#it doesn’t help that all of us are dirt poor

[aesthetic-day-dream]

I want to go on a road trip so badly. Just me, some friends, driving to nowhere in particular and stopping wherever we want to. I was watching a vlog yesterday that was just two girls going on a short little road trip and they were stopping at whatever interesting place they saw and it made me yearn. I just want to be able to go have fun and live life to the fullest. Why does everything have to be so complicated and expensive? It’s exhausting.

[edenavari]

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

[mrsparrasblog]

You're losing me pt.2

pt. 1 pt.3

TW: mention of rape, unprotected sex, drinking, blood, violence, angst

The liquor on his tongue didn’t even burn anymore; too much was already in his system, trying to wash down the events of this day. You were the love of his life, the woman he wanted to marry, even though he didn’t know how it would be legal for you to marry all of them. And now, he lost you. The worst part? He can't even remember how it happened. He felt so disgusted in himself in so many ways—disgusted for breaking your heart. God, your look, how you tried to keep your tears in check, broke him. And then his whole body felt disgusted; it felt like a layer of dirt he couldn’t wash away. He scrubbed and scrubbed, but it didn’t go away; the shame still lingered. It felt like someone had taken something from him, but it was his own fault. He must have said yes and bought those drinks. It was his own fault, he told himself over and over again. Normally, he would talk about this kind of stuff with you; you always knew what to say. But you hated him.

"‚‘nother on’," he said to the barkeeper. This was probably his sixth. Johnny knew how he could handle alcohol; he was never that pissed before to not remember a thing. And there she was, the medic, sitting down next to him.

"Hey, Johnny," she smiled brightly, like she didn’t have any worry in her life.

"I ken a dinnae whit yesterday happened bit tis ne'er aff tae happen again."

"Come on, you enjoyed it yesterday."

"I dinnae remember yesterday."

"What a shame."

He stood up, throwing some pounds on the table, wanting to leave, but she stopped him. "Come on, Johnny. I'll help you forget, make you feel at peace again."

"No."

"Then please, let me invite you for a drink as an apology," she smiled sweetly, pushing the drink towards me. Wait, how had she a drink prepared if she sat only for a minute next to me?

"No."

"Please, a drink won't kill you."

"I said no."

"Just one sip, Johnny, and I'll make you feel good how she never could."

"How come ye're sae persistent fur me tae dram this drink?"

"You're silly, Johnny. I'm just being nice," she looked panicked - weird.

While many people thought of him as someone who is just a silly guy who isn’t able to think properly, you told him all over again that he was so smart, smarter than all of them, if someone would just give him the chance to show. And right now, his brain implanted a sick thought on him. "Dinnae tell me ye put something in mah drink."

Her eyes widened. "Of course not," she mumbled.

"Don't lie to me," his hand immediately went to her throat , choking the truth out of her.

"Knockout drugs," she whispered. She was fighting for air as I let her go; the men in the pub already stood up trying to save the poor woman from getting abused by a man.

"You raped me." His shock hit deep; he always thought something like that wouldn’t happen to him. He was strong and able to protect himself. He was the guy who killed people, the youngest man in the SAS, the guy who beat up an officer because he touched a civi. But now, he was the victim.

"Have fun proving it. No one will believe that a tiny girl like me raped the big bad soldier," she laughed, and screamed for help. "Help, this man doesn’t take no for an answer," He was kicked out of the pub; his face was bloody from all the beating.

All he wanted was to reach you, ask your advice, be in the comfort of your arms, telling him all over again how he is a good man, how he is worth everything and not a dirty soldier. But you didn’t pick up; he came to the realization quickly; that no one would believe him.

**Soap:** Please tell me we used a condom.

**Medic:** ;)

Fuck.

————————————————————————————————-

4 am and you still couldn’t sleep; your head was full of thoughts. Why were you not good enough? Why did he do it? So, you made a thing your friends would kill you for. Calling John, you weren’t sure if he would pick up, but he did.

"What's wrong, love?" Source of habit, he thought.

"Why did you do this, John?" you sobbed.

"I didn't mean for it to happen; it was an accident."

"Then why didn't you say sorry?"

"Love."

"Don't fucking call me love. You cheated on me, and you didn't say sorry. You didn't run after me, you didn't apologize," your sobs broke his heart.

"I'm sorry; it was an accident."

"An accident is making a typo, not sticking your dick in a whore."

"I—"

"I hate you, John. I hate you so much," and you hung up. This wasn’t what you expected. Why doesn’t he feel guilty? Why are you not good enough? Why didn’t Simon say something? Why didn’t Kyle come here? Of course, you broke up, but why don’t they care?

If you only knew how Kyle was, blood-covered in the hospital, too many rookies in his way. How Simon was trying desperately to find Soap to see he didn't drink himself to death, and then he would come to you, he told him self all over again. And how the captain didn't leave his office, not even for food.

And how Soap went into John's office, trying to explain to him the truth, only to see a disarranged office, hands covered in blood after he tried to pick up the liquor he smashed at his wall. He never saw his captain so vulnerable, and if Soap didn’t know better, he would have sworn he saw tears.

"Captain, I—"

"You did already enough, MacTavish. Let me have at least one day to mourn over the loss of the love of my fucking life."

"Captain—"

"LEAVE," and he did, he crawled into his bed, knowing he lost everything in a day, the love of his life, his best friend Kyle, his captain, his pride, and safety, and not even Ghost was there.

[woodlandwrites]

Luke Castellan

A/N: hcs cause I’m feeling feral

• Luke is a nail biter. He constantly picks and chews - drawing blood in the process.

• Luke hates the color green - it brings back terrible memories and makes him want to vomit.

• Luke loves giving forehead kisses - ones where he stays with his lips on your forehead for a long time conveying his love that way

• Luke is in fact the father of CHB. He tucks kids to bed, reads stories, kisses injuries, helps with homework. He thinks since he didn’t have a father he never wants another kid to feel that way

• Luke hates small spaces - it makes him claustrophobic. It reminds him of when he used to hide from his mother in the closet. Trapped. Sometimes at night he wakes you to come for walks outside - because the walls of the Hermes cabin were closing in

• Luke is a morning person - he has to be with all the kids in the Hermes cabin

• Luke likes the Rocky movies. He stole them from a thrift store on VHS. The boys at camp love it and even quote it (mostly Charlie and Luke)

• speaking of stealing - no one talks about how good he is at it. Sometimes he doesn’t even know he took anything until a few hours later when he looks into his pocket.

• Luke has no filter sometimes - especially around you - he blames the ADHD

• Luke is very good at sneaking around - very quiet on his feet

•Luke bounces his leg when he’s nervous

• Luke loves kids - he loves helping the younger campers. You don’t know if it is because he had a poor childhood - but secretly he considers most of the campers his children in a way

• Luke has crooked teeth - when he smiles one is chipped in the upper corner. When he laughs he throws his head back gripping at his chest - imperfectly perfect

• Luke likes domestic living it makes him feel safe and in control

• Luke only talks about his mom at night after episodes of grueling nightmares - never during the day - never in causal conversation - you never pry

• Luke has bug bites all over his legs - he always picks at them leaving scabs

• Luke makes decisions sometimes without thinking - he never really tries to think ahead

• Luke loves when you run your fingers through his hair - it helps him sleep

• Luke is a light sleeper - always prepared to wake when another Hermes camper has a nightmare

• Luke has panic attacks that frequently end up with him in your bed - vice versa

• When Luke hugs you it’s like he clings on - almost like him might never see you again

• Luke always dirty - whether it be dirt on his shirt - grass stains on his pants - leaves in his hair?

Okay I’m done for tonight

[yanderenightmare]

PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MORE ABOUT NAOYA IM BEGGING YOU

JJK ! IMAGINE

Zenin Naoya x darling

TW: yandere, abuse, stockholm syndrome

Noaya isn’t overly lenient with you – nor is he very sweet either. Though you do feel unmistakably treated like his wife, you’re far from feeling treated like an equal – and part of you still feels the same way you felt when you were nothing more than a Zenin housemaid, constantly trod over and looked down on for your lack of luck being born without any cursed energy. 

But Noaya does well to make you understand how lucky you are – how blessed you are to have been picked like a flower from the dirt and placed in the pretty vase that is your new home. He does well reminding you of all the things he’s done for you, how grateful you should feel, and how beholden you are to him as the man who freed you from the terrible life of the lowly housemaid you used to be.

But, though he expects certain things of you, Noaya isn’t unreasonable in his demands. He chose you because of your pretty face and feeble constitution – the very demure lady-like timidity that makes you feel so soft beneath him in his bed. And the only thing he expects of you is that you remain that same cute way – a respectful maid to him as your master and a devoted wife to him as your husband.

So as long as you never deny him his rights as your keeper and remain happily faithful to please him with your hands and mouth and other pretty holes, he won’t feel the need to tie your smaller body down and wreak punishment on your soft skin until he’s certain your insolence has thoroughly been purged from your body in the form of blood leaking from popped veins, tears running down your face and apologies streaming from your lips. 

But you’re not always so careful, and he’s never been shy of violence, and often finds it suits you – to hang from the ceiling in a reminder that without him, you weren’t too far off from being but another shibari rope-bunny in the brothel. A poor slut for any and all of the Zenin clansmen to toy with.

You can barely get a breath in amongst your sobbing, heaving for air after he cuts you down and wraps you in his kimono. You’re like a wounded animal curling up against his chest, and he can't help but smile at how you tug at him, words of devotion spurring from your lips with a bow of your head.

