finger. He tasted the salt-sweat of Merlin's skin, the barest hint of whichever herbs he had picked for Gaius before coming to wake him and the honey from the rolls he always brought Arthur for breakfast. "Stealing my sweetmeats before you've even served me, Merlin?"

The tips of Merlin's ears flushed a delicate pink and Arthur knew he was right. He let go of Merlin's wrist, reluctantly. "We should--"

Merlin's hand had already found its way back to Arthur's chest, pressed flat against his sternum, pushing Arthur to lie back down. Those elegant fingers ran across his chest, down his ribs again; over all the ticklish spots that made Arthur shiver, brushing a nipple oh-so-lightly--which made Arthur actually gasp.

Merlin's smile turned wicked as he tickled Arthur's ribs again just to watch him twitch.

"I think you can stay in bed just a little longer."

[fallinginvictus]

I may be a day or two early for wip wednesday but I absolutely need to know what happens next in ur time loop fic of Andrew

WIP Wednesday Andrew and Aaron Time Loop AU [part 2/4]

Part 1

on ao3 I would tag this as "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings" so if you need to know more because you think there might be something that could trigger you, let me know and I'll let you know

He feels frantic as he drives on now familiar roads, his thoughts swirling in his brain and bouncing inside his skulls, unable to tell where one begins and the other ends, unable to make sense of the nightmare that he has found himself trapped in. Cars race past him as his thoughts race in his brain, images of Aaron's cold and pale body flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks, the coldness of his brother's hand and the stillness of his chest something that will never stop haunting him for as long as he lives.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew's breaths get lost in his lungs, unable to find their way out. 

Aaron is alive. 

Aaron is alive again.

“Andrew?”

“I'm going to stay with you for a while,” is everything that he manages to say, his voice quieter than he intends it to be, his hands squeezing the steering wheel until they turn white.

“What? Why? Did something happen?” Aaron asks and Andrew wants to scream at him. 

“No,” he says. “I'm already on my way.”

“Andrew,” Aaron sighs. “For how long? Don't you have games and practice?”

“I hurt my wrist so I can't play for two weeks.”

“You can't stay with me. I have plans.”

“What plans?” he asks, wondering how many times Aaron has lied to them before, how many other times has he pretended to be busy while his only plan was that of getting high.

“With my friends.”

“You don't have friends. I'll be there in a few hours. Bye.”

He doesn't give Aaron any time to reply, any time to protest, before hanging up, Aaron's voice making his head spin, his blood boil. 

He wants to hug his brother, he wants to feel his chest move, his heart beat, his blood flowing through his veins. He wants to touch Aaron's skin and feel nothing but warmth. He wants to look him in the eyes and see them shine. 

He wants his brother to never be dead again.

♤♤

He sits outside of Aaron's locked door, the clock inside of his head ticking and ticking, each second that passes feeling like a lifetime spent in hell, wondering if the call is going to come anyways, wondering if Aaron is already dead. More than once he wants to drive back to the hospital where Aaron died, where Aaron will die. More than once he takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Aaron's number without ever calling him.

It's ten minutes past three in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings where it's sitting on the floor by his side. Andrew's breath gets caught in his throat, his whole body tensing at the sound until his every muscle aches and screams, begging to be released, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

But when his eyes finally find the courage to look down at the bright screen by his side, it is Aaron's name that meets his eyes and not the hospital's number (a number that had now been printed inside of Andrew's brain and that he would never be able to forget.)

“What,” he says flatly as soon as he picks up the phone, his muscles still tense, his heart still racing.

“Are you really waiting for me?” Aaron asks in a tentative tone that Andrew can't decipher. Finally Andrew starts to relax, Aaron's quiet voice like sweet honey washing over him.

He hums in reply.

“I'm- I'm almost there. Wait for me,” Aaron says as the words rush out of his mouth and stumble all over each other.

“I've been waiting for almost two hours so you better be quick,” Andrew replies, unable to deny to himself just how much he longs to finally see his brother alive. 

Andrew had long since learnt to keep his emotions trapped inside of his ribcage. Some would oftentimes run away from him, slip through the cracks, escape from their perfectly built prison: in the morning with Neil's peaceful face resting by his side, the brighg sun shining on him, his hair messy, his face puffy, a soft smile on his lips; in the night with Neil's flushed body under his, his warm hands gently placed on his shoulders, his soft moans filling the quiet room.

But it had been a long time since his emotions had come crashing against his chest, threatening to split his ribcage open, uncovering his most safely guarded secrets. He had forgotten how much it hurt, how raw and vulnerable it made him feel.

“Hey,” Aaron says breathlessly, breaking the silence and coming to stand in front of a motionless Andrew.

Andrew just stares at him blankly, taking notice of every single thing that is Aaron, of every aspect of him, every detail. Aaron looks tired, Andrew notices, his skin is pale, ink spilled under his bloodshot eyes but his pupils are normal, he looks rail-thin, his collar bones heavily pronounced. 

Andrew says nothing as his brain reminds him of the list of “Common Physical Signs of Drug Usage” that he had read once on the library's computer when he was fifteen.

“You ambush me like this and you are not even going to say hi?” Aaron asks as he opens the door, but there is no strength in his voice, no malice in his words.

“Hi,” he says as he walks inside the now familiar house, his eyes falling back on the family picture displayed in the living room.

“Give me a second,” Aaron says before running inside his room and closing the door behind himself, probably trying to tidy up the mess that Andrew had already seen.

He sits on the couch, unable to come up with a plan of action, with a strategy. He had already asked Aaron before if he had relapsed and Aaron had denied it. Would he ever tell Andrew the truth if he asked? 

“So,” Aaron says as he walks out of his room with a black trash bag. Andrew just looks at him. “Are you going to tell me why you decided to crash at my house for who knows how long?”

“Am I not allowed to want to spend some time with my dearest brother?” he asks with a sweet and ostensibly fake smile on his lips, trying not to think just how much truth was actually hidden in those words.

Aaron scoffs at him, “Sure, because you totally just wanted to spend some time with me,” he says and something in his voice makes Andrew pause. He just stares at him, his brows furrowed, trying to figure out something that he knows is standing right in front of him and yet he cannot seem to be able grasp.

There's a tense silence for a few seconds as Andrew just stares at his brother, at the way air fills his lungs, as the way his chest moves.

“Fine,” Aaron breaks first. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if he's dealing with a troublesome kid. “Fine. You don't have to tell me now. Just- Are you okay? It's nothing bad, right?”

Andrew is taken aback by the concern in his voice before anger fills his vision. No nothing too bad, he wants to say. My own fucking brother died. No biggie.

“No, nothing too bad,” he says between clenched teeth.

♤♤

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing on Aaron's old PS2, the same one that he has owned longer than Andrew has known him. It was quiet and comfortable and Andrew could tell there was something else going on inside of his brother's mind, something that was clouding his brain, making his moves sloppy, his attention fragmented.

