#not enemies or lovers or it’s a slow burn but just friends?

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter one

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 2.4k

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a/n: first series! it won’t be super long, but I hope you enjoy. send requests for more fics!

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“Matt, you can’t back out now!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at your best friend where he lays on his bed, setting his phone down to look up at you.

“I’m sorry, love, something came up and I can’t make it,” he apologizes, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get out of it.”

You groan, throwing your head back in frustration. You had a family wedding to attend and already RSVP’d with a plus one, which was supposed to be your best friend Matt, who had lovingly agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend for the night. Your family was super invasive about you getting a boyfriend, and you wanted to avoid all of the comments and questions by just pretending to have a boyfriend for one night at the wedding, but your plan was falling apart.

“What am I supposed to do? I already told everyone I was coming with somebody, they’re gonna know I was lying if I show up by myself,” you tell him, trying to rack your brain for any ideas.

“You could bring Nick,” Matt suggests, picking his phone back up and going back to scrolling.

You scoff. “Yeah right, like Nick could pretend to be straight for an entire night. He’d be caught in less than an hour.” You shake your head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to Matt. “I’m gonna have to go on, like, Bumble or something and find some random to go with me.”

Matt looks up at you over his phone, waiting for you to lock eyes with him before he starts to speak. “I mean… I know one other guy you could ask.”

You tilt your head, excited to hear the suggestion, before you realize who he’s talking about and your eyes widen, head shaking rapidly. “Absolutely not,” you put your hands up, pointer fingers crossed over in an X. “I am not asking Chris, no way.”

Matt raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I told you I knew someone, I didn’t say you’d like what I said.”

You roll your eyes. “He would never say yes to me anyway, even if I did want to ask him.”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. You could always bribe him, he loves a good bribe.”

You think about it for another moment, knowing it would be easier to get Chris to do it than it would to find some random guy to go to a wedding as a first date, but the thought of spending an entire night next to Chris made your skin crawl.

The two of you had never really gotten along, even with you being around as much as you were, you guys never clicked, in fact it was the complete opposite, always insulting each other any chance you got, ignoring each other, and always avoiding being in the same room by yourself, even if only for a few moments.

“I mean… I could try but I really can’t promise I won’t kill your brother, Matt,” you half joke, but not really. “Might turn you into a twin.”

“That’s fucked,” Matt laughs, using his foot to kick you lightly. “I‘ll still be a triplet, even if you kill him. I’ll just be a triplet with severe depression and no will no live.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him through a laugh. “Your life would be so much quieter, wouldn’t that be nice? You’d secretly thank me for killing him.”

Matt shakes his head at you with a smile, though his eyes tell you he thinks you’re crazy, before looking back down at his phone.

“Killing who?” A voice sounds from the doorway and you look up to see the man of the hour staring back at you, a disinterested look on his face.

“You,” you smile sweetly up at Chris.

“That’s nice,” he says, flashing you a fake, tight lipped smile before turning to his brother. “Hey, can you take me to go get food?”

Matt groans and throws his head back, closing his eyes. “But I’m so comfortable,” he whines.

You take a deep breath and consider your options. Chris, who you hate but have known for years, or a random guy who might be a serial killer? You’d definitely be safer with Chris, but the thought of having to be near him without his brothers for an entire night seemed like hell. Especially having to act like you were pleased to be in his presence.

“I’ll take you,” you speak before you can stop yourself.

Both Matt and Chris look at you with shocked expressions, Chris having a bit of disgust in his eyes.

“I’d rather starve, thanks,” Chris replies. “Matt, c’mon seriously, can you take me?” He asks again.

“Chris,” you say in a stern voice, standing up from the bed and walking towards him. “Let me take you. I need to talk to you.”

Chris watches you walk past him through the doorway and then looks back at Matt, shooting him a confused look, to which his brother just shrugs, before he leaves to follow you, finding you by the front door slipping your crocs on.

“The fuck is this about?” He asks, trotting down the stairs to meet you by the front door. “You in love with me or some shit?”

You look up at him with an unamused expression. “You wish I was in love with you.” You huff. “I told you, I gotta talk to you.”

You open the front door and head outside towards your car, opening the drivers side door. You look behind you and see Chris standing in the doorway, staring after you. “I’ll buy your food,” you tell him, and he immediately shuts the door behind him and walks up to your car. “You should’ve led with that!” He says.

You both get in your car and you start driving. “Where do you want to go?” You ask him, turning your head to see him on his phone. “Chris,” you push, reaching out to smack his phone out of his hand, causing it to land on the floor.

“What the fuck, dude. Unnecessary.” Chris huffs, reaching down to grab his phone, but he tucked it between his legs instead of going back on it. “I don’t know, McDonald’s?”

You groan. “You always get McDonald’s. Can’t we get like Popeyes or something?”

Chris looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Well I didn’t know you were gonna eat, too, jesus. Sure, Popeyes is fine.” He goes for his phone again, but you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him.

“Wait,” you start. “I actually do need to talk to you.”

Chris sighs and puts his phone away in his pocket completely, looking over at you. “Okay, spit it out then.”

You flash a glare at him quickly before returning your eyes to the road. “So… Matt was going to be my plus one for a wedding I’m going to, but he can’t go anymore because something came up, and I can’t ask Nick because he’s gay and that just won’t work, and so that just leaves you.” You tell him nervously.

“So what if he’s gay, your family homophobic or something?” Chris asks, annoyance lacing his voice.

You sigh and pull into the Popeyes parking lot, pulling into a spot and throwing the car into park before you turn your body to face Chris. “No, they’re not homophobic. It’s just… I kind of told them I was bringing a boyfriend.”

Chris stares at you for a moment before laughing, completely unserious. “You? A boyfriend? That’s hilarious. I can’t believe you’re lying to your family about having a boyfriend.”

You don’t laugh though, you just drop your eyes down to your lap, knowing that this was exactly how the conversation would go.

“Wait a minute, that means you want me to pretend I’m your boyfriend? Fuck no, I’d rather be single for the rest of my life. Forget it, dude, you’re shit outta luck with me.” Chris shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.

You nod and start backing out of the spot, heading towards the drive-thru. “Yeah I figured that was how you’d respond,” you murmur.

You guys order your food, and you still pay for it, staying true to your word, before heading home. It was a quick but quiet ride back, both of you getting out of the car without a word, not even a ‘thank you’ shot your way. You take your shoes off and head back up to Matt’s room, seeing him in the same position you left him in, only now he was watching a movie, and you got in his bed to join him with your food.

“How’d it go?” He asked, reaching out to steal one of your fries.

“Exactly how I expected it to go. He laughed in my face and said he’d rather be single for the rest of his life than pretend to be my boyfriend,” you tell Matt, looking down at him from where you sat.

Matt smiles up at you, reaching out to pat your leg. “Sorry, kid. You tried.”

You nod and look up at the tv screen, starting to eat your dinner.

-

The next day, you’re sitting on your couch panting your toes and watching your favorite comfort show when you hear the doorbell ring, startling you as you weren’t expecting anybody over today. You look down at your toes and swear under your breath, seeing that you smeared polish along your skin.

You set down the polish on the table and stand up, walking to your door and pulling it open, jaw dropping in shock when you come face to face with Chris, the last person you expected to show up at your door unannounced. You almost wanted to rub your eyes in case you were mistaking him for another triplet, but you knew your eyes didn’t deceive you.

“Chris?” You question. “How did you get here?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I ubered?” He says like it’s obvious. “You gonna let me in or what?”

You take a step back and let him into your house, shutting the door behind him. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You say, sitting back down on your couch. He follows and sits at the opposite end, looking over at you.

He ignores your question, watching you as you continue to do your toes, cleaning up the mess you made. “Why not just get your toes done?” He asks.

You look at him with an annoyed expression. “Costs money? Why spend money when I can sit around and do it myself?” You go back to painting your toes. “Why are you here?”

Chris shrugs. “Been thinking about what you said yesterday, about the wedding.”

You stop what you’re doing and put the polish back down, turning your attention on Chris completely. “Did you change your mind?” You ask him.

He sighs and licks his lips before speaking. “Consider it my charity for the year,” he smiles, tilting his head at you. “But I need a small favor from you.”

“A favor in return isn’t charity, Chris, it’s like… eye for an eye or whatever.” You look at him deadpan. Of course he’d want something in return, he could never do something for you out of the goodness of his heart.

“Whatever, dude, you want my help or not?” Chris asks. “If not I’ll just leave, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You huff and give in. “Fine. What’s the favor?” You ask him.

He pulls out his phone, scooting a bit closer to you on the couch. “There’s this girl that will not stop hitting me up and she’s driving me crazy. I told her I’m not interested, I’ve ignored her messages, I even blocked her on snap to see if she’d get the hint but she still texts me every day.” He shows you all of the unanswered messages and your jaw drops.

“Holy shit, what does this girl see in you?” You laugh, reading how desperate she was for Chris.

“Funny,” Chris replies, unamused.

“What does this have to do with me?” You ask him, looking back up at his face.

“I think it’s only fair if I pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding, you pretend to be my girlfriend on social media. Only for a few weeks or until she stops messaging me. Plus, you’re way hotter than her. ” Chris tells you, and by the tone of his voice, he’s completely serious.

You feel heat rising up your neck and you try to get it under control before your cheeks turn red. “You think I’m hot?” You ask him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Not the point,” he replies.

“So you tell me that you would rather be single for the rest of your life than pretend to be my boyfriend, and now you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?” You clarify, and he just nods, like it’s no big deal. “Pretending to be together at an event is one thing, but you want to take photos to look like a couple? That’s a little… intimate don’t you think?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a big boy, you’re a big girl. Don’t think you can handle a little physical touch without falling for me?” He smirks, leaning in closer to you.

You grimace and reach up to push his shoulder away. “Gross, dude. I could have sex with you and still not fall in love with you and your terrible personality.”

Chris gasps, fake shocked, throwing a hand to his chest. “I am a very good lover, why do you think this girl won’t stop texting me?”

Your eyes widen. “You had sex with her?!” You shriek. “Chris, no wonder she keeps blowing your shit up!”

Chris groans and throws his head back, leaning it on the back of the couch. “It was supposed to be a one time thing, I don’t know why she’s so hung up on me!”

You find yourself giggling a bit before you stop and clear your throat, not wanting to give Chris the satisfaction of making you laugh. You compose yourself and shake your head, clearly disappointed in the boy across from you. “Fine, I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, but no kissing! I draw the line at kissing.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, I don’t want to kiss you,” Chris cringes. “So… I guess we should start planning this?”

You nod and smile towards him, placing your hands in your lap as you guys start to figure out how to execute both individual plans.

-

a/n: this chapter is SUPER short but it’s kinda just to get a feel of the fic and how it’s gonna play out. I really hope you guys like this series im so nervous about it!!

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @st6niolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 6/?

Some light word-building, and a try at explaining a little with reader's thinking/worldview. And of course, a soulmate :3 Next chapter in about a week(+/- a day)! (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 2506

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

It’s been a week since you saw either of them. 

Your soulmates. 

You don’t like them being that, you could call them something else you suppose. But calling them their names all the time is more of a mouthful, and though you gave them nicknames before you learned their names, giving them new ones seems worse than just calling them what they are. (Even as much as you hate it.)

The ache in your shoulders and upper back has settled to a near permanent thing now, only fleeting relief for the for the briefest of moments if you massage the area. 

You know why it doesn’t fade, but you don’t want to admit that to anyone, especially not Evelyn when you visit her for a check up, this time at home in her and Olivia’s apartment.

You wonder how many other people have to bring brownies to their doctor appointments as you ring Evelyn’s and Olivia’s doorbell outside the building. To be fair, not everyone else’s doctor works as a veterinarian and has a wife that would kill you if you didn’t bring them (not really, but sometimes you think Olivia is certainly capable of doing so). 