He makes a few jests about whether you deserve his bed or not, smirking while saying he ought to leave you to sleep on the cold floor – but he never does in the end. He’s too addicted to the way you cling to him, to the feeling of your doughy limbs wrapped around his tough chest.

So instead, he tells you that you’re allowed to hold onto him – scooping you from the floor and placing you in the soft down.

He lies awake, listening to your soft snores – eyeing your face with no expression of his own. Thinking about how if anyone ever laid a hand on you, it’d be the last day they had hands – how he’d make them wear their manhood around their neck on a noose before stringing them up to choke.

He’s a jealous man and doesn’t take it lightly when people touch the things that belong to him. It’s the main reason he’s so hard on you. To make sure you never ever go kneeling or bowing or spreading your legs for anyone but him.

tip-jar: Kofi

[lingering-42-long]

141 + extra when they get home from war

Y’all be too much lol. This is my third head cannon and the Mother’s Day one is still on the top of the likes list and I don’t know why like that one was my trash one and everything else I like put time and effort into. It’s like offering people a gourmet meal or Ramen noodles with chicken nuggets, lol I’m glad everybody does enjoy my Content though, and I hope that you all enjoy this one as well!

COD x Female Character

Warnings: PG-13, mentioning of sex, fluff, suggestion of angst

Captain John Prince

• when he gets home, he’s usually pretty tired.

• Don’t be alarmed if he just wants to sleep when he gets home.

• Usually you pick him up from the airport and he will load in his bags with a grunt and say that he could really use some good sleep.

• He smells like gun powder and dirt, even though he just took a shower.

• When he gets home, he will give you a kiss, then head off to bed no matter what time of day it is.

• He’s just that tired.

• When he wakes up the first thing he does is go back over to you and give you a proper kiss and a proper greeting.

• Make sure that you have some food for him. He’s going to be hungry, and he really needs some thing that’s more sustainable than MREs.

• He wants to hear about your life and what you’ve been up to while he’s been at work.

• Listening to you talk is one of his favorite past times and it helps him relax. Sitting in front of the couch while watching some TV show while you’re rambling on about the past months and about what you’ve been up to really brings a smile to his face.

• He likes to catch up on his reading.

• This man enjoys reading with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of bourbon.

• If you’ve picked out a new book for him to read, he will be gladly appreciate of of it.

• But most importantly, he would want you to be in his lap while he’s reading, but if you don’t like the smell of cigar smoke near your face, he will make sure not to smoke near you.

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

• Simon comes home as Ghost.

• The persona of a vengeful wraith and the shell of a once human is what your are graced with.

• He is very quiet, very solemn, and very cold.

• This is because he’s just dealing with his PTSD.

• He needs time to heal from recent encounters. This can take as little as one week to as long as three months.

• After badgering him enough times, to go see a therapist, he obliges.

• Though he’s pretty cranky about it.

• Give him space. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but right now, he doesn’t trust himself, especially with the nightmares raging through his mind.

• His nightmares are so vivid that it can be hard to distinguish Friend or foe.

• This is due to the fact that he needs to be working or else those vile thoughts come hunting him.

• He will never tell you about what goes on while he’s away.

• Once Ghost disappears, Simon takes his place.

• The poor broken man is just tired, and he just wants to lay next to you and hear about your day or months.

• Once you become stable enough, he begins to be more active around the house instead of just brooding in the bedroom.

• He hast to keep himself busy at all times.

• No rest for the wicked.

• Hast to sleep with a lamp on.

• Even though he seems harsh around the outside, he loves you deeply, and that’s why he separates himself from you for a certain time.

Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

• Opposite of Ghost, Johnny is so excited to see you!

• As soon as he gets off the airplane, he runs over to you!

• This man is all over you before you even see him!

• He starts asking you 1 million questions about how your months have been and what’s been going on with his family and any news on the recent football (soccer) matches.

• You actually have to calm him down because he’s all over the place.

• When you get into the car, he is kissing you all over your face.

• This man has enough energy to run to the moon and back, and it shows.

• He’ll try to take you right there if only he wasn’t in a car confined by a seatbelt

• Johnny is quick to help around the house and do whatever task you need to do.

• He says he’s making up for lost time.

• If you’ve decorated the house in a new way, he will always compliment what you’ve done to it.

• Johnny wakes up early in the morning and practically begged you to join him on a hike.

• It could be down pouring for all he cares about but he really wants to be with you while he’s working out.

• He will bring you back a souvenir probably something stupid like a rock or a jar of sand.

• If he gets any scars, he shows you and starts pointing them out and tells you the story about each and everyone of them.

• He won’t go into great detail about how gruesome the battling was.

• He wants you to be in his life every step of the way, even if you’re at home.

Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

• Kyle is grinning from ear to ear when he sees you!

• He’s not as hyper as Johnny, nor is he a stoic as his captain.

• He has the perfect mix between excited and tired

• When you to get home, he says that you two should just order pizza and he’s dying to play a video game with you even if he’s a little tired.

• Kyle doesn’t go into a lot of detail about his work. He’ll just make an occasional gesture about what he saw what he did.

• Like soap, he’ll bring you back a souvenir.

• He actually takes time with his souvenir shopping though, and we’ll go to local markets installs to actually pick you out some thing that you might like.

• Happy to be with you and glad to be away from the fighting.

Commander Alejandro Vargas

• When he comes home, his first instinct is to drop his bags by the door, and bring you into a warm and passionate kiss and hug.

• As much as he loves his job and all of his soldiers and team, some thing about being at home with you makes him feel truly loved.

• He may be tired, but he still going to serenade you like it’s his last day on earth.

• If you haven’t started making dinner yet, he will help and participate with whatever you’re doing. He may be tired, but he’s never tired for you.

• He loves watching you move around the house.

• He’s not going to deny it, but you wearing his clothes and cooking dinner with him really turns him on.

• After dinner, he may propose a night in bed to you.

• This man serenades you in sex especially after he’s been away for a long time

• Physical touch is his love language, and he loves being with you.

Sergeant Major Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

• Like his commander, when he comes home, all he wants to do is drop his bags and immediately embrace you and a warm hug while rubbing your head and whispering how much he’s missed you.

• He also wants to help you cook dinner, or do some thing, but if you go, tell him to take a shower and to relax, he won’t deny that he needs it.

• Rudy loves reading a book with you so after dinner he will want to skip the washing dishes and ask if you would like to read with him before going to bed. No matter what time it is in the day. If he’s tired enough, he will once to at least read a little bit before falling asleep.

• Once he’s asleep, the bags underneath his eyes seem to disappear. He knows you’re close and he knows that you’re safe and that’s all that he could ever ask for to make him happy.

König

• As soon as he gets off the airplane and sees you amongst the crowd of people, his anxiety stops, and he immediately makes his way to you.

• He can’t sleep on an airplane, but as soon as he’s in the car, he’s about ready to doze off. You have to remind him not to though, because waking him up or trying to drag him out of the car is near impossible.

• He is really trying hard not to pass out in the car.

• Once he gets home, he stumbles into the kitchen looking for a nice tall glass of water to drink, and a sandwich or two to eat.

• Make sure that you keep the sandwiches stocked.

• This man will then make his way to the bedroom, take a cold shower, get into some warm PJs, and then slip into bed.

• Once he’s asleep, he will stay in his hybernation for roughly 3 days.

• He will only wake up to use the restroom, get a drink of water, or to eat some thing.

• When his mind is on the battlefield, he rarely puts himself into a sleep state, but when he’s at home, it’s like all of the hours that he missed, sleeping or suddenly compiled in a single week.

• Just let him rest, and sooner or later, he’ll wake up from his hibernation, and will seek you out so that he can give you kisses and hugs and ask how your time has been away from him.

Alex Keller

• When Alex gets back, like everybody on this list, he is tired.

• His leg is very sore from the prosthetic. Prosthetics are not comfortable and cause I’m serious leg and back pain.

• He will ask very nicely if you could massage his leg for him when he gets home.

• Once he’s in the car, Alex is taking off that damn prosthetic leg and rubbing his stump.

• You can tell he’s in a lot of pain just by the way, his eyes crease, and a frown forms.

• In order to get him off of the pain, you talk to him about his time.

• This usually makes him perk up since he enjoys talking to you about his adventures.

• His personality is like a mix between Johnny and Kyle, but leans more towards Kyle.

• When you get home you’ll have to help him walk because he really does not want to put on his prosthetic.

• You just leave the bag in the car to get later.

• When Alex gets into bed, it’s like a huge sigh of relief washes over him.

• You can see how red and agitated his amputated limb is.

• You do what you can to make him feel better by applying some numbing cream and giving him some pain relieving medicine.

• He always feels better once you start massaging his leg and even more so if you give them a back rub.

• This man is a simple man and enjoys a simple massage after months of no rest.

Philip Graves

• Like a soldier from World War II coming home to meet his best girl.

• He always surprises you when he comes home and has one of his shadow men drive him to the house.

• He always buys you a huge bouquet of flowers and some pretty jewelry as well.

• When he walks through the door, he asks where his baby girl is.

• And of course you come running and giving him a huge hug and crying, which he immediately envelops you into a hug.

• He’s whispering in your ear with that southern drawl about how much she misses you.

• He gets a little into himself when he’s talking about how his mission is or how he was able to handle such a dangerous and daunting task.

• As egotistical, as this may seem, it is his way of expressing his love for you in a slightly weird way.

• In the evening, he’ll probably swoop you up into a dance, with both of you, smiling and laughing.

• He tells you how much he misses you and how much he loves you.