“Do you feel like you are going to relapse?” Andrew asks. “Don't lie to me.”

“Where does that even coming from? Fuck-” Aarons scoffs as he misses a jumps and falls down a cliff.

“Do you?”

“No? Not more than usual,” he says distractedly, his whole attention on the game in front of him. 

You used today and you died, Andrew almost says. Stop fucking lying.

“If you feel like using again, just tell me,” is all that comes out of his mouth, his eyes landing on Aaron's focused face. “Promise.”

“Sure,” Aaron says, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

“Promise,” he repeats loudly.

“I- I promise,” Aaron says, his eyes finally meeting Andrew's.

Andrew knows it won't be enough. Aaron had lied before and he would have no qualms in lying again, in breaking a promise. But he found it difficult to worry when Aaron was sitting right by his side, their shoulders brushing against each other, Aaron's warmth washing over him.

It's 7 pm when Andrew silently gets up from the couch and heads towards the kitchen with the intention of preparing them dinner.

“What the fuck Aaron.”

“What?” Aaron says from the living room, the sound of the game almost drowning his quiet voice.

“Why the fuck is you fridge completely empty?”

“Oh,” Aaron says, turning off the game.

Andrew waits for a second, then two, expecting to receive an actual reply from his brother but getting only silence in return.

“We can go grocery shopping tomorrow,” Andrew says, sitting back down on the couch, his hand grazing Aaron's shoulder. “Let's just order take out for today.”

Aaron nods as Andrew takes his phone out of his pocket to order take-out but notices a couple of unread messages from Neil.

To: 0 Neil:

I'm going to stay with Aaron for a while

From: 0 Neil:

is everything okay?

To: 0 Neil:

I'm here to figure it out

Dinner is quiet, just like the rest of the afternoon had been quiet. Aaron's gaze never leaves his food, his eyes unfocused, his mind full of thoughts that Andrew isn't able to read. 

If only he could jump inside of Aaron's head and search through his brain, Andrew thinks, maybe then he would find the answers he's looking for, maybe then he would find the right questions.

He used to think of Aaron as someone easy to read, his goals and ambitions prosaic. He always thought he knew what Aaron wanted, what he longed for. Every action Aaron took and every comment he made used to be something Andrew could decipher and understand. And yet, now that he's standing in front of him, he wonders if he ever really knew Aaron at all, if this whole time he had been reading Aaron's signals all wrong.

“Why don't you have any friends?” he asks, his eyes scanning Aaron's face for a reaction, for a sign.

Aaron's pauses for a second, his eyes focused on his food, “Of course I have friends,” he says, his eyes meeting Andrew's. “Why would you think that I don't have any friends?”

Aaron's face doesn't betray him, his eyes seem truthful and his voice doesn't shake. If Andrew hadn't known better, he would've believed him, he would've fallen for his lie. How many times, he wonders, has Aaron lied straight to his face? How many times has he tricked Andrew before?

I can tell when you're lying to me, he used to tell Aaron. Now he wonders if he ever really could.

“Don't lie to me,” Andrew says, his voice cold, his gaze unforgiving.

“I'm not-”

“Don't lie to me,” he says again, his gaze just a little softer.

“How would you even know,” Aaron muebles as he puts more food in his mouth with his brows furrowed and an uncharacteristic pout on his lips.

In the past, Andrew would've pushed. In the past, Aaron would've been colder. 

“What's going on with you,” the words leave Andrew's mouth without his permission.

“I just-” Aaron says before shaking his head, something that Andrew can't read flashing in his eyes. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed now.”

Andrew can't do anything but watch as Aaron retreats back to his room and closes the door behind himself with a soft click. He sighs as he drops his head on the couch and stares at the white ceiling feeling lost and confused. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. 

He doesn't know how to save Aaron from himself.

♧♧

The first week passes quickly, Aaron spending most of his days at the hospital and his evenings locked in his room studying while Andrew is left alone with his own thoughts and fears, images of his dead brother spinning like a carousel inside of his brain. 

Every night he wakes up from nightmares, his body numb and damp with sweat, Aaron's cold body flashing behind his eyes. 

Every night, he sofly opens Aaron's bedroom door and stares at his brother as he sleeps, at the way his chest rises and falls, at his pink skin and slightly flushed cheeks.

He's alive, he tells himself, over and over again. And yet he can still remember when Aaron hadn't been alive.

♧♧

“We should do things together,” Andrew tells Aaron one morning while he's still lying on the couch after having spent a whole night googling “How to make sure your brother doesn't relapse again”. 

“What?”

“Make a list of things that you want to do and we'll do them.”

“Why?” Aaron asks, walking out of the kitchen.

“You don't want to?” Andrew replies, tilting his head.

“You always have a reason for things.”

“If you don't want to-”

“I do,” Aaron interrupts him, his eyes wide.

“Then make the list and give it to me when you get home this evening.”

“I just don’t- Fine,” Aaron says with a sigh as he heads for the door. He stops there for a second, his hand on the handle and his bag over his shoulder. 

“What,” Andrew says as he takes his phone from the coffee table.

Aaron just furrows his brows and shakes his head, “Bye,” is all that comes out of his mouth before leaving the apartment.

Androw looks at the closed door, his heart racing like it does every time Aaron leaves his sight. He can feel little ants crawling under his skin and he knows that's where they'll stay until he'll see Aaron, alive and breathing, again.

♤♤

That evening Aaron comes back later than usual. Fourteen minutes later, to be exact.

Andrew is pacing the length of the living room when he hears the jingle of Aaron's keys as he pushes them in the lock. A few seconds later, Aaron walks inside the house and throws his coat on the hanger as if nothing is wrong.

“You're late,” Andrew says between gritted teeth as he stalks towards Aaron.

“What?” Aaron asks in confusion and bends down to untie his shoes.

“If you come home late you have to text and let me know.”

“I'm not even that late, just a few minutes and-”

“Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Not a few minutes. Fourteen minutes.”

Aaron sighs as he stands back up, confusion written all over his face. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's cold body in a back alley, on a white hospital bed, in a closet, in the middle of an empty street. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's vacant eyes staring at the sky, his pale skin tinted blue with death, his chest unmoving, his heart still.

Fourteen minutes of Andrew recalling Aaron's cold fingers in his hand, his icy forehead under his lips.

Fourteen minutes of waiting for his phone to ring, for the Doctor’s voice to inform him that his brother had died.

“I'm sorry,” Aaron says but it comes out as a question.

“Whatever,” Andrew replies before leaving a confused Aaron at the door and locking himself in the bathroom.

“Tell me something,” he says on the phone, his arms tightly wrapped around his legs as he sits in the corner between the sink and the wall.