Said wife is the one who buzzes you in, and greets you in the hallway just outside their front door with an enthusiastic yell of your name, and a hug that makes you let out a small grunt of pain that you try to hide in favor of hugging her back with the arm not currently holding onto the strap of your backpack.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re a wounded man, come in, come in, Evelyn is just setting up.” Her beautiful dark and curled hair bounces as she heads to the kitchen, and you follow her after making sure the front door is closed behind you.

The kitchen table is covered in towels, towels you know are specifically for this purpose, since none of them are the cute patterns Olivia loves. You also know that underneath there’s cling wrap covering the table, for cleanliness and just in case. It hadn’t been often you had been on this kitchen table instead of the clinic table, but the procedure Evelyn has around it isn’t unknown to you. A lot more organized than what Wade’s and Logan’s had been. 

You banish the thought of them from your mind as you put your backpack down, dipping your hand inside to fish out the box of carefully wrapped brownies out, and present them to Olivia. She gasps at you, almost yanking the box out of your hand with how fast she takes it.

“Sometimes I swear it’s like you are my second soulmate.” Your stomach swoops at her words, and you make a face. She knows and disagrees with your view on soulmates, so you know it’s a friendly jab, and normally you wouldn’t have cared, but this time it hits something you don’t like.

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes at her, focusing on Evelyn instead as Olivia goes to put her treasure away. “Ready for me doc?” Seems to be the perfect time to ask that question as Evelyn puts gloves on and pats the table. 

“Up you go.” You do as asked, hoisting yourself up. You take your shirt off, balling it up, putting it under your head as you lay down, getting comfortable. “Feeling fine?” Evelyn starts to peel your bandages off, slowly and carefully.

“Yeah. They seem to be doing fine, in my non-medical opinion.” She hums, and you know she’s taking your words into consideration, but it won’t really matter much before she has had a look herself. You let your eyes stay open, watching the ceiling as you hear Olivia putter around the kitchen, and feel Evelyn poke around your wounds.

Nasty couple of things. Well, they had been. You have been surprised nothing had gotten infected, you had no idea how well Wade took care of his swords, how nasty or not they were. But well, to be fair to him, if you had gotten an infection, your makeshift bandages would have been just as likely a culprit.

“Looks like you won’t die anytime soon, but they’ll still leave some nasty scars behind.” Evelyn offers, seeming to be done with her inspection of you, as she changes gloves, and starts applying new bandages. You shrug, you figured out much. Nothing cuts that deep without leaving behind a mark.

Well, unless you are a super healing mutant. Even after you had tried multiple times. Both with a katana and a gun.

Should you even feel bad for hurting your soulmates like that when it was done when in panic but with the knowledge it would heal? And you got more permanently hurt?

And to be fair, Wade had knocked you out before you ever hurt them after realizing they were your soulmates, so it wasn’t like you hadn’t been hurt, but you shot them both. Caused them more pain.

So maybe you are all a little beyond messed up. 

Made for each other, like that soulmate shit implies.

You shake your head at that thought, dispelling it into the ether, which gets you a weird look from Evelyn as she finishes with your bandage.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I just haven’t been sleeping right.”

“Chest pain?” Her hands hover near your chest, but move away as you shake your head.

“No, shoulder and upper back, think I’ve accidentally pulled something.” She frowns.

“I thought I told you to not work out or put unnecessary strain on your body as you heal.” You know what it’s from, and it’s definitely not that.

“I haven’t been working out or lifting anything heavy, I promise. I’m just an old man.” You joke, she rolls your eyes at you as you sit up, taking the glass of water Olivia offers you.

“Let me know if it keeps up, and I’ll see if I can’t figure out what it is, and get you something for it.” She can’t know and won’t be able to get you anything, but still you nod.

“Am I allowed to put my shirt back on Doc, or do you just want to ogle me some more?” You joke, this earns you a slap on the shoulder by a now gloveless hand just after Olivia hands you a chocolate chip cookie. 

“Thought you were making pasta?” You get off the table and take a bite out of your cookie as Olivia smiles at you, and Evelyn starts cleaning up.

“I am, but good patients get rewards.” 

“What am I, five?” You joke, Olivia reaches out as if to take the cookie out of your hand, you take a step back. “I prefer your cookies over any stupid little toy.” Olivia’s smile is bright, and if you weren’t gay and she didn’t have a soulmate, she could have been your type. She turns around, planting a kiss on Evenlyn’s cheek as she passes her on her way to grab ingredients for the dinner she is going to make for you all.

You lean on the kitchen counter and munch on your cookie, mindful to stay in the background and out of the way for them both as they move around each other with ease. Evelyn cleaning up medical supplies and the makeshift sickbed, Olivia starting to cook dinner.

You don’t want to bring up your soulmates with either of them, since you know their stance on it all is opposite of yours, since they are themselves soulmates. You’ve had plenty of arguments about this both drunk and mostly sober. You think soulmates make one vulnerable and just bring misery in the end, they think it brings strength and that you should enjoy what good you can have in life.

So you know they would just tell you to go to your soulmates, and be with them. 

For the rest of your life. 

Ugh.

You’re fine on (mostly) your own, thanks.

—---

This time, when the universe decides it’s time for some light fuckery, it’s Logan. On his own. And it’s not while you are working. 

Not that it makes it any better.

You are taking it slow, the bar you find yourself in isn’t the fanciest thing, which suits you perfectly. The tables are mostly clean and the floor has seen better days, but they have several types of beer on tap and in bottles, a pool table, and even two shuffleboards. All in all, very casual, somewhere you could sit alone, or join a random group playing one of the games. If money sometimes exchanged hands, both between players and spectators, nobody gave a shit.

You had been a few times before, always enjoying yourself. You’re not even drinking this time, sticking to soda as much as you want to have a proper drink. You had just needed to get out of your apartment, and though you long to feel the burn of alcohol pass over them, you know it won’t heal any faster, so if you can just keep from drinking for a little longer, you can get back to the normal state of things quicker.

Well, as normal as they can get after the universe decided to change the core of your life. You were not one for company, at least not permanently.

Currently you are sitting at a table, watching two long bearded and bald men play pool, making snide comments back and forth. You had made a bet on the man with the scarred ear, but he is losing, pretty badly.

Oh well, 20 bucks isn’t the end of the world.

What kind of feels like it though, is when you spot Logan walking into the bar. He’s wearing normal clothes this time, just some jeans, boots, and a green flannel. He glances around the bar, you duck your head in the hope that he doesn’t see you.

You don’t hope for long though, as a very full glass of what looks like whiskey is sat down next to your soda, and the chair on the other side of the table becomes occupied.

“Logan.” Your uttering of his name in greeting is icy, your name falling from his lips are decidedly less so.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, feeling your shoulders ease up. Which annoys you so much, he’s just arrived, and he’s already making you feel better. You want to go, to leave, even as your loosening muscles reminds you that staying for a little bit will stave off side effects of your unfortunately shared bond. 

“Drinking.” He grunts, taking a sip of his glass. You roll your eyes and look at him for a few moments, head swirling with thoughts. You settle on one, just to have something to say as you stall and try to figure out how much time you need to feel more than just a little less shitty, though you can’t help but be actually curious as you ask.

“Can you even get drunk with your healing shit?” Logan frowns, and you wonder if that’s his default. You don’t ask about that though.

“With some effort.”

“Why the fuck even be in a bar then?” Your tone is still not kind, even as you  feel your shoulders ache just a little bit less, like you had just massaged over a good spot. He shrugs.

“Company I guess.” It’s your turn to frown.

“I have no interest in being company. Get away from me Logan, or I will make you go away.” You know you should stay close longer so you can also stay away longer, but you are still stubborn, not wanting the fuckery that is soulmates. 

At least if you just stay in the same room, it should help, you think. 

You hope. No need to stay close in the slightest. 

He takes you in, quickly glancing at you from top to toe.

“I -“ You don’t let him speak.

“What did I just say Logan?” He scowls at you, you glare back at him, but let him speak when he opens his mouth this time.

“I don’t like it.” Logan reluctantly admits as the scowl stays on his face. “This being the way we are going about things.” He clarifies.

“Though shit.” He tilts his head at you, scowl turning into more of a squint.

“Are you always this combative?” You feel like a street dog on high alert, barking in warning. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Look-” And when barks don’t work……

“You had your warning.” You say as you grab your knife from your left leg. You stab it into his hand, aiming for the skin between where the claws go through his hand, hitting the jackpot as red seeps around the knife and the tip of it burrows into the table. Seconds later there is warm and sharp metal pushing your chin up. You grin and waggle a finger at him.

“Nah ah, mortal, remember?” You twist the knife around once for good measure, making him grunt in pain, and then pull it out of his hand. You already know you are banned from this bar for life, but you don’t care. His claws retract, this time you realize it actually makes a sound. Huh.

“So you are always this combative.” Logan grits out between his clenched teeth, as his hand heals itself, leaving behind nothing but the blood that spilled out where you stabbed him.

“Fellas, time to go.” A bouncer suddenly stands in front of your table now, a t-shirt with security over his chest in big white letters. He’s huge, towering over both you and Logan, arms ready at his sides, eyes flicking between the two of you. You see Logan seize him up, and for a moment you wonder if he is going to fight the man, but his eyes go to you as you get off your chair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You put your knife away. “Again, fuck off Logan.” You show him the finger as you walk out. He’s just steps behind you, clearly no longer welcome in the bar either, but he keeps his distance as you both go out of the door. 

You have no idea where he's going, and you have no plans now, so you start walking in the direction of home.

After gaining some distance, you look over your shoulder. You don’t want to be followed. Logan is standing just outside of the bar, looking at your retreating back, but he takes a step forward as your eyes connect with his. You show him the finger again as you disappear around a corner.

You rub your forehead as you are out of sight, annoyance cursing through you. You think some of it might be his.

Fuck, you wish you could get drunk right now. Well, you could, but it wouldn’t be good for your healing. And you have no idea how bad or good your control over your bonds are when you’re drunk.

Just another thing for future you to figure out, you guess.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 24 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: "But the courage he had bolstered on his descent to the Black Dread crumbled at the sight before him." Word Count: 6499 CHAPTER WARNINGS: A n g s t 🥲, mention of the term dwarf, Aegon being weird with crab legs.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and it was worth the wait.

Like every ball before this one, Aemond was in a state of agonizing torture for its duration. Though this feeling was tenfold for reasons that were clad in ivory, sitting before his family’s table at the far right, close but out of reach. The agitation that tightened his muscles and carved into his bones was unsettling as he tried to diagnose its origin. When did it start, when did it get worse, and when will it get the best of him? He tried to take a page out of his brother’s book and drown his emotions in wine, which did help his muscles relax, but beyond that, it was not a cure. 

He sat on the far right end of the table, Aegon on his left, Helaena seated between him and Daeron, then their mother. On the Queen’s left was the King, his hand, and then sat Daemon, Jace, and Luke. The ten faced the entirety of the grand hall, within perfect view of everyone and the mind-numbing entertainment that followed. With Aegon cackling as he did, spitting out food and drink next to him, Aemond was very nearly at the end of his rope of patience. His only solace was that Lucerys was completely out of eye sight, because he was just as boisterous on his end of the table.

But her laughter and smile tethered him to the chair. Valeana became more and more of her old self when she drank, he realized. Perhaps a little more brazen when she is completely out of her wits, but still, he could see remnants of the little Valeana he once knew. Easily amused by crude humour and childish jokes, enraptured by stories that have been told a thousand different ways, awed by two-bit magicians who hide their cards in their sleeves so obviously, it pained him to witness. He remembered that one of her favourite tricks he used to do was pull a coin or a ring, a seashell or an interesting pebble from behind her ear. 

She’d always demand him to tell her how he did it and he would deny her the satisfaction, because if she knew the trick he would never get to witness the awe in her face. He forced himself to bow his head when he found himself smiling at the memory. Luckily, no one saw him, least of all his own personal fool that sat right beside him. 