• In bed, he shows you how much he means both of those things.

[lionhanie]

boynextdoor playing minecraft! (ot6 hc)

what happens when boynextdoor starts a minecraft server?

word count: 1.2k i think

genre + warnings: crack LOL, cursing, written in lowercase, typos

a/n: this is so stupid LMAO. (i was playing mc earlier whos gonna match my freak)

reblogs ↺ + feedback always appreciated!

featuring… sungho as numberonecatdad! riwoo as LeeSanghyeok! (he didn’t know he was making his username when he made the account. literal full government name out there)  jaehyun as myungj4e! taesan as GiantMountain! leehan as 212121_! woonhak as xxBlockBeastxx2006! (he made it in 4th grade. says he keeps the name for the nostalgia he doesnt know how to change it)  

→ Join Server?

☆ sungho: the builder

i feel like sungho wouldn’t really be interested in playing mc “seriously” but BOYYYY get him into creative and he’s locking the hell in. ik he does NOT play when it comes to building The Ultimate Spruce Wood Base

he got sick of seeing jaehyun build dirt huts as shelter in their worlds so he took on the role of being the MAIN BUILDER… main vocal? yeah. main builder is his TRUE calling. but i genuinely think he’d be good at it LOL his attention to detail is insane

making entire mansions in survival except he doesn’t even collect the blocks himself. he just waits til people come home with them and he steals them for his builds

In the chat… numberonecatdad: who made this farm by my house 212121_: me and riwoo 212121_: y???? numberonecatdad: … LeeSanghyeok: wjats wrong with it :( numberonecatdad: it’s … so bad LeeSanghyeok: it took us 2 hrs to make btw 212121_: okay but it works numberonecatdad: HALF THE CROPS ARE TRAMPLED numberonecatdad: stay away. leave this to me

the next day its a full fledged farm. windmill in the background. beautiful fields of potatoes and wheat surrounded by a pretty fence. flowers adorning the whole thing. true masterpiece 

☆ riwoo: the noob

i think he’s not really the type to play games like mc. like give him tiny tower or something and he’s at like 400 floors.. neko atsume? he got all the cats unlocked. but MINECRAFT? idk i feel like he’s just 🙂 when he plays bc he has no idea what’s going on

everyone will be off adventuring on their own.. minding their business.. and then there's a death message in the chat saying riwoo died to something so incredibly random. everyone is just like ??? bc wdym you died to a berry bush

the members think its so cute how he’s just… there for the ride! but they can’t help but mess around with riwoo because he is truly lost  & blindly trusts everything they tell him bc he doesn’t know any better

In the chat… 212121_: riwoo stand right there LeeSanghyeok: why 212121_: ima show u a cool easter egg LeeSanghyeok: okie ^_^ LeeSanghyeok was squashed by a falling anvil. LeeSanghyeok: wat was the easter egg LeeSanghyeok: i dont get it xxBlockBeastxx2006: LKSJKJFHKJSnfd;sf GiantMountain: oh riwoo GiantMountain: if u left click u can pet the bees and they heal u LeeSanghyeok: rlly? thats cool i wanna try myungj4e: DONT DO IT LeeSanghyeok was stung to death. numberonecatdad: leave that poor boy ALONE

after that, riwoo learns to be cautious of the maknae line.... he just stays with sungho collecting flowers for his builds or lighting up the caves jaehyun explores and running from the mobs :,)

☆ jaehyun: the miner

jaehyun is definitely the type to go straight to mining when you start up a new world. the second everyone sees "myungj4e has just earned the achievement [Acquire Hardware]" they KNOW he's clocking into his full time job in the mines bye

it’s 30 mins in and he has half a set of diamond armor to his name and they’re like ?? bro we just started can you be fr rn… if any of the members ask for materials he won’t do it unless he’s getting something out of it (don’t tell anyone but he made riwoo a set of diamond tools when everyone is still using iron 😍 true romance i think)

lowkey everyone is convinced he has x-ray installed or something bc of how good he is at mining

In the chat… numberonecatdad: can i get three diamonds for a new pickaxe myungj4e: lmao NO  myungj4e: wat do i get in return numberonecatdad: how do you live in a dirt shack and have diamond armor GiantMountain: embarrassing.... myungj4e: okay making fun of the less fortunate now??? numberonecatdad: ill build u a house if u give me diamonds myungj4e: k fine  xxBlockBeastxx2006: OH BUT WHEN I ASK FOR DIAMONDS I DONT GET ANY

at the end of the day tho... he's lowkey a blessing bc if he's feeling nice enough he will hook u up with ANYTHING u need. the boys are spoiled w the way jae's chests are FULL of iron whenever they need it

☆ taesan: the fighter

unironically i think taesan would just be . oddly good at pvp. it’s like one of his random talents LOOOL "good at mc pvp" on his resume LOUD AND PROUD

like you load up into bedwars or something and he’s wiping out teams before you can even get yourself a proper set of armor. its lowkey attractive idk

in your survival world, he’s always instigating fights with the other members in hopes that they’ll want to fight. literally no one can kill him. he can probably 1v5 and still win

In the chat... myungj4e: WHO TOOK THE DIAMONDS FROM MY CHEST WHILE I WAS OFFLINE LeeSanghyeok: it was taesan GiantMountain: …what are u gonna do about it bro. huh. they’re mine now.  myungj4e: bro that was like a full stack. it took me like 3 hours to get them. where the hell are you  GiantMountain: why? you wanna fight for it? GiantMountain: whoever wins keeps the diamonds xxBlockBeastxx2006: oh ur cooked hyung myungj4e: OK DEAL myungj4e was slain by GiantMountain using Diamond Sword.

the way u can hear jaehyun RAGE through the dorm walls brings a smile to taesan's face bc he KNOWS he stays undefeated when it comes to pvp

☆ leehan: the troll

i think he’s similar to riwoo in the sense that he doesn’t rlly know whats going on but once they start their server you know DAMN well he’s looking up Top 15 BEST Ways To ANNOY Your FRIENDS in Minecraft! on youtube.,.. fucking loser (hearts in my eyes as i write this)

they’re usually harmless ones, like filling up jaehyun's chests with junk or renaming sungho's cat to something stupid like “Poopy Fart” or moving all of woonhak's cows from their pen

but ohh… if you piss him awf BADDD i think he would do some DIABOLICAL damage to the world. like imagine taesan is Also Trolling and he kills leehan before taking all of his stuff and running away into the distance. things would be quiet… too quiet…. until next thing u kno theres a whole trap waiting for taesan the second he walks into his house 

In the chat… 212121_: taesan do u still have my fishing rod GiantMountain: ye lol 212121_: can i have it back GiantMountain: LMAO GiantMountain: no 212121_: i think theres a creeper in ur house  GiantMountain: WHAT  GiantMountain was killed by magic while trying to escape 212121_.  numberonecatdad: LOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLL GiantMountain: when the hell did you set that up 212121_: >:)

OKAY YES he spent 46 minutes following a tutorial on how to set up a death chamber full of the WORST potion effects ever ... but it worked so he's sitting at his monitor feelijng like an evil mastermind

☆ woonhak: the sweat

he is like the only one i imagined actually PLAYED minecraft growing up. he unironically enjoys watching minecraft streams too LMAO much like jaehyun, i think woonhak goes straight to mining in survival. except rather than /just/ mining, he’s literally trying to beat the game 

he's usually off on his own doing something but ngl .. i bet he's a backseat gamer when he see's someone doing smth wrong. let's say he's out exploring w riwoo and he's falling SO FAR BEHIND he doesn't know how to sprint he will literally walk into his room to show him how to run

bro probably watched Ender Dragon Speedruns growing up idk i feel like he’s determined to beat the world record (he won’t, but he will definitely try) 

In the chat... xxBlockBeastxx2006 has just earned the achievement [The End?] numberonecatdad: ? 212121_: ?? 212121_: is that what i think it is myungj4e: ../?//???? ?  ??? LeeSanghyeok: wat is that LeeSanghyeok: whys the achievement purple GiantMountain: r u fr rn 212121z: LMAO tryhard alert... xxBlockBeastxx2006: yooo chill we can always respawn it dw myungj4e: HOW DARE U KILL THE ENDERDRAGON WITHOUT US myungj4e: UR FAKE AS HELL xxBlockBeastxx2006 has been banned from the server by myungj4e

woonhak doesn't talk to jaehyun for the rest of the night (he's unbanned the next day, but they force him to restart so he isn't absolutely STACKED)

taglist: @onedoornet @dongminz (ty saki for supporting me with my bonedo mc thoughts LMFAO) @gluion @icyminghao

© lionhanie 2024 ; all rights reserved!

[luimagines]

Broken Heart Broken Kingdom (1400 Follower Raffle)

Our second place winner was @sadlonelybagel and they asked for a reader who's partner was Link but Link is dead. This reader instantly doesn't like the chain for their similarities to their late lover. Enjoy.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

When they first walked through the portal, they couldn’t help but see the state of the land. There was a reddish haze over the sky with broken trees and burnt grass and with the faint smell over smoke of the land.

“What happened here?” Legend’s jaw was slack. He had fought so hard to keep this from happening. But here it was, his worst nightmare come to life.

“War.” Warrior answers bluntly, not bothering to sugar coat the circumstance. “A bad one by the looks of it.”

“But how can it get this bad?” Four looks around in just as much shock coughing a bit to clear his lungs of the smoke that hangs around.

“They lost.” Wild answers with just as much fact as Warrior does. No one bothers to challenge his statement.