He doesn't listen as Neil talks about his day, about practice, about anything and everything that comes to his mind. He lets Neil's calm and soothing voice wash over him, until it seeps into his brain, into his bones. Until breathing doesn't hurt anymore and the ants have left his body.

“Why won't you tell me what's wrong?” Neil asks on the other line, his voice full of worry.

“Aaron,” he says, his brother's name burning his lips as it leaves his mouth.

“Is he sick?”

“I just need to make sure he doesn't do something stupid and accidentally kills himself in the process.”

“You think he's going to?”

“I know he is.”

“Alright,” Neil says with a sigh. “But you have to promise me something.”

Andrew humms.

“Don't hurt yourself while trying to help him.”

Andrew stays silent for a second. There is nothing that he wouldn't be willing to do if it means saving Aaron from his fate, “I can't promise that.”

“Andrew-”

“He's my brother, Neil.”

“Does he even want to be? He just left you and Nicky and never looked back. Why would you put your mental well being at risk after all of your hard work for someone who wouldn't do the same for you?”

“That's not how it works.”

“What?” Neil asks.

“This is not a deal or a transaction. I'm helping him because I don't want him to be dead, not because I want him to do the same for me, not because I want him to give me something back,” he takes a deep breath and shakes his head even if Neil can't see him. “I just don't want him to be dead.”

“Fine just- just be careful and call me when you need to.”

“I will.”

A knock on the door interrupts Neil in the middle of a sentence, “I made dinner,” Aaron's soft voice comes from the other side when Ansrew doesn't reply. 

“I have to go,” he says.

“Call me,” Neil replies before hanging up.

They eat dinner quietly on the couch, the sound of Aaron chewing something crunchy loud in the silent room.

"If you still want I have the list” Aaron says with downcast eyes.

“Then get it,” he replies after another long silence.

Andrew watches as Aaron rushes towards his bedroom, his bowl hastily placed on the coffee table.

Why are you so different, he wants to ask but doesn't.

“Here,” Aaron says a few seconds later as he hands him a wrinkled piece of lined paper, Aaron's elegant handwriting filling the page.

Andrew just nods at the paper and places it on the sofa by his side.

“You're not going to look at it?”

“I'm eating,” Andrew replies.

Aaron nods, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, a dot of blood staining his skin.

“Stop that and eat,” Andrew says, tapping Aaron's chin with his finger.

For a second it looks like Aaron is going to say something but before anything can come spilling out of his mouth, Aaron shakes his head and goes back to his dinner.

♧♧

“We're going for a picnic,” he tells Aaron on Wednesday, a week and a day after Aaron's death.

“What?” Aaron asks as he looks away from the open book on his lap.

“It's in your list, isn't it?” 

“I mean, yeah but-”

“You have an hour to get ready. Chop chop.”

The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach the park. It's still a little cold outside, the air a little chilly, the sun a little weak.

“This is so nice,” Aaron says as he fiddles with the hem of the table cloth that Andrew had placed on the ground. There is a smile that Aaron is trying to hide on lips and it makes the ants under Andrew's skin disappear for a second.

“I always saw families having picnics when I was in primary school,” he tells Andrew as he bites the tuna, mayo and lettuce sandwich they had bought at the café near that park. “It would be better if Nicky were here too.”

Andrew just hums in reply.

“What's your favourite sandwich?” Aaron asks, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably-”

“Wait,” Aaron interrupts him. “I'll try to guess.”

Andrew looks at him a little puzzled as Aaron furrows his brows, a look of deep concentration painted on his face.

“I've got it,” he says after a few seconds, a crumb of white bread falling from the corner of his mouth. “Pulled pork with BBQ sauce.”

Andrew just nods.

“Now you,” Aaron says as he takes another bite from his sandwich.

“Me what?”

“Guess my favourite,” Aaron says, sounding a little too excited, his smile too bright.

“It's not that hard to guess. It's the same as mine. It's what we always got from highschool to college.”

“Mine is meatballs,” Aaron says quietly as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Since when?” Andrew asks. It had been years since the two of them had last eaten a sandwich together. Andrew can't help but to wonder what more he missed in Aaron's life.

“Since I was seven and a guy from school gave me a piece of his because I didn't have anything to eat,” Aaron says calmly without looking at Andrew. “I hate BBQ sauce.”

“But we always for pulled pork and BBQ,” Andrew says. It was their favourite, they would always eat it together for dinner after school.

Aaron just shrugs, “It was your favourite,” he says.

“But you-” Andrew begins but is interrupted by a ball landing on his leg.

“I'm so sorry,” a kid shouts as he runs towards them with his brother behind him. “We are so sorry. It was an accident.”

“It's fine, no one got hurt,” Aaron says, picking up the red ball and giving it back to the kid. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Oh my god it's clones,” the smaller child says while hiding behind his brother. “Like in star wars.”

“It's twins you idiot,” the older brother reprimands him as they run away. 

♧♧

When Aaron gets back home on Thursday's evening at 9:45, he looks tired and upset. His shoulders are hunched, his movements slow, his eyes never once lift from the floor.

“What's wrong?” Andrew asks from where he's sitting on the couch.

“Just a bad day at work,” Aaron replies, his voice so low Andrew has to strain to hear him.

“Come,” he says, patting the couch.

“I just want to-”

“Come,” Andrew says again.

Aaron trudges towards the couch and Andrew can see a little tremor in his hands. He looks for signs of drug use but comes up empty.

“Speak,” he says as soon as Aaron is sitting on the couch by his side, his chin resting on his knees as he hugs his legs to his chest, his dirty shoes on the couch.

Aaron opens his mouth but no words leave his lips, just a shaky breath.

“It's okay,” he says as he watches the tremble in Aaron's lips. “Take a deep breath.”

Aaron shakes his head, his eyes wet, “I told his brother it was going to be fine but I-” a dry sob breaks Aaron’s sentence right in the middle. “It was just a little kid and it wasn't even- it really wasn't-”

“It's okay, Aaron,” he says even if he knows it's not.

“And his brother was just there alone and I told him- Andrew I told him that it would- that it would be fine,” there are tears running down his reddened cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” Andrew asks and waits for Aaron to nod his permission before taking Aaron's hand into his own. “You did what you could.”

Aaron closes his eyes for a second, “Can you-” he shakes his head.

“Can I what?”

“Nothing. It was silly.”

“Tell me,” Andrew says. “I'll decide if it's silly.”

A pause and then, “Can you sleep in my bed tonight?”

There is a longer pause, silence fills the room as Andrew thinks it over.

“I told you it was silly,” Aaron says, his eyes now open. “Forget about it.”

Andrew stays quiet for another second, “We can,” he says.

He waits for Aaron's breathing to go back to normal, for the tears to stop flowing down his cheeks, for the tremor in his hands to subside, and then he helps his brother back on his feet and towards his room. Aaron's legs are still shaky, his hold on Andrew's hand tight.