There was a team of dwarves reenacting the battle of the Step Stones comically, with one man dressed as a red dragon, and the other as a giant crab. Aemond hardly paid attention, his eye too focused on Valeana’s profile to even register that Aegon turned to him until he spoke. 

“Aemond,” his elder brother whispered harshly next to him. When Aemond did not respond, Aegon stressed his name again. 

“What?”

“Maris is on the other side of the hall.” 

When Aemond slowly turned to Aegon, he was met with a shit-eating grin that he desperately wanted to punch repeatedly. 

Aegon went on, unperturbed by his brother’s threatening leer, “I just thought I’d remind you, since you seem to have forgotten her already.” He cleared his throat and flushed it down with wine before reaching out for a plate on his left and bringing it between them. “Try the crab legs, brother, they’re delicious.”

Aemond ran his tongue over his teeth, remaining silent lest he say something that his brother could use against him. Aegon plopped some of the legs onto his plate, and looked up at his younger brother. 

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled up two legs that were still connected, “My favourite part is cracking them open before I slurp up their insides.” 

Aemond’s hand curled around his dinner knife, knuckles white with the insatiable desire to plunge it into Aegon’s eye. Instead, he spoke lowly, only for his brother to hear, “Iksā iā qrīdropagon naejot īlva lentor.” (You are a disgrace to our family). 

Aegon sucked up a piece of crab meat through the crack he made in the thigh, he chewed twice before swallowing, “You know I do not know what that means.” 

Aemond slowly turned away from him, returning his eye back to Valeana and allowed his hand to relax from its grip on the knife. The dwarves’ play had ended and the fool’s bard, Quintyn Quicktongue, took over.

A short time later, the entertainers left the floor empty when the musicians began to play. It was not a formal dance, with no required steps and prior lessons to fulfill. Just mindless instrumentals for couples to dance at their leisure now that people were too into their cups to manage a more structured dance. Aegon slipped away sometime before that, muttering about needing to take a piss. He hobbled through the small exit behind them, probably to find a planter or a window to relieve himself in. 

Now without his presence, Aemond was able to relax in his chair. He fiddled with the goblet in his hand, trying to keep his mind occupied with a checklist of duties, lest he allow the alcohol he had been consuming all evening take over his senses and make him impulsive. It was difficult, because the more feral part of his brain begged him for freedom, urging him that it would liberate his soul if he just acted upon instinct. And his instinct was telling him to spur Maris Baratheon and sweep Valeana Celtigar off her feet and kidnap her like some Ironborn savage does with a salt wife. 

Before he could pull himself from his chair, his mother was at his side, leaning into his ear, commanding his attention with her sharp tone – the one he had always associated with motherhood. 

“Ask Valeana to dance before your brother has a chance to make a fool of himself,” upon announcing her request, his eye flickered over to the girl in question. It was too late to even decide to listen to his mother, because Aegon had already got to the table, returning from wherever he went to slither in front of Valeana. 

Aemond shared a look with his mother; he did not have to say a word, neither did she. Her lips pulled into a frow, and she settled back into her chair, glancing over to the Lord Hand.

The sight of Valeana smiling up at his brother and at how comfortable she appeared in his presence made his stomach churn. Aemond downed what remained in his goblet and swiftly stood up, excusing himself by planting a kiss on the side of Helaena’s head. 

“Watch for salt-hungry eyes, Aemond. She will drown in them,” Hel’s warning only made him hesitate for a brief second. He was not in the headspace to decode his sister’s madness, so he just gave her a nod and left. 

His departure had gained the eye of Maris, which he would rather avoid presently. Her neck lengthened as she tried to catch his attention from her table, but Aemond pretended he had not noticed, and instead slipped into the side entrance to the hall, into the corridor that was occupied by various guests and servants serving a variety of hand-held foods. 

“Leaving already?” Ser Criston caught his attention. The kingsguard lingered against a wall, observing the patrons of the Ball diligently. 

“I needed air,” Aemond confessed, leaning his shoulder against the wall next to him. “There are too many people in there.”

Cole nodded, “Every family in the Seven Kingdoms; even some Dornish families are here.” 

A servant passed by with a platter of oysters on a bed of salt. The white cloak shook his head when offered, but Aemond needed to preoccupy his fidgety hands, so he plucked one off and then the servant left them to their conversation. The oysters were already pried open at the mouth, so a dirk wasn’t needed to shuck it open.

“Bit ironic serving those on Maiden’s Day,” Cole observed, watching as his prince slowly opened the oyster up, revealing the soft meat inside. “Oysters are aphrodisiacs, known to increase the libido of a grown man or woman, yet the pearls inside are symbols of virtue and virginity.” 

Aemond did not say anything, instead took the half with the tongue and brought it to his lips, slurping up the salty meat in one go. There was something hard and pebbled that landed in his tongue when he swirled the morsel in his mouth. Taking the empty shell, he spit out a slightly lumpy black pearl. 

“Hm,” he eyed it curiously. 

Cole chuckled softly, “You found the lucky oyster, my Prince. Mayhaps you should give it to Lady Maris as a gift.” 

At the mention of her name, Aemond rolled his tongue in his mouth and pursed his lips as if her name was a sour fruit he just tasted. Plucking the pearl from its natural plate, he rolled it around in his fingers, then tossed the shells onto a tray of another servant passing by.

“I am not certain of Lady Maris,” he confessed, his tongue loosened now in the presence of a man that he trusted. For a moment, his eye flickered towards the entrance when one of the Tyrell girls walked through with a tall man with dark hair and a wide, wolfish smile. His cloak told Aemond he was a Greyjoy, and his sharp blue eyes when they met Aemond’s cold lilac one told him he was Dalton. 

“Prince Aemond,” the ironborn nodded, and the Tyrell curtsied when they passed by. 

Aemond’s only response was a simmered glare and a flare of his nostrils. 

Cole, oblivious to the interaction aside from a glance of acknowledgement, went on to ask why that was. 

“It is a smart match, Aemond, and a compatible one. What is it that pulls you away from her?”

His fingers played around with the pearl in his palm, “She has started to bore me.” 

There was clear exasperation in Cole’s features, distinctively paternal in its nature. “You are starting to sound like your brother.”

He might as well have called him a bastard and a coward, because being compared to Aegon was just as great of an insult. The pearl rolled along between his fingers, the lump pushing painfully against his skin as he clutched it. 

“I do not wish to chain myself to a woman that I can lose regard for so easily,” he argued.

“Give it time, Aemond. Most marriages are not built on love and attraction initially. With Maris, you already have much in common, so much so that your conversations span hours I’ve noticed. You can do worse.” 

But he could do better, much better. He wanted what was his all along, what was now being stolen by either his brother or his nephew. What could have been his, had it not been for his ego; had it not been for his over thinking mind at odds with his weak heart; had it not been for him allowing those around him to influence his motivations. 

His mind drifted back to that day when he returned from a flight with Vhagar, where Valeana approached him at the main gate. She wished for peace and he had slighted her. His pride was wounded that day and he was spurred with the paranoia that she was a monster out to destroy him. Aemond rejected her, which he justified was the right thing to do, because she had hurt him when she ran into Aegon’s arms and bed, to do whatever it is they did in his bedchambers that night. It did not even cross his mind he might have driven her into his arms after what he had done to her in the library, because the sounds he heard that night ripped through his mind and down to his ribs, seizing him in anger and selfish pain.

Emboldened by a new wave of resentment at the mental reminder of his belief that Valeana was his brother’s newest lover, Aemond pulled himself off the wall and pocketed the pearl. He did not know the intricacies– nor understood them entirely –of Aegon’s arrangement he had with her. Whether it was built on the foundations of Valeana’s vengeance or Aegon’s innate desire to orchestrate chaos, it was clear that lust became a consequence of it. Mayhaps it began with Aegon, knowing his brother’s insatiable appetite for bodily pleasures, and with Valeana’s new nature of seeking out attention where she could, she was all too eager to allow Aegon to have his way. But then that begged the question: did Valeana take lovers before she came back? Was this a new trait that developed over the last decade?

Floris hadn’t mentioned in her rantings about Valeana luring men into her bed, she had only talked about Val’s need to seek out pity by mimicking a trapped spirit, pacing the corridors of her castle. Even as children, boys paid her little mind, unlike her younger sister Shyla, who was regarded as the prettiest of the three. Even Floris had suitors every once in a while, but her nature tended to send them in the opposite direction.

The cogs in Aemond’s mind turned and turned, and all Criston could do was watch him with a furrowed brow, and a concerned eye. 

“My Prince, is everything alright?”

Then it struck him like a whip; harsher than the lashes he suffered as punishment for his crime against her. 

Valeana never had lovers. She could not have, if the stories of her being reclusive were true. He’s never seen her around men at all, other than her own brothers and…

He shut his eye, feeling a headache spike at this temple. 

Aegon was the first man to show her affection, and like a neglected puppy that didn’t know any better, she leaned into his touch willingly. And Aemond foolishly pushed her into his arms.

“I am fine,” he lied. “I just need some air.”

With that he left the knight to stand there in befuddlement. Aemond sped walked through hall after hall until he found a corner that was blessedly free of guests and of light. The sconce on the wall had burnt out, leaving the corner in blissful shadow, save for the moon that filtered through the small arched window. He leaned against the wall, snugged in the corner and immediately started to press his fingers into his temples. Aemond’s heart was pounding in his chest, steadily reminding him with every beat that his mind could not protect it any longer, because he was too much of a bloody fool. 

He had managed to ease the tension in his skull after a while, and his heart rate lowered with the comfort of the darkness that hugged and shielded his figure. Though he could do nothing to cure the dull ache in his chest, because all he could see were her sad eyes that she only had for him. And her smile that now belonged to Aegon. 

The sound of women’s shoes tapping against the flagstone in his direction made him freeze. He had no desire to see anyone, new or otherwise, but perhaps if he stayed as still as possible they would not notice him.

They didn’t, but he did. Her sudden appearance was electrifying in its fortuitous timing. 

Valeana sped by him, head bowed as she braced a hand on her left thigh through her skirts. She appeared to be limping, though just barely, it was enough to spur Aemond into following her, veiling his yearning for her with a concern over her wellbeing. But as she rounded the corridor and found the entrance to the cellars below, he did not call out to her. Instead he hesitated until he heard her safely reach the bottom to Balerion’s resting place. 

Aemond found himself in a state of uncertainty and fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of her ire. Fear of failing. Fear of heartbreak. Fear of her. He shut his eye and imagined Vhagar, a near two-century old beast; formidable, ancient, terrifying, battle-hardened, living longer than the beast below ever had. And he, Aemond Targaryen, claimed her, the oldest and largest dragon in the world, who has known more war and bloodshed than any dragon before her, post Doom of Valyria.

He could claim Valeana Celtigar too. 

Hurdling down the spiral stairs, Aemond curled his fingers into a fist, bounding his will in determination and unwavering resolve. Swallowing his fear and reservation, much like he had done as a child approaching Vhagar, he forced himself to breach the line of no return. 

But the courage he had bolstered on his descent to the Black Dread crumbled at the sight before him. 

There Valeana sat upon the bench, her ivory and rose gown pulled up to the crest of her hip and thigh, where a leather corset was being tugged loose. Her pale knee peaked out through a gap between the harnesses that secured her thigh to the dark wooden appendage that was her leg. She had freed her thigh from the laced harness and then reached down to tug the wooden leg off with a groan of relief. 

Aemond’s mouth popped open at the sight of her leg, bound in linen from the top of her calf and around the stump where muscle and bone cut off. Half her calf gone, her ankle, gone, her foot, gone. For the first time in years, he felt his vacant eye ache from socket to scar. The scarred tissue that was once his eyelids fluttered around the sapphire that now filled the empty space, feeling the ghost of the dagger that traumatized it for life. 