“Who are you?!” A stern voice calls out from the side. The sudden sound startles them and they draw their weapons on instinct. Their grips tighten at the sight of the weapon this new person holds. They viscerally react at the sight of the group but manage to hold their ground. They steady their hand and adjust their stance, albeit they look less angered and more heartbroken. “Who are you!?”

Hyrule raises his hand. “....Link.”

“Don’t mock me!” They hiss. “You can’t be Link.”

Sky looks around uneasily. “...But we are. All of us. You seem to know him. Do you know where we can find him?”

Their eyes well up with tears as they stare the boys down. “How dare you.”

“What happened?” Warrior interjects. “What happened here?”

Despair covers this stranger's face. They don’t seem to want to believe the implications of his words. “What happened? What happened? How can you not know what happened?! Ganon happened!!”

“We can gather that.” Time says gently. “But why is this the case? Where is your hero?”

“Dead.” They choke on a sob, righteous fury entering their gaze. “That demon killed my husband. I’ve been fighting in his stead.”

They group fall silent once again, shifting their weight awkwardly on their toes. Time in particular feels a heavy sort of dread drop his stomach through the crust of the earth, filling the void to the top of his throat. Part of him wants to vomit. He doesn’t think he’ll be allowed.

“My condolences.” Wild breaks the silence first. “I’m sure he was a very strong man.”

The stranger’s bravado wavers and the tears fall. This poor soul has clearly shoved aside their need to grieve for the protection of this land. But as they are not the chosen hero, their efforts are akin to pushing a boulder up a hill during a race. Progress has been made, but at the cost of much lost ground.

They lower their blade and use the hem of their sleeve to wipe away the tears. The water clears away the dirt on their cheeks. They look younger that way. “...You’re the first person to tell me that…”

Wind puts his hands on his hips and looks around the world once again. He asks for their name and they give with only minimal hesitation. They seem unable to look most of them in the eye. But Hyrule, Wind and Four get their full attention when they begin asking questions. Sky can almost get them to look his way but then they spot the sword on his back and scowl and look away again. Twilight pats his shoulder. He’s sure it’s nothing personal. They seem unable to meet more of them in the eye however, most likely due to the fact that they look the most similar to one another. Including Wild.

They can easily gather that they’re the ones that look the most like the hero.

Or rather- their dead husband.

It must be a bitter pill to swallow- and one that they clearly weren’t ready to so much as hold. It’s saddening more than it is insulting.

“...Well I guess we’re here to help.” Legend says solemnly. 

The local can only look at the ground and the blade in their hand- eyes haunted and heart heavy. “...You’re a little late for that.”

“We’re not here by choice.” Twilight says evenly. “But had we known the option and the circumstance, I assure you that we would at least attempt to help when you-.... When he needed it. But we were in our own homes, in our own worlds.”

They swallow harshly and look away, not willing to open their mind to the concept. This is an open and deep wound. Twilight sighs. He sees the signs of grief. There’s no getting through to them at this rate. “Just point to the direction of the threat and we’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you could use a break.”

Something behind their eyes snapped. They grit their teeth, growling at the Rancher. “Do you honestly think-?!”

“We’re here to do a job whether you like it or not.” Time interrupts them. He can already see where this conversation is going. It’s not something he wants to entertain. “We can go head first into the danger with only our wits about us or you can help us at least know what we’re about to get into. This is bigger than us.”

His words strike a cord and they straighten- guarding their face once more. “Fine. This way. Try to keep up. I won’t slow down for you.”

“Lead the way.” Sky steps forward, looking back at the group nervously. Most shrug and follow this person through the war torn land and to what they can assume is a safe haven from the battles and from Ganon’s forces. They see more of the land and it’s just as bad as the first glances.

This person does not trust them, that much is obvious. They don’t like them, something that is abundantly clear. And this person does not want them here, but no one here can change what has happened.

Hyrule still needs a hero.

[dadsbongos]

thinking abt airhead reader but w gojo shoko and getou 😭❤️

okay i ended up doing drabbles and headcanons cuz i have so many different ideas lmao

in another universe airhead pussy woulda saved geto btw

“Sorry, I’m late!” you bound into the classroom, unreactive to the way each floorboard creaks, “This old lady outside needed help down the stairs and then this second year started asking for the time and then-“

“Sit down,” your new teacher unfolds an arm, hand flattened in the direction of a lone empty desk beside a girl with short, dark brown hair.

With knees like jelly, you unsteadily make your way to the chair, heat licking up the back of your neck and around to your cheeks. Eyes scrawl from the dirt-scrubbed white lining of your sneakers to your forehead, but you’re a little too concerned over regaining control of your breathing to notice the way they all glare. 

Shoko folds her arms across her chest, eyeing you through her lashes. Satoru leans back into his seat, legs crossed, grins from behind you. Suguru, meanwhile, stares at you with pinched brows and a firm downward draw on his lips.

You scratch your shoulder, entirely unaware of the singular thought searing from your classmates’ heads.

She’s totally going to die first.

And it’s sick how that thought pervades them again even now. More than a year later.

“C’mon!” you snag Satoru by the hand and pull him closer to the yellow tape restricted tunnels of the Shibuya station, “You’re all poor sports, Satoru and I will take this on all by ourselves!”

“Definitely,” hanging his arm across your shoulder, Satoru leans his weight into you, craning the both of you into an angle as you walk. Waving off your remaining classmates, he laughs in the face of Suguru’s furrowed brows, “Why don’t you two just go home? Have a nice spa day since Suguru’s so tired!”

Huffing, Suguru looks down at Shoko as if she had been the one to offend him, “I said that once in the car.”

Shoko shrugs, stubbing out her cigarette on the concrete below before running after you and Satoru into the tunnel with flickering lights and cracked walls, “Leave it to him to be a pain in the ass!”

Your steps mingle and echo in the dim tunnel, you cling tighter to Satoru - wrapping both arms around one of his and tucking the elbow close to your chest. A fat rat scurries past and Satoru giggles when you shove yourself into his side and cartoonishly ‘eek!’ over it.

“You’re so adorable,” he teases, reaching up with his spare hand to pinch at your cheek, cooing, “Here, let me take care of this curse for ya and you can hide with Suguru.”

“Don’t pick on her, Satoru,” the very man slinks up behind the both of you, unlatching his friend’s fingers from your flesh, “It isn’t nice.”

“Yeah!” you chirp, unwrapping yourself from Satoru’s side and slipping back to match Shoko’s unhurried strides. Your eyes widen at the sight of her already flicking down the pad of her lighter, igniting the end of yet another cigarette, “Shoko…?”

“I can use reverse cursed technique, it's basically like it didn’t happen,” she rolls her eyes.

“I can, too, that doesn’t mean I go around sucking down tobacco!”

“Sucking down?” Satoru snickers, looking at you from over his shoulder, lowering the thick black lenses of his glasses.

Suguru smacks his friend sharply in the shoulder, glare quickly softening when his eyes shift to you, “We’re proud of you.”

“She can be proud of herself,” Shoko blows a thicket of smoke towards Suguru and laughs when he sneers, rearing back, “The two so-called strongest can’t even use reverse cursed technique, but my student did,” she pretends to wipe a tear from her eye.

“It was honestly pretty easy, I just went ‘hioy’ instead of ‘fwoy’ like Shoko said!”

“Exactly!”

And you slam into Suguru’s back with a guttural ‘ugh!’ while Shoko pauses a healthy handful of steps behind Satoru. Suguru twists and chuckles, setting his broad palm against the top of your head to walk you up beside him, “You should watch where you’re going.”

Satoru nods stiffly, hands on his hips like a disappointed mother, “How do you expect to survive as a sorcerer if you can’t sense the energy of a beloved friend?”

“Don’t be mean to me!” you walk out in front of Satoru and smack him in the chest, “It’s totally uncalled for!”

“Hey, ding dong,” Shoko points out behind you, “He’s got a point.”

“Huh?”

You’re not given much time to question it before a burning slithers around your ankle, scorching through your black leggings and wringing your leg tightly to the side. Wooziness hits as the blood in your body races to your head, a dark purple tendril hanging you upside down like a treat before a plump snake.

And it’s so sick and twisted and totally justified that they all have the same thought.

She’s totally going to die first.

Though, now, it’s much more of a heart pounding, throat cinching fear as well.

Not a second of you being flung in the air passes before all three of your classmates are clambering at the curse’s metaphorical and literal throat.

…

“Hey,” Shoko slides her knee into yours, resting her chin in the palm of her hand while staring at you, “Wanna try?”

She holds out the cherry-lit cigarette between two slender fingers, you twist around to see if Satoru or Suguru are even close to the front steps, “I don’t know…”

“They won’t even know!”

“Hm, will I like it?”

Shrugging, Shoko shoves the cigarette closer to your face and fails to smother down her giggle when you gag at the smell, “Aw, you’re adorable. Here - smoke.”

“You’re just trying to kill me,” you whine, plucking the cigarette from her and taking it between your lips.

And as you inhale, is when Shoko decides to answer your question, “You’ll hate it, by the way.”

And you do. Chest squeezing shut upon that first inhale, your shoulders squeeze closer to your body and you press your face into the crook of your elbow as you cough out the rejected chemicals. Shoko snatches back her cigarette with one hand and pats your back sympathetically with the other.

“Poor baby,” she ‘tsk’s, shaking her head.

“Why do you smoke those?” you wheeze, “So gross!”

“Yeah, yeah, act normal - the idiots are here.”

“They are?!” and she laughs again at how your spine shoots steel rod straight and your head swivels in search of your fellow second years (of whom are nowhere to be found).