“I'll go wash up,” Aaron says, taking his pyjamas from where he had thrown it that morning and heading for the bathroom.

Andrew sits on the side of Aaron's bed as he waits, scanning the room. He finds it to be more tidy than it had been when Aaron had died, but still disorganised and messy.

“Why is it so messy?” he asks when Aaron walks back into the room. “You always used to keep everything tidy and in perfect order.”

“I just-” Aaron shakes his head and lets the sentence die. Andrew looks at him.

“Come on then,” he pulls down the covers and lies under them. He had missed sleeping in a real bed.

“You don't have to,” Aaron says standing in front of the bed.

“I know,” Ansrew replies. “It's my choice. Just don't touch me.”

“I won't,” his brother reassures him before climbing on the bed.

They lie in silence for a while, Andrew on his back, Aaron on his side, his eyes trained on Andrew.

“You're staring at me,” he says as he looks at Aaron from the corner of his eye.

“When I was a kid,” Aaron whispers as if he were sharing a secret. “I always wanted a brother to share everything with.”

Andrew hums in reply.

“I wanted to build a fort with covers and cushions that only me and my brother could enter. Our secret place where we would always be safe and never lonely.”

Andrew turns on his side and looks at his brother in the quiet dark.

“Goodnight Aaron,” he says, placing his hand on top of Aaron's.

“Goodnight Andrew.”

♧♧

“We are going to the market,” he tells Aaron Friday morning as soon as Aaron leaves his room

“I need to be at the hospital at 1 pm,” Aaron replies.

Andrew nods, “We're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew had never been to a farmers market before nor had he ever wanted to go to a farmers market.

“This is so fun,” Aaron is saying as Andrew tries to dodge the crowd of people that is flowing around him. “Look.”

Andrew isn't sure what Aaron is pointing at, nor does he care that much. The crowd is overwhelming, people constantly bumping into him and touching his body.

They walk around for a while, Aaron pointing to flowers and plants, fruits and vegetables as if he were in a museum instead of a street market.

“Did you know that to make just one pound of honey it takes 2 million flowers?” Aaron asks as they walk past a stand of honey. “Do you like honey?”

“What?” Andrew asks, distracted by a woman who bumped into him.

“You like sweets, so I was wondering if you like honey.”

“I don't know. Never tried.”

“Oh then I should totally buy you some. Come on,” Aaron says walking towards the honey vendor.

“Do you like honey?” Andrew asks as they wait for their turn.

“It's not really something you can eat spoonfuls of or you'll get sick, but I like it.”

They sit on a bench away from the crowd as soon as they buy the honey.

“Here, taste,” Aaron says, scooping some honey on the wooden spoon the vendor had given them.

Honey is sticky and sweet and it makes Andrew's throat burn a little because of the overwhelming sweetness.

“You don't like it?” Aaron asks with a little frown on his face.

Andrew shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Aaron mutters while closing the honey lid.

“What are you apologising for?”

“I thought you would have liked it,” Aaron shrugs.

Andrew just stares at him confused, his face blank.

“It's whatever,” Aaron says as he gets back up on his feet. “We should go home.”

Andrew watches as Aaron throws the jar of honey in the first street bin they find while they head towards Andrew's car.

♧♧

“Neil's playing today,” Aaron says on Sunday as Andrew is cooking dinner.

“Yeah,” Andrew replies because he noticed Aaron hates not receiving a reply.

“Do you want to watch the game?” he asks but then immediately turns on the TV without waiting for Andrew's reply.

When he goes into the living room with their dinner (Aaron's favourite italian pasta), the game has already started and Aaron is comfortably sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, a fluffy blue blanket around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Aaron says with a smile, taking one of the plates from Andrew's outstretched hand and placing it on his legs. “It just started so you didn't miss much.”

It surprises Andrew how much Aaron talks during the game, how much he notices about the players and their plays, how much he knows about Andrew's team.

“Yeah, he's been doing that the whole season. He really needs to work on that.”

“You've been keeping up with the championship?” Andrew asks.

“Not really, I just watch the games where you, Kevin or Matt play.”

Andrew purses his lips as a mix of emotions explode in his chest. He wants to dig deeper, to ask why. Aaron never showed up for the foxes reunions at Wymack’s place, he cut all contact with everyone, he never once showed any interest in anyone, any will to be their friend. 

Andrew wonders when had Aaron stopped making sense. He wonders if Aaron had ever made sense in the first place at all or if Andrew had made up a version of his brother in his head that had never once been real.

They spend the rest of the evening watching the game, a little smile on Aaron's lips as his hands flail around when he tries to explain sometimes to Andrew.

Could it have always been this easy? He wonders. Did Aaron have to die twice for them to finally spend time together like normal people?

Maybe, Andrew thinks, maybe everything can be fixed.

♧♧

“We are going to the zoo,” he tells Aaron on Monday morning while Aaron is still lying in his bed.

“What?” he asks, his voice low and full of sleep.

“Get ready, we're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew hates the zoo. It's boring and uninteresting. He doesn't care about where any of the animals came from nor from what they had been saved. It's cold and cloudy and the tips of his fingers are frozen. But the zoo was on Aaron's list and it seems to be working perfectly as a distraction: Aaron keeps speed-walking from one enclosure to the next, reading out facts that he seems to find interesting and cool. 

“And this one was saved after hunters shot him down and he lost his ability to fly,” Aaron says after three long and excruciating hours of walking around the zoo surrounded by screaming children and annoying adults. “Isn't that so heartwarming?”

“Heartwarming?” he asks, focusing on the sad little bird sitting in the middle of a huge green field.

“Someone found him when he was just about to die and decided that he was worthy of being saved. They took care of him and gave him a new home.”

“He's a bird who can't fly. Alone in a huge field. It would've been more merciful to just let him die. What kind of life is this?” 

He can feel Aaron's gaze on him as he looks at the bird but when he turns towards him, Aaron's eyes are back on the bird. He doesn't look excited anymore, his gaze soft and sad, something that Andrew can't decipher in his expression.

“It's almost lunch time,” Aaron says, looking away from the bird. “We should go home.”

♧♧

“Next time you are the one who has to visit,” Andrew says on Tuesday morning as he packs his bag. “We should also invite Nicky,” he adds.

“Sure,” Aaron says but there is something strange behind his eyes.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just- I'm just very very tired,” Aaron says, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You are not feeling like you're going to relapse, right?” Andrew asks, staring right into Aaron's eyes.

“What? No. No I don't,” Aaron replies, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Promise.”

“I promise,” Aaron says lightly.

“This is very serious Aaron. Promise me you won't touch any type of drug for any reason.”

“Andrew. I promise I won't touch any type of drug. Unless I'm administering it to a patient. Good?”

“Good.”