His entire world came crashing down on him in the instant; everything that he thought he knew, and everything he said and did in the moon’s time that Valeana had returned. He had the knowledge that her leg was healed and she was able to walk, and while half was true, the evidence of his most heinous crime glared at him like his sapphire eye every morning in the looking glass. 

Aemond’s memory begun to torture him as it spun and wove tapastries of his misdeeds. The library, where he had pushed her, the shoe he had found when he tried to find her. Dragging her drunkard self in haste through the castle by her wrists. How he made her run after his bloody horse, whilst she pleaded for reconciliation— gods, he felt sick. 

The urge to flee from her was potent, but the leer of the Black Dread would not have his cowardice that day. Frozen in time, Aegon the Conqueror's dragon seemed to snarl at him for even considering it. 

The whimper she let out from her lips as she massaged her thigh was what did him in. It just plunged him into the waters of his remorse and self-hatred. The shocking need to help her as he once did as children took control of his limbs and his lungs; it was instinct, despite his overwhelming dread and shame. 

Her name on his lips and his step forward brought his presence known to her. Her spine straightened from the intrusion, and when her head whipped around to see him standing there, he knew she wasn’t prepared for anyone to find her in that state, least of all him. 

Lightning surely struck down her spine. The level of shock and dread that filled her to see him standing there, witnessing her in this state was a whole nother level of humiliating. Every hair on her body raised on end as her mind frantically went into survival mode. Valeana forced her trembling arms and hands to move and grab her prosthetic to put it back on, but she fumbled, and the wooden appendage clattered on the floor, causing her to gasp a soft: ‘no!’ 

Aemond was there in an instant, on his knee at her side and grasping her prosthetic with tender hands. Had she not been in such a fretful mind, she would have noticed how his fingers trembled just as much as hers. 

“Here, let me–” 

“No–” She wretched her leg from his hands with a sniffle. Without looking at him, she quickly slotted her stump into place and adjusted her knee around the leather harnesses. Lacing the corset to secure it around her thigh was another challenge though, because with her shaking digits she was having a difficult time weaving the strings through the holes. 

His balmy hand stopped hers and she couldn’t help but flinch and freeze under the contact. By now she was looking down at her leg through a blurred veil of salty tears, barely witnessing his fingers delicately lace the corset, one hole at a time. Valeana forced herself to sit still, concentrating on the hum of music above them and the short laboured breaths she was allowing herself. When Aemond got to the end of the corset, he tugged at the strings, causing her to flinch. 

“Is that too tight?” His question was as soft as his touch, and it made her chest ache. 

“No… No, it’s perfect.” 

At her approval, he began to tie the laces, twice to secure its place. Once he was done, his fingers did not move from her thigh. They remained where they were, above the hemline where leather met flesh. His thumb moved along the stitching and over her soft skin. His touch felt like licks of fire and every time it happened, her teeth sunk further into her lip to stop herself from making a noise. Eventually Aemond’s hands journeyed south, stopping at the peak of her white knee through the dark material, and that is where his head dipped until his nose hovered over the joint, almost as if he was going to kiss it. 

“Does it hurt?” The question was so silent that she thought she had imagined it. 

Swallowing, she shook her head and answered tentatively, “I’m used to it.” 

The admittance sent a shuddered breath through him, making his shoulders buckle at the weight of his transgressions. She could feel his hands gently tighten around the curve of her knee, even through the leather harnesses that framed it. Then his forehead fell onto her thigh, which was a strong enough gesture for her to shut her eyes and free the tears that clung to her lashes.

After a while she could hear and feel him speak; the vibrations of his timbered voice rattled her joints and burned her skin. 

“Valeana, I had no idea–” 

Her sadness and longing battled her anger and her resentment. She wanted this, didn’t she? She wanted him on his knees, to kiss the wound he inflicted on her, and beg her for her forgiveness. She wanted him to want her, to feel his fingers on her exposed skin. But why now? Why did he cave now, after all this time? Spurring her at every interaction, then coming close and then pulling away with such animosity she was convinced that she was the one who pulled out his eye.

Was it because she was now coveted by two other men? Aegon did say that Aemond was possessive when his things were being used by others. This is what the plan was afterall, but now it was coming into fruition it just tasted bittersweet. If she was not with Aegon, if Jace was not tasked with the mission to woo her into a betrothal, would Aemond be there with her, or would he be dancing with Maris until the hour of the wolf? 

Ultimately her anger won, despite her sadness dampening its rigid edges. Even in the softness of her tone, the bite was still there when she spoke. 

“It does not matter, Aemond,” she pushed away his shoulders, shoving him away from her leg so she could return her skirts and preserve her dignity. “Leg, or no leg, the consequence of your actions has cost us a friendship we’ve developed since infancy, if there ever was one.”

She might as well have taken his own sword and shoved it through his chest. Aemond’s head was still bowed, incapable of looking at her and facing the truth of her words. He was a man defeated, something that Valeana had tried to manifest for half her life in the privacy of her own mind. Though she could not help feeling that she was just as defeated as well, because her loss had never been rectified.

“I will make it up to you,” again, he spoke so softly it was painful to hear it. 

“I am done trying to forgive you–”

“I know,” his voice rose a desperate octave, but then returned to its original state. “I know I do not deserve it. But, I will rectify all that I’ve done.” 

Valeana shut her eyes tightly. She was so tired of getting hurt by this man, but somehow she was incapable of refusing to move from his storm of arrows that penetrated her body over and over again. And now that she was the one with the bow, she found it was difficult to let go of the string. 

“Do not bother, Aemond,” she forced herself to say. Her voice strained at the resistance of her heart. “Mayhaps it is better if we part ways equally. You with Maris, and I with–” 

“No! Do not say it,” the sudden rise of volume jostled her. Now she had no choice but to look at him. His lilac eye glistened with unshed tears, a sight of which she did not think was possible on Aemond Targaryen. His nose was pink, and his lips were plush and swollen as they wobbled. There was a faint pull she felt under her skin, giving her the sudden need to capture those lips with her own. But she refrained. 

“I do not want her,” Aemond continued, pushing those words through his teeth with a low growl. “I want… I want you. I-I need you.” His other knee met the floor, the weight of his grief causing him to sink into her lap. Aemond’s forehead and nose buried itself in the valley between her skirt-covered legs and his hands desperately grasped onto her phantom limb, tugging it to chest.

“I miss you.” 

Valeana’s will absolutely crumbled. She let out a world-shattering sob; the air that left her lungs was the breath she had been holding in for ten years. Her body folded over him, with her own desperate hands flinging onto his shoulders and fingers tangling in his hair. 

“I miss you too.”

Aemond sharply inhaled as if his bodily instinct was to try to repress any sound that would betray how vulnerable he was. His shoulders tensed under her before he slowly lifted his head from her lap. They were so close that their noses bumped into each other. Through the blur of tears she concentrated on his good eye, while her right hand shifted down to his cheek, where her thumb grazed the ridge of his scar.He shut his eye when he felt her digit dip underneath his patch and slowly pushed it over his forehead, leaving him completely bare before her. 

Valeana swallowed as she gazed upon the endless sea of his sapphire eye, framed by the gnarled pinked flesh that used to be his eyelids. It twitched underneath the light touch of her fingertips, and she wondered if it still pained him like her leg. She wondered if there were times he thought he could feel his eye, or his lashes graze his cheeks when he blinked. She wondered if it was the most painful thing in the world when it happened. Her forehead slowly landed on his brow, her lips hovering over his gem eye, nose buried in the corner of it. 

They were just two broken individuals, trying to fill their empty spaces with each other. 

“I thought you hated me,” his whisper reached her ear, tickling the hair strewn against her face. 

“I thought I did too,” she replied, voice soft and coarse. “I wanted to. But even when you made it so easy for me to–And I do mean easy.” 

The corner of Aemond’s lip twitched ruefully, and his grip on her leg tightened closer to his chest. 

“I couldn’t,” she finished, brushing her fingers through his hair. He leaned into her touch, letting their noses bump and align with each other. She swallowed thickly when she was staring back at his beautiful lilac eye, framed by his dark blonde eyelashes so long she could feel them ghost her own. “Why did you push me?”

A question that he dreaded to answer, but she deserved one nonetheless. She felt his hand move from her leg to cup the side of her face, fingers curling around the shell of her ear and thumb roaming over the mound of her cheek, collecting the tears under his calloused pad. 

“I was terrified of you. Of what you were doing to me,” he shifted between her legs, adjusting himself so he was now holding both sides of her face. Aemond pulled away from her so he could look at her properly, earnestly, “I have been childish and cruel to you, my friend. I am so sorry, Valeana… For everything I’ve taken from you. For everything I’ve done since then. And I know… I know I pushed your heart into… his hands.” 

Valeana closed her eyes and sniffed deeply at the mention of Aegon. A new feeling that she was not accustomed to, that she was not willing to let go just yet. It tugged at her heart in the knowledge of her own conflicted mind. Had it been weeks ago, even when her resentment was fresh and untethered, she would have taken Aemond right then and there. Defiled her white dress and committed her body, heart and soul to him in sickness and in health. But even in his groveling, his heartfelt apology that her soul desperately craved, the apprehension gripped her throat. She was afraid to get hurt again, afraid that she will find another mistake in Aemond, afraid that she may never forgive him. But now she found something uncomplicated. 

Aegon felt safe, Aegon felt secure, but Aegon also felt… unknown. 

“But I will spend the rest of my life in dedication in the pursuit of being worthy of your forgiveness. Worthy of your touch. Worthy of your lips. Worthy of the air you breathe. I need you to know that I am yours, should you still want me. If you ever did.” 

“Aemond I–” she desperately wanted to say it. There was a visceral need to tell him she always did, but that doubt clawed at her throat, preventing her heart from speaking on her behalf. “My life has become so complicated. My father wants me to try to court Jacaerys at his behest, and then there’s—”

“Shh,” he gently hushed her with urgency, desperately wanting to keep his name from her lips. “You need not decide now. Take your time. I’ll wait for you.” Aemond gently nudged her face down so he could place a kiss upon her forehead, and that’s where his lips hovered. “But I only ask for one thing.”

Valeana blinked rapidly, trying to clear the remnants of her tears, “What is it?”

“Dance with me,” he pulled away to look upon her again. “It has been my greatest desire all eve.”

Her brow slightly furrowed as she continued to blink, an expression so adorable he could not help but smile at it. 

“I do not think I am in the right state of mind to go back upstairs, Aemond.”

The prince gently shook his head, “Not up there. Right here, where our only witness is Balerion’s ghost.” 

At the mention of the dragon, her eyes shift over to the massive skull that had been staring upon them the entire time. Valeana almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it; imagining the largest dragon to ever exist being forced to watch such a pathetic display of human emotion. She did not know anything about the dragon’s temperament, but she doubted Aegon the First’s dragon was as sentimental as Dreamfyre or even Syrax. 

Valeana returned her eyes onto Aemond, a small smile breaking her pout as she gave a single nod, “I think I can handle that.” 

They ascended with Aemond’s firm but gentle grip on her arms. He handled her as if she was just learning how to walk again, as if her legs would collapse underneath her if he let go. Her leg had a dull ache, but it was barely there compared to the state it was minutes ago. When they stood at full height, they took a moment to assess each other as if for the first time in years. 

Valeana reached out and fixed his eye patch, securing it over his eye, and cleaned up the stray hairs and righted his skewed circlet. Aemond brushed his fingers over her ear, tucking back wayward stands before moving to her neck where he adjusted her simple white gold and ruby necklace. 

Once they were satisfied, Aemond's hand found the small of her back and the other took her’s before pulling her body into him. Valeana’s other hand found Aemond’s shoulder with ease and now with her chest pressed against his, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. There was still the hum of music above, subtle enough that they were able to hear their own breathing, but loud enough that they could find a rhythm to their movements.