…

“C’mere, kitty kitty!” you hang a hand out in the drippy, garbage cluttered alley, rubbing the tips of your fingers together as if that’d catch the creature’s attention, “Come on, sweet baby!”

Satoru watches with both hands stuffed in his pockets while Suguru has to cage his own behind his back to keep himself from grabbing you away from the shaking, tipped over tin can.

“We can’t keep letting her do this,” Suguru’s foot taps impatiently.

“Just let our Guilmon have fun,” yawning, Satoru leans his head onto one shoulder, “Two more minutes and then we’ll drag her away.”

“Two minutes?” Suguru glares at his counterpart, “That’s so much time to get rabies.”

You ‘pspsps’ into the dark alley, outstretching your other hand and wiggling your fingers towards the green-eyed possum hissing at you from the trash can, “I won’t bite, I promise!”

...

Additional Bullshit Headcanons (cuz i was having fun)

Suguru kinda took to you first because he was in his by-the-books era and didn’t want comrades dying unnecessarily 

And by making you hang out with him, he ended up devilishly charmed by you <3

Through Suguru you’re hanging out with Satoru all the time, and he EATS up all your praise and compliments about his power and skills

Satoru also likes being able to just engage in your sillies and goofies

Sure, he can do that with Shoko and Suguru but that usually ends up in one of them being his “straight man”, but you’re blind to comedy routines and duos so you just bounce off each other’s idiocy for fun

Shoko, however, is evil - she loves messing with you

You’re so gullible and trusting that she can’t help but to fuck with you - in totally harmless ways, though!!

“Hey, you know that food fills up from your feet to your head as you eat, right?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t rained because you’re not thankful enough for the plants.”

When missions are slower and everyone’s free, you’re usually the one initiating outings because nobody else takes the fucking lead lol

It’s just a lot easier to get YOU psyched up for things because you’re already bubbly and excited to be around your friends, and then you convince Satoru and the two of you can get Suguru on board instantly - and if it’s you three vs Shoko then… 

Okay Hidden Inventory arc time

You were sent out with Satoru and Suguru at the insistence of Yaga because even if you weren’t as strong as the other two, he knew you had SOMEWHAT more tact

And he knew that keeping Riko as calm and happy before her assimilation was essential + you being peacekeeper between the ding dongs and whatever poor civilians they might hassle

You and Gojo end up staying back to fight Toji and he fucks you up :) 

L-O-L funny haha, you were feeling confident and strong with Satoru at your side and he gets your fucking ass <3

Satoru is trying to keep his focus on his fight, knowing that no matter how stupid you are - you’re not dumb enough to not be using reverse CT right now

When Satoru gets up, you’re in shock but he just sends you out to find Suguru

When you three return, life is… different :) 

You’re trying to keep up your positive attitude even though now they both know there’s gnarly scars running under all your uniforms

You pick up on Suguru’s change IMMEDIATELY, and no matter how much he complains about the lack of space - you refuse to part from his side

Not to claim that maybe all Geto needed WAS in fact a little airhead pussy, but I don’t think he’s leaving when you’re there

When he gets all :( over Satoru’s new position as the strongest and feeling misunderstood, you’re already like “hey man, maybe the answer isn’t genocide”

And he actually does tell you what he’s feeling in full after talking to Yuki

“I’m thinking that if we kill all non-jujutsu users, then we can all be happy.”

“Suguru, that makes sense, but it’s also very pro-eugenics, which is a big no-no.”

It’s a big process, one that you’re villainously underqualified to take on

“Suguru, taking Tsukumo’s words to heart sounds like a really bad idea…”

You end up doing a reversal on his prior conversation with Satoru about the village Nanako and Mimiko are in, where you point out what little good will come about from killing all the inhabitants

And you let Satoru and Shoko and even Yaga blame you for taking Nanako and Mimiko from their village even though it was definitely Suguru’s idea

In short, Geto and you raise Nanako and Mimiko (and eventually Megumi and Tsumiki ‘cuz Satoru can’t be left out for 2 seconds) and even though he still doesn’t really like non-jujutsu users he doesn’t leave

It’s just more of that customer service bitterness where he can interact but walks away wishing nothing but the worst upon the “bad ones” he meets

And he finds a reason to exorcize curses in lifting the workload from you and Satoru and Shoko (and eventually the kids, if they become sorcerers) rather than pretending to care about the population’s well-being

[lauraneedstochill]

Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face. 

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious. 

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.”

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and — 

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue 

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[angelofacidx]

Pet pt 2

CW: Drugging, kidnapping, abuse, etc you get it

Part 1:

Your wrists had been rubbed raw and blistered from the constant use of handcuffs and your incessant thrashing. The collar, Simon quickly found out, was not a good fit for you. When determined enough you could slip it over your head, squishing down your nose and tugging strands of hair out. It had been eight—no, nine. Nine days after your first escape attempt. You track the days from their computer in the office, straining your leg as far as it will from your fixed position on the floor until your foot bumps the keyboard and brings the monitor to life. Nine days since the incident, and fifteen since you’ve been taken.

The screened side door was open like an invitation when you’d gotten free from the collar, and who were you to deny a mercy? Your captors seemed to be gone every three or four days for a couple hours to make the trek into town. If memory served, you’d have about an hour before they got back. It was now or never. You were off like a bullet, whizzing through the yard and beginning your journey onto the desolate dirt road. Maybe there’d be a car to help you, or hit you. You didn’t care at this point.

About a mile up the road your prayers were answered. A big black beat up truck sat just to the side of the road, parked, and—Oh fuck. Johnny was the first one out of the vehicle, a deeply wounded expression on his face as he paced towards you, frozen in fear. You didn’t even register Simon following behind him.

“Told ya Johnny. Can’t trust mutts to behave.” Simon announced, smugly.

He set you up. He wanted to catch you in the act. The bastard.

Your memories come to a dead stop, the pain in your ankles taking the forefront of your mind. They’d snapped them when you escaped, as easily as busting open a glow stick. Your punishment left you unable to walk or stand, only crawl on your hands and knees, wobbly like a puppy.

The door to the office opened slowly, letting you know from the action alone that it was Johnny and not Simon who would swing the door open so hard it hit the wall.

“Brought ye some food and a blanket.” His voice calm as he puts the plate on the floor for you and drapes the blanket over the hard surface of the crate you’d been sleeping in at night.

You watch him take a seat on the office chair, his hand extending to your head and offering you a few reassuring and affectionate pats. As much as you hate to admit it, the act of kindness doesn’t go unappreciated.

“Simon says if ye eat up we can take ye in the yard tomorrow. Good for ye to get some air.” He says, offering you a small smile.

Your gaze shifts down to the plate on the floor. The same leftovers that had been prepared for you since you started your little hunger strike. There was no way you’d eat off of the plate with your mouth like a dog. Sure, it was a weird hill to die on but you wanted the dignity of a table god dammit. Simon warned you that you’d be served the same cold leftovers until you caved or died of starvation. The choice was yours.

“Not hungry.” You grumble up to Johnny, wincing slightly as you try to shift away from the plate. Your ankle pain makes itself very known.

“C’mon sweetheart. I ken yer starving.” He says with a click of his tongue, picking up a piece of cold chicken off the plate.

“Open up.” He hums, extending it towards your mouth.

You do open up alright, but completely pass the food and opt for sinking your canine teeth into poor Johnny’s forearm. It’s petty and childish and not something you’d normally do, but you want him to feel a fraction of the pain you do. They want a wild animal? They’ll get one.

Johnny lurches back with a hiss, holding his arm and trying to rub out the grooves your teeth left to give himself some relief. Satisfaction washes over you for all of two seconds before your face smashes into the ground, a boot holding down the base of your skull.

“Stupid bitch.” Simon grunts from above, pressing harder until you squirm and cry out.

The boot is replaced by Simon’s hand weaving itself into your hair and yanking you up to meet his icy gaze. How is he always so quiet? How long had he been standing there?

“I’m done with your little games and tantrums. Open the fuck up. Now.” He says, his voice pure venom and malice.

You follow his demand, letting your lips part and head tilt back, balancing on your aching knees and trying to keep pressure off your injured ligaments.

“This is your fault too,” Simon quips as he rips down Johnny’s pants and boxers revealing his soft cock. “Coddled it too much. Now it thinks actions don’t have consequences.”

Johnny’s hips are pushed forward until his pelvic bone meets your nose and his cock is guided into your mouth by Simon’s hand. Feeling it begin to harden makes your eyes widen, beginning to sputter and choke, but Simon simply forces you back down onto him.

“Stay.” He commands, lowering his tone and exiting the room.

Johnny casts his eyes down to you, his expression half lust and half pity, his lower lip jutting out slightly as he tries to reassure you with a hand through your hair. It works temporarily and you scold yourself for feeling anything for someone who had a hand in your capture.

Simon returns shortly with a single long black paracord woven between his fingers. Quickly, the cord is secured around the base of your skull and meets around Johnny’s ass where he loops it a few times before tying it off; effectively trapping you to Johnny’s pelvis with his dick crammed down your throat.

“I will be back in an hour and we will try dinner and bed time again.” Simon announces before slamming the door, leaving you to overstimulate Johnny’s cock with your sputtering as you fight to breathe.

You’ll definitely take this as a lesson.