“Can I- Nothing,” Aaron says with a shake of his head.

“Tell me.”

“It's silly. Forget about it.”

“I'll decide if it's silly,” Andrew says.

“Can I hug you goodbye?”

Andrew is silent for a second. He can't remember ever hugging Aaron in his life. Not once.

“Yes,” he says.

Aaron moves slowly towards him, as if walking towards an easily spooked animal, afraid that I'll run away. When he's finally standing in front of Andrew, he carefully lifts his arms and places them around Andrew's neck, his cheek resting on his brother's shoulder. Andrew can feel Aaron’s warm breaths on his neck, his brother's heartbeat pounding on his body where their chests are touching. 

Aaron is alive. His brother is still alive.

He tightens his hold around Aaron's waist. He had never hugged his brother before, he thinks again. In two other lives Aaron had died without ever getting to hug his brother. 

Andrew could've gone his whole life without ever getting to share something as trivial and mundane as a hug between brothers.

♧♧

It's Tuesday, the twenty-second of May at six in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

“That's impossible,” he says getting up from his couch. “Aaron promised he wouldn't touch any drugs. He promised me.”

Aaron promised. He had promised.

“Drugs?” the Doctor asks. “I'm really sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Minyard but Doctor Minyard's cause of death isn't drug related.”

“What? He didn't overdose?”

“No, Sir. Your brother he- he I'm so sorry. He jumped off a bridge. I'm so sorry.”

Aaron had always claimed that he didn't feel like he was going to relapse. Why hadn't Andrew believed him.

He had been asking the wrong question the whole time. He had tried to solve the wrong problem.

Can I hug you goodbye? Aaron had asked a few hours ago.

Yes, Andrew had replied.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XIX): This Is Me Trying.

Imagine Aemond Targaryen imprisons you during the late civil war.

Warnings: long post, drama, angst, light smut, fluff ending.

***

• Before the War.

I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about that…

When Aemond meets you again circumstances are about to erupt in an event that most involved wish to prevent. He’s lost an eye, and though for gaining something more important, his pride never amended for the loss.

You, on the other hand, are his cousin via his uncle Daemon’s first marriage to Lady Rhea Arryn. In theory, you should be ruler of that House, but women hold no rights there so that is why you are there with your family.

With your dark hair and darker eyes, you attract your cousins’s attention. It’s a week before the fatidic dinner when he spots you, dressed in dark blue, ignoring the rising tensions between the already formed green and black parties.

“You look as if this is the place you wouldn’t want to be”, you hear him address you.

In all fairness, last time you’ve been there he was a child and so were you. Hardly surprising it is to find the quiet boy a taller and handsome man.

“Lord Aemond”, you smile when recollecting his name. “It’s been years…”

“Indeed. Many events have transcurred since we last spoke, Lady Arryn”, he side smirks, eyeing you intently, pleased to make you blush.

As children, you were playmates before your father remarried to Lady Laena of House Velaryon. She took you as one of her own and under her care you remained until she came to past away. And then your father espoused Princess Rhaenyra, whom also took you as her daughter.

And here you are.

“They have, yes”, you nod, transfixed by his enigmatic presence. “I’m sorry about your eye. I wasn’t there when this happened.”

“You’d think I didn’t notice?”, he raises his eyebrow. “Where have you been?”

Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond resents your absence, how out of reach you’ve been when you were once close. How on earth have you become strangers?

You look down at your wrung hands, but when carefully lifting your gaze you still find his good eye glued on you, trying to understand you.

“I tried to reclaim my inheritance at the Eyrie right after my stepmother’s decease. I couldn’t do so earlier as I was too young, but now…”

“Are you their lady now?”, Aemond softens.

You smile almost unconsciously as the tension between you two dissipate and the prince leads you to the gardens.

“No. They accept no woman as their overlord”, you sigh. “My father doesn’t take it nicely, though. He intends to reclaim it on my behalf, refusing the proposal of my maternal uncle.”

“Oh?”, he furrows his eyebrows, fearful of the response. “What that’d be?”

As you two move towards the gardens, you barely notice how your arm slides to his, distance now shorter than before.

“Marriage. What other proposal would be?”

Aemond chuckles lightly, but you spot no amusement in his good eye.

“It is the way, is it not?”

“For us women, usually is. A duty that requires plenty of sacrifices.”

As he looks at you, Aemond doesn’t resist the urge of asking:

“What would you be prepared to sacrifice, lady Y/N?”

As you two lock gazes, you are reminded of the time spent together. As children, you were both so alike in temperament, in likes and thoughts. What has changed now?

You open your mouth, but you do not know what to say. Aemond gently parts of you, hands behind his back, expectation somewhat filling behind his good eye.

He knows the answer. He can tell by your heavy breathing, the light shake of your hands, how your bottom lip trembles… what will come out. Sensibility rises behind your coal eyes like darkness pulls him into it.

He waits.

You won’t say it. You won’t say it.

But you do.

“You.”

To your dismay, the prince smiles. Taking your hand in his, he says:

“I’ve always thought about you. I’m glad you haven’t forsaken me, Y/N.”

You blush, moving your gaze instantly away. A torrent of words are being held back. Aemond, who knows you so well, gently makes you look at him.

“Do not slip out of me. I ask you this.”

“Even though I am the elder sister of the twins who attacked you?”

Aemond chuckles.

“No one is perfect.”

That being said, he takes your hand and there presses a kiss.

***

• The Dinner.

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe I don't quite know what to say…

Right before the expected meeting at the King’s table for the evening meal in a familiar gathering, you are found at Lord Aemond’s company. You see he’s been acting weirdly, even though nothing on his face betrayals it.

“Why are you in a glooming mood?”, you inquire, your face rested in his lap, looking up at him as his long hand strokes your hair.

“I am not”, he says in a dismissive tone. “This is who I am, you know.”

“Do not play me a fool, Aemond”, you stand reluctantly, but never too far of his grasp.

Aemond likes how wild your hair is, mirroring a tempest that is forming behind your eyes as you stare at him. He strokes your face, prompted to succumb to his desires if circumstances were different.

“Will you force me speak my mind?”

“If I must, yes”, you narrow your eyes.

Again, he chuckles.

“You can be stubborn when you want to be, Y/Nickname.”

“A trait you also have, if I recall well.”

Aemond leans so close to you now that you fear you are about to lose your balance. Especially when his lips are pressed against your forehead, there lingering in a gentle, but intense kiss that spreads fire over your body.

A sentiment that you think wise to ignore.

But when his slander hands slip from your face to your long hair, resting around your waist, you find yourself holding your breath.

“Always beautiful, my sweet Y/N. I could never let go of you, nor hold you accountable of others’ sin.”

You realize the feud between him and your half siblings are deeper than you’d judged.