No words were spoken, just peridot and amethyst staring into each other. There was no extravagance to their waltz; their steps were slow and shallow, but they moved around in a circle before Balerion in grace and poise. 

“You’ve gotten better,” Valeana broke the silence, the comment lifting the heaviness of the mood that they had sowed earlier. 

“Hm,” Aemond allowed himself to smirk, “I had a good teacher.” 

Her lips twitched as her smile broadened, filling his chest with warmth and hope. “You were a terrible student.” 

“Mayhaps it was because I was distracted.”

“Distracted by what? We were alone.”

He hummed in amusement, his head bowed slightly so his nose grazed over the crest of her head. She spotted his tongue flick out and run over his coiled lip, causing a ripple of heat go through her body. 

“You developed breasts then, and they were so soundly pressed against me–”

“Oh my gods, Aemond,” she buried her face into his shoulder when her face burned. “You were a little pervert all along.” 

He chuckled whilst nuzzling into her hair. A rare sound, one that she had not heard for half her life. It was sweeter than strawberries and richer than whipped cream. 

“You left bruises, you know,” Val emboldened herself to say, then pulled her face from his shoulder to meet his furrowed brow. “From the other night… You littered me with bruises.” 

At the realization of what she meant, his head tilted with a little sparkle in his eye. His lips curved, reminding her of a mischievous little fox. Suddenly Aemond’s hand slid from her back to her front, his long nimble fingers finding the neckline of her bodice. 

“May I see?”

“Aemond!” She swatted his hand away, ignoring the spike of excitement that it brought her. His response was more chuckles, a gift to her ears. Then his hand moved to the side of her face where he pulled her head closer to him so he could plant a kiss upon her forehead, thus causing a frenzy of butterflies in her belly.

This was so very strange if she thought too much about it. Who was this man, and what did he do with Aemond One-Eye? He was almost too familiar to the Aemond she once knew. 

“He’s the same boy you loved, Valeana. Just older, more scarred, and hidden away.”

Valeana smiled to herself. She supposed she found him then. Lifting her head back up, she moved her hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek. The motion made him hum in contentment, leaning into the warmth of her palm before turning his face so he could place a kiss upon it. 

Aemond’s eye flickered then, moving to the side of her face. He blinked a few times before pausing their dancing so he could raise his hand towards her cheek. 

“One moment,” his lips pursed, “You have something just there–” 

He tentatively reached towards her ear, and then with a flick of his wrist he pulled his hand in front of her, cradling a chromatic black pearl with a green sheen and a little lump at the top between his fingers. 

Valeana’s eyes bugged out of her head at the sight of it, her hands flying to her ear as if she would find more hidden behind the cartilage. Aemond’s smile broadened at her reaction, which had never changed after all these years. 

“How did you– Did you have that this entire time?” 

“It was behind your ear–”

“Oh stop,” she playfully chastised, with a limp smack of her hand. 

He quickly took it and gently placed the pearl in the center of her palm, “For you.”

Valeana eyed the precious marble in her palm. She knew its worth, since black pearls were rare, particularly one with this colouring. Though she doubted he cared much for its worth, what made it truly special was how it was given to her, like a promise that they will return to the children they once were.

Aemond’s hands curled around her own, wrapping up the pearl in their fingers. She looked up at him, marveling at his face now that it was so close. He was always so handsome, but now he was ethereal. Angular features cut from marble, crafted by the Valyrian gods. His lips were always her favourite part of his features, next to his unworldly lilac eyes that felt far too soft for a man like him. 

They inched closer, bridging whatever gap that remained between their bodies. But before their noses could even bump into each other, an intrusive voice cut through their peace like a Valyrian steel sword slicing through someone’s skull.

“Oh, well, isn’t this a touching sight.” 

Aemond and Valeana spun around towards the threshold of the stairwell, both instinctively unlatching from each other at being caught in a compromising position.

Leaning against the archway, his hands clasped in front of him, the older prince peered at them with a mocking sense of beguilement. 

“Did I interrupt something innocent, or was dear ol’ Balerion going to bear witness to a deflowering, on Maiden’s Day no less?” Daemon’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, the corner of his mouth tugging into a roguish smirk. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE SNEAK PEAK:

“Who is he?” Valeana asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He seemed familiar, but from this height, she could barely make out his face through all the dirt and sweat. She took a sip of her drink in contemplation. “Dalton Greyjoy.” And then she spat out her drink. 

Notes: Hokay *wipes sweat* we've gone over the enemies arc. Now path to redemption...right? RIGHT? I hope you guys liked this chapter, it was difficult to write, because I wasn't sure if it was satisfying enough. But don't worry, for those that want him to suffer a lil more -- he will. We're almost halfway through the story. Or a little less. I honestly don't know how many chapters this will become. So I'm going to slow down updates to once a week, because now I'm writing more than two stories at the same time. For those who missed it, I'm in the middle of making a lengthy fem!Aegon one shot for funsies...cept it's not very fun, it's actually quite sad :') Hopefully I'll get that finished by wednesday or before.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly Part 5

Enemies To Lovers

Robb Stark x Frey! Reader (F)

Summary: Reader and Robb do not enjoy each-others company, but it is mendable, and it is slowly mending, they are both, slowly understanding.

(Warnings none: this is a softer chapter)

AN: idk, i guess it’s a slow build if your into that stuff, any suggestions would help, i have so stuff planned, just need to figure out a timeline for those events.

——————————————————————————

The tension between you and Robb had started to wear you down, fraying at your patience and heart alike. After the conversation in your tent, the weight of the strained silence you shared seemed heavier, more burdensome than ever. That night, after a long stretch of quiet between you, you finally took a deep breath and looked at him with a small, hesitant softness you hadn’t allowed yourself to show before.

“Robb,” you began, voice quiet but steady, “I think we should start over. This hasn’t been easy on either of us, and I… I’d rather not live this way.” You met his gaze, surprised to see something softer flicker there. “Maybe we could at least try to be friends. Or, if that’s not possible… try to be kind to each other.”

For a moment, he seemed taken aback, his blue eyes fixed on you with something close to surprise. Then he nodded slowly, his expression softening, a hint of his guarded mask slipping away. “Aye… maybe we could,” he replied, his voice rough but genuine. “I’d like that.”

A small smile found its way onto your face, and after that, you both fell back into a quieter, gentler silence. It was a start and a fragile one at that but at least it was something.

In the days that followed, you threw yourself into archery, seeking comfort in the familiar, repetitive rhythm of drawing and releasing arrows. The bow was an old friend, a skill your brothers had passed on to you long ago, one that Walder Frey had sneered at but never quite forbidden. You could feel your mind clear with each shot, your muscles remembering the draw and release as if no time had passed. It was a welcome reprieve from the camp, from the eyes that watched you as Robb Stark’s wife, and from the tangled emotions that had come to fill your life since the wedding.

One chilly afternoon, while practicing on the edge of the training grounds, you spotted Robb across the field, walking alongside Talisa. She laughed softly at something he said, and he smiled down at her with a warmth you hadn’t seen him show anyone else. A pang of something sharp settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside, focusing back on your bow.

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you saw something flash. Another soldier practicing his aim had let loose a stray arrow that arched in the direction of Robb and Talisa, unintentional but deadly all the same. Without thinking, you nocked an arrow, took aim, and released. Your arrow shot through the air, meeting the stray arrow with a sharp clink, both tumbling to the ground in a harmless tumble of wood and feathers.

Heart racing, you hurried over to the spot where the arrows had fallen, aware that both Robb and Talisa had turned, eyes wide with surprise. You knelt and picked up the arrows, offering Robb a brief, almost apologetic nod before mumbling, “Apologies. Loose arrows… bad aim, I suppose.” Then, before you could let the tension stretch into awkwardness, you quickly turned and headed off, bow still in hand, not trusting yourself to look back.

Yet as you walked away, you couldn’t ignore the feeling of his eyes following you, a quiet, lingering gaze that burned into your back. When you finally dared a glance over your shoulder, you saw Robb still watching you, an expression of disbelief and something else, something almost admiring etched across his face.

——————————————————————————-

The days turned into weeks, and slowly, something more than tolerance and polite words began to grow between you and Robb. He started seeking you out for conversations, and not just to exchange brief courtesies or to hear about the baby’s progress. Instead, he asked you questions about the running of the camp, listened to your opinions on morale, and even sought your advice.

As the weeks passed, your belly began to swell, the weight of the child becoming more noticeable with each passing day. The gentle curve of your abdomen grew unmistakable, and Robb, perhaps more mindful than he let on, seemed to remember it constantly. His hand would sometimes rest there when you spoke, fingers splayed protectively over the small bump, as if silently affirming both his duty and connection to you and the life you were carrying.

You still went to practice archery when you could, determined to keep some measure of independence and control. But as your fingers began to plump and your balance shifted, drawing the bowstring became more challenging. What once felt like an easy, natural motion now required careful focus, and even then, your aim was beginning to waver.

One brisk afternoon, as you struggled to keep your arrow steady, you heard a familiar voice call out from behind.

“Having trouble, my lady?” Robb’s tone was teasing but light, and as you turned, you saw a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You straightened, brushing a lock of hair from your face, and gave a small huff. “Only a little,” you admitted, casting an irritated glance at your slightly swollen fingers. “I was always good at this back home.”

He walked over, looking down at you with a slight smirk. “Looks like you’re blaming those stout fingers,” he said with a raised eyebrow. His voice was gentle, but there was a playfulness to his tone you hadn’t heard before, as though he found the situation as amusing as it was endearing.

“Stout?” you repeated, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, both embarrassed and indignant. “They’re just… adapting.” You wriggled your fingers in demonstration, but that only seemed to make his smile widen.

“Oh, of course,” he murmured, his smile turning softer as he took in the sight of you. Without warning, he stepped closer, and before you could protest, he moved behind you, positioning himself so his chest was against your back, his arms moving around you to cover your own.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady, guiding your hands with his as they settled around the bow. “Try it like this.”

The warmth of him at your back was overwhelming, and you tried to focus on the task at hand, though his presence made it hard to concentrate. His hands were firm, steadying yours as he adjusted your grip on the bowstring. He was close enough that you could feel his breath against your temple, his fingers covering your own as you struggled to draw the string back.

“Relax,” he murmured softly, his hands guiding you with a patient precision. “Focus on the target. Breathe in… then release.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but the embarrassment of your earlier miss, combined with the sudden closeness, made you fumble again. The string slipped from your fingers, the arrow dropping limply a few feet in front of you.

Robb chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that you could feel in his chest pressed against your back. “That’s a start,” he said, humor lacing his voice. “Though I don’t think the enemy will be trembling just yet.”

You rolled your eyes, a flush rising to your cheeks as you mumbled, “It’s these ridiculous fingers.” You glanced down at your hands, both apologetic and self-conscious.

He looked down at your hands as well, his own fingers sliding over yours as if in silent examination. “I’d hardly call them ridiculous,” he said, his voice softening. “Though, yes… perhaps a bit stout.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smirk.

You felt the blush deepen, mortified but oddly charmed by the teasing. “You’re not helping,” you said, trying to hide your smile as you nudged him gently with your elbow.

He laughed again, his breath warm against the top of your head. “I’m only saying it because it’s true,” he replied, a grin playing at his lips. “Besides, I think they’re rather… well-suited. chubby or not.”

Before you could respond, he guided your arms back into position, his hands steady over yours as he adjusted your grip with surprising gentleness. You felt his chest press closer against your back, his warmth almost distracting you from the task at hand.

“Now,” he murmured, “just follow through this time. Draw, aim, release.”

With his hands covering yours and his voice a low murmur in your ear, you tried again, feeling steadier this time, even as your heart hammered in your chest. With his guidance, the arrow shot straight, striking close to the center of the target.