[kcwriter-blog]

Thanks for Thinking of Solavellan

I’ve been seeing a lot of posts directed at Solavellans by kind, caring people who want to make sure we temper our expectations. After 10 years of being treated like dirt by the fandom, it’s so nice to have so many people take an interest in us, to the point of compassionately telling us that we aren’t going to get much content, as sad as that may be. I can’t speak for all Solavellans but I wanted to let everyone know why they don’t have to worry about me at least:

We are grown ups

We are adults, well versed in managing our expectations. In fact, most of us hold down jobs, take care of our families and live our lives. Are we excited that our Inquisitors will be in the game? Of course. Do we expect them to be the central character? Of course not. We understand that Rook is the star of the show. We are busy planning our Rooks and deciding which romances to pursue. We are trying to decide what class and faction to play just like everyone else. Are we excited about what we know about Solas so far? Yes. If Dorian is announced to be in the game, as seems likely, I’m sure people will be equally excited and talking about what they hope to see.

We know Solavellan content will not be the focus

See above but also, we are used to having less content. We have the least amount of romance content in DAI. In Trespasser everyone got to talk to their Lis throughout the game. We had a 15-minute conversation at the end. Most players got a resolution to their romances. Like all Inquisitors, our Lavellans are kind of in limbo where Solas is concerned. The fact that we are making Inquisitors in the character creator tells me that all Inquisitors will have at least one confrontation with Solas and Rook will probably be part of that. Those will differ depending on whether you want to stop him at all costs, redeem him or want to redeem him and romanced him. This was done in Trespasser. If they can find the time and money to put three paths of 15-minute conversation in a ten-hour game, they can do the same for a 70-hour game. That’s not a lot of content but it is sure to be impactful and we will be happy with it.

We are no different in voicing our hopes than anyone else

I have seen plenty of posts where people that romanced Dorian want to have a tender moment between their Inquisitors and him. I fully support their hopes. I want that to happen for them. Other hopes expressed are the return of Cullen, the return of the Hero of Fereldan, Fenris and Merril cameos, etc. All are expressed in terms of “I hope” or “I will riot if it doesn’t happen.” To be honest, I feel sad for those poor souls because no one is telling them to temper their expectations. Does the fandom not care about their health and well-being? We are expressing our hopes and wishes. Do we think we will get all of it? Of course not. We are, as I said before, adults.

We Think We Will Rescue Solas

Honestly? We hope we can be a part of that, but it is just hope. It is more likely that Rook will break him out of prison. Maybe the Inquisitor will get to help – the way Hawk and the Warden Companion did in DAI – but if not, there will probably be some sort of confrontation. Rook may ask the Inquisitor’s opinion about Solas and the answer will depend on the Inquisitor’s relationship with Solas but that may be all.

We have too many unrealistic expectation

Please don’t think that we expect everything we want to happen to be in the game. We are aware that a lot of our hopes are not going to be realized. To be honest, we are already surprised that some of those hopes are figuring in the game. Keep in mind that for 10 years we thought our only interaction with him would be to make sure he didn’t die alone. We recognize we are a small group and so does BioWare. Yes, we have indulged our brain rot and obsession with art and fiction but that’s just us. We don’t expect it to show up in the game. If it does, we will be excited. If it doesn’t, we will shrug our shoulders and go back to drawing and writing.

We are talking amongst ourselves

We are talking to other Solavellans. Solavellan has become a tight-knit community over the years because of what we’ve had to put up with. Anders fans can probably relate. We are not talking to the DA community at large. Most of us don’t interact with the larger DA community because of everything that has been said over the years. We talk to and support each other. If you aren’t a Solavellan, feel free to scroll past our posts or even block us if you think we are too loud or annoying. You won’t hurt our feelings.

I’m sure other Solavellans can add to this or mention things I’ve forgotten. Again, don’t worry about us. We will be fine.

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Thoughts on a WALL-E Sterek AU? Like, a serious, no-nonsense, advanced robot sent to a dystopian Earth on a mission to find signs of life meeting a little junker robot who sifts through trash, collects Rubik's cubes, and watches movies with his cockroach best friend, before the little trash robot is blasted into space for the first time when chasing after the scouting robot?

Ooh this is a hard one, as I’ve seen WALLE once when I was like 5.

Little trash robot is just a little too human and slowly teaches the other robot to have fun. Stiles would obviously be WALL-E, and Ava would be Derek.

OR

But like also consider WALL-E is Roscoe, a robot that stiles helped build with his mother and is desperately trying to keep alive.

Ava is a robot given to the hale family, Derek doesn’t really think all that deep about it until he meets stiles.

The rich were able to leave the dying planet but the poor had to stay behind. Stiles family weren’t so lucky. He grew up hearing stories of the green plants and life that used to fill the earth. When his mother starts getting sick, he tries his hardest to grow even the smallest plant to make her smile again. Stiles is finally able to create a plant after burying his mother and years of trying.

Derek was born on the ship, has never thought of a life out the stars. He’s heard stories about the planet that his ancestors came from. This all changes the day a boy with dirt under his eyes breaks into his families home looking for a robot. Said robot is beeping happily at Ava.

He helps stiles chase wall-e and Ava around the ship, falling in love with how lively and open he is. Nothing like the elegant and cold people he grew up with. He greedily watches the emotions flicker across Stiles face. Drinking them in, like a parched man. The robots also accidentally created trouble that force Derek and stiles in close situations, like tying their feet together. (The robots ship sterek) Derek sees how desperately stiles tries to keep wall-e and the small sprout 🌱 alive. He greedily watches the emotions flicker across Stiles face.

Together they run across the spaceship creating chaos and shenanigans, (releasing rouge robots, falling into water fountains, running away and fighting against the dictator who controls the ship). In a desperate act to keep stiles alive Derek sends him home in an espace pod. Stiles screaming and pounding at the doors of the pod, trying to get them to open again. The last thing he sees is watching being forced to his knees, with a gun against his head.

Ava misses wall-e and she pulls up evidence of proof of life on earth and the ship starts to return.

Stiles has already returned and is distraught because he thinks Derek, the boy from the stars again is dead. He will never really know or have the chance to mourn. Well until dereks spaceship comes crushing into stiles back yard.

Cue dramatic and heartfelt reunion kiss. — “I thought you were dead!!”— and they live happily ever after creating new life on planet earth

[smuttyreaders]