“My sweet”, you hold his face gently. “Do not feed these grudges. I understand the pain of losing what is dear to you, by no chances I mean to demove you of this sentiment. However, vengeance is not changing what happened.”

It is as if you are twins, one knowing the other so well, able to feel what other feels, to think what the other thinks. As if your soul is made of the same material as his.

Even if where he is fire and you are water, a perfect mix has always tied each other.

“Aemond…”

He takes your hands and there presses a kiss.

“Come, we better not get late to the dinner.”

To your disappointment, Aemond stands, waiting for you to take the arm he offers you. But the moment you take it, it feels as if you are growing apart.

***

“Where have you been?”, your father asks you the moment you slide to your chair, next to Baela’s seat.

“By a certain somebody’s side”, you hear your half-sister grumble.

“Would you please mind your own business?”, you snort at her.

“Girls”, interferes Rhaenyra. “This is not the place nor the time.”

“Indeed it is not”, agrees Daemon. “And I pray you have not been randomly wandering around with him again.”

You raise your gaze only to meet your father’s inexpressible pair of lilac eyes studying you. Praying you are able to hold back your emotions enough not to blush, you smirk.

“Oh please, father. As far as it may be difficult for you to accept, I have other companions to spend my time with besides my relatives”, you lie blatantly at his face.

“Right… If that is what you are telling me, I have no need to preoccupy myself then”, he reclines back at his chair, ignoring how the small conversation has captured Aemond’s attention.

Though he sits at the other side of the table, the prince monitors you. He can tell you are lying by how you close your first around the glass, how you cast your eyes to the plate, chewing your bottom lip nervously.

He can tell you are upset at some sibling provocation by the blush that paints your cheeks and the air of impatience that makes you roll your eyes. The discomfort at it is crystal clear as you feel an outsider as your twin sisters talk nonsenses with the Velaryon boys.

You do not belong there. Your looks outstand the Targaryen looks, that itself makes you uncomfortable. He wishes he could tell you many great things—amongst which the depth of his affections for you.

As you raise your eyes, you meet his gaze and for the first time during the dinner both of you smile. He wishes to reach out for you. But then something changes.

It all happens very fast. The food and mutual implication of Aemond’s loss of an eye lead him to subtly stand.

“I would like to have a toast…”

You barely blink. Tension is in the air and you see by their faces that everyone is holding their breaths.

You know Aemond is up to no good. You try to convince him not doing what he’s about to, suspecting this has something to do with his long standing rivalry with the Velaryon boys.

To your disappointment and not entirely surprise, vengeance takes his best. Aemond sees the moment he speaks unwanted words how aghast you look.

“…for these three Strong boys.”

And what happens next prevents him to reach out for you again.

***

• War.

Wind howls violently at the top of the hill. You stare at your dragon with silver eyes and black scams. It’s time, you know it.

Your hair is tied in a long braid and you dress for your first battle at this disgrace war that has been waged since your sweet prince has caused the death of your half-brother.

You could not forgive him for this atrocity, even if part of you doesn’t buy the narrative that Aemond chased Lucerys and purposely ended with his life. You recall how that day you and Rhaena entered in a fight because you were accused to stand for such a kinslayer, an accusation you refused to absolve her for.

“Are you sure you are ready to do it?”, you hear the voice of your father not long as you prepare to mount your flying beast.

Clouds clash, resulting in electric storms. Not the most propitious skies to fly. Daemon looks at you with fatherly concern, reading in your impulsiveness the need of proving your worth.

“I ask you not to fight this war unless it’s absolutely needed to. You should not do it because of your sisters. What Rhaena has said to you…”

“I care naught about what she said”, you turn your head at him. “This isn’t about me or her, but our cause. I will not disappoint you, my father. You’ll be proud of me.”

“I am already proud of you”, says Daemon with his greeted teeth. “I see myself in you. There is no need to have Targaryen looks to be one. You have the dragon blood in you, Y/N. Listen to me, this is not the time…”

“I am a woman now, father. As capable as anyone else to stand for the Queen.”

You swallow your tears, smashing your childhood fears down to your throat. And you fly with your dragon without further waiting, wishing to wipe off your thoughts the nights spent with Aemond at the library or running the corridors or when each confided insecurities to the other.

You wish you had not in mind the envy you felt when seeing your twin sisters sharing the Targaryen looks. You wish you were not mocked upon because of that.

You rise, aiming to fly higher. And your dragon feels your angst, howling through the air. As electric as it is, you seem immune to it.

But of course when you play the game of thrones you either win or die. What shall be the destiny gods hold to you?

Nothing of it comes to your thoughts when you spot Aegon, the Usurper, mounting his dragon. He flies right against you. The battle scene is prepared and you promptly join it.

The dragons dance and your temper takes the best of your reasoning. Nevertheless you hold the advantage of having a dragon bigger than Aegon’s.

But inexperienced.

A fault that will come at you when Aegon commands his dragon to fly right into you. It’s a violent battle to see. He tries to attack you wearing his sword, but his blows are useless.

So suddenly you wish you have heard your father. You are not prepared to fight your cousin on your own. And when a greater dragon casts its shadow below, you have realized you fell to a trap.

***

Aemond doesn’t take pride in taking you with him as his prisoner. Your silence is a harder blow to take, unprepared he was to face it.

“Do not, I ask you, make these matters worse to you.”

He takes you to Harrenhal with him, reclaiming you as his war prize, against his brother’s will, who certainly had other plans for his uncle’s daughter.

You are still processing the trauma of losing your dragon to those beasts you share your blood with. Perhaps it’s not a misfortune to look such an Arryn this time.

You answer him not. Aemond knows this is a difficult battle to fight—and what’s worse, his conscience tells him this is the result of his doing.

“You shall stay in these chambers”, Aemond tells you. “It used to belong to…”

He’d say these were his mistress Alys’ bedchambers before she came to pass after a hard labor, but to avail should he remind you that he supplanted you in his affections?

Or did he plan to say so as a form to plague you with remorse for daring to fight his brother alone?

Such thoughts are slipping out of his mind before the sight of your distress, already plagued by traumas of a war… caused by him.

“To your whore?”, you cut the silence by saying what he could not. “How thoughtful of you, Aemond. Thank you for being considerate.”

Your sharp remark leaves him astonished at your bluntness. It hurts him more than he admits, but as you turn your back at him, entering the bedchambers and there locking yourself in, Aemond realizes that what you two once shared is no more.

***

You sob violently when being left alone. Your imprudence brought you such tragedy and at times you consider going to the window and jump to death at long last and put an end to your misery.

As your father’s daughter, however, your inclination to life speaks louder than letting broken pride taking the best of you.

However, for how long will your spirit resist this? You were never someone to be easily caged.

And yet, here you are…

***

• Reproach: the aftermath…

They told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here pouring out my heart to a stranger, but I didn't pour the whiskey…

Like strangers you meet. Dressed in a green silk gown with hair loose behind your back, a sign of resistance, you join the prince in an awkward dinner.