“There,” he said, his voice pleased. “See? All it takes is focus.” His hands lingered over yours for a moment, his fingers warm and solid, before he finally stepped back.

You turned to face him, feeling a bit breathless. “Thank you,” you said, unsure what else to add. But Robb only looked at you, his expression unreadable as he gave a small nod.

“Anytime,” he replied, though there was something softer in his gaze, something almost affectionate.

That evening was quiet, the camp subdued under a thick blanket of mist. Inside Robb’s tent, Catelyn watched her son with a keen gaze, her brow furrowed as she spoke, her voice low but unyielding.

“I’ve noticed you and your wife seem… better acquainted,” she remarked, her tone pointed yet gentle. “It’s good to see you speaking to her more often, Robb. She’s a bright girl, you know. Observant, strong in ways that I don’t think you’ve yet appreciated.” She paused, her expression softening slightly. “Perhaps it’s time to put the past aside and focus on this match, it could work, if you let it.”

Robb looked away, his jaw tight, as though wrestling with his own thoughts. “She’s… she’s alright,” he conceded, shrugging slightly. “I admit, she’s been more than I expected. She’s no coward, and there’s a wisdom to her that…” He trailed off, considering, but his tone hardened. “But I can’t let go of Talisa, Mother. I can’t… not her.” His voice softened, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

A tense silence hung in the air as Catelyn’s gaze sharpened, disappointment flashing in her eyes. Her voice grew colder, each word heavy with quiet judgment. “Robb, you’ve taken vows before gods and men. Vows that bind you to your wife. You have a child growing within her, your child, an heir to Winterfell.” She paused, folding her hands, as though to contain the strength of her disappointment. “If you’re wise, you’ll honor those vows and give your loyalty where it’s owed, not to some passing fancy. Do you want to dishonor her further?”

Robb’s head snapped up, his gaze troubled, but he held his ground. “Talisa isn’t a passing fancy,” he murmured defensively. “You don’t know her, Mother. She… she was with me when I had no one else. I can’t simply cast her aside.”

Catelyn took a step closer, her face tight with restrained anger. “And now, you have a wife. A girl who has sacrificed and suffered to be here, who is carrying your child and has earned the respect of this camp.” Her voice softened with a hint of pleading.

“Y/N is a young woman, forced into this, just like you. And she is proving herself worthy of your loyalty.”

He averted his gaze, the weight of his mother’s words sinking in, but he said nothing. Catelyn’s disappointment hung heavy between them, filling the silence with unspoken truths.

She shook her head slowly, a shadow of sadness crossing her face. “You are my son, Robb. But it pains me to say that you are letting me down.” She waited a beat, letting her words settle, then turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Robb alone with the growing ache of his thoughts, his heart torn between his past and his present.

——————————————————————————

tags!!

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[flores-desyatov]

🩷🤍💚

[garrettwrites]

I'm am so fucking tired of people not understanding tropes. No, it's not an enemies to lovers if the characters just kinda dislike each other. No, it's not enemies to lovers if the characters merely view each other as annoying. No, it's not enemies to lovers just because A is an asshole to B. Stop tagging your crappy book as enemies to lovers when it isn't I am so tired of getting excited for shit I think I'll enjoy only to be slapped with "lol they're in love 40 pages into this enemies business" shut up shut up shut up

[spideysatan]

life is great when you're not a HUGE bitch that is mad with life and love and whimsy and you can simply enjoy different love stories without comparing them

[raccoonfallsharder]

Chapter 15/25+ Window Across the Galaxy (new 10/5 ♡)

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

She can feel that her eyes are huge, and locked on his. “Mornin’,” he grumbles muzzily, and then eyes her more closely. “What?” “Nothing,” she says quickly. “I - good morning.” He’s looking at her suspiciously. “Why’s your face all red?” Christ.  Because Jolie is who she is, she doesn’t answer. She just holds his gaze for a long, half-terrified moment like she’s a fucking deer in headlights - then closes her eyes, shaking her head like the motion can somehow dislodge the blush from her cheeks or the heat from her abdomen.

Chapter XV. Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

clonky chapter with a mix of angst and fluff and the slow burn heating up a bit.

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut. let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic/headcanon taglist ♡

General Summary~

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best raccoon

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship. Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron. Chapter III. A Kindness.in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. Chapter IV. Got There First.in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food. Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave. Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course. Chapter VII. I'm Here.in which we visit Knowhere. Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.” Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking. Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice.in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way. Chapter XI. Let It Be.in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost. Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes. Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait.in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm. Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared. Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly. Coming Soon: Chapter XVII. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slooowww burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. rating will go up and tags will be added to as needed.

@evolvingchaoswitch♡@wren-phoenix♡@pretty-chips♡ @suicidalshitstick

[literallymikewheeler]

i will never EVER get the hype about enemies to lovers.. like im so sorry but i dont want my whole relationship w someone to be us screaming insults at each other and just completely degrading one another and then going and making out. like??? i feel like i would enjoy the trope a lot more if it was some rare, unpopular trope but IT. IS. SO. OVERUSED. can we PLS give it a break???

on an unrelated note, i am OBSESSED with friends to lovers + slow burn. specifically, if the friends to lovers is childhood best friends and it is a queer love story. im so sorry but that trope just does it better

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter two

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 2.5k

-

part one

“Like this?”

“No! Like… move your hips over.”

“Chris, this feels wrong!”

“Yeah, because it’s you! Come on, just come here for the picture.”

You groan and scoot closer to Chris on the bed, slinging your leg over his hips. He was laid flat on his back and you were on your side facing him. You guys had agreed on pretending to be each others’ significant others for a short amount of time, and right now you were trying to get all the pictures you could. This was the third photo position you guys had gotten yourselves into, each one getting more intimate than the last. Your mindset was, the more pictures you took at once, the less you’d have to spend time together.

“Okay, take your picture,” you tell him, throwing your arm over his torso and looking up at him.

Chris looks down at you, your faces inches away from each other. “God, you’re so impatient. Don’t you just wanna cuddle like this for a minute?” He smirks a little before grabbing his phone with his left hand, placing his right hand on your bare thigh, snapping the picture like that.

“Okay, good. Now, uh… I don’t think you’re gonna like this next one,” Chris pushes your leg off of him and you sit up, peering down at him.

“Fuck you,” you say harshly. “What now?”

He smiles and pats his lap, and your jaw drops. “No,” you shake your head. “No way, I’m not getting on your lap.”

Chris groans. “I am not going to get hard at the thought of you on top of me if that’s what you’re worried about,” he promises.

“Yeah, well, you already think I’m hot so I don’t know,” you tell him, disgusted. “Can’t we do something else?”

Chris reaches out and pinches the back of your arm, clearly unamused. “Dude, I didn’t say I personally think you’re hot, I said you’re hotter than this chick. Big difference. Besides, I’m hot, too, and you know it, so come on, sit on daddy’s lap.”

You grimace at his word choice. “That just made me want to do it even less,” you say, but despite your words, you scoot closer until you’re next to him, then swing your leg over him and sit on his lap, your crotch sitting directly above his dick.

“See?” He smiles, reaching out to place a hand on your thigh again, even though the camera wasn’t out yet. “This isn’t so bad, right?”

You can’t help it when your throat goes dry at the feeling of his hand on your leg, and he was partially right. Matt was attractive, Nick was attractive, and unfortunately the short end of the stick with that reality was that Chris was also attractive, though you’d never say those words out loud.

You snap out of it quickly and grab your own phone to distract yourself, but Chris reaches up and grabs your phone out of your hands, putting it on the bed next to him. “Gotta look interested in me, baby,” he coos.

You groan and cross your arms, body shaking slightly as you did so, making Chris suck in a quiet breath. “Don’t call me baby, we’re not actually together.”

“Stop wiggling, yeah?” He asks you, hand on your thigh gripping tighter than it was before.

You raise your eyebrows at him, staring down with a clear attitude present on your face. “I thought you would be fine and not get hard.” You mocked him.

Chris meets your eyes. “I said I wouldn’t get hard at the thought of you but you keep moving around and I only have so much self control.”

You cringe, focusing your attention on your lower half where you no doubt start to feel the beginnings of an erection forming where your bodies met. “Can you hurry please?”

Chris picks his phone back up and opens his camera, but couldn’t resist the nasty comment that sat on his tongue, begging to be spoken. “Maybe I just wanna feel you a little longer.”

Your jaw drops, face heating up uncontrollably. “Chris!”

Chris rolls his eyes at your aggressive tone. “Just kidding, jeez. Here, put your hands here.” He pulls up the hoodie to make it look like he’s shirtless and then grabs your hands, placing them both on his stomach so you’re leaning over him, your cleavage peeking through the neckline of your shirt. With the angle change and your weight shifted onto your hands, part of you wanted to tease him, and you had no idea what was coming over you in the moment, probably just the fact that you hadn’t been in this position in so long and you were craving the attention and validation of a man, wanting to feel someone fall apart underneath you, but you quickly remind yourself who you’re dealing with when he speaks again. “Oh perfect,” he says, holding his phone up to take the picture. “That’s definitely going in my spank bank.”

“Ew, Chris!” You screech at him, smacking him on the head before standing up off the bed completely. “We’re done for right now, you’re insanely gross.”

Chris laughs at you and pulls his hoodie down, sitting up on the bed. He moved quickly, but you caught on to the quick dip of his hand in his sweatpants, clearly waistbanding his dick, but you don’t mention it and he sure as hell doesn’t either. “I’m just messing with you,” he says.

“Yeah well I’m over it,” you huff, crossing your arms again.

“Alright, get out of my room then,” Chris points to the door, and you happily oblige, leaving his room and heading up the stairs, making your way to Matt’s room where you find him sitting at his desk playing games and Nick laid on the bed playing on his phone.

Matt turns his head and smiles at you. “Hey, love. How’s being Chris’s girlfriend going?”

You groan loudly and drag your hands down your face. “Fucking terrible!” You cry. “He’s so pervy and gross and just awful to be around. I don’t know how you guys deal with him all day every day.”

Nick laughs in response. “We actually like him and he likes us.”

You shudder and grab the blankets from underneath your body, shimmying under them. “I’m taking a nap, hopefully that’ll cleanse me from the objectification I’ve endured.”

Both the boys laugh at you and go back to what they’re doing as you get comfortable and close your eyes.

Before you dozed off you found yourself wondering what things would be like if Chris wasn’t so annoying and how life would be if the two of you got along. Would you guys actually stand a chance at being in a relationship? Would either of you have feelings for each other that weren’t so negative? You’ve never thought about these possibilities before, and though it scared you slightly, you brushed it aside and let yourself drift off to sleep.

-

The four of you sat around the kitchen table later that night eating Italian food that Matt had gone and picked up, and the room was silent apart from the chewing noises that filled the air. You know the food is good if everyone is quiet you always say. But unfortunately, the sweet silence is interrupted by Chris clearing his throat and setting his fork down.

“So,” he starts, looking towards you. “I’m thinking we go on a date.”

You almost choke on your food, eyes widening. “What?!” You yell, mouth still full of food.

“Ew, swallow first. And yes, but not a real date, obviously. My idea is you can go to a fancy restaurant with Matt or something and he can take pictures of you looking all dressed up and just send them to me.” Chris suggests, and it’s not the worst idea in the world. Free dinner in a nice restaurant with your best friend? Sounds like a win win to you.

“You should’ve led with that, fuckface. Almost made me choke,” you tell him with furrowed eyebrows, wiping your mouth with your napkin.

“I typically do make women choke,” he replies with a smirk.

Everyone at the table groans in disgust at his dirty comment. “Too much,” Nick says loudly, waving his hands in the air.

Chris just laughs. “So is that a yes?”

You look at Matt and he shrugs his shoulders. “I’m fine with it,” he tells you, and you nod your head in agreement.

“Great!” Chris smiles, clapping his hands together. “I’ll make reservations for you guys and let you know when it is.”