Forgive me for I have sinned…

March X Farmer 🩷 Event

~~~~~

You walk into the blacksmith shop after receiving a letter from March. He asked you to come by to talk to him. He’s normally not very interested in talking, so this peaked your interest right away.

You’re covered in sweat from tending your crops this morning, and there’s dirt under your nails. You nervously pick at them while you push the door open. Your eyes lock onto the red hair in the back corner of the shop, bent over the desk intently studying something you can’t see. March tilts his head as your footsteps tap over the stone flooring but he doesn’t turn around.

“I wasn’t sure you would actually show up,” he says as he turns around and slowly walks up to the front desk. You observe his posture, as he does his best to look calm and collected. You see his veins popping in his toned forearms as he clenches the edge of the desk.

“I hear you’ve been making yourself useful around town, helping out and running errands for everyone… seem to be making quite the impression,” he bites out the last part, rolling his eyes.

“You act surprised. I came here to help the town. Is this the part where you apologize for your piss poor attitude?” I say, putting a hand on my hip. I try to come off as cocky to match his energy, but he sees right through it.

“Ha, as if,” he scoffs. “We both know what you’re actually doing here, farm girl.”

My eyes scrunch at the insinuation. What does he think is going on? “What are you-“

“You’re just here to get free shit. The second you make enough money, you’ll leave this town and everyone here high and dry,” he comes out from behind the desk and leans casually on the front of it. “You seriously think you can just show up, fake your way through running a farm, and everyone will just fall to their knees thanking you for ‘all you’ve done’?” He starts to walk toward me. I take a step back and my back hits the table behind me with several tools laid out across it. I hold his gaze the entire time.

“I don’t know what you think you know about me, but that’s not true. I came here to help the town. I have no intention of-“

“Cut the shit,” he bites out and cuts me off and takes another step toward me. “You are just like everyone else that comes here. You’re all bright eyed and excited for this ‘new life’. The second real work starts or you get bored, you’ll be gone. I’d give it till the end of fall.” He takes another step. My heart is pounding out of my chest and he looks me up and down.

“You ever been in a small town in the winter? None of the luxuries you have the big city. You know you have to get your own firewood, cook your own food, trudge through the snow into town,” he takes another step.

“Just because I lived in the city doesn’t mean I don’t know how to work hard. I’ve worked for everything I’ve gotten, you don’t know anything-“ his hands come down on the table on either side of me. I try my hardest not to jump, but I failed.

“I know enough, princess,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Everyone is the same. The second things get tough, they bail. You can’t trust anyone, ever.” His eyes are locked on to mine. My breath hitches.

“We don’t need some outsider coming in here to fix all of our problems. We can fix it ourselves. I already tried telling Adeline that I would help Ryis fix the bridge, but her nose is always stuck in that notebook,” he says, his gaze falling to the side. “It’s fine though. You’ll leave eventually, and it will be on us again. And we’ll be fine without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, March. You’ll have to get used to it, or don’t. It won’t make a difference to me,” I spit out. His eyes snap back to me and he smirks.

“Oh really? It won’t make a difference at all?” He questions and tilts his head. His gaze falls to my mouth and he slowly drags it back up. He leans in so close I can feel his breath on my face. My breathing stills. Any fake confidence I had vanishes immediately. “Is that a challenge, princess?” He barely whispers, and I don’t even believe he said it at first. I open my mouth to respond then-

“MARCH! How’s it going with that new-“ Olric bursts through the door. March doesn’t move an inch. “Bro what’s going-“

The second March drops his arm from my right side I jolt out of his grasp. “Nothing! March was just, um, showing me these new tools he was working on! Thank you, March I will, uh, be back to purchase that new pickaxe.” I stumble over my words and rush towards the door, my face blood red. I try and use my hair to cover my face. “Good to see you Olric! I’ll, uh, see you both at the Inn tonight!” I rush out the door.

I walk back to my farm, waving at everyone as I pass, but I don’t hear a word they say. My head is spinning. What just happened?

[frenziedfireworks]

Dating!

Dating the HL Boys!

(Sebastian, Ominis, Garreth)

masterlist

Sebastian :

I feel like he definitely has insomnia. He is not able to go to sleep easily and hates it. Help the poor guy to calm down & give him cuddles. If you pamper him he will go to sleep easier. 

He’s very thoughtful and remembers important dates and anything you look at. You kept staring at that book in the window? It’s on your desk. Your coat ripped? You suddenly have a new one. He doesn’t care how hard he has to work to spoil you - he will do it.

He’s very protective of you towards anyone - even Ominis. He knows you can handle yourself but he just wants to make sure you feel safe and nobody is pushing your buttons. That’s his job after all <3

You had turned in bed adjusting your position when a light woke you up. You begrudgingly opened your eyes, adjusting to the shine that was right next to you. Unsurprisingly it was your dearest boyfriend using lumos in an attempt to read instead of sleeping.

“Seb?” Your voice croaked and the freckled man looked down.

“Hey baby. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” His hand danced over your cheek and a soft kiss was placed upon your forehead. 

“You should be asleep.” 

“I tried. Thought I’d read until I got tired..” You only sighed and pushed yourself up. 

“What time is it?” You looked for the clock and noticed how late, or more so early it was.

“Sebastian, it's 4 am. Merlin’s beard.. I’ll be back.”

“Darling it’s okay-“

“Be quiet and sit.” You grunted and made your way to the kitchen. You were quick to make him a warm cup of tea and flutter back to the safety of your bed. Sebastian’s face was red and he gave you a thankful smile as he took a sip.

“Thank you my love. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He leaned in to give you a quick smooch as you laid back down.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. Finish that and cuddle with me, you oaf.”

Ominis :

Once you truly get to know Ominis he is CHATTY. He doesn’t stop talking and asks you the most random questions. He would be the type of boyfriend to ask you if you would love him as a worm.

He makes very cute dates to take you on. Picnics and sitting outdoors kind of stuff! If you don’t like that then he will of course take that into consideration.. He wouldn’t mind sitting in a secluded spot just enjoying time together.

Ominis doesn’t show it as much but I feel like he gets jealous. He will admit it to you if you question him. He gets in fits of not feeling adequate for you. Just tell him you love him and it’s all fine!!

“Y/N?” Ominis’ voice pierced through the silence of your bedroom. You turned in the sheets to face him, hand coming to rest on his chest. 

“Yes?” You questioned. He had a small grin on his face that you could make out from the dim moonlight. You knew it would be another one of your silly nights.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You automatically cackled at the question, expecting anything other than that.

“You’re just a worm?”

“Yes. Just a worm.” 

Ominis snorted again at the ridiculous question and you rolled your eyes. You pressed a kiss against his shoulder and hummed.

“I suppose. I think I’d take you everywhere in a nice cage. We would eat breakfast together while you squirmed in your dirt and you would enjoy your life. Then one day I would take us on vacation to the beach. Maybe even do some fishing..” You held back a giant laugh as he gasped.

“And I am not the bait surely?!” The boy's arm smacked against you and you couldn’t hold your breath. 

“I am not the bait, right?!” He repeated the question and you felt lightheaded. 

“Uhuh sure my love..” You mustered up a sarcastic response and watched as he bobbed his head in annoyance.

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“You’re the one who asked!”

Garreth :

He ALWAYS brings you homemade stuff. Some of it is mildly concerning but he just shrugs it off. After all it is “made with love” as he puts it.

Garreth always brings you on little adventures to collect supplies or sits with you on your hobbies. He thinks it’s the best to just be in your presence. 

He’s very attentive and handsy. Physical touch is definitely a high contender for his love language. I feel like it makes him more calm to always have a hand on you. You’re like a little safety blanket <3

I feel like Garreth has ADHD.. If he gets busy with potions he won’t notice ten hours have passed until you forcibly pull him away. You constantly have to remind him to eat or take a break.

“Garreth?” Your voice filtered into the empty potions room where your boyfriend stood hard at work. You had not seen him all day and was starting to worry that one of his potions had finally taken him out. Walking up behind the boy you let out a cough and rubbed your hand up his back.

“Oh!” 

Garreth jumped and turned to face you. His eyes were bloodshot and his grin was wavering on a questionable line of sanity.

“Have you slept? How long have you been down here?” You brought your hand to his forcing him to drop the feathers onto the counter. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder and he let out a deep sigh.

“It hasn’t been that long has it?”

“Baby it’s Saturday morning.” You whispered as your fingers skimmed through his ginger locks. He only grunted in response and dug deeper into your shoulder.

“Well I need to finish-“ The boy started but you cut him off quickly.

“You can finish this another day. Your brewing pot is not going anywhere. We are going to put you to bed. Understand?” Garreth only snorted and moved so you could lead the way.

“You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

“Don’t even start Weasley.”

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬 - 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 2.6k

chapter summary: you decide to host a New Year's party and when Joel shows up soaked to the bone thanks to the rain, you lead him to the bathroom to dry him up.

warnings: piv, secret relationship, dirty talk, joel getting really creative with the shower head

a/n: let's just consider this little fic an alternative version of the question "what if the outbreak didn't happen plus tommy still doesn't know about you and joel" Normally he would learn before outbreak day no matter if the outbreak happens or not but I wanted to keep the sneaking around bit for this one soooo

I would also like to thank everyone who has been following the story! Every comment is precious to me and I appreciate it more than you realize. I'm so happy people are still enjoying it, I have big plans for this series and I will be finishing it spring time. I hope the new year brings you all peace and happiness, happy new year everyone!

**divider by the talented @saradika-graphics xx

Rain washes away everything. It washes away the dirt of the street, rejuvenates the drying trees, makes the grass greener. In Austin rain truly is a blessing. Every living thing hungers for it. To you, it symbolizes the new beginnings and the losses. You half listen to the chatter between Olivia and Tommy as you peek out the window, smooth drops cascading down the surface. For some, the rain wasn’t an ideal weather to have during New Year’s, but to you, it only made the atmosphere cozier. 

The crowded party buzzes around you, people laughing, dancing, and sharing stories. You can't help but notice familiar faces from the community seamlessly mingling with Tommy and Olivia's friends, since you were still relatively new you didn’t know many people other than neighbors and asked them to invite people. The room echoes with the joy of New Year's Eve.

It’s been a painful yet surprising year, to say the least. The loss of your grandfather, the unexpected move, the journey to find yourself. . . all of it had been a bit much, a bit daunting. However, as your mind drifts off to the new room in the old house you realize that some things are truly different. You have people who care about you now. You have the Miller’s, Olivia, your art. All in all, it had also been an amazing year. 

The thought makes guilt gnaw at your insides. Tommy still doesn’t know about you and Joel, you were supposed to tell him. . .Joel was supposed to tell him but alas neither of you found the courage to come clean. The past couple of months had been so blissful with him. Neither of you wanted to give that up. 