“Will you not eat?”

“I lost my appetite”, but your mouth is dried and you eventually take the silver glass poured with red wine to your lips.

Aemond softens before you.

“We have started wrongly. Again time steals you from me. I, who possess all that gold and titles can purchase, was deprived of the luxury of having you.”

How openly and crudely he speaks these words make your eyes go wide open at him. You down your glass, skepticism stamped in your features.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I mean every word I say.”

You do not answer, fearful of being brought to the edge of your tears. The old signs Aemond sees: you chew your bottom lip, you close your wrist in a fist, your shoulders remain tense.

Your body screams resentment when you spirits locks in silence.

“You don’t.” After a while you add. “Has Lady Alys been what then?”

“A replacement of you.”

You promptly stand.

“Stop it. Stop right there, my lord prince. Do you take me as a toy you can play at your will? Have you not taken enough of me to satisfy your thirst for vengeance?”

So does he stand.

“I lost a lot for the wrongs I’ve done, lady.”

“You have never missed me!”, and you at last explode. “You’ve forgotten me long ago! You took that woman to your bed, making her your wife in all but name! What have you sacrificed?”

Aemond shortens the distance as he holds your wrists, pulling you closer to him. When removing his eye patch, he hisses:

“I sacrificed you! Us! All that we could have been! Caged my own shadows, I was misled to believe I would earn no peace until they paid for the wrongs I suffered!”

You weep violently, drowning in your sobs as he holds you against him.

“Do not torment me more than I am tormented myself”, he whispers in your ear. “This is me trying, Y/N, to exorcise my demons and be a better version of me to you.”

He buries his head against your neck, smelling your scent, being reminded of peaceful days that now look old, ancient ones dusted in the wind.

His long fingers bury his nails tightly in your waist, nearly provoking physical pain as impatiently begins to unlace your gown.

You shiver before his touch, not hissing away of the pain you two inflicted each other. Now the only sound you hear is of his small sobs. Your hands go to his head.

Two souls harmed, pained in long term angst. You lift his face with scars exposed.

“How did we get here? I used to know you so well, Aemond. My sweet Aem, what have we done?”

“I swallowed vengeance as a medicine and had me poisoned. Never wanted to get you involved in this.”

Fireplace warms the prince’s chambers and soon you and him are sitting on the ground, close to the flames that warm the cold there is in either of you.

“Will you be the death of me?”

“Never”, he takes your face with his face and finally kisses your lips. “I will not let you go.”

As much as you want to be kissed, as much as your lips devour his in a fervent kiss, as much as your gown starts to slip out of your shoulders and your hands get to remove his shirt, you pull out and Aemond knows he should be more clear.

“There is a plan.”

“Then share it with me.”

“I’ll make you Lady of the Vale. You will sit at Eyre as their only lady. I’ll be by your side as you reclaim your inheritance.”

You can barely believe in what he’s saying.

“Aemond…”

“No more wars. No more tragedies. No more blood spent. This I promise you. I will make you my wife.”

When his lips twitch at a small smile, that sweet smile that has always melted your heart, you know what he speaks is true.

“Make me yours.”

That being said, Aemond, more than willingly, rises to claim your lips. And right there, before the flames, two dragons meet in flesh.

***

• Lady

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town…

A feast is thrown at the Capital. Civil war has come to an end and you are told there had been no survivors of the black party. In spite of the plans secretly arranged with Aemond, you’d still have to go through the humiliation of being seen as a trophy to the green cause.

For him, you try. To conceal your grief, to mourn underneath a well masked emotionless face.

For him, you try. To dress in the colors of his house, to act composedly even when Aegon laughs at you, even when the usurper mocks at all you know.

But Aemond keeps his word. He stands for you, refusing to let his victory to perpetuate wounds that should be closed, that must be cured.

It’s when the Dowager Queen comes at you.

“There has been many losses to our sides”, she plays the diplomatic role that is expected of her position. “I lament it deeply how this ended. She was dear to me, you know.”

You cast your dark coal eyes to see a pair of green ones plagued by vicious sadness staring back at yours. There are many things you want to say, but no words make to your tongue.

Instead, you opt for the cold, silent treatment. However, when seeing how Aemond has stood for you—as he has always done, once you’ll learn-/, you eventually say with your dry throat:

“Your condolences are welcomed, Your Grace. I assume this is where I should congratulate you thus.”

“Congratulate me?”

Oh her cynicism prevents you try further to be genuinely polite.

“Indeed. Your schemes came to fruition and here your son rules uncontestedly, notwithstanding his father’s wishes in keeping Princess Rhaenyra’s his heiress. But what do I know?”

Leaving the paled queen prompted to another access of tears, you excuse yourself to the gardens.

A film of past, merry days is relived behind your eyes. Lady Laena educating you next to her twin daughters, only two years younger than you. The tutors, the moments spent with your father, who somewhat was distant but always caring to you.

The sadness of losing Lady Laena being replaced as you witness your father marrying Princess Rhaenyra. You remember her kindness and her favours. The dragon egg she gifted you in your late teenager days…

You sob as you miss your black dragon. A hole in your heart is open and your knees go weak. You can hear Rhaenyra telling you this is not your fault for Lucerys’ demise.

“This is not your war to fight.”

But you fought it, didn’t you?

“Don’t go”, your father’s eyes cried out to you when his words attempted to pull you down.

But you wanted to prove his worth… And that was the last time you ever saw him.

Here you are, hardly free. A trophy for all those victors to exhibit. And in this cruel circumstance, you miss him coming at you, standing by your side.

“Come”, he says, taking your hand to his.

“Where?”, you do not mind disguising anymore.

Your castle tumbled and you are nothing but the ruins of days that are not going back.

“To reclaim your inheritance with me”.

Aemond senses your reluctance and stands with you, now out of others eyes. And right under his gaze you sob violently, and he takes you in his arms, feeling your pain as if it’s his own.

“It shouldn’t be this way. I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done to you.” And leaving his pride aside, he takes your face with his hands and wiping your tears, so he says: “Please, forgive me.”

Underneath grey clouds, out of the bloody feast, it’s just you and him. Trying.

“I forgive you”, you concede genuinely, forgiving yourself too for the impulsiveness.

“I shall never leave you. Ever”, he vows it.

And this is the start of a new journey to you. Where you are neither trying it, but making it. It’s time to amend the wounds of the civil war.

***

You regain your strength, your old self the moment you land at the seat of your mother’s house.

You are not entirely surprised that the local noblemen welcome you reluctantly, as if prepared to engage in war.

“Peace”, you tell them. “I come in peace.”

Aemond leaves you to settle it. He is by your side, hand resting in his sword. Having claimed Blackfyre, he wears it proudly. Not to mention the grand beast behind them.