You guys both nod and go back to eating your dinner.

After everyone was done eating, you guys migrated to the couch, where you ended up sandwiched between Matt and Chris, though Chris left a decent amount of space as opposed to Matt who sat nearly hip to hip with you.

“What are we watching?” You ask, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and throwing it over yours and Matt’s body.

“Get a room,” Chris grumbles, looking over at you and Matt snuggled up under the blanket.

You look towards him and smile. “If you wanna cuddle with me just say that,” you tease, kicking your feet up onto his lap.

He instantly shoves your legs off of him and scoots farther away from you. “Gross, get your feet off of me. You wish I wanted to cuddle with you, slut.”

Matt and Nick both whip their head up to look at Chris, and he immediately drops his head down towards his lap, knowing he fucked up. “Chris,” Matt spits. “Too fucking far, apologize or get the fuck out.”

“Matt, it’s fine,” you tell him, tucking your legs close to your body. Chris had never really gone that far, but you weren’t super surprised by the words he said, though it stung a little bit.

“No, it isn’t. I get you guys have your little arguments but that’s not okay,” Matt tells him again, voice as stern as the first time.

Chris sighs and picks his head back up, but only focuses on the tv in front of him, still not playing anything. “Sorry, didn’t mean to call you a slut.” He mumbles.

You just nod your head and look over at Nick and then look up at Matt. “Can we just put something on please?”

They agree and start scrolling through the streaming services, trying to find something to put on.

If you tried to think about it, you never really could pinpoint the exact moment you and Chris started acting like this, it just kind of became your guys’ normal. You’d all known each other since high school, and you clicked with Nick and Matt instantly, and you always thought Chris would come around, but he never did and your relationship never got any better. The more you hung around, the more hostile your relationship got, and the more you adapted.

It started as teasing, a “shut up” here, a “you’re so annoying” there, but as you guys continued to see each other, it just got meaner and meaner, and you’re so used to it now that you can’t imagine life without it, which is why it was so hard to imagine how he was going to act at this wedding when he had to pretend he didn’t hate you.

You guys ended up just putting on a movie you’d never seen, some chick flick rom com that only you and Nick were interested in, so you weren’t surprised when Matt and Chris grabbed their phones and started their endless scroll, until Chris looked up and over towards you.

“Hey,” he starts quietly, and you turn your head to look at him. “Can you, uh.. can you come take a picture with me? She’s texting me right now and thinks I’m lying about you. Which I guess I am, but, whatever. Just for a second?”

You think about it for a couple of moments, not really sure if cuddling up with Chris in front of his brothers is something you necessarily want to do right now, but you also don’t want to ruin the deal you two had made with each other, so you lightly nod your head and remove the blanket that covered you and Matt, scooting closer to Chris.

“How do you want to do this?” You asked him, and he just patted his leg.

“Just put your legs over mine and scoot real close, that’ll be fine. I can snap it really quick,” he says, and you oblige, scooting a bit closer than before and swinging both of your legs over one of his, draped over his thigh. You leaned your body into his, and he placed his hand on your thigh, tucked between both of your legs.

“Good?” You ask, eyes flitting up over his face. He nods and lifts his phone up to take a photo, taking a couple before looks over at you and reaches your gaze.

He takes a deep breath while staring at you, hand still resting on your thigh. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low so his brothers couldn’t hear, but it was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him. “I really didn’t mean to call you that, it just slipped out.”

You’re shocked at the fact that he offered an actual apology, considering the fact that he’d never said sorry unless his brothers had told him to, so something about this felt a little bit more genuine than usual.

You offer him a tight lipped smile and nod your head. “I forgive you,” you tell him just as quietly.

He pulls his hand out from your thighs and taps your leg lightly. “Good, now go back to cozying up with my brother before I throw up.”

You laugh and do as he says, moving away from him and back towards Matt, who smiles sweetly at you, taking up the same position as you had with Chris, placing the blanket back over you both.

As you sat there and watched the movie, you couldn’t help but steal a few glances towards Chris, watching as he played with his lip with his free hand while he scrolled, or how he giggled to himself every time he saw a video that he found cute. The way he peeked up at the tv every so often to see what was happening, then went back on his phone to pretend he wasn’t interested in the cheesy movie.

What you were completely clueless to, though, was the way he did the same thing to you, watching as you laughed along with Nick, or how you cuddled closer into his brother, his hand rubbing your arm sweetly and habitually. He even watched the way your eyes started to flutter towards the end of the movie, clearly too tired to head home, just like most nights.

Maybe you weren’t that bad or annoying, but he was so deep in it now that he felt he could never turn back, never admit that maybe one day he’d like to be close to you like you were to his brothers. He had no idea that you’d take him up on that offer in a heartbeat.

-

a/n: part two!!! thanks for all the love on part one!!

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[waldensblog]

Writer: Character A and Character B meet. Instantly they are attracted to each other and get together. There is a misunderstanding, but it’s all okay, they get back together quickly and it’s all happily ever after!

Me: 

Writer: Character A and Character B meet. There is an attraction, but they do not get together. They yearn, they pine, they perish, circling one another... finally, they get past these obstacles and they are together, hooray! But alas, tragedy strikes! They are now enemies... 

Me: 

[spokentothewoods]

Maybe I'm bad at using AO3 but how are you guys always doing something on it ? I have like 4 fics I'll sometimes go back and read and then reread for a few days after but then I get burnt out on them and don't use AO3 for like a month

[misspermitted]

Sometimes it’s just you and that dirty cup in the corner of your room that has been there for 3 weeks and you gives you daily anxiety but you still won’t clean. It’s about the chemistry. The will they won’t they. The mutual pining but oh no I can’t give in. Stolen glances across the room. Oh the torture. Even when my eyes are off you I’m thinking of you.

[werdlewrites]

Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC?)

Chapter Two: Death

masterlist-about-patreon-ao3

UPDATED 7/21/24

Summary: “Can I help you with something? Are you lost?” There’s finally some recognition, a twist of discomfort as he can sense the tension building between them already. He opens his mouth to retort but she beats him to it. “Did that orange ball smack your big head so hard you forgot where you were?” “Alright, alright,” he says rather quickly, annoyed at just how pleased she was with herself. “I come in peace,” he says with both hands held out, palms towards her in good faith. “Yeah, I’m sure." Warnings: Smoking, anti Steve (for now), witchery, panic/anxiety attack Word Count: 3707

Time was stretching on forever. Leaving Autumn lingering in an unknown void, a trance. Watching as the water slowly eased its way down into the soil of her ninth, or tenth, plant of the morning. She would study it closely, making a guess if it was either too much or too little, and moving forward after that. It was slow, tedious, and sometimes therapeutic, but not when you’ve struggled for another night of sleep. 

Autumn had awoken before the sun had even kissed the sky of Hawkins, unsettled and uncomfortable in her own bed. She only tossed and turned through most of the night, and in the moments of peace she did find, she was only met with hushed conversations in the furthest reaches of her mind. Voices, not of anyone she knew, and certainly not of her own. 

This hadn’t been the first time they’d called out to her as she laid her head down to rest. It was one of many curses, or gifts, as her father would call them. Autumn would call them neither, only pieces of herself that she has struggled to cope with throughout her life. From imaginary friends when she was only a child to actively experiencing moments she couldn’t recognize or place. She had thought she was spiraling into madness, and so did everyone else—safe for her father, who helped her find the way. He was encouraging, full of guidance and support, as he purchased any book she asked for to better herself and her understanding of just what was happening. With age came acceptance; acceptance created hatred from others.

The girl didn’t have much. People feared her without much knowledge, pitied her, or simply thought she was the odd one out.

Autumn had her plants, a father who cared in his own way, Jonathan, and a dream to get the fuck out of Hawkins. To a place where people welcomed her if it even existed.

She downs the last of her coffee, staring in silence at the now-empty mug in debate over a second cup. The sun has yet to make an appearance, and the lack of sleep is weighing heavily on the girl. A looming cloud filled with heavy rain drenching Autumn until her feet sink deep into the earth, unable to move onward. Each step drains life from her—a fight. 

The only peace she holds onto is knowing that it’s Friday, the final day of torment before a weekend with the Byers. Autumn leaves the mug behind, opting for a hot shower to further push her into the morning and away from a tempting nap before the alarm sounds. She can still hear the voices calling, but only as a memory that she doesn’t wish to return to.

There was the usual onslaught of unnecessary comments the moment her feet touched down at the high school. Maybe it was the lack of sleep—maybe it was something in the air that day—but her patience was wearing thin the moment someone gave her an odd look. The wire was only twisting tighter and tighter in her gut with every passing remark and glance, and within seconds, a cigarette had found its way to her lips, panicked fingers running along the wheel until it finally provided a flame. It sends a rush of relief and nicotine through her body—a destructive distraction. 

As her lungs filled, those momentary worries seemed not so worrisome. Her tense shoulders had now fallen, and her frame leaned up against the brick wall of the school building, ignoring the murmurs as they passed right by and through the doors. Her knee was bouncing wildly, still lingering in the effects of anxiety, until she forced it out straight with a final drag of her cigarette, crushing the end of it into the wall before making her way inside. It’s as busy as ever. No one seemed to be in a real rush to get to class early, all lingering as if they hadn’t seen each other the day before. Friday did, in a small way, feel like a piece of the weekend.

There was one part of her Friday she did not anticipate, though. He was leaning against her locker, waiting with an almost impatient look on his face as his eyes flicked through the crowd in search of her. King Steve Harrington is the star of the basketball and swim team. Cocky as all hell, Nancy Wheeler’s special something, and Autumn’s very long, lost friend. 

He was so lost that she couldn’t remember the last time she enjoyed his company, and yet somehow, he was at her locker. Honey-colored eyes lock on her within seconds, and he gives her a small, awkward wave. As the distance between them lessened, her heart rate only seemed to go up, already missing that poisonous friend she had left outdoors to calm her aching nerves.

“You’re in my way, Harrington.” 

His smile doesn’t falter, but he does inch away from her space, just enough so she can open the metal door with great unease. She takes her time, pretending to look through her books or her bag, as she can feel those same eyes burning a hole through the shield meant to deter him. A bagged lunch is tossed inside, along with other items she didn’t require for the first half of the day, before she closes it, looking unimpressed and irritated to see that the boy hasn’t moved at all. “Can I help you with something? Are you lost?” 

There’s finally some recognition. A twist of discomfort, as he can sense the tension building between them already. He opens his mouth to retort, but she beats him to it. “Did that orange ball smack your big head so hard you forgot where you were?” 

“Alright, alright,” he says rather quickly, annoyed at just how pleased she was with herself. “I come in peace.” Both hands are offered out, palms towards her in good faith. But she doesn’t quite buy it.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Tommy around the corner? Just waiting t’throw some pig's blood on me?” 

Steve seems taken aback by her comment, brows knitted together in pure confusion before hands fall to his hips, cocked to the side. “What? Why-no! That’s disgusting. There’s no—there's no blood here.” 

“Great. Then I suppose I can spare the world from my rage just one more day,” she teases, though her fake smile easily falls flat, still wondering why after all of this time Steve would bother to come to her one-on-one. She had only seen him from afar as they drifted apart—as he found new crowds to surround himself with. They influenced him in ways that changed her view of him forever, watching as he became someone she could no longer recognize. And while Steve never attacked her directly, he never stopped it. That alone spoke volumes.

Steve pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling unfocused, and he is desperate to get back on track, while she seems determined to keep him off of it. “Look, I came because... I wanted t’ask for a favor,” he finally admits with a sigh. It’s enough to leave a brow raised in curiosity. “I was wondering if you could do, y’know, a reading.” 

“Readings aren’t ‘favors’, Steve. That costs,” she holds up her hand, rubbing her thumb along her fingertips, the sign for ‘cash’ and he instantly rolls his eyes, shoulders slumped. 

“Okay, well, I can pay. Can we do one today? During lunch?” 

In their time apart, she had never imagined herself here, agreeing to Steve Harrington and his request. But, here she was. Nodding along to his plan to meet up at the bleachers midday. He seemed breathless, a little too eager for her liking as he jogged away from her, all the while she looked at him like any other customer.

Autumn had nearly slept through her classes. The beginning always seemed to start so well, and by the end, she was heavy-lidded, leaning into her palm so hard that she swore she could have torn her own face off. At one point, she was gone. The voice of the teacher had faded out, replaced with sweet nothingness—at least that’s what it seemed. For a moment, all behind closed eyes was black. A sweet relief, though brief, as something unsettling creeps in. 

The sound of misery—desperate pleas from a soft and pained voice just at her back. So close, it almost feels too real. The agony is squeezing at her chest as frantic breath ghosts along the shell of her ear. She’s almost grateful as a kick to her ankle rips her back into reality. 

The light rushed in with wide, dazed eyes, searching for the source of the voice. It was almost blinding, her eyes blinking away the blurred vision to focus back on her teacher and then on Jonathan. He sits with a smug look on his face, hiding behind a hand as a smile creeps in. Though her glare fails to waiver, amusement turns to worry, mouthing, “Are you okay?” 

It’s the last thing she needs. Having someone stress over her without the ability to pull her from the fire. Autumn wears a forced smirk, her middle finger rising just under her folded arms to say, "Fuck you.” 

He’s quick to shift focus downward, scoffing in amusement with the roll of his eyes. With his mind set at ease, he returns to the lesson, and she slumps further into her seat—attention forward but mind elsewhere.

Friday was no weekend. Not this time.

When lunch had come around, Autumn was happily laid out on the bleachers. Soaking up what little sun was available to them that day as the clouds roamed high above, consuming the sky. The air was chilled, comforting her aching muscles from the long night before. The air was still and quiet enough to offer her comfort as her eyes slipped shut, finding peace away from all of the noise inside the cafeteria. 

With her lunch devoured on sight and the beast within now tamed, she was able to drift into a state of calm. A mistake on her part was letting time pass by carelessly. Ignorant to just how long her eyes would remain closed for. She could have spent the day out there, her mind full of fragility as she gave in to the long, sleepless night. She’d catch a cold and land under a stern stare from the principal and her father for unintentionally skipping class. She puts blind faith in Harrington, hoping he will do good on his word and pull her from the edge just before she fades out.

“There, I did it,” the child states happily. In her palm, she holds what she believes to be a delicate piece of art. Something she’s worked hard for, following every instruction, no matter how frustrating. 

She marvels at the simple design, making notes on where to add more polka dots on the folded-up sheet of paper. Her eyes wander, finding her friend oblivious to her finished project as he smoothes out the creases of his own paper game. In comparison, hers seems like a wadded-up ball. Uneven folds and words show where they shouldn’t have been. She doesn’t question it at first, simply casting looks back and forth until he finally finishes. 

His sweet eyes are prideful, a blissful smile shining as he holds it up for her to see. Then, it all seems to shift. Victory is long gone, and he’s locked in a trance over her attempt. Without warning, a laugh slips through. “What did you do?” 

The girl at his side holds an empty stare, unsure if she should be laughing along with him or hurt by his comment. “I did what you said,” she replied plainly, her brows knitting together as his amusement grew. 

“Give me that.” He trades their pieces, and she watches as he works in silence. Her paper is unfolded to lay flat against the small desk, his smile stretching as he reads over the options given. “Make more friends" lies right next to “Get a dog,” and he can’t fight the tug at his heart. Sparing a look her way, he watches as she pulls at his tabs, a look of irritation at just how good he was at designing them. “You’re cheating.” 

Young eyes flick up to stare at the boy, easing the fold back down to hide the message. “Sorry.” Her voice is low, barely audible, and she seems almost ashamed. 

“N-no, it’s okay, really. You’re just supposed t’go by your gut,” he reassures gently before his focus moves back to her own, where he begins to fold it evenly with care. “I guess it’s about fate, or whatever.” Her spine straightens and her fingers slip inside the pockets, practicing the game by herself while he works. 

“You like dogs?” She shrugs in response, her expression confirming that curiosity. “What kind?” Another weak shrug. 

“Don't know. All dogs, I think.” 

“Maybe you’ll get one for Christmas,” he suggests with a toothy grin, though faltering ever so slightly as the enthusiasm isn’t returned. If anything, he swears her eyes shift into something more somber.

“Hey!”

Alarms are sounding off in her head at the sudden disruption. Her body comes to life with shock as chilled air sweeps in to burn her resting lungs. There’s no more peace, only the sound of his voice booming across the field, calling out her name. 

Through one cracked-open eye, Autumn swore she could see him waving for her attention as he ran the rest of the way. She’s not sure if she’s pleased by just how timely he was or if there’s disappointment that she couldn’t steal away another moment of quiet. 

"Sorry, sorry,” he stammers, clearly breathless, with his hands resting lazily on his hips. “I got held up. Y’know, girl stuff.” 

Autumn remains unamused, eyeing him with remnants of the person he used to be. Running out to sit on these very bleachers to hide their cigarettes or the place they met a few yards away to put an end to the tattered friendship. For a moment, she wonders what it all would have been like. “Yeah, girl stuff. D’you want this reading or not?” 

A rush of excitement seems to move through him, a spark as his eyes light up, and maybe even a hint of a smile. Maybe there was a piece of him that didn’t think she would still be willing to help. “Y-yeah! One second,” he says in a panicked voice, scrambling towards the other end of the bleachers to begin his climb up to her. The chilled metal stings his skin, shaking out his hands by the time he is up at her level, sitting just across from her with eyes glued to her bag as she rummages through it. “How can you sit out here?” 

Autumn pauses in her search, blowing hair from her face and shaking it away to meet his curious gaze. “I’m sorry. D’you want t’go inside? I can do magic there." 

“No!” The boy yells, a little unexpected for both of them, as the air immediately becomes painfully silent afterward, heavy with discomfort, though she could only smile. “O-out here is...fine.” 

Autumn waits another moment. She waits for him to settle and be sure of his choices before she pulls out a Tarot deck from her bag, setting it between the pair. “Can’t be caught fraternizing with the witch,” she chuckles. “Alright, here’s how this works. I do cash up front; no refunds. Your destiny is your own, blah blah. All of that bullshit. D’you have any questions?”

 Steve seems unsettled, though he gives a quick shake of his head to let her begin. The boy leans in with his elbows resting on denim-clad knees, chewing at his lips as his nerves build into something he is unable to ignore. “D’you want a palm reading or one from the cards?” 

That seemed to pique some interest, with his eyes beaming up at her in confusion through fallen locks of hair. “What?” 

“A palm reading is three bucks. Five from the cards and ten for a large spread.” 

It was then that he sat back, a clear look of annoyance in his expression as he glared at her, pure disbelief in her words. “I heard you did Heather’s for cheaper.” 

“Yeah, I like Heather.” 

The comment leaves him stunned, blinking with a dumbfounded look in his eyes, and together they sit in silence, almost as if he is waiting for her to change her reply. To make a joke of it all. Autumn remains calm and steady, leaving Steve to surrender and bitch about the pricing as he digs through his wallet, practically tossing the five-dollar bill at her, just to end the awkward moment only he seemed to be suffering from. “What d’you want t’know?”

Steve had come here with a goal in mind, but getting him to actually confess it had his palms sweating as he rubbed them together. There was hesitancy, a sudden skip in his chest that left him breathless for only a moment. “I-I want t’know about me and Nance.” 

And no matter his look of pain and discomfort, Autumn was smiling from ear to ear, hands already gently shuffling the cards once pulled from their tin. “Feeling a little insecure, are we?”

“What? No,” he bites back, though it’s shrugged off by the receiver. 

“And what is it you want t’know?” 

“Uh,” his thumbs are fiddling together, fighting for the right words—she pretends not to notice as she continues to shuffle, not in preparation but mostly to calm her nerves. “Will I-” Autumn shuts his question down before it truly begins, waving her hand between the two in disagreement. 

“No, no. ‘Will I’ questions lock you into 'yes' or 'no'. Ask ‘How’ or ‘What’.” 

Steve whispers an “Oh,” with eyes fluttering elsewhere, rethinking the question to something more suitable. “What does my future with Nancy look like?” 

Boring. It's what most of them want these days. Anything in regards to love with their current partner or from their ex, or if they will ever find the missing piece to their ever-growing puzzle of life. On occasion, some would seek more benefits towards more personal goals. Colleges, larger-than-life sports teams, or simply if they made it anywhere at all. Of course, Autumn could never say, "Looks like you'll win the lottery." But her readings were enough to provide hope or crush dreams right on the spot. Whatever the outcome, she was a few bucks richer. And no matter the history between the two, Steve would be no different. The cards favored and pitied no one. 

Her eyes are closed, focusing the dull and expected question into the deck that she sorts through with quick hands, cards flying with ease. Slow and steady breaths fill her chest, unaware of the curious gaze moving between her and the cards. Uncertain if he should do or say anything and how it all really works, he sits in silence until further instructed. But when she pauses, looking stone-faced and serious, he can't fight the audible gulp before the cards are spread out along the icy, rigid seat. Autumn is determined, wasting no time before pulling a single card and laying it face up before Steve. He’s uncertain of it all, but he isn’t blind, and the words paired with imagery are enough to have his fingers anxiously dig into his jeans.

Death.

"Pfft," the girl let out an airy chuckle, hiding behind her present, joyous smile while the boy was wide-eyed with panic. It’s one of her favorite cards in the deck, one that causes mayhem as the client seeks to understand it—just like now. 

“What? What is that?” It sounded like a question, but his tone was forceful, demanding, seeking acknowledgment immediately, and growing more aggravated the more she laughed. “Hello? What the fuck is that? Why does that say ‘Death’?” 

“Calm down, Harrington." 

“No, I don’t like that. You pulled way too quick.” 

Autumn reels back at the comment, an obvious look of offense on her face, and for a moment she is too stunned to reply back. Mouth hung agape, biting back all of the things she had wanted to say since the start of freshman year. “This is how I do things. I go by feeling and gut instinct. Besides, Death isn’t all that bad.”

Steve looked as though his old friend had just grown a second head—bizarre and confusing. How is that even possible? “Uh-huh? D’you want to elaborate on that for me? That big orange ball, y’know. It really smacked me around.” He teases, his large hands creating a sphere around his head as he rattles himself around within it dramatically.

“Death is the ending of a cycle. A beginning, a change—metamorphosis. D’you know-?” 

“Yeah, I know what metamorphosis is.” He spits out, defensive. 

“But when reversed, there are... new meanings. Fear of change, never moving forward, and so on.” 

"Yeah, but y-you laid it upright,” Steve says quietly, his finger firmly pressed down on the card, drawing her attention back to the symbol between the two. 

Without further hesitation, she lets out a loud, “Dun, dun, dun.” Out of the two of them, only she finds it amusing, while Steve is merely rolling his eyes with hands running along his thighs from anxiety. 

“Come on, that’s not funny. I want another pull." 

The laughter stops, and she’s bent forward, her open palm exposed for his cash to fall into her grasp. “D’you have another five for a full spread?” 

“N-no, but I can pay you next week.” 

With that, Death along with her many other cards, are swiped up and neatly laid in their place, protected from whatever harm may come to them. “Cash up front. Don’t sweat it, Harrington. You two just got together, yeah?” He nods wordlessly, everything he wants to say caught in his throat. “Change is coming. Growth for the two of you.” 

"Is that good or bad?” Autumn shrugs, the tin now resting safely in the depths of her bag before it’s swung over her shoulder. 

“That’s up to the two of you.”

[danistartt]

Y/N being besties with Colin??

are you psychic