The faint smell of cinnamon reaches your nose and you find yourself smiling even though you’re only slightly worried. 

Joel’s late. 

“He’s fine,” you hear Tommy whine, turning around you see him rolling his eyes. “He’s a big boy, sweetheart. He’ll be okay in a little bit of rain.” 

Big boy, indeed. 

“Where is he anyway?” Olivia asks, stuffing her mouth full of crackers. 

“He went to drop off Sarah—and there’s plenty of food, you’re not off to war you know. You can eat one at a time.” 

Olivia slapped Tommy’s shoulder and took a seat next to him, “Bit weird she’s not gonna be here with us.” 

“Sarah’s been beggin’ Joel for months. Finally, he caved when she pulled the ‘you know how hard it’s been for me to make friends’ card. Poor man didn’t stand a chance.” 

“So,” you continue, sitting across from them. “They spent Christmas together, just the two of them. That was Joel’s deal. And she’s doing her own laundry for two months.” 

“Damn, I hope the party is worth it.” Olivia gives you a mischievous grin, her eyes lighting up as they meet your gaze. "You know," she starts, leaning in slightly, "I have this friend, Jake. . .” 

You cut her off, "I'm good, Liv. I'm not looking for anything right now."

"Oh, come on! He's sweet, handsome, and he's got a great sense of humor. You two would hit it off."

Your gaze quickly shifts between Tommy and Olivia. His expression tightens ever so slightly, and you catch the subtle change. Olivia, oblivious, or at least choosing to be, continues.

"Just imagine it. A romantic date, a nice dinner, maybe a movie... He’ll treat you right and if he doesn’t I’ll break his arms."

"Liv, really, I appreciate it, but I'm not ready for that kind of thing. Besides, I'm pretty content with how things are right now."

Olivia narrows her eyes. "It’s been a year, you’re ready for one date. Trust me." Then, much to your horror, she turns to Tommy and gestures to you. “Back me up Tommy, isn’t she ready?” 

Tommy clears his throat, looking uncomfortable as ever. He parts his lips and worry knots itself deep in your stomach. 

Luckily, you’re saved by a slightly drunk woman you don’t recognize and let out a break of relief. She situates herself next to Tommy, throwing a hand over his broad shoulder, she pulls him close and whispers something in his ear, fingers playfılly dancing over the fabric of his shirt. Olivia rolls her eyes but honestly, you’re happy and grateful for the distraction. 

You’re saved a second time when the door opens, the sudden sound of rain drawing your attention. You smile instinctively upon seeing Joel, which is a bit rude you figure, because he looks miserable. His leather jacket is dripping, hair sticking to his forehead. Just how hard was it pouring outside? Must’ve picked up when you, Olivia, and Tommy were chatting along. 

Joel, with dropped shoulders and head, spots Tommy first and then you. He makes his way, the defeated walk making him look like a teenager. Tommy bursts out laughing when he sees his older brother, the sound deepens the furrow between Joel’s brows. 

“You look like shit!” Tommy says and you notice Olivia desperately trying to hide her laughter behind her palm. 

“It’s rainin’ cats and dogs you jackass.” Your eyes move up gradually up his body. The rain had darkened the color of his shirt, the flimsy fabric sticking to the planes of his chest. Heat rises to your cheeks. “Is there anythin’ I can burrow sweet tea? Maybe somethin’ that August left behind?” 

“What?” you clear your throat, blinking, you meet his gaze. His knowing smile is enough to set fire between your legs. “Sorry didn’t quite catch that.” 

“Shirt,” he says, lips curling. “Unless you want me drippin’ all over your couch, somethin’ dry would be nice.” He raises a brow when you continue to stare at him, dazed. “Maybe your brother left behind somethin’?” 

Oh god, he’s spelling every word slow and careful meaning he definitely knows you’ve been ogling him. You get up quickly, ignoring the proximity between your bodies, you’d expected him to take a step back but he was as still as stone. You’re like an open book, hopefully, the pretty lady perched next to Tommy is enough to distract him. 

“Yeah, sure,” you answer, breathing a bit heavily. You don’t need to say anything else as you begin to part the crowd, leading him upstairs to the bathroom. You can feel him right behind you, the heat radiating off of him warming your back. 

Finally reaching the bathroom, you push him inside and quickly close the door, leaning against it, you let out a breath. 

However, you don’t get to breathe in when you feel a pair of lips against your own. You shudder as his soaked chest presses against yours, hands cupping your waist, Joel guides your hips towards him. He’s hard as a rock. He swallows the soft voices climbing up your throat and grinds roughly against you. 

“Fuck, honey,” he rasps, dragging his lips to your cheek. “You really know how to get a man goin’.” 

“I didn’t even do anything.” 

“You starin’ at me like you’re about to devour me ain’t nothin’.” he nips at your neck, your body burning at the sharpness. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Don’t remember saying that,” you tease and thread your finger through the wet locks. “You’re cold.”

“You should warm me up then.” 

You slip your hands under his shirt, not missing the way he shudders against you. He brings his lips back up, only an inch away, but refuses to close the distance. You keep stroking him. Warm palms moving up and down against cold and damp skin. Joel’s forehead drops onto yours. 

“You do realize there’s a party going on outside right? A part that includes your brother, who we are keeping us a secret from.” 

“For someone worried about the crowd you’re doin’ a whole lot to tempt me, darlin’.” he kisses your jaw. “You look beautiful by the way.” 

You’re happy to hear that because he was the only reason why you decided to wear a low-cut shimmering silver dress. You had also opted to wear an almost sheer pair of black stockings underneath, giving your legs a lovely glow.  

“Why thank you, kind sir.” 

“I love it when you call me sir,” he groans and presses harder against you. Your eyes flutter closed but despite it, you can feel his gaze taking in the bathroom. “You fancied up the place quite a bit.” 

A hoarse laughter escapes your throat, “You should thank the crowd downstairs for the fancy towels and the smell of vanilla.” 

“You know. . . now that I’m thinkin’ about it it ain’t fair I’m the only one wet.” 

“Believe me, Joel, I am soaking wet.” 

“That’s not what I meant sunshine,” he gives you a lopsided smile before tugging you towards the tub. “Come’re.”

You wordlessly follow him into the porcelain, your curiosity piqued. His fingertips trace up your waist and find the hidden zipper, slowly, he tugs it down, the sound of it inaudible from the beating of your heart. The dress pools under your knees and your gaze is fixed on him as you step out of the soft fabric. While you’re taking in the sight of his hair curling on his forehead, he takes in the sight of the soft contours of your body. He presses a soft kiss against your stomach, a shudder crawls up your spine. 

“Turn around.” He orders, voice dropping to a whisper. 

“What about my stockings?” 

“I’ll take care of’em.” 

You brace your hand against the wall, sticking your ass out, you smile when you hear the hitch of his breath. His knuckles follow the curve of your spine and a second later you hear a loud rip. 

“Joel—“

“I’ll get you new ones.” You feel him reaching up and at the same time, he slides your panties to the side. He hums. “You are wet.”

“Told you so.”

You hear a soft click, you’re barely able to register the sound as he begins to dip between your folds and stroke. Somehow your brain whispers to you that he’s adjusting the pressure of the shower head. “What are you doing back there?” 

“Remember when you told me how much you enjoyed the different settings when I changed the pipes and the shower head?” You honestly didn’t. “Well, I haven’t, darlin’.” 

He turns on the water, away from you thankfully, but you still tense at how cold it is as it gathers at the bottoms of your feet. 

“I know baby, I know. It’ll get warmer soon.” 

And it does. Your body relaxes, the subtle warmth prompting the arch of your back. Joel gently pushes your legs apart, pushing the shower head between your legs directly onto your—

“Oh god—Joel, fuck—“

“Such a filthy mouth for such a good girl,” he says into your ear. “Bet you’ve done this before sweetheart.” 

You had, well. . . You tried. But it hadn’t felt as good at this. A single forceful stream of insistent water massages your clit. The arousal that pulses between your legs is washed away down your thighs. Without even realizing you start to hold your breath and embarrassingly enough you roll your hips. 

You need more. You need him. 

Your legs part wider, trembling as you try to tell him but instead of sentences needy whimpers echo from your throat. You feel his smile on the back of your neck, teeth scraping your warm skin every time your hips twitch. He starts moving the showerhead and your entire body goes numb. It’s so much but so little at the same time. 

“You’re being loud, sweetheart.” You shake your head, trying desperately to bite back the moans. “But maybe you like the idea of our friends hearing how needy you get for me.” 

You clench at the words, nails scraping against the smooth surface of the wall. 

“Please. . .” 

“Please what?” 

Damn him. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp out. “Fuck me please—I’m. . . I’m going insane.” As if to demonstrate your words, you grind down until the shower head spreads your folds, a groan reverberating in your throat as the water fills every inch. “Just fuck me, give me your cock.” 

“What if I say I want you to come like this?” 

You don’t even think as you answer, “I’ll cry.” 

He stills like the calm before the storm then bursts out laughing. Some logical part of your brain is urging you to shush him, remind him that people might hear but you can’t when he sounds so joyful. His deep voice full of life. 

“Fine, sweet tea, you win. Wouldn’t want you to cry durin’ New Year’s.” 

Joel turns off the water and you turn, facing him as he does. His eyes widen when you cup his cheeks, he’s so warm now, so soft from the steam. “Let’s head to my bedroom,” you mutter. “Auggie’s spare clothes are there anyway.” 

His hands softly land on your hips, thumbs moving over the waistband of your stockings. “You sure?” 

“I want to see you when you bury yourself into me.” 

That’s all he needs to hear before dragging you out of the bathroom. You both hurry, the sound of the party still lively downstairs. Luckily your bedroom is close to the bathroom so there isn’t much risk as you follow him out half naked, your sparkling dress in hand. 

As soon as you both enter the bedroom, his lips are on yours, pushing you towards the bed until the back of your knees hits the edge and you fall. He follows your dive, his weight pleasant on top of you. 

Feeling numb with want, you quickly tug his shirt off of him, and his hands fumble with his belt. Joel doesn’t even bother to take his pants off completely. He frees himself with one hand and pushes in without a word. You both moan, mouths inches apart from each other. Neither of you breaks away from the eye contact. It’s so intimate like this. Your cheeks burning at how naked you feel having him witness the parting of your lips, the flutter of your gaze. 

You feel so full, so complete. The slow drag of his cock making you see starts every time he presses forward, brushing against something devastating inside you with every move. Tears gather in your lashes and he kisses them away. Then he drags his lips down to your neck, sucking at nipping. Your breath catches in your throat, your back arching as you clench around him. He groans into your skin, thrusts becoming shallow and quick. 

“I’m not gonna last, honey,” he rasps. “Tell me where.” 

Just as he says that his hand slides between your bodies, finding your throbbing clit. He draws quick circles, your muscles constricting immediately. At the very last second Joel covers your mouth with his own, muffling your cry as you gush around him, insides twitching and pulsing. He swallows the sounds hungrily. “Where?” he growls against your lips. 

“On my pussy,” you gasp. “Want to feel you there.” 

He tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth before moving away, you spread your legs further, pushing yourself apart with two fingers. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. His hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he strokes himself. It doesn’t take him long to come undone. Your eyes roll when you feel it. The vicious spurt of his come, the way it drips. It feels like it lasts forever. He comes and comes and comes— painting you with his seed. 

When he’s done, he slips his softening cock back inside, pushing himself deeper into you. You both whimper in unison, and he nuzzles the crook of your neck.  You begin to play with the ends of his hair, nails scratching the back of his neck. 

“Happy New Year, Joel.” 

“Happy New Year, sweet tea.”