Although calmly, Vhagar stares at those pair of eyes as if she’s about flame them all.

A dark haired young man comes at you. He could easily be a lost sibling, but the similarities end there.

“Lady Y/N Targaryen. I thought we’d not meet.”

“How kind of you, cousin. A very warm welcome on your part”, like your father before you, snark remarks are something you do well. Aemond himself doesn’t conceal a smirk.

“What are you here for? You have no right here.”

You really forgot how the people of Vale could be ruthlessly straight to the point. It’s when Aemond Targaryen comes in the scene.

“You either bend your knee on behalf of my lady or else you’ll face consequences in the name of King Aegon, Second of His Name.”

Those present still remember from stories when Vhagar last came there. Her rider was lenient and they prayed you and Aemond remain so.

But your maternal cousin, Lord H/N, doesn’t seem prudent. Silence hangs.

“Well? What is your choice going to be? Westeros has bled for more time than it needed. Will you be the reason why the Vale will meet blood and fire on the wrong way? It’s not shameful to bend the knee.”

“I shall never bend a knee for a treacherous whore as yourself.”

It’s enough for Aemond unleash his sword and… let its blade kiss the man’s neck.

“No one who offends my lady walks out free.”

Just like that you reclaim your inheritance and you barely conceal your satisfaction at it. Who’d else dare to resist you after Lord H/N’s unwelcoming reckless?

**

You are dressed in the colors of your mother’s house. How ironic it is that your father’s enemy helped you to obtain what he could never achieve not even as his widower’s alleged claimant to Lady Rhea’s inheritance.

You look at your prince, who stands at the higher table as your Arryn’s relatives welcome you with a proper feast.

“Thank you”, you smile at him and Aemond is pleased to find no sadness behind your eyes.

“It is only right to amend the wrongs”, right under the table he takes hold of your hand and there squeezes it. “It pleases me more to see your kinsmen and the folks here did not provide any sort of resistance.”

“Despite my surname and whom I take after, they remember my mother well even if I don’t”, you sigh shortly. “They see how diplomatic and reasonable I am. No matter how tied I am to this new regime, they want and need the peace these years took from them.”

Aemond smiles at you and you are content for finding peace at last behind his good eye.

“Thankfully you are. I don’t see how this could be otherwise.”

Earlier that day, before the ceremony of your rise as Lady of the Vale began, you and Aemond were lawfully married before the Seven. This feast intends to celebrate both occasions with tons of merriments. The next day a tournament will be given on behalf of their new overlords.

*

“My lady”, he kisses your neck and bare shoulders, his hands already removing your line nightgown.

Sitting behind you at your bed, your husband stands all bare as you let him take his time to contemplate this new state both of you are.

No more childhood sweethearts. No more lovers parted due to war. But a husband loving his wife.

You tilt your head to the side, already feeling a heat ache in the between of your legs. Your nipple is already hardened as he exposes it, and you’d gladly touch yourself to ease this burden had he not held your wrist.

“Leave it to me”, he bites your neck, there leaving his bruise.

You arch your back in silent protest.

“You are torturing in me”, you moan, turning your head as you make sure to remove your nightgown and begin to climb on your nude consort when he turns you to be laid under his body.

“Am I?”, he smiles, his hair a mess as you bury your nails on his shoulders, pulling you to him. “Am I torturing my beautiful wife?”

“For years”, you grumble before breaking in a loud whimper when he inserts a finger in between your legs. “Oh, husband!”

His tongue now slides to your chest, path trailing before reaching your nipples. There, the night finally begins to you and your prince gladly takes his time.

Until you begin to reach the climax, he climbs back at you.

And not entirely unexpected…

“Ah, yes!”

He groans as he slides inside you. Raising your legs to fit better his moves, he matches the pace of his hips with yours.

Locking hands with you, he pursuits your lips and in a very passionate kiss you give all you have to him.

***

Some years later.

You watch from your scribe quarters how Aemond trains your son, Daeron, with his sword. You are writing a letter to your sister-in-law, the Queen, to ask a favor on behalf of the Vale when the lovely scene captures your attention.

Your son is now four years old. He has silver hair with some dark shades, a trait you’ve once seen in Lady Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was. His eyes are painted lilac, likes his father’s. Your boy is every inch Aemond’s son.

But his temper is quiet, like yours. He possesses attentive, fierce eyes. He has a quick wit, and some say he’s a precocious boy. He’s indeed very healthy.

The scene is adorable. Whenever Daeron mishits a blow, he pouts.

“I am terrible at it, daddy!”

Aemond chuckles, very patient and says:

“Take your time, young man. You have to go back to our lessons when holding a proper sword.”

“If you gave me a real sword, I’d do better.”

You laugh quietly at the sight, especially when Aemond reprehends him for this thought.

“Nay, son. You need to uphold a wood sword or else what’s the point in holding a true blade? And even if you did, your mother would kill me.”

He then lifts Daeron and ruffles his hair.

“Come, let’s see what your sister is doing.”

Not too far from where he is, your daughter Rhaella is climbing a tree under the supervision of your trusted maid. When seeing her father, the dark haired little girl with purples irises beams at him and promptly goes down the tree to run at him.

“DADDYYYY!”

You get emotional at the sight. Aemond and your offspring. Your children, your heirs. A family you never thought you’d have to call yours.

And there’s a third one, a newly born baby who now reclaims your attention. The maid brings little Aemon to be breastfed as you insisted you do so.

“My little boy”, you turn at him, stroking his silver locks. You once joked to Aemond how the Gods amused themselves by sending a child with silver hair and another with dark locks. “My prince. Come, you are hungry, aren’t ye?”

You are doing so the moment the door is open and your husband comes in with the two children.

“My lady”, Aemond greets you with a kiss on your temple. “How is our son?”

“Healthy and hungry, praised be the Gods”, you chuckle. “And our children?”

“Mama, I must tell you what I did today!”

Suddenly your husband is pushed aside and Rhaella and Daeron begin to compete for your attention. Aemond, as amused as he is by the dispute, has to intervene.

And here’s how the rest of your afternoon is spent: surrounded by your family you love.

But there’s a surprise that might come to shake the grounds of your hard worked for stability. Before you get to dine with them, a lady of your trust comes at you in a hurry.

“What is wrong, my dear?”

“Someone wants to meet you. I am forbidden to share his identity and he wants to see you alone…”

It’s when Aemond has a glimpse of the conversation and he promptly entrusts his children to your lady before saying:

“She shall not meet this stranger alone, regardless of the conditions he imposed.”

The said woman messenger only gives you a look before doing as said. You and Aemond shoot glances, but neither dares to speak.

What surprise it is when, opening the door, you spot Daemon Targaryen completely weary standing before you.

“Dad?!”

He gives Aemond a long look before looking at you.

“Greetings there, daughter of mine. I’m alive